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CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
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MEMORIES AND BASE DETAILS
 
MEMORIES AND BASE
DETAILS. By Lady Angela
Forbes

 

 

With Photogravure Frontispiece
and 24 Illustrations

NEW YORK:
GEORGE H. DORAN “COMPANY
Printed in Great Britain

33474 7B
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Lady Angela Forbes. ‘ ‘ j 3 Frontispiece
Lady Warwick’s Bridesmaids ? ‘ i . Facing p. 16
Lady Warwick’s Bridesmaids , : ; : oF 24
Shooting Party at Houghton . : ; F 36
King Edward, 1895 . a re ee 56
Waiting for the Mail at Dunabiy, Lord Rosebery

and Lord Chaplin on the platform ; rr 64
The Bicycling Craze. The Duchess of Sutherland

learning to bicycle ; ‘ is 70
Party at Easton to meet King Edward, hen Bree

of Wales ; : : ; : : - 78
Col. Anstruther Thomson ‘ : " 84

Party at Warwick in 1895 to teed King Edward,

then Prince of Wales : ‘ : ; 88
Marigold with Madame de Falbe . r . » 94
Lady Angela Forbes, the year she came uk. p. g6
From Lady Angela Forbes’s Visiting Book i 102
Tom Firr and the Quorn Hounds 3 . ; i 112

The Saloon, Dysart ” 130
Easton Lodge ” 136
Lady Angela Forbes, 1897 ‘ FF 144
Warwick on the night of the ee Tindis ‘Ball, 1895 2 iy 180
My brother Harry é ‘ : a 192
Trentham from the lake ‘i ‘ ‘ : : “a 204
My Father . ‘ ‘ ‘ : : F ai 212
Dysart House, Fife : : : Ss 256
Shooting Party at Easton in 1895 to mest ‘King

Edward, then Prince of Wales ; é a 278
Lady Angela Forbes and her daughter Flavia a 288

Wemyss Castle . 3 : e 4 . ‘a 304
FOREWORD

I FEEL that a word of apology is due to a long-suffering public
for having yet another autobiography thrust upon them. The
idea was not my own and I must plead guilty to having succumbed
to the possible financial advantages which might be the result
of the publication of my “ Memories and Base Details.” I do
not believe that anyone, however fond of advertisement, sits
down deliberately to lay bare their life for dissection by a ruthless
public, unless the consideration of L. S. D. is at all events lurking
in the background. The autobiographer’s path is beset with
pitfalls. For the book to be a seller it has to appeal to all sorts
and conditions. A heterogeneous public has to be catered for,
and one man’s meat may be another man’s poison. Some people
enjoy the dinner-table intimate conversation, but the diners
probably become your enemies for life. The intimacies of every
day life may appeal to a certain section of the public, while
to another, domestic details are boring.

To plough the furrow of one’s memory, to unearth incidents,
long grown dim, but which the reader expects to have related in
detail, is not an easy matter. Through the mirage of time
events lose their proper proportions as one views them on the
skyline of recollection, and one is apt to exaggerate or to belittle
their relative values. Apart from this, the autobiographer
has to be candid without being caustic, and, above all, he or she
must know when to be reticent.

Should there be any merit in truthfulness then my memoirs
will go out equipped with one virtue, for I have written nothing
that I cannot verily.

ANGELA ForBEs.
PART I
MEMORIES AND BASE DETAILS

I

ee very first event of importance that I can
remember with any clearness is my half-sister
Daisy’s wedding to Lord Brooke* in Westminster Abbey,
the organ pealing forth ‘‘O perfect Love,” and myself,
small and insignificant and rather chilly about the knees
in my ultra-short chiffon bridesmaid’s frock, hugging to
my chest a huge bouquet of Maréchal Niel roses.

I was evidently not so impressed with the importance
of the occasion as I should have been, for I spent my
time chewing off the heads of the roses, and most in-
elegantly, though dexterously, blowing them as far and
as hard as I could among the congregation. I can still
see Evie Pelly (in after years the Duchess of Connaught’s
lady-in-waiting), who walked with me, looking thoroughly
shocked at my bad manners, and Prince Leopold, who
was best man, asked me afterwards if I had enjoyed my
breakfast !

At the time of Daisy’s wedding I was just five years
old, so I think I can be forgiven if I do not remember
very much about the ceremony; but I do know that
Daisy looked lovely and that the Abbey was crowded
with people.

From every point of view it was a most important

* Earl of Warwick.

9
10 Memories and Base Details

 

wedding. The historical memories that clustered round
Warwick would have sufficed alone to arouse public
interest in the event ; but, added to these picturesque
associations, Daisy was also a figure of no small import-
ance. She was a great heiress and beautiful, and these
“virtues ” rarely walk hand in hand.

My mother, who was a Miss Fitzroy, was first married
to Colonel Maynard, who died a few weeks before his
father, leaving her with two little girls, Daisy and
Blanchie (my half-sisters). At Lord Maynard’s death
Easton and all his possessions, therefore, went auto-
matically to Daisy.

Mother’s second marriage took place a year or two
later, and I, Angela Selina Bianca, was born in 1876,
the youngest of seven, and practically an afterthought !
My entrance into this world caused a considerable amount
of excitement, as my mother had been desperately ill in
Edinburgh some weeks before, and the doctors did not
expect me to live. Contrary, however, to their expecta-
tions, I turned out to be an extraordinarily healthy
child. Millie,* my eldest real sister, was most consis-
tently snubbed as a child, and used to be called the “‘ Ugly
Duckling.” It is amusing now to remember this, and
impossible to believe that at the gawkiest age she could
ever have deserved the epithet !

After her in quick succession came my two brothers,
Harryt and Fitzroy, of whose quarrels as small boys
I have a constant remembrance, and then my sister
Sybilf ; in after years people found it difficult to decide
which was the better-looking, she or Millie.

My arrival, five years later, put me into rather an

* Duchess of Sutherland. t Earl of Rosslyn.
t Late Countess of Westmorland.
Memories and Base Details 11

 

isolated position, and I looked upon my brothers and
sisters, and certainly my half-sisters, as quite elderly
relations ! .

My thoughtful parents provided me with a wonder-
ful pair of godmothers ; even in these days, when every
other person is considered a heaven-born product of
sorts, the names of the Baroness Burdett-Coutts and
Lady Bradford cannot be dismissed with airy grace
by people who now only remember them by hoary
anecdotes.

Baroness Burdett-Coutts was a sweet-looking woman,
who always wore a quaint shawl folded across her
shoulders in Early Victorian fashion, and I have a most
vivid recollection of the beautiful presents she gave
me regularly on my birthday, on which date I dutifully
invited her to tea. She was one of the few godmothers
that I know of who took their responsibilities in the
way of present-giving seriously, and a gift of some sort
generally followed my visits to her house in Stratton
Street, or to Holly Lodge, Highgate—in those days
quite a Sabbath day’s journey. Holly Lodge is only a
dim memory to me, but I remember the big corner
house in Stratton Street well, and the Baroness’s yellow
and white china parrot, which, according to the way
its head was turned, told her callers whether she was
at home or not, and which still hangs in the round
window in Piccadilly looking for the long-vanished
mistress of the house.

Up to his death her husband mourned her loss.
A life-size picture of her hung on the wall in the dining-
room, and Mr. Burdett-Coutts told someone I knew

that he often dined at home alone to feel she was with
him once more.
12 Memories and Base Details

 

Lord and Lady Bradford were great friends of both
my parents and I used often to be taken by them to stay
at Weston. Lady B., one of Disraeli’s ‘‘ matchless
sisters,’ was a typical great lady of her day, but my
memories of her are vague, and I should probably have
looked at her with more interest if I had realized that
her despatch-boxes contained Lord Beaconsfield’s flowery
effusions.

Our real home, Dysart, was in Fife, but father became
very attached to Easton, and up to the time of Daisy’s
marriage we spent a considerably greater part of the year
there than in Scotland.

Easton Lodge was a solid grey stone house of no
particular period, and the red-brick wing added by my
father gave it a somewhat lop-sided appearance from
an architectural point of view; but the wing certainly
made luxurious nursery quarters, for we were a fairly
large family to accommodate !

My very earliest recollections hail from Easton,
but time has dimmed most of them. The wonderful ball
given there on the occasion of Daisy’s coming out was
to me only hearsay, though it is still talked of, and I
believe it was then that ‘‘ Brookie,” the Prince Charm-
ing of the fairy tale, appeared upon the scene.

I seem to see endless people coming to Easton, but
very few are more than shadows. One of the most
tangible is the Duchess of Rutland, then Violet Lindsay.
She used to come often with her father and Mrs. Mason,
who was a sister of Lady Tree. Mrs. M. acted the part
of chaperon, and this old connection is probably the
origin of the friendship which exists between the Manners
and the Trees.
Memories and Base Details 13

The Duchess has changed less than most people with
the passing of time, and to-day she seems very little
older than she appeared to me then, when I used to
sit still while she did pencil sketches of me. These
sittings were great fun; but I was a most ruthless
critic, and always insisted on some alterations being
made, generally to my fringe, which had just been cut
and of which I was inordinately proud, or to my up-
turned nose—a standing joke in the family, but a joke
I did not always appreciate !

Count Montgelas, attached to one of the foreign
embassies, is another rather hazy memory, chiefly of
the fun of childhood. He used to pretend to be a tall
giant and chase me up the stairs on my way to bed, and
I was always terrified lest the giant should catch me

and pinch my legs !

My father was the most vital personality in my life
then and later, and through the years his memory,
although I was only fourteen when he died, has been
the great keynote and influence of my life.

He had an amazing individuality, with many sides
to his nature, and though he may have seemed imperious
and impetuous, there was a charm and gentleness in his
character which made him most lovable.

He was kind-hearted to a degree ; few appealed to
him in vain when any instance of sorrow or suffering
was in question, and his sense of humour was supreme.
Someone has said of him, and I think without exaggera-
tion, that he knew something of everything, and it
would have been difficult to broach any subject upon
which he was not well posted. He was really more
responsible for our education than my mother, who,
14 Memories and Base Details

 

in a way, appeared as the attractive figure-head of the
household. She always maintained, however, that she
gave in over little things and got her own way in the
big ones, which, on the whole, is an arrangement to be
recommended !

Deportment played a distinct part in our curriculum,
and to hear of us learning our lessons stretched on a
backboard, or sitting with straps and what-nots on our
shoulders and our feet in stocks will probably make
the children of to-day shudder ; but we survived, and
even throve on the treatment.

Intolerant of stupidity, father would far sooner we
had done a naughty than a silly thing. Shyness, he
called ‘‘ exaggerated self-consciousness,” and he always
affirmed that we could not be shy unless we were think-
ing of ourselves. He liked us to have our own opinions,
and encouraged us to express them, and if he asked
us at luncheon whether we would like a leg or a wing
of chicken and we replied politely that we didn’t mind,
he used to say, “All right, then you need not have
either.”

General knowledge and common-sense were early
inculcated, and special intelligence received its just
reward, my brother Harry being tipped for looking out
cross-country journeys in the Bradshaw correctly! But
there was another side to the medal, and I remember
once having my ears boxed at luncheon for not knowing
the Latin name for maidenhair fern !

I used to be delighted when our governesses came
under the fire of father’s questions ; though they didn’t
admit it, they dreaded the ordeal, and I was not in the
least sorry for them.

Those dreadful German governesses! How I grew
Memories and Base Details 15

 

to hate them and their horrid language! How many
miserable hours, as I grew older, I spent over those
Goéthe and Schiller recitations.

French came quite naturally to me. I really think
I spoke it before I spoke English. I had an old French
nurse whom I adored, and I can well remember now
the dreadful agony I went through saying good-bye to
her when she left me to go to the Gerards. I saw her
a few days afterwards in the Park, and I cried so loudly
that she had to bring me home herself ; the people who
heard me and who didn’t know the facts must have
thought me a much-injured or very naughty child.

I detested the governess who presided over our
destinies at this time, and I didn’t like her any better
for her treatment of me after this episode, for she in-
veigled me into her room with the promise of chocolates,
and when she got me safely there, gave me a sound
smacking. I think this legend shows that even the
most careful parents dwell often in a state of blissful
ignorance of how their precious offspring are faring
upstairs.

* * * * % *

Daisy’s wedding meant our leaving Easton, and it
must have been a great wrench for the others. For
me there was something rather thrilling in the upheaval
which the move involved. Father had sent his brood
mares to Burleigh Paddocks, which he had rented from
Lord Exeter ; he had also taken a small house, known
as Lady Anne’s House, which stood on the outskirts of
town of Stamford and on the fringe of Burleigh
Park.
16 Memories and Base Details

 

This he had only intended to use for himself and his
stud groom, but mamma was so pleased with it when
she saw it, that she insisted on our going to live there,
and father, who loved dabbling with bricks and mortar,
little by little, not only enlarged the existing house,
but also acquired all the other houses in the block
and eventually converted them into one.

As I said, the move to me was full of interest: new
people, new surroundings, are things of paramount
importance at the age of five. After living in the
heart of the country, to find oneself in a house in a
street was in itself an excitement. Everyone that
passed was endowed with a possible history, and half
my days were spent hanging out of the window, won-
dering and inventing, till I had compiled in my own
imagination a perfect ‘ Who’s Who ”’ of all the passers-
by. After daily walks along country roads, a town
was brimful of possible adventures. Such a lovely old
town, too, full of ancient churches, old curiosity shops and
houses, and with ever so many legends attached to it.

The old racecourse was only half a mile away, and
was now used as a training ground. Races were held
at Stamford from the seventeenth century and only
finished in 1873. There were all sorts of delicious
customs connected with these races. To begin with,
the competitors were first of all inspected by the Mayor
of the town at the Nag’s Head Inn, and another condi-
tion was that “if any of the matched horses or their
riders chance to fall in anye of the foure heats the rest
of the riders shall staye in theire places where they were
at the tyme of the fall until the rider so fallen have his
foote into the stirroppe again.’’

“Burleigh Park by Stamford Town” is almost too _
 

Lady Warwick’s Bridesmaids.

Sybil Millicent, Duchess of, Sutherland The late Countess of
(now Lady Millicent Hawes). Westmorland.
Aud Self.

[Facing p. 16
Memories and Base Details 17

 

well known to need description, with its wonderful
associations and history. It was built by William Cecil,
Lord Burleigh, when he was Lord High Treasurer of
England, about the end of the sixteenth century, and it
is crammed full of wonderful pictures and treasures. I
was too young to appreciate these fully, and the Grin-
ling Gibbons, I am afraid left me cold. The two
treasures that always thrilled me most were a tiny one-
button kid glove and a wee parasol which had belonged
to Queen Victoria.

The house had gone through many vicissitudes. It
had once been besieged and stormed by Oliver Cromwell,
and the marks of cannon balls can be seen now beneath
the south windows of the banqueting hall.

The greatest Lord Burleigh was, I suppose, that
William Cecil who, having survived two previous reigns,
was for forty years chief minister to Queen Elizabeth.
The Burleigh immortalized by Lord Tennyson lived
two centuries later and in 1791 was divorced from his
wife. He returned broken-hearted to a small village
in Shropshire called Bolus Magna, where he worked
as a farm hand for the owner of the mill, and was called
by the villagers ‘Gentleman Harry.’ He fell in love
with the miller’s daughter, Sarah, and, marrying her,
lived in great content in a cottage near by, until, two
years later, he succeeded to Burleigh at the death of his
uncle, thus becoming tenth Earl of Exeter. Everyone
knows the sad story of how, amidst the grandeur of
the castle, his cottage bride pined away.

“Three fair children first she bore him,
Then, before her time, she died.”

I used to play with the present Lord Exeter and his
‘ 2
18 Memories and Base Details

 

cousin, Harry Vane (afterwards married to one of my
nieces), but, being a girl, they did not attach much
importance to me, and I was dreadfully hurt when they
once refused to kiss me. Lord Exeter was an only son
and rather delicate, so terrible care was taken of him.

Of Lady Exeter, his grandmother, I used to stand
in wholesome dread, in company, I may say, with her
own family, my father being one of the few people who
was not afraid of her, and I was much impressed by the
fact that the sons and daughters never called their
parents “ Mother,’ and “Father,” but always ‘‘ My
Lord,” and ‘‘ My Lady.” She was a great stickler for
the conventions, and once at Milton the present George
Fitzwilliams’ father was just going to take Lady Huntly
in to dinner, when Lady Exeter pushed her firmly aside
and, in an awful voice, said, “‘ I think you are forgetting
the Lord Lieutenant’s wife!’

Once when my governess had been taken ill I was
sent to stay for a few days with the Exeters. The
girls, although they were grown up, were kept as strictly
as children. Not to speak until you were spoken to,
was a doctrine I did not at all appreciate, but one
rigidly enforced at Burleigh! Prayers were read daily
by Lady Exeter in the beautiful old chapel adjoining the
house, where one can still see the seat Elizabeth is
supposed to have occupied when she visited her Minister.
On one fatal occasion I giggled—and Lady Exeter
stopped dead in the middle of a sentence, looking straight
at me. ‘“‘ When the wicked man turneth away from his
wickedness ’’—-and then there was a horrid pause. No
notice was taken as we went out, but a little later a
message came that “‘ her ladyship would like to see me.”

My outward bravado was not in the least indicative
Memories and Base Details 19

 

of my feelings as I stood in front of her listening to a
severe lecture couched in the most satirical language,
whilst her two daughters stood, dragon-like, on either
side of her.

I welcomed the day my governess recovered.

The Sunday round of the Paddocks at Stamford was
an invariable custom—as invariable as church and learn-
ing my collect—and generally ended up with a visit to
the Home Farm. The Jerseys here were descended from
the herd founded by my grandfather in 1840 at Hampton
Court.

In the Paddocks lay one of my father’s great interests,
and in addition, it was a lucrative hobby. A ‘“‘heaven-
born horse dealer’ he has been called.

There was a standing joke amongst father’s friends
that he never let anyone go away from Stamford with-
out selling them something. Going back to London
after a day at the Paddocks, Austin Mackenzie, who
had bought a yearling, asked the “ Mate,’’ who was
with him, what he had bought, and the answer was “an
umbrella and a peacock.”

Astute father certainly was, and he did not believe in
giving high prices for his mares, Feronia, for instance,
the dame of Atalanta, costing only twenty-five pounds.
John Kent, trainer to Lord George Bentinck, declared
Atalanta to be the finest animal of its age that he had
ever seen. The Duke of Portland eventually bought her,
and I believe he bought St. Simon on my father’s recom-
mendation. Father also had the distinction of breeding
Tristan, who won the Queen’s Vase at Ascot and the
Ascot Cup in 1893, Ayrshire, St. Serf, as well as many
other well known horses.

He had a few horses in training with Mathew Dawson,

2*
20 Memories and Base Details

 

and later with Tom Jennings, but I think he found that
it was far more profitable to breed horses than to race
them. He betted very little, and fifty pounds on a horse
he considered a prodigious dash. In one of his letters to
mother from Newmarket he tells her that he has done
this, adding, ‘“‘ Racing is an absorbing subject, to be
treated with care and calmness.”

Of course any amount of people used to come down
to see the horses, and as I look back I can remember the
doyens of the racing world, such as the “‘ Mate,’ Captain
Machell, the Duke of Portland, with his inimitable laugh,
Sir Daniel Cooper, Lord Coventry and Baron Lucien de
Hirsch. The last-named had come over to this country
to race, and my father managed his horses. The Baron
used to bring us large boxes of Marquis chocolates from
Paris, so that we looked forward with great anticipation
to his visits.

Moreton Frewen is another who was often with us.
Father was devoted to him in spite of the fact that he
persuaded him to put his money into a ranch and that
it turned out a complete failure, but father always said
it was money well spent—as he had made a friend he
might otherwise never have met. Moreton Frewen was
equally attached to father—he really loved him. Only
the other day I went to see the Frewens at their lovely
place at Brede, and Moreton at once began to talk of him
—reviving old memories and recalling anecdotes and
incidents of those far away happy days.

What an enthusiast Moreton Frewen is. He is as
keen about his garden as he was about bimetallism, and
though he had only just recovered from an operation he
was still boyishly exuberant. He is immensely proud of
his daughter, Mrs. Sheridan, and her work—justifiably
Memories and Base Details 21

 

so, and he showed me a little “statuette”’ they had of
Diana Cooper by her, which was quite excellent.

It was Sir Daniel Cooper who gave me my first pony !
I only had a donkey to ride in those days, and on one
memorable occasion he ran away with me! I had no
saddle, but I didn’t fall off, so Sir Daniel, who was there
at the time, said that I deserved a pony for sticking on
so well. Zulu was his name, and his arrival meant that
I could ride over with the others to luncheon at Nor-
manton. This was where the Avelands* lived, a most
typical jolly English family ; there were sons and daugh-
ters of all ages, all unmarried at that time.

Apethorpe, the most beautiful old Elizabethan house,
belonging to Lord and Lady Westmorland, was also not
far from us. Lord Westmorland was one of the best
known and most attractive figures of his day. Lady
Westmorland possessed an equal degree of charm, and
I think it was Whyte Melville who said of her, ‘“ It’s like
opening the window to see her.’’ They only lived in a
corner of the house, but the lack of grandeur was far
more impressive than a more ostentatious display in a
less genial atmosphere would have been. The eldest
daughter, Gracie,t was grown up and as popular as her
mother ; the other, Daisy,t was in the schoolroom, and
the same age as Sybil, who eventually married the only
son, Lord Burghersh.

* * * * * *

In the autumn we generally went to Dysart, but
I never cared for living there nearly as much as at

*“ Afterwards Earl and Countess of Ancaster.
t The Countess of Londesborough.
t Lady Margaret Spicer.
22 Memories and Base Details

 

Stamford. No paddocks, no riding, and, though we were
by the sea, we were surrounded on every other side
by coal mines and coal dust.

The Dysart coal mines were about the earliest ever
worked in Scotland. A long time ago they had caught
fire, and were supposed to have eruptions once in every
forty years. The effects can still be traced by the
calcined rocks, which go for more than a mile inland,
and the old road from the harbour was called from

this “ Hot Pot Wynd.”

My father was probably one of the first to attempt.
the alleviation of the miners’ desperately dreary exist-
ence. The squalor of the old-fashioned houses was
exchanged for more modern dwellings, and the Bore-
land, as the village was known, was built under my
father’s direction. As a child I used to wonder how
the men could bear to turn night into day, but they
seemed perfectly content to do it, and there was none
of that carping unrest which has been engendered by
modern Trade Union methods.

Dysart was a hideous, harled house, and its feature
was a big square saloon, at the further end of which
hung a portrait of my grandfather in “boots and
breeches.” Opposite him was the Lord Chancellor
Loughborough in his wig and gown. He first practised
at the Bar in Scotland; but, after an acrimonious dis-
cussion in the courts there, he laid down his gown and
said he would never grace those courts again !

From Scotland he came to England, where he made
his name. In 1801 he was created Lord Chancellor,
to which post he clung with such tenacity that, on
the fall of Pitt’s Government, he still insisted on attending
the Cabinet Meetings when Lord Sidmouth had taken
Memories and Base Details 23

 

office, even though another Chancellor had been ap-
pointed! Finally, he had to be requested to desist
from this practice. I wonder if Lord Birkenhead
will follow his example !

There were no pictures of my grandmother, who,
from all accounts, must have been rather eccentric.
She had been very spoilt all her life, and when my
grandfather retired from public life and said he was
going to live quietly at Dysart and economize, she
went to her bed and stayed there, I think, for five
years. When the neighbours came to call she would
sometimes see them, keeping them waiting whilst she
dressed to receive them! She was a very clever woman
and spent her time reading and writing. Volumes and
volumes of leatherbound books were in the library at
Dysart, all filled with MSS. in very fine but almost
illegible writing; it is, therefore, impossible to dis-
cover, as one would like to do, what occupied her
thoughts during her self-enforced inactivity.

The people of Fife are very boastful of their origin,
and hundreds of years ago Fife was always regarded
as a separate kingdom.

Many are the old sayings and proverbs about a
Fife man, as, for instance, ‘To be a Fifer is not far
from being a Highlander,” and ‘“ They that sup with
Fife folk maun hae a lang spune,” which is scarcely
complimentary to us.

Amongst the well-known Fife figures one stands
out in my mind in very clear relief. This was Colonel
Anstruther Thomson. He was one of the great
sporting personalities, and in that world his name is
as familiar as Jorrocks. Originally Master of the
Fife Hounds, he went on to the Pytchley, and to the
24 Memories and Base Details

 

very last day of his life, though well over eighty, he
was a familiar figure in the hunting field. I can
remember him coming over to Dysart, very often
bringing George Whyte Melville with him.

The Wemyss’, our nearest neighbours, were cousins
of ours. They lived at Wemyss Castle, which, standing
on the cliff, forty feet above the sea, between Kinghorn
and Elie, is one of the most beautiful places in Scot-
land. Below the cliffs the sea has made the most fan-
tastic caves inscribed with the rude figures of mysterious
pagan symbols and gods, and also with the Christian
cross, carved by the unknown hands of some early
missionary before ever history was written, and
it was really from these caves that the name of Wemyss
originated.

In the castle itself they still show you a room called
the ‘“‘ Presence Chamber,” where the ill-fated Mary
first met, and lost her heart to Darnley, thus starting
those years of misery which culminated in that final
tragedy at Fotheringay.

Mrs. Wemyss had made some most fearfully ugly
additions to the castle, adding a large hall panelled with
light oak, and an entirely modern frontage. When she
died she lay in state in this hall, and Randolph, until he
married his second wife, would allow no one to pass
through.

Sir Michael Wemyss was the first Scottish Admiral,
and when he became too old to go to sea, he had a canal
cut from his house at Largo to the parish kirk, and
every Sunday was rowed to church in the most solemn
state in an eight-oared barge.

They were a marvellously gifted and versatile family,
some of their versatility coming, no doubt, from their
tad Burov.)

  

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Memories and Base Details 25

 

ancestress, Mrs. Jordan. The eldest son, Randolph,
had one of the most interesting personalities I have
ever met, and became in later years one of my kindest
friends.

Rosie, now Lord Wester Wemyss, has hardly changed
at all. I can remember in my youth the same cheery
smile, the same eye-glass and general air of jollity
that distinguishes him now.

There were two sisters, Mary, who became Mrs.
Cecil Paget, and Mimini, afterwards Lady Henry Gros-
venor, both most beautiful to look at. Muimini, I suppose,
was quite one of the most brilliant women of her day.
She was a great gardener, and wherever she went she
turned a wilderness into a paradise. She it was who
started the ‘‘ Wemyss Work School’ and also the
“Wemyss Potteries.” Beautiful, and gifted with a
marvellous voice, she was, nevertheless, an awe-inspiring
element, and entirely ruled her family. Being so much
younger I saw very little of them, but I can remember
some of the parties at Wemyss. Lady Mary Mills
stands out still freshly in my mind with her vivid
colouring and attractive manners, and even more
particularly, Lady Claud Hamilton with her amazing
walk. She used to be held up to us as a model—she
sailed rather than walked—but, to do it as she did,
you would have needed all the gifts the gods had so
kindly bestowed on her.

* * * * * *

London, from May to Goodwood, broke the circle
of the year. Every spring my father and mother took
a house for the season, but to me London appeared
a very dull place indeed. The round of gaiety, which
26 Memories and Base Details

 

now fills the modern child’s life, was unheard of in those
days. Parties and matinées, which play a most important
part in even babies’ existence to-day, we knew little
about, and the big children’s party at Marlborough
House and one or two others were landmarks in the
summer of our schoolroom days. At one of the Marl-
borough House ‘garden parties, when I was quite small,
I broke the elastic which kept on my shoe—the shoe
was, of course, two sizes too big, so as to allow for my
foot growing—and any effort to retain it without was
futile. This threatened to spoil my afternoon’s amuse-
ment, and reduced me to tears till the Princess of Wales
came to console me and sent it to be mended.

A variation to the routine of daily walks and daily
lessons was playing in Hamilton Gardens, which was,
in those days—it may be still for all I know—the chic
place for children to congregate. Amongst the girls
we used to meet there were the daughters of Lord
Arran (the present Lady Salisbury, and Mabel, Lady
Airlie), the Forbes, the Cadogans, and Edith Ward, now
Lady Wolverton, who, we thought in those days, used
to give herself great airs and suffered from a very
moody temper! The games we indulged in were tinged
with monotony, and consisted generally of Flags and
Tom Tiddler’s Ground.

An alternative to this orgy in Hamilton Gardens
was going for a drive in the Park with Mamma. There-
were no hurrying, hooting motors then, and how much
nicer those well-turned-out horses and carriages looked !

It is a refreshing relief now to see Lady Granard’s
stepping chestnuts, which remind one faintly of the
evening pageants in the Park of bygone days. How well
I remember the Londonderry barouche with its bewigged
Memories and Base Details 27

 

coachman and footman and Lady Londonderry’s scornful
beauty—the Cadogan steppers with their Eton blue
browbands—Lord Calthorpe in the smartest of buggies
and the most diminutive tiger in London and Lord
Shrewsbury handling his perfect team, whilst a sprinkling
of “pretty ladies” gave variety to the scene. The
Bayswater-cum-Balham ingredients, of which the crowd
in the Park is now composed, would have had something
worth looking at in the eighties !

The Princess of Wales used generally to drive through
in the evening, and whether from loyalty or snobbish-
ness there was always a waiting crowd to see her pass.

The piebalds which we always drove used to attract
a considerable amount of attention. They were a most
perfect match and appeared to possess the gift of eternal
youth—for they actually took me to church on the
day of my wedding !

During the season father and mother always gave
a number of dinners. My father was an admirable
host, and epicures, I believe, considered his dinners
the best in London; he and Lord Bath, I think it was,
competed amicably for the honour of having the best
chef. Certainly my father knew all about food and was
a gourmet rather than a gourmand.

Before he was engaged to mother he went to stay
at Easton and told her rather condescendingly that
she had very nearly got a first-class cook! All the
same I don’t believe mother ever ordered dinner when
father was at home, but he used to go daily to the
kitchen to interview the chef. He was extremely critical,
but his was not merely a destructive criticism, for he
knew what was wrong, and could say how a dish had
failed. I used often to go with him, and after listening
28 Memories and Base Details

 

regularly to long gastronomical conversations, can I
be blamed for being thoroughly greedy now ?

Apart from the excellence of the food at father’s
dinner parties, they were socially attractive, for he had
the knack of collecting the pleasantest people around
him. Without taking any active part in politics, he
gathered to his house not only men of letters and dis-
tinction, but the heads of both parties. His aloofness
from party controversy left him with a clearer vision,
and he was therefore able to discuss a question from
both points of view.

Watching the people arrive for dinner was one of
my greatest amusements. I was generally able to, slip
out of bed undetected, but one evening I was discovered
by Lord Rowton, who, seeing me hanging over the
banisters, ran upstairs and carried me into the drawing-
room in my nightgown.

Lord Rowton was a frequent visitor. He is better
known, I suppose, as Montagu Corry, the intimate friend
and devoted private secretary of Disraeli, while to hun-
dreds of people to-day his name has been made familiar
by the ‘‘ working man’s hotel.”’

I wish I could say that I remember Lord Beaconsfield,
but I only know from hearsay that I sat on his knee,
and of that I have no recollection.

He was one of my father’s greatest friends, and he
and mother used always to dine with him in Downing
Street, on their return each year from Holyrood, when
father was Lord High Commissioner of the Church of
Scotland. This post he held under the Administration
of 1874 and again in 1878.

There is an amusing story about him being given
this post. Beaconsfield is supposed to have said :
Memories and Base Details 29

 

“What shall we do with Rosslyn ?”

“‘Make him Master of the Buck-hounds,” was the
reply, “like his father.”

‘“No, he swears far too much for that,” said Dizzy.
“We will make him Commissioner of the Church of
Scotland.”

I do not know if this is a true story any more than the
other reason given for his appointment—“‘ that he wrote
pretty verses.” Anyway he made an excellent Com-
missioner, and I do not think he shocked the Ministers
or their sometimes starchy wives too much, although
there are innumerable stories of his trying to doso. On
one occasion a message came that Mrs. —— would be
unable to dine as she was in bed with a housemaid’s
knee, to which my father promptly and cheerily replied :
“What the devil has she done with the rest of the house-
maid ?”’:

All his stories were told with the most delightful
twinkle in his eyes, and no one seemed to mind them.
If they sometimes sailed rather near the wind, they were
never vulgar. Everyone listened to him with the
keenest delight, and even Queen Victoria used to enjoy
his jokes, which is saying a great deal! Only my mother
used to cry quite vainly from her end of the table:
“Francis, Francis, remember the children are in the
room.”

My father always claimed to have been the first person
to discover Mrs. Langtry. I rather think he met her in
a studio, where she was sitting to some celebrated painter,
I fancy Millais, but am beautifully vague about the exact
details. He came home enthusing over her beauty
and invited some of the connoisseurs of the day to meet
her. She did not go down at all well, as she was suffering
30 Memories and Base Details

 

from a bad cold, and the Jersey Lily’s nose on this
auspicious occasion resembled a healthy peony in hue—
while her clothes—well, they were not quite so wonderful
as they afterwards became, and everyone laughed at my
father, thinking that this time, at any rate, he had made
an error in his usually perfect judgment. He remained,
however, serenély confident, anticipating the verdict
of posterity. And he was justified, for before very long
my father’s enthusiasm was shared by all London,
and Mrs. Langtry had triumphantly arrived. These
were the days when real beauty was deservedly ac-
claimed, and people stood on chairs in the Park to see the
celebrities pass by. Looking back at old photographs
it seems difficult to believe that any beauty could have
emerged triumphant clad in the monstrous garments
that were then in fashion. Hair scraped back, leg of
mutton sleeves, and voluminous skirts would have
deprived the majority of the pretty women of to-day of
any chance of success.

In 1878 my father went over to Spain to attend the
marriage of Alphonso the Twelfth to the Dona Mercedes
de Bourbon—the marriage which only lasted such a few
months—Mercedes dying on the 26th of June in the same
year. It was the most tragic ending of a genuine love
affair. The King wrote to father signing himself ‘‘ votre
affligé Alphonso,” and an extract from a private letter
from Madrid describes the King’s grief :

“The poor King remains leaning on her bed, and
calling on her name: ‘Mercedes! Mercedes mia!’
To the last her eyes were turned on the King.”

Apart from his racing and his wide circle of friends
father was intensely domestic, with a very deep vein
Memories and Base Details 81

 

of sentiment, as may be seen from his sonnets. His
verse, if slight, was full of that tenderness which ran
through his whole character. His sonnets were spon-
taneous. He would get an inspiration from the merest
every-day trifle, which would be instantly transcribed
on any half sheet, sometimes even on the back of a menu.
Inspiration used to come to him whilst he was
dressing, and I would often find him sitting by the open
window writing when I went to bid him “‘ Good-morn-
ing.’ He had written a sonnet to all his children, and
one day I told him I was very hurt because I was for-
gotten, so he promptly sat down and wrote this one :

BEDTIME.

‘Tis bedtime ; say your hymn, and bid ‘ Good-night
God bless Mamma, Papa, and dear ones all; !
Your half-shut eyes beneath your eyelids fall,
Another minute you will shut them quite.

Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,

And tuck you up, although you are so tall !

What will you give me, Sleepy one, and call

My wages, if I settle you allright ? ”’

Ilaid her golden curls upon my arm,

T drew her little feet within my hand,

Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,

Her heart next mine beat gently ; soft and warm,
She nestled to me, and, by Love’s command,
Paid me my precious wages—‘‘ Baby’s Kiss.”

If his verses do not rank with those of the great
Poets, they rendered, as he says himself : ‘‘ Many hours
of my past life happier and better.’ Almost the last
thing he wrote was the Jubilee Lyric, ‘‘ Love that lasts
for ever.’”” The Queen was delighted with it and com-
manded him to publish it, and she was supposed to have
preferred it to the Laureate’s tribute to the occasion.
382

Memories and Base Details

 

LOVE THAT LASTS FOR EVER
A JuBILEE Lyric
1887.
(Published by Command of the Queen.)
I

HERE is a Word,
A Linnet lilting in the grove,
Keen as a sword,
And pure as Angels are above ;
This little Word good men call Love.

II

It bears a Name,
Unsullied by the taint of wealth ;
Careless of Fame,
And bright with all the hues of health,
It shrinks from praise, to bless by stealth.

III

I join it now

To thine, Victoria! Thou hast seen
With clear eyes, how

To winit : blesséd hast thou been

With Love, as Mother, Wife, and Queen.

IV

Love bathed in Tears,
To Lave cemented, ever brings
And ever bears
A chastened spirit, that in Kings
Is noblest among earthly things.

Vv

Come, lasting Love!
For Sweetness in a moment dies,
And all things prove
That Beauty far too quickly flies
From blue, or black, or hazel eyes.
Memories and Base Details 33

 

VI

Youth is a snare; '
Like an awakening dream it speeds,
Nor cries, Beware !
A dream of unaccomplished deeds,
A hope of undetermined creeds.

VII

Is it Friendship then ?

The Tyrant of a summer day,
The boast of men

Who loiter idly on life’s way,

A band who neither work nor play.

VIII

Nay! Friends, though dear,
Pass on their way—change—turn aside ;

A transient tear
Dims Friendship’s light—or some pale bride—
For Love was born when Friendship died.

TX

Thou, Grey or Gold,
Alone, Great Love, survivest all,

All else grows old ;
Their birth, their growth, their rise, their fall,
Immortal only at thy call.

x

Love conquers Death
And is Life’s portal, and the Soul
Whose Heavenly breath
Inspires all Life, and ages roll
To ages, and yet leave it whole.

XI

Come then, Great Love,
To whom none ever plead in vain,
Come from above—
Where are no sighs, no tears, no pain—
And make us pure from selfish stain.
34

Memories and Base Details

 

XII

Come, fresh as morn,
When golden sunrise laves the land,
And gilds the corn ;
Come smiling—come with open hand—
That brooks no chain—owns no command.

; XIII

Thy voice sounds best
When faint the weary toilers sigh,
And long for rest ;
The tone is clear, but not too high,
With just one touch of mystery.

XIV

Come, calm as night,

When Dian, with her stars, looks on
A wondrous sight—

A sleeping world :—Endymion

Slept thus for thee, pale Amazon !

XV

Be with us now ;

Illume our pleasures, soothe our woes,
And teach us how

Thy sweet encircling spirit knows

The heart’s unrest—the heart’s repose.

XVI

Be with us now;
A Day of many-sided thought

That curves the brow
With lines of memory, interwrought
With hope, and gratitude unbought.

XVIT

Oh Queen! this Day
Thy people, generous and just,

As well they may,
Confirm anew their sacred Trust
Enshrined in half a century’s dust.
Memories and Base Details 35

 

XVIII

For fifty years

Thy people’s love has been content
(In spite of tears,

And bitter sorrows sadly blent)

To raise to thee Love’s monument.

XIX

A Trophy, based
On duty done, on faction quelled,
No deed defaced
By broken word, or faith withheld,
No foe by stratagem compelled.

XX

Not stone or brass—
These perish with the flight of Time
And quickly pass ;
But Love endures in every clime,
Eternal as the Poet’s rhyme.

XXI

Not brass or stone—
These will corrode, and some day die ;—
But Love alone
- Laughs at decay, and soars on high—
In fragrant immortality.

XXII

Thy Royal Robe

Is starred by Love: its purple Hem
Surrounds the Globe:

But true Love is the fairest Gem

Of thy Imperial Diadem.

XXIII

Queen of the Sea!
What prouder title dignifies

A Monarchy ?
The Orient owns it, and it lies
Amidst thy countless Colonies .
36

Memories and Base Details

 

XXIV

A wayward realm,
Yet ruled in Love for the world’s gain ;
Thou guid’st the Helm
That brings our commerce o’er the main,
And makes us rich without a stain.

* XXV

The Sisters Nine

Were all thy friends ; a willing guest
Each one was thine,

In turn to cheer, or give thee rest ;

Thy choice, they knew, was always best.

XXVI

And Science came
To meet thee, and enrich thy store
With Heaven-sent flame,
To burn—like Vesta’s lamp—before
A sacred altar as of yore.

XXVII

Thy welcome gave
New impulse to her, and each day,

Like a freed slave,
She worked in Love such deeds, her ray
Shed light and truth around thy way.

XXVIII

No tongue can tell

Thy peaceful triumphs; mighty War
Has his as well ;

But Peace has greater, nobler far

Than the chained victims of his Car.

XXIX

Thy Jubilee
Is marked by Love; ’tis all thine own,
And given to thee
By all—a sweet flower fully blown,
The grace and grandeur of thy Throne.
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Memories and Base Details 37

 

*

XXK

"Tis thy just meed
For fifty years of righteous reign ;
No heart doth bleed
In all thy kingdom, but the pain
Throbs in thine own, and not in vain.

XXXI

I pray thee take,
In some exchange for all the good

That thou dost make,
The troubles thy brave heart withstood,
Thy temperate yet undaunted mood,

XXXII

These grateful lines ;
As the sweet myrtle wreathes the bay
And intertwines
The classic leaf, e’en so I may
Entwine my chaplet with this Day.

XXXII

*Tis a poor song,
B« one whose heart has ever been
Loyal and strong,
And who, like Simeon, now has seen
His hope fulfilled :—Gop savE THE QUEEN !

* * * * *

The landmarks in my childhood were most certainly
marriages, and my sister Millie’s engagement to Lord
Stafford is the next memorable event. It began through
the Duchess of Sutherland asking mother to let Millie
go and stay at Dunrobin, as a companion for her own
girl. I was in mother’s room at Dysart when she and
father were discussing it. They were against the idea,
as Millie was in the schoolroom and Alix was grown up ;
38 Memories and Base Details

 

and they thought it would have been much more to the
point if the invitation had been sent to my half-sister,
Blanchie. But all the same, after some confabulation,
Millie went, on the distinct understanding that she was
not to be treated as grown-up.
Evidently jher visit was a success, as we were all
invited to spend the following Christmas with the
Sutherlands at Trentham. I shall never forget that
journey. The whole family, except father, who was
joining us from London, left Dysart at dawn; and you
must remember that there was no Forth Bridge in those
days, only a wretched ferry boat to take us across the
Forth. The journey was a cross-country one—I forget
where we changed, but it must have been at least half a
dozen times—and I think it was midnight before we
reached Trentham, with Mamma reiterating most of the
time: ‘‘ Never, never will I come to Trentham again.”
Trentham was a huge place, Italian in style, with
beautiful grounds, but although later on in my life I spent
many happy days there, it was to my mind a most un-
desirable possession. The only other people I can re-
member staying there that Christmas were Sir Frederick
and Lady Marshall and their two daughters, now Mrs.
de Winton and Lady Hamilton of Dalziel. I had caught
a bad cold on the journey, so my Christmas Day was
spent in bed, but it was enlivened by a visit from the
Duke, who was delightful to me, and afterwards he spe-
cially sent me up a glass of champagne. I think this was
the first time I had ever tasted champagne, and I can
remember at once writing a letter to my old nurse and
telling her all about it. When I woke up in the morning
I found grapes and crackers beside my bed, and an
envelope “‘ with the Duke’s love ” written upon it.
Memories and Base Details 39

When at last I was allowed to come downstairs, I
went into the drawing-room and the Duke took me on
to his knee and told me to guess a great piece of news,
to which I replied with perfect sang-froid, ‘‘ I suppose
Daisy’s had another baby.”

The real news was, of course, that Millie was engaged
to Lord Stafford. I wasn’t particularly interested,
though at the moment I queried as to whether she was
old enough to be engaged, and I remember secretly
wondering if my half-sister Blanchie wouldn’t be very
much annoyed at Millie, still in the schoolroom, being
married before she was. Anyhow, everyone else was
hugely excited about it all, especially as Millie was only
just sixteen, a fact that was not lost sight of, and I
believe she was made to go on doing lessons after she
was engaged. Even in those days, before the Northcliffe
Press was in being, the papers were full of the wonderful
romance of a Marquis and a schoolgirl] !

There was a curious coincidence relating to the
houses from which my two sisters had been married,
7, Carlton Gardens, where Daisy’s wedding took place,
belonged to the Warwicks, whilst our house in Hamilton
Place, from which Millie was married, had belonged
to the Staffords and was full of Sutherland furniture
with the coat-of-arms.

Millie’s wedding was at St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge,
and she had a huge retinue of bridesmaids, of whom
Sybil and I were two. We wore white frocks with
“Cherry Ripe” caps and long mittens, and carried
baskets of Parma violets, and it makes one smile now
to think that Millie went away clad in a green velvet
skirt with a crimson velvet bodice and bonnet, and was,
T assure you, in the height of fashion !
40 Memories and Base Details

 

After Millie’s wedding, life fell back into its normal
round. There were few excitements beyong migrating,
according to the seasons, between Stamford, Dysart
and London.

We were kept very much in the background, parti-
cularly so in London. At luncheon we had to sit at
a separate table when people were there ; this, I suppose,
was really to prevent our hearing things we were not
meant to, but I sometimes think the old adage about
“little pitchers’ was proved in our case, and I rather
fancy we managed to hear anything that specially
interested us. I am sure it would have been very
good for us to have listened to some of the conversations,
as among the people who used to be there, were such
interesting Victorian notabilities as Alfred Montgomery,
the best-looking man of his day, Maria Marchioness
of Aylesbury, almost universally known as ‘“ Lady A,”
who went everywhere and knew everything. A quaint
figure with her bunches of obviously dyed side curls,
of whom it was said, in no unkind spirit, let it be owned,
that it was rare indeed for her to lunch or dine in her
own home; but she was always a welcome guest by
reason of her very worldly versatility.

Then there was Frederick Locker Lampson, the
poet, a very regular habitué of the house, and versatile
Lady Dorothy Nevill, that brilliant eighteenth-century
aristocrat who had known the great Duke of Welling-
ton, and could recall the famous Count d’Orsay, had
met Prince Louis Napoleon in the days of his exile,
and whose long and close friendship with Dizzy by no
means prevented her enjoying an intimate acquaintance ©
with Gladstone. As a matter of fact, she was the
friend and confidante of most of the celebrated men
Memories and Base Details 41

 

and women of her day, and the versatility of her mind
can be appreciated when one hears that her regular
Sunday luncheon parties included as her guests, amongst
others, King Edward, Samuel Wilberforce, Lord Justice
Cockburn, Richard Cobden, John Bright and Matthew
Arnold.

When we were in London we generally rode in the
mornings, but the fashionable time for riding in those
days was in the evenings, between tea and dinner. Then
everyone wore top-hats and very tightly fitting habits
with a little tail behind—a fashion, by the way, that
Mrs. Henry Molyneux still followed quite twenty years
later in Leicestershire. If father took us himself we
were sometimes allowed to go out in the evenings,
and on a few rare occasions Colonel Brocklehurst (the
late Lord Ranksborough) and Lord Ribblesdale were
allowed to chaperon us. Lord’ Ribblesdale always
dressed in the same picturesque fashion as he does
now, with his square hat and butterfly tie. How well
he looked on a horse, too!

Blanchie, of course, always rode at the fashionable
time! She was so much older than Sybil and myself
that we saw very little of her. I think we used to
watch her rather jealously when she was dressed for
a party, and she certainly had the knack of knowing
how to put on her clothes, and “Society Papers” have
called her the best dressed woman in London, whilst
someone (I believe the late Sir Arthur Ellis) said of
her, “‘ If she was undressed she’d still look overdressed ! ”’

Blanchie’s marriage to Lord Algernon Gordon-
Lennox, second son of the Duke of Richmond, which
took place two years later than Millie’s, made no differ-
ence to the rather even tenor of our way. It was a
A2 Memories and Base Details

 

very quiet affair compared to the wedding of my other
two sisters, and took place at Easton at the end of
August, and my sister Sybil and I, with Lord March’s
two girls, Evelyn and Violet Gordon-Lennox, were the
only bridesmaids.

I had become rather blasé about being a bridesmaid,
always excepting the present, and the frock, incidental
to the occasion. I think I appreciated the latter most,
as one of the distinct disadvantages of being the youngest
of a family is having to wear one’s sister’s frocks cut
down, instead of having one’s clothes made for one !

* * * k * *

The following summer was Queen Victoria’s Jubilee,
and we had a house that year in St. James’s Square.
Father was Captain of the Gentlemen-at-Arms, and
as he had to attend all the functions at the Palace,
was really terribly hard worked.

We went, of course, to see the procession, and had
seats on the stand just outside Buckingham Palace,
It is dreadful to think that I have nearly forgotten all
about the Jubilee rejoicings, and I can only see a dream
picture of the little Queen, wonderfully dignified,
driving through the flag-bedecked streets thronged with
the thousands of people over whom she ruled. Her
popularity was then at its height.

The cream-coloured ponies that drew Queen Victoria’s
carriage I felt were intimate friends of mine, as Sir
George Maude, my uncle, was Master of the Horse ;
and very often on Sundays when we were in London
we used to go round the Royal Mews and give them their
Sunday feed of carrots.
Memories and Base Details 48

 

Going to see Uncle Maude at the Stud House, Hamp-
ton Court, was also one of our outings from London,
and I was there when the Queen’s stud of race-horses
was finally disposed of.

In spite of all the gaiety going on around, father
used to strike me vaguely as being not quite in his
usual spirits. He used to be so tired after some of
the functions were over, and I often used to find him
resting when I went to say “ Good-night”’ to him ;
but no real premonition of the coming tragedy dawned
upon me.

We were all up at Dysart when the first sorrow
of my life came with overwhelming suddenness. Father
had been to Harrogate, and had gone south for a few
days to see his horses. Evelyn Fairfax was staying
with him, when a wire came from her to say that tather
had been taken seriously ill, and for mother to come
at once. I remember the hustle and bustle for her
to catch the train, and then the suspense of waiting
for news. In a day or two we also were sent for.

I shall never forget arriving at Stamford. There
was a thunderstorm brewing; the air was hot and
thick, with occasional growls of thunder and flashes
of lightning. An indescribably desolate feeling came
over me. It was as if the end of the world had come,
for to me my father was my world.

We were not allowed to see him. Over the house
hung a kind of hushed silence, and that dreadful atmo-
sphere of serious illness. Specialists from London came
to and fro, leaving us still in the throes of uncertainty
and mental suspense. Then one day father asked to
see me.

I was taken to his bedroom, and was standing by
AA Memories and Base Details

 

his bedside, when he suddenly startled me by saying,
in a perfectly normal voice: ‘“ You can ride White-
lock to-morrow.” I had not been allowed to ride my
own pony, Zulu, as he had reared over on the stud
groom. My father had evidently remembered this.
From that moment he seemed to rally ; but it was
only rallying. For two years he suffered with that
fortitude and patience so characteristic of him.

Evelyn Fairfax stayed on with us for a time, and
she was a godsend to us children in those days, as she
took us out riding, and distracted our thoughts in a
hundred different ways. She was quite a character,
and known to everyone in Yorkshire. When she wasn’t
hunting she rode all day—even out to dinner, with
her evening frock in a little bag !

