You’ve probably seen the grainy black-and-white photos of six girls with high cheekbones and piercing stares. They look like the quintessential British aristocrats. But look closer. One is a Duchess. One is a communist. One is a literal Nazi. One is a novelist who poked fun at the very world she came from. The story of who were the Mitford sisters isn't just a bit of family trivia; it’s basically a fever dream of 20th-century history played out in one single, chaotic nursery.
They were the daughters of David Freeman-Mitford, 2nd Baron Redesdale, and his wife Sydney Bowles. Growing up in the Cotswolds between the World Wars, they lived in a house where the father shouted at everyone and the mother didn't believe in formal schooling for girls. So, they invented their own language. They called each other "Boudledidge" and "Hen." They created a private world because the real one was about to tear itself apart, and somehow, they all decided to take opposite sides in the coming war.
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Honestly, it’s hard to wrap your head around how one family produced such polar extremes. It’s like a Shakespearean tragedy but with more tweed and better hats.
The Big Six: A Breakdown of the Mitford Madness
Nancy was the oldest. She’s the one who turned the family’s eccentricities into a career. If you’ve ever read The Pursuit of Love, you’ve met a fictionalized version of her father, "Uncle Matthew," who used to hunt his children with bloodhounds across the estate. Nancy was sharp. Mean, too, according to her sisters. She pioneered the concept of "U and non-U" English—basically a guide on how to spot if someone was "upper class" or just a "commoner" trying too hard. She was the family’s chronicler, but she was also the one who eventually reported her own sister to the British intelligence services.
Then there’s Pamela. Often called the "quiet one," which, in this family, just means she preferred chickens to dictators. John Betjeman, the Poet Laureate, once called her the "most rural of them all." She spent her life managing farms and living a relatively low-key existence with her partner, Giuditta Tommasi. She’s the palette cleanser in a very spicy family meal.
But then things get dark. Really dark.
The Fascist and the Fuhrer
Diana Mitford was widely considered one of the most beautiful women of her generation. She left her wealthy husband, Bryan Guinness (yes, the beer family), for Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists. They got married in Joseph Goebbels’ drawing room in Berlin. Hitler was the guest of honor. It’s not just a "mistake of youth"—Diana remained unrepentant about her beliefs until she died in 2003. When people ask who were the Mitford sisters, Diana is often the reason the conversation turns sour. She spent much of World War II in Holloway Prison, while her sister Nancy was the one who told the authorities she was a danger to the state.
Unity Valkyrie Mitford took it even further. Her middle name was literally Valkyrie. Her grandfather had been a friend of Richard Wagner. She became obsessed with Hitler, went to Munich, and stalked him at his favorite restaurant, the Osteria Bavaria, until he finally invited her to his table. They became close. Horrifically close. When Britain declared war on Germany in 1939, Unity couldn't handle the two countries she loved being at odds. She took a pearl-handled pistol to the English Garden in Munich and shot herself in the head. She survived, but the bullet stayed lodged in her brain, and she spent the rest of her life as a shell of herself, cared for by her mother.
The Rebel and the Duchess
In total contrast to the fascist sisters, you had Jessica, or "Decca." She was the family’s black sheep in the opposite direction. While Diana was dining with Hitler, Decca was running away to the Spanish Civil War with her cousin Esmond Romilly to fight against fascism. She became a committed communist. She moved to America, became a civil rights activist, and wrote The American Way of Death, a scathing exposé of the funeral industry that basically changed US law. She and Diana never spoke again. The rift was permanent. Total.
Then you have Deborah, the youngest. "Debo." She’s the one who became the Duchess of Devonshire. She took over Chatsworth House, which was falling apart after the war, and turned it into a massive, self-sustaining business. She was the "normal" one, or as normal as you can be when you live in a palace with 297 rooms. She was the last link to that world, passing away in 2014.
Why the fascination persists
It’s easy to dismiss them as just rich girls behaving badly. But that misses the point. The Mitfords are a case study in radicalization. They represent the death of the old European order. In one house, you had every major "ism" of the 20th century:
- Communism (Jessica)
- Fascism (Diana and Unity)
- Traditionalism/Aristocracy (Deborah)
- Satirical Social Commentary (Nancy)
They wrote letters. Thousands of them. You can read their correspondence today in books like The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters, edited by Charlotte Mosley. Reading them is like watching a slow-motion car crash through the lens of people who are incredibly witty, deeply flawed, and sometimes genuinely evil. You see the love they had for each other clashing with the ideologies that told them they should be enemies.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Mitfords
People tend to romanticize them. They see the vintage fashion and the sharp wit and forget that two of them were actively working toward the destruction of democracy. There’s a "glamour" often attached to them that shouldn't be there.
Jessica once said that the family was "a tiny bit mad." That’s an understatement. But their madness was just a reflection of Europe’s madness at the time. They didn't live in a vacuum. They were friends with Winston Churchill (who was their uncle by marriage). They knew the Queen. They were at the center of power, and they used that power in ways that were often terrifying.
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The biggest misconception is that they were all the same. They weren't. They were a fractured mirror of a fractured century. If you want to understand the 1930s, don't just read a history book. Read the Mitford letters. You’ll see how easy it is for a family to break when the world starts burning.
The Real Legacy of the Sisters
If you’re looking for a takeaway, it’s about the power of influence and the danger of echo chambers. The Mitford sisters lived in a world of extreme privilege that shielded them from the consequences of their ideas—at least for a while.
Nancy’s books are still in print because she was a genius at capturing the absurdity of her class. Debo’s work at Chatsworth is why that house is still standing and open to the public. Decca’s investigative journalism actually helped people. And the "dark" sisters? They serve as a grim reminder of how easily "polite society" can slide into extremism.
Actionable Steps for Exploring the Mitford History
If you want to dive deeper into who were the Mitford sisters, don't just stick to Wikipedia. Here is how to actually get the full, nuanced picture of this family:
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- Read The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford. It’s a novel, but it’s 90% autobiography. It gives you the "vibe" of their childhood better than any biography.
- Pick up Hons and Rebels by Jessica Mitford. This is Decca’s memoir. It’s hilarious and heartbreaking, and it explains why she felt she had to run away from everything she knew.
- Visit Chatsworth House. If you're ever in Derbyshire, go see what Deborah built. It’s the physical manifestation of the family’s lasting impact on British heritage.
- Watch the 1980s documentary The Mitfords (available on various archives). Hearing the surviving sisters speak is a completely different experience. The way they talk—the "Mitford Voice"—is a relic of a time that doesn't exist anymore.
- Look for The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters. This is the gold standard. It’s a thick book, but you can dip in and out. It’s raw, unedited history.
The Mitford story isn't over because we are still dealing with the same issues they were: political polarization, the role of the elite in society, and the question of whether family ties can—or should—survive ideological war. They were brilliant, they were dangerous, and honestly, they were a complete mess. That’s exactly why we can’t stop talking about them.