As father gradually gained strength the question of
a change arose, and from then on until he died, life
became a pilgrimage in search of health, never to be
granted to him.

Our first move was to Gunnersbury, lent us by the
Rothschilds, and we were there for a few weeks. Being
so near London it was within easy reach of doctors,
and all father’s friends used to come and see him. It
was while we were at Gunnersbury that father sold
his entire racing stud. He had what in those days
was a record sale, and the Prince of Wales drove down
to Gunnersbury to congratulate him personally. The
sale meant a complete break with the old life, and
must have caused father the most infinite sorrow—it
meant, too, that he must have realized that he was
doomed to remain a permanent invalid.

I think it was at the instigation of Moreton Frewen,
Lord Houghton (now Lord Crewe) and Frederick Locker
Memories and Base Details 45

 

Lampson that he began to rearrange and compile his
second book of sonnets, and this gave him some
occupation.

From Gunnersbury we drifted to the Solent and
took a house on the Hamble river, and the Prince of
Wales lent father his yacht Aline, on which we used
to sail most days, sometimes cruising round the island.
The sea, however rough, suited my father, so that
later he chartered the Miranda, a large steam yacht
which belonged to Sir George Lampson, and we started
off to spend the winter in the Mediterranean.

I think father was the only one of us who enjoyed
the passage through the Bay; unless one has been
through it in a yacht one has no conception of the
immense size of the waves. Our crossing was far from
smooth, and at every moment I expected the yacht
to be smashed up as the sea came crashing against the
bulwarks, so it was with great relief that we put into
Lisbon, an evil-smelling port !

The next point we touched was Gibraltar, where
we were entertained to a picnic by some of the garrison
staff, and explored the rock and its fortifications, which
were very interesting.

I shall never forget my sensations when I first saw
the “ Rock ;” it looms up so solitary and grand, guard-
ing that narrow passage of the seas, and it gives one
a fearful thrill to realize that it belongs to England. I
should hate to be there long, though, you do seem so
dreadfully out of everything. The world “go down
to the sea in ships” and you are left there—just
watching.

From Gibraltar we toured the coast of Spain, cross-
ing later to Algiers and Tunis. _I suppose I was really
46 Memories and Base Details

 

too young to appreciate all I saw, and I often wish now,
that I had inwardly stored a better recollection of every-
thing we did, instead of which I resented sight-seeing
when it savoured of knowledge to be acquired.

Looking back the whole of our time in Spain seems
to have been passed under a haze redolent of goat’s milk
and red mullet, which greeted us at every port. -

The trip was entirely spoilt for me by my governess
being generally too ill to do lessons when we were under
weigh, and being made to make up for her lost time
when we were in harbour. All the same the story
that I made a heap of all my lesson books and threw
them overboard is quite untrue! |

Sir Gerald Strickland was Governor of Malta at the Ne

time, and we had rather fun there, and went to tea on
one of the battleships, where we made the acquaintance
of Mark Kerr.

Father’s health showed no permanent improvement.
He was better one day and worse the next. It must
have been dreadful for anyone whose body and mind
were as active as his, to be obliged to lie still all day.
His nature must have been stronger and finer than we
any of us knew, for him to have borne it as he did.

Always the naughty one of the family, my punish-
ments usually consisted of being shut up in my room

without anything to do. This led to disastrous results...

once, for I found a pair of scissors and cut off all my
eyebrows and eyelashes. I hoped that this would
conduce to some more lively form of retribution in the
future. But it didn’t.

Once, when this special form of punishment had
been meted out to me, and all the others had gone ashore,
father rescued me from exile. When I came on deck
Memories and Base Details 47

 

to see him, anticipating a scolding, he just begged me to
be good, because he said if I was shut up in my cabin,
he was equally punished by not seeing me. After
that I made a huge effort to avoid rows with my much
hated governess. .

Dr. Charcot had seen father, and wanted him to be
under his care in order to try a new treatment ; so from
Marseilles we went to Paris and settled down there for a
few weeks. I much preferred being there, compared to
London ; the bustle of people coming and going to and
from the hotel was a change I thoroughly appreciated.
The Paris shops were far more attractive than the Lon-
don ones, and even at that age I discovered how very
much better dressed the French women were than the
English.

We saw a good deal of the Hirsch’s, the father and
mother of Lucien Hirsch, who used to race with my father.
Baron de Forest was then quite a little boy, and he
and his brother lived with them. No one ever quite
solved the relationship, but when Lucien died, Touti,
as he was called, became the Baron’s heir. The Hirsch’s
were very hospitable and kept open house in their
lovely “ hétel,”’ and all the English and Americans used
to go there when they came to Paris. Among them I
can remember the famous Yznaga sisters, who included
the Duchess of Manchester and Lady Lister Kaye,
whilst of the English contingent, the most frequently
to be met there were Gwen Lowther, Lady Georgina
Curzon and her sister Lady Sarah Wilson.

But it was not only in Paris that the Baron was
well-known. He entertained considerably at Bath
House, and invitations to shoot with him in Austria
were angled for with more brazenness than was always
48 Memories and Base Details

 

compatible with dignity! It was amusing to hear
the remarks made by some people who had not been
invited anent the more fortunate ones, and equally
amusing to hear the same people’s excuses for accepting
an invitation if it eventually came !

My uncle by marriage, Count Miinster, was at the
Embassy at ‘that time. He was really a dear old man
and was always very kind to us. We had stayed with
him many times in the old days at the German Embassy
in London, when as children we came up for dentists
and doctors. I believe he was moved from London
as being too pro-English.

He had married my father’s sister, Lady Harriet St.
Clair, and never, I believe, really got over her death,
and her room at Dernebourg was left untouched with
her books and things about exactly as she had always
used it. She died long before I was born; in fact, I
think before my father was married. She must have
been a most remarkable woman, having lived at leasta
generation before her time. She shot—a thing un-
heard of in those days for a woman to do—she was a
good horsewoman, a really clever artist, and she cer-
tainly possessed the courage of a lion. When there
was an outbreak of smallpox among the colliers at
Dysart she went down and nursed them herself; and
when she had her fatal accident she held her own leg,
and refused to have an anesthetic while it was “fired.”
She was a most excellent cook too, and her book ‘‘ Dainty
Dishes ”’ is still one of the best cookery books going.

There is a story about my aunt that when she was
going to be married, the wedding was to take place in
the drawing-room at Dysart, and when they told her
everyone was waiting, she refused to move until she had
Memories and Base Details 49

 

finished turning the heel of a sock that she was
knitting ! -

There is a window in Rosslyn Chapel to her memory,
but during the war the brass plate with the Miinster
name was left unpolished—so bitter were people’s feel-
ings at that time, there was a fear that a tourist seeing
the German name might damage the window.

Count Miinster’s son by his first wife, Zander, like his
father, was going to marry an Englishwoman, and was
engaged to Lady Muriel Hay, and as they were both in
Paris at that time we saw a good deal of them.

Prince Henry of Pless, who was one of the secretaries
at the German Embassy, was very good about lending
us his horses, which Sybil and I rode every morning in
the Bois. He generally used to come with us, and I
think there was some idea that he might marry Sybil,
who was just grown up; but this did not happen, and
the following year his marriage to Miss Cornwallis West
was one of the season’s sensations. I confess I had
not looked forward to him as a brother-in-law.

I was very sorry when we eventually left Paris, but
father was getting restless, and though fairly well, he
did not seem to be making the headway that was
expected under the Charcot treatment. So we once
more made tracks for England. Sybil was to ‘come
out,” and I was to be banished to Dysart to settle down
to regular lessons.

My brother Harry’s wedding to Miss Vyner made an
excuse for me to emerge from exile, in order that I might .
take my part as a bridesmaid. I think that Harry’s
Marriage was in some ways a disappointment to my
family. He was only twenty-one, and had just gone
into the Blues, and as the Colonel refused to have married

4
50 Memories and Base Details

 

subalterns in the regiment, it meant an abrupt termina-
tion of his military career. His future mother-in-law,
Mrs. Vyner, was one of the most fascinating women I
have ever met ; and I’ve always been told that she and
Mrs. Sloane-Stanley had more successes than any other
women, but neither of them ever made an enemy—a
record to envy. Their charm did not lie in good looks,
but in their personality, and they both had one point
in common—a charming voice.

I heard a lot about Mrs. Sloane-Stanley later when I
went to Leicestershire. She was immensely attractive,
and all the men, young and old, at Melton were in love
with her; but so well did she manage her love affairs
that each thought himself the only favoured one.

* * * * * *

Almost immediately after Harry’s wedding, father
expressed a wish to go back to Dysart. He had bought
a yacht and was by way of going up by sea; but he >
was taken much worse suddenly, so this was not prac-
ticable, and he was hurried North by train. I think he
must have had some sort of premonition of his death
and wanted to be at home, for during his two years of
illness he had expressed no desire to go to Dysart.

I had gone with Millie to their shooting lodge at
Stack, in Sutherland, and I was still there when we were
wired for to come back at once. I can remember so
well that forty-mile drive to Lairg Station, miserable
with anxiety about my father, wondering if we should
be in time, dreading and hardly daring to imagine the
future without him, and haunted by the fear that I
might never see him alive again.

We had the most marvellous weather during that
first week of September, and I can see myself sitting
Memories and Base Details 51

 

crouched on the sill by the open window in mother’s
boudoir, which had been turned into a bedroom for
father, looking out towards the sea, and listening to
those last gasps for breath. Then came the end, the
last drawn out sigh, and the horrible silence that followed,
when the truth dawned on me that we should never
again see the twinkling smile, or hear his cheery voice.

The funeral was at Rosslyn Chapel. No more
beautiful spot can be imagined as a last resting-place.
It stands, a gem, the most perfect piece of Gothic
architecture in Scotland, overlooking Hawthorn Den,
and under the shadow of the ruins of the Castle. The
“Pocket Cathedral,’ as the chapel has been called, was
built in 1446, and was restored by my father—an abiding
memorial to his memory.

My father’s ancestors were for many generations
buried in the chapel in their armour without any coffin :

Each baron for a sable shroud
Sheathed in his iron panoply.

The soil is so dry that bodies have been found in
perfect condition more than eighty years after they
were interred. In some old family memoirs we read
that “the late Baron Rosslyn was the first who was
buried in a coffin, contrary to the sentiments of James
the Seventh, who was then in Scotland, and of several
other persons well versed in antiquity, and to whom
my mother would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to
be buried in that manner.”

The grave of the founder of the family, William St.
Clair, is marked by a sculptured stone representing the
knight trampling two dogs. The story connected with
the stone is that in a hasty moment St. Clair staked his

4*
52 Memories and Base Details

 

head in a wager with the King that the dogs would pull
down a certain stag before it reached the March burn ;
but the dogs only barely succeeded in accomplishing
the feat, so they were sacrificed in this way that their
master might not be led to risk his life a second time on
such a venture.

The legerid of the “‘ prentice pillar ”’ is too well known
to need relating, but, as a child, I was never tired of
slipping in amongst the tourists and hearing the old
verger repeating it, to each successive party, in the most
parrot-like fashion. I used to hope he would alter his
phraseology, but it was always the same story, told in
the same words, and in the same monotonous voice.

Attached to the chapel is a queer legend immortalized
by Sir Walter Scott in “ Rosabelle,” telling of the red
light that is supposed to glow through the windows of
the chapel when a St. Clair dies. This is said to have
been verified the night father died, and again years later
when my brother and sister died. Whether this is
imagination or coincidence I cannot say.

* * * * * *

I remember those days after father’s death so well,
and it seemed to me that the world had come to an
abrupt end. Nothing seemed very much to matter,
and I heard without any enthusiasm that mother con-
templated taking Sybil and me to winter abroad. It was
thought that a complete change would be good for
mother, and as my brother Fitzroy was going to South
Africa we went with him as far as Madeira.

I had travelled so much already for my age that
there was no novelty about it ; and I should have pre-
ferred staying at Stamford.
Memories and Base Details 58

 

We had an abominably rough passage through the
Bay ; though it is a very different thing in a liner than in
a medium-sized yacht, I was all the same very glad to
arrive at Funchal. The bullock-carts I found amusing ;
being carried about in a hammock was much nicer than
going for a constitutional, and it used to be great fun
going up the hills in this lazy fashion and then toboggan-
ing home down the cobbled streets.

The climate was wonderful and the vegetation
superb, with wisteria and bougainvillia growing like a
weed all over the houses. In those days, I suppose,
Madeira was very different from what it is now, and at
that time there were only a few houses and not more
than one hotel. The hotel was crowded with invalids,
which was very depressing, and every week an empty
chair would be seen; this meant that its occupant was
too ill to come out, and the next you heard of was a death.

As a race the Portuguese are not attractive, and
their language, which I picked up out there, seemed a
mixture of bad Italian and Spanish. Languages was
one of the few subjects I did not jib at during lessons.
I suppose I inherited this gift from my father. Many of
the poems in his book were translations, and there seemed
no language that he had not been able to transcribe
with ease into English.

Life at Madeira was already beginning to pall when
we started home. It was returning to Stamford that
made one feel anew the immense gap that father’s death
had made, and the sense of loss which has always clung
to me throughout the vicissitudes of my life. There
was no one to rush to meet, as I used to do, when he came
home ; no one to hang over as I watched him finish a
sonnet.
5A Memories and Base Details

 

I think that mother, too, felt life unbearable at
Stamford without father. She decided that in future our
life would be spent more in London, and she also hoped
to get a little house at Rosslyn with the object of being
near the chapel.

Harry was to live at Stamford and his horses were
already in the paddocks. He had started his racing
on very different lines from those followed by my
father. The gambling instinct was strong in him and
wise people shook their heads ; whilst others wondered
if he would stop in time. Alas! the good things in life
had come to him too young and in unexpected quantity ;
and if you have the gambling fever in your blood it is a
disease that is almost incurable.

He started with phenomenal luck, but it seems that
this was the worst thing that could have happened to
him, as he was afterwards buoyed up with the conviction
that his bad luck was only temporary. The inevitable
crash came only two years after he had succeeded, and I
think the “last straw’? was when Buccaneer failed to
win the Manchester Cup.

The love of gambling, imbued by some dead ancestor,
lurked around me too; and my first bet at the age of
fourteen was on Father O’Flynn when he won the Grand
National. Roddy Owen, who rode him, used to
go with his mother regularly to church and sat in the
pew behind us at St. Michael’s, Chester Square. I had
met him first staying with Millie, and we renewed our
friendship over a hymn book which he gave me, and
into which many a surreptitious note was slipped!
(What a horribly precocious child I must have been.)

Poor Roddy! He had got into deep water and he
came to see me one day to say good-bye. He was, he
Memories and Base Details 55

 

said, determined to win the National and then to leave
the country, and he told me to be sure and back Father
O’Flynn. As he started at 40 to 1 I commenced my
betting career fairly successfully.

Sybil’s engagement to Tony Westmorland was at
last announced. They had, of course, known each other
for years—since the days we had all played together
at Apethorpe; but the question of marriage had met with
stern opposition on both sides, for financial reasons.
The opposition had, through circumstances, broken down.
Sybil was nearly twenty-one, and the death of Tony’s
father had made him his own master. It seemed, there-
fore, better to accept the inevitable with good grace and
they were married from Millie’s house,in Berkeley Square.
Our own house was let and we were spending the summer
at Combe.

Sybil’s love for Apethorpe was one of her strongest
affections, and when the place had to be sold it really
broke up her life. Few people had a brighter personality
than Sybil, and no one had more loyal friends. She was
one of those rare individuals who are forgiven every-
thing for the sake of a charm that is peculiarly their own.

Combe saw the arrival of a French governess for me.
As she had been with Mouche Duncombe, who was dread-
fully clever and going to Girton, it appeared rather a
doubtful proposition from my point of view; but the
change of nationality was welcome !

I started her off well and put her thoroughly through
her paces. I took her out in my pony cart and drove
her straight across country, shaving gate-posts and
generally giving her a mauvais quart @heure. Mlle.
Schott never turned a hair, and we became fast friends
and are to this day, whilst my opinion of the French
56 Memories and Base Details

 

race rose to a height from which it has never dropped.
Yet Mlle. Schott never inspired me with the desire to
follow in the footsteps of Mouche Duncombe and go to
Girton, and in spite of her good influence I was still
rather an enfant terrible, and my betting transactions
continued, mostly in shillings and half-crowns, and were
carried on surreptitiously with the butler. I used to
find the evening paper with the starting prices tucked
under my pillow when I went to bed. I think I knew
more about form than fractions !

Lord Bradford won the Derby that year with Sir
Hugo. He had come down to Combe as he often did to
luncheon, and the conversation turned a good deal on
racing and on the Derby in particular. Both my brothers
were there, and they laughed when Lord Bradford said
that Sir Hugo had a good chance of winning. La Fléche
that year seemed such a certainty—but I was tempted
by the long odds and it was then my turn to laugh!

I remember, too, how once when the Prince of Wales
came to dinner, I knew Mamma had taken a great deal
of trouble about the dinner and the wine and had got
out some very good Perrier Jouet. When I saw the
Prince refusing the champagne I called out to him :

“ Do drink it, Sir, it’s Mamma’s best P.J.’74, specially
got out for you.”

King Edward rose to the occasion and followed my
advice.

* % * %* ** *

After Sybil’s marriage, mother and I went to live
at Rose Bank, the little house she had taken near Roslin
Chapel, and I hated this period of my life more than any
TI can remember.
 

King Edward, I895.

[Facing p. 56
Memories and Base Details 57

 

Certainly Dysart was not far off, and I went over
there a good deal, but I seemed to miss father more
every day.

On one occasion when I went over to spend a day or
two at Dysart, Harry, Fitzroy, and I went out hunting.
It was an amusing episode and worthy of a Punch artist
being present.

H. had a pack of harriers—which he took round
Fife, but whether he ever caught a hare is extremely
doubtful. The stud consisted of three old crocks who
had seen better days. One of them, Oakstick by name,
had been well known in Leicestershire and he was to be
my mount; as he was 16-3, I took some hoisting into
the saddle, and as neither Harry nor Fitzroy were experts,
I remained poised half way for some time before finally
reaching my destination!

The meet was just outside Dunfermline and we went
by special train. On the journey Fitzroy, immaculately
dressed in pink, white apron complete, but his spurs in
his hand, was asked by Harry why these were not already
adjusted, to which Fitzroy blandly replied that no
gentleman put his spurs on until he arrived at the meet.
Of course it ended in my having to put them on for him !

The procession started through the town, and I
wondered why Harry persisted in wandering through so
many side streets, until I discovered he was looking for
a plate glass window in which he could see himself and
his hounds reflected! By the time the window was
reached the hounds had vanished, and were only found
after some difficulty, regaling themselves in the various
butchers’ shops in the town. Sport was nil and a hunt
after the only hare in the vicinity came to an abrupt
termination with the arrival of the luncheon cart.
II

| SUPPOSE my coming out really dates from a
cotillon given by Lady Kilmorey at the “ Savoy,”
although in those days coming out meant curtseying
to the Queen, and before that event one was definitely
and irrevocably in the schoolroom. My début might
have been hastened had I agreed to finishing my educa-
tion in Germany; but having escaped from German
governesses I had no desire to see their country or
eat their food. At the last moment, though the cab
to take me to the station was actually at the door, I
jibbed, finally and firmly ; so my boxes were unloaded
and as an alternative I was kept for another six months
in the schoolroom in Scotland.
But to return to the cotillon. Blanchie took me.
It was quite small and a ‘‘ married woman’s”’ ball,
which meant that very few girls were asked. Gerald
Paget led it—I can’t remember who with, but I can
distinctly recollect one figure, a Noah’s Ark with pairs
of all the animals that Noah had ever seen—and more
besides! The man had to find the woman with the
corresponding animal ; an enormous number of animals
came my way and I was introduced to so many people
that evening that my brain positively reeled.
The Drawing-room was a week later. I had a lovely
white frock made by Mrs. Mason. She was “it” in the
58
Memories and Base Details 59

 

dressmaker line; all her models came direct from Jean
Worth, and everyone who had any pretension to
dressing well in those days bought their frocks from her.
She was a most perfect old lady and might have been a ~
duchess instead of a dressmaker. She lived in Old
Burlington Street and always wore a black cashmere or
taffeta frock herself, with a folded white fichu. She it
was who revived the “ picture gown,” and she took
her models for these from Romney and Gainsborough.
Her prices were supposed to be exorbitant, but com-
pared to those of to-day they were almost insignificant !

I was terrified of tumbling over my train, and I
didn’t like the feathers in my hair at all. We had the
entrée, so there was none of that waiting about incidental
to most Drawing-rooms. I had been carefully in-
structed to kiss the Queen’s hand, and that she would
kiss my cheek, but when it came to the point I quite
forgot all my instructions and I kissed hey on both
cheeks. I realized too late what I had done, and felt
distinctly foolish, but the Queen didn’t seem to mind a
bit. The Prince of Wales, who saw my dilemma, of
course chaffed me about it, which added to my discom-
fiture; but I went on bobbing to the other Royalties
until I suddenly found my train flung over my arm by
a gentleman-in-waiting, and I was out of the room.

It was all over so quickly that it seemed a fearful
waste of time to have dressed up for those few minutes.

After that I was properly launched into the vortex
of the London season, and the days were filled up with
the usual entertainments and other events which were
crowded in between Easter and Goodwood. I went, of
course, to Ascot, and enjoyed this almost more than any
other part of the summer. Having been brought up in
60 Memories and Base Details

 

an atmosphere of racehorses, it was only natural that I
should enjoy racing.

Lord Coventry was Master of the Buckhounds that
year, and the Royal procession driving up the course on
Cup Day was a lovely sight, but the procession was even
more picturesque when Lord Ribblesdale was in office—
his own appearance in the green coat giving an additional
“ old-world” touch.

After the races I rode in Windsor Park, on a big
black charger belonging to Lord Tullibardine. Queen
Anne’s ride was the most fashionable rendezvous, and
it was certainly a pleasanter place for seeing your friends
than the crowded enclosure.

I had enjoyed myself so much at the Kilmoreys’
dance that I had expected to do the same wherever I
went, and at first I wanted to go to every lighted candle ;
but I soon found out that there were balls and balls,
and that what were known as the “‘ married women’s
balls” were the only amusing ones, and in a very few
weeks I became amazingly discriminating before ac-
cepting invitations! Balls began much later in those
days, and I found staying up trying to keep awake a
most tedious performance, which took the gilt off the
ginger-bread of the evening. Mamma had a great idea
that an hour or two’s sleep beforehand made one fresher,
but I found that when I indulged in a siesta I had no
inclination to get up, so that I very often used to turn
over and go to sleep again and not go to the ball at all.
I suppose I did not care enough about dancing, but the
ordinary London ball-room is so small that the crowd
would have spoilt it for even the enthusiasts. There
were, of course, exceptions—Devonshire House, Stafford
Memories and Base Details 61

 

House and Grosvenor House were the houses par excel-
lence, and where one could not complain of a crush,
however many people were there.

As I look back on that first season, there seems to me
so very little of any importance to remember. I had
looked forward to coming out so much that when it
actually happened it fell rather flat. There was no
such thing as liberty for a girl in those days, and I could
not even walk across the street without my maid, though
I never discovered what could have happened to me
if I had done so in broad daylight. On the whole, I
do not think I was really sorry when the season came to
an end, and I went down to Easton to stay with Daisy
for a fortnight, which included two week-end parties
and a cricket week. Out of the big party there, I can
remember Lord Houghton* who, of course, I had known
as a child, and Prince Pless—he had grown fat and podgy
since the days when I rode his horses in Paris, and the
Asquiths—Margot impressive and generally hatless,
but full of life and importance.

I was sorry for Daisy P., she was so young and so
pretty that I was sure she could not have much in common
with her German husband, and some years afterwards
she told me how much she had suffered in her early
married life. Before her first baby was born, ‘‘ Hans
Heinrich” used to drive her on his coach at breakneck
speed down the very steep hill outside Baggrave, on
purpose to frighten her. Isn’t that typical of the German
mentality ?

From Easton I went on to Cowes to stay with
Blanchie, who had taken Egypt House for the summer.

* Marquis of Crewe.
62 Memories and Base Details

 

The Kaiser had come over to Cowes that year, and
his presence was responsible for an unusually gay
week.

The races between the Kaiser’s Meteor and the
Prince of Wales’s Britannia aroused, of course, much
interest. Herky Langrishe and Philip Perceval were
respectively’ in charge of them. Herky Langrishe was
the wildest Irishman, up to all sorts of mad pranks, and
he talked with a brogue so marked that I suspected
it to be assumed. He was very good-looking in those
days, and I should think, like the proverbial sailor,
he had ‘‘a wife in every port.” I was very lucky and
got a good deal of racing one way and another, and
I went out on both the Britannia and the Meteor. The
Kaiser was on board his boat the day I sailed on her,
and the party included Lady Ormonde and Lady Lon-
donderry.

There is no gainsaying the glamour which was attached
to the Kaiser in those days, and I confess that I was
certainly one of those who fell under the charm of his
personality. He was so wide-awake and interested in
everything ; he was delightful to me, put me at my
ease at once, and gave me the comforting feeling that
he enjoyed talking to me. That gift of concentrating
on the person he was talking to was shared with the
Prince of Wales, and it was perhaps part of the secret
why both were so popular. As I look back now, it seems
to me as if there may have been a little jealousy between
them, and I believe more fuss was made of the Kaiser
at this time than of our own Prince. There was a certain
picturesqueness about him, and though he did not strike
one as catering for popularity, he had a well-managed
press. Oddly enough, after this time at Cowes, I did
Memories and Base Details 68

 

not see the Kaiser again until I met him at a party the
Londesboroughs gave at St. Dunstans, on his last visit
to this country, and then I wondered if this could be the
same man. He wore an ill-fitting grey suit, and seemed
to have shrunk into an uninteresting old man with no
sign of the War Lord about him. The withered arm,
which I had never noticed before, seemed glaringly ap-
parent. That he still remained a dominant figure in the
minds of his own people may mean that he has some
virtue; or is it a proof of German sentimentality, for
Mark Twain avers that no matter how cracked a voice
may become with age, a once-famous singer still remains
a hero in the eyes of the faithful German public.

I saw a great deal of Lord Dunraven at Cowes, and
of his two daughters, who were both charming, Rachel,
now dead, and Eileen, who is now Lady Ardee and as
delightful as ever. We used to sail together in the
smaller boats, besides amusing ourselves in many
other ways. For Cowes week was a small edition of the
London season and the Squadron Gardens were the
scene of many revels.

From Cowes I went up to Scotland to Dunrobin and
stayed with Millie. Dunrobin during the autumn was
more like an hotel to which everybody came and went,
with the result that the most incongruous parties would
often be assembled there. Millie’s interests were wide.
She took life and things probably more seriously than
other people, and while thoroughly appreciative of all
the good things of life, she had an almost overwhelming
sense of responsibility. She took a very real interest
in the crofters in Sutherland and in the potteries in
Staffordshire, whilst the silk industry at Leek was most
64 Memories and Base Details

 

successfully revived by her. She allowed everyone to
propose themselves to Dunrobin, and was most in-
discriminate in her invitations, so it would be no un-
common thing to find a Cabinet Minister, a poet, a parson
and a social reformer sitting down to dinner together
in perfect harmony.

I remember Lord Rosebery up die that year,
particularly because I wanted him to write his name
in my .Visitors’ Book before he left. But instead of
doing this he made Mr. Reggie Brett do it for him, as
for some reason or other he strongly objected to giving
his autograph. I was very angry when I: discovered
this forgery, too late to get it remedied, as he had left
by the morning mail, but I made him sign it at a later
date, even then under protest !

I have never seen anyone so spoilt as Lord Rosebery
at Dunrobin. Everyone was kept waiting about until
he had made up his mind if he wanted to go stalking or
not, and by that time it was generally too late for any-
body else to go out. I believe when he did go out he
shot a stag under the recognized weight, but this
mistake of his was officially concealed.

In the evenings we used to play the race game, and
there was one horse we called Cicero, and if this horse
did not win, Lord Rosebery was almost peevish, as he
thought it was a bad omen for his chances for the St.
Leger !

Roddy Owen, home for a few weeks from East Africa,
was one of those who had found their way North that
year. I had not seen him since he had said good-bye
to me just before winning the National. The childish
romance attached to Roddy had vanished, but he still
to cd bunny)

‘aod ayy uo uydeyg psory puv Araqasoy ps0,
‘NICGOUNOG LV TIVIN AHL YOL ONILIVM

 
Memories and Base Details — 65

 

retained the hard, clean-looking appearance that had
seemed to me at that romantic age so attractive.

Of all the people I had met I liked Lord Hardwicke—
then Lord Royston—better than anyone. ‘‘ Tommy
Dodd,” as he was nicknamed, was one in many thou-
sands. He possessed good looks, which even a smashed
nose, the result of a fall steeplechasing, did not spoil,
and a nature as near perfection as could be found in a
mortal.

When he gave up steeplechasing, he settled down to
politics and became rather inaccessible. He lived with
his mother in York Terrace, and though inundated with
invitations he much preferred dining with her at home.
Lady Hardwicke was very sweet to me, and I was
always sure of a welcome from both of them.

October Ist, 1894.
Shooting party at Houghton.

How one hates to see these bald figures and dates in
black and white, and one realizes suddenly that half
the people one is writing about are dead, not killed in
the war—just dead. Lord Grey de Wilton, my host,
is one of these. He rented Houghton from Lord
Cholmondeley, and as one of the gay bachelors of the
day, his parties were very amusing, and he generally had
his sister, Lady Bettine Taylor, to do hostess. She,
Daisy and I were, I think, the only women there that
week. The Houghton shooting is proverbially good,
and all Lord Grey’s guests were really first-class shots.
Tom Kennard, the big-game shooter, Evan Charteris
and Buck Barclay were amongst them that week.

As the Prince of Wales was going to Easton on his

9
66 Memories and Base Details

 

way to Newmarket, Daisy had to hurry back there
before the end of the week, and I went with her.

With the Prince came Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace,
M. de Soveral, the Portuguese Minister—I suppose no
foreigner has ever been so popular in this country—
Henry Chaplin and the late Lord and Lady Cork; the
latter, a most interesting old lady of the old school, was
always very nice to me, and used to ask me to tea with
her in London.

Daisy and I drove down to the station on her coach
to meet the party. D. was a very good whip, and I
believe it was Lord Charlie Beresford who originally
taught her to drive. She always had a beautiful team,
and her love of animals was one of her marked charac-
teristics. The best of horses filled the stables at Easton
and Warwick, but she did not confine her attention nor
her affections to horses, for almost every breed of dog
was represented in her house. Now I believe she has a
collection of monkeys almost as varied as those at the
Zoo, and the question of their diet plays a most important
part amongst the household arrangements !

The Prince of Wales was a most easy guest to enter-
tain, one of his many charms being his interest in every-
thing and everybody. Whether the strictness of his
upbringing had anything to do with it I don’t know,
but I should think few people had more joie de vivre.
He enjoyed himself with the infectious gaiety of aschool-
boy. That indefinable, but undeniable, gift of youth
remained with him all his life, yet no man took up his
responsibilities more definitely when they came to him.

I persuaded Brookie and Willie Lowe to take me to
see the Cambridgeshire run. It was quite an easy
journey from Easton, as the train used always to stop at
Memories and Base Details 67

 

Elsenham Station to pick up a very large contingent of
the Gilbey family. Old Sir Walter Gilbey looked just as
if he had stepped out of an old sporting picture, in his
funny, snuff-coloured clothes, most quaintly cut. This
was my first visit to Newmarket. The attendance in
those days consisted of a more or less family party of
the racing set, everyone in the plainest of tailor-mades—
very different from now, when thestand is full of a rather
overdressed medley of females.

The late Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Cadogan and
Lady Londonderry, with a few of their particular friends,
occupied a corner of the stand nearest the paddock
(Cadogan Place, I think it was called), and gave cold
looks to intruders who dared to trespass.

Newmarket is the Mecca of the racing world, and is
the most pleasant spot : that is, if you care about racing.
The visitor from London does not know its joys, for
besides the day’s racing there is the morning work of
the horses to watch, and riding over the almost bound-
less heath in the evening is yet another of its charms
for habitués. Later, I used to go regularly to New-
market, staying either with Lord Durham at Exning,
or with Sir Charles Rose, and I remember being nearly
knocked down one morning by Cyllene when he was
- doing a gallop on the heath !

As I look back now I realize what a tremendous
difference it made having so many sisters, not only to
take me out in London, but to stay with in the country ;
what with Easton, Warwick, Trentham and Dunrobin,
the year was nearly filled up. I have the happiest
recollections of all of them, but particularly of Trentham
and Warwick, as here I hunted, which was the thing
of all others that I loved.
68 Memories and Base Details

 

My brother-in-law, Strath, was Master of the North
Staffordshire Hounds. Before they succeeded he and
Millie used to hunt from a little house at Market Dray-
ton, and their return to Trentham had been joyfully
welcomed after the régime of the ‘‘ Mrs. Blair Duchess.”
The late Duke had married Mrs. Blair immediately
on the death of the Duchess, Strath’s mother, and this
had caused a complete breach with his family. I never
saw Mrs. Blair, but it is a matter of history that she
spent some weeks in prison, for throwing a document
in the fire in the very face of the lawyer.

The North Stafford was a rather rough country, but
with a very jolly bit round Market Drayton, and on the
other side it adjoined the Meynell. We used to hunt
on Tuesdays with the Cheshire, where there was a more
amusing field but also a very rough crowd from Man-
chester.

Mr. Corbet, the Master, was a dear old man, and he
hunted the hounds himself. We used sometimes to go
over to Adderley, where they lived, for a meet on the far
side. Mrs. Corbet, an austere old lady (she is still alive),
was very different from her husband, but they had a
mutual adoration for their son Bertie—who became one
of my best friends and one of my most constant partners.

It was in Cheshire that the wonderful Empress of
Austria, piloted by Bay Middleton, did most of her
hunting.

Besides the hunt horses which I had to ride, I had
one horse of my own. He came from Ralph Sneyd with
a big reputation as a timber jumper. He had, however,
a very hard mouth, and was not altogether the horse
you would have chosen for a beginner, and I had to
ride him in a segunder bridle ; but he was a marvellous
Memories and Base Details 69

 

hunter and never gave me a fall. The first day I rode
him in an ordinary double bridle, and from start to finish
he took me just where he liked. Luckily hounds ran
without a check, and I think we were first into the field
just as they had bowled their fox over intheopen. Here
Royalist stopped dead, which was lucky, as I should have
been soundly abused by Mr. Corbet if I had galloped
into the middle of the hounds. He was a dear old horse,
and years after, when he had broken down and was
turned out, he used to jump over the gate of his paddock
every Sunday morning and come into the stable-yard
for his carrots.

As bad luck would have it, my first winter’s hunting
was hopelessly curtailed by frost, which lasted for endless
weeks, and skating and tobogganing were a very poor
substitute.

At Trentham there was always a big schoolroom and
nursery party, for besides Millie’s own children, the
Chaplins practically lived there; their mother, Lady
Florence, Strath’s sister, had died when her youngest
child was born. Not only did the children make their
home with Millie and Strath, but their father, Harry
Chaplin, also had his own rooms at Stafford House, and
used to hunt from Trentham. In spite of his great
weight, he still went well, and from all accounts he must
have been a wonderful man across country in his younger
days. He had that rare gift of galloping a horse. Some-
one had said any fool can jump fences, but that getting
over the ground between them is the test of horseman-
ship. How true—particularly on the Leicestershire
ridge and furrow. The sensation of floundering over
the fields is so often attributed to a faulty action on the
horse’s part, but it is more often the rider’s. Even then
70 Memories and Base Details

 

the Squire of Blankney used to go as well as anyone,
and I have never seen anyone enjoy it more—I am never
quite sure if he enjoyed his food or his hunting most !
Besides giving me my first lessons in hunting, he en-
couraged my already prematurely developed taste for
the good things of the table. As Milly and Strath were
both rather’ indifferent as to what they ate, the kitchen
arrangements generally devolved on Harry Chaplin ;
he was consequently a most useful lodger !

Restaurants were very little frequented, and, in fact,
hardly existed in those days. The ‘‘ Amphytrion”’ in
Albemarle Street was one of the first to be fashionable.
It was not a long-lived venture, but it was patronized
by the gourmets of London, and here at two o’clock
you might be sure to find the Blankney Squire, dis-
cussing the latest dish with Emile, the presiding genius.
Amongst the other habitués of this select and expensive
rendezvous may be mentioned Monsieur de Soveral,
Lord de Grey, and Major Wynne-Finch. Later Willis’s
rooms were reopened under the auspices of Algy Bourke
and Edouard became an almost historical personage.
Willie Lowe used to have a table reserved for him every
day, with covers laid for twelve people. One day he,
and I think Austin Mackenzie, were lunching together,
when Willie thought he would ask for his bill. I believe

it came to £1,200, but Edouard was quite pleased to
accept half !

%* * * * * *

The New Year still saw me at Trentham. The
Willie Grenfells*, Cardrossest and Major Wynne-Finch
(supposed to be one of the best looking men of his day)

* Lord and Lady Desborough. t+ Lord and Lady Buchan.
‘ap Sarq oy Buruavay PULPAANING JO ssoyony

 

SZVMO  ONVIOROIG FIRL

 
Memories and Base Details 71

 

were all staying there. I remember being enormously
impressed by the vast amount of letters which Ettie
Grenfell wrote every day. I suppose this is one of the
secrets of her having more friends than anyone else ;
though, after all, it is only a very small factor, for her
other qualities alone would make her what she is—the
most popular woman !

Who does not like getting letters!—but how very
few people are ready to gratify their friends’ likes in
this direction! I think to write a daily letter is far
easier than an occasional budget. King Edward was,
I believe, a wonderful correspondent; but how few
people have been taught, or have the gift of writing
interesting letters! Those that had it certainly belonged
to the Victorian era, or earlier, and in these days it is
as rare as the blue bird.

Later Ettie was immensely good to me. Her
apparently boundless capacity for showing sympathy
is never tinged with pity !

A local ball and the bicycle craze added to our dis-
tractions while the frost still continued. The bicycle
craze was just beginning and I have got some old photo-
graphs of some of the party practising round the
Italian Gardens ; one of Millie in a voluminous skirt,
being held up by a footman. How funny to look back
on that bicycling craze, and how universal it became !
Everyone had their bicycle painted a different colour :
bicycle stables were built and bicycles became a part
of everyone’s luggage. There were bicycle parties for
breakfast in Battersea Park—bicycle parties by moon-
light, to say nothing of trick bicycling. I wonder if
bicycling was a prelude to rather more reasonable clothes
being worn in the country ?
72 Memories and Base Details

 

The event of the winter of 1895 was the big fancy
dress ball at Warwick which Daisy was giving as a sort
of house-warming. She was having the most enormous
party—enormous even for Warwick—which was saying a
good deal. Daisy herself looked too lovely as a Marie
Antoinette, Féo Sturt was gorgeous beyond words as
Madame de Maintfenon ; Daisy Pless with at least three
tiaras on her head and her sister, Sheila Cornwallis West,
a complete contrast to the other’s fairness, were some
of the people there. The men’s clothes were, if possible,
even more gorgeous than the women’s. Humphrey
Sturt made a marvellous Abbé; the Neville brothers,
Dick and Lord Bill, were splendid in brocades ; Count
Deym, the Austrian Ambassador, was picturesque and
stately ; Lord Lonsdale, thorough in everything he
undertakes, had completely disguised himself by plas-
tering down his side whiskers, and it must have taken
some tons of grease paint to remove them, judging by
the remains which I found left in the bathroom next
morning. a

Of course everybody for miles round brought parties,
and no more perfect spot for such an entertainment
could have been found. The snow was on the ground,
and as one stood in the old hall, with its coats of arms
and the men in armour, looking out across the river,
the countryside decked in its glistening white mantle,
the rich colours and fantastic costumes of the guests
seemed enhanced by the romantic setting. It was a
picture that no one who saw it was ever likely to forget.

In spite of the frost Millie and I went on to Leicester-
shire to stay with Doods Naylor for the Melton Ball.

My palpitating excitement over my first visit to
Melton can be surely understood. I had been nurtured
Memories and Base Details 73

 

on tales of Melton—had not Whyte Melville been a
childish hero, “‘ Big Brock’’* an ideal, by which one
gauged other men—had I not heard of the wonders of
the Skeffington Vale and listened to the stories of the
great ‘Chicken Hartopp” and of the “ wicked Earl.’’+
Hadn’t my imagination been stirred by the picture of
Lord Waterford jumping his horse over a five-barred
gate in the dining-room at Loseby, and of the gallant
deeds of Lord Dupplin, in spite of the fact that he never
went to bed! Hadn’t Lindsay Gordon’s poems been the
very easiest to learn and wasn’t there a ring about
' Bromley Davenport’s verse that had made one long
for the ‘‘ sublimest of ecstasies’’ under the sun ? Melton
seemed teeming with romantic legends, and though
most of the heroes of these reminiscences had passed
the “‘ unjumpable Styx ”’ there were still a few of those
amazing individuals left, for me to admire, whose deeds
of daring were historical facts. Doggie Smith was still
a past master ; Arthur Coventry, with his funny wrinkled
face, went as well as ever ; Custance, not such a thruster
as he used to be, for his mount was generally for sale,
and must be nursed ; Sam Hames always in that little
crowd that showed the way to the still younger genera-
tion. But alas! the frost was so far in the ground that,
even had an immediate thaw set in, the most sanguine
could not have hoped to have a hunt.

The Plesses were hunting from Baggrave that winter,
and had a large party for the ball, which, by the way.
was excellent.

Daisy Pless was most proverbially casual over all
arrangements, and some of her party were left stranded
at the station, no sort of conveyance being available,

* Late Lord Ranksborough. + Earl of Wilton.
4 Memories and Base Details

 

and I believe one woman had eventually to drive the
eight miles in a baker’s cart. To make up for my
disappointment about the hunting, Doods insisted that
we should go to her for as long as we liked the following
year.

But all the same I did have one day with the Quorn
that season, for as soon as the frost broke up, Millie and I
actually went all the way by train from Trentham to
Leicester. Naturally I was immensely impressed with
the pageant. Lord Lonsdale was Master, and it would
be difficult to have seen a meet in Leicestershire for
the first time under better auspices. The chestnut
horses, the yellow carriages with their postilions made
it a most spectacular affair. The Yellow-man, as he
was familiarly nicknamed, was a picturesque figure.
His eye for a country was only equalled by his sense
of the dramatic, and his love of a picturesque setting,
and his facile imagination, that resulted in super Hans
Andersen tales, had always been a source of childish
delight to me. The ladies all, or nearly all, wore top
hats, but I do not think I liked the blue facings which
Lady Lonsdale had revived, as much as the Pytchley
white.

We only had a moderate day’s sport—I think we
spent more hours in the train than actually hunting—
but I felt that none of them were wasted hours, and
I can well understand anyone who has hunted in
Leicestershire being spoilt for most other counties.

My diary is a Visitors’ Book, full only of autographs
and old photographs, but it suffices to tell me where I
went and who I saw during the next twelve months.
However good a memory one possesses, dates are apt to
Memories and Base Details "5

 

get confused, and though events may remain quite
vivid, there is a difficulty in sequelizing and sorting them
out ; but this picture diary not only brings them into
chronological order, but reminds one of quarrels made
and mended, of friendships formed and broken, and the
wells of memory are stirred anew with ripples—not so
faint and foggy as might be expected when one remem-
bers the years that have elapsed.

I have deplored before that so many of the people
one wrote about are dead, and as I look at my book now
the fact strikes me with renewed force. I came just
now upon Charty Ribblesdale’s name and I remember
the fun that we had together at Dunrobin. She and I
and Lord Ribblesdale had the most delightful days on
the Brora golf links. What a perfect companion she was !
so full of exuberant spirits that she made the world seem
a jollier and better place. She hada more subtle, though
not a less pungent, sense of humour than her sister Mar-
got. She once called Margot the ‘“‘ Governess of the
world,” and used to laugh, though always with the
greatest kindness and affection, at her busy “ interest ”’
in other people’s lives. Through all her illness she still
retained the same cheerful hopefulness, and no one is
surer of a place in Heaven. She was not at Gisburne
the only time I went up there. Her two youngest
children—the Dolls, as they were called—Laura and
Diana, were the most delightful couple: Laura,* with
her brilliant looks, and Diana,f a perfect picture, either
coursing with the greyhounds or riding over the country
in her brown habit, with her flaxen hair tied back with a
large black bow. They have remained indelibly printed
on my memory. ~

* Lady Lovat. t Hon. Mrs. Capel.
78 Memories and Base Details

 

was taxed to the uttermost with over thirty people in
the house.

Mr. Balfour is in tennis kit in my picture diary, and
so is Lord Curzon (now Lord Howe), so we must infer
that tennis formed part of our week-end diversions ; but
many of the other guests in the group are armed with
croquet mallets, for it was about then that the game of
crinolines and coquetry once more became fashionable,
only a scientific element had been attached to its revival,
and people took to going about with their own croquet
mallets. Lord Cairns made one for me. He was most
ingenious and clever with a lathe, and the mallet he made
for me was elaborately turned out of ivory. It was not
a very satisfactory implement to play with, and I dis-
carded it when Evie Miller Mundy and I played our
famous croquet match at Ranelagh. We were both
supposed to be rather good and we were heavily backed
by our respective admirers. I think she won one match
and I the other.

A band was a sine qua non at all Daisy’s parties, and
no device which contributed to her guests’ comfort or
amusement was neglected. She had not developed her
socialistic tendencies in those days, but entertained as
thoroughly as, later on, she imbibed the doctrines of
“the Comrades.”

* * * * * *

It was at Easton that Elinor Glyn made her first
appearance on the social horizon. She and her husband
lived at Harlow and had driven over to watch the cricket.
I can see her now, coming across to the tent where we
were sitting, with her very red hair glistening in the
gt cd Binns)
saTV AA JO DOULIG Udy? ‘pArMpy Suryy yoo 07 uoysesy ye AVN

RENT | EN EAR
~<a oS = Si

SS" AeA Sy

 
Memories and Base Details 79

 

sun ; her frock (I must say it was only made of the very
cheapest material) made her look as if she had stepped
out of La Vie Parisienne ; we were all so thrilled over
her appearance that we got Daisy to ask her to come
and stay. The “creation’’ in which she appeared for
dinner was another marvel, and after dinner she did the
most wonderful imitations, for a select few, of Sarah
Bernhardt !

Mrs. Glyn had not yet blossomed into an authoress,
but the “ Visits of Elizabeth’’ were, I fancy, in the
making. I am not sure whether I should have been
inordinately proud, or a little bit ashamed, of my
photograph being used as the prototype of Elizabeth.
Enfant terrible I may have been; but I do not think I
ever found myself in exactly the same exciting situations
as Mrs. Glyn’s heroine, though I believe I once made
a terrible gaffe, rather on the lines of Elizabeth and the
Ghost. On the other hand, it was head-turning to have
had such an attractive heroine built upon what Mrs.
Glyn imagined to be my characteristics.

I personally was very grateful to her because she gave
me the address of her sister, Mrs. Wallace—“ Lucille ”
of to-day’s fame. I cannot remember where she lived,
but it certainly was not in the present fashionable
locality, and she made the most lovely frocks for £8!!
I really think she did a great deal to revolutionize dress
in London: all her frocks, in those days even, were
recognizable by her finishing touches, which generally
consisted of minute buttons and little frills of lace and
ribbon. She had a wonderful collection of old embroi-
dered collars which she used to adapt, and she gave me
a lovely one which she put on my going-away coat !

Another authoress I met at Easton, of a very different
80 Memories and Base Details

 

type, was Marie Corelli. With her flaxen tousled hair,
the sage green garments and the beads she wore, she
put me instantly in mind of a very cheap doll. My
father always said if you liked a book, you should never
try to discover the author. He made this remark, having
read ‘‘Coming through the Rye,” then being bitterly
disappointed when he encountered Helen Mathers,
_ having taken endless trouble to make her acquaintance.
I am inclined to agree with him. The few real authors
I have met (I am not talking of the amateur memoir
writers) have not inspired me with enthusiasm.
Hitchens made me feel positively uncomfortable—in
spite of his brilliance—or perhaps because of it. There
are, of course, exceptions.

Well’s personality grows on one tremendously. I
met him first at Stanway, and again not long ago at
dinner ; he was not sure whether he ought to be sorry
or sad when I told him that his books were published in
too small type for me to enjoy them! We had great fun
after that ; he has promised to convert me, and I am
expecting a van load of his works to arrive any day—
but of course I was only pulling his leg! We discussed
the ‘“‘ movies,’ and here we failed to agree, as Wells
thinks Charlie Chaplin the greatest artiste and he bores
me to extinction. We found, however, one great point
in common, Wells refuses to eat haddock for breakfast
without mustard, and I so agree with him !

* * * * * *

My second season was spent on theriver. I persuaded
mother to let the house in London and to take one at
Windsor, but I came up for any good balls and enter-
tainments that I wanted to go to.
Memories and Base Details 81

 

Against the rather blurred background of the summer,
my second winter’s hunting stands out in pleasantly
bold relief, and I was really delighted to be back at
Trentham for the New Year. Jim Forbes, whom I after-
wards married, was there. Millie had wired me to get
a man who would dance at the local ball, and he was the
first person I met as I went out fora walk. By such small
things are the big events in one’s life decided.

From Trentham, some of our party, including Jim
Forbes and myself, went on to Warwick. I stayed on
there, and Cecil Grenfell and Lord Kenyon, who were
both hunting from Warwick, used to be very good to me.
“Good hunting, little sister,” was their morning greeting,
and away we would go on some delicious expedition.

The Warwickshire Field included a good many inter-
esting and amusing people, among them the Southamp-
tons—both fine riders, Lord S. very silent but very good-
looking and never far from hounds, and his wife, Lord
Zetland’s daughter, though too short-sighted to ride her
own line, was beautifully mounted on horses well over
her weight, and she followed closely on her husband’s
heels. The Greville Verneys were at Kineton—he even-
tually succeeded his father, Lord Willoughby de Broke,
as Master of the Warwickshire. I always liked him,
and his rather theatrical manners were more amusing
than annoying. Then there was the much-run-after
Mrs. Tree, née Field, who so sensationally became what
she now is, Lady Beatty. Her father-in-law lived at
Rugby, and what he did not know about horses was not
worth knowing! He was a great character in Warwick-
shire, and not to know David Beatty was to admit your
ignorance of who is famous in the equine world.

Lord Beatty was, of course, often out hunting, and

6
82 Memories and Base Details

 

when he is held up to us as one of the few sailors who
look as much at home on a horse as on a ship, people
forget his parentage. He was almost born in the saddle.
After he married Mrs. Tree, they came to Leicestershire,
and I always thought she looked her best on a horse ;
they were both light weights, and they rode a very
perfect stamp of blood horse. Apart from being a
fine horseman, Lord Beatty had those qualities of
quickness and decision essential to the good man to
hounds.

Millie and I were at last to spend that long looked
forward to fortnight with Doods Naylor at Melton, and
this time we had no fear of a frost as the weather was
ideal for hunting. I had now got two horses of my own
which I was taking with me. Besides Royalist, I had
a little bay mare which Will Boxall, the North Stafford-
shire huntsman, had bought for me from a farmer.
She was only 15.2, and I thought I should feel rather
lost on her in the big Leicestershire fields. We had
tried her over some rails at Trentham, and had found
her a perfect timber jumper, and she proved her extra-
ordinary stamina the day Lord Lonsdale had a bye day
at Thorpe Satchville. This bye day had been kept
very quiet—we only heard of it at the last moment
and nearly everyone had gone to London. Amongst the
people that I can remember out were Buck Barclay,
Mr. Biddulph, Arthur Coventry, Joe Laycock, Lancelot
Lowther and the Hatfield Harters—surely no woman
looked smarter than she in her “ swallow tail” coat,
and how well she used to go—but no woman ever had a
better pilot than she had in her husband. We found
a fox almost immediately at Ashby Folville ; he made
straight for Adam’s Gorse, and from there we ran over
Memories and Base Details $3

 

the cream of the Cottesmore Country with a satisfactory
conclusion in Lady Lonsdale’s garden at Cottesmore, as
good a hunt as anyone could wish for. Most people’s
horses were dead beat, but when I started to ride home,
after a most excellent luncheon with Lady Lonsdale,
La Gloria, as the little mare was called, was as fresh
as when she went out.

Melton was very full that winter. The Barclays
were at Sysonby, or, to be accurate, he was there en
garcon and Aggie was wintering abroad; the Lawsons
were at the Manor House, the de Wintons at the Old Club,
and the Manners’ were as usual at Cold Overton, whilst
the Henry Bentincks were somewhere in the neighbour-
hood. Tony Markham, Jim Forbes and Dick Fenwick
had a small house in the town, and so had Joe Laycock
and Max de Tuyll.

It seemed as if everyone was trying to give us a
good time, and to make our visit especially amusing,
and though I had only two horses I managed to get
out hunting every day that I was there! The event
of our visit was the ball Sir Ernest Cassel gave at Dalby.
I have never seen so many lilies of the valley. They
completely covered the walls and staircases. Sir Ernest
had started hunting a year or two before in Warwick-
shire from Lord Willoughby de Broke’s place, and he
had only just migrated to Leicestershire. He was
amazingly brave and seemed quite oblivious to the
number of falls he took—and he was no light weight
either. He kept open house at Dalby and it was amusing
to watch the methods of his would-be exploiters !

Our farewell party was given by Buck Barclay and
consisted of a huge dinner followed by fireworks. It
was only marred by the fact that we were leaving the

6*
84 Memories and Base Details

 

next day. How sorry I was to go! A lot of us, how-
ever, were going on to Warwick for more hunting, which
was some recompense.

‘The Warwickshire meet at Shuckborough is famous,
and the country round, I think, is the biggest—some of
it, indeed, is practically unjumpable. They had a most
wonderful hunt, but I did not enjoy myself, as not only
was I hopelessly left, but I did not like the horse I was
riding. It wasn’t fit, so I gave up all attempt at pursuit
and returned to the village inn and gloomily awaited the
arrival of the rest of our party. They came in one by
one all full of this marvellous day and found me morose
and unsympathetic! The next day things were better
and I had a perfect ride on Jim Forbes’ horse—Pilot.

I suppose that sealed my fate, for when J. asked
me that evening to marry him, I said: “ Yes! if I may
have your chestnut horse.” (I shudder to think of my
own callousness!) Lord Willoughby de Broke, when
he heard of my engagement, said he ‘‘ hoped I would
surmount life’s obstacles as easily as I had sailed over
those in the Ladbroke Vale that day.”

There is not much to write about the next few weeks ;
they were taken up almost entirely with trousseau-
buying in Paris. I went over with Mamma and we
stayed at the Hotel Bristol. I don’t think I had been
to Paris since father’s illness and I found suddenly how
badly I needed him at this juncture of my life—buying
frocks and a pearl necklace from. Boucheron was amusing
enough, but I can’t describe my state of mind as happy.
The Marlboroughs were in Paris on their way back to
England, and I dined with them one night. Consuelo
very pale, and rather shy, and with only the promise of
the good looks which she afterwards developed. I
 

Col. Anstruther Thomson.

[Facing p. 84

 
Memories and Base Details 85

 

‘ame back in time for Melton Races to see Pilot, after
efusing the water jump twice, win the Ladies’ Purse.
‘im also rode another winner that day, which pleased
lim considerably.

I was married on the 28th April, from Stafford House,
it St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, and was driven to church
vith the old piebald horses which father had always
yeen so proud of. My wedding dress, made by Mrs.
Mason, was lovely. I wrestled successfully against
he conventional satin frock, and she had designed me
. dress of white chiffon with a very long satin train
mbroidered with sprays of lilies of the valley.

Geordie and Alistair, Millie’s two boys, were my
rages, and I had only two grown-up bridesmaids, Muriel
Wilson and Helen Keith-Fraser; the others were all
children and included my two nieces, Marjorie Greville
and Ivy Gordon-Lennox, Edie Chaplin, Muriel Erskine
and Diana Sturt.

I had rebelled against the conventional bridesmaids’
Jresses and had hit on the idea of their wearing red
velvet capes slung over their white satin frocks. Every-
me was sceptical about the result at first, but when it
‘ame to the point, they all said that the note of colour
n the church, if it was an innovation, was a success.

The big glass doors of Stafford House had been
hrown open for the occasion and the whole of London
eemed to have turned up. I had forbidden rice and
lippers, but the Prince of Wales was determined that

should not be allowed to forego this orthodox custom,

nd I can still see him chuckling delightedly at having
utwitted me, as he hurled a slipper full after the
leparting carriage.
ITI

Femara directly after I was married I went to
Warwick for the Yeomanry week. Jim, in a fit
of temper, because he couldn’t get leave when he wanted
it, had sent in his papers and left the 9th Lancers and
gone into the Warwickshire Yeomanry. I remember
being blamed for this step of his, but I knew nothing
about it till it was a fait accompl. Naturally I should
have opposed it, for, on principle, I believe that any
man without an occupation is, to say the least of it,
bound to be very difficult to live with.

Warwick was, of course, crowded as usual. Major
Douglas Haig was staying there. I believe Daisy had
met him out hunting, and we were told then that he
was supposed to be a rising soldier, but certainly no
one guessed what his ultimate future would be, and I
am afraid we were not as impressed by him as we ought
to have been. It was some years after this that he
met and married Miss Vivian, Queen Alexandra’s Maid
of Honour, and from that time his advancement began.
Though not so pretty as her sister Violet, she has proved
an admirable wife for him—in fact, one might say that
in the matter of his marriage Lord Haig first showed
his generalship.

We were eventually going to have a house in Leicester-
shire, but in the meanwhile we spent the summer at

86
Memories and Base Details 87

 

Stafford House. Were there ever two people so kind
and hospitable as Millie and Strath, and I wonder how
many houseless members of their family, to say nothing
of their friends, found a welcome with them—surely
Stafford House was well named ‘‘ The Stafford Arms!”

We went to stay with the Marlboroughs for Ascot
and the party included the Churchills* and Lady Ran-
dolph. I never remember her as the brilliant beauty
she is described by those who saw her when she first
came to this country. Her eyes were the most arresting
feature of her face.

The Churchills seemed so absurdly happy in those
days and for years after, and I certainly had plenty of
opportunity of judging, for later, when they went to live
at Rolleston, I used to see a lot of them, and their
dependence on each other must have struck the most
casual observer.

This was Consuelo Marlborough’s first Ascot, really
almost her first appearance in England. She had a
great success, and looked quite un-American with that
very small refined head on that very long neck. She
had, of course, the most wonderful frocks—an array
to choose from every day, suitable for all possible
weathers and emergencies. She was quite the thinnest
person I have ever seen, and she used to wear her pearls
sewn up in a horsehair bag as a bustle tied round her
waist—this was partly to insure their safety and partly
to make her look fatter.

* * * * * *

Finding a house in Leicestershire was not as easy as
we thought, and we made several fruitless pilgrimages

* Viscount and Viscountess Churchill.
88 Memories and Base Details

 

before we eventually took Kirby Hall. It was a horrible
looking barrack of a house, standing on the road close
to Kirby Gate and three miles from Melton, so we had,
at any rate, the compensation of being excellently
situated for hunting with the Quorn. There was also
good stabling for sixteen horses, and, in spite of being
quite unable to afford it, we very seldom had an empty
stall.

Our nearest neighbours at Asfordby, only a mile
away, were the Lancelot Lowthers and the Max
de Tuylls. As Mrs. Bunbury, Baroness de Tuyll was
well known in Cheshire, Ireland and Leicestershire, as
one of the finest women to hounds that had ever been
seen. She had not long been married to Max, and at
first sight they seemed a rather ill-assorted couple, but,
as a matter of fact, no two people could have got on
better. Max really liked the social side of hunting, and
seldom left the hard high road ; but how well she used to
go, and not always on the best of horses.

Years later, when her health had suffered so much
from her many falls that she was obliged to give up
hunting entirely, I asked her if she missed it ; her eyes
filled with tears, and her reply was: ‘If I could only
have one more winter’s hunting I would gladly die.”
Sometimes I feel like that myself !

It was at the De Tuyll’s that I first saw Eva Wellesley,
who became one of my best friends. She came down to
Asfordby to hunt several times not very long before she
was engaged to Randolph Wemyss. Though not really
good looking, she had wonderful red hair, and a delight-
ful voice and smile, and I think looked most attractive
in the Beaufort blue and buff.

Gettin into one’s own house for the first time must
 

Party at Warwick in 1895 to meet King Edward, then Prince of Wales.

[Facing p. 83
Memories and Base Details 89

 

be an interest and amusement to everyone, and I used
to go for long shopping expeditions with Caryl Craven,
who had just taken up decorating and furnishing
people’s houses for them. I think he was the first
gentleman to make this a profession, but amusing as
was the choosing of carpets and curtains and the search-
ing of old curiosity shops for bargains, the getting
together of a stud of horses was an even more enthralling
occupation, and a great part of our time that summer
was spent at Tattersall’s, at the Repository at Leicester,
as well as in visiting the dealers’ yards.

Almost the best horse I ever had was one that Jim
bought at Daisy’s sale and gave me as a birthday present.
I had never ridden him, but I had seen Lord Timmy
Paulet* on him often in Warwickshire the year before,
and knew what a wonderful jumper he was. He was
rather inclined to be impetuous, but it was the im-
petuosity of youth, and though there was some doubt
as to whether I should be able to ride him, I found
him perfectly easy, and he only gave me one fall in ten
years.

In order to get rid of some of his old horses, Jim had
a sale at Leicester. I hated to see his new owner sailing
over the country on Pilot, instead of being on him myself,
but there were compensations, as another very good
horse was returned after the sale as having navicular,
which I appropriated. He certainly used to come out
a bit stiff in the mornings, but after a short time he would
be quite sound, and there was no better hunter. One
hunt I remember particularly on him was in the Quorn
Monday country ; the meet was at Lodge-on-the-Wold,
a rather unfashionable rendezvous, and no one was

* Marquis of Winchester.
90 Memories and Base Details

 

anticipating much sport—indeed, when the fox went
away, most of the field were having lunch. I was on the
left of the wood with two or three others, among them
Lord Lonsdale and Lady Gerard, and I can see the fox
now, stealing away from the covert, with only a few
couple of hounds-—the body of the pack were, I think,
hunting another fox in the wood—then a few more hounds,
a blast of the horn from Lord Lonsdale and away. we
sailed! The field, including Tom Firr, had not heard
‘the horn, and were hopelessly left. In all the years I
hunted I think I enjoyed that day as much as any I have
had—all over Monday Quorn country to Asfordby Osier
beds—not a bad point, and the most perfect country to
ride over, but I think it was such fun because there was
no crushing, crowding field to compete with !

I confess the crowds in Leicestershire were distracting,
to say the least of it, and generally proved a difficulty
to the new-comers, for to slip through a crowd is an art
in itself. In the Pytchley and North Warwickshire
country they were infinitely rougher, and one really had
to struggle, and not mind being knocked about. I can
remember one day when a lot of us went from Melton
to have a day in the Pytchley Wednesday country, I
was riding a horse of Joe Laycock’s. Oh! the banging
and scrambling that took place at the small bridle gates.
I had given up all hope of seeing any sport, and I think
I was the last to get away from Crick. Hounds checked
a field or so ahead, and the crowd were scattered in every
direction. By this time I discovered I couldn’t hold
my horse, and that I should have to be either in front
or else probably kill someone. My horse settled the
question for me, and conveyed me, a mere passenger,
in front ; but I can remember nearly jumping on Georgie
Memories and Base Details 91

 

Curzon,* who was floundering on one side of a brook
with her horse on the other. I wasn’t altogether sorry
to change on to my second horse, and there is a sequel
to my story. Not long after I saw a lady having a most
unpleasant ride, and I recognized a friend, who was
trying the same horse with a view to purchase, because
it had carried me so well! I may say she did not buy
the horse !

The Quorn field had been wheeled into line by Lord
Lonsdale. He ruled them with an iron hand in a velvet
glove—not that he didn’t have some contretemps, and one
day I believe he took hounds home at one o'clock
because of someone’s misdemeanour—rather hard on
the rest of the field! But I think all good M.F.H.’s
must lose their temper occasionally, and considering the
ignorance of some people who go out hunting, it is
really wonderful that they do not do so oftener. I
remember Lord Willoughby de Broke once being furious
with Lord Timmy Paulet for going on down a ride
whilst he was drawing the covert. ‘‘Come back, you
moon-faced man on a white-faced horse!”’ yelled Lord
Willoughby, but still Lord Timmy went on, and when
asked if he hadn’t heard, he said he was riding a hireling
and hadn’t looked atitsface. Both Lord Willoughby and
Lord Lonsdale were such past-masters of the art of
hunting, that no one should have felt any resentment
at being reprimanded by them. They both taught me
a lot about hunting, for which I cannot be sufficiently
grateful, as I soon found out that the man or woman
who only thinks of the ride misses half the joy of hunting.

There is nothing so boring or so alarming as follow-
ing a straggling crowd a couple of miles behind hounds.

* Late Countess Howe.
92 Memories and Base Details

 

Gaps on these occasions seem to me more frightening
obstacles than a post and rails when hounds are only a
field or so ahead of you, but one cannot hope always
to get a start, and a little attention to hounds and a
little intelligence will often enable one, when one has
been left behind, to make a fortunate turn, and nick
into a good place again.

It is curious, though, how the same people could
almost always be seen in the first flight ; Jock Trotter,
utterly oblivious of the number of falls he took; the
veteran Doggie Smith, Sam Hames, Buck Barclay—as
quick as anyone for a fast twenty minutes, Johnnie
McKie, who was always there, no matter the horse, and
Walter de Winton are a few that leap instantly to my
mind. Year after year they were in the front rank,
and the younger generation never seemed to take their
place.

The sportsmen of to-day will probably think it is
heresy of me to say so, but I always feel that about that
time there was a small coterie of men who stood out
as a wonderful type of the best that England could
produce. They stood as an almost unique group. There
are others who have followed them, wholly as brave,
whose morals and whose brains may have been superior,
but whose personality seemed to lack something which
that little gang most undoubtedly possessed. They
were not a very small group either, and their names
have lived, like Bay Middleton’s and Peter Flower’s, not
actually by their deeds of valour, but by their personal
magnetism which radiated.

When we hear of the days of hunting being over, I
cannot imagine a greater calamity for the country
than for “the sport of kings, the image of war with half
Memories and Base Details 938

 

its guilt and only ten per cent. of its danger” (one per
cent. would be nearer the mark now) to cease. Hunting
is, apart from anything else, a great character former ;
it teaches you decision, presence of mind and unselfish-
ness. Just think of hounds streaming in front of you,
a man falls—he’s either hurt or not, but his horse passes
you—it does require unselfishness to stop and lose your
place, and take it back; yet I affirm that there is no
man worthy of the name who would not perform thii
act for friend or foe in the hunting-field.

* * * * * *

We spent Easter that year at Monte Carlo. I had
been to the Riviera as a child during our yachting trip,
but Monte was quite different to anything I had ever
seen. I took to Roulette and Trente-et-Quarante like
a duck to water, and was almost compensated by this
new recreation for missing the last weeks of the season’s
hunting. It seemed difficult to associate that lovely
garden looking across the bluest of blue bays with the
stories of suicides, but I suppose everyone feels like that
on their first visit to the gambler’s paradise. I was told
a rather charming story the other day of how Monte
Carlo was supposed to have started its present notoriety.
In the old days it was a quiet little place, and chiefly
famous for the monastery that stood on the hill, over-
looking the sleepy little town. This monastery got
rather heavily into debt, and one of the monks, clever
at astrological calculations, invented a combination of
“chances”? which seemed to ensure success, but which
was not applicable to any card game then known. He
therefore set his wits to work and planned a new game,
which he called ‘‘ Roulette,” and with this he set about
94 Memories and Base Details

 

to repair the fortunes of his monastery. He went down
to the little inn and explained his game to the innkeeper,
M. Blanc. They arranged that the game of roulette
should be played at the inn, and there at that game
the monk won large sums from the soldiers and inhabi-
tants of the neighbourhood every week. When he died,
he handed over the secret of the combination to another
monk, who went down the hill, as his predecessor
had done, to exploit the system. This man, however,
was younger than his instructor, and, as ill-luck would
have it, he sat down to the tables next to a charming
lady, with whom he entered into conversation, and with
whom he at once fell in love!

He struggled with his conscience, but found the
temptation too great for him. The relaxation from
monastic rule implied by his visits to the tables had
weakened his asceticism, and he succumbed to the
snares of the world and the flesh. He returned once
more to the monastery to lay before the Abbot the
proceeds of his gaming, and then he escaped from the
monastery to journey across the mountains, with the
object of rejoining his love.

That night a terrific snowstorm came on, and the
‘monk sank under the snow. He was never seen again.
Not only was his life lost on the mountains, but also
his knowledge. Though he had taken the money
to the Abbot before setting out on his fateful journey,
he had not confided to anyone the secret of the system,
for he had not divulged his intention of escape. There-
fore, on his death, the secret perished, and never again
were the monks able to take advantage of the dis-
covery of the founder of roulette.

Yet the game continued to be played, and the fame
 

Marigold with Madame de Falbe.

[Facing p. 94
Memories and Base Details 95

 

of the roulette tables at Monte Carlo is now known
from end to end of the world.

* * * * * *

We spent the summer with Madame de Falbe, in
Grosvenor Square. She was by far the most human
of all my near in-law relations, and I think she saw
already that my marriage was not going to be a very
successful one. I was realizing this myself, but as I
had embarked so lightly on the sea of matrimony I felt
it was my own fault, and that there was nothing for
it but to try and make the best of it.

Madame de Falbe’s own life had not always run
on smooth lines, a fact which she herself confided to
me. She had been separated from my husband’s
grandfather, Dudley Ward, owing to his very violent
temper, and I remember her giving me a bit of advice,
which was, that separated women were always at a
disadvantage. I almost think that she must have
anticipated something of the sort happening to me, or
why should she have dwelt on this, for eventually her
own life had altered to one of complete prosperity.
When Dudley Ward died she had married Gerard Leigh,
who had left her all his money, as well as Luton for
her life, and she had settled herself happily for the third
time, with M. de Falbe, the Danish Minister. As her
tact was proverbial she made an ideal wife for a diplomat.

Madame de Falbe died in 1899. I wish I had seen
more of her in later years, but family troubles inter-
vened. I had some charming letters from her to the
end, and I look back with deep gratitude on her kind-
ness to me.

Gerard Leigh, who inherited Luton, died just a
96 Memories and Base Details

 

fortnight after he succeeded. His wife, Smikie, was one
of the nicest of women. I had known her well before
I married. I think one never forgets the people who
were nice to one as a girl. When I came out the young
married women were not always too amiable to girls.
I can look back, though, on several notable exceptions,
amongst them Lady Alington and Mrs. Hwfa Williams.
Mrs. Hwfa is one of the Social Landmarks of the Vic-
torian and Edwardian reigns. Even now few people
many years younger possess her charm, her vitality and
her energy. She has god-mothered many of the new
social celebrities, and has been the very centre of the
jolliest parties, whilst the youngest can still feel they
are talking to a contemporary. I found her one day
only last year playing tennis with Gerald Paget’s grand-
child. Her house at Combe bears testimony to her
artistic skill, for she has herself painted most of the rooms.

Hwfa is another most perfect friend. The years
may pass by but he seems just the same—frailer, per-
haps, but with that dry humour which always made
him such a delightful companion.

His sister, the Duchess of Wellington, possessed
much of his charm—I spent many happy days at Strath-
fieldsaye, the home of practical jokes and nicknames.
Strathfieldsaye is an ugly house and interesting only
from its associations with the Iron Duke. The Duchess
had always been lame and could only walk on crutches,
but she rode everywhere, quite alone, surrounded by
her pack of deerhounds. The Duke was the fattest
man I have ever seen, and went by the nickname of
“‘ Spurgeon.”
 

Lady Angela Forbes, the year she came out.

[facing p. 96
Memories and Base Details 97

 

The Jubilee season was, of course, wonderful, and
characterized by Queen’s weather, but mingled with
all the rejoicings was the thought that it must be the
last national thanksgiving of a woman who had meant
so much and for so long. Queen Victoria was probably
idealized by me. The very close friendship, and the
many letters from her to my father, had surrounded
her with an atmosphere and a rather particular glamour.

There were balls and parties every night, but the
biggest social event of a most crowded season was the
Devonshire House Fancy Dress Ball. To be invited
to Devonshire House in those days, or not to be invited,
was a question of burning importance. The old-Duchess
of Devonshire was a personality neither preceded nor
succeeded. Her approbation counted for success, and
her approval secured perquisites, in the way of invita-
tions, for many who might otherwise have remained
in comparative obscurity. She had the strength of
an eagle, the wisdom of the serpent and an intimate
knowledge of the frailties of human nature. _

The Devonshire House Ball was almost a repetition
of the Warwick one, but as an actual spectacle it missed
the historic setting. Most people were bedecked with
jewels, many of them hired and borrowed for the occasion,
but my two sisters, Millie and Sybil, were a striking
contrast in their simplicity, relying for their success
entirely on their own beauty. Millie, as Charlotte
Corday, in a perfectly plain scarlet crépe-de-chine frock,
and a mob cap, looked delicious, and I never saw Sybil
look more beautiful than she did that evening as Hebe,
in white draperies, with a huge eagle poised on her shoul-
der, its outstretched wings forming a background to her
head. There were, of course, period quadrilles, and the

7
98 Memories and Base Details

 

most fantastic display of dresses. Muriel Wilson and
Helena Keith Fraser both looked quite dazzling among
the crowd of Orientals. After this pageant the rest of
the season’s entertainments seemed comparatively flat.

* * * * * *

My eldest child, Marigold, was born that August,
while I was still in Grosvenor Square, and we went on
to Luton to stay with Madame de Falbe for her christen-
ing. There we found a family party, including the
Dudleys, Lord Dudley being one of Marigold’s god-
fathers.

I always thought Luton a rather dreary place,
and better fitted for a hydropathic establishment than
a private house. It was in the winter garden there,
by the way, that Prince Eddie proposed to Princess
May.

From Luton we went to Scotland for a round of
visits—to Dunrobin, where the usual autumn crowd
were assembled, and on to Invermark, the shooting
lodge which the Dudleys and Hindlips took together,
a deliciously wild place.

I didn’t go out stalking personally, as it is a sport
which does not appeal to me immensely. I am not
fond of walking, and I think crawling on one’s tummy
through bog and heather, to be almost murdered if
you breathe, is not the happiest way of spending a day.
I never can understand why people are so keen about
it—unless, of course, you do your own stalking—but
that is an exception, and the day is spent following
a gillie, who first chooses your stag, and then, without
further explanation, expects you to trail after him blindly
till you are within shooting distance. It is curious
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how many stags are missed in the season: they seem
such a big target. I suppose it is a form of stage fright,
or else the uncomfortable position you find yourself
in at the last moment. I was lucky, and killed the
only stag I have ever shot at. I was so surprised to
find the rifle did not kick at all, whereas practising at
the target I had bruised my shoulder horribly. I
believe this is quite an ordinary experience, but the
reason for it has never been explained to me.

We came back to Leicestershire in time for Kirby
Gate, the opening meet of the Quorn. The horses had
summered well, and I looked forward to the season’s
hunting more than I can say. The daily irritabilities
of life are so enormously accentuated in the rather
stifling atmosphere of London; with hounds stream-
ing in front of you and with a good horse on which to
sail over the country one recovers one’s sense of pro-
portion, and incidents, which might be tragedies,
become almost farcical instead, and the worst row
is forgotten in the joys of a good hunt. The Dudleys
and Jock Trotter stayed with us a good deal that winter,
and Sandy Fraser, just back from India, was the very
kindest of cousins-in-law. I had got a new chestnut
horse called Merrymaker, that we bought from Lord
Cowley. He was one of the very best, with only one
crab—that of kicking badly in gateways. It kept one
always on the alert, but he was such a perfect fencer
that I jumped fences on him to escape the crowd that
I should never have dreamt of doing on any other horse.

I stayed on at Kirby as long as possible, as we were
to spend the summer in my mother-in-law’s house,
which quite frankly I was not looking forward to.
Domestic troubles are trying enough in any circum-

7*
100 Memories and Base Details

 

stances, but particularly so in other people’s houses.
Jim had inherited his grandfather’s temper, and lost
it over such unexpected trifles. I remember once his
being absolutely furious with me because I forgot to
order any visiting cards, and then when I had retrieved
that error I forgot to leave them !

Though Mrs. Forbes was a charming woman she
was without much sense of humour, and with an
intensely narrow point of view, and my sister-in-law,
Ida Edmonstone, told me that until she married—and
she was well over twenty when she did—she had never
been allowed to write a letter or read a book without
first showing it to her mother. If Mrs. Forbes did not
actually disapprove of me, I think she disapproved of
all my friends. When I was first engaged to Jim, and
she heard we were dining somewhere, she came to me
quite seriously, and begged me not to let Jim get intoa
fast racing set. At the age of eighteen I did not quite
know what the fast racing set consisted of !

Just as things were reaching an impasse in our joint
establishment Madame de Falbe came to our rescue,
and took me off to stay with her in Grosvenor Square,
and she eventually gave us a flat of our own in Mount
Street.

Another year of Kirby and then Jim went to India.
I remember suggesting going too, but to my secret relief
my offer was not accepted. We let Kirby for the
season, and I was left with a small house at Melton, and
three horses of my own.

I got any number of mounts and on off-days I amused
myself driving a pair of mules tandem, in a coster cart.
I hadn’t driven a tandem since the long ago days at
Dysart, when I had surreptitiously borrowed two ponies,
Memories and Base Details 101

 

one from the butcher and one from the blacksmith, and
harnessed them together with the assistance of ropes.
All had gone well until the leader fell down and broke
its knees. After that further concealment was impossible,
as my exchequer could not meet the amount required by
the blacksmith for damages !

Max Angus, a farmer-dealer, was particularly kind
about mounting me. He said I brought him luck and
that he always sold the horse afterwards. I know that
I very seldom rode the same animal twice, which I
regretted when it was a good one. The variety in my
mounts gave me lots of experience.

* * * * * *

I was revelling in my newly-found freedom, and it
would have been a very jolly winter but for the South
African war. French’s victory at Elandslaagte filled
us all with our British optimism, but it was followed so
soon by a reverse, and the fact of our troops being
concentrated in Ladysmith was depressing. Our re-
verses at Magersfontein and Colenso had quickly wiped
out Lord Methuen’s victory at Belmont.

In December came a cry for more men; practically
everyone one knew at once volunteered, particularly
amongst the hunting men. The Yeomanry were all
going out under Lord Chesham, and Jim had to join the
Warwickshire direct from India; but apart from the
regular Yeomanry Alwyne Compton had raised
““Compton’s Horse,” and amongst the people who went
out with him from Leicestershire I can remember Lord
Cowley, Lord Hamilton of Dalziel and one of Lord
Derby’s brothers.
102 Memories and Base Details

 

Leicestershire was becoming deserted, the field con-
sisting very largely of women. The Brocklehursts
were at the Spinney; Alfred B. was a host in himself,
and much run after by the ladies, and he always rode
home surrounded by a party of “ fairies.”” Lady Wilton,
the Queen of Melton, and Mr. Prior, were, of course, at
Egerton Lodge, and gave their usual dinner parties ; it
would have taken more than an earthquake to disturb
the Egerton Lodge routine.

Hilda de Winton was another grass widow with a
house in Melton—her sense of humour contributed to-
wards keeping us in as cheerful a frame of mind as
possible—Walter was in South Africa, but we still had
Lord Cholmondeley and dear “ Pickles’? Lambton to
keep us cheery. Alas! he is one of those who have
gone for ever. What fun he wasthat winter! He always
used to chaff me for never getting tired! Once he and
I rode fifteen miles home together and I had been keeping
up a rather one-sided conversation, but failing to get
much response had dropped into silence. As we jogged
along the road I was startled by “ Pickles” suddenly
calling out to me: “ Angela, I don’t believe you could
be killed with a hatchet!”

A new arrival at Melton about this time was a
foreigner, Rodakowski by name; he had married Lady
Dora Carnegie, who did not hunt. He, however, made
up for it by never missing a day and jumping all the
most impossible places, so much so that when someone
complained of being unable to pronounce his name
Hughie Owen declared it wouldn’t matter, as he would
break his neck in a week.

Another Melton personality was Lady Cardigan.
She used to come to the meet in a brougham, her saddle
GOL Bion)

—=

Srey

 

)

“yoog BUST S,Soqioy vsuy ApeT wo.

 
Memories and Base Details 103

 

on the top, a leopard skin coat over her habit and a tiny
billycock perched on her yellow curls. She used to ask
everyone if they had seen her horse, but the horse, of
course, was a myth—she had not been on one for
years !

I had known her in the old days at Deane, as we used
to go over to luncheon there from Apethorpe, and the
first thing you saw there on going into the hall was
“My Lord’s charger” that he rode at Balaclava—she
had had it stuffed! Then she used to take everyone to
see her bridal chamber, which contained a bed surrounded
with looking-glasses and draped with white net, roses
and satin! Her feet were supposed to be the smallest
in the world and she made a point of exhibiting these,
calling for the butler to change her boots for her in the
drawing-room. Most people thought her an oddity,
not in the least appreciating her humour and reminis-
cences. At Melton she led a most lonely life, but occa-
sionally she would be asked out to dinner, and nothing
pleased her more than being asked to dance afterwards.

Lady Cunard, by the way, made her first appear-
ance in this country under Lady Cardigan’s chaperonage,
and it was Lady Cardigan who arranged her marriage
with Sir Bache.

The season that year in London somehow dragged
itself through. Nobody was feeling very cheerful—the
long list of casualties included Lord Airlie, whilst Lord
Roberts and Lord Chesham had both lost their sons.

Lady Chesham and Lady Georgina Curzon’s Hospital
was the only recognized Unit of the kind, but a few
venturesome spirits had found their way over to the
Cape, and Randolph Wemyss and Sir Samuel Scott
were amongst those who had their yachts out there.
104 Memories and Base Details

 

Scandals galore drifted home, and there were plenty
of stories of the “goings on” at the Mount Nelson
Hotel, mostly centred round a few important per-
sonages.

No real balls were being given in London, but there
were a few dances for the boys and girls. The girls were
gradually coming into their own and having the time of
their lives. Whether this emancipation tends to the
ultimate good of the individual is a question open to
doubt ; the very tight Victorian rein under which I
suffered obviously needed relaxing, but the flinging
away of all restraint has become almost too emphatic.

Chaperons were beginning to see the end of their career
in sight, but there were a few mothers who still clung
tenaciously to their office. In many cases, though, they
were glad to escape, and I have always felt a profound
pity for those unfortunate middle—or past middle—aged
ladies leaning uncomfortably against the wall of a ball
room in a drowsy condition in the small hours of the
morning. Many of them were probably hungry too, no
one having even asked them to go to supper.

The Westminster wedding was causing a good deal
of stir—to be or not to be was the question; but when
it did come off as a ‘‘show”’ it was quite ordinary.

“Bend Or” was very young and very charming—he
was obviously marked out as one of the victims or
favourites of fortune. His happy-go-lucky character
made him able to appreciate his luck and come up smiling
through all vicissitudes.

I was very little in London myself during the South
African war, but spent a delightful six weeks with the
Londesboroughs on the river. Glancing back over the
past years I can think of few people who have shown
Memories and Base Details 105

 

me greater kindness and hospitality, than the Londes-
boroughs. Their home seemed my home and those
who only knew Francis casually, missed discovering the
depths of gentleness and sympathy which were his
dominant characteristics.

I was back in Leicestershire when the news of the
Queen’s death came. Her passing meant the end of a
very great era. She had watched her Empire grow,
probably to the highest pinnacle which it will ever reach,
and the Victorian tradition and all that it meant went
with her.
IV

I SHIFTED my headquarters during the South African

war from the Melton side of Leicestershire to the
Cottesmore country. They were only ten miles apart,
but one felt immediately the difference in the atmo-
sphere of Melton and Oakham. The Oakhamites looked
rather sourly on the Meltonites, whilst the Quornites
rather rudely called their sisters on the other side
“Cottesmore Cats.”’ When asked why, they said it
was because they were such “ stay-at-home tabbies,”’
and the “Cats” retaliated by dubbing the Quornites
“ Quorn Kittens.”

Certainly the ‘Cats’? seldom invaded the Quorn
territory and were mostly content to hunt with their
own pack, and if they had any scandals, they kept them
in their family circle. The majority of them had been
established in the district for many years, but the Melton
crowd, on the other hand, were an ever-changing popula- '
tion who took their hunting-boxes for the season, and
departed as soon as Melton Races were over. Most
of the scandals emanated from Melton, or were supposed
to do so—I wonder whether a psychologist could explain
why Leicestershire was responsible for so many. A
visitor to Melton once said: “I hear there are only
two things to do in Leicestershire—and I don’t hunt!”
It is certainly difficult to think of many couples who

106
Memories and Base Details 107

 

really survived more than two or three seasons. A good
many ended in the divorce court, though I can remember
one notable case when a reconciliation after much nego-
tiation was effected. But all the same, if the tales one
hears are true, our grandfathers and grandmothers had
no right to look askance at us! They had pretty good
times themselves, but perhaps their methods were more
circumspect. They must have had a lot of harmless fun
too in the old days at Melton, and I always think that the
moonlight steeple-chase, when all the hard riders at Melton
set out attired in their nightgowns, must have been a
great joke. I have got a copy of the original pictures
that Angus McNeill did of this event.

As for situation, from Melton you could hunt with the
Quorn, Cottesmore, Belvoir and Mr. Fernie in their best
country without having more than a few miles to go to
the meet. This probably accounted for the extra
popularity enjoyed by Melton as a centre.

Personally I liked my new surroundings. It was
rather a respite from the constant crowd to have a
comparatively small field on two days in the week, and
this we got on Mondays and Thursdays, but even on
these days the fields began to grow in dimensions when
the new huntsman, Thatcher, arrived. His reputation
of being almost a second Tom Firr, spread like light-
ning, and the Cottesmore soon became the most fashion-
able pack.

Barley Thorpe, the Lonsdales place, was only a mile
from Oakham. Lord Lonsdale’s individuality is entirely
apart from his intellectual abilities. A picturesque
sense of imagination is strongly developed. If somebody
once said to him that he suffered from constitutional
inaccuracy, his inventions were generally arresting and
108 Memories and Base Details

 

without the smallest tinge of ill-nature. His organiz-
ing powers and attention to detail are almost super-
humanly developed.

The tour of the stables on Sunday afternoon was
performed with much pomp and ritual. No stables were
better kept or contained a more perfect collection of
weight-carrying hunters. A basket of carrots awaited
Lord Lonsdale’s arrival and was handed him at each
stable door. ;

Sometimes we would see a horse put into the school
and it would obey Lord Lonsdale’s voice, almost like
his dogs did, which is saying a good deal, as they in their
turn are as well disciplined as a Guards’ Battalion. On
one occasion a young horse from Ireland was put in the
school for the edification of Lord Ribblesdale and myself.
We watched Lord L.’s methods of making hypnotic
passes, and saw the rebellious animal become gradually
docile, though I confess I shared Lord R.’s scepticism as
to this being the horse’s initiation into the ring!

All animals love him, and he has undoubtedly a
mysterious power over them. I think it has something
to do with his voice, which is one of the most charming
I have ever heard.

A description of Barley Thorpe would not be com-
plete without mentioning the custom of sitting round
the horseshoe table in the dining-room in front of the
fire after dinner, when the toasts of “‘ The King,” ‘‘ The
Ladies’ and “ Fox-hunting”’ are always drunk.

The Bairds, Blairs and Calandars were a much
inter-married clan. Mr. Baird, who hailed from Fife,
had been master of the Cottesmores for years, and his
sisters and their husbands had been established round
Oakham for an equally long period. They were sup-
Memories and Base Details 109

 

posed to look on all new comers with suspicion, and I
was rather frightened of them when I first migrated,
but they were all very nice to me.

The Noels seemed to be interned behind the walls of
Catmose. I used to hear of their ultra-Victorian régime
from their pretty daughter-in-law, who divided her
year between Catmose and foreign travels; I think
she was surprised herself that her intelligence survived
her milieu.

Two members of the Brocklehurst family, Lord
Ranksborough and Annie Fitzwilliam,* had built houses
in the neighbourhood. Lord R. had built his under
the shadow of the famous covert. He will be one of
the most missed figures in that part of the world. Im-
mensely tall, one’s ideal of a cavalry officer, he had the
gentlest and sweetest disposition, and he seems to have
been almost the last link between the present and my
childhood. The Fitzwilliams were at Barnsdale—a
house where I have spent many happy days. It is not
often that the charm characterizing one member should
run through an entire family, but in the case of the
Brocklehursts each one of them seemed to possess it.

The Guy Fenwicks had established themselves on
the further side of the country. Elsie Fenwick was dis-
tinctly social and filled her house with all the youth of
the countryside. She was the soul of cheerfulness,
while he was quite unexpectedly intelligent on a variety
of subjects. A very large contingent of Fenwicks were
dotted round Leicestershire, some of them having been
rather unflatteringly nicknamed—one of them rejoicing
unpler the appellation of Foul Fenwick !

Two of the very few gentlemen riders who have won

* Hon. Lady Fitzwilliam.
110 Memories and Base Details

 

the Grand National both hunted with the Cottesmore
—Lord Manners and Mr. Maunsel Richardson. The
Manners’ came regularly every year to Cold Overton,
and Mr. Richardson and Victoria Lady Yarborough
had given up the Brocklesby hounds and taken Edmond-
thorpe—a few miles from Oakham.

Two more different types of riders to have won
the National it would be difficult to conceive. The
“Cat,” as Mr. Richardson was called, was one of the
finest horsemen, and he really lived for horses and
hunting. Though by no means a young man when I
knew him, he always preferred making a four-year-old
himself to buying the finished article. He took an
enormous amount of trouble about his horses, and
spent his spare time schooling them—he was a great
believer in driving them on the long reins over fences.
I rode several of his horses, and though they were not
of outstanding merit, they had been so perfectly made
by him, that one was sure that they would take off on
the right spot. Mr. Richardson was a very great friend
of Lord Minto’s, and the story goes that they both loved
Lady Yarborough—and in order to decide which of the
two should propose to her, they took off their coats and
settled the question then and there.

* %* * * * *

The house I had taken was at Manton, and I was
living there when Jim returned from South Africa.

The return of husbands from South Africa and the
consequent re-adjustment of life was, of course, not only
felt by me, but one’s own circumstances, in one’s own
eyes, are generally assumed to be more difficult than
other people’s.
Memories and Base Details 111

 

But life jogged on as it has a way of doing in the same
accustomed groove, and I found myself once more doing
the same monotonous round.

The summer of 1902 I spent in London. Jim was
very little there, as he was doing galloper to Lord Ches-
ham, who had been given a Staff appointment connected
with the Yeomanry. With the exception of a week at
Ascot, I hardly went away at all, as my mother was
dangerously ill.

Mrs. Forbes had a house at Englefield Green, and I
went to stay with her. I did not go to the races, but
amused myself riding in Windsor Park and playing golf
with those of the party who were staying with Lord
Grimthorpe, next door, and who were also not inclined
for the crowd of the Enclosure. He had, I remember,
a large party there that year, including Lord Lonsdale
and Lord Elcho, the Islingtons and Lady Gerard.

The arrangements for the Coronation fixed for June
were all cancelled at the eleventh hour owing to King
Edward’s illness. No end of foreigners had come over,
and there was a boom in London houses; we had let
our flat for {250 for the fortnight of festivities that were
to take place, but our tenants only stayed two days.
I offered it to them for nothing (the least I could do)
when the Coronation eventually took place, but they
could not come back, so I stayed on and went to it
myself !

Even a Coronation suffers from postponement, and
it was shorn of much glory, but all the same it was a most
impressive sight. I had got a seat in the Abbey and
Lady Maud Ramsden and I sallied forth at about 8 a.m.,
as we had to be in our places at a very early hour.
Imagine some of the jaded faces in full evening dress
112 Memories and Base Details

 

and tiaras at that hour of the morning! The Queen
of Roumania stood out on that occasion—not only for
her good looks, but because she was so much better dressed
than any one else. It was a long, weary wait, and we
were very thankful that we had brought a provision of
sandwiches and biscuits. We were rather ashamed of
taking them, but found that we were in the fashion ;
all the same, a picnic in Westminster Abbey does sound
a little incongruous, if not exactly profane !

* * * * * *

My daughter Flavia was born that winter. Jim was
very much disturbed at her not being a son, as in his
heart I think he imagined that he would one day be Sir
James Forbes of Newe, but that idea has since been
knocked on the head by the certainly belated arrival
of several sons into his cousin Charlie Forbes’ family.

I had lent my house at Manton to Margot Asquith
for the winter. Jim was going abroad, and I was to join
Margot as soon as I could. She usually hunted from
Cold Overton, but this year the Manners’ had given it
up and gone into asmall house at Oakham. I think,
too, Margot wanted to have the children with her ; Eliza-
beth was then about six, and Anthony only a month or
two old.

Our joint ménage was the greatest fun. Barbara
Lister* and Lord Ribblesdale were down there a great
deal, and who could want better company! Rib was
delightful anywhere, and in that hunting milieu he
excelled. His superb sense of the ridiculous made the
most trivial episode into a fantastic adventure. Barbara

* Hon. Lady Wilson.
GIL “d busony]

‘spunoyy wiond ayy puv mq woz,

 
Memories and Base Details 1138

 

had a combination of her mother and father’s wit. She
was waspish one moment and mellow the next. I think
her criticisms of people and things were tinged by her
personal feelings towards them, but they never failed
to be entertaining.

Margot has been blamed for hunting so much. Her
friends were inclined to be critical of her, and said she
was not doing her duty to her husband, which meant
she was not entertaining his party! ‘‘ Peter has been
my love; Asquith is to be my life,” was her method of
announcing her engagement to a mutual friend.

I don’t think Margot was ever so happy as when she
was hunting, and she would probably have made a
much better M.F.H.’s wife than a Prime Minister’s—it
possible. She still went well, and if there was any sign
of her nerve going it was imperceptible, except possibly
that she rode a little too fast at her fences; that is as a
rule such a tell-tale signal.

Margot is always kindness itself to her servants, and
Barbara and I used to be quite annoyed because she
would insist on our letting our maids go out for the day
before we were dressed ourselves. She thought her
servants liked hunting as much as she did, and used to
pack them all off to the meet in a wagonette. How we
all fitted into my tiny house I don’t know, but Margot
has the art of making a small house expand to her re-
quirements. She was good nature personified, and
when (as we generally did) Barbara and I used to take all
the hot water, she went bathless without a murmur !

Marigold and Elizabeth did lessons together and
were most amusing. They used to have many arguments,
and Elizabeth was overheard in the train telling Mari-
gold that Mr. Asquith was very superior to her father

8
114 Memories and Base Details

 

as he “‘ spoke in the House” ; to which Marigold replied-:
“You should hear mine speak in the house!”

There is not much more that one can say about
Margot. She has said almost too much about herself ;
but then, Margot is superbly tactless, and in her memoirs
she has been even more tactless about herself than
about her friends, and with an almost unpardonable
lack of reticence she has written about things which
most people would hesitate to discuss with their nearest
and dearest. I am sure she was never immoral in the
accepted sense of the word ; she is one of those people who
might smile at indecency, but who would scowl on im-
morality. I have seen nothing of her in the last few
years, but remembering her genuine wit, her book dis-
appointed me terribly. Like a good cook giving you a
badly ordered dinner, she has chosen the dullest stories
and selected the most unattractive episodes of her life ;
she has concealed the most interesting details and has
given place and prominence to domestic anecdotes which
would have been most happily ignored.

Mr. Asquith came down for week-ends and I used to
wonder if he was bored by the luncheons and dinners
that Margot hurried him off to on Sundays, or if he
enjoyed them as arelaxation. He never talked his shop,
but listened to our description of a day’s sport, and asked
endless questions on the subject, and he was apparently
as interested in the doings of the “tally-hos!”’ as in
the annals of the Kit-Cat club. He didn’t know one
end of a horse from the other, so it must have been pure
kindness on his part.

* * * * * *

Instead of going to Scotland for the autumn, I went
to America to stay with Bridget Guinness in August,
Memories and Base Details 115

 

1903. I was really to have gone earlier, but Flavia
was ill and I could not possibly leave her. The Shaftes-
burys and Lilah Paget were the only people I knew on
board. Lilah was on her way out to see some of her
American relations, but seemed quite vague as to where
they lived or what they looked like. The Shaftesburys
were going to stay with Sir Thomas Lipton on the Erin
for the Cup Races. Cuckoo S. took a sentimental interest
in the fortunes of the Shamrock, as she had apparently
christened her in Belfast.

Robin Grey met me in New York, and took me on to
Long Island, where Bridget’s house was. Her mother,
Lady Bulkeley, Lady Charlie Beresford and Prince
Troubetskoy (Amelie Rives’ husband and a very fine
looking man) were staying there, as well as Hugo Baring.

Bridget had already made herself very popular on
the other side, though at first I think they did not quite
understand her Bohemian ideas, which were the antithesis
of the rather conventional New Yorkers. Her house was
of course delightfully comfortable; you could trust
Bridget to see to that, and also to have most excellent
food.

The heat and the mosquitoes were our great trial,
and the minimum of clothes was the order of the day.
Our first expedition was to Sheepshead Bay to see the
Futurity Stakes (the big American two-year-old
race).

Here I met the great Mr. W. C. Whitney—the most
hospitable man in America, which is saying a good deal.
I could quite understand his popularity, for he had great
charm, and he certainly seemed to be adored by his
entire entourage. He amused me with his rather
caustic criticism of Englishwomen who had gone to

8*
116 Memories and Base Details

 

America. He thought they were more interested in
finance than in anything else.

Mr. Whitney’s entourage included, amongst many
amusing people, Peter Dunn, of ‘Mr. Dooley” fame.
Some of his stories are inimitable, and I loved the com-
parison he drew ,between the American and English
accent, “though we speak in the same language it is
through different organs of the face.”

Mr. Whitney talked with pride of his son Harry, who
was already a polo enthusiast, and eventually came to
Leicestershire and took the Burns-Hartopps’ place, Dalby,
joining the ranks of the other Americans who were already
established at Melton, and who were making hunting
very difficult for the individual of moderate means.

The power of money was making itself forcibly
felt. No sum was too high to be paid for a good horse
by these new comers, and the prices of horses, good
or bad, went up automatically. Owners were tempted
to part with the best out of their studs, dealers began
to overrate the quality of their horses, and I expect
that the visitors from over the water were occasionally
badly stuck. In the same way rents went up, and the
local tradesmen reaped a golden harvest, whilst the
poor man was left lamenting.

The racing in America was quite different from that
in this country. One missed the grass, and the dust from
the dirt track often completely hid the horses from view.
I had never seen the starting-gate before ; no one could
understand why we hadn’t got it in this country. All -
the jockeys rode @ la Tod Sloan and looked just like
monkeys. Their methods seemed different from ours ;
there was no question of riding a waiting race or of any |
particular horse making the running, but just what
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looked like a wild scramble to be first to get the inside
berth on the rails. They discussed the form of the horses
by the stop-watch as much as anything else. The.
Futurity that year was won by Sidney Paget’s Hamburg
Belle and we were all on!

Mr. Whitney asked us all over to stay at his “‘ Cot-
tage.’ Anything less like a cottage it would be difficult
to imagine. Everything was done in the most wonderful
way and diversions planned for every hour of the
day.

_ The Hitchcocks lived not far off and were mad about
horses and riding. Mrs. H. rode astride. They asked
me if I rode, so, of course, I said yes. Had I ever
hunted? Yes. Had I a habit? Yes. Would I ride
to-morrow ? Yes. So out I started on a horse of Mr.
Whitney’s that had won the ‘high jump’ at the New
York Show. I had a rather uncomfortable saddle,
but as I presumed we were only going for an ordinary
ride, I didn’t think it mattered much.

I was soon disillusioned and found that nothing so
dull was contemplated. There are no hedges bounding
the dusty roads, but slat timber fences that we should
have thought a fair size in Leicestershire and should not
have selected to “lark” over, but before we had gone
many yards someone quite calmly turned and jumped
one of these palings out of the road. We were a biggish
party, and I watched them all jump, realizing that
whatever my feelings there was no evading, and I must
follow suit. But the worst was yet to come. One after
another came these gruesome obstacles, all of which
had to be jumped, and if there had been a gate no one
would have condescended to open it! As the only
Englishwoman I could not disgrace myself by even
118 Memories and Base Details

 

showing surprise, but I thought myself rather lucky
to get home safely.

My horse had been schooled for high jumping and
got right “under” the timber, bucking over without
touching it, but all the horses did not jump in this way.
The Hitchcocks’ horses went rather fast and stood away
like Leicestershire hunters. Most of their hunters were
thoroughbreds, too slow for racing, which they schooled
themselves. This they do most thoroughly, taking them
loose into an enclosed ring with a movable bar, that
they have to go over at different heights. As they do
this regularly one would have thought the horses would
have got stale, but apparently they don’t. When I
asked if they didn’t get a lot of falls when they went out
with the drag, Mr. H. told me not many, but he also told
me of several people that had been killed !

When I got back to England I felt a curious affection
for a post and rails, and I am not sure that on a good
horse it isn’t safer than a fence you can see through.

I went on to stay with the Hitchcocks, and their house
was more like a home than the so-called cottages of New
York Society. The ways and customs of the Hitchcock
household were those of the South, and the food was
characteristically Southern, and, to my mind, delicious.
Sweet potatoes and corn on the cob are fare for the gods,
to my thinking, and J remember, too, a wonderful little
bird, something like a quail, the name of which I have
forgotten, but whose flavour is an abiding memory.

I met Lady Astor for the first time in America. She
was then Mrs. Bobbie Shaw, very pretty and full of fun.
When she came over here later with her sister she had a
great reputation for wit, and sometimes I thought it
was almost a nuisance to her, as she had to live up to it!
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I remember her on one occasion asking a man who wore
the red, black and orange Zingaree ribbon why he wore
such bright colours. He told her what it was. ‘‘ What’s
that ?”’ she said. “Some kind of marmalade?”
Within half an hour she repeated the same remark, having
led up to it with the same question to someone else!
But even the gods are caught napping sometimes, and
there is no doubt she was a great success here. Both
she and her sister looked awfully nice on a horse, and
the number of men who wanted to marry “‘ Mrs. Bobbie
Shaw’ were legion. She took a house at Market Har-
borough, and the eligible members of the Pytchley field
were all supposed to have succumbed, but apparently
she preferred to marry a fellow-countryman, even if he
is a naturalized Englishman.

I have not seen her lately, but, judging from the
reports of the House of Commons, I can’t help thinking
that she has changed a good deal since the days of my
trip to America.

I certainly think she showed a dog-in-the-manger
spirit over the Divorce Bill. She need not have grudged
her English sisters their freedom, having herself benefited
to no small extent by the American law !

Of course I saw the yacht racing, but it was not very
amusing and it meant a long, tedious day. I spent the
night before in New York, and Hugo Baring and I started
at a very early hour in the morning. We lunched on the
Enn. Sir Thomas Lipton had a huge party, with cham-
pagne and speeches. The water was thick with excursion
launches, and the lack of any breeze made the race a
fiasco. Personally I was content to read about the
others, and one could be sure that the minutest descrip-
tion would be given in the papers.
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The Sunday papers were the most amusing things
I have ever seen. Eighteen years ago the English news-
papers were very much more restrained than they are
now, but the American papers gave such details and
said such things that I cannot think how anybody dare
breathe in New York!

Winter is the Néw York season, and when I was there
American society was scattered and Newport was the
social centre of the moment.

A little colony had been formed round Roslyn on
Long Island. One of the show places (but equally en-
joying the name of cottage) was the Clarence Mackay’s ;
Mrs. C. M. considered herself an intellectual and was very
exclusive and admitted very few into her circle of friends.
Her children’s nurseries were decorated like a Mayfair
drawing-room, there were very few toys about, and they
were all en suite, whilst silk and lace abounded. What
an atmosphere to grow up in!

The hen luncheon parties, whilst the men were
working, were most depressing affairs. The average
American husband struck one as the most tolerant
money-making machine ever invented. It was a case
of men working and women spending—not weeping !

Burke Cochrane was a curiously arresting personality,
who seemed a primeval in that rarefied atmosphere. He
was an idealist and a fine talker, and whatever his
politics there was something about his rugged appearance
that stamped him at once as an individualist, and he
made the rest of the community look puny.

I returned to England in the autumn just in time for
the Newmarket Meetings and found Flavia busy cutting
her teeth and grown large enough to have got a prize
at a baby show.
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I should hate to live permanently in America, but
I had enjoyed myself so much and everyone had been
so kind that I was genuinely sorry to leave. I came back
on a German boat; Mr. Drextl was on board, and I
thought him rather blatant over the insinuations of
his successes in England !

An unfortunate contretemps occurred to me on my
way home. I rang the bell for my maid and a fat German
stewardess appeared, telling me that she was not
available, as she had produced a “ fine boy ” during the
night! Tableau! Naturally I was entirely oblivious
that such an event was even anticipated.

* * * * * *

We had still got our house at Manton and I was
overjoyed to be out hunting once more. The fences
looked comparatively small and I was full of courage
after my recent experiences in America.

I don’t think there were many new additions to the
field. Lady Suffolk, then Miss Leiter, was almost the
only one I can think of. She and Margot were hunting
together from Oakham. Poor Eustace Crawley—killed
in the war—was very much in love with her, and we all
thought she was going to marry him, when her engage-
ment to Lord Suffolk was announced. .

It seemed as if this was to be our last winter’s
hunting. There had been a financial crisis in the affairs
of Forbes, Forbes and Co., and as all Jim’s money was
in this business it meant having to sell all the horses.
Jim proposed going to India; but in the meanwhile our
plans were absolutely uncertain.

We drifted through part of the summer in a rather
122 Memories and Base Details

 

detached fashion and drifted finally to a complete
separation. Incompatibility covers a wide road of
wretched hours, and yet whilst secretly looking forward
to freedom Madame de Falbe’s words still remained as
a warning to me. It was her advice which made me
accept the arrangement which Jim insisted on, only under
protest, and which later made it much easier for me to
obtain my complete independence.

Meanwhile life had to be lived and the question of
finance to be seriously reckoned with. Hunting cost
money, and life without hunting seemed to me like bread
without butter ; yet I have grown used to doing without
horses and to eating margarine !

Had I graduated in the school of cheery philosophy
in which I have now almost taken my honours degree,
I should probably not have sold my jewels to buy horses,
for that is what I actually did. Of course the horses
went lame, and my pearl necklace was irretrievably
gone !

I am not even now quite sure that I am entirely to
blame for this utter absence of philosophy. Education
in my childhood was such a dreary affair, that unless
one was particularly serious-minded one was apt to look
with scorn on the other side of life as presented to one
in its unalluring garb. A child thinks its mother much
more attractive in bright colours than when dressed in
black, yet later the same child probably comes to
realize that black suits its mother better than colours
ever did.

But to return to my horses! Like money earned by
oneself, those horses, bought by myself, gave me far
more pleasure than the ones given to me in my earlier
days, and I had at least two jolly winters to which I look
Memories and Base Details 1238

 

back with a happy recollection. I spent one of these
at Oakham and another at Ashwell. Has anyone, I
wonder, changed their abode in such a short space of
time as I did! I enjoyed those two winters hilariously,
with no regrets for the past and taking little thought
for the future. But all good things come to an end.
So did my money! So did the pearls !

* * * % * *

Most of my autumns had been spent at Wemyss, and
Randolph and Eva, who had been the best of friends to
me, wanted me to go and live at Balfour. It was close
to Wemyss, and Randolph had taken it for his mother
to live at when he married; there were still a few years
of the lease to run, and between them they persuaded
me to move there. My last winter with only two horses,
and otherwise dependent for my hunting on the kindness
of friends, had made me realize the futility of trying to
hunt without money, so I gladly accepted the offer and
settled myself in my new home !

A delicious house of typically Scotch architecture,
full of legends of the ‘‘ Queen’s Marys,” for it had been
Cardinal Beaton’s home. The big drawing-room was
panelled with oak from his chapel in Paris, and the old
stone kitchen had been converted into the dining-room
by Mrs. Wemyss.

Stories of the Cardinal’s ghost, who walked with his
head under his arm, were rife, but I never saw him,
though I confess that I had some difficulty in persuading
my lurcher Smoker to come into my bedroom. Every
night he would get into a corner of my sitting-room,
and refused to move until I had pulled him out, and
he used to wake me up by groaning loudly at one o’clock.
124 Memories and Base Details

 

My sitting-room led out of the drawing-room through
a lobby beyond my bedroom. There was no one else
sleeping anywhere near, and people used to ask me if
I wasn’t frightened ; but the only thing I was frightened of
was that if the ghost did appear, it would vanish if I
spoke, so that, after all, I should be none the wiser if
I saw it! :

The nearest approach to seeing a ghost was hearing
one hammering on a glass bookcase in my doctor’s con-
sulting-room ; I knew that he was psychic, and we were
discussing the subject of reincarnation, when suddenly
the rat-tat, making exactly the same noise as human
knuckles hitting glass, made me look quickly round.
I was bound to accept the doctor’s explanation that it
was a frequent occurrence. It was a perfectly quiet
room, removed from the sound of heavy traffic and with
a curtain hung over the door. It was apparently an
uninteresting ghost, confining its attentions entirely
to the medical tomes.

The old walled-in garden at Balfour was a feature
of the place, and here Mimini Grosvenor’s hand could
be easily detected in the broad herbaceous borders with
their flaming mass of colour.

I think nothing was more tragic than Randolph’s
illness. He knew he was a doomed man, yet sheer pluck
kept him alive for longer than the doctors ever thought
possible. How well I remember his telling me of his
illness. I had gone to Wemyss to open a bazaar for
Eva, and he took me into his sitting-room and told me
that he had got diabetes, that he could not live more
than two years. I could hardly believe it; he seemed
perfectly well, and had come himself, in spite of pouring
rain, to meet me at Thornton in his Mercedes car. His
Memories and Base Details 125

 

one idea seemed to be to keep the truth from Eva—she
was always his first thought, and he knew what it would
mean to her as she absolutely adored him.

Through all his illness he showed no sign of depres-
sion, and he very seldom talked of it. He had the most
vital personality, brimming over with energy, and it was
almost impossible to be with him and ever to realize
that his days were numbered. He seemed, indeed, to
be almost defying fate, trying to prove that a will such
as his could conquer in the end. Eva was wonderful,
too ; a sword hung over her head, but she never allowed
it outwardly to make any difference, and her anxiety
was so veiled as to deceive an onlooker.

The miners testified amply to their affection for him.
Theirs was a saner attitude then, as they stood bare-
headed at their cottage doors to watch his funeral cortége,
or followed him to the grave, than in their flooding of the
mines to-day.
V

l MISSED my hunting much less than I expected, and

found that farming, gardening and golf filled up
a very large portion of my time, and the fact that the
Wemyss’ were so close to me meant that when I wanted
human companionship, it was always available.

The children were growing up and had passed from
the tiresome age of babyhood into the more amusing stage
of childhood. Marigold promised to be very pretty.
Flavia was fat and without any pretensions to good
looks, but she was jolly, and amusing enough to be
forgiven for her lack of thisimportant commodity. The
amicable’ separation between my husband and myself
still continued, and though we were on perfectly good
terms with each other, I felt that both of us were still
young enough to wish to be free, or else that we ought
to make another effort to once more resume a joint
ménage, but when I made this suggestion it was received
without enthusiasm.

It seemed ridiculous for both of us to be permanently
tied when the Scotch courts, with their very much more
humane and sane divorce laws, were accessible. I had
excellent instances within a few miles of me of two
most happy marriages after two most unsuccessful
attempts, and I pointed them out to Jim, suggesting

126
Memories and Base Details 127

 

that it was within the bounds of possibility for us to do
likewise.

The great objection he had to a divorce was that
in Scotland the “guilty party’ was treated as dead.
This meant that if I divorced him, I should be quite
well off, but that he would probably become bankrupt !
In order to avoid this catastrophe, I offered to forgo
my claim to the settlement during his lifetime, and to
continue on the same allowance he was then giving me.
After a considerable amount of discussion it was
arranged, and I was, at last, free; the divorce was for
desertion only, and so we were saved all the sordid details
which apparently are necessary in the English courts.

Eva Wemyss came into Edinburgh with me, ard
the whole thing was over in about five minutes—it
seemed almost incredible that one’s freedom could be
obtained in so short a time. There is no decree nisi and
no decree absolute, and you can walk out of the Scotch
court into a church or registry office without any inter-
ference from the King’s Proctor or anyone else !

The difference in my circumstances was only tech-
nical. Though I talked glibly of the possibilities of a
second marriage, it was probably the last thing I con-
templated.

I went south to spend Christmas with Millie at
Lilleshall. She and Strath had lived there a good deal
when they first married, and were doing so again, as
Trentham was more or less shut up, or in the throes of
being pulled down completely. The potteries had
extended almost to the front door, and the chimneys
and smoke had made it the most unattractive place
to live in. I had to take a house in London after
Christmas, as something was supposed to be wrong with
128 Memories and Base Details

 

Flavia’s heart. After taking her to various doctors
and going through weeks of the most ceaseless anxiety,
she was mercifully passed sound. I got a few days’
hunting that winter, but Iam not sure that it was worth
it. Going down with the milk train and having a bad
day’s sport and hearing all about the good ones one had
missed, not to speak of the stiffness, was a doubtful
pleasure.

I was destined to spend only one more autumn at
Balfour, as that summer Randolph Wemyss was taken
suddenly much worse, and his death occurred only a
few days after his return from doing a cure abroad. I
lunched with them just before, and his courage and
energy were the same. Dorothy Dalmeny,* a lovely
creature, came in after luncheon. Randolph had always
been devoted to his sister Mimini, and was equally fond
of her children, and he seemed both pleased and touched
at Dorothy coming to see him. Randolph’s death meant
an entire reconstruction of my future plans. The
lease at Balfour had almost run out, and as the trustees
were anxious to wind up the estate, we decided that I
had better make arrangements for moving, and the next
few months were spent with the children at Easton, as
Daisy had asked us to stay with her until I settled down
in the new house.

London seemed the best place to establish my head-
quarters, but before I was in a position to settle any-
thing I had various unpleasant lawsuits to tackle, a
tiresome and expensive job ; and when one has divorced
one’s husband, one’s budget does not as a rule allow
for any further litigation on the subject.

“* Now Mrs. R. Brassey.
Memories and Base Details 129

 

A succession of tragic comedies took place. J. at
first threatened to stop my allowance altogether, because
I refused to give up my maternal claims on Marigold !
An attempt on his part to kidnap her was frustrated by
a prompt move on my part! It was important, if he
was going to be tiresome, for the children to be in Scot-
land, under Scotch jurisdiction. They were at that
moment at school in London, but by the time J. or his
agents arrived to abduct M., she was safely on her way
to St. Andrews! The threat about the allowance was
at once put into force, and we were left penniless! Then
followed an entirely new development in the shape of
a melodramatic announcement that our divorce was
null and void, as my husband was not Scotch, but
English. Coming from J. it was more than comic. He
was never quite happy out of a kilt, added to which he
was going to be married himself in a few weeks. It all
entailed endless complications, and it eventually devolved
on me to get him out of the mess that he had got himself
into, and to prove that he was still entitled to his kilt.
It was a lengthy process, and during the weeks that fol-
lowed I can never be grateful enough to the Elchos (now
Lord and Lady Wemyss) for all they did for me. The
children and I spent a great deal of our time at Stanway,
and Marigold eventually went to Dresden with Mary
Charteris and her governess.

Stanway, which is one of the strongholds of the Souls,
is a most perfect type of Elizabethan architecture, with
its beautiful gatehouse built by Inigo Jones. It is not
only lovely to look at, but delightful to stay in, and
its literary and domestic atmosphere, as represented
by its inmates, was in no way enervating, and though
the Précieuse might be there, it was far removed from

9
130 Memories and Base Details

 

- one’s conception of the Precious. I had rather scoffed
at the intellectual games, probably through fear of
being unable to shine in. them, but I fell under their
charm directly I played them. The guessing game is
particularly amusing. Having selected your victim,
you describe him or her by the scent, the flower, the
architecture, even a good dish of which he or she may
remind you. It is a game calculated to add to your
list of enemies—to be described as resembling a cauli-
flower, a toad, macaroni and sage green, is not likely
to make you feel friendly towards the author of such
an uncompromising word-picture. The fact that the
most libellous portraits were the most easily guessed
is a proof that people’s idiosyncrasies and faults are
more easily noticed than their virtues. Another amusing
game is presenting an historical scene by dumb acting,
and leaving it to the audience to discover who and what
you are—Beb Asquith and I were particularly success-
ful in our representation .of Madame Steinheil and
Monsieur Faure !

Lady Wemyss shares with her sisters the very
special gift of motherhood, coupled with a very clear
understanding of the things that matter in life. Her
children possess unique and varied gifts, and a solidity
which is not always the accompaniment of charm.

Cynthia’s* charm is so subtle that, in spite of her
having sat as a model oftener than most people, no
artist can reproduce it. John confesses that he found
it only once, to lose it with the next stroke of the pencil.
I think it lies in the quiver of the mouth, which seems
to turn up and down simultaneously, and gives the
idea of wandering virtue which made me once describe

* Lady Cynthia Asquith.
ast *dAuI0n,7)

‘yreskqT ‘uooTes ay,

 
 

 
Memories and Base Details 131

 

her as the Madonna gone wrong. She is alarmingly
observant, which makes her super-critical even in a
critical family.

That lives so full of promise as those of both Ego
and Yvo should have been cut off in the very heyday
of their summer is one of those non-understandable
workings of a Providence we are taught to believe in.

* * * * * *

I was lucky, when my various lawsuits were even-
tually disposed of, to find a rather unique house in
Devonshire Terrace, just off the Marylebone Road.
It had been for many years the home of Charles Dickens
and the centre of his social life. In it he wrote some of
his most famous books, including ‘‘ David Copperfield,”
and from there he waged his battles against the stupidity,
harshness, and smugness of his age. Dickens took him-
self most seriously as a social reformer, and it seems
to me his value in that connection has never been
fully recognized, nor sufficient homage done to him
along those lines. His age was certainly the age of
laisser faire, and social service, except for the select few,
merely a name. Later on, I know, it became almost
a fashionable pastime among a certain set, but in
Dickens’ day it was in its infancy, and Lord Shaftesbury
was considered a mad crank by most of his friends.

The house seemed at times full of ghosts, kindly,
cheery ones, I am glad tosay ; Maclise, Foster, McCready,
and even Douglas Jerrold had a softened humour.

I had not, however, fully recognized the significance
of the charming little blue medallion placed on the wall
of No. ra, by an almost too thoughtful London County

g*
132 Memories and Base Details

 

Council. Various respectful little groups used to gather
round the house, while a lecture on Dickens, his times,
and his influence was evidently in progress—at least
I judged so by the looks of rapt attention cast from
time to time at the windows of my residence. I didn’t
mind that at all, it was a tribute to the great writer
and that pleased me, but societies at rather inconvenient
times requested permission to go over a part of the house
and to see the London garden Dickens had loved; it
was more than awkward occasionally, but had to be
done. The Americans were horribly persistent. They
appeared and flatly refused to budge until they had
saturated themselves with the real Dickens atmosphere,
_as they phrased it. The fact that my own great works
were being perpetrated meant nothing to them, and
they poked about everywhere armed with notebooks,
floating veils and all the rest of it, ending with effusive
thanks and making straight, I suppose, for Westminster
Abbey.

Whether the ghost of the great writer or a diminutive
bank balance was responsible for my taking to literature
is a delicate point. Quite frankly, I am afraid it was
a commercial rather than a literary instinct which
prompted me to first take up my pen. Imagination,
hitherto, had not been my strong point, and I found
considerable difficulty in extricating heroes and heroines
in an artistic, and.at the same time commonsense,
fashion from the difficult situations into which I had
somewhat thoughtlessly placed them.

My earliest literary effort was at the age of eight,
when I won a prize in a “ Little Folks” competition,
and my next attempt was at Madeira, when I embarked
on a novel. The report that it was too improper to
Memories and Base Details 133

 

be published was based on the fact that my heroine
was married on a Monday and on the following Saturday
a baby had duly appeared upon the scene—excessive
innocence or absurd ignorance would have been better
criticism.

In the interval I had edited a Natural History Maga-
zine. It was, of course, a purely childish effort, but it
contained some quite interesting contributions, and
my father wrote this sonnet for it:

WRITTEN FOR
ANGELA’S NATURAL HISTORY MAGAZINE

HAT a dull World ’twould be, if only Man
Were in it! Man the Tyrant! Man the Slave!

The vocal woods all silent as the grave,
And Nature cursed by some Almighty ban ;
No swarm, ephemeral, that lives a span
Yet lasts for ever ; the dark Ocean’s wave,
No more aglow, from crest to inmost cave,
With fiery atoms, lustreless and wan !
Oh! what were life without a horse or hound—
(The Race, that makes the dullest pulse beat quick,
The Chase, that stirs the energies of Youth)—
Those dear companions of our daily round ?
Oh! cherish them with love, tend them when sick,
And learn from them the honest ways of truth !

I was also given a hitherto unpublished poem of
Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s, but alas, I cannot repro-
duce it, as I have no copy of the magazine. The idea
of the magazine was a crib from Eva Baird, now Mrs.
Graham-Murray, who started an anti-cruelty to animals
paper and asked me to bea contributor. Its contents
consisted principally of articles dealing with the woes
or the intelligence of cattle and sheep.

My first real book, ‘‘The Broken Commandment,”
184 Memories and Base Details

 

was banned by the libraries, a fact which my publisher
told me ought to elate me, as it would undoubtedly
have a good market in consequence. I really don’t
think it was a bit more improper than most of the books
which were selling regularly on the bookstalls. The
criticisms amused me immensely, but after reading them
I was not sure whether it was a work of great literary
merit, or the most immoral book that had ever been
published. The Times was short and sharp in its notice
and summed it up in a few words, ‘“‘ a compound fracture
of the seventh commandment ”’!

My next two novels (I am really not writing of them
in any spirit of pride) were published during the follow-
ing three years. If they were of no literary merit they
certainly kept me occupied and gave me a glimpse into
another side of life. The spade work of writing was
thoroughly distasteful, and I finished up by dictating
them to the typewriter, but my amanuensis used to
take up nearly as much time telling me stories of Fleet
Street as I did of hers dictating rather mediocre fiction.

Her mother had been Lord Northcliffe’s only
“hand” in the days when he first ran Answers, and as
a child, she used to go on Saturday afternoons to sort
the postcards for his postcard competition—the com-
petition which attracted so much attention, and helped
him on to the first step of the ladder he has so success-
fully climbed. The day Answers was able to run to
a cover, he was so overcome with joy that he took his
“ Sub-Editor”’ to have a ‘“‘steak and porter” at the
nearest Chop Shop.

The result of hearing this story was to surround
Lord N. for ever with a romantic halo. I have read of
people who have made fortunes out of nothing, but
Memories and Base Details 185

 

they always seem very intangible and as remote as
Dick Whittington—there is nothing the least remote
about Lord Northcliffe.

Scribbling did not occupy all my time, and I was
beginning to take a rather more intelligent interest
in politics and history. I realized regretfully that
the development of my education had been seriously
handicapped by my father’s death, when I was at an
age to have benefited most from his companionship,
and I determined that Marigold, who was really rather
fond of her lessons, should be encouraged to take an
interest in present day events and happenings.

We engaged a history lecturer, and, as we were all
sublimely ignorant about the rights and wrongs of
Ireland and as the Home Rule Bill was on the tapis,
this was selected as one of the subjects. My knowledge
of Ireland was practically limited to a visit to the Head-
forts, and I was horrified to learn the part my ancestor,
the Lord Chancellor Loughborough, had played in the
affairs of that unfortunate country.

The cult of the politician was becoming general,
and an attempt to revive the salon was a fashionable
occupation. Somewhere about now F. E. Smith was
being talked about as the new discovery, and he availed
himself of his discoverers to promptly climb the ladder !

I was at the next table to him and Lady Pembroke
at the “ Ritz”’ one night, and could not help hearing
some of their conversation. She was busy talking
politics, and he was trying hard to talk hunting !

I amused myself reading the Parliamentary reports,
but was undecided in my mind over the Die-Hards and
the House of Lords reformers; I even dug up Lloyd
George’s Limehouse speeches in a wild endeavour to
186 Memories and Base Details

 

preserve a perfect balance of view. Can Lord Derby
have forgotten them entirely, I wonder, when he cheer-
fully suggests that Mr. Lloyd George may be the next
Conservative Leader? On the other hand, of course,
the convert is always more zealous than one born in
the Faith. .

Mr. Lloyd George, with his keen sense of humour,
must laugh heartily sometimes when he sees himself
surrounded by the pillars of the party who would once
gladly have seen him gibbeted and who now hang on his
words hoping for his favours.

The Prime Minister’s success has obviously not
turned his head. He has, apparently, no leanings
towards intimacy with so-called smart society, and
so far no social star has succeeded in inveigling him
away from the domestic hearth.

* * * * * *

I suppose if one lives in England, London is the
best headquarters for a lone woman, but I confess I
did not appreciate the atmosphere. Desolate as the
country may be, I don’t think one is ever so lonely as
one can be by oneself in a big town. Somehow, when
the birds go to bed and Nature has settled down to await
the dawn of another day, one drops quite naturally
into a dreamless sleep at an absurdly early hour, whereas
the rattle of the horses and cabs and the town lights are
vaguely disturbing. In the same way, I know of no
more depressing entertainment than supper after a
play—a thing since DORA almost unheard of. One
is not hungry if one has dined a couple of hours pre-
viously, and there is a note of false gaiety about it ;
98L'd Aijon7)

"plilyo Bose paral J saya, ‘aspoT uojsesp

 
Memories and Base Details 187

 

one needs to be very young to prolong in such fashion
either a boring or a merry evening.

One of the “ philosophers of life ’’ that I saw a good
deal of in those days when I lived in Devonshire Terrace
was Ralph Nevill, Lady Dorothy’s son. I know no
one with whom one could spend a more entertaining
hour—whose mood fitted in with one’s own more truly,
or who coloured dinner-table conversation more brightly
than he did. “A student of human nature”’ he called
himself, and he had evidently studied to some purpose !

I spent two winters at Biarritz and enjoyed myself,
though I don’t rave about the place as some people do.
The wind was to my mind a great drawback. An
occasional gale, as I remembered in my childhood at
Dysart, when we used to stand on the end of the harbour
pier and watch the waves dashing themselves at our
feet and soaking us with spray, is divinely exhilarating,
but in everyday life a perpetual wind becomes singu-
larly exasperating.

The Orloffs and Demidoffs were at Biarritz both
winters, and I liked them immensely. I had known
both the Demidoffs in Leicestershire and in Paris.
Prince D. was quite charming to Flavia, who shame-
lessly announced one day at luncheon that she prayed
for Princess Demidoff’s death, in order to marry the
Prince herself. I am afraid that he was the person
who started her on the path of flirtations !

We had some very amusing foursomes at golf, both
at St. Jean de Luz and at Biarritz, when Massey and
I played Hugo* and Prince Demidoff. St. Sebastian
was a rather nice place, and on one occasion George

* Earl of Wemyss.
138 Memories and Base Details

 

Vernon*, Hugo and I motored over to gamble. We
had all lost our money and were just going home, when
I found a louis counter in my pocket. I threw this
casually on number twenty. To my intense surprise,
I heard the croupier announce it had won. I plastered
the number with my -winnings, and once more had the
satisfaction of seeing it come up. For about ten minutes
I couldn’t go wrong, and when George came back to
see what I was doing, very cross at being kept waiting,
he found my pockets bulging with counters. I was
torn away before I had time to lose them again !

One of my most scatterbrained adventures was
a night trip in a balloon with the Dunvilles. The D.’s
and Mrs. Assheton Harbord spent most of their time
ballooning, and I was dining with them in Portland
Place, when the suggestion was made that we should
dash off to Chelsea Gas Works and embark.

When the balloon left her moorings we rose slowly
and steadily without any sensation at all—the help-
lessness of the pilot to direct our course was entirely
lost sight of by me, when I suggested that the tail rope
was extraordinarily near the top of some trees in a
wood we were skimming, but the only means apparently
of averting any disaster was to throw sand out of the
balloon! There was not enough wind to make it really
exciting, and on one occasion we touched the ground
in the middle of a corn field. I could not help think-
ing how uncomfortable it would have been if we had
landed on the goods station at Paddington instead!
The trials of not being able to smoke were compensated
for by seeing the day dawn above the clouds. Though

* The late Lord Vernon.
Memories and Base Details 189

 

one was in the middle of it, it seemed to happen without
any consciousness of what was taking place. From
complete darkness we seemed suddenly wrapped in a
mantle of rose colour, and the next moment was day-
light.

We came down in a most orderly fashion at Colonel
Hall Walker’s training ground near Swindon. I was
not sorry to emerge from the basket ; a sand-bag is a
most uncomfortable seat on which to spend the night
—even in the best of company !

* * * * * *

A chain of minor accidents led my wandering foot-
steps to Le Touquet. Flavia was a most inconsiderate
child, and invariably developed some infantile com-
plaint, generally at the most inconvenient moment.
From her point of view her periodical illnesses. were a
considerable asset, and she became in consequence
almost a connoisseur of seaside resorts! Sandwich,
Margate, Brighton and the rest of them were all sampled,
and most of them, with the exception of Sandwich,
very much disliked by me! I think there is nothing so
dreary or depressing as the ordinary English South
Coast watering-places, and I felt entirely unable to
cope with it when the usual change of air was ordered
for Flavia after her tonsils had been removed ! -

A sudden inspiration came to me to try Le Touquet.
I had been to Paris Plage in 1898, when the golf links
were hardly laid out and Paris Plage was a diminutive
village, consisting of little more than half a dozen
wooden chalets, which you could not dignify by the
name of houses. I remember going over from a yacht
140 Memories and Base Details

 

at Boulogne to see Lady de Trafford and Lady Norreys,
who were there with their children. The journey then
was a bit of an adventure, almost a pilgrimage, but
there was something very captivating about the huge,
almost boundless stretches of sand, and the utter
absence of anything, regulated or planned—its very
inconsequence was its charm.

When I went there again, a few years later, time
and speculators were hard at work doing their best
to change its aspect. The golf course was completed,
but you still only needed a niblick, a driver and a putter ;
now things were different, and it is greatly to the credit
of those who had the course under their charge that
they were able to induce grass to grow in that sandy
soil. The links had undergone drastic changes under
Vardon’s supervision, and a rather gimcrack and ex-
tremely unpicturesque hotel was crammed to over-
flowing. Wardon was looked on as a tin god—at one
moment it looked as if he might be going to spoil the
course by adding too many artificial bunkers and spoil-
ing what Nature had already effected. Later on the
course was considered good enough for the champion-
ship to be played there. Of all the pros, I liked Braid
the best, and I played several foursomes with him, and
also with Robson, who came to Le Touquet for quite
a long time with Lord De La Warr.

On my first visit to Le Touquet I had been stranded
for hours at Etaples Station, unable to get the most
humble of conveyances ; but when the children and I
arrived we were met by an hotel motor bus, and the
station was full of vostures and taxis, testimony to the
popularity of the place. Certainly its popularity was
well deserved when you think that in those pre-war
Memories and Base Details 141

 

days you could leave London and have a good round of
golf in the most delightful surroundings, to say nothing
of a gamble, before dinner without any inconvenience.
The old chateau where we gambled would no longer
accommodate the inquisitive and increasing crowd, and
plans for a gigantic Casino were in the process of develop-
ment, whilst in Paris Plage shops and chalets had grown
up like mushrooms in the night. I always wonder
why such astute people as Mr. Balfour, Lord D’Abernon
and Lord Wemyss did not see the potentialities of
Le Touquet, but the fact remains that years ago they
all came, saw and condemned it ; but they have all since
confessed that their judgment was very much at fault.

The Wemyss’, the Elchos and Mr. Balfour came over
for Whitsuntide, and Mr. Balfour divided his time
between the golf links and the tennis courts ; these were
another sign of the civilization that was fast conquering
Le Touquet’s seclusion.

The Stonehams practically owned the entire place,
he having bought the property for a mere song, and it
was to him that much of its rapid development was
due. They had built their own house almost adjoining
the golf course, and Mrs. Stoneham was justly proud
of her rose garden. (Mr. Balfour was the recipient
of a basketful on his arrival.) They had two demon
children who have grown into nice boys. The youngest
one, asked by a General during the war if soldiering was
going to be his profession, replied firmly: “No.” The
General, by way of inducing him to change his mind,
suggested he might eventually be his A.D.C. The boy
saw no attractions in the prospect—if he was a soldier
he said he wanted to fight. The General assured him
he would get plenty of that. ‘‘ No I shouldn’t,” said the
142 Memories and Base Details

 

lad. ‘ Your A.D.C.’s stay at the base and get decora-
tions.”

Another “‘ accident ’’ led to my staying considerably
longer at Le Touquet than I had anticipated. On the
very eve of our return to England a telegram came to
say that there had been a fire in my house in London ;
the result, apparently, of a fused wire. This was
followed by a letter from my landlord, asking me to
let him make some alterations to the house, and as these
alterations meant improvements, including a new bath-
room, I asked for nothing better. The alterations, he
told me, would take at least three months to complete,
so after bargaining with the hotel management I decided
to spend the summer where we were.

It was then that a wave of inspiration came to me.
A small building syndicate, one of the many being then
floated for the improvement of Le Touquet, had been
formed, and two villas, just completed, stood as the
outward and visible sign of the syndicate. Were they
to let? I made anxious inquiries, and found they
were still available. I saw a chance now of living rent
free. By taking one and letting it in the season I should
probably make money, and I should equally have no
difficulty in letting my house in Devonshire Terrace
when I wanted to.

This seemed such an attractive scheme that I at
once put it into operation, and my luck at the Casino
made it easy. I really did have phenomenal luck that
summer. With one louis I made a hundred one after-
noon before dinner, having looked into the Casino on
my way back from bathing—and from that day for
several months I never used to go out of the rooms a
loser. It was one of those extraordinary runs which
Memories and Base Details 1438

 

come sometimes once in a lifetime. The gambling,
except at Whitsuntide and Easter, was very limited,
but I made several expeditions to Paris and went out
to Enghien, always followed by the same amazing good
fortune. I made enough to furnish my villa, and even-
tually my prognostications regarding the rent were
correct, and I let it every season for six weeks for more
than I paid for it by the year.

But apart from the financial success of the enter-
prise I loved the life out there. It was never dull, and
without any of the tiresome conventionalities ef London.
Of course, the crowds at Easter and Whitsuntide were
tiresome, for, as the place became better known, the
riff-raff of London found its way across, and the crowd
made the links rather impossible to play on with any
degree of comfort—but this was only during the holidays,
and the course was improving each year.

A few enterprizing people were beginning to build
villas. Amongst these were the Kemps, who had already
spent some weeks at the Golf Hotel and had fallen under
the charm of Le Touquet. They had bought some
ground quite close to my villa, so I was assured of pleasant
neighbours. Mr. Kemp was a very nice American and
Mrs. Kemp a beautiful woman with blue-black hair
and marvellous eyes. Isabel Kemp was a delightful
child, and she had had the advantages of a combined
American and French education.

I had started golf in a rather desultory fashion when I
was living at Balfour, where I had the advantage of being
close to St. Andrews, but I now took it up with great
seriousness. I cannot say that the results are as gocd
as I might have wished for, though I actually had the
impertinence to play in the French Ladies’ Championship.
144 Memories and Base Details

 

Quite a large number of the female lights came over for
this event, amongst them the Leitch sisters and Miss
Ravenscroft. I liked her the best. She was so very
unconceited over her game and did not appear to make
such a business of it as some of the others. Mdlle. De
Bellet was much the best of the French competitors.
She is very pretty and her style excellent, but has not

got the beef which is behind most of the others—always
- excepting Elsie Grant Suttie. It was wonderful how
the French were taking to golf. The hotel used to be full
at week-ends of Lille merchants, their wives and families,
who nearly all played with a varying degree of excellence.
They were so tremendously keen that the pro.’s time was
always fully booked ahead for lessons.

I was immensely struck by the superior education
of the French bourgeoisie over the English of the same
status; the difference is particularly noticeable in the
Casino, where the second-rate Englishman appears sixth-
rate with his blatant self-complacency and his faltering
aspirates or country dialect in comparison with the polite
Frenchman, who speaks good French, no matter what his
vocation in life might be. The average Englishwoman
you meet at the seaside in this country is generally im-
possible as a companion. Frenchwomen, on the other
hand, and I met many, and got to know some well,
are all well-read and well up, not only in their own politics,
but in those of other countries, and their knowledge
of English affairs very often put me to shame when I
remembered how little I knew of theirs.

A most delightful woman, Madame le Blanc—her
husband owned some big cotton mills in Lille—was a
regular visitor to the Golf Hotel. We often played golf
together, and one day I was talking to her of Germany
 

Lady Angela Forbes, 1897.

[Facing p. 144
Memories and Base Details 145

 

and the Germans, and I asked her if the proverbial cry
of hatred and revanche was genuine or merely dlague.
The year 1870 seemed so remote and far back in history
that I found it difficult to realize the terrible feeling of
hatred which was supposed to exist in every man, woman
and child in France. “Do you,” I asked, “ personally
dislike every German you meet?” Her reply was un-
mistakably genuine, and she pointed to her sons just-then
strolling down to the club house and said: “I would
gladly see those boys die on the field of battle so that
France might avenge herself for 1870.” They were very
fine looking boys, almost English in appearance, and I
have since heard that the two eldest were killed.
Madame le Blanc was in Lille through most of the
German occupation.

She went on to tell me how the ‘“‘ day’ must come,
possibly sooner than any of us dreamt; the politicians
in both countries were blind—wilfully or stupidly blind,
she did not know which, anyway as far as England was
concerned. Of her own country’s Government she had
not much opinion. Our conversation took place at the
moment when the period of the ‘“‘ Service Militaire ’’ was
the burning question. She looked on it as the height of
folly and said that all patriotic Frenchmen were of the
same opinion, and that it was purely a political move.

Since Napoleon I. the French had been used to the
idea of conscription, though it was only in 1889 that the
Military law of ‘‘ Service obligatoire”? was actually
passed. The law then was that every Frenchman, if
fit at twenty-one, had to serve in the army three years,
but by passing certain examinations the period was
reduced to a year, in order that the men who were to adopt

other careers should not be needlessly hindered. In 1905, ©
Io

d
146 Memories and Base Details

 

owing to the Socialistic influence at work, the Govern-
ment passed another law, reducing the term to two years,
but with no exemption. The idea of this was to reduce,
little by little, the military charges ; the French Govern-
ment then in power did not want to see the danger signals
in German politics ,and preferred to pander to the
Socialists and to the Radical electors. Germany,
however, persisted in her efforts to irritate France, till
at last public opinion, under the influence of the real
French patriots, realized how suicidal this policy was,
and in 1913, in spite of a strong Socialist opposition, M.
Barthou managed to carry the day, and the three years’
** Service obligatoire”? came into force with no exemp-
tions.

Caillaux and his clique were, alas for France, still
far too influential, and were doing their best to rescind
the Barthou Bill. Politics were corrupt and tinged with
drama, which reached its height with the Caillaux-
Calmette murder. French politics are carried occasion-
ally far into the law courts, and no one anticipated any
other verdict than one of acquittal for Madame Caillaux.

Time has convicted Caillaux himself, not only by the
High Court of Justice but by every right-thinking citizen
—at Vichy the other day a wounded fotlu attacked him
with his crutch and he was no more seen in the streets.
PART II
I

AR! How one remembers those early days when

a curious heart-sickness seemed to have fallen

on everyone—one remembers them with almost more

vividness than the years that followed. All one’s senses
seemed strung to a nervous tension and strain.

I had only just come from Le Touquet—having let
my villa as usual for the season—when the Arch-Duke’s
murder and the German Note gave the first dim warning
of future troubles. Even then one did not realize how
soon the storm would burst.

I can remember my German kitchen-maid telling me
there would be no war; that the Germans hated the
Kaiser and that he would be assassinated before he could
marshal his armies in the field—so much for her know-
ledge of the German mentality.

The news of the hurried flight from Le Touquet and
Paris Plage reached me through Mr. Butler, the Secretary
of the Golf Club, who came to see me in London.

Le Touquet and Paris Plage had just started their
season, and the Polo week was in full swing. The new
ground which the Millers had superintended was being
opened, and the Duke of Westminster and Lord Rock-
savage had got their ponies there, but when war was
declared English, French and Americans fled in absolute
confusion. The manager of the Golf Hotel, a German,
had disappeared, but a waiter of the same nationality

149
150 Memories and Base Details

 

had been pushed overboard, in the Harbour, by the
mob and left to his fate. Mr. Butler also told me that
all the men in the district had reported themselves at
their Depots—only to be sent back as there was not a
pair of boots or a single rifle available. This, for a nation
that had been crying,vevanche for a generation, seemed
incredible, but there is no gainsaying the fact that the
French were quite as unprepared for war as we were.

Official circles resolutely refused to realize the near-
ness of “the day.”’ Although the Opposition spent their
time warning the Government of the danger of this
apathetic policy, they continued to shut their eyes to the
probability of war, as resolutely as did ene English to
Lord Roberts’ prognostications.

The French Government wanted to inspire the people
with confidence and established a false security. Cail-
laux influence was at work, and his policy was to pander
to Germany, always hoping to break down the natural
antagonism of France towards that country, which would
one day end in an alliance against England. One of the
most reassuring incidents sometimes used for the justifi-
cation of the unpreparedness of the French for the war,
was the presence of the President, and other members
of the Government, at a reception given in June, 1914,
by the German ambassador, M. de Schoerr. It was the
first time since 1871 that the President had ever crossed
the threshold of the German Embassy. It was almost
an unwritten law that he might not set foot on ‘“‘ German
soil,’ and the German Embassy is, of course, legally such.
To such an extent was this fetish carried, that whenever

the President went to see his ally the Czar of Russia he
had to make the journey by sea in order to avoid crossing
German territory.
Memories and Base Details 151

 

The fact that this habit of years had been broken
appeared more indicative of peace than war.

* * * % * *

Then came those days fraught with tense anxiety
and suspense as to England’s réle in this world-event.
The doubt was felt rather than expressed. ‘‘ When are
we going in ?”’ rather than “‘ Are we going in ?”’ was the
haunting question in every breast.

There were Cabinet meetings, rumours and specula-
tions as to what transpired at them—Lloyd George and
Lord Morley were commonly reported to be the pacifists
—and then on the 4th August the tocsin sounded! The
face of London was changed, and at one stroke the habits
of years slipped from the populace. London, usually
a dusty wilderness in August, was crowded—no one
wanted to go away. Overborne with a new sense of
grave happenings, people ceased to concern themselves
with changing their clothes. The hotel grill-rooms
were crowded, but to dress for dinner became banal,
almost an outrage. At nights the people poured into
_ the streets—and no surer proof of the loyalty of British
citizens could have been found than in those throngs,
that gathered round Buckingham Palace, to cheer their
King.

Meanwhile the military machine started moving
and the great mobilization began. Not only the
secrecy, but the swiftness with which it was carried
out, constituted a chef d’euvre of organization.

At the London depots men confined to barracks
could be seen talking to their wives and sweethearts
through the railings. They had cheery, jolly faces,
and, poor devils, they all expected to be back again
152 Memories and Base Details

 

in a short time. A few of them, doubtless, knew better
the true nature of the great adventure upon which
they were being resistlessly hurried ; but their women’s
courage must be kept up at all costs, and all sections of
society feverishly strove to connive and to keep the
national moral to its topmost point.

Everyone was delighted that Sir John French was
to command the Expeditionary Force. Up to the last
moment it was not absolutely certain that he would
do so, as he had relinquished his position as Chief of the
General Staff the previous April, owing to the affair
at the Curragh ; and there were rumours afloat that Sir
James Grierson, whose knowledge of Germany and of.
the German mentality was so profound, might be sent
in his stead.

Sir John French, however, was duly appointed to
the supreme command, and the nation felt that our
fate was in competent hands. The First Hundred
Thousand were flung at the invader. Few realized
more surely than Sir John French how the issue hung
in the balance, and no one could have done better than
he, with his inadequate material, and his handful of
men, against the terrific onrush of the German hordes.

Those early days, with all their bull-dog endurance
in the face of overwhelming odds, will not easily be
forgotten—at any rate, by those who were associated
with the epic retreat from Mons. French’s superhuman
' efforts in rallying his forces when things seemed to
have reached breaking point are now matters of history,
and when at last he left the Army, he left it admired
and beloved by his officers and men.

I dined with the P.’s the night before the Grenadiers
left; one or two of G.’s brother officers were there.
Memories and Base Details 1538

 

It is interesting to recall the point of view at the moment :
back in six weeks and the Germans beaten into cocked
hats! I was shouted down when I suggested the possi-
bility of the Germans winning the war; their argu-
ment was not that we could wear them down with
determination, as we eventually did, but that it was
unthinkable that they should even win one battle! I
suppose it was this wonderful spirit of confidence, or
optimism, that helped that handful of men to stand up,
as they did, against the overwhelming majority of the
enemy. Another thing which was frequently pro-
pounded in those early days was the impossibility for
human nerves to stand more than six weeks of the
hideous and ferocious violence of modern warfare.

No sooner had the war-cloud burst than a general
desire to take some part evinced itself. First Aid
classes were inaugurated, and everyone who owned a
house in any way suitable instantly offered it to the
War Office or the Admiralty to be used as a hospital.
There was a rush of women to the London hospitals to
be taken as probationers, and every shop that sold a
cap or apron was literally besieged by those who wanted,
at least, to possess a uniform.

Millie lunched with me a day or two before we knew
definitely that England had come into the war. She was
very busy getting letters off in the Foreign Office mail-
bag, but she did not divulge that she was off to France
herself, and one night she vanished. What happened
there after that she herself has written. I went with
her after luncheon to the first-aid class at London-
derry House, where I found “ Society’ making gallant
attempts to master the intricacies of the capelline
bandage, and how not to tie a granny knot, and if the
154 Memories and Base Details

 

bandages did roll from one end of the ball-room to the
other, as they escaped from amateur fingers, the efforts to
succeed were so genuine that no one could have ridiculed
them.

There was something singularly eerie about the big
room in all its party.panoply, with its summer-clad
occupants grouped round an anatomical model or a black-
board inscribed with medical terms and diagrams, and
one afternoon I remember seeing Lord Kitchener pass
through the room to have tea with Lady Londonderry.

Constance Richardson was a striking figure in her
“desert ’? garments—she had just taken to going about
in draperies and sandals. Constance is certainly an
extremist in dress. She was the pioneer of the no-
back sleeveless frocks many years before they were
formally adopted by the multitude. Will women, I
wonder, ever adopt her new style ? She had brought
her boy there—an overgrown child of seven, to act as
a living model on whom the students were to practice
bandaging. Constance has an idea that her son is a
reincarnated early Celt, and, in consequence, his hair is
not cut, but bound round with a broad band, and he
walks through the world bareheaded and with a very
short kilt! Poor child, I was quite sorry for him !

A rather curious thing happened about a week after.
_ I was at home trying to get a number on the telephone
when I got on to a crossed line, and accidentally heard
the most interesting conversation between a man and
a woman. The man was a member of the Turf and
the Atheneum Club, a curious combination. I knew
this because he told the woman, obviously a great
friend, that he was dining at one or the other. He had
been staying with Lord Grey for the week-end, and
Memories and Base Details 155

 

when I tell you that he was describing Lord Grey’s
mental attitude during that fatal first week in August,
will any of you who read this call me dishonourable
when I tell you that I did not put the receiver down ?

It appears that during that week Lord Grey. was
torn in two directions. I gathered that he felt that
by boldly declaring that England would come into the
war he could have stopped Germany ; but, on the other
hand, he was convinced that once France was abso-
lutely confident of our support, she would not have
allowed anything to deter her; his hope lay in France
averting the war herself by not knowing whether we
should support her or not—that, at least, was what
Lord Grey’s visitor told his friend. He also said that
we were making ourselves very unpopular in France
by declaring that, but for Belgium’s neutrality having
been violated, we should have remained neutral.

When people talk of our unpopularity with the
French, I think they forget the point of view that was
adopted in those early days. In French eyes it must
have seemed an ungracious way and an ungracious
attitude to adopt, and whatever hypocrites may say
about our reasons or our obligations for going into the
war, it was entered upon, and it was necessary that it
should be entered upon, for the ultimate safety of Eng-
land herself. A little less cant and a little more honesty,
and we should have heard nothing, because there would
have been nothing to hear, of the unpopularity of the
English in France.

Certainly some measure of English unpopularity in
later days resulted from the unfortunate selection of
officers for base jobs. With some naturally obvious
exceptions, the ‘ Jacks-in-Office’’ were ‘bad examples
156 Memories and Base Details

 

of our race, and I have often had to blush and apologize
for my compatriots. Apart from their insular prejudice
outside their own island, they displayed a lamentable
lack of tact in their dealings with the local French
population. I can recall one glaring example of rude-
ness. I had been dining at a café in Etaples, started
by a lady with the primary object of providing funds
to run a canteen for the French potlus who were stranded
at Etaples Station on their way home on leave. Two
officers called for something to eat—it was just closing
time, and the M.P.’s on duty battered loudly on the
door, ordering them out, but telling them that they
could get anything they wanted—including drinks—at
the English Club round the corner. The patrone, who
was very pro-English, and has since married an English-
man, for the moment saw red—and who can wonder ?
Imagine the picture reversed! A Frenchman in Eng-
land telling a man in front of a publican that he might
not drink at his bar, but could do so in a French esta-
minet a little further down the street. I tremble to
think of the Frenchman’s fate in such circumstances.
Incidents of this description were perpetually occurring,
and were accepted in a spirit of comparative resignation,
as part payment of the debt they owed us, for their
recognition of our services in the field was unstinted.
It has since been explained to me that the base was
used as a dumping-ground for the undesirables out of
most regiments—hence the “ riff-raff’’ that literally
fell over each other in some departments.

I have often told Frenchmen of the conversation I
overheard, and their opinion is more or less unanimous,
that if the German Government had been warned by
our Ambassador in Berlin, that in the case of an attack
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on France we should be solidly behind her, Germany
might have thought twice about forcing the situation
and making war inevitable; and that if England really
feared France being aggressive, she need not have been
told of our friendly intentions.

I asked a French friend of mine at alater period what
the feeling in France had been when England’s ulti-
matum still hung in the balance. She described it
rather quaintly: ‘‘ We were sure of you really, but it
was as if someone told you Flavia would not kiss you
good-morning ! ”’

I became rather interested in the First Aid classes
and went to some more, rather more serious ones, at Mrs.
FitzGerald’s house in Cadogan Place. I confess I had
no intention of being a nurse, or of even going to France
at the time, and my amazement was great when I got
an urgent telephone message from Mrs. FitzGerald
telling me that she and I had been asked to go over to
Doctor Haden Guest’s hospital in Paris. She implored
me to go, and, more stirred with the spirit of adventure
than with anything else, I agreed, and rushed to Gar-
rould’s to get some sort of an outfit. Imagine my
feelings the night before we were due to start, getting
a note from Mrs. FitzGerald, to say that her son had
returned and that she was chucking the expedition
altogether. My excitement and my spirits fell to zero.
I frankly hated going alone, but I had not the moral
courage to give it up. By the most marvellous luck, I
managed to get a passport for the children’s governess,
and she and I went off from Victoria on, I think, the
Ist of September.

The Folkestone boats were not running and we had
an abominable crossing—very rough and a very crowded
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small boat—via Dieppe. Sarah Wilson was on board,
and let me share her cabin. She had still nowhere to put
her hospital, and I believe was meeting some of her staff
in Paris. I had begged her to take either the Hermitage
or the Golf Hotel at Le Touquet, as they were both on
offer ; but Winston Churchill apparently had said that
that district would be quite impossible for any hospital,
owing to the difficulty of embarkation at Boulogne.

At Dieppe we were met by a friend of Sarah Wilson’s,
who gave us heartrending accounts of the conditions
for the accommodation of the French wounded. The
only doctor was run off his legs, the sanitary arrange-
ments were abominable, amputated limbs were left in
the dustbins, and anesthetics were a negligible quantity.

It was pitch-dark when we arrived in Paris. I went
with the Haden Guests to the Hétel Majestic, where
the hospital was installed and where I was to have
accommodation. Supper was ready for us, and we went
into the barely-lit passages through smells of chloroform
and iodoform, into what was the staff’s mess-room.

I was hungry, but I could not eat the very nasty
looking food that was produced for me. How I wished
that my moral courage had not failed me, and that I
had never left England!

Mrs. Guest asked me if I would like to go straight
into the ward and see some of the men. Longing to
say ‘“‘ No,” I said ‘‘ Yes,” hoping no one would discover
what I was feeling.

The mess-room was only just outside the ward, which
was the big ball-room in the Majestic, and groans could
be distinctly heard. As we passed in, it seemed as if my
heart almost stopped. The chandelier had only about two
lights in it and they were thickly shaded, making the
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figures in the beds all round look more terrible than any
ghost. Some of the men were sleeping and in their
dreams their screams were terrible to hear. “‘ They hear
the taxis,’’ said the nurse, “‘and they think it is the
Germans.” The men were nearly all French, with here
and there an Englishman. All were badly wounded.
They had been left behind, a great many of them, after
the retreat of Mons, and there were several cases of
tetanus, whilst two men died as I stood in the room.
The lack of tetanus serum at that time was pathetic.
I felt myself utterly helpless and only in the way, and
the nurses looked at me, as all nurses did at amateurs
in those days, with suspicion, and it was with a sigh of
relief that I at last crept up, with the light of a tallow
dip, the great gloomy staircase into a small apartment
which was to be mine whilst I was at the Majestic.

The next morning I came down to breakfast, having
spent the most miserable, sleepless night, haunted by
the sounds that I had heard and the faces I had
seen.

The meals with the staff were a rather trying ex-
perience, and I used to escape to a little restaurant as
often as possible. We were a most heterogeneous collec-
tion of human beings. Haden Guest himself, a man of
parts, struck me as being a bit of a crank, probably only
due to his theosophical convictions, which, by the way,
were shared by a considerable number of the people
surrounding him. His wife appeared to have as many
varied interests as himself, and his secretary, Miss.
Osborne, who was extremely capable, found time to
deal with and disentangle the many muddles which
arose from day to day. I must say I was immensely
struck by the gentlemen orderlies, who performed their
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duties in the most professional and devoted manner
imaginable.

* * * * * *

I was in the ward one morning, feeling singularly
incompetent and horrtbly in the way, when the surgeon
asked me whether I could stand seeing the dressings
and take notes on the cases, as the man who was doing
it had something else important to do.

Naturally I said I could; my tummy by that time
feeling absolutely empty! He was extraordinarily
kind to me and told the nurse to put a chair handy for me
as he said anyone might faint without being ashamed
when they saw their first amputation dressing.

This was cheering! However, the courage of the
man who had a leg and arm amputated, and who
insisted on holding the stump of his leg himself, gave me
the impetus which I needed. There was no need for a
chair; I became suddenly businesslike and almost
professional. Apparently my notes were written satis-
factorily, for after that I was asked to go down to the
theatre and do the same work. I hated the smell and I
hated the groans of the men under chloroform, and I
remember one terribly bad case of a man who was
suddenly taken ill with a hemorrhage and had to be
operated on immediately. His wound was in the face,
and the doctor told me that I had come through the
test well, as face wounds were far the worst to see.

It was utterly impossible to sleep at night, so I used
to get off in the ambulance that went to pick up wounded
at Aubervilliers Station. There was a little woman
working in the hospital ; she was gay and pretty, and had
since married a Scotchman, but before I left the Majestic
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rumours were flying about that she was really a German
and probably a spy. Anyhow she had a way with her,
and used invariably to get the password for us to get
through the gate of Paris. Once arrived at Aubervilliers,
what they called body-snatching began. There were
ambulances from all the hospitals and each one vied with
the other in their efforts to get the worst cases. These
body-snatchers were quite unscrupulous in their methods
and would often send one of the ‘‘ competitors’ on a
fruitless journey. ‘“ There is an interesting case over
there,” they would say—and unless you were an old
hand you would probably hurry off to find the man
already dead.

Directly I got to Aubervilliers Station, I was taken in
charge by the Duchess of Camastra, Madame d’Hautpoul,
Mrs. Marshall and others who had a canteen on the
platform.

The platform itself looked gay and like a village
fair with its tents and twinkling lights—but, oh, to see
those trains come pouring in with men dying, packed like
sardines into cattle-trucks. Such a thing as a hospital
train did not exist.

These cattle-trucks were used for transporting men
and horses to the front, and the wretched wounded were
sent back in the same dirty wagons. This entire lack
of hygiene accounts for the many cases of gangrene and
tetanus, which were so terribly prevalent in all the
hospitals at this time.

A nurse in-charge of the corridor carriages groped
her way about with the light of a candle doing what
she could, but the trains made the most prolonged detours,
which meant that the men were on their journey for end-
less hours before they eventually reached hospital. How

IT
162 Memories and Base Details

 

she welcomed the refreshments we had got, but, alas!
numbers of the men were far too ill even to look at a cup
of coffee.

The trains only stopped a few minutes and they
followed each other in quick succession from eight at
night till eight in the morning. One hardly thought
there were so many men in the world. On all sides one
heard of nothing but disorganization in the transport
and of the difficulties to find anywhere to put the men,
and yet there were hospital units like the Duchess of
Westminster’s and Lady Sarah Wilson’s wasting their
time and their money because no location could be found
for them.

There was the most terrible amount of red tape and
jealousy between the hospitals, and there was one thing
on which the French authorities were determined—and
that was to have as few wounded as possible in Paris
itself. Whether they thought the Germans would get
there, or whether they thought that the French temper-
ament might sink to dangerous depths of depression if
they saw the wounded, I do not know.

OF * * * * *

The battle of the Marne was, of course, in full swing
when I was in Paris. I had seen the men despatched
in the taxi-cabs and motor-buses, but I wonder if any of
them knew how nearly the war might have been over
then and there. It was along time afterwards that I met
an old retired English naval officer at dinner, and during
our conversation on the war he told me that he had just
come across a Dutch officer on his way through Paris.
At the outbreak of hostilities the Dutch officer had been
Memories and Base Details 163

 

sent to Germany by his Government and had been
attached to Von Kliick’s army during the retreat of Mons
and the battle of the Marne. The Germans, it appeared,
had been most disagreeably surprised, after their en-
counter with the English. The enemy’s losses had been
colossal, far heavier than the most optimistic reports
would have led one to believe. The Dutchman told my
friend that when the Allies retired, they marched as
far in two days as the Germans could in three, and that
on every occasion in which the armies came in contact
the enemy casualties must greatly have outnumbered
ours. As a result of these losses Von Klick had all his
reserves in line, and he was obliged to reduce his front
by a half, and was consequently unable to maintain his
original plan of advance. And this is the real explana-
tion of Von Kliick’s apparent change of direction when
nearing Paris. So badly had the German army been
knocked about, that at a war council the generals were
unanimous in their wish for peace, but the Kaiser and the
Crown Prince carried the day in their desire for a con-
tinuance of war. The Dutchman was later attached
either to the British army or navy, so there is probably
nothing new about this story.

It was only much later that the full significance of
the battle of the Marne was fully realized by the public
generally, and that they grasped the fact that the war
had been won then. But when the big guns were finally
silenced the names of Joffre and French were acclaimed
in the hearts of those who knew, though seemingly
forgotten amidst the honours and titles which were
bestowed in random profusion on their successors.

Year by year the part which Joffre played in the
destinies of the world is becoming more and more

II*
164 Memories and Base Details

 

impressed on the minds of the French people. The anniver-
sary of the Marne celebrated at Meaux is a pretext, not
only of honouring the dead, but of paying tribute to the
man who at the critical moment was morally brave enough
to take the entire responsibility of using all his troops
and reserves against the enemy. He had counted the
cost of failure for France, but he never for one moment
hestitated to consider what that failure might mean to
his own future, and his reputation.

“Quoi qu’il en soit, la lutte qui va s’engager peut
avoir des résultats décisifs, mais elle peut avoir aussi
pour le pays en cas échec, les consequences les plus graves,”
was what he wrote on September 5th.

Colonel Fabry writes :

“La Marne est faite 4 l’image de Joffre, elle est une
victoire a équilibre, d’équilibre réalisé sur un front immense
et maintenu au cours d’une crise redoubtable par la
volonté la plus ferme, par la foi la plus convaincante
dans la destinées de la France. Elle est bien la victoire
de Joffre.”’

In 1921 M. Barthou, Ministre de la Guerre, has added
another well-deserved tribute to the great man.

Whilst he points out that much honour is due to
Gallieni and Foch and to the superb fighting forces
of France and England, he ends up by the words, “‘ mais
quit donc commandait.”

* * * * * *

The last time that I went to Aubervilliers we brought
four of the worst cases back to the hospital. Two I
remember distinctly, as they were put in a little ward,
where I was working. One, a boy of fifteen, was dying of
Memories and Base Details 165

 

tetanus ; he was wearing an English uniform, and until
his mother came the next day—just too late to see him
alive—his case was a mystery. I was called in to act
as interpreter, and she told me that one day he had gone
as usual to play with his little brothers and sisters,
but had not come home with them. They had
eventually found a note from him asking their for-
giveness, but saying that he felt that he, too, must go and
do his duty. It appears that the French Army would
not take him, but that an English Officer had taken him
on as his servant.

The other man had both arms and legs amputated
immediately on arrival; he was a hopeless case from
the start, but till the very end he did not realize it, and
he asked me if I thought his sweetheart would still marry
him. He had not even realized that he had lost his legs,
but said he wished he had his hands, as he would like
to have played a jeu de carte to amuse me. I should
never end if I were to tell you the simple thoughts and
amazing cheerfulness of these men, for all of whom,
even if they lived, all the joy of life must have been taken
from them.

Outside the hospital one saw astonishing changes.
Paris was very empty. You could walk from the
Majestic to the Place de la Concorde, meeting only
here and there a pedestrian, while hardly a taxi or a
voiture was to beseen. The Rue de la Paix was equally
deserted, its shops boarded up and without a trace of
their former glories—yet surely never had Paris looked
more calm and beautiful. The emptiness made one
appreciate the glory of her buildings and the wideness
of her thoroughfares.

The Government had flown to Bordeaux, accompanied
166 Memories and Base Details

 

by most of the big administrations. This was not a
popular move amongst the people, but it was obviously
inevitable. Amidst the tragedy of the departure there
were humorous incidents. Two special trains were
reserved for certain important personages and their
wives, and the ones who were not legally married found
themselves a little embarrassed! An important official
of the Foreign Office, who is a frequent visitor to London
owing to the number of conferences, had to be married
by special licence an hour before the train started !

This sudden influx made it extremely difficult to find
accommodation ; important people were glad of a
shake-down anywhere, and Bordeaux quickly became
a small Paris. Some of the principal newspapers had
transferred their offices to the South, and miniature
editions were printed in Bordeaux.

The community was not limited to the ‘“‘ makers of
history,” but such notabilities as Cecile Sorel, of the
Comédie Francaise, and M. Alexandre Duval, of the
‘* Bouillon Duval,’’ had followed, and found Bordeaux
a pleasant place in I914.

Most of the Conservative representatives for Paris
accompanied the Government; this was a strategic
move on their part. Rumours were afloat that sooner
than see Paris destroyed, peace would be made; but
these representatives trekked to Bordeaux, armed with
mandates from their constituents that this was not
to be; better see Paris in flames than surrendered to
the hated Boche; and it was these députés that were
mainly instrumental in bringing about the pact that no
ally could sign peace without the other.

Very few of the Paris hotels were open. The Red
Cross had established their headquarters at the Hétel
Memories and Base Details 167

 

d’Iéna, and the Women’s Hospital was installed at
Claridge’s ; it was entirely staffed by women, with
Dr. Garrett Anderson in charge—a daughter, I think,
of the first well-known woman doctor of that name.
Everyone spoke in terms of praise of the women’s skill,
not only in the administration of the hospital, but also
in the operating theatre.

I saw Lord and Lady Esher once or twice, and
Hubert Cox came to the hospital, and almost collapsed
at the smell of the chloroform! Vera Arkwright and
Mrs. Addison were both working in hospitals, the one
at Neuilly with Mrs. Vanderbilt, and the latter at the
English Red Cross Hospital, but otherwise there were
very few English people about. Mrs. Addison, whose
husband was in the gth, has the most beautiful red hair
and looked lovely in her nurse’s clothes.

Before leaving Paris I lunched with the Duchess of
Camastra at her house in Passy. Everything in it was
beautiful, including the Duke, one of the best-looking
men I have ever seen. The house is situated in a huge
garden and might have been a hundred miles away
from Paris. It was crammed with art treasures, and the
Duchess’s own suite was enchanting in every detail, down
to all the little lace-edged sachets which lined her lingerie
cupboards.

I was very interested to see where they had hidden
their jewels and treasures when the Germans were
practically in sight of Paris. They had been buried in
the garden. The Duchesse told me of her sister,
Princess Murat, who had actually been in her chateau
when the Boche arrived. She had had an interview
with the German general, who had given orders to his
men to behave themselves, and on looking at the order,
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Princess Murat found that it had been signed by Von
Kliick himself. Eventually she and her boys escaped
in a small motor car.

Near Epernay, Chandon, of champagne fame, was in his
chateau, towards which the Boche was advancing. One
morning some enemy staff officers took possession of his
house, leaving him two rooms on the top floor and
announcing the imminent arrival of one of the Kaiser’s
sons. When he came, he asked who was the owner,
and on hearing it was Chandon, and that he was upstairs,
he expressed the wish to see him as they had met the
winter before at St. Moritz. Chandon refused an
invitation to dinner, or even to speak to the Kaiser’s
son, which caused an outbreak of furious temper, and
the chateau was at once looted from the cellar upwards.

After four days of drinking and wrecking the result
of the battle of the Marne came to them, and their
departure was much more precipitate than their arrival.

I went over with Countess d’Hautpoul to Auber-
villiers and had tea with the London Scottish. They
had already been there for some time, and were ex-
pecting daily to be moved to the line. They were very
bored with their job, which at the moment consisted of
looking after prisoners and deserters. Some of the
officers came over to the hospital to dinner the next
night. McNab, who was afterwards killed, told me
he had been up to the front, ‘“ having a look at things.”
It appeared that the distance between our line and that
of the enemy was so slight, that the commencement ot
a German attack could be anticipated, as it was heralded
by crackings of whips and German oaths as the soldiers
were driven on by their officers.

* * * * * *
Memories and Base Details 169

There were more nurses than patients in the hospital,
and, quite frankly, I was utterly miserable, and after
the early rush had subsided almost equally useless.

I was genuinely homesick, so to dally longer in Paris
seemed mere waste of time.
sie

NCE back in London, I found myself in a general
atmosphere of unrest. Everyone was in the
throes of war-work of some sort or another. Only one
woman of my acquaintance deplored this enthusiasm,
and I must say she fully lived up to her lights, and at
the end of the war, as far as I know, she still maintained
her passive attitude of spectator.

It was astonishing to find the number of unexpected
people who had taken up nursing, not merely because
it was the right thing to do, but who actually enjoyed
it. Of course, knitters were to be seen everywhere, in
every possible or impossible place, until shapeless socks
and other grotesquely fashioned garments became
almost a nightmare. Lady Colebrooke belonged to the
strenuous contingent, and she had pioneered society
into the munition factories. She had always been
clever with a lathe in the old days at Abingdon, so I
expect she found the work easier than some of her fol-
lowers did. I saw her one day at the “ Berkeley,” and
she was immensely proud of her overtime and piece-
work earnings.

My place among all these energetic ones seemed
particularly vague. There was certainly no guiding
torch beckoning me with a certain light towards either
munitions or nursing, and I had most emphatically no
tendency towards knitting, whilst rescuing Belgian

170
Memories and Base Details 171

 

refugees, of whose ingratitude I had heard so much, did
not appeal to me as a permanent occupation. I did
go to Charing Cross Station to act as guide, philosopher
and friend to some of those stranded individuals, who
certainly were a most pitiable sight ; but as I had no
car of my own I was obviously less useful than all the
lovely ladies who were there with their Rolls-Royces.
What, after all, is any amount of sympathy in com-
parison to a motor car! I did not even faintly resemble
a woman, who wrote to me much later on when I was
in France, plaintively asking for some employment
that entailed danger (her letter was accompanied by a
huge photograph, even the size of the photograph hardly
took in the size of her hat): ‘‘ Do let me do something
that others are frightened of doing,’ she wrote. I
almost replied: ‘‘ The only thing people are frightened
of, apparently, is spoiling their hands ! ”

My ultimate destiny was soon settled for me. I had
not been at home very many weeks when I found
myself starting once more for France. Rachel Dudley
wanted me to go with her to see the Golf Hotel at Le
Touquet, with the idea of using it for the Australian
Hospital, with which she was closely connected. Having
lived out there I knew the directors well, and had been
able to arrange for one of them to meet us and talk
matters over.

I was not sorry to get out of England and, incident-
ally, tosee what had happened to my villa, as my tenants
had been amongst the first to fly when war was declared.
The sailings between Folkestone and Boulogne had
just been resumed, so that I had a much pleasanter
journey than before. Lady Wolverton was, I remem-
ber, on board, but I cannot recall anyone else. I havea
172 Memories and Base Details

 

clearer recollection of the piteous sight of the wounded
that were crowded on to the quay. It had seemed at
one moment so very probable that the Channel ports
might be in German hands, that no preparations had
been made for the possible use of Boulogne as a base.
The battle of Ypres had made a virtue of necessity, and
the most energetic measures were at work dealing with
the situation.

On our arrival we found that the Australian Hospital
was already installed at Wimereux, but Rachel still
wanted to go and see the Golf Hotel for herself, in case
there was any possibility of moving there. We arrived
at Boulogne at about mid-day, and after lunching at
the Station Buffet we at once motored out to Le
Touquet. It was a most perfect day—a day when such
a hideous thing as bloodshed seemed utterly unthinkable.

I had not been on the Etaples road since the war
began, but it seemed to be singularly unchanged. On
the hill, just outside Pont de Briques, some old wagons .~
were shoved across the road’ to form a barrier, and
two gendarmes in blue stopped the car and spent a
long time examining our permits. It was the most
horrible place to stop a car whichever way one came,
as I discovered later when I was driving a big Daimler
down the hill. The brakes were not working, and
we shot past the astonished sentry, who got out of our
way just in time to avoid being knocked over! But
la dame avec la cigarette, which was me, had become
so well-known by then, that-I did not get into any
trouble. I had found out by then that cigarettes were
a douceury much appreciated by the French! The scar-
city of cigarettes in the early days was acutely felt and
at one time a Woodbine was worth its weight in gold.
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My villa was unlocked, but exactly as I had left it,
plus, of course, a considerable accumulation of dust !
After inspecting the Golf Hotel we went on to the Casino,
where the Westminster Hospital was just being installed.

The Duchess of Westminster and Mrs. Whitburn
had been lent the Hétel des Anglais, and they were
living there with the rest of the doctors and nurses.
The Duchess had some rather elaborate brassards for
her staff embroidered with the Westminster badge,
a wheatsheaf and a coronet. Personally, I thought
them rather vulgar, and though she looked very pretty
in her nurses’ clothes they were too theatrical, and
I have never been able to reconcile jewels with a cap
and apron.

After looking round everything we motored back
to Boulogne, and, having nothing particular to do, I
strolled down to the quay. Another train of wounded
had come in and as many of the men as possible were |
being put on to the hospital ship to be brought back
to England. The rest were lying on the quay or in
the Douane, which had been converted into a tem-
porary hospital, but there were no beds, and the men
just lay on the ground. I cannot say how many there
were, but the place looked absolutely packed. Two or
three volunteers, including Miss Holman, were doing
what they could, but they had an utterly impossible
task. “If only someone would come and help us!”
was Miss Holman’s cry.

Hospitals were being equipped as quickly as human
hands could do the work. Lady Sarah Wilson and Mrs.
Keppel brought their Unit from Paris, and were getting
into the Hétel Christol, and the wounded were moved
in practically as the furniture was moved out. The Red

*
174 Memories and Base Details

 

Cross were doing invaluable service, but the suddenness
with which Boulogne had been turned into.a Base was
bound to upset the most perfect organization, and the
arrangements for the wounded were for the moment
naturally chaotic, and the exigencies of the moment
were met only by prompt action on the part of the
Red Cross Volunteers.

I think it was seeing the crowd of unattended wounded
on the quay and in the Douane that gave me the idea
for a ‘‘ Canteen ”’ on the lines of the one at Aubervilliers.
I was informed it was necessary to secure permission
from the Officer in Charge of the Station, and accordingly
I put the suggestion before him. He welcomed it enthu-
siastically, and, burning to get to work, I decided to
go back at once to England, and return as quickly as
possible with some stores.

On the boat home I told Blanchie, who happened
to be on board, that I was going to do this, and for
some reason or other she appeared to take it as a per-
sonal grievance. She had come over herself with, I
believe, the view of spending the money that Otto
Kahn had given her on comforts for the hospital into
which the Douane was being converted. ‘“ You cannot
do it without leave from Sloggett,” she told me. ‘‘ Have
you got it?” I told her “no” and thought I had
better drop the subject, as far as she was concerned.
But I felt it was a case of acting instantly or not at all,
and if I was to be of any use I had to start at once,
so that there was no time to make any elaborate prepara-
tions.

Accordingly, buying stores and saying good-bye to
the children occupied only twenty-four hours. Imagine,
too, going to Fortnum and Mason’s for canteen stores !
Memories and Base Details 175

 

Yet that was where I spent the large sum of £8, which
represented the original capital of the “‘ British Soldiers’ —
Buffets.”’ When I look back now and remember the
gigantic cargoes of tea, coffee, cocoa, sugar and other
groceries which used to arrive weekly and almost drove
the Military Transport Officer to distraction, I cannot
but laugh at my absurd initial effort.

As I was on the point of starting I received a wire

from Blanchie saying, ‘‘ Miss Holman is in charge of
all refreshments at the station under Captain Norring-
ton,” but, fortunately, the wire came too late, when all
my plans for departure were already completed.
_ Directly I arrived, I went in search of Miss Holman,
with the object of offering her my stores and my help
if she needed it. Miss Holman, looking so pretty in
her blue veil and working with almost superhuman
energy in the Douane, absolutely denied the truth of the
wire, so I_at once established myself in the waiting-room.
I was, however, advised to make my position perfectly
secure by obtaining the D.D.M.S. permission. This I
did, and I also took the precaution to get the much-
needed permission in writing.

My £8 worth of stores did not take long to unpack,
and I started feeding the men on the very next train
that came in. M. Gerrard, the manager of the buffet
on the station, was more than kind and helpful. He
gave me the waiting-room which adjoined the restaurant
for my canteen, and supplied me with jugs and various
odds and ends, and to M. Gerrard I owe much of the
success which eventually came to the British Soldiers’
Buffets. No one can possibly imagine the discomforts
under which we worked, so different from the elaborate
arrangements which were eventually found in every
176 Memories and Base Details

 

canteen. At first I had to borrow all the hot water from
the restaurant, and for a long time our batterie de cuisine
consisted only of an iron boiler, two or three old tin
jugs and a pail for washing-up in.

But if my stores did not take long to unpack, they
certainly did not take much longer to be consumed,
and I promptly went off to the Hotel de Paris and threw
myself on the mercy of the Red Cross, with the result
that they kept me supplied until an appeal which I put
in the papers was most generously and spontaneously
responded to. People were simply wonderful, their
help and their practical sympathy at times almost
overwhelmed me, and I can never be sufficiently thankful
to them for their kindness and generosity in those early
days when I had not the slightest idea of what the
canteen would be to so many hundreds and thousands
of weary and wounded men. At the moment I was
only thankful to be of use to them, of expansions or
future development I had no thought; the moment
was all that mattered.

_In spite of official permission, however, things were
not going to run absolutely smoothly for me, and on the
second day I got orders, presumably from Sir Arthur
Sloggett, that I was not to feed any more wounded men !
I shall never forget seeing a crowded train of men clamour-
ing for a drink, and having to refuse it, but I did not
dare to disobey orders as it would have given my
enemies a handle to use against me. Luckily, Lord
Wemyss, who had just come out, was there to see it,
and he was as much distressed as I was. He went
off to find Blanchie at the hotel. I don’t know exactly
what they said to each other, but I know it was war
to the knife! Meanwhile, I dashed back to England,
Memories and Base Details 177.

 

and went tosee LordEsher. He and Colonel Barron had
already seen me at Boulogne. He was very sympathetic,
at once grasped the situation and wrote a line to Sir
Alfred Keogh. Init hesaid: ‘“ I have told Lady Angela
that unless things are amicably arranged, I shall ask
Lord Kitchener to have them both sent away ”’ (Blanchie
and me).

This was the most diplomatic thing he could have
possibly done, as in spite of Blanchie being reported
to have said she would not rest till she had forced me
off the platform, she would rather have seen me there
than have run the risk of being sent away herself. Why
she had taken me en grippe goodness only knows,
as I had had a perfectly friendly luncheon with her
only a few days before.

I saw Sir Alfred Keogh; I knew something of him
and of the influence used to get him to the War Office
as ‘‘ the ablest man for the job,” so I felt in safe hands.
He promised to do what he could; though the officials
in France were really under the officials in England, it
was not considered etiquette to issue definite orders
from this side, but ‘‘a request’ generally achieved
the desired result.

It was in September, 1914, that I first met Colonel
Barron of the Army Medical Service Temporary—very
much temporary—as I cannot imagine anyone more
typically unlike the cut and dried R.A.M.C. officer. As
I see that Lord Esher has referred to the fact in his book
on Lord Kitchener, it may not be indiscreet to remark
that Colonel Barron had a very great deal to do
with the rapid improvement which followed on Lord
Kitchener’s permission to let private enterprise supple-
ment the efforts of the R.A.M.C. as regards the care of

12
178 Memories and Base Details

the wounded. It was his report backed by Lord Esher
which, if rumour speaks true, very nearly caused a
cabinet crisis. At any rate it drew Lord Kitchener’s
abrupt attention to a phase of the war which owing to
his overwhelming duties had rather been overlooked.

The immediate result of the report was the recall
of Sir Alfred Keogh from civil life to his old post of Di-
rector General. Civil hospitals were allowed to open
for the reception of wounded. Red Cross and other
ambulances were hurried out and a great flood of unofficial
assistance was quickly made available.

These happenings did not exactly endear Colonel
Barron to the official mind, but, fortunately, he is one
of those irritatingly benevolent gentlemen whom it is
so impossible to annoy and so hopeless to suppress.

During the very early days I frequently met Colonel
Barron and frequently sought his advice, which, summed
up, was to do as I was told, if possible, but, anyway,
to do it. Colonel Barron believed heartily in speed.
Later I went several times to his office in Rue Edouard
VII., where every sort of record and chart connected
with the wounded was kept. This office was, I am
told, financed by Messrs. Cox and Co., Bankers, which
is a fact as greatly to their credit as it is a tribute to
Colonel Barron’s determination to get a thing done
unofficially, if he failed to do it officially. I remember
him saying to me: ‘‘ Lady Angela, when things right
themselves, as they will, you will get kicked out, and
so will I. We are not part of a system, but there has
been no time for a system and no money. Meanwhile,
get on with it and get in the way as little as you can.”

Colonel Barron had himself an odd system of per-
suading the high and mighty ones to attention. They
Memories and Base Details 179

 

won’t listen and they have no time to read, if they can
see a picture. He therefore drew pictures. I saw some
of them in preparation, showing the loss of men due to
disease, as opposed to the loss due to wounds ; pictures
showing the way the different battalions reacted to ex-
posure, and even pictures showing the resisting power
of English, Scotch, Welsh and Irish. ‘‘ They will look
at these,” he said, and they did. But whether they liked
the ones showing two dogs labelled respectively D. G.
and A. G. pulling in opposite directions I hardly dare
think.

Colonel Barron and I have remained firm friends,
and he wrote me the other day :

“So you are writing your memoirs. Well, judging
by any information I have relating to you, which came
my way, they should be exciting. Let us off as lightly
as you can; the A. G. is in all probability a charming
man in private life. Looking back, I cannot help feeling
a strong sympathy for those who had to cope with us
irregulars. We must have been very trying, and to a
man buried to the neck in a tangle of real hard work I
realize now, better than then, how nearly I must have
been figuring as the victim of an unpremeditated murder.

“‘T wonder Sir Arthur didn’t murder you. I should
have if I had been in his place, if only to obtain a brief
respite from the advice of those who were jealous of
your good work and not particular about your good
name.

“T am afraid you were born into the world destined
for turbulence. You ought to have been a man, for
in my experience women like you have not a dog’s hope
of doing good without arousing a whirlwind of chatter.
I believe you rather like the whirlwind part. You like

12*
180 Memories and Base Details

 

a fight, and even now I grin when I recollect that you did
not always lose.

“ Still, it is over, and I hope there is peace. I dare
not do more than hope, since no one would describe you
as a peaceful person. Yes, you ought to have been born
aman. It would havedbeen much better, if less amusing
for those of us whose paths lead us from time to time across
your track.”

Colonel Barron ends his letter by hoping that I do not
intend to accuse him of taking refuge under a great name.
I have nothing of which to accuse him, unless it is an
accusation to ask why on earth he has given up doctoring
to go in for improving the stage. I wish him luck, and
I would not like to bet that he will not succeed.

Directly I got back to Boulogne I went to the Hotel
Derveaux to see Sir Arthur Sloggett. He was just
finishing his dinner and did not in the least desire an
interview with me, but I was sweetly persistent, and
said I would wait in the car for him. When he came
out to speak to me he was perfectly charming, patted
my hand most amicably and gave me his word that I
should be left in peace. Perhaps if there had not been
so much fuss about my pouring out a few cups of tea
I should have gone home when my stores had run out,
but the opposition made me determined to stay.

* * * * * *

Work now began in earnest; there seemed hardly
time to breathe, and when I was sometimes assailed
with regrets at not having kept a diary. I wonder if
I should have had time to even chronicle the bare events.

The time of the arrival of the trains was more or
less a matter of conjecture, and as I had only one assistant
ost *d Aupon7)

“SBSL ‘Ug ssaaqZ Sour. aya jo VSINE ay) uo Yous

 
Memories and Base Details 181

 

during those first strenuous days it meant spending
the greater part of the night as well as the day on the
station, and also being there at about 5 a.m. to supply
the queue of orderlies from the trains who were waiting
for hot drinks to give the men before they were moved.
About four hours’ sleep in the twenty-four was as much
as we could allow ourselves during the first fortnight.

I got a room at the Louvre, as it was handy to the
buffet. The discomfort was appalling, for the whole
town was packed to overflowing and the water supply
had gone wrong, which did not tend to the gaiety of
nations, but as I spent most of my time on the quay
and had my meals at the buffet it did not so much matter.
The buffet used to be quite deserted in the evening, the
proprietor and his wife, a French Capitaine de Marine
and the M.L.O. on duty were generally the only diners.

Sometimes a few Frenchmen would come in bringing
news from the outside world. I remember so well one
of them predicting a great future for Petain, who was
then only commanding a brigade. Petain originally
came from the Pas de Calais. Unhappy over his father’s
second marriage, he left home and was adopted by the
famous Dominicains d’Arcueil, at the time one of the
best educational centres. Petain was naturally a very
strict Catholic, and he soon proved his intelligence and
got his scholarship for St. Cyr. Later he paid the monks
back all his education had cost them.

At mid-day it was different, as the mail-boat pas-
sengers crowded in for luncheon. Meeting the mail-boat
and seeing who came off her was for a long time our chief
excitement, and even this was an excitement we could
rarely indulge in, as it was probably our busiest moment
in the canteen.
182 Memories and Base Details

 

The King’s Messengers were much more obliging in
those’ days than they became later on, when regulations
were more stringent, regarding the conveying of messages
backwards and forwards; but even if there was no
correspondence to be smuggled through, they generally
brought some news either from home or G.H.Q. The
King’s Messengers were rather unfairly supposed to have a
“cushy ”’ job. I suppose one or two were young enough
to have been in the trenches, but probably few people
appreciated the bravery of Sunny Marlborough, unless
they realized what an appalling sailor he was. In any
case, that incessant crossing must have been desperately
trying, and even the journeys to the more distant theatres
of war cannot have been particularly exhilarating.

They were all very good to me, and I found sanctuary
often in their cabin on the crowded boat on my many
journeys to and fro. Charlie Hindlip was one of the
most cheerful, with a fund of good, though not always
proper, stories, Colonel Burn the best looking, Lancelot
Lowther the most fussy—he took his duties most
seriously—and Evan Charteris the most detached.

Things were gradually shaking down, and almost
everyone who had been wandering aimlessly about
had found a job somewhere or other. It was a case of
finding your own niche—no one had time to eject you,
though, later on, of course, officials had nothing else
to do! One of the outstanding features of the war
was the way people were moved from their jobs as soon
as they were efficient—I suppose it would not have done
for anyone to have been too efficient.

Eden Paget, who had been pushed over to France
by a patriotic wife, with only a grip sack and the
prospect of driving an ambulance, had appointed him-
Memories and Base Details 183

 

self Director of Transport to the Red Cross, but when
he returned after a few days’ rest in England he found
his place usurped by Frank Daniel, who, till then,
had been controlling the traffic on the station !

Paget accepted the position like a true sportsman,
and they worked together most amicably, and when
F. D. eventually left, Paget became once more the
official director.

There were, however, some free-lances still left ;
Tony Drexel, I remember, was one of the wanderers.
I don’t know what he was doing, but he was certainly
in khaki; his car seemed at everyone’s disposal, and
you could rely on it being amply provisioned. Poor
Bertie Stopford, who spent his time doing kindnesses
for everyone, and Philip Wodehouse, could generally
be reckoned on to be on the quay to meet the mail-
boat.

How glad I was to see Ruby Peto. She and Mrs.
Murray, her sister-in-law, at once offered me their help,
which I promptly accepted, and they were both of them
splendid, as they did not mind at what hour of the
day or night they were called upon to work. They
had come over to meet Ralph Peto, who arrived on
the same evening with some of the roth Hussars. That
delightful Julian Grenfell—sunshine personified—and
Lord Chesham, looking a perfect baby, were two of
those, I remember, dashing home on leave. We met
them on their way back, and had a festive high tea
in the station buffet. There was something almost
tragic in their hilariously good spirits, as we played
Chemin de Fer in the deserted restaurant on the marble
tables for Belgian coins before they started for the line.

The appearance of Lady Drogheda, who turned up
184 Memories and Base Details

 

one day with Miss Maxime Elliott, was our next excite-
ment. Lady Drogheda was only able to stay two days,
but she was very kind during that short time, and
brought me a whole collection of pots and pans, which
we badly needed, to supplement our more than primitive
cooking arrangements.: Miss Elliott was one of those
people busy looking for a job, but for some reason or
other even her ambulance—or was it a kitchen car—
was not accepted by the Red Cross or any other insti-
tution, so, faute de mieux, she asked if she might come
and work for me.

At that time help was most precious. Mrs. Brown,
who was the sister of the Red Cross Director of Trans-
port, and Frank Daniel’s daughter, had settled them-
selves down as more or less permanent staff. Mrs.
Brown was really wonderful, and became my most
efficient second in command, but, apart from these two,
I was more or less dependent for assistance on the
casual visitor.

In view of the strenuous red tape of later days
people came and went to France in the most slipshod
fashion; the length of their stay was variable, and
the reason for their appearance was indefinite. ,

Lady Juliet Duff was out for a time, so were Mrs.
Horlick and Gladys Yorke; they were trying to estab-
lish some scheme of comforts, which was eventually,
definitely done under the guise of Cox and Co. Lady
Cavan turned up to. meet Lord Cavan, and gave us
a lot of her time. She was a most charming woman.
Lord Cavan’s name was, of course, on everyone’s lips
as one of, if not the best, of our generals. He was
most humble about his success, declaring that any-
one else could have done the same with men such
Memories and Base Details 185

 

as he had to command. He had the Guards’
Brigade.

‘““Cavan’s House”? was the name given to his head-
quarters. It was a little farm house, and situated much
nearer the line than most generals cared to establish
themselves, but every man in the Ypres salient had
heard of ‘‘ Cavan’s House.”

Though a little sceptical of Miss Elliott’s suitability,
her insistence and her generosity over-rode my probably
unreasonable prejudice. She went over to England
for clothes and came back to me a few days later. I
rather brutally put her straight on to night duty—as
a rule a test of endurance. We did it together, and I
must say she did not grumble, but as there were no
trains that night she wiled the weary hours away by
giving me her views, which were distinctly advanced,
on the question of woman’s suffrage. I think I was
in too sleepy a state of mind and body to digest them
fully, and I was certainly not much in sympathy with
them ; I have an idea she was horrified at my telling
her that I thought votes for women were most un-
necessary.

Miss Elliott evidently had every intention of being
comfortable, as she had brought a butler and a maid
with her, and the suggestion was made that they might
wash up. This I keenly ‘resented. I didn’t mind
doing it myself, but I anticipated a smug smile from
the professional at my methods and incompetence.
This was, no doubt, very silly of me, as I daresay neither
the butler nor the maid had ever washed up in their
lives. What I resented even more was the fact that
Miss. Elliott suspiciously tasted the tea and cocoa made
by myself, before it was taken out to the trains! The
186 Memories and Base Details

 

culminating point came when she left a tin jug in the
middle of the floor for me to fall over ; unintentionally, —
of course! Her ideas were grandiose and she wanted

an army of workmen to decorate the canteen, and I saw
the poor old waiting-room being turned into a Futurist
drawing-room or something equally grotesque! Dirty
and dingy as it may have been, there was a certain
cachet about it, and I would not have altered it for
worlds. Even the old tables which served as counter,
and which only later on blossomed forth into oilcloth
covers, had their own place in my affections. I am
afraid her visit was a bit of a fiasco, and that she thought
me horribly ungrateful. I expect I was, but the work
in those days was so strenuous that my temper was
not always too even. After she left me she went on
to the Belgians, where, not only did she do very good
work, but probably enjoyed herself much more than
she ever would have done with me.

Lord Roberts’ death came on the 14th of November,
and it brought real sorrow to the whole Army. No
general will ever hold so high a place in their affections
as he did: the contrast between the joy of his arrival
and the sadness of his tragic departure proved this.
A day or two after we had witnessed the wonderful
ovation he received on landing, his Aide-de-Camp,
Colonel Browning, came down to the buffet and asked
us if we could help him to find something light and
warm for him to wear. He had been reviewing troops,
and had discarded his coat, with the result that he had
caught a severe chill. The lightest and warmest thing
we could think of was the Shetland sweater I happened
to have on me. Colonel Browning took this imme-
diately back to G. H. Q. with him, and I always hoped
Memories and Base Details 187

 

Lord Roberts was wearing it when he died. Colonel
Barron was Lord Roberts’ doctor, and he was hurriedly
summoned from Paris to G.H.Q. to attend the great
little man—the neglected prophet—only to arrive too
late.

We have all our own heroes, ranging from Julius Caesar
to Mr. Bottomley, and I confess that ‘“‘ Bobs ”’ was mine.
I have no compunction, therefore, in quoting, without
apology, Colonel Barron’s tribute to him :

‘Bobs was, without doubt, one of England’s great
men, and as he honoured me with his friendship, I take
a pride in paying tribute to his memory whenever I can.
Perhaps his keynote was simplicity. He was, I think,
the most transparently clear man I ever met. He had
a crystal nature, pure like a saint, hard like a soldier.

“He exercised a rare influence. I used to talk to
Hugh Dawnay about it, about, I mean, the love of the
Tommy for Lord Roberts, and the love, for such indeed
it was, which seemed to irradiate his little body until one
lost sight of everything save the spiritual magnitude of
the wonderful soldier.”

Perhaps something I wrote of him in our camp journal
will do well enough to close these remarks.

‘“‘ He was the most perfect gentleman of us all. Small
of frame, fearless of character, loving the good, hating
the bad, ambitious always for England, he strove to
prevent that by which we are now run: think you he
strove in vain? Noman ever did that, much less this
man. His work will live through the ages; his name
will be honoured by every patriot to come, but when |
our own path is trod and we reach at last our St. Omer,
the good we have done may well be more than the evil
because of him.
188 Memories and Base Details

 

““ That we do, we do not of ourselves ; we are shaped
and moulded by our friends and leaders to honour or
dishonour .. .

“ For the last time I touched his hand.

““The dawn was breaking in the East when I set out
for his old home in England to speak there the few and
final words in the book of a soldier’s life.””—The Return -
April 28th, 1916.

His funeral procession was as simple and unostenta-
tious as the man himself had been. The French gave
him a Guard of Honour, and their bands were playing
as the Great General was carried to the destroyer which
brought him back to England. The pelting downpour
was entirely in harmony with the feelings of the people,
and I am sure that every soldier, as he stood bare-
headed in the pouring rain, watching the ship that
bore him home, felt that he had lost a personal friend.
III

HE King paid his first visit to France at the end
of 1914, and had a splendid welcome from his
troops. All the other crowned heads had been so
tremendously in the limelight—the Czar was dashing
around in remote wastes, the Grand Duke Nicholas,
stern and picturesque, was at the head of those huge
forces that were supposed to shortly end the war, while
the War Lord and his sons were advertising themselves
on every possible occasion—that the King’s visit was
almost doubly appreciated.

He was indefatigable in his efforts to see everything
—almost as indefatigable as the people who put them-
selves in the way of receiving honours, notice and
decorations.

It was just after the King’s visit that the first official
potin occurred. I do not remember much about the
details, but I know it was connected with hospital
arrangements and the Indians, and in whatever way it
began, it all ended in peerages and promotions.

Major Lynden-Bell returned to us and was entirely
exonerated, whilst Sir Courtauld Thomson arrived
as the new Commissioner to the Red Cross.

Seeing the Indians shivering in the wet and cold
was a truly pathetic sight. They suffered terribly from
the climatic change, and their whole appearance gave

189
190 Memories and Base Details

 

one an impression of uncomplaining, dejected wretched-
ness. They created in the minds of the French popula-
tion a sort of inquisitive wonderment, but one heard
no ecstatic eulogies such as are sometimes voiced in
this country over the coloured troops that form part
of the pageants and processions over here. They were
kept considerably isolated, and they did not seem to
want anything out of the canteen except “char” and
cigarettes.

Stories of their barbarity were, probably, grossly
exaggerated. They were generally attributed to the
Ghurkas. Three badly wounded cases were not too
badly wounded to polish off three Germans who were
in the same carriage with them—and one man could
not be persuaded to part with an evil-smelling bag,
which was afterwards found to contain the head of a
German. Their amazing religious faith could not fail
to impress even a sceptic. No matter where they found
themselves their religious ceremonial was duly observed
and aroused no ridicule. Once, as my train passed
through Abbeville at sundown, out came their prayer-
carpets and they knelt upon the platform, their faces
turned to the west in prayer.

The potins that were going on did not in the least
affect us. Trains still came in, men were attended to
with just the same first fine, careless rapture, I am glad
to say, and just the same gratitude and spontaneity
was given to us by them. My “ official staff’”’ had
increased, thanks to Mrs. Brown’s efforts, and all the
people she collected were splendidly efficient, and I
do wish that they had been able to stay on till the end,
but, as most of them belonged to Red Cross detachments,
they were recalled to their units, when the demand for
Memories and Base Details 191

women became so urgent. Miss Batten, who was
with me for some time, eventually had charge of
the first women’s convoy of ambulance drivers at
Etaples..

I had transferred my headquarters from the squalor
of the Louvre Hotel, and went out every day to my villa
at Le Touquet. Sleeping in the country was infinitely
more refreshing, and the extra labour entailed, motoring
backwards and forwards, was compensated for by
escaping, if only for a few hours, the abominable smells
of Boulogne.

I was hoping to have the children out soon, but for
the moment one could make no definite plans. The
inside knowledge of how very thinly the Ypres salient
was held made one err on the side of caution. The
Channel ports seemed such a very obvious objective
for the Germans that the feeling of safety one had at
Boulogne was at times almost unnatural. For the
enemy to have almost reached the very gates of Paris,
and to have been within range of Boulogne and Calais
without consummating a victory seemed an insoluble
mystery.

Countess Bliicher, in her “ Journal,’’ describes the -
quarrel between the Kaiser and Von Moltke over the
strategy to be adopted. She tells us how definitely
Von Moltke insisted on the importance of first seizing
the ports, but how determined the Kaiser was to first
make his triumphal entry into Paris. This seems to
have been an obsession with him, and I know when I
was in Paris he was supposed to have even gone so far as
to order a suite of rooms and his dinner there for a certain
date—I forgot where it was to be eaten.

This divergence of opinion between the War Lord
192 Memories and Base Details

 

and his general led not only to Von Moltke’s dismissal,
but it also probably saved the situation for the Allies.

In spite of the nearness of the enemy—and I had
been in Paris and Boulogne on both the most critical
occasions—I never saw the slightest sign of panic.
Yet it was neither the courage of ignorance, nor the
courage of despair.

* * * * * *

One took very little notice of time, and Christmas
was upon us before we had realized how the weeks had
raced away. The mail boat still remained our great
excitement, but odds and ends from the outer world
would casually stroll into the buffet and relieve the
monotony of our days. Maurice Rothschild was a
frequent visitor, generally on his way to the fish-market,
to buy fish for Sir Arthur Sloggett’s dinner. Lord
Dalmeny used to look in occasionally. There was a
very strong feeling about Monty Parker and Lord D.
not being with their regiments, and they were supposed
to have had a white hen sent to them periodically. In
the latter’s case I cannot believe that it had anything
to do with ‘‘ nerves.” He was one of the bravest men I
have ever seen out hunting, and I am quite sure that
courage is certainly not a virtue of which he is deficient.
It is far more likely to have been, as is supposed, a question
of dignity, and that he would have gone back as a
captain, but not as a second lieutenant.

In France such a thing could not possibly happen,
for mere rank and social position counted for nothing.
I wonder how many people realize—I for one certainly
didn’t—that in the French army dukes’ sons and cooks’
 

My brother Harry.

[Facing p. 192
‘Memories and Base Details 193

 

sons are treated on identically the same basis—that no
matter to what class a Frenchman belongs he has to start
in the army as a private and go through the same hard-
ships as if he had been born a simple paysan.

No influence can ensure his promotion; he has to
pass through the various stages of army ranks before he
can become an officer. It is curious to think of the well-
dressed gentlemen we used to see in peace time in Paris,
going through all the discomforts, and roughing it as an
ordinary poilu as a matter of course.

A French friend of mine, who at the time was a
sergeant, was sent one day en liaison to one of our
brigades whose headquarters happened to be in a dug-
out at the time. His mission accomplished, he was just
going to eat his sardine, when the General’s A.D.C.
asked him in a rather patronizing voice why he didn’t
join the sergeants. My friend replied he’d rather eat
his own food by himself, and when the A.D.C. heard his
good English, he began to take notice of him. My
friend, not being a fool, and really wanting a good dinner,
promptly began talking about London and his aristo-
cratic friends. This at once had the desired effect, and
after a few names had been rattled off, he was invited
with enthusiasm to the General’s mess !

English generals at the beginning of the war were not
always happy over the position they gave their foreign
visitors. On one occasion Maurice Rothschild was
driving a French staff major, and when they arrived at
official headquarters (the English general had of course
heard of the Rothschild family) he gave “the driver ”’
the seat of honour, much to the horror of the French
major !

Lord Anglesey and his brother looked in on us one

13
194 Memories and Base Details

 

morning at an early hour on their way home from Egypt,

and were quite complimentary over the coffee we gave
them, and Hubert Hartigan arrived one day with a pack
of hounds he was taking up to the front, and which he
asked us to temporarily lodge in the canteen, whilst he
went off to lunch at*Mony’s.

Mony’s was the fashionable restaurant in Boulogne,
and one could be sure of finding someone or other one
knew there at luncheon or dinner. Staff cars lined the
narrow street, and officers who had snatched a few hours
leave from the grim realities of war, strolled in as if there
were no such things as Boche shells. The reputation
of Mony’s was considered to have been sealed when
the Prince of Wales went there !

There was nothing, however, about the outward
appearance of Mony’s to indicate the quality of its
viands and wines. Marble-topped tables and a sanded
floor were the primitive outward signs of inward luxury.
Madame Mony was the cordon bleu of the establishment,
and her moules Mariniéres, her lobster Américaine, and
her sole meuniére would have put many a similar dish
at the restaurants de luxe in Paris to shame. The
daughter of the house was a universal favourite. She
ministered to your wants behind the bar, and seemed
quaintly out of place there, with her rather pale, refined
looks.

It was about Christmastime that I first made the
acquaintance of General Asser; he was then a Colonel
and the Commandant of Boulogne. He had been a big
man in Egypt under Kitchener, A.-G. of the Egyptian
army, and I don’t know what else.

One of the officers at the base was trying to organize
a concert, and a lot of artists had promised to come out
Memories and Base Details 195

 

and sing. Unfortunately when all the arrangements
were well en tvain, word came that the concert would
not be allowed by the Military Authorities; and I was
requested to go and intercede with the Commandant.
I didn’t know him and I demurred considerably, but
I was eventually pushed off on my mission. When I
arrived at the Base Headquarters, which were then at
the Bassin Loubet, I saw the staff captain (Colonel
Herbert), who said he thought Colonel Asser would see
me.

I found myself in a small inner office confronting the
most alarming person I had ever seen in my life. His
brown eyes looked you through and through. He was
quite firm, and said the French wouldn’t allow the concert
to take place, and when I suggested that J might persuade
the French Gouverneur, he told me that I couldn’t do
such a thing as he had already had the last word about
it.

Out of sheer naughtiness, I drove straight off from
his office to the Chateau, and found no difficulty in seeing
Colonel Daru. He was a most delightful old gentleman
of the old school, but equally firm about not allowing
the concert. He told me, very politely, that this was not
a time for music and that if we had danced at Waterloo
and still won, it was not a habit to be repeated. As I
was saying good-bye, my nerve rather gave way at
having flatly disobeyed Colonel Asser’s order, so I asked
him not to mention my visit. A few days afterwards,
however, I got a letter from Colonel Asser. It ran like
this :

** DEAR Lapy ANGELA,
““T hear that, in spite of my telling you not
13*
196 Memories and Base Details

 

to go and see the Gouverneur, you did so. Would you,
in future, leave me to manage the Military affairs of
Boulogne by myself.”

After this I saw myself under arrest, and on the next
boat for home, so I’ went down to try and make my
peace. I then discovered that there was a twinkle
behind those piercing eyes.

I was forgiven, and the episode led to my making
two friends, for both Colonel Asser and Colonel Daru
were, to the end of the war, kindness itself to me. I
saw a good deal of Colonel Daru afterwards, and a place
was always laid for me to go to luncheon with him and
his staff whenever I liked. I used to like those
luncheons, in a funny little dark room in the Hotel
Bourgogne in the old part of the town.

Our luncheons were perfectly simple; there was
an old world military atmosphere about the place, and
when I lunched there I almost felt I was attending a
Conseil de guerre. The Colonel could talk no English,
and his staff were also rather lacking in linguistic ac-
complishments. He had quite a small staff—a noticeable
contrast to the English—all through the war! The
numbers employed in French official offices were really
trifling, whilst those in the English departments in-
creased like mushrooms in the night.

Colonel Daru had fought in ’70, and was a store-
house of interesting reminiscences. He was a great
gentleman, full of sentiment and patriotism. “ If
England had only come into the war in ’70 there would
have been no war in 1914,”’ was one of his maxims.

The subject of the treatment of prisoners cropped
up frequently, and I don’t think they much liked the
Memories and Base Details 197

 

leniency, with which, they thought, we were treating
the Germans in England. I told them it was our idea
of English chivalry, to which they replied that we had
not always had those same chivalrous ideas, when the
French were our prisoners in days gone by. My
knowledge of history was rather too indefinite for me to
refute this statement in detail, but I have always thought
the cases of Napoleon and Jeanne d’Arc were certainly
two glaring proofs of our inconsistency which they might
most reasonably have held up to me!

* * * + * *

As arrangements were becoming more organized,
there was some alteration in the detraining of the
wounded, and most of the trains no longer came into the
Gare Maritime, but were diverted to the Central Station.

Here the Red Cross had taken on my work. They
had converted three railway carriages most cleverly into
a small dressing station ; all the work had been done by
the V.A.D.’s themselves under the supervision of Miss
Rachel Crowdy. I can never say enough in her praise.
Dame Katherine Furze had to go over to take over the
rather chaotic administration of the V.A.D.’s in England,
and Rachel Crowdy succeeded her in France. Everyone
knows what a capable woman Mrs. Furze is, but I think
that probably the cleverest thing she ever did was when
she passed her mantle of authority in France to Miss
Crowdy. She looked no more than twenty-four, but she
held the important reins of management as Commandant
of all the V.A.D.’s abroad until the end of the war.
When one thinks of the enormous organization, of the
difficulties which there must, of necessity, have been
in a body of women as large, and as socially varied as
198 Memories and Base Details

 

the V.A.D.’s were, no one can do otherwise than admire
the way in which she carried out her job, with the
maximum of efficiency and the minimum of fuss.

I thought that these new arrangements for the
wounded would most probably mean the end of my work,
and I had no ambition to be one of the many square
pegs in around hole ; but just as I was beginning to think
that my job was over, leave started, and from that day,
far from it being over, I found myself with much more
to do than I had had since the very early days, when
the trains of wounded were literally pouring in.

Our service was still rough and ready, and our clientéle
included post-office men just off duty, orderlies from
the hospital ships, and motor drivers waiting for their,
officers, who were returning to Poperinghe or other
places up the line.

It was not often that a night passed without stray
visitors, and about 2 a.m. (the hour generally devoted
to cleaning the canteen) a brawny fisherman or two, or
the French military policemen with their fixed bayonets
and queer cloaks would slip in, and with irresistible good
manners, politely request a ‘“‘ cup of chocolate.” Some-
times the silence of the night would be broken by a wild
shout of joy,and three or four officers, who had found
themselves dumped into Boulogne by a vamassage train,
every hotel closely barred, and ours the only friendly light,
would come in half starved and very dirty, and ready
for a bowl of porridge and chunks of cake, to say nothing
of innumerable cups of coffee—our coffee was very good
indeed—and, best of all, a jug of hot water for a wash.
I remember on one occasion four such officers came in ;
one of them had been suddenly told he might go on
leave—‘ If he could leave in the vamassage train in ten
Memories and Base Details 199

 

minutes.’’ He had been twelve hours on the journey
and had had one glass of beer and half a loaf, which he
shared with one or two others, and I think he sampled
everything we had twice over. I know he insisted on
leaving a substantial payment for benefits received, and
came back the next day with a large box of chocolates
as a souvenir. .

But apart from our occasional visitors, leave was
becoming an institution, which meant a steady flow of
regular customers.

The men were brought down from the front in buses
—our London friends, painted grey. They would often
arrive in the evening, and there would be no boat to take
them across till the morning ; this meant the men hang-
ing about the quay all night, and the buffet was really
a godsend to them, for they had had long train journeys
and were proportionately hungry.

We still used occasionally to get some wounded,
and one night we were literally besieged by the London
Scottish. I had not seen them since I had had tea with
them at Aubervilliers, when I was in Paris. They had
been badly cut about, and one saw at once the terrible
ordeal that they had been through. It would be diffi-
cult, even in the Guards, to have found a body of men
with a finer physique; most of them could have got
commissions in the early days, but they preferred to stay
as they were.

As Christmas-time approached the plum puddings
began to arrive. Having failed entirely over the concert,
we were having a dinner at Pont de Briques for the
men in the Remount Camp there. The clubs in London
had sent us out hampers full of turkeys and the buffet
was blocked with cases of provisions.
200 Memories and Base Details

 

The conditions of these men at Pont de Briques were
really dreadful, and it was equally bad for the horses.
The mud was knee-deep everywhere, and the wretched
animals had often to be dug out if they lay down. The
men had been over to see me one day, soon after they
arrived, and I founda lot of hunting friends among
them. Lord Lonsdale’s old groom, James Lowther,
who was now a sergeant, and Sam Hames’ second horse-
man, who reminded me of a day when he had picked me
out of a ditch, when I was trying a horse of Hames’, and
many more. They were short of shirts, and their boots
had worn out, and, what was even worse, they had to,
go to Boulogne for all their cigarettes !

* * * * * *

_ As soon as I had got over our Christmas festivities
at Boulogne I hurried back to England to see the child-
ren, who were at Stanway. It was delightful to go to
bed when one wanted, and to get up when one liked, to
eat one’s breakfast in bed, and not to have to bother
one’s head over an obstreperous car—in short, to be
thoroughly lazy!

I found a family party, including George Vernon,
who was ill in bed with laryngitis. This, however, did
not damp his enthusiasm, and, like all the others, he
was clamouring to be off. Alas!—out of that party
only Guy Charteris is still here. They went in their
spring-time, but they have been spared the Autumn
and long Winter days !

Yvo,* then at Eton, was the first to be killed, although
he did not go out until the following September. I was

* Hon. Yvo Charteris.
Memories and Base Details 201

 

at Gosford when he came to say good-bye. He arrived
late, having missed his train, thanks to a Zep raid—the
first in London, I think. He, Diana Manners and
some hers, had all been to a play and were caught in
it. I asked him if it was very alarming. He replied:
“Not a bit ; after all, why should one be presumptuous
enough to imagine one would be killed?” This
remark was very typical of him—he was born with that
rare gift of seeing things in perspective. It did seem
so unnecessary that he should go; he was so young—
just nineteen when he was killed.

It seems to me that the courage of the mothers and
fathers, who did nothing to thwart the enthusiasm of
their boys, was almost Spartan. The few isolated cases
where staff appointments were wangled for eldest sons,
were mercifully so few and far between as to be negligible.

Recruiting was the vital point, at home as well as
abroad. Coming from France, I knew only too well how
really vital it was, how badly men and shells were needed.
How often had I heard that heartrending story, reiterated,
and reiterated—how every effort was stopped, every
advance checked, and every advantage lost through
lack of reinforcements and ammunition. Our tragic
loss of life owing to general unpreparedness is not
pleasant to recall.

Fortunately for us, in view of the shortage of muni-
tions, the mud of Flanders made it impossible to carry
on operations on a large scale, and while the armies
watched each other, our spirits were buoyed up with
the hope of a well-equipped Spring offensive due to
begin in May.

Joffre’s policy was not spectacular enough to be
appreciated by the multitude, yet his “ nibbling’ was
202 Memories and Base Details

 

probably one of the most important factors that won
the war. It exhausted the Germans and gave the
British time to bring sufficient forces into the field to
strengthen their line.

The public in France and in England were not able
to realize the nature of the conflict: they were as im-
patient to hear of an attack as the Germans were
anxious that one should be delivered. To be able to
sit still is far harder than to take action, and Joffre’s
patient attitude was too subtle to be understood.

* * * * * *

I found things rather quiet when I returned to
Boulogne, but as I was motoring back to Le Touquet,
I saw a rather desolate-looking row of tents, a few
horses and some men in khaki just outside Etaples.
Up to this period no sign of war had been visible in
Etaples, and though there had been rumours that it
might be turned into a camp, it had managed to preserve
its air of serenity.

These men turned out to be a battalion of the
London Fusiliers who had arrived the day before ; but
no one quite knew what they were doing there, least of
all themselves.

_It appeared they ‘had been in Malta and thought
they were going back to England when they got on
the boat. Imagine their feelings on finding them-
selves at a loose end in France! It was their dejected
appearance that gave me the idea of opening a club
for them.

Etaples itself was a mere fishing village, abounding
in temptations, but affording no recreation of any
Memories and Base Details 203

 

kind ; so I at once set about finding a suitable house,
and a funny old Frenchwoman, who lived almost on
the edge of their camp, consented to let me have hers—
“but only for the brave soldiers.” I am afraid I
suspected her of being glad to make a little money.

The Westminster Hospital was just then very slack,
and Mrs. Whitburn came and helped me. She was
one of the people who disliked being idle. Thanks to her
assistance and contributions of pots, pans, and other
kitchen utensils the club became a fait accompl1 in about
twenty-four hours, and as soon as the men got to know
of it, we did brisk business. One of the first to come in
was an R.A. artist, Harold Harvey by name. He de-
clared we were a godsend—to him at any rate—and every
afternoon he installed himself in the club window over-
looking the sea, where he did some delightful black and
white sketches of the fishing-boats on the Canche. I
have never seen him since, though for some time we
kept up a correspondence. He had been badly gassed
at’ Loos and almost lost his sight. His little book of
“‘ Sketches from the Firing Line,’”’ which he dedicated to
me, contains a very pretty tribute to the club.

Some of the officers used to come in during the
evenings. They were quite nice, and helped us with
the supper rush, but some of them had rather German
sounding names, which had led to their being nicknamed
by the men “ The Kaiser’s Own.”

Joe Laycock turned up to see us one night, as full
of life and energy as ever, but distinctly older, and the
Westminster Hospital staff used to look in on us when
they could, but most of their leisure time was taken up
sand-yachting.

* * * * * *
204 Memories and Base Details

 

It was some time in January when the children and
their governess, Miss Marsters, joined me. They were
delightfully enthusiastic over everything, and, curious
to relate, they retained this enthusiasm to the end. I
confess I was sceptical as to its duration, so many people
were full of energy during the first weeks, but got
gradually weary of the monotonous routine of canteen
work. There is very little glamour attached to pouring
out tea and cutting sandwiches—there is nothing of
the possible romance about it, attached to hospital work.
It is strenuous as well as kaleidoscopic, people come and
go in such rapid succession, that there is no time to think
of them as individuals. There is no time for gossip ;
only occasionally during a slack moment a small party
of men or a despatch rider would look in bringing news
from the front, but I must confess that their military
information was usually hopelessly incorrect.

If they had seen the Prince of Wales they could talk
of nothing else. His youth, his simplicity and his courage
had instantly secured his popularity ; everyone respected
his determination to get to the front, which had carried
the day against Lord Kitchener’s objection, that it was
an unfair additional responsibility to place on the
Commander-in-Chief.

I used to get numerous letters of thanks from the men,
and one of my most treasured souvenirs is a piece of
glass from the cathedral of Ypres, which a despatch rider
asked his mother to send to me.

It was difficult to gratify the children’s wish to be
in the canteen as much as they wanted. My own hours
were so uncertain, and depended on the arrival of trains,
and I used, perhaps, to motor into Boulogne in the
morning and not get back until the next day, so that I
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AMIET LORE a
SRR TT AS SRS OE AE

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Memories and Base Details 205

 

very often had to turn a deaf ear to their entreaties !
They solved the difficulty by finding a job for them-
selves.

The club at Etaples had been shut up since the
London Fusiliers went away, but I was asked to re-open
it for the use of the “ Base Details’? who had just
arrived. The children took over the management of this,
and ran it exceedingly well, keeping the strictest
accounts. In those days we had no tiresome accounts
to grapple with at Boulogne, as all our refreshments were
free. However, in January I received a message from the
Commandant, through Major Watson, suggesting that I
should now institute a small tariff, as the Y.M.C.A. had
just opened a hut and they were not giving anything
away. At the suggestion of the ’bus-man, who used to
bring the men going on leave, down from the front, we
had placed a money box on the counter. The men were
absurdly diffident about having their meals free, and
assured us they would rather go up to the town, even
though they had to pay through the nose, than be in-
definitely ‘‘ treated,”” so we compromised to this extent,
and the box was often full of half-crowns at night ;
with a very occasional dud Belgian coin ; so rarely did
this happen that it need hardly be mentioned.

I was on the whole glad to put things on a more
business-like basis, by charging a small fee. It seemed
fairer and we started with a penny tariff. It is to the
lasting credit of British soldiers that they ate six times
as much when they paid for their meals as when they
were given gratis.

* * * * * *

Boulogne was growing rapidly, developing into the
gigantic hub of the war machine it eventually became.
206 Memories and Base Details

 

Hospitals and canteens were springing up everywhere.
Lady Hadfield and Lady Norman were both at
Wimereux. Monica Grenfell and Venetia Stanley, now
Mrs. Montague, were doing their V.A.D. work at Lady
Norman’s hospital. We all occasionally met on the
quay—Lady Hadfield, generally dressed in white from
head to foot, which proclaimed her identity from a long
distance. Hugo lunched with M.G. and VS. at
Boulogne one day—the latter was just on her way home
to buy her trousseau and incidentally to change her
religion! Mrs. Hoare, Lord Tredegar’s sister, had
equipped and brought out a motor kitchen. We used
to chaff her a good deal as she was going to work under
the auspices of the ‘“‘ Young Christians.””’ The Duchess
of Rutland was trying to get to Hardelot with her hospital,
but met with opposition on every side, and she com-
plained bitterly of the treatment she received at the
hands of the Red Cross in London. Mrs. Clayton Swan
had a small hut in the Bassin Loubet. Unlike me, she
had gone straight to headquarters for her permission
and had written to Lord Kitchener for it without even
knowing him!

The Bassin Loubet was the most interesting spot in
Boulogne, with its endless movement. It was from here
that the British Army was provisioned. Seeing the
ships loaded and unloaded and the huge hangars filled
with fodder was, at any rate to me, always fresh and
stimulating. It suggested a something always being
done—a getting on with things in a most inspiring manner.

I used to go down to this department at least twice
a week to get my stores and petrol, and each time I
wondered afresh at the absence of unnecessary official-
dom, and the amount of efficiency. It was a perpetual
Memories and Base Details 207

 

testimony to the superiority of Sir John Cowan’s de-
partment over all the others of the War Office..

* * % %* * *

There had been a rumour since January that there
was to be a permanent camp at Etaples. It was at first
supposed to be limited to the hospital section, but in a
very few months this idea had developed into one of much
greater magnitude. The excellence of the water supply
made it an ideal site, but the wisdom of combining a
large hospital centre with one of the biggest reinforce-
ment camps in France was severely questioned. Those
who were sceptical were justified in their criticism at the
time of the big air raid in 1918.

The inauguration of a camp at Etaples meant the
arrival of a staff. The first temporary commandant
was Major Steele, of the Coldstreams, but he was soon
afterwards transferred to the line as a brigadier-general.
His successor, Col. Huskisson, during his rather brief
reign made things delightfully easy for us, and it was
due to him and to a very human Padre called Williams,
that the idea for the big hut in the camp originated.
They used often to find their way to tea with the children
in the little club, and they were most insistent that I
should apply at once for a site. This I accordingly did,
and the necessary permission was obtained—really, I
am sure, through the good offices of Col. H., for the
Commandant who eventually replaced him would have
been far less amenable and enterprising on my behalf !
General Graham Thompson was a very nice old gentle-
man, but I think stood in deadly fear of the higher
authorities.

I must put in a word, too, about Col. Jones, the
208 Memories and Base Details

 

“Camp Engineer” (of course he became a general
immediately), he took such endless trouble in fixing
the spot for the hut. At first I felt that I was being
poked out of the way and was faintly jealous of Lady
Greenall, who had appeared as a full blown “ Young
Christian ”’ to run the Walton Hut, which seemed to
me situated in the very best part of the camp. Colonel
Jones laughed at me and told meto be patient. I was,
and the site he had chosen was undoubtedly the best, —
and as the camp developed we found ourselves in the
very heart of things.

The New Base Headquarters’ Staff established them-
selves at the Hétel des Anglais, where a few civilians
still lingered, but these were gradually ousted—to their
openly expressed discomfiture.

What went on in Paris Plage in those early days was
a matter of conjecture to me, or rather, of halving most
of the gossip which occasionally reached me in the
seclusion of the forest.

The A.P.M. at that time was the centre of numerous
scandals, and joy rides, if one was to believe what one
was told, seemed to be an habitual occurrence. Alas!
I never had time, nor any particular inclination to indulge
in these. I think the only time I went off the beaten
track was in 1916, when the children and I dined with
Alastair in his billet on his birthday. Some months
afterwards G.H.Q. questioned Lord Tweedmouth on the
subject and they received an answer very much to the
point !

How to raise the money to build the new hut was
our next problem, but one which I was sure would be easily
overcome. The generosity of people in those days
appeared to know no limits, so I started with the eye of
Memories and Base Details 209

 

faith. The question of subscriptions was, however,
almost unnecessary, for since we had charged for our
provisions, even though we still retained our penny
tariff, we were making profits, and I could conceive no
better method of using these than on our new building.

I confess that these profits surprised me, more
especially as every time I opened the newspaper I
saw an appeal for the Y.M.C.A. asking for money for
the upkeep of their huts. Their appeal appeared un-
necessary, as the huts were generally given and their
staff was an entirely voluntary one. I do not think that
the Y.M.C.A. cared for my publishing, as I did later, a
balance sheet, and a clergyman who was helping to
raise funds for the British Soldiers’ Buffets, as we called
ourselves, was rung up by one of the Y.M.C.A. heads
and informed that he ought not to support me. When
he inquired ‘‘ Why?” he was told that I did not stand
for what they did and was guilty of the enormity of
smoking cigarettes at the Folkestone Hotel! To work
for the Y.M.C.A. you had to sign a formidable document
and apparently promise not to smoke. Amongst their
fashionable lady inspectors was Lady Rodney, one of
the most inveterate smokers I know ; but I suppose the
fact of her social influence secured for her absolution.

It was really amusing, though, to see the people who
came out under the auspices of the Y.M.C.A.—as in-
spectors nominally, but really to get-to France. It was
becoming more and more difficult to do this, and the
casual visitor who had been of the greatest assistance to
me in our busy times, was no longer allowed.

What the Y.M.C.A. lacked in business capacity they
did not even possess in Christian charity; and further
proof.of their antagonism—I put it down to jealousy—

14
210 Memories and Base Details

 

was shown, when a baker in the town told me, that they
had threatened to withdraw their patronage, if he con-
tinued to supply me with bread !

A very different spirit, however, was displayed by
the Salvation Army, who from first to last gave me the
greatest support and assistance. A word here cannot
be out of place in praise of their work for the men in
France ; they laid themselves out to cater, not only for
their spiritual but their bodily welfare. There was no
humbug about them, and the happiest rivalry existed
between them and myself, and we mutually assisted
each other over stores and transport. The food they
gave the men was far better and cheaper than that
supplied by any other hut (always excepting my own !)
and their labours were not in vain, for they were by far
the most popular institution abroad. Their officers
showed a delightfully human side, which, until one
knew them, was unexpected. When Colonel Haines
bade me good-bye, he said he would like to have a
photograph of me. I had two, one with my maligned
cigarette in my mouth, the other in a slightly more
orthodox attitude; he at once chose the one with the
cigarette, but on second thoughts said that perhaps the
other would be more appropriate to his office table !

The building of the big hut was going on rapidly,
but the large boxing hall which the Padre was very
anxious for us to have (he possessed considerable know-
ledge of the men and their probable tastes) was taboo.
Lord Wemyss was to get us our permission for this,
but as we were all a little sketchy in those days about
the various departments, Lord Wemyss unfortunately
wrote to G.H.Q. instead of to the I.G.C. In those
days G.H.Q. did not trouble itself about the affairs on
Memories and Base Details 211

 

the Lines of Communication, and the Inspector-General
did not like this request having gone to G.H.Q. first.

Eventually we had an out-door ring, and no spot
in the camp was more popular. The men simply flocked
to the weekly competitions, and the roof of the hut
was treated by them as if it was the Grand Stand. I
had never seen any boxing before, but I confess to have
developed a distinct taste for it. Another thing which
the men appreciated almost as much as the boxing
ring was the bath house, which we established in con-
nection with the canteen, and Mr. Kemp most kindly
gave me the necessary boiler and other equipment,
which included twelve baths.

* * * * * Ey

Just as the big hut was completed I developed an
attack of measles. Why on earth at my age I should
have had a second attack of this tiresome illness, good-
ness only knows, and at such an inconvenient moment !
I dodged the camp doctor and avoided complete
quarantine, and as soon as my rash had subsided I
departed for England and combined the ordering of
stores with convalescence.

Thank Heaven, the night sailings had been
abolished ; even if one had been torpedoed in the day-
time one would not have had much of a chance, but
the ghastly possibility of being drowned at night made
the crossings seem more fearsome than they really .
were. Seventeen hundred was supposed to be the
maximum number of people that the boats would
carry in safety, but I think there were never less than
double that number on board. Later on they were
well escorted, but in those very early days it was

14*
212 Memories and Base Details

 

a case of taking pot luck. I was talking to a captain
about it only the other day, and we marvelled that
no accident had happened to the mail boat. Her pace
saved her, I suppose, but on one occasion two tor-
pedoes only just missed her, about nine miles from the
harbour. The wreck-of one cargo ship is still outside
Boulogne, for, instead of coming straight in she had
waited for a more favourable tide, which for her was
indefinitely delayed. A submarine caught her during
the night, and when they tried to tow her in she broke
in two and completely blocked the entrance to the
harbour. Some people suggested that it had been
done intentionally—an undress rehearsal for Zeebrugge,
but I should rather doubt it, as the inconvenience of
having to fetch stores from Calais while they were dis-
lodging her seemed a little too strenuous for even a
successful naval manceuvre.

The night sailings while they lasted were not only
shattering to the nerves of the passengers, but were
equally disliked by the captain of the boat. The com-
bination of the night sailings and the attack on the
other mail boat proved too much for Captain Walker,
and he quite frankly resigned. I had done so many
successful journeys with him that his departure seemed
like the passing of a friend.

These night journeys owed their inception to
“Winston,” who had an idea that the boats would make
a less easy mark for the Germans than in the daylight.
But he had forgotten to reckon for the ‘‘ weak in-
constant’? moon, not so weak, unfortunately, as we
should have liked. Winston forgot, too, that if the
night happened to be dark the enemy’s periscope
would be even more obscured.
   

‘ a
Z (asa ffeatep :
¥ i oe ¢ ‘
te

 

My Father.

[Facing p. 212
Memories and Base Details 218

 

It would be difficult to imagine an easier mark
than the boat actually presented, as it left Boulogne
Harbour. With its twinkling lights it looked like a
miniature floating White City. One thing I always
marvelled at was the enormous amount of unnecessary
hooting that took place, just before starting, for no
ostensible reason, unless it was to warn the Germans
of our approach !

The First Lord’s ideas were not exactly popular
at the moment. The services he had rendered, by
having the Fleet mobilized at the critical moment, had
been partially forgotten when he indulged in his “ legi-
timate gamble.” It was a most unfortunate phrase, if
possible more unfortunate than the expedition it described.
The English people, who refuse to envisage a casino,
even for the purpose of reducing their taxes, were not
likely to tolerate a gamble in lives! Peter Wright tells
us in his very frank book that Sir Henry Wilson com-
plained that the French did not seem to know where
Mesopotamia was ; I am sure the Englishmen in France
most profoundly wished that Churchill had never heard
of the Dardanelles !

No one in the West could have been blamed for
being anti-East. To see the shells and men being
removed from the Western Front just when the Spring
offensive, of which we had heard so much, was to be
launched, was heartbreaking. How anyone kept their
spirits up under existing conditions was a wonder.

The first gas attack had brought home more forcibly
than anything the complete barbarism of the enemy.
They had been working at this devilish invention long
before the war started—it was a carefully thought-out
plan, not a sudden inspiration induced by desperation.
214 Memories and Base Details

 

The French were the first to suffer. For some time
previously French patrols knew that something unusual
was going on in the Forest of Houthulst, in the Ypres
salient. The zoth Corps—one of the crack corps—
who had been holding the line in front of Langemarck
had just been relieved by a Colonial division. Two
days later these men saw those first ominous clouds of
unearthly smoke. One of the few survivors told me
that the men were convinced that this was some super-
natural manifestation, and they remained crouching
in their trenches, where the full force of the gas was
felt. Hardly a man escaped this suffocating death,
and the Germans, walking quietly behind their devilish
barrage, were able toadvancesome miles. The Canadians
were the next to suffer, and the agonies they went
through were far more awful to witness than the worst
amputation dressing.

* * * * * *

From out of the blue came Repington’s telegram.
The feeling in France of utter hopelessness over the
Government in England had been accentuated by
Mr, Asquith’s speech at Newcastle. The information
on which that speech was based has been attributed to
so many different sources that until the inner history
of the episode has been revealed it would be foolish to
comment on it.

The wildest rumours were in circulation. Sir John
French was supposed to be in political intrigue with
Lord Northcliffe; Kitchener was supposed to be in-
volved in another direction, and so on, ad lib. The
Daily Mail was burnt on the Stock Exchange, but
Memories and Base Details 215

 

read with avidity on the quay at Boulogne ; and its
pile of ashes in the City was as good an advertisement
for Lord Northcliffe as the banning by the libraries to
an ambitious author.

And out of all these rumours and happenings there
emerged a Coalition Government. But the days of a
great man in Israel had already been numbered.
IV

WE may have had a Coalition Government, but
they did not appear to have a co-ordinated
policy. Diplomacy and strategy were continually at
loggerheads. People who ought to have known better
were even quarrelling as to who had been the first to
expose the shell shortage. In this way the shell scandal
differed from most. As a rule the originator of a scandal
prefers to lie low, but on this occasion everyone was
boasting of their share in the transaction. Great things
were anticipated from Lloyd George’s appointment
to the Ministry of Munitions, and it was hoped that
a reduced War Committee would do more and talk less.

The soldier has very little use for the politician.
They look upon Politics as a dirty game, so that on the
whole the men one saw in France were not too sanguine
or over enthusiastic. I think, without a doubt, that
Lord Milner was the most popular and the most respected
statesman, and he was looked upon as almost the only
one who was entirely disinterested.

I heard the news in Boulogne that Alastair was
wounded—no one seemed to know if badly or slightly—
but Millie got him over to England immediately. He
had apparently done awfully well, and eventually got
the M.C. He was delightfully modest about it after-
wards. He found himself practically alone in a trench

216
Memories and Base Details 217

 

with some Germans and he captured the lot. His
version of the incident was: ‘‘I told them to put up
their hands and they did it—if they’d told me to put
up mine I should naturally have done so!” Lord
Chesham was wounded the same day, and there was
a horribly long list of casualties amongst one’s friends.

* * * * * *

The maggot of intrigue was burrowing into every
department, and infecting everyone with jealousy,
hatred and malice. Lord Kitchener was apparently
the most disliked man in England, but not by the great.
British public. To them he represented a bulwark of
security, and no gossip or abuse succeeded in shaking
their complete faith in him. He was absolutely un-
shiftable. The Cabinet realized this, and they knew
his power over the country.

The evacuation of Gallipoli was causing differences
of opinion between the War Council and the Cabinet,
and this necessitated Lord Kitchener going to the East
to decide on our policy. The fact that an opportunity
had arisen for him to leave England, even for a short
while, was apparently welcomed by our politicians—
and the War Office.

But to return to the base, Colonel Asser was being
transferred to Havre, which was now developing into
a more important port, and his capacity as a capable
organizer was well-known, and, strange to say, was
being duly taken advantage of.

I was dining with Claude Levita, then Provost
Marshal at Boulogne, when we heard the news. We
all hated his going—he had made himself universally
popular—and Colonel Daru told me that the relations
218 Memories and Base Details

 

between the French and the English would not have
been so good if anyone else had occupied his position.

We were in the middle of one of our night rushes,
when Colonel A. came in with Prince Arthur of Con-
naught to say good-bye, and with characteristic thought-
fulness he told me he had made all the final arrange-
ments for the hut I was to occupy, instead of the existing
waiting-room. I was to move out of my old quarters
as the room was wanted by the Post Office. They had
outgrown their old quarters, and when the temporary
hospital in the Douane had been moved, the P. O.
had been transferred there, but apparently they still
wanted more space. They had been trying to get me
out for some time, but I had clung tenaciously to the old
spot until a new site could be found for me. Irate
officials from the Post Office visited me at regular
intervals, and I flew as regularly to the Commandant’s
office to be protected against eviction—I think he
teally felt that we were a necessity, as long as leave
continued.

Colonel Wilberforce, who succeeded Colonel Asser
as Commandant, did not, I fear, share his predecessor’s
views as to our usefulness, or rather, he wanted the
E. F. C. to supersede us and at one time our feeding of
the leave men was seriously threatened.

I was rather curtly informed one day that in future
the men would go straight to the Central Station, where
the E. F. C. had established a canteen. To prevent
the men straying into the buffet, we were ordered to
close down, during the times that the men were em-
barking and disembarking. This was tantamount to
telling me I was not wanted, but the very day the
order came through the leave boats were detained
Memories and Base Details 219

 

owing to submarines in the Channel, and about 1,200
men who were already on board were clamouring for
food.

The E. F. C. were closed, so the poor British Soldiers’
Buffets were appealed to—and not in vain! Tobe
equipped for every emergency was my motto. The staff
sometimes grumbled at being kept hanging about with
nothing to do, but at Boulogne the unexpected in-
variably happened, and I felt justified for my tyranny
on occasions, when such disasters as the torpedoing of
the Sussex occurred, and we were the only place open
in Boulogne.

In spite of our having come to the rescue, and re-
ceiving a charming letter of thanks from the Com-
mandant, the order for the closing of the buffet still
held good, so I wrote to Sir John Cowans and asked
whether it could not be arranged for us to still go on feed-
ing the leave men. Thanks to his intervention the order
was not only rescinded, but I was given another hut
on the quay and the men were given time as they
were marching past to get tea and sandwiches.

One could hardly repress a smile at the military
discipline which had been arrived at, when one remem-
bered the early scrimmages in the old buffet, but the
men still retained the same good-humoured attitude as
they tramped through the sloshy streets, humming
“It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,” the Boulonnais
pressing their wares of oranges and chocolates upon
them, with the children, trotting alongside calling
“‘ Souvenir—souvenir,” and it was really sweet to see
the men dive into their pockets for a coin or a button
to give these little gamins.

Sir John’s help was of the most disinterested kind
220 Memories and Base Details

 

—as I hardly knew him, and when I thanked him, he said
he could do no less, as he knew the real good the buffet
had been to the men in the early days of the war. This
was a tribute I valued highly. Sir John was a human
being, not one of those skin and bone automatons who
never forgot the dignity: of their position or lost their grip
on the red tape that bound them to their office chairs.

While the alterations were being carried out, he
wrote me several letters which he sent to the Red Cross
c/o Eden Paget, who used to forward them to me.
The M.L.O. came to see Paget one day, and reprimanded
him severely for receiving letters on my behalf, which
had not been through the Censor’s office. He added that
he would not deliver any more, and that he would
have to report the matter if it occurred again. ‘‘ Do,”
said Paget, ‘“‘ but I am afraid I shall have to report you
for refusing to deliver the Quartermaster-General’s
letters.’ Tableau !

Winston Churchill, having doffed his Admiral’s
uniform, appeared in khaki in November. One of the
most amusing legends was when F. E. Smith came
out to see him. We were quite solemnly informed
that he had been marched on board, a prisoner under
military escort. The real facts were something like
this. He had gone to see Winston in the trenches
without a proper pass, and through some blunder in
the A.-G.’s office he had actually been put under arrest
at G.H.Q. I am sure there was no great discomfort
attached to this adventure, and there must have been
a certain amount of satisfaction in making Macready
apologize !

The same fantastic tales were spread about the
Memories and Base Details 221

 

most harmless Generals who were merely going home
on leave. So-and-so had been unstuck. In a few days
the unconscious victim of this gossip would return, and
the originator of the scandal would almost regretfully
watch him vanish out of sight in an Army motor car.

* * * * * *

So little use had been made of the cavalry that it
had been decided that a certain number should be turned
into infantry, and that in future they would take their
turn in the trenches. The Scots Greys were billeted not
very far from us, and I had promised to pick some of
them up in the car, and take them to luncheon at
Boulogne. My car was hors de combat, so we had to
go in the Ford store van. We had started out full of
zeal, but a punctured tyre and a wrong turning made it
rather a dismal drive. I had hoped that we might see
some grey horses which would prove a guide to their
whereabouts, but I had forgotten that they had been
camouflaged to look like bays (they really resembled a
pale pink). We eventually found their headquarters,
and hoped that we should be able to have our luncheon
there, as it was already late, but they had just demolished
their last slice of cold ham, so we had to wend our weary
way to Boulogne. We were already fairly tightly packed
in the car, but regardless of the possible damage to
the springs, we managed to fit two or three of them in.
I hadn’t seen Eddie Compton or Francis Hill since they
were small boys.

We saw a good deal of the Greys later. They used
to come over and help us in the canteen. Lord St.
Germans was a most proficient barman. We lent him
a white apron and he poured out tea and ladled out
222 Memories and Base Details

 

porridge in the most professional manner. He and
Eddie were a most amusing couple. Eddie was the
Pelissier of the regiment, and had written a revue called
‘Wash your Kneck,’” which had a huge success at
the Front. The ‘‘ Company” came and gave us a per-
formance at Boulogne and Lord St. Germans as a lady
was quite inimitable.

It was only very rarely that I could get a whole
holiday, for our work at Boulogne was not diminishing,
whilst at Etaples it was growing in leaps and bounds.
Without flattering myself unduly I think I can say that
the British Soldiers’ Buffet was by far the most popular
restaurant inthecamp. Not to know “ Angelina’s,”’ as the
hut was familiarly called, was not to know anything
about Etaples, from the Tommy’s point of view. A King’s
Messenger, asking his way to the station, was told to
go to “ Angelina’s and straight on.’’ Naturally, the
King’s Messenger was as wise after this information
as before he received it!

Day by day the camp was growing, and was rapidly
becoming a large wooden town whose buildings, though
composed of timber, presented such an appearance of
permanence, that even the educated French citizens
began to question our intentions, and to suspect us of a
definite sojourn on their shores. The Quay at Boulogne
was crowded, and the traffic congested, with men going
on leave, and with the batches of reinforcements that
were arriving daily from England. This new army,
fresh, and enthusiastic, in their brand new khaki, pre-
sented an enormous contrast to the mud-caked, worn,
war-weary soldiers returning from the front for their
all too short leave.
Memories and Base Details 223

 

They numbered in their ranks members of every
conceivable trade and profession. The meat-salesman
from Smithfield, and the waiter from the ‘‘ Berkeley ”’
rubbed shoulders amicably with the artist and the actor.
This seems quite natural when one reflects that their
callings, under normal conditions, were completely
ignored.

At one moment one was talking to a gentleman
with a diction as clear as Mr. Balfour’s, and the next
to a bookie, who was bemoaning his loss of income on
the racecourse ; but, I suppose making the most of his
time in the camp out of his pals at Crown and Anchor,
or that historic game ‘‘ Housie Housie.”” No one who
has been in France will not know that game, but for
the uninitiated I may as well explain that it was only
another name for Loto! At every corner of the camp
a group of engrossed men sat waiting, in rapt attention,
for a number to be called in a monotonous, raucous voice.
To see them, such things as guns and trenches might
have been on another continent. One man was a really
amusing crook. He showed me the three card trick
and let me into the secret of his loaded dice and double-
faced penny. He must have made a nice income at
home, as he thought the hundred or two he had netted
in the camp a very paltry sum! The British Tommy
preserved his sense of humour in the most trying cir-
cumstances. On one occasion I was looking at a new
motor hearse, built by the Red Cross to carry four
coffins. Two men were passing at the time, and one of
them turned to his pal with the very apropos remark :
“Look, Bill, they are going to make us form fours to
the very end!”

* 2 * x * *
224 Memories and Base Details

 

The exigencies of the canteen had seriously interfered
with the children’s education. Their governess had
turned out a most splendid worker and was my right
hand, but she could not be in two places at once, and
lessons went sadly to the wall. Marigold was prac-
tically grown up, so it did not matter for her, and I tried
to console myself that what Flavia lost on the swings
she gained on the roundabouts, for she now talked
French like a native, but instead of relishing the absence
of copybooks she expressed a wish to go home to school !
This laudable desire I felt ought to be encouraged,
but I was rather doubtful of its ultimate success, and 1
was right in my surmise, for after three weeks of school
life she prayed so hard to be taken away that I rather
weakly acquiesced, and compromised by leaving her
with a governess in London and bringing her back to
France in the summer.

The Eshers were going over and had promised to
look after her on the journey, as it was impossible for
me to get away until after Christmas. We all dined
together at the “ Folkestone” the night before; the
Maurice Bretts were there too, and I thought Mrs. B.
as nice as she was pretty. King Manoel was also there,
none the worse for what might have been a really bad
motor accident. His car had collided with a horse
and cart on the Etaples road, and had very nearly
gone over the precipice on to the railway line, but by
some extraordinary good fortune it had remained poised
on the brink.

I saw Millie at the Folkestone Hotel, and thought she
looked rather tired. Nowonder! They had been bomb-
ing all round her hospital, and even if one doesn’t lose
one’s nerve in a raid, one certainly loses one’s beauty
Memories and Base Details 225

 

sleep. Though we were so close we had hardly seen
each other, she did not come into Boulogne oftener
than she could help, and somehow I never managed to
get out to her hospital, but when I did I thought it
too delightful and comfortable, and was filled with a
longing to live permanently in a wooden hut, it all
looked so clean and homelike !

Millie did not take long to get over her experiences
at Namur, as a German prisoner. Directly she got back
to England she began to raise a hospital unit which she
' brought back to Dunkirk, to the Hétel Bellevue, Malo.
Here she had a hundred beds and also was instrumental
in getting the huge goods sheds on the station converted
into a clearing hospital.

She was cosmopolitan in her ministrations, and
French and German wounded were received, and wel-
comed into her hospital. Her expeditions to recover
some of the worst cases, from places further up the line,
did not meet with wholesale approbation from the British
officials. Dunkirk was the German airman’s favourite
hunting ground along the coast, and the bombing became
so desperate that she was obliged to move fifteen kilo-
métres out of the town. Here Millie established herself
and her unit in tents pitched in a corn field, and it was
not till 1916 that she was finally settled at Calais. Rose-
mary* was with her all the time, and was, I believe, a most
efficient nurse, whilst her very happy, sunny disposition
made her a universal favourite. She fondly imagined she
was maintaining a perfect incognito in her cap and apron,
and was rather embarrassed one day, when a patient,
whose wound she was dressing, quietly remarked that the
last time they had met was at the Pytchley Hunt

* Viscountess Ednam.

, 15
226 Memories and Base Details

 

ball! Rosabelle Bingham, and Diana Wyndham were
with Millie for some time. David Bingham and Percy
Wyndham had both been killed in those very early days.

Later Rosabelle came and worked for me in Boulogne
—but only for a short time, and she broke every rule
that was established regarding permits, and turned up
in London quite unexpectedly. I had gone over to see
about stores, and she came to apologize, with such a
radiant face, that I suspected some better reason than
boredom had prompted her to leave, and I was right—
she had deserted me to marry Gertie Brand, who had
unexpectedly got leave.

Ok * * * * *

The curt announcement of Sir John French’s departure
was not unexpected. No one here was taken in by the
rather absurd excuse that he was really wanted in
England. During the shell crisis he had acted with the
greatest moral courage, and by his own action he had
probably ruined his career. Sir John had undoubtedly
been subjected to a vast amount of unjust criticism ;
he might well now retort by asking if his successor had
done any better. The answer would be “not so well,”
for surely Haig had no retreat of Mons or battle of the
Marne to place on the credit side of his balance sheet.
The absurd scandals of the happenings at G. H. Q. were
most untrue and malignant, and the reports of the ladies
and the card parties at St. Omer were without a shred of
foundation. Exhausted imaginations were reduced to
these pitiable inventions.

French was an optimist in the best sense. It was
not a swaggering conviction in his own ability, but a
Memories and Base Details 227

 

supreme confidence in the men he had handled, and in
the justness of the cause. His own firm belief in the
ultimate results re-acted on the spirits of the entire army,
and kept them steady and hopeful when they might have
been legitimately down to zero.

He went away very quietly, and as he stood on the
steps of the bridge, one could not but think of another,
greater than he, and of his picture looking towards the
shore as the ship set sail for St. Helena.

15*
Vv

E roi est mort, vive le roi. Sir Douglas Haig had
: replaced Sir John French. It was a fact that
aroused little enthusiasm; his name at that time
meant little more to the army than that of any other
general, but there was not a man who had not known
Sir John’s. It was the rank and file who appreciated
what he had done! Haig had not been popular amongst
the officers at Aldershot, and if all one heard was true,
he was not a particular favourite amongst the politicians
—which of them was it, by the way, who gave that ex-
cellent word-picture of him, “all chin and no head” ?
That featural indication of obstinacy did not belie him,
and it was this characteristic, so often the accompani-
ment of stupidity, which must have made him refuse,
till the game was nearly up, to come under the command
of a better man than himself.

Changes in the General Staff included that of Sir
William Robertson, who had gone back to the War Office.
Everyone regretted that he had gone. ‘“‘ Wallie,”’ as he
was familiarly called, inspired confidence. He had
no outside influence, no ‘‘ Maid of Honour ” wife to help
him in his career; his rise was due solely to his own
indomitable efforts and ability. Many amusing stories
are told of the bluntness of his manners. ‘‘ You’re for
*ome,”’ was said to be one of his methods of politely inti-

228
Memories and Base Details 229

 

mating to a general that his services in France were to
be dispensed with.

Sir Philip Sassoon, who had started the war as General
Rawlinson’s secretary, had transferred himself into a
similar position with the C. in C. He is supposed to
have wired to the florist :

“Stop flowers to Lady Rawlinson, but send them to
Lady Haig,” and later :

“‘ Send flowers now to Mrs. Lloyd George.”

I cannot vouch for the truth of this, but it is amusing
enough to repeat! And as a sequel, Diana Cooper is
supposed to have wired to Sir Philip on Easter Sunday :
“‘ Christ is risen, apply for secretaryship !”

New brooms sweep clean, and great things were pre-
dicted for the Spring offensive, but it was one of those
interminable hopes destined to disappointment. Instead
of being half way to Berlin, our troops were entrenched
in the same muddy, bloody line. One felt desperately
like the man in the Flanders trenches who was asked in
1914 how long the war would last :

‘“‘T don’t know,” was his reply, “‘ when it will end, but
I know where it will end—and that’s here.”

The terrific attack on Verdun had begun. To write
or even imagine anything of the horrors of this epoch-
making conflict would be impossible. Stories of inde-
scribable ghastliness and endurance filtered through.
The absence of food and drink nearly drove the men
mad. The brother of one of the Red Cross drivers was
with the French Army there, and he told me how the
men were literally drinking their own blood, and a French
priest I had given a lift to, had just come from Douau-
mont. He had the red ribbon of the Légion d’Honneur
and other decorations and was having a two days’
230 Memories and Base Details

 

permission to see his flock. He told me that on the last
occasion that Douaumont had been lost and retaken,
the French had refused to move again: the men said
they infinitely preferred to die or to fall into the hands
of the Germans. They lay in the trenches oblivious
of anything but their utter exhaustion. Pétain, how-
ever, had said that the fort was to be retaken. The
officer in command called up the trumpeter, who played
the Marseillaise. At the first notes played by the
boy the men were instantly roused from their stupor—
as one man they rose and charged—Douaumont was

retaken and for the last time passed out of German
hands.

The Irish Rebellion was looked upon from an entirely
selfish point of view at the Base. What right had an
Irishman, however great his grievance, to think of it at
such a moment when his own flesh and his own blood
were at grips in a battle for world freedom ? Ireland
seemed almost like a parish quarrelling over its pump,
and her sons would have been better employed, at a
moment when every man was desperately needed, in
rallying to the greater cause. That they did not must
be a blot on the race only redeemed by the gallantry of
those Irish regiments that we saw in France.

An Irishman wrote to me later a description of the
Easter rising, which I am giving.

“You have asked for a history of the Dublin rising
of Easter week, 1916, as it appears to an average Irish-
man. Here is one for you told by several eye-witnesses :

“As you want facts, let me state the most important
Memories and Base Details 231

 

one first—it was not a Sinn Fein rebellion. No one
can deny that its results have been to throw the weight
of three-fourths of the Irish nation into the service of
that party; but at the time of the insurrection the
Sinn Fein leaders were not in the council of the men
who directed it, and most of the latter would have pro-
tested against being dubbed Sinn Feiners as violently
as would, say, Mr. Chesterton at being labelled a Pro-
hibitionist. The term Sinn Fein has been adopted
since then by journalists to describe every man of Irish
birth who happens to be discontented with the muddle-
ment or misgovernment in his country, much as till
recently those who do not love Mr. George were ticketed
with the badge of Bolshevik ; but those who professed
the creed of Sinn Fein in 1916 were few compared with
other political parties in the island. Their objects
then—for they have been modified by subsequent hap-
penings—do not concern us more than to state that
armed insurrection certainly was not one of them.

“The rising was the result of the fusion of two small
organized bodies, the Citizen Army of Dublin, composed
of sweated and exploited workmen led by James Con-
nolly, and the Irish Volunteers, men of good social
position and intellectual brilliance, whose leader was
Patrick Pearse. In this way Socialism joined with
Republicanism, dreams of a nation winning its inde-
pendence, sword in hand, were mingled with schemes
to redress evils in the policy of the commonwealth ;
the result was a protest, terrific in its unexpectedness,
ringing in unwilling ears. The Citizen Army bore the
existing fabric of the State a grudge for its defeat in
one of the most savage industrial wars ever fought in
Ireland ; the Republicans had lost patience with those
232 Memories and Base Details

 

leaders whom they thought chameleons, promise-
crammed by the hot air of Westminster. The incom-
petence and stupidity shown in every department of
Government control in Ireland seemed to these men
to demand a cleansing river, and on Easter Monday,
April 24th, 1916, these discontents overflowed so sud-
denly that the Government got its feet wet.

“The day had been well chosen. The fine weather
had driven most thoughts out of the heads of sport-
loving Dublin save that of the great Irish meeting at
Fairyhouse. It is said that at the Castle those re-
sponsible for the safe guidance of the country were
languidly considering whether, in view of Casement’s
arrest on the previous Good Friday and rumours of
plots in the metropolis, extra precautions should be
taken, when a shot at the gates announced that the
rebellion had begun. This may or may not be true,
but there is no doubt of the fact that a couple of hundred
Irish Volunteers, wearing uniform and carrying arms,
met no hindrance as they marched through the streets
and about noon took possession of the General Post
Office in O’Connell Street and proclaimed the Irish
Republic. Round these headquarters barricades sprang
up at once, built of all sorts of unexpected materials.
One in Lower Abbey Street was formed of new bicycles
in their crates. Of such defence the British artillery
made short work when the time came.

“Simultaneously other strategic posts in the city
were seized. Telegraphic wires were cut and railways
interrupted. Motors were stopped on all the roads
round Dublin, and many a racegoer was left to walk
home while his car was driven into the city and parked
at St. Stephen’s Green to serve as a barricade. But
Memories and Base Details 233

 

the insurgents failed to capture Dublin Castle or to cut
the telephone wire which connects it with the Curragh
Camp. The capture of Jacob’s biscuit factory, Boland’s
Mill, and the Four Courts did not outbalance the failure
to gain the Castle or the Magazine Fort in the Phoenix
Park. At Trinity College and the Bank of Ireland, too,
the insurgents were frustrated by their own countrymen
in the Dublin University O.T.C. During the horrors
‘of the coming week ‘ Old Trinity ’ was not only a fortress,
but a city of refuge; its defenders lost neither their
heads nor their humanity, a state of balance sufficiently
rare in Dublin just then to be worth recording.

“The Republic was proclaimed at noon. The people
of the abyss accepted this as an invitation to help
themselves to some of the good things of life whereof
-they had never yet had any taste. The slums of Dublin
disgorged their waste products of modern industrial
civilization and enlightenment, who proceeded to loot
the shops in O’Connell and Grafton Streets, the Oxford
. and Bond Streets of Ireland. Needless to say, none
of this looting was done by the men of Pearse and
Connolly. What they required was either paid for
on the spot or taken after due lists had been made and
receipts given. The mob, however, with neither money
to pay nor credit to pledge, was not so honest, and in
many cases after having plundered the shelves, it burnt
the shop. You cannot expect people who have lived
since birth disregarded and disdained in ignorance,
hunger, dirt, disease and a living death, to show the
nicest of behaviour when the chance comes to them of
celebrating a holiday after the manner of the ancient
Saturnalia. Yet during the whole of that week they
committed none of those gross lust outrages whereby
284 Memories and Base Details

 

brutalized men often express their hate towards those
who seemed responsible for their former misery. This
security of women from insult has always been one happy
feature of Irish insurrections. :

“‘ Already before sunset on the Monday the hopeless
nature of the rising .was patent. Though few troops
were available, and no direction was to be had from
the amiable Under-Secretary, Mr. Birrell, being, as is
usual with Irish Chief Secretaries, in England at the time
of jeopardy, by Tuesday the insurgents had been driven
from the Castle area, the South Dublin Union and
Stephen’s Green. It was merciless fighting, and the
main brunt of it was borne by Irish regiments.

“Not till the Wednesday did troops begin to arrive
from England. Their coming was accompanied by the
shelling and destruction of Liberty Hall near the quays.
The gunners did more execution on neighbouring
property than might have been expected from good
shooting. Anyway, the Mecca of the Dublin trade
unionists was blown to bits eventually, and a goodly
portion of O’Connell Street went skywards with it.

“T shall never forget my feeling of horror when three
years later I looked upon the ruins of what had once
been the finest thoroughfare in the city. But sadness
gave place to something like rage as I noted the armoured
cars and lorries filled with soldiers patrolling up and
down, and realized that I had come home to a country
occupied by troops who plainly were determined that
the natives should not forget their presence. God
forgive me, for a moment I could not help feeling like
an enemy towards men with whom I had been making
common cause against Germany all through the war.
Then, after a moment’s reflection, I bestowed my damna-
Memories and Base Details 235

 

tion where it was properly deserved—the shifty politi-
cians who sent decent men to do bullies’ work.

“Apart from the damage done unnecessarily to
property, the authorities were careless of the lives of
their own soldiers. On Wednesday evening, the Sher-
wood Foresters were marched into the city from Kings-
town by the route where they would be most exposed
to hostile sniping. It is on record that their C.O. was
warned by a lady to march by another than the direct
route, and that she was shot for her pains. But they
could not know. In the course of the march they
captured by means of bombs and dynamite the houses
held by the insurgents, but their casualty list showed
the price paid.

“On Thursday morning, the G.P.O., the Four
Courts, Jacob’s factory and the Royal College of Surgeons
were the main positions still held by the insurgents,
and these isolated each from the other, but sniping
and street fighting were still going on all over the
city. :

“To the danger of death by bomb or bullet, the
horrors of famine were now added. The people of the
abyss no longer looted for amusement, but for bread.
The authorities invoked the aid of volunteers to distri-
bute such food as was available or was being sent in
from across the water. The civilians who answered this-
call did so at the risk of their lives, having to traverse
streets humming with bullets. One friend of mine, in
response to the entreaty of a highly-placed official, ran
the gauntlet on a bicycle fired at by troops and rebels
alike and reached North Wall, where he was obliged
to stay several days superintending the distribution
of rancid American bacon with no chance of getting
236 Memories and Base Details

 

home to his family. Later on he received neither recog-
nition nor thanks, and the authorities haggled over
paying the expenses of his room at the Station Hotel.
Sic semper /

“By Thursday ten thousand troops had arrived
in Dublin. That night O’Connell Street was in a blaze
from end to end. All Friday the fire continued, and
the work of immolation was helped on by artillery and
bombs. The main object of attack was the G.P.O.,
where Pearse and Connolly commanded, and in making
it untenable. for the insurgents, not only O’Connell
Street, but the greater parts of Lower Abbey, Middle
Abbey and Henry Streets were completely destroyed.

“On Saturday inside the G.P.O. the end was near.
James Connolly had been wounded twice and crippled
on the Thursday, but lay on a bed in the firing-line still
directing his comrades. A Marxian seemed out of place
in such a setting. But there was a reason for it.
Perhaps it was by way of apology that Connolly said
to his daughter during their last parting before his
execution :

“* The Socialists will never understand why I am
here. They all forget I am an Irishman.’

“‘ At four o’clock on the Saturday afternoon Pearse
surrendered his fortress. Commandant Daly laid down
his arms at the Four Courts later on the same day. The
garrison of Jacob’s factory and the College of Surgeons
held out till Sunday. At the latter place the troops,
not without admiration, beheld the Countess Markiewicz
kissing her revolver before surrendering it to an officer,
a tall, graceful woman in a green Volunteer uniform,
second in command there, but never second to any in
daring. The last fighting of all took place around
Memories and Base Details 237

 

Boland’s Mill and Merrion Square, with the division
commanded by Eamonn de Valera.

‘“‘ A spectator in the streets of Dublin on the evening
of Sunday, the 30th of April, saw curious sights. Long
lines of prisoners, men and women in green and white
uniforms, marching with heads held high and singing
rebel songs, while those who lined the streets were
cheering them in defiance of the machine guns and
bayonets of the guards.

“Sure we cheer them,’ a woman remarked to a
Canadian officer, who had rebuked her for the demon-
stration. ‘Why shouldn’t we? Aren’t they our own
flesh and blood?’ Certainly blood calls to blood in
misfortune more than in prosperity.

“The three thousand soldiers who had matched
themselves against the strength of the British Empire
had lost—and losers must pay. Some had already
paid; how many will never be known. The secret
lies in the graves of Glasnevin, where the dead were
buried in batches of twelve in one trench, or beneath
the wreckage of houses, in cellars or gardens where
the toll of civil war was paid to the uttermost. But on
those who yet lived, the hundreds of men and prisoners,
there was still a tax to be levied. The method whereby
England forced the reckoning turned every decent
Irishman into a sympathizer with the rebels.

“National feeling in Ireland was alarmed. Had the
prisoners been Germans or Turks they would have been
well treated ; had they been English or Scotch rebels
they would have been assured of a fair trial according
to the law of the land; had they been Boers no more
blood atonement would have been exacted ; being only
Irish a court-martial was good enough to send them in
288 Memories and Base Details

 

batches to the firing-squad. The procedure was illegal
and unconstitutional, the executions as rank murder as
any that had happened during the rising. Ireland began
to shout : ‘ Are they not our own flesh and blood ?’

‘““ Sympathy was succeeded by admiration, and as the
Government had seem fit to begin a whole-hearted perse-
cution of the leaders of the Sinn Fein party for acts not
of their conceiving, that admiration was rapidly trans-
ferred to these and was bestowed on clever men who
well knew how to draw advantage from having a nation
at their back. Hence the subsequent revolution in Ire-
land which seems now about to end in her practical
independence.

“Perhaps the prime mover of the revolt foresaw this
ultimate result. One who was beside Pearse during
those last hours in the G.P.O. has recorded his leader’s
hopes. Let me give them in Desmond Ryan’s own words :

‘**T stood beside him as he sat upon a barrel, looking
intently at the flames, very silent, his slightly flushed
face crowned by his turned-up hat. Suddenly he turned
to me with the very last question that I ever expected
to hear from him: “ It was the right thing to do, was
it not ?”’ he asked curiously. ‘‘ Yes!’ I replied in aston-
ishment. He gazed back at the leaping and fantastic
blaze and turned towards me more intently. ‘ And if
we fail, it means the end of everything, Volunteers,
Ireland, all?” ‘‘I suppose so,” I replied. He spoke
again. ‘“ When we are all wiped out, people will blame
us for everything, condemn us. But for this protest,
the war would have ended and nothing would have been
done. After a few years they will see the meaning of
what we tried to do.’ ”

When one thinks that at the time of the Rebellion
Memories and Base Details 239

 

my correspondent was a Carsonite and that only circum-
stance and conviction converted him to the cause of a
united Ireland, that he is not the slave of a Celtic tempera-
ment, but a level-headed lawyer, this gives one hopes
that perhaps now legitimate and illegitimate grievances
may forever be laid to rest.

* * %* * * *

It never rains but it pours. The Easter Rebellion
and Verdun were followed by the Battle of Jutland, the
news of which, in contradistinction to War Office methods,
came to us first clad in the sombre garments of defeat,
and temporarily plunged us into a state of consternation.

The news of Lord Kitchener’s death in all its tragic
circumstances seemed to be the culminating point of
our disasters. For him it was probably for the best.
He had learned to mistrust the friendship of his peers,
and great as was his hold on the minds and affections
of the people, he would probably not have escaped from
the political machinery, that ground reputations with
regular, and relentless mechanism.

Unnecessary interference, and an insistence on the
personal supervision of details, appear to have been the
accusations most frequently levelled against him. I have
talked to many men who held important posts under
him in Egypt, and their experience certainly did not
corroborate this view of Lord K. On the contrary,
when he gave a job to a man he left him to it. If he
did it well, he was not interfered with; if, on the other
hand, he did it badly, K. made short shrift of him. This
was a very different method of procedure to that
employed during the war. A failure was either over-
looked, or the offender merely moved to some other
240 Memories. and Base Details

 

post—probably a more important one. (It depended,
of course, to a certain extent, who the offender was ! )

There are critics who maintain that Lord K. was
incapable of grasping the magnitude of the war we were
engaged upon, and that he judged it by the same standard
as his Egyptian campaigns. But it seems to me that this
criticism does not tally with his assertion in 1914 that
it would be at least a three years’ war, when most people
were saying that it would only be a matter of weeks.
Toby Long told me that Lord K. had been against
conscription on the grounds that the country that had
the largest army at the end of the war would win the
war and he wanted England to be that country. This
sounds far more probable than the current story, that
he wanted the honour and glory to be attributed to
“ Kitchener’s Army’’—such petty vanity was, I am
quite certain, beneath him.

That Lord K. was interested in spiritualism is not
so widely known, but he was undoubtedly not only
interested, but a believer in it. Count Hamon, better
known as Cheiro, told me a story which to the incredulous
may only appear as coincidence, but cannot fail to be
interesting.

Count Hamon was a friend of Kitchener’s, and in
reading his horoscope had, apparently, always told him
that his death would be a sudden one, but that he need
not anticipate danger in the field of battle. Just before
Lord K. went abroad, Count H. went to the War Office,
and K. showed him a little blue vase, which he had once
given him as a mascot, and told him that he always
kept it on his table. He asked Count H. if there was
anything he could do for him, before he left the country.
The Count replied in the negative, but K. told him there
Memories and Base Details 241

 

was one thing he would do—if anything happened to
him he would give him a sign. At the very hour the
Hampshire went down, Count Hamon was in the music
room of his house in the country, at one end of which
was a large hatchment, securely nailed to the wall.
For no reason at all it fell with a crash, and might have
been cleft in two by an axe. Count Hamon guessed
instantly that something had happened to Lord
Kitchener, and that this must be the promised sign.

I met Count Hamon dining with the Geoffrey
Lubbocks. He appeared to me rather mysterious, and
at the time I did not know that he was Cheiro. After
dinner he did horoscopes, and I was still under the
impression that he was an amateur—not that there was
anything in the least amateurish about the horoscopes.
I gave him the birth dates of several people who were
not there and found him quite amazingly correct in his
readings of their characters. He had just come over
from Ireland, where he was developing an invention
of his own for converting the bog peat into coal. He
brought a sample of the new fuel with him, and whilst
we were at dinner the fire was left to go down, leaving
when we came back only a few dying embers. Almost
directly the new coal was added, a beautiful blaze resulted,
which gave out far more heat than that from ordinary
coal. It appears to be very cheap to produce, and if it
were possible to develop it on a large enough scale would
make us very independent of coal strikes, but I sup-
pose some technical hitch will arise. The bye-products
were also wonderful, and we were shown slabs of material
which would replace asbestos for building purposes at
an infinitely lower cost.

* * * * * *
16
242 Memories and Base Details

 

The big events of the war stand out in solid blocks,
leaving the lighter side misty and indefinite. Looking
back it is difficult to place the trivial events, which
made up a great portion of our lives at the Base, in any
categorical sequence. They were brief flashes of harm-
less dissipations, into which we threw ourselves with
almost childish enthusiasm.

The war machine had spread itself insinuatingly
along the coast. Paris Plage and Le Touquet were
swept up by the ever advancing steam roller. It was
no longer an isolated and secluded spot, sheltered among
the pines. The Canadian Hospital was at the Golf
Hotel, and the Claims Commission were ensconced with
all the panoply of office tables and orderlies at Frangois
de Croisset’s villa near by. General Morrison was in
command here—such a delightful person, and his death
came as the greatest shock. He had lent me a motor
that day, with an apology for it not being his own Sun-
beam, but he was using that to go to Amiens. It was
on the way there that the steering broke, and he was
instantaneously killed.

The golf links, whose greens had been kept in more
or less semi-order since mobilization, were the venue
first for a cavalry camp, and followed by the Machine
Gun School. The cavalry brought us polo to lighten
our afternoons, and the first news of the Tanks reached
us through Major Baker-Carr, a constant visitor to our
forest. He was very popular with the V.A.D.’s, and I
think some of them were distinctly disappointed when
they heard that he possessed a wife and several children!
The polo caught on, and players such as ‘‘ Mouse
Tomkinson”’ made the best of the army horses. Lord
Tweedmouth, commanding the Blues, was often about.
Memories and Base Details 248

 

The roth Hussars were not far off, and our old friends,
the Greys, had not deserted us. Lady Greenall, Lady
Sarah Wilson and Mrs. Keppel had all passed like ships
in the night, but the Duchess of Westminster and Mrs.
Whitburn still had villas. The Headquarter Staff had left
the Hétel des Anglais and were established in new build-
ings in the camp, and the Anglais had been turned into |
a hostel for the relatives of the wounded.

There were fotims and scandals galore, as in every
country community. Some bore the impress of truth,
but the majority were imaginative inventions.

The Duchess of W. had left her original villa and
migrated to the forest into the one next door to mine,
and it was here that she met Captain Lewis and trilled
duets with him through the long summer evenings.
Her dances were amusing and broke the monotony of
the V.A.D.’s lives. But, needless to say, some captious
people took exception to them as being unsuitable to
the time. I braved public opinion myself on Marigold’s
birthday and followed suit. A suggestion of giving a
dance in my house in peace time would have been
thoroughly comic, but in war time all things, apparently,
are possible. The floor was composed of the roughest
deal boards and the cubic dimensions considerably less
than would have been authorized by the sanitary in-
spector, but everyone throughly enjoyed themselves,
or, anyhow, appeared to. We only thought of it at the
last moment, but by some happy inspiration everyone
one could think of seemed to be in the neighbourhood
that day. The Herberts both arrived very cheerful, and
one of them inclined to be demonstrative towards a
rather attractive little French lady. Eric Ednam and
Lord Airlie paid us an unexpected visit and were

16*
244 , Memories and Base Details

 

commandeered for the evening, whilst Mousie St. G. and
Eddie Compton contributed to our programme with
selections from the revue.

And through these kaleidoscopic memories the
figure of Alastair stands out. As I write, he is being
laid to rest at Dunrobin. I can see him now, wrapped
in a bath towel, greeting me with that ideally sunny
smile. He and Michael Wemyss were amongst my
most regular visitors—the bath being the magnet that
drew them! Alastair had gauged the capabilities of
my boiler to a nicety and always got the hottest water !
~ When Michael’s motor bike had disappeared from the
_ scene of action, my services were regularly comman-
deered to motor Alastair back to his billets after dinner.
He was so terribly optimistic about the distance, so
deliciously uncertain about the road, and the lights
on my car so sublimely erratic, that an all night drive
was no uncommon occurrence.

Some people will always seem alive—Ali is one of
them. Always gay with his inimitable buffoonery,
his imperturbable disposition, that smiled at troubles
and never failed to see the humorous side of every
contretemps—Alastair, who always turned up at the
most unexpected moments, either to play polo, or
merely to see us en passant; it was always the
same Alastair, never bored and always affectionate—God
bless him !

Easter, 1917. We had just heard that the cavalry
were going into action, but the weather was so im-
possible that even now it looked as if the “ gap,” which
had become almost a standing joke amongst the officers,
would once more not materialize.
Memories and Base Details 245

 

Encamped the night before on the racecourse at
Arras, horses up to their hocks in mud, conditions could
not have appeared worse. The 8th Cavalry Brigade,
Essex Yeomanry, roth Hussars and the Blues were or-
dered to proceed to Monchy le Preux. The casualties
were terribly heavy, but I suppose in the circumstances
they might have even been worse. The Greys were left
to mourn General Bulkeley-Johnson’s apparently un-
necessary death, Bertie Wilson was blown up—since
the days when he first came to Leicestershire, soon after
I married, Bertie had been universally popular and I don’t
think he had an enemy, or ever said or did an unkind
action to anyone. He and his brothers were christened
the Three Bears; they were the sleepiest trio I have
ever met, and used invariably to arrive half an hour late
for the meet. They were quite absurdly kind about
mounting their friends, and generally did so on their
best horses, an action not usually practised! Lord
Gerard was also badly wounded again, and Lady Gerard
came out to the Hétel des Anglais and was there for
some time.
VI

Y own work was growing in an almost alarming
manner. The success of my two canteens had
inspired me with the wish to extend my activities further
afield, but, so far, my suggestion had met with no
enthusiastic response. The Expeditionary Force Can-
teens, however, were spreading themselves in every
direction, and of course received the support of the
authorities—so much so that I used to think the com-
mandants must have had shares in the business! No
doubt professional jealousy on my part!

I had a visit one day from Colonel Nasan, who had
seen a good deal of service in Egypt, and was the O.C.
Reinforcements. He came armed with the idea of
my starting a hut on the new siding at Etaples. He
pointed out what a blessing it would be, as the Y.M.C.A.
arrangements were inadequate to deal with the ever-
increasing crowds and they had a habit of closing at
an arbitrarily appointed hour, totally regardless of the
fact that, during a war, such a thing as a much delayed
train might occasionally appear, bringing hundreds of
hungry men.

The train services for the Front were notorious for
their unpunctuality, which meant that the men had
often to wait about for hours or—and this very fre-
quently happened—they would stray back to the town,
and manage to lose their train altogether. The Y.M.C.A.

246
Memories and Base Details 247

 

had a sort of soup kitchen, but as they opened it only
at their own sweet will the men’s patronage was not
exactly extensive. It was perfectly amazing, however,
to see the way they bucked up and flew round with
feverish energy, when we appeared on the scene—but
all the same, they never had a real look in with us on
the new siding.

Our huts, owing to territorial limitations, had to
be of the smallest dimensions, and I had not the slightest
idea how strenuous this new work was going to be until
I actually started operations there, nor how many men
would be passing through daily.

Having completely exhausted the stock of local
industries in the direction of boilers and stoves, I madea
foraging expedition to Paris with Eden Paget for these
very necessary commodities. Paget was terribly agi-
tated, because he was quite sure that my pass was not
in order, and, I think, anticipated being arrested en
route! It wasa very skiddy day and we nearly ran into
some of the horses belonging to the 11th Hussars, which
we passed on our way. We arrived, however, with no
more serious mishap than two punctured tyres.

We found Colonel Barry in Paris, and were introduced
to the heroine of Loos, who gave us an account of her
life there under the most appalling conditions. She
had killed three Germans with her own hand, nursed our
wounded, looked after her brothers and sisters and
made her father’s coffin. She was quite a child, only
eighteen, and so pretty, and she well deserved her many
decorations, and I think she is the only woman who
received a Military Medal.

Denys Bailey was also at the Meurice. He had done
wonders, raising funds amongst the miners, for the Red
248 Memories and Base Details

 

Cross, and if my information is correct he played an
important part in the settlement of the coal strike. The
men’s leaders and the coal owners apparently met quite
amicably as his guests !

The food in Paris was quite excellent, and if there
was any shortage it: was not noticeable. Everybody
had plenty of bread tickets, but at the restaurants your
dinner was limited to two courses. Eden Paget was
thoroughly annoyed by this, as he wanted some delicious
mousse of duck which IJ had selected, but he had to
go without as he had already consumed a filet de beuf
and langouste /

We came back by train, a very much delayed one,
and we were desperately hungry. We could get nothing
to eat on the way but a hard ham sandwich of the pre-
war English refreshment-room type, and my sympathies
flew to the troops who had to endure this sort of thing
as a matter of course.

The work on the new siding appealed to me enor-
mously, its necessity was so real. It brought one back
to actualities, back to the primitive reason of oneself
being in France at all. I had once again the sensation
which had been dominant in those early days of 1914,
and which had subsided gradually with the advent of
red tape, organization and over civilization.

In the big hut one felt one was in no sense a necessity
—merely a luxury. Our menu there had expanded from
the ordinary sandwich and porridge, to ice creams, and
fruit salad. We were almost an excuse for waste—and
we might have been at Aldershot, not at war, but for
the convoys of wounded and the creeping ambulances
that rumbled by.

Later, when the food scare became acute, and Lord
Memories and Base Details 249

 

Derby was at the War Office, I wrote to him and
suggested, that if the other organizations were willing to
sacrifice their profits, I would gladly lead the way and
convert my hut at Etaples from a restaurant to a recrea-
tion room. This suggestion of mine, I remember,
was in one of my letters to him with reference to the
proposed scheme for amalgamating all private enter-
prises with the E.F.C. or the Y.M.C.A. I refused,
point blank, to join either. I had been in France
months before they came out, I disapproved of the
Y.M.C.A. methods, and I was a little sceptical as to
how much of those E.F.C. profits were really going
back to the men! I told Lord Derby I did not want
to be obstructive and that if the question of affiliation
were insisted upon I would gladly attach myself to the
Salvation Army, provided I did not have to wear the
uniform, and I thought his sense of humour would
appreciate the idea of me in a Salvation Army bonnet !
The amalgamation only came partly into operation.

The difficulty of obtaining bread to supply the enor-
mous number of huts was increasing, until at last the
French bakers were no longer allowed to supply the
English in the camp with this commodity, owing to the
shortage of flour in France. It had always been diffi-
cult to get enough for our needs, and I confess to having
done a considerable amount of wangling in the Army
bakeries.

I had anticipated the crisis and turned the bath house
into a bakery as there were plenty of baths in the camp
by this time. An oven had been ordered in England,
and I surreptitiously borrowed a lorry from the Transport,
to get it from Boulogne to Etaples, but to my horror,
when I found it on the quay it was six times as big as
250 Memories and Base Details

 

I expected, and the lorry was nearly going back without
it. By dint of pleading and a considerable amount of
bribery, I got it on to the lorry, but the unloading at
Etaples was an equally difficult situation to tackle.
Realizing the difficulty there would be, I had begged
for a fatigue party to unload, and as I refused to leave
the hut until it arrived we all sat in the hut kitchen till
the lorry appeared. Some of the road, and the greater
part of the fence, was demolished before the oven reached
its final destination. I cannot think where we should
have been without that oven, for we used to turn out
thousands of cekes and apple turnovers—to say nothing
of loaves per day, and the hut at Boulogne was also
kept supplied with bread. In fact, in the way of pro-
visions we were able to crow over our neighbours with
pure and undiluted joy!

On July ist, 1916, the Battle of the Somme was
really launched, and we were favoured with the usual
optimistic communiqués—which, needless to say, became
more restrained during each succeeding day. Those
who knew, could read between the lines, an accom-
plishment which, with us, had by this time become a
fine art. The most insignificant skirmish was made
to read like a decisive battle—cleverly worded phrases
converted failures into the semblance of victories.
Disquieting news was generally palliated by the
announcement of the number of Germans we had killed,
and we suspected our losses were nearly as numerous as
the enemy’s. Guns and shells were not there to be used

-with such prodigality.

Our offensive was immediately realized at the new
siding by the increased number of men we had to feed.
One night I was on duty alone, and I think I established
Memories and Base Details 251

 

a record in frying some eight hundred eggs between
4 a.m. and 7 a.m. single-handed, with no other assistants
but an orderly for stoking, and a little French girl from
the town, who spread sandwiches as fast as she possibly
could—even then not nearly fast enough to satisfy the
clamouring crowds at the window.

The irregularity of the trains gave us some trouble
in apportioning the work, and with the rather stupid
way in which some things were managed in France, the
permission for my new hut had only been given on the
understanding that I did not ask for any more workers’
permits. The question of permits was a thorn in our
sides. No doubt the free and easy style of the early
days wanted revision, but a little latitude might well
have been given to the local authorities, who were in
a position to judge the merits of individual cases.

For a long time the granting of permits was done
by L.O.C. Until his summary dismissal, Lines of
Communication had been under General Clayton, but
with the arrival of Macready at the War Office every-
thing changed, and G.H.Q. took possession of every-
body and everything, and became a sort of superior
detective force. Before anyone could get to France,
an application for a pass had to go through at least
four offices; the workers had to promise to stay four
months, and they were only allowed to leave if a doctor’s
certificate of ill health was given. An excellent rule in
theory, as any number of people merely applied for
permission to work in France, with the intention of
getting out to see a friend, or get a glimpse of what was
going on. Some people were singularly unscrupulous,
and if they did not find the conditions to their liking,
the work uninteresting or hard—it generally was—
252 Memories and Base Details

 

a desire for home swiftly came. The plan of campaign
was then quite simple. The aid of a doctor friend was
sought and obtained, and the necessary medical certi-
ficate issued with marvellous despatch. In this way
the rule defeated its own ends, and reacted on the heads
of institutions, as they were not allowed to replace
helpers until the four months for which they came out
had expired. Though some of my workers were
excellent, there were several glaring exceptions.

One woman, I remember, sent me a photograph
and gave her age as thirty-eight. When she arrived
she told me she was nearly stopped in London, as she
was forty-five, but had given her age as thirty-eight
to me, because she had been informed that it was diffi-
cult for anyone over forty to get out to France at all.
She went to the doctor in about a fortnight !

Another woman brought her car out to me to drive
the staff home at night, and finding this did not amuse
her, she retired to bed and said she was ill. One of the
doctors at the Westminster Hospital saw her, and then
came to me. He said she was not seriously ill at all,
but that he could, if I liked, give a certificate to say
she would be better at home. I interviewed her, and
she calmly told me that if I did not get the certificate
for her she would stay in bed, so that she would still
be no good to me or the workers. In despair I went
to the Commandant’s office, and he telephoned to Colonel
Herbert, at Abbeville, to see if he could arrange it.
He said she might go home if there were a certificate,
but on no account could her car go, as strict orders
had been given by G.H.Q. on this matter. It was a
quite reasonable and understandable order, as every
inch of space was needed on the boats for the troops.
Memories and Base Details 253

 

I went off once more to interview the lady. She refused
to leave her car, and brandished a letter she had written
to Haig, telling me she’d bet me that she would
get home within two days. I am glad I did not take
the bet, though I might easily have done so—sure
enough, in as short a time as possible, a message came
that her car was to be sent home. As the letter was
a personal one, Haig must have given the order himself,
and one could not help feeling that he might have been
better employed—to say nothing of making the various
departments under him, who had already refused per-
mission, look ridiculous.

* * * * * *

Changes in the official personnel were every day
occurrences, and they were for the most part ignored,
but the treatment of General Clayton aroused a general
feeling of indignation. In a difficult post he had won
admiration and respect, and an act of chivalry was
converted by the prurient minds of G.H.Q. into a scandal
of unworthy dimensions.

There were speculations as to who would succeed
him, and everyone was delighted when the rumour
that it was to be General Asser was substantiated.
I had not seen him since he left Boulogne, but I was on
the quay the evening he arrived to take up his new
duties, and we had tea together. I think he liked the
idea of his new appointment, as it would mean a good
deal of travelling about the country.

One of his first inspections was to the camp at
Etaples, and when he came to the “ Bull Ring ”’ he asked
where the men were fed in the middle of the day. He
was told, nowhere. Being a man of few words, he
254 Memories and Base Details

 

merely told the Commandant that this must be arranged
for before his next visit.

The next morning when I arrived at my hut I found
the Etaples’ staff in possession of my kitchen. They
had come to consult me over the feeding arrangements !

Having so often asked to be allowed to give the
men tea in the “ Bull Ring,” and always been so definitely
refused, I could not prevent myself from feeling con-
siderably elated at being so promptly consulted. There
were, or might be, ten thousand men to supply with
tea, and only half-an-hour to do it in, and after
looking at all my cooking arrangements, it was decided
that ten huts should be erected on the ground, and
an equal number of men marched up to each hut. The
huts were to be on the same principle as the one I had
on the new siding. I arranged to present these huts
and the necessary boilers to the camp, and was very
glad of an opportunity to employ some of my profits
immediately for the benefit of the men. The Army
was to supply all the rations, as well as orderlies to
attend to the boilers, but I was to superintend the
arrangements, and when we started I think the Quarter-
master was surprised at my frugality over the tea and
sugar !

There was no time to be lost, for General Asser
might make another inspection any day, so I started
for Paris that afternoon to order equipment, and before
leaving the order for the huts was given. In a fortnight
all the boilers had arrived from Paris, and the feeding
arrangements completed and blessings showered on my
head by the men who spent their days on the “ Bull
Ring!”

# * * * * *
Memories and Base Details 255

 

The political situation in England seemed, from all
one heard, in a most thoroughly unsatisfactory con-
dition. It was said that Mr. Walter Long had already
threatened to tender his resignation. Even the pro-
Asquiths and the anti-Georges were beginning to doubt
in the existing policy. That Lloyd George was working
to supplant Asquith, few people had any doubts. As
for us on the other side, we had waited too long, and
seen too much in France to be tolerant of the ‘‘ Wait
and see”’ policy at home. Lloyd George had for some
time been coquetting with the Tory Party; and he
possessed galvanic qualities, which he had been longing
to force forward. In his effort to obtain the reins of
office, he was being gallantly helped by Lord North-
cliffe, who, in season and out of season, never ceased
to throw journalistic brickbats at Asquith, attacking
in turn his family, his friends and his policy ; whilst
at the same time asserting vehemently that untold
blessings would accrue to the nation if once Lloyd George
were at the helm.

Asquith’s well-known indifference to public opinion
probably contributed to his downfall.

Lloyd George’s many successful short cuts to the
Premiership were looked on as a good omen, and now
that he had reached the goal of his ambitions, we were
inspired with an optimistic feeling that he would be as
lucky in his short cuts to terminate the war.

England was not the only country in a state of
political and military intrigues. France was suffering
in the same manner. The war was lasting too long—
patience was beginning to flag. There was perpetual
friction between the Grand Quartier General and the
Ministére de la Guerre. The former were inclined to
256 Memories and Base Details

 

act without sufficiently consulting the War Office.
Every general had his political supporters. There was
a pro and anti-Joffre party in official circles, but the
anti-Joffres gained the day, and he was replaced by.
General Nivelle. General Nivelle’s rise to fame was
even more rapid than Pétain’s; he had been only a
Colonel at the beginning of the war. His reign was,
however, short, and his spring offensive disastrous.

The tremendous losses had inspired the War Office
to forbid all further attempts to advance. There was a
divergence of opinion as to the wisdom of this order
—Nivelle declared that a further loss of 50,000 men might
have secured a definite success, but the morale of some
regiments was not good at that moment. .The Germans
were not satisfied with the result of the war, and
they were conducting a second campaign, endeavouring
to undermine the discipline of the army and to shatter
the patriotism of the nation. French revolutionary
papers such as the Bonnet Rouge, La Tranchée Républi-
caine arrived anonymously with the troops’ rations, and
were scattered -broadcast at the stations amongst the
men who came on leave.

Drastic measures had to be taken and confidence
was once more restored when Pétain took over the Com-
mand of the French armies.

Clemenceau was doing his best to clear the political
atmosphere and to convince the population that their .
leaders were at last to be trusted. Mata Hari’s execution
was one of the sensations of the year. People of every
class flocked to Vincennes to see the once famous dancer
die. The demi-mondaine was one of the Germans’
principal channels for obtaining useful information.
Frenchmen did not imagine that a femme de plaisir
9¢6 *d bujon,7)

‘aq ‘esnoyy yieskqgg

 
Memories and Base Details 257

 

could be also a femme politique. Courage was not lacking
in Mata Hari—there was no cringing shame for her
crime—not even repentance. Dressed in her dancer’s
clothes and decked with all her jewels, symbols of her
sins, she stood, refusing to be blindfolded whilst the shot
was fired. Her last words were: ‘‘ Vous avez bien fait
de me fusiller, mais vous feriez mieux de fusiller Malvy.”’

I once remember seeing Malvy at the Ambassadeurs
—he looked like a walking skeleton, his yellow face
sinister and repulsive. His dinner consisted of a potage,
the only thing he was apparently allowed to eat. His
private life was well known as one of the worst. He
was surrounded by a gang of crooks, both male and
female, and of course he owed his position entirely to
Caillaux—as the French describe it, he was his homme
de paille. France owes Clemenceau a double debt for
having freed her from the Malvy clique.

* * * * * *

I saw the New Year (1917) in at Boulogne with General
Asser and Colonel Herbert. We had foregathered by
chance at the “ Meurice,’ and had a merry evening.
A little Base gossip, but we allowed ourselves the luxury
of no real war conversation. The General and Colonel
Herbert reminisced over Egypt. I told them that
their life there sounded like all play and no work. The
General was a great admirer of Lord Kitchener’s.

We drank the Old Year out, and the New one in, in
a deserted dining-room, save for the French charwoman,
who polished the floor in solemn silence. She was an
old friend of the General’s and Colonel Herbert’s, as their
Headquarters had been at the ‘‘ Meurice”’ in the days
when the former was Commandant, and she had

17
258 Memories and Base Details

 

apparently polished it nightly since 1914, if not before
—what a life! Ifone were condemned to it, one would
inevitably turn Bolshevist.

It was an amusing evening, and we all talked a lot
of harmless nonsense.

The General was, much amused when I told him of
the appearance of the Etaples staff in the canteen re
the huts on the training ground. As long as the men
were fed, Ae didn’t mind who did it! I told him that
if he postponed his visit for a week the whole thing

‘would be in working order. We had a good laugh over
our first and second meeting in 1914, and he told me
I ought to have been locked up for disobedience. I
agreed, but at the same time pointed out to him that
no one with a sense of humour enough to write me the
letter he did, could have contemplated such a course.
We also agreed that a sense of humour was singularly
lacking in most officials, but I confess I didn’t know to
what extent until I interviewed the A.G.

I had moved my headquarters from my old villa in
the woods and had taken Mon Rosier in Paris Plage. I
was glad of the change in some ways, as we were rather
isolated in the forest, and the question of getting our
provisions out there was tiresome. The tradespeople
were from force of circumstances independent, and
very often the butcher and the baker forgot our existence,
or, anyhow, had no means to bring us meat and bread.
I had got a very nice villa, and though it had two bath-
rooms, both the geysers went wrong, and the only man
who understood them in Paris Plage was mobilized, so
that we had to wait till he came back on “‘ permission ”’
to have them put in order. I used to have my bath
at the ‘‘ Folkestone’? when I went in to Boulogne,
Memories and Base Details 259

 

which was not at all the same thing as having one at
home! It was so bitterly cold, I used to go to bed in
my fur coat, and even then my teeth chattered ; the
water was frozen in the jugs, and I think the cold was
by far the worst trial we ever had to endure.

Eddie Compton and Scot Robson were our first
visitors. They had come down to Boulogne for twenty-
four hours’ leave, and I found them lunching at Monys,
with no very definite plans, so I motored them back to
Paris Plage for the night. Eddie told me of Toby
Long’s death. They adored him in the Greys, and
they had all been miserable when he had left them to
command a battalion of the New Army. He himself
would sooner have stayed with the regiment, but he
had a great sense of his duty, and at that time he knew
how badly regular officers were wanted. He had come
down to Etaples only a few days before to make a report
on the various depots. He had been very full of the
shortage of men at the Front, and had come down to see
for himself what men there were in the camp, and he
was also of opinion that considerable economy could
be effected by doing away with the old I.B.D. Colonels
and substituting men of lower rank. This was one of
our many extravagances that the French could never
understand. They themselves would have employed a
captain, where we should have placed a general.

Marigold and I dined with T. L., and he had interest-
‘ing news of political affairs in England. It appears
Ll. G. went to his father and asked him if he could rely
on his support in the forming of a Ministry ; without
his support he said he would be unable to doso. W.L.
hesitated, as I fancy that in spite of believing that
Lloyd George was the best man to win the war, he did

17*
260 Memories and Base Details

 

not approve of his methods any more than he did of
Mr. Asquith’s dilatory policy. This hesitation on
Walter Long’s part accounted for the delay between
Mr. Asquith’s resignation and Mr. Lloyd George actually
taking office. I know Mr. Long is almost the only per-
fectly disinterested, and honest politician, but I don’t
think I had realized before how much power and in-
fluence he had in the country. I believe he was the
only Member of the Cabinet who didn’t know Lord
Northcliffe by sight. At one of the first Cabinet meet-
ings Lord N., most unorthodoxly, interrupted it by
wanting to see L.G. As the Ministers went out they
passed Lord N., and most of them spoke to him, but
Mr. Long asked who he was !

* * * * * *

The arrival of the Geddes family on the political
stage had marked a new era. No one was sure if their
meteoric rise to notoriety was due to personal friendship
with Lloyd George, or to their cousinship with Macready,
who still ruled the roost in Whitehall. Sir Auckland
as Minister of National Service was quickly followed by
the appearance of Sir Eric in an entirely new office
created for him—lInspector-General of Transportation.
Certainly the railways were not beyond reproach, but
I don’t think that Geddes was a necessity in order to
render them efficient, and if an Army officer had been
endowed with the same powers of incurring the same
unlimited expense, he would probably have done as
well. The civilian could order a thousand miles of
railway line, but the soldier had to make the best of the
material at his disposal ; the civilian could order motor-
Memories and Base Details 261

 

boats for the transport of wounded, but an application
from the officer responsible would meet with a curt
refusal. This actually happened. General Strick, when
he was G.O.C. of the Mediterranean Lines of Communica-
tion, was told when he wanted them that there were no
motor-boats available. Geddes’ representative visited
his headquarters, and Strick mentioned this to him and
said he only wanted two, but Geddes’ man ordered
twelve for him by wire, and they promptly arrived.

Squandermania was: born in Geddesburg !

Geddesburg was the name bestowed on the elaborate
and expensive headquarters of the Director General
of Transportation! On every side symptoms of this
most malignant and contagious disease were apparent.
The small staff which had sufficed General Asser at
Havre to deal with both railways and docks was in-
stantly quadrupled to grapple with the railways only.
Contented captains were made into even more con-
tented majors by Sir Eric, as the higher rank meant
higher pay. .

E. G.’s extravagance caused a certain amount of
amusement at the time, but no one saw where it was
going to lead us, or had the least idea that in a few
weeks he would appear in an admiral’s uniform and
ride roughshod over England’s seamen—and certainly
no one could see what special qualities he possessed
for this particular post.

The female portion of the Geddes family was not
overlooked. Mrs. Chalmers Watson appeared in an
officer’s uniform as Controller General of the W.A.A.C.’s.
She was very conscious of her military rank. One day
Colonel Wilberforce took her out to luncheon, and with
the customary courtesy of a gentleman towards a lady,
262 Memories and Base Details

 

he opened the door for her; but instead of going
through it, she waved to him with the delicious remark :
““T think you are senior to me, sir! ”’

Whatever I can say about the Geddes family fades
before the felicitous picture of Scott Moncrieff’s, which
appeared in The New Witness, and which I have been
allowed to reprint for the benefit of those who have
not seen it:

THE CHILD’S GUIDE

TO AN UNDERSTANDING OF THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION
TuIrRp Lrsson

There are no stars in all the sky

Outshine the blest Dioscuri ;

Castor and Pollux, sons of Zeus

Immortal, and by common use—
Called patrons of seafaring men,
Who lamp their radiance back again.

As none in heaven can match their worth
So is it with two men here on earth:
Still two great brethren we implore
To guide our helm in peace or war:
For there is none alive whose bread is
More buttered than the brothers Geddes.

Not very long ago they came
To wealth, emolument and fame;
While the sea rolls o’er British ships,
And all our sun is in eclipse,
And England hardly seems alive,
Quite suddenly the pair arrive.

Five years since, men who know aver,
One was a Railway Manager
The other an Anatomist,
Till in a trice, ere any wist,
They outstripped all their fighting pals
As generals or admirals.
Memories and Base Details 263

 

“Or,” say I, for alternately
They've governed us by land and sea,
And ever dressed themselves anew
In khaki and in navy blue,
Enrolled recruits—laid railway tracks.
(Meanwhile their sister ran the Waacs.)

Now Whitehall, very sore afraid,
Sees Auckland at the Board of Trade;
Where while he guards his secret box
Canals, roads, rivers, railways, docks,
Tubes, omnibuses, charabancs,
Eric accepts with grateful thanks.

The first contingent of the W.A.A.C.’s came into the
Canteen at Boulogne for their tea. Their appearance
created a certain amount of amusement amongst the
French population. I believe there was a good deal of
jealousy amongst the various Women’s Organizations,
but this was mostly in England, and I never fathomed
the intricacies of their mechanism, nor the details of their
grievances, but I believe the Women’s Legion supplied
the motor drivers and were attached for purposes of
discipline to the W.A.A.C.’s.

The First. Aid Nursing Yeomanry, or as they were
better known by their nickname “‘ The Fannies,”’ were,
I think, the first Women’s contingent to come to France.
Their services were refused by the British, but grate-
fully accepted by the Belgians. The time came, however,
when their work was sufficiently appreciated for the Red
Cross to take them over. They showed themselves
full of courage, and of inestimable use during the
bombing raids at Calais. The members of dill the
Women’s Organizations presented a most level and
dignified appearance in their brown or khaki uniforms ;
they were all excessively well shod, and possessed as a
rule extraordinarily neat feet and ankles.
264 Memories and Base Details

 

Naturally the arrival of a huge body of women gave
rise to the most fantastic stories, and their morals were,
I believe, most unfairly criticized. They had the most
disciplinary rules and it was a most heinous crime for
an army officer to be seen talking to a W.A.A.C. Tommy,
even if she was his sister, and when the cavalry were at
Camiers and their Mess was run by the W.A.A.C.’s, Lord
Blandford was seen speaking to one of the prettiest wait-
resses on the sands. He was only passing the time of
day with her out of common politeness, but I was told
that he was brought up before the W.A.A.C. Command-
ant to be severely reprimanded for his behaviour.

* * * m* * *

The summer passed more or less peacefully, and
uneventfully for us, though I had an extremely anxious
moment when Flavia was taken suddenly ill; her
temperature went up to 105°, and we could get no Doctor,
as a big convoy had just come in. When eventually
he arrived, it was to tell us she had got pneumonia.
Luckily I had a trained nurse working in the Canteen,
and she at once came to my rescue. ‘“ All’s well that
ends well,” and Flavia recovered with almost the same
speed with which she had been taken ill.

I was getting busier every week. I had enlarged
the big hut and there was plenty of work on the new
siding whilst the tea huts on the Bull Ring were working
well. Paris Plage was full of life with the various cavalry
and Yeomanry regiments in the neighbourhood, whose
officers trooped down on Sundays. Tea rooms and cafés
had sprung up in every small street to cater for them,
and the “‘ Continental’ was generally crowded for week-
ends.

When the Prince of Wales came down one Sunday
Memories and Base Details 265

 

he found his room temporarily occupied by Flavia, who
had been fagged by Eddie Compton into packing his
clothes, as he was just departing. All the other hotels
were already converted into hospitals and hostels. Peggy
and Nancy Brockenhurst, old friends from Melton, had
arrived to work for the Young Christians—so had Mrs.
Toby Long. Our neighbours, the Forestry, the latest
official Ministry, under Lord Lovat, kept open house,
and we used to peep at their guests over the garden wall,
and we made free use of their telephone, as they were
not yet so entangled with the red tape that bound more
older departments.

A horrible rumour reached us that G. H. Q. were going
to move from Montreuil to Paris Plage, but luckily the
accommodation was inadequate, and they contented
themselves with endless visits, and the C. in C. was
rumoured to be a frequent visitor to the golf links. As
I had given up golf entirely I never had the pleasure
of seeing him.
VII

Co POWELL came out to stay with me in

August. I was naturally delighted, for with the
exception of a few days in England I had been well over
a year without seeing a friend—always excepting one or
two passers-by. There was nothing much going on, but
we were fairly busy in the canteen. Then came the
first real excitement in the camp! Trouble over the
' police had been simmering for some time. The saying
“like master like man ” was more than true in this case,
for ever since Strachan had been A.P.M. the red caps in
Etaples had become thoroughly offensive individuals,
and no greater contrast could have been found than in
the manners of the police in Boulogne and Abbeville, and
of those in Etaples. The Australians especially resented
their methods and they were most unsuited to them, for
with all their reputation for lack of discipline, I found
them singularly amenable—they were extraordinarily
like naughty children and far more mischievous than
wicked.

The trouble began in this way. Just outside my hut
there was a bridge which marked the out-of-bounds
limit for the camp. An Australian was talking to a
girl at a few minutes past the hour when all men were to
be in camp. The policeman started hectoring the
Australian, whose contention was that as he was on the

266
Memories and Base Details 267

 

bridge he was breaking no rule. The policeman con-
tinued his bullying attitude, with the net result that
the Australian was locked-up—a tactful word and the
finale would have been very different. As it was, the
next day a party of Australians decided to raid the police
station. It was about four in the afternoon. My hut
was full to overflowing when a shot was heard. The
hut was suddenly emptied. I ran out to see what had
happened, and found myself being swept down the hill
to the new siding in the midst of an angry mob. It
was nothing less than a man hunt that I was indulging
in! When the Australians attacked the police hut
the policeman had fired—quite unwarrantably. His
shot had gone home, and a gallant Scotsman lay dead.
The effect on an angry mob can be imagined. The
policeman had meanwhile escaped through the back of
the hut and was making his way to shelter and the
station. With quite amazing promptitude Colonel
Nasan and Major Skirrow reached the station by a short
cut from the Reinforcement Office. These two held
the station-master’s office, where the policeman had found
sanctuary, against a crowd of some thousands. The
natural respect for an officer held that mob at bay. They
were unarmed, and if the men had not paused voluntarily,
they would have been powerless. It was really an im-
pressive sight and a personal triumph.

After a few words from Colonel Nasan in almost as
short a time as it takes me to write, the mob were wending
their way back to the camp. But the spirit of the men
was not altered, and it was obvious that there would
be rioting. Not a red-cap dared show his face To his
credit, be it said, the Commandant rode through the
camp, capless in the scrimmage, but otherwise unhurt.
268 Memories and Base Details

 

That night the workers refused to do night duty on
the new siding, so Barbara and I, though we had had
a long day of it, had to remain alone. We had a per-
fectly peaceful night, and I think next morning some of
the others were a little ashamed of their attack of nerves !
The following day the rioting continued, and it was
rumoured that the Australians had got some of their
own back. I was advised to shut the canteen, but this I
refused to do, and I did not regret it. Most of the other
huts were closed, and came in for some of the rioting,
but though we were crowded out there was not a pane
of glass broken. The men did not want us to close at
the regulation hour, but were perfectly reasonable when
I told them that I had had thirty-six hours without
sleep, and a self-constituted bodyguard of Australians
insisted on escorting me out of the camp, and I drove my
car through the town at a snail’s pace with thousands of
men all giving three cheers for Angelina !

General Asser had meanwhile arrived on the scene.
He made a tour of all the depots, and investigated the
men’s grievances. Some of the disciplinary rules were
relaxed, and various harmless concessions granted. The
Etaples riots marked the death of the red-caps, and their
disappearance did much to clear the atmosphere, for
they had always been the soldiers’ bugbear. ‘Incidentally,
the A. P. M. Strachan had been removed, and things
soon simmered down—though at one moment they had
assumed an ugly appearance, and a regiment had been
sent from the Front, in case the riot developed into any-
thing more serious.

G.H.Q. were very anxious later on to reinstate the
A.P.M., but on that point General Asser was adamant.
No one quite knew why Horwood was so anxious for his
Memories and Base Details 269

 

return, but later events pointed to the fact that he was
one of the tools being used to collect evidence against
me, and presumably it was not so complete as they might
have wished. He and I were mutually antagonistic.
I had come up against him soon after his arrival, and
I disliked him at once on account of his abominable
manners. I suppose I ought to have ignored them, as
he obviously knew no better, and should have remembered
the silk purse and sow’s ear adage. But I was not wise.
When, however, he called Marigold by her Christian
name and told her to shut his office door, and started
paring his nails with a penknife while he was talking
to me, I complained about him to Colonel Plumer, the
A.A.Q.M.G., and asked to be allowed to use him as an
intermediary for any business I had to transact.

* * * * ; * *

As a precautionary measure all the men in the camp
were to be moved up the line. This meant a busy day
for me. To produce tea and sandwiches for 10,000
men was no joke! From five in the morning all hands
were kept busy. Cases and cases of eggs were fried,
and backwards and forwards went the car to our bake-
house, and the bread and cakes came down to the siding
still steaming hot. We had borrowed an extra baker
from the camp, and they had been working all night
in the old bath-house, turning out thousands of petits
pains. The Salvation Army also came to our rescue
and gave me all the cakes and biscuits they had, and we
positively cleared out the pdtissiers of Etaples.

Without ceasing, the men poured down, and as one
train moved out another moved in—and it was in the
270. Memories and Base Details

 

middle of this that General Asser’s car came down to
the new siding. He wanted to speak to me, he said.
I pointed to the crowd of men besieging my sandwiches
and cakes, and told him I was too busy. But he in-
sisted, and I saw he looked unnaturally grave and
worried. 2

What could have happened ?

“T have just come from the A.G.,” he said, “ with
a message for you.”

I jokingly retorted: ‘‘ To order me out of France ?”’

“ Exactly,” was his reply.

I burst out laughing, I remember, and not very
politely told him “not to talk rot.” Then I saw he
was really serious and I was dumbfounded. What on
earth had happened ? I had broken no rules or regu-
lations—I had not the smallest sin on my conscience
to give me any clue to his extraordinary message.

When I had partially recovered from my astonish-
ment I asked him “ Why ?”

But to this he only shook his head, and told me he
had less idea than I had.

It was impossible to discuss the subject in these
circumstances. ‘‘ Sandwiches, miss?” ‘Couple of
Woodbines ’’—“‘ Six cakes’? were being called at me
from all sides, so I arranged to motor with Barbara to
Abbeville to dinner, after the last trainload of men had
been despatched. As Barbara and I had been working
since daylight we were in rather an exhausted condition.
We found Colonel Herbert and the A.P.M. at dinner.
No light could be thrown by anyone on the affair,
which in itself was extraordinary, as the merest tyro in
military law and discipline would know that any com-
plaint must go first through local channels, and through
Memories and Base Details 271

 

the A.P.M. of Lines and Communciations—and that
G.H.Q., however autocratic, should receive secret reports
and act on them over General Asser’s head was un-
‘thinkable.

Various lines of action were suggested, but the simplest
was to write to Lord Derby direct. This I did, and
I also wrote to Lord Wemyss. Lord Derby replied that
he had “heard something of the matter and would
investigate,” and Lord Wemyss’ reply came simultan-
eously that he had seen Lord D., who had been very
nice, but “had made some rather veiled accusations.”
When tackled by Lord W. on these, they were hurriedly
withdrawn. The first thing to do was to get to
London. I wanted to see Lord Derby, but he declined
to grant me an interview, saying that he ought not to
see me until the matter had been settled, and that he
had given instructions for my “case” to be “ fully
investigated,’ and that he should ‘believe nothing
unless convinced of the truth of it.” I had meanwhile
ascertained that no one in authority at the Base knew
anything. All sorts of conjectures and surmises carried
us no further.

I had only been given a pass to England for two
days, and I had obtained this with some difficulty so
I could not postpone my return. I had been back at
Paris Plage a few days when I got a rather belated mes-
sage that I could go and see the A.G. I went to Mon-
treuil with a pencil and notebook—I had had it rammed
into me by all the officials to be sure and say nothing,
or the authorities would try and pretend they had done
what Lord Derby had ordered them, that is, “ in-
vestigated my case.”

The memory of that interview with the A.G. is one
272 Memories and Base Details

 

of the most amusing incidents. in my life. To begin
with, I drove my car up the street reserved exclusively
for the C. in C.’s car. Then came a quite unnecessary
wait in an office. (I’m sure the A.G. was much more
_alarmed at my visit than I was. He had dodged me
already once or twice.) At last I was shown into his
office and felt really rather sorry for him. We both
stood looking at each other (I remembered my in-
structions not to speak). General Fowke (the A.G.) was
a rather stupid-looking, benign man, with a comfortable
middle-aged spread on him. In a sense his looks belied
him, as I believe he was not really stupid, merely lazy,
and in the hands of Macready he was surrounded by
unscrupulous cads, and was probably blamed for things
he knew nothing about. I am told that he was quite
nice about me afterwards and sorry that he had let
things drift so far, but having once done so, he adopted
the line of least resistance. In the room was another
man—I cannot remember his name. He was the A.A.G.
I discovered. He had a most unprepossessing ap-
pearance, and wore an eyeglass.

The A.G. cleared his throat several times and then
got out his first sentence.

““T believe you wish to see me,’ was his opening
remark for the prosecution. As I looked at those two
men the thing that flashed through my mind was how
on earth had such people got to such high estate !

I meekly replied, ‘‘ Yes.’’ Monosyllables could not
be called talking! He then had the effrontery to ask,
“ Why ?”

How was I still to be silent after that ?

I suggested blandly that as he wished me to leave
France I was anxious to know the reason.
Memories and Base Details 273

 

More coughing, much unsettling of paper, and he
began appealing mutely to the unpleasant gentleman
in the corner, who was toying with his monocle.

“‘ This is most unpleasant.”

I whipped out my notebook (what a bore if I had
suddenly broken the point of my pencil!) and started
writing.

“Please don’t mind me.”

And he continued :

“ Your influence is not a good one with the troops—
and the C. in C. wishes you to leave.”

I was feeling I wanted to giggle.

Another pause, more clearing of the throat.

“ We have very fully investigated this case and are
satisfied that our evidence is correct.” ;

Seeing me writing every word down must have been
disconcerting for them.

“A clergyman has heard you say ‘damn.’ Really
this is most unpleasant,’ he went on. I assured him
I did not mind.

“You washed your head in the canteen.”

This was the comble/ I longed to ask him whether
he would prefer me to go dirty, and if he would have
kept smiling if he had spent the winter, as I had, without
any hot water. It so happened, however, that this was
fiction founded on fact. I had washed my head in the
canteen kitchen! As Marigold and I were the cooks
it does not sound such a very improper proceeding.

This comic interview drew to its close, after more
grotesque and inaccurate accusations as to the awfulness
of my behaviour had been read to me and duly inscribed
in my notebook. As I was leaving the A.G. asked me
if it was true that we were making profits out of the

18
Q74 Memories and Base Details

 

canteen, and if so, how I did it. I told him it was im-
possible to do otherwise. The last word was the reiter-
ation of the first—that there was no more to be said,
Sir Douglas Haig wished me to leave France.

I wrote to Sir Douglas through Sir Philip Sassoon,
who told me he, had delivered my letter, but I never
received an answer. Later, General Asser told me that
when he protested on the way the whole affair had been
conducted over his head, Sir Douglas assured him that
he knew nothing about the case at all.

A fresh development awaited me at home, and threw
some light on the methods of truth and justice employed
at G.H.Q. Some time back I had been obliged sum-
marily to dismiss one of my workers. It was a letter
from her to another worker that was brought to me.
In it the writer stated that efforts were being made to
get me out of France, but that so far this was impossible.
A high official had actually been to see her. Between
them they had concocted a scheme to accomplish this.
Signed evidence was absolutely necessary, but the
signatures, according to the writer, would not go further
than official headquarters so that the stories need not be
truthful! ‘In fact,’ the letter continued, “it doesn’t
matter what you say, as they have promised to keep
our names out.”’ The fellow worker to whom this strange
communication was addressed, sent it to me directly
she heard what was going on, together with her reply,
which was to the effect that she had been very happy
in the canteen, and had seen nothing wrong to report.
If the originals of these letters were not in safe keeping
and available for inspection by the incredulous, I should
expect my account to be treated as a fairy tale.

The R.T.O. on the new siding received a visit from
Memories and Base Details 275

 

Colonel Mellor, who in the most unconcerned fashion
insinuated that at 5 a.m. everyone was likely to say
“damn,” and that I cannot have been a beautiful
example to the contrary. But the R.T.O. was not
to be drawn—even if his admission that I had been
guilty of such a crime might have been rewarded by a
transfer from the dreariness of Etaples to a more im-
portant and interesting railhead. The loyalty displayed
by all the local officials, from the highest to the humblest,
has more than compensated for the malice of the jealous !

The letter from the discharged worker, to which I
have referred, I sent on to Lord Derby, in the confident
expectation that he would need no further evidence of
the methods being employed against me. He made
no comment upon it, and concealed the awkward position
he was in by changing his attitude of friendly justice
to one of official aloofness.

Interest in my own affairs was suddenly disturbed
by my having to take Flavia post haste to Paris for the
Pasteur treatment. One of the Alsatian puppies we
were trying to cure of distemper had bitten her, and
the doctor said that we must take no risks.

Three weeks at the Hétel Meurice was a most
pleasant rest and change. Colonel Barry was round
and about, and the Kemps most hospitable. The
Eshers were in Paris, as nice as usual, and Lord Esher
did what he could to help me by writing to Lord Derby.
He made me realize that I was only one of the many
who were suffering from the ruthless injustice which
was meted out so recklessly at Headquarters. As he
quoted instances my resentment lessened, remembering
how small my grievance was in comparison with careers
absolutely finished.

18*
276 Memories and Base Details

 

The most absurd fotin had been started in Paris about
Mr. Jeff Cohen (Lord Michelham’s agent). It began,
I believe, by his having written at the commencement
of hostilities to the Kaiser about his racehorses, which
were in Germany. From this small beginning a Cohen
and an anti-Cohen faction arose. The Embassy was
anti (I believe inspired by a lady out of jealousy over
the Michelham Convalescent Home), and Cohen was
denounced as a spy. (His house, meanwhile, was the
unofficial headquarters of any generals who came to
Paris.) Lord Bertie, in spite of all the important things
he had to attend to, became obsessed with this idea,
and once, when a celebrated general went to see him,
he had taken up half the interview discoursing on the
subject, so much so, that as he went out, the general
told one of the Embassy’s secretaries, that his time
was too valuable to waste! The secretary smiled, and
quoted an instance of another ambassador, whose
obsession was a new garden pump! Among the pro-
Cohens was Lord Esher, who showed throughout the
whole affair—which lasted a very long time—what
excellent qualities of loyalty and fairness he possessed.

Lord Esher, I should think, was the only man in
England who could have succéssfully performed the
role he did during the war. From the first he was
regarded with suspicion and jealousy by the busybodies
of the war. He had no official appointment, and the
freedom of his movements and actions caused many
hypothetical conjectures over his business. He was,
I believe, an unofficial liaison officer between G.H.Q.,
Grand Quartier General and the War Office at Home.
Could any job have required tact more than that?
But, all the same, he was Lord Kitchener’s friend, a
Memories and Base Details 277

 

staunch supporter of French, and retained his friendly
relations with Haig, whilst he was immensely popular
with the French authorities.

Hugo came over to discuss the case. He had seen
Sir John Cowans, who was of the opinion that Macready
was at the bottom of the trouble, and that it paid the
others to obey his instructions. I know he was sup-
posed to run the A.G.’s department in France, and to
have staffed it with not too scrupulous people to carry
out his instructions—‘“ one of Macready’s tools”? was
a common enough expression in France during the
war.

As soon as Flavia’s treatment was over I took her
back to Paris Plage and made arrangements to go over
to England myself to see Sir Charles Russell, who was
to act for me in the event of my succeeding in getting
an inquiry. I cannot speak in sufficient gratitude of the
kindness which Sir Charles showed me. He interviewed
every sort of official at the War Office, and he helped me
to draft a letter to Haig. I think at first he had been
inclined to be prejudiced against me, his prejudice
went no further than the colour schemes he had seen
me in at Boulogne! I confess that in these days of
uniforms, that coloured jerseys were inclined to give
an impression of frivolity. However, he satisfied him-
self over my credentials and subjected me to a rigid
cross-examination. He had had enough experience
during the war to realize the immense difficulty of
obtaining justice at the hands of existing officials, so
that he gave me little encouragement to hope that we
should ever get the inquiry. The better my case, the
less likely I was to get satisfaction in that direction.
He told me something of how badly Claud Levita had
278 Memories and Base Details

 

been treated. It had been necessary for Sir Charles
to get to Calais, in order to obtain evidence which
was to completely exonerate an officer who had been
summarily cashiered. Claud Levita’s sympathies had
been on the side of justice and humanity—two
sentiments not appreciated at G.H.Q. The officer was
exonerated, but Claud Levita paid the penalty. I
must say I should like to have been present at the
Levita-Child interview afterwards !

The first of our tactical moves was for Arnold Ward
to ask a question in the House of Commons. Mr.
Macpherson’s reply was to read out a wire from G.H.Q.
saying that I had had my inquiry. The local authorities,
who had advised me to say nothing at my famous inter-
view with the A.G., were pretty shrewd judges of the
methods likely to be employed, as in spite of my
precautions, that one-sided interview had, nevertheless,
been interpreted into an inquiry. I chaffed Mr. Mac-
pherson about it afterwards, but I realized that he had
really no alternative. This lie shattered my last illusion.
After all the paraphernalia of prayers, which is the
preliminary to the day’s business in the House of Com-
mons, I had imagined that lies were not told as glibly
there as in the Law Courts. The result of this travesty
of truth and justice was to enlist many friends on my
side. If there was any truth in the information they
had surreptitiously collected, the authorities had nothing
to lose by granting the inquiry I was pressing for, and
their emphatic refusal was tantamount to admitting
that they had no reliable evidence wate which to sub-
stantiate their accusations.

Undeterred by the failure of our efforts in the. House
of Commons, the subject was to be brought up in the
wa cd Buoy)

SOPU AA JO ULI UD SPAeMpsp Sursp yout oy SESp ur uosesp re Aang Fuyooys

 
Memories and Base Details 279

 

House of Lords, and Lord Ribblesdale came to see me
about it. He gave all the papers to Lord Buckmaster
to read, including Lord Derby’s letters, and as I did not
know Lord B. his interest in the matter could not be
attributed to personal friendship, and the fact that he
was willing to support Lord Ribblesdale and Lord
Wemyss in the House of Lords was in itself a triumph.

The peaceful tactics which were eventually adopted
resulted from an eleventh-hour suggestion from Lord
Buckmaster. After carefully considering the matter
he came to the conclusion that my accusers would prob-
ably be my judges in an inquiry, and his opinion of
certain people’s sense of justice was not exaggerated ;
also the question of finance entered largely into our
final decision. Lord B.’s idea was to negotiate with
Lord Derby himself, and the result of his intervention
was a compromise. Lord Derby was to make a speech,
drafted by ourselves, in reply to Lord R. and Lord W.,
provided that “the noble lords’ would in their speeches
refrain from attacking the War Office or G.H.Q., either
in the House of Lords or in the Press.

What a comic situation for the Secretary of State
for War to find himself in !

Lord Derby was in an unenviable position—I had
his letters, promising a full investigation into my case,
but his subordinates refused me the facilities of even
answering the charges !

I have always marvelled at Lord Derby’s attitude.
Having known him all my life, I should have said
unhesitatingly that he stood for a certain type of Eng-
_ lishman, not, perhaps, overburdened with. brains, but
essentially just. I may have attributed this quality to
him, judging too much by his appearance, Bucolic John
280 Memories and Base Details

 

Bullness is an excellent shop-window dressing, and is
inclined to inspire confidence not usually bestowed on a
less rotund figure . . . the goods are not always hall-
marked !

Annoyed as I was at not seeing the A. G.’s depart-
ment exposed in its true colours to the world at large,
the two people most disappointed at the peaceful climax
were Lord Ribbledsale and Lord Wemyss, who had pre-
pared acrimonious speeches, by which their names were
to be handed down to posterity, and to have to change
these at the last moment to eulogies of myself was, to
say the least, very trying for them !

The disclosures, if there had been an inquiry, would
have meant a huge upheaval in the A. G.’s department,
and I heard afterwards that a most regrettable individual,
whose name I forget but who was one of the pets in the
Provost Marshal’s office at G.H.Q., had rung up one of
the staff at Boulogne to ascertain if there was any
chance of my getting the inquiry—“ because,” he added,

“if I did, their jobs were all gone, as they had no evidence
against me.’

Nothing could have been more flattering or consoling
than the crowds of letters which literally poured inon
me, both from known and unknown individuals. Indig-
nation at my treatment and thanks for what I had done
for them was the keynote of their contents.

The case had been going on from September, Ig17,
to February, 1918, yet the canteens were still in opera-
tion. The workers were like the ten little nigger boys,
and they dropped off one by one, and I was, of course,
not allowed to replace them. They were not even per-
mitted to go home on leave; if they went they were
not to be allowed to return.
 

Memories and Base Details 281

 

I think this method of retaliating on me was one
of the worst, as it reacted directly on the soldiers. The
workers behaved heroically in sticking to me, but they
were human beings, and they could not work indefinitely
without a rest or entirely abandon their home ties.
Urgent private affairs compelled some of them to leave ;
my manageress at Boulogne was to be married, Miss
Marsters had to come home to a dying sister, and so on.
As the staff diminished, they were more or less replaced
by French girls and orderlies. and at the finish the Big
Hut had to go to the wall as the station work could not
be neglected.

* * * * * *

Having got over this episode of my life, I began to
contemplate working for the French. Our own men
were, or should have been, amply provided for by this
time, and the French fotlu had none of the luxuries
which fell to the lot of the British soldier, so that I
looked forward to doing something for them. My two
cars were at their disposition, and I received various
suggestions and offers of work. Colonel Daru was very
anxious that I should go to St. Quentin and help with
the Ravitaillement of the Pays Devastés ; but at that
moment, owing to the extension of our line, St. Quentin
was under the British régime, so that my appearance
there was barred. One rather amusing thing happened
directly after my return. I received a visit from our
new A.P.M., telling me that he had been instructed to
give me a motor pass, apparently from one end of France
to the other, for a month. I have never understood
why this generous offer was made, but perhaps on the
282 Memories and Base Details

 

grounds that, given enough rope, I should hang myself,
and that Satan would surely find some mischief for my
idle self, which would really give the authorities the
right to evict me. Unfortunately, homme propose et Dieu
dispose. A severe attack of jaundice knocked any hope
I may have entertained of joy rides on the head ; but,
even so, my movements were evidently being watched,
and my maid was stopped in the street to answer inquiries
as to who was staying in my house. I really might
have been the A.G.’s wife he was trying to get rid of !

After settling up my canteen business, I motored to
Paris to see Colonel Daru, and to find out what he would
like me to do, as the St. Quentin idea could not materialize.
I felt so desperately ill on arriving in Paris, that Vera
Bate insisted on my going to bed and sent a doctor to
see me. He was Clemenceau’s doctor and most interest-
ing to talk to, but I should have enjoyed his conversation
more if I had not been so completely souffrante. He was
very full of King Edward’s wisdom and foresight, and.
looked on him as a great diplomat and as the saviour of
France, owing to the Entente; but, he added, “il a
sauvé ]’Angleterre aussi.” Without the Entente, he
insisted, the Germans would have destroyed first France,
then England. I did not like his tisanes, or his medi-
cines, and as I felt no better I determined to struggle back
to Le Touquet to English doctors.

Colonel Barry arrived to see me one morning, full of
a suggestion that I should organize a convoy of cars like

Miss Lowther’s for the French Army. The idea smiled -

on me tremendously, as I had had. a surfeit of canteen
work. I wrote to someone IJ knew in England to see if
any drivers could be collected, and got an answer in the
affirmative, and meanwhile Colonel Barry went on with
Memories and Base Details 288

 

the arrangements with the Service de Santé in Paris, but
for the moment I was helplessly tied to my bed.

Colonel Barry was one of the great personalities at
the Base, surrounded by a halo of mystery. He had
gone out with Mr. Kemp in the first week of the war,
and between them they had organized the Anglo-
American Ambulance Section. He was attached, ac-
cording to how it suited him, in turn, to the British
or French Army, and on occasions to the Red Cross, but,
generally speaking, he was his own master. He was a
colossal opportunist, and his life was led according to
his own rules and regulations. One minute he was in
the trenches, the next at G.H.Q. Another day found
him dining at the French G.Q.G., and the following
evening he would be entertaining an important magnate
in Paris. He led Denys Baily by a string, twisted Paget
round his little finger, and spoilt my children with
presents in the intervals! He was incessantly on the
road, and he would call on us at the most unexpected
hours.

I had plenty of other visitors in those days, having
abandoned any vanity I may have had, and quite
ignoring my orange face, I welcomed them gladly.

Vi de Trafford had just arrived and joined the
V.A.D.’s who were working at the Westminster
Hospital. I was very surprised that the French-
men didn’t rave about her looks, for she is so very
lovely. But they didn’t, and they thought Olivia
Wyndham, who was another new arrival, better looking.

I was just beginning to feel alive again (never more will
I laugh at anyone with jaundice), when the Household
Cavalry arrived at Camiers, to be trained as machine-
gunners. They were all old friends, and, much to the
284 Memories and Base Details

 

delight of the children, spent most of their spare time
at Paris Plage. Archie Carlton was just going back
to be married, but of Ali, alas ! we saw next to nothing,
as he was “courting,” and his marriage to Mrs. Leisch-
mann took place about this time at Boulogne. They
were all very good about coming to see me and bringing
me the news: Count d’Aramon, who was interpreter to
the 2nd Life Guards, was a particularly regular visitor.
He was always entertaining, talked English perfectly, and
had a surprising fund of good stories. He took a gloomy
view of the situation, and told me that though they had
been for months up at St. Quentin digging, the trenches
they had dug were useless. He had taken Colonel
Stanley over to the adjoining French lines and pointed
out to him the difference in their preparations ; but,
after all, it was General Gough’s look-out, or someone
above him. They seemed to have had plenty of horse-
shows up there, anyhow. Count d’Aramon’s anticipa-
tion of the Germans attacking there, and the result,
was justified by the events that followed.

* * * * * *

The news of the great German attack burst with
surprising suddenness, in spite of the fact that it hap-
pened on the very day that it had been prognosticated.

The cavalry were hurried back to the line at a
moment’s notice. I groaned at my forced inactivity and
looked impatiently for the news that used to be brought
to me in the evening by one or another.

For the first time there was real consternation amongst
the inhabitants of Paris Plage. A great number of the
population were refugees from Belgium. They had
seen the Boche once, and that had been enough for them,
Memories and Base Details 285

 

so they packed their baluchons and were prepared to
“trek ’’? once more. I was left with only my maid in
the way of servants. Her husband, an Alsatian, was
missing since 1914, but she had a fixed idea that he was
still alive, and nothing would have moved her from Paris
Plage, as she expected him to turn up there one day.

The wildest rumours came through the postman and
the baker, and still the Germans seemed coming on.
The camp, they told me, was literally thick with men
who had lost their units in the wild retreat. Would the
Germans reach Amiens? The worst was anticipated
by the inhabitants when the tocsin sounded for all the
boys of the next year’s class to report at Boulogne.
And there was I, still in bed! It was some comfort to
hear of the German losses being so severe that they
lay in heaps against the wire entanglements, so that the
men had to climb on these masses of dead bodies to cut
their way through the wire.

As the refugees left Paris Plage, others who had
fled from Amiens came in. Our French mademoiselle
and Flavia were in Etaples when mademoiselle fell
into the arms of her sister, who at first she failed to
recognize. Her three children were with her. The
bombardment of Amiens had been too much for them.
They had been living in a cellar and their house was
the only one in the street that had remained untouched.
Having been unable to stand the strain any longer,
they had joined in the general exodus. They were
clotheless and penniless and in an altogether pitiable
condition, having walked the entire distance, sleeping
by the roadside, and their description of their journey
was pathetic. They had been swept along by the crowd
on the road, and one of the boys, who had brought a
286 Memories and Base Details

 

change of shoes and slung them on his back, had had
them cut off, without even detecting the robbery. The
things some of these wretched people had tried to save
was too quaint. Imagine fleeing from the Germans
and insisting on carrying a canary with you! An
extra panic had been created in Amiens by crowds of
unarmed men in khaki rushing back into the town.
The inhabitants thought that the whole British army
had run away—whilst really they were Lord Portsmouth’s
land army, who had been peacefully tilling the fields,
but who had hurriedly thrown down their spades
when the shells came too near to them! _

The confusion that reigned in the camp at Etaples
after the practical annihilation of the Fifth Army was
stupendous. Thousands poured in, trying to get news
of their units ; all traces of them had disappeared amidst
the chaos. The huge accommodation resources of the
camp were taxed almost beyond their limit, even
though the reinforcements were being poured out daily.

The hospitals were crowded, but only the worst cases
were kept, and the rest hurried over to England to
make room for fresh casualties.

Two days after the Fifth Army retreat, General
Gough appeared, to visit the patients at the Westminster.
Contrary to expectations he seemed to be in the most
cheerful frame of mind, and it did not tend to soften
the criticisms levelled at him by those who had been
in the Fifth Army when they heard him announcing
that Haig had given him another job. The general
feeling was that he should have gone home after Pas-
schendaele, and there was also a feeling, right or wrong,
that he owed his later command to his old friendship
with Haig.
 

Memories and Base Details 287

 

The historical meeting at Abbeville, six days after
the Germans had broken through, altered the destiny
of the world. The quick appointment of Foch as
Generalissimo of the Allied Armies was the best news
that we could have hoped for. It meant concentration
of power and responsibility, the one thing which had
been so sadly lacking and which had not been arrived
at during the deliberations of the Supreme Council.
The tangled web of affairs was hurled at Foch only
when its unravelling appeared quite impracticable.
The generals in the field welcomed the change of régime
unanimously, and it was only the G.H.Q. staff officers
who had anything to say against it, as they automatically
lost some of their prestige and importance.

Would Haig be sent home now? The question was
on every lip, but Colonel Repington’s description of
him: ‘ Haig has become a Post Office,” obviously made
his return unnecessary. There had been enough accu-
sations and scandals, so he was left to enjoy his peer-
age and pension, from a grateful but impoverished
country.

But this was not the only change. Lord Derby was
our new Ambassador in Paris. The Morning Post was
not altogether polite in its comments on the appointment,
but though I had no reason to love Lord Derby I confess
that no one could have made a greater success, than he
apparently did, of his ambassadorial duties. That bluff
good temper and apparent honesty carried him far.
His popularity was in some measure due to the great
desire on the part of the French for a still firmer alliance
with England. By making a social pet of Lord D., they

relied on his carrying a pleasant, and flattering recollec-
tion of his sojourn among them, and thus securing his
288 Memories and Base Details

 

good offices, should the Entente be ever on the brink
of a crisis.

The appointment of Lord Milner as Lord D.’s successor
to the War Office received universal approbation.

% * * * * *

Amiens was saved! The news seemed almost too good
to be true. “Le rétablissement de Foch” is now
an historical phrase. The chaos and disorder of the
retreat must surely pass imagination. Whole depots
of stores and war materials were profligately abandoned.
A few venturesome individuals did some good salvage
work, and one man took a lorry into Albert, which
was quite deserted, and rescued thousands of pounds
worth of supplies. Rather than allow the Germans
to enjoy the luxury of the canteens, pathetic destruc-
tion was the order of the day. Whisky and champagne
flowed like water, and Corona cigars were to be had
for the mere picking up!

With the check of the Boche advance the Household
Cavalry returned to us once more. They were to be
hurried through their course of machine gunnery at
Camiers as quickly as possible. I was slowly recovering
from my jaundice, but still felt horribly weak, and it
was even an effort to stroll down to the tennis courts.

That tennis went on in those critical times was a
source of surprise, and, I think, considerable annoyance
to the French ; they had always looked rather askance
at the golfers, and tennis players. The number of men
employed at the base by us seemed to the French almost
preposterous. They ran their offices with the barest
minimum, and were inclined to think that a few of our
men at the base could quite well have been spared to go
 

#

Lady Angela Forbes and her daughter Flavia.

[Facing p, 288
Memories and Base Details 289

 

up the line. And when they saw them indulging freely
in le sport they redoubled their criticism !

The behaviour of the French nation during the war
has been a distinct contradiction of what the English-
man has been led to expect from the excitable French
temperament. Their misfortunes were accepted in a
perfectly heroic spirit and one can have nothing but
admiration for their calmness in the face of every danger
and trouble. In the bigger love for their country, the
pleasure-loving side of their nature seemed to vanish.
One thing that shocked them tremendously was the
number of our war widows who had remarried so quickly.
A Frenchwoman told me that she did not know a single
French war widow, however unhappy her married life
had been, who had remarried. If they had, she said,
they would be looked on askance and their social ostra- —
cism would be greater than if they had been through
the divorce court. This feeling, I think, is inspired by
respect for the dead and especially for the death they died.

* * * * * *

Marigold’s engagement to Sir Archibald Sinclair
distracted our attention for the moment from the military
situation. We had only known him a few weeks, but I
liked him immensely, and thought him decidedly clever,
but I had my doubts as to whether he was as Socialistic
as he was supposed to be. Anyhow, he talked of his
vast possessions in Caithness with real pride and affection.

He was going in for politics after the war, and I was
particularly pleased that Marigold should marry a
man with a probable career ahead of him. I think she
will be interested in the serious side of life by and by.

19
290 Memories and Base Details

 

She is thoroughly industrious, so he ought to find her
the right sort of wife, and, as far as one dare predict,
their future should be rosy.

The engagement meant another visit for me to Eng-
land, as, Marigold being a ward in Chancery, and not
yet twenty-one, .there were various formalities to be
hurried through, if they were to be married immediately.
I returned with the ring in my pocket and a wedding
frock for M. the night before the wedding. The children
and Archie met me in Boulogne and we all dined at
Mony’s with Eden Paget.

The civil service at the Consulate had to take place
at 8 am. and I motored ‘the family” back to Le
Touquet, and dropped Archie on the way at Camiers,
as he was to do a day’s duty before the Church service,
which was to be in the afternoon at Le Touquet. It
was really a most charming wedding, and a great relief
from the usual London set-out. Much of its success
was due to Lord De Vesci, who had taken infinite pains
over the flowers, and the hymns, during my absence in
England, and whether he or Marigold remembered
the champagne I don’t know, but I found it there awaiting
us !

The little church was packed with V.A.D.’s, and all
our local celebrities, and afterwards the happy couple
departed for Hardelot for their honeymoon.

It was the following day that we had the big raid
on Etaples. We had just come back from dining at
Camiers, and were in the drawing-room when it started.
Our original idea had been to dine at the Pré Catalan
at Hardelot, but General Mullins had been to tea, and
we were so late starting that we had altered our plan
Memories and Base Details 291

 

and stopped half-way, otherwise we should still have
been on the road, in the middle of our own gun-fire, and
in the very thick of the bombs.

At first we did not realize it was a raid. We knew
that an attack was due to begin the next morning,
and when we heard the first boom of the guns, Lord
De Vesci, who was with us, thought it was beginning
earlier than expected. We could often hear the guns
quite plainly at Paris Plage.

It was not long, however, before we realized what
was happening, and we all rushed out to see what we
could. Whrr! Whrr! Bang! Boom! the areoplanes,
our defence guns and the bursting bombs kept up a crash-
ing noise, with a moment of silence, as the evil bird
got out of gunshot. Another, then another; there
seemed to be a never-ending procession passing over us.
There was a mound behind our house, and on to this
Major Dormer and I climbed and watched the bursting
bombs. It was the first raid I had ever seen, not
counting two in London, which seemed to me very dull.
The enemy’s objective was the Bridge of Etaples, about
three miles from our house. We had always wondered
why they had not attempted to get it before now, as
every day we had an enemy plane over our village,
evidently taking photographs.

The night was perfectly clear, and we could almost
have spoken to the pilot as he flew almost directly over
my house. I was really enjoying the sight from a
spectacular point of view, so that any idea of danger did
not cross my mind, until I suddenly remembered that
Flavia was in the garden.

I then lost my nerve entirely and could not make
up my mind where to deposit her in safety. Really I

r9*
292 Memories and Base Details

 

think we were just as safe outside, if not safer. My
opinion may have been the result of a guilty conscience,
for I knew that in the basement there were stored gallons
of petrol acquired by a perfectly illegitimate method !

For hours the aeroplanes seemed whirling and
whizzing with their relentless noise, the whole sky lit
up as the bombs burst, which to our minds appeared
almost within a stone’s throw. The houses shook, the
pictures came off the walls in my house, whilst our anti-
aircraft guns responded with their deafening barrage.
Then suddenly the noise was redoubled. It appeared
that one of the invaders had lost his way and was ridding
himself of his bombs as quickly as possible, regardless of
their destination.

_ The fact that they were dropping in sand made the
damage less formidable than it might have been. As
it was the Duchess of Westminster was nearly thrown out
of bed with the bombs falling near her chalet. A splinter
from one of our own shells landed in a V.A.D.’s room at
the Hétel des Anglais, and a few bombs fell round the
Atlantic Hotel, but otherwise the damage was more or
less confined to Etaples. Here the inhabitants were
having a taste of war to its full, shattered houses, broken
windows, and shell holes testified to the night’s work.
Some of the 2nd Life Guards who had only arrived the
night before and were encamped on the Camiers road were
badly knocked about, and the Base Details whose camp
was on the outskirts of the town unfortunately took to
their heels for safety. The Boche could see them quite
plainly by the light of the moon, and his bombs were, alas !
dropped with such accuracy as to make a big gap in the
ranks of these poor wretches.

Outside the little café where I had many meals there
Memories and Base Details 293

 

was a huge shell hole. The windows had been smashed
to smithers, but the undaunted fatvonne announced
“ business as usual,” and supplied us with out-of-season
strawberries and asparagus. IJ faut étre chic sous un
bombardement, was her contention. Her attitude was
superb. She could not sleep in Etaples as was her wont,
as the ceiling of her house had given way, so when she
had finished her evening’s work she either drove or
tramped to Paris Plage to sleep.

The entire population of Etaples took to sleeping
on the sands in these days, as the cellar for safety had
been proved bad advice. Nearly all the casualties hap-
pened through taking cover in this way. My housemaid’s
entire family had been done in, the only survivor was
the grandmother, who had temporarily left the cellar
to fetch a shawl. At Boulogne Colonel Wilberforce
and the staff had had a narrow squeak, and old Marie,
who had supplied me with the tons of fruit and vegetables
we used in the canteen, had lost'her grandchild. The poor
old thing was distraught with her grief. She shook the
body to and fro, not believing that the child was dead.
We had lived in such serene security in our little back-
water that the possibility of these horrors happening
under our eyes had not been contemplated.

The V.A.D.’s of the Etaples Convoy were out all
night gallantly doing rescue work, one of them having to
go to Trepied to pick up the pilot of a machine which had
been brought down there. They deserve the highest
credit for their calmness, and there was not a case of panic
amongst them.

The questions in the House of Commons, and the
comments in the papers, about the “ outrageous and
barbarous attacks on the hospitals’? showed the
294 Memories and Base Details

 

profound ignorance of the questioners, and the corre-
spondents. If anyone is to blame it is our own authori-
ties, who had mingled hospitals, ammunition dumps,
and stores with one of the biggest reinforcement camps
in France, in close proximity to a main line bridge, which
was of strategical importance to the enemy. Practically
the whole road from Boulogne to Etaples was by that
time a long succession of buildings, connected in some
way or another with the active fighting forces, and our
ammunition dump at Camiers is still not disintegrated !

Everyone knows that an airman cannot drop his bomb
on a definite spot, so how can he be blamed for doing
damage even some miles from his objective? Added
to that the German airmen had previously dropped
_ leaflets advising us to remove our wounded and giving
us adequate warning of the intended raid.

These unfounded allegations of barbarity did a lot
of harm. The German crimes were so atrocious that
they needed no fictitious additions to arouse further
indignation, but the large population at Etaples, who
read these inaccurate indictments, were inclined to
wonder if German brutality had not been exaggerated
on other occasions.

Colonel Barry had made all the necessary arrange-
ments with the authorities in Paris for the convoy of
ambulances, and a very nice French officer came to my
villa to explain my duties to me. I was to be under the
orders of a French Capitaine, and the convoy was to work
in sections conveying the wounded to the various
hospitals. The district extended over a pretty large
area between Paris, and Rouen.

I was not sorry to get Flavia away from Etaples. In
spite of the damage done in the air-raid, the main line
Memories and Base Details 295

 

bridge was still untouched, and till they had succeeded
in getting it, further visits from the enemy might be
looked forward to with some certainty.

My drivers were due in Paris any day, so Flavia and
I started off in the car to meet them. We lunched at
Beauvais and all along the road traces of the recent
activity of the German airmen were apparent Abbe-
ville had been badly knocked about, and General Asser’s
headquarters looked in a most battered condition and
wanton damage confronted one in almost every village.

We inspected the convoy and I rather liked my pro-
posed headquarters, and the French authorities all
seemed very pleasant people.

The military situation was as grave as it ever had
been. The Government did not go to Bordeaux, but all
the gold reserves at the banks were sent to the South of
France and the pictures from the Louvre were equally
removed to safety. Profiteering in packing-cases was
at its height, and unless you were a friend of a railway
official trucks for private use were quite unobtainable.
Places on the train were not to be thought of. No one
admitted that the military situation had anything to do
with the general exodus, but everyone seemed to be
taking their holiday very early.

The German onslaught was being redoubled in in-
tensity and attacks were being launched all along the line.
The task given to Foch seemed almost impossible of
accomplishment and the anti-allied command party were
almost in a position to say: “I told you so.” It was
only on August 8th that the result of Foch’s strategy
produced definite results. On that day the French and
English forces attacked with a new and brilliant vigour
on the Amiens front and set the seal on Foch’s reputa-
296 Memories and Base Details

 

tion. From Amiens to Montdidier all the troops were
engaged. General Mullins’ division was the first to go
through the famous gap of which we had heard so much,
and which we had begun to regard as a complete myth.
The 5th D. G.’s had an amusing experience with a
German train that was bringing their men back from
Lille. The unsuspecting Germans were all in their
compartments, expecting to find their comrades where
they had last left them. To their horror the English
were in occupation and the whole trainload were taken
prisoners.

The 8th of August may truly be looked on as the
definite turning-point in the fortunes of our armies.
If anyone had been in doubt of the ultimate result of the
war their scepticism had no longer any foundation to
rest on. From that moment the Boche was on the run,
and Foch was not the man to lose the advantage he had
secured.

* * * * * *

Instead of finding my drivers in Paris I received a
wire that their permits had been refused by the
authorities in London.

This was an extraordinary impasse to be in! Some
objections had been previously raised on the grounds
that no more women could be spared out of England as
they were all needed by the Government organizations,
but I knew that this objection had been overruled by
Lord Milner who had himself signed a letter asking that
permits should be given to them.

Now it appeared that it was the French Red Cross in
London who refused to deliver them. On the face of it
Memories and Base Details 297

 

this was absurd as they were coming on to work for the
French. I felt instinctively that there was something
at the back of all this, but it seemed difficult to fathom,
more especially as I had seen all the officials in Paris,
and that I knew the cars were ready and waiting and
were urgently needed. My suspicions were confirmed
after a visit to the French War Office. I saw an im-
portant person there and I was given a sauf conduit
to England with a request that I might return with my
drivers as quickly as possible. All this took several days,
during which time we had a raid every night, though
nothing like so bad as the one at Etaples. The Meurice
was a very nicesafe place to be in. The first night Flavia
and I joined the rest of the visitors on the first floor
and found ourselves in the middle of what resembled a
fancy dress gathering, so varied were the costumes,
which included Signor Orlando, the Italian Prime
Minister. Even in these safe quarters some of the people
were terrified. I went into the Rue de Rivoli to see the
barrage—a really pretty sight, but after that night we
refused to be roused.

What did make us rather jumpy was Big Bertha,
who had made her first appearance about then. Sud-
denly her big boom would be heard, with no indication
of where it had come from or where she had landed
her deadly missile. The damage she did was trifling,
but she made me jump as I was driving into Paris, and
again when we were dining at Henry’s and she hit one
of the figures on the Madeleine, and shook the restaurant
like a cardboard house.

There were several Americans in the Hétel Meurice.
The American troops had been in action for the first
time, and everyone spoke highly of their courage. They
298 Memories and Base Details

 

were as keen as the Australians, and resented every
moment that kept them from attacking. They would,
no doubt, be sobered by experience. Paris itself was
full. All the politicians were over there, Lloyd George,
Lord Milner, Rosie Wemyss and “Sir Eric,’”’ enjoying
themselves, when the business of the day was over.

Armed with my letter from the French War Office,
Flavia and I returned to Boulogne. I had decided to
take her back to England, as it seemed a wiser course
to adopt with these air raids going on nightly.

I imagined that I should meet with no difficulty
in getting across, having the sauj conduit from the
French War Office, but this was not so. The A.P.M.
did all he could, but he was not allowed to help me.
I could go to: England, but I could not get back! Mean-
while the French were waiting for me in Paris.

I went to Montreuil myself, and saw the French Head
of the Permit Department, and then I found out how
this latest impertinence had been worked. The official
I saw, and the official who gave the visas in London
were brothers. I think their names were Weiss, or
something like it, and they were working obviously in
conjunction—I wonder under whose orders! This was
entirely against Lord Derby’s word, and his speech in
the House of Lords, but it was easy for the English
officials now to put the blame on the French. I could
not move Mr. W. at Montreuil, who was rather non-
plussed as to how I got to see him at all!

My next step was to write to Mr. Macpherson, then
Under Secretary at the War Office. I was really anxious
now about Flavia, and wanted to get her on to the
other side, but I could not agree to the visa offered me,
as I had a house in France and all my belongings were
Memories and Base Details 299

 

in it. I found Lancelot Lowther was King’s Messenger
that day, and I asked him to take the letter. He took
himself and his duties very seriously, and was very
pompous about the rule that did not allow King’s
Messengers to take private individual’s letters. I ex-
plained that I thought he would not get into trouble
over mine as it was to the War Office. As he still de-
murred I took it up to General Wilberforce, who most
kindly had it specially despatched.

There was nothing more to be done, but to sit still
and wait. Flavia and I were sharing a room at the
““Meurice”” at Boulogne when we were woken by
tramping male footsteps, and a knocking at the door.
This was a visit from the Intelligence Officer, the A.P.M.
and Eden Paget.

Mr. Macpherson with the greatest promptitude had
wired to Major Comber to let me return at once. He
had come to see me to say that to save time he would
arrange for us to go back on the leave boat in the morn-
ing. His own office would be open extra early, and he
would have my passport stamped, and in order for me.
This was most awfully kind of him, as, in the ordinary
way, it would have taken some time. They were as
pleased as I was at G.H.Q. having been scored off, and
that I should be in England before G.H.Q. even heard of
my having left Boulogne. This is testimony of the feeling
that existed regarding G.H.Q. at the Base. All went well
according to schedule—the boat was held up for ten
minutes whilst we got on board. We exploded a mine
on our way over, and it made such a noise and shook
the boat so much that I thought we had actually struck
one, and I couldn’t help thinking at the time that it
would have been a queer fate if, after all the trouble
800 Memories and Base Details

 

that Major Comber had taken over my journey, it had
proved to be my last.

I went round to the War Office and saw Mr. Mac-
pherson; Macready came into the room and hurried
out. I suppose he knew me, but I had never seen him
before to my knowledge. Mr. Macpherson assured me
that Macready had given his sanction at the Army
Council Meeting for my drivers to be given permits.
I suggested he had done it with his tongue in his cheek,
and told him about the Brothers Weiss. There was,
of course, nothing left for anyone to do as long as the
onus for the refusal of the permits was laid on the French.
G.H.Q. had certainly scored off me this time!

The drivers were, meanwhile, thoroughly exasperated
by the numerous delays, and one by one they were
dropping off into other jobs, so regretfully I abandoned
the whole scheme. I did not feel in a fighting humour,
and it was really not the moment to dwell on one’s own
personal grievances.

I liked Mr. Macpherson immensely, and behind the
big, horn-rimmed spectacles he wore, there lurked a
humorous twinkle. I felt thoroughly ashamed of taking
up his time—I had taken up the time of so many. im-
portant people when there were so many far more
important matters for them to attend to, that I felt it
incumbent upon me to apologize! I did not know until
later that Mr. Macpherson had offered to go to Boulogne
to inquire into my case, but, of course, this was not
allowed as it would not have suited the A.G.’s book
at all J

I had no very definite plans at this moment, but
I had left my house on the other side in such disorder
when I made my hurried departure, that I felt it was
Memories and Base Details 301

 

necessary at all events to go over and see what was
happening. When I arrived at the permit office for
my passport to be viséd, I found that G.H.Q. had just
telephoned, giving an order that I was not to return
to France. This was one of the most stupid things
they could have done, as they had no jurisdiction over
my movements as a civilian, and could not enforce
their order.

Once more I had: to make myself an official nuisance ;
this time Mr. Balfour was brought in, with perfectly
satisfactory results. What idiots those officials at
G.H.Q. must have felt as I made another triumphant
entry into Boulogne !

Life en civile in France was inconceivably dull, so
that I quickly made up my mind to go home for good,
and escape for ever from the red tape that was tying
everyone up in knots.
VIII

BE the time I was settled again in England the end of
the war was in sight, and the prospect of another
winter’s fighting seemed more than doubtful.

I felt the reaction of inactivity and chafed at the
lack of any definite occupation. All one’s old interests
seemed rather futile, and the daily round desperately
boring. Life in England appeared very little changed,
except for the rather irksome restrictions and minor
discomforts imposed by the Food and Coal Controllers,
but even these were negligible, and there was no very
apparent sign of shortage. People had got used to
parlourmaids, and in some cases even preferred them.
Hotels were full, and if the clientéle had changed some-
what the proprietors certainly raised no objection !

The Wilson Commandments—fourteen of them when
God had condensed His into ten—had reached us.
They seemed to the lay mind singularly lenient, and
one wondered if the enemy might not, after all, be too
lightly treated, but one rested safe in the knowledge
that Clemenceau possessed a retentive memory !

In the light of after events there is something
grotesquely humorous in the important part which
America played in dictating the peace terms, when
she herself had no intention of signing the Treaty.
Small wonder that the French are resentful !

302
Memories and Base Details 303

 

War work of one sort or another was still in progress
—from nursing the wounded to providing them with
recreations, and George Robey was still adding to the
thousands he had already collected.

One of the best individual enterprises, the Surgical
Requisites, had their depot opposite to me in Mul-
berry Walk, and Flavia used to go there every day for
atime. Whoever started it deserves the greatest praise,
not only for its organization, but for the ingenuity of
its devices in papier maché. What a relief to the men
having an alternative to those desperately heavy limbs
provided by the Government.

I was some time debating in my mind how best to
employ the profits from my canteens. After a general
settlement in France, I had approximately three thou-
sand pounds left, and I was anxious to devise some
scheme that I hoped would prove a more or less lasting
memorial to the buffets.

The back to the land doctrine was being preached
and was catching on among the soldiers. So many
had left their office chairs, they hoped for ever. For
the first time they had tasted the open-air life, and,
in spite of its hardships, they had been able to appreciate
its joys. To help those who wanted permanently to
establish themselves in a new life, seemed the best
channel through which I could employ the Buffet profits.

There was something amusing about the aloofness
of my funds. In the early days I had written to the
Army Council, suggesting that they should be paid
to them as they accrued, but the Council declined my
offer on the grounds that they had no machinery to
deal with the matter, but they were devising some
scheme by which all canteen profits were to be
804 Memories and Base Details

 

assimilated. I suppose, however, that this scheme
never materialized, for I heard nothing more on the
subject.

The bulk of my profits had been distributed at
different times as need arose. The mine sweepers at
Aberdeen, the Red Cross, as well as private individuals,
had all benefited, and a very large proportion had been
spent on providing huts for the training ground, and
all our other buildings and extensions. To spend the
balance on practical training for the men who were going
to sheathe the sword, and hoped to wield the sickle,
seemed a suitable solution.

I accordingly interviewed Sir Arthur Boscawen, who
was then at the Ministry of Pensions, and found him
very charming and unexpectedly responsive. The
Government, it seems, were already evolving training
schemes, but they were apparently quite grateful for
individual, auxiliary help. I found what I thought an
ideal place at Brentwood, where there was scope for
training in the various branches of agriculture. It be-
longed to Miss Willmott, who when I saw her was full of
enthusiasm over the idea.

Putting the scheme into execution was not quite so
simple as it first appeared, and there were the usual
A.B.C. departments to be consulted; the County
Committees and the various directors of training to be
interviewed, and it was Christmas before the first man
arrived. ;

The responsibility of paying the men the allowances,
which they received during training, rested on my
shoulders. It was a burden which I took on lightly, imag-
ining that I should receive the money punctually, and in
correct amounts, but I do not think this ever happened
$08 'd buonz]

‘apised) ssAua AQ

 
Memories and Base Details 8305

 

until the last week I was at Brentwood! There was either
a credit or a debit balance each week, entailing the most
tiresome amount of mathematical calculation, and in
many cases I had to advance men their money in order
to enable their wives to live whilst officialdom was
floundering in centralization !

The local Pensions Office was most kind and helpful.
Mr. Dalton, who had given his services voluntarily, all
through the war, as secretary, had, more often than not,
found himself in similar difficulties, owing to the negli-
gence or pomposity of the County Director, and
Sergeant-Major Price, an ex-Guardsman, and Mr.
Dalton’s second in command, was for ever breaking rules
to meet the necessitous cases.

I thought the allowances for the men very good, but
the channels, through which they received them, singularly
dilatory, and it is small wonder that muddles and com-
plaints were multiplied again, and again.

Gradually all local authority was being taken and
vested in a county office, supervised by a well-paid
official, generally distinguished by an entire lack of any
imagination. It seemed the height of absurdity that
before a man could be buried or have a tooth out, official
sanction had first to be obtained by the local authority,
from an office many miles away.

Our curriculum included market-gardening, general
farm work, dairy, poultry-keeping and carpentering ;
and I had from twenty to twenty-five trainees. Most
of the men hailed from London and knew nothing of
country life and its pursuits. Their disabilities were
varied, and in most cases their ideas for their ultimate
future were nebulous. I generally tried to discover what
they expected to do after their training, and found them

20
306 Memories and Base Details

 

in some cases most ambitious, and in complete
ignorance of the qualifications required, to gratify their
aspirations. One man, who had never been in the country
before, told me he wished to be a bailiff when he left!
Most of the men had leanings towards complete indepen-
dence. ‘Starting on our own” seemed to them the
simplest thing in the world. It was an idea that had been
fostered by the dream pictures held out in the poultry
papers advertisements—‘‘a thousand pounds a year —
from three hens’’ or some such catch phrase. The
question of capital seemed to them entirely superfluous,
and the grant from the King’s Fund was apparently
their ideal.

One boy had turned out so satisfactorily, that, if all
the others had been failures, his success would have
compensated me. He did not come through any official
channel, but arrived one day and asked if I could train
him in poultry-keeping. I told him that all the other
men had Government allowances, but that if he cared to
come, we would board and lodge him free, and help him
toa job. He jumped at the offer and I then suggested
that he might like to take up dairy work. He at once
fell in with the idea and showed so much ability that Mr.
Wilson of the East Anglian Agricultural College took him.
He passed his course most brilliantly and is now on a large
cheese farm, and with an assured future ahead of him.

The men’s politics and their opinions on current
events were freely aired. While some of them were
apathetic, the majority held advanced views. Their
belief in Trades Unionism had not yet been shaken, |
that was to come later—when they found the unions
barring the doors of their profession to the men who had
fought to preserve their trade.
Memories and Base Details 307

 

Some of their views were sound, while some of their
opinions, on the other hand, were hopelessly fantastic.
Unfortunately, they were convinced that their wildest
notions were based on solid foundations. Nearly all
the men that first came to me were members of the
Soldiers and Sailors Federation, and they at once set
about forming a local branch. I went to several of
their meetings and entertained some of their leaders
to tea. They certainly had some very good speakers
among them, and to me they seemed to adhere to an
attitude of complete political independence. They were
very much against the Comrades of the Great War,
whom they declared had the support of the Govern-
ment for political reasons and were making an attempt
to counteract the strength of the Federation.

One of my trainees was an ardent believer in the
nationalization of everything and everybody. His
father had been secretary to Frank Hodges, whilst Mr.
Smillie was a familiar friend, and it was through him
that I heard the story of Mr. Smillie’s early life.

I had Mr. S.’s views and reasons for nationalization
carefully explained to me. I found them difficult to
combat, and could only suggest that the Government
made a muddle of most things they ran! They admitted
that the advantage would not be felt immediately,
but that the next generation would be relieved from the
burden of taxation, direct or indirect.

Quite frankly, one cannot help seeing their point
of view. Their idea is that their children shall not be
brought up under the same conditions as those in which
they themselves were reared. The industrial unrest is
surely the sins of the fathers. If wage-sweating had not
been in existence there might have been no wage war,

20*
308 Memories and Base Details

 

and one cannot expect men to rest satisfied under the old-
fashioned régime in a world bristling with new ideas
and ambitions.

When one thinks of the agricultural wage paid by
our grandfathers, even our fathers, and tries to imagine
life for a man and a family brought up on eighteen
shillings a week; one wonders, sometimes, that class
resentment is not more accentuated.

This is not a dissertation on economics, it may even
be that there is no room for a new scheme of things and
that the new order will not lead to greater happiness
than the old. But what sounds like a revolutionary
idea, is often a genuine belief on the part of the men
that they are advancing towards a goal which may, after
all, only benefit the next generation.

* * * * * *

On the 11th of November 1918, the guns had ceased
firing. JI had gone up to London for the night, so I came
in for all the mad mafficking of Armistice Day. The
reserved English people have a queer way of expressing
themselves on occasions. There was something
nauseating about the horseplay; something rather
pathetic in the ebullition of joy which found its expression
in breaking the windows or the springs of a taxi-cab,
and blowing bladders in people’s faces! My own
impression was one of marvel that anything so awful,
that had lasted so long, could end so suddenly at a given
moment. It took one back to the Creation.

I went to Paris for the Peace Celebrations. The
quatorze Juilliet is the symbol of freedom—even if only
fancied—of every Frenchman, and the rejoicings were
Memories and Base Details 809

 

fixed for that day. I stayed with the Barrys, which was
lucky, as the hotels were crammed. I had an excellent
view of the procession from the Champs-Elysée and could
see the whole route from the Arc de Triomphe to the
Place de la Concorde.

The crowds were dense, one solid mass of humanity
reaching from the houses to the trees. From every corner
of France, widows, bereaved mothers and fiancées, had
gathered together to pay tribute to the allies. The
President and Clemenceau drove up to the Arc in closed
carriages, but they were recognized by the waiting crowd
and a loud cheer broke the tense silence all along the line.
Then all was still until a fresh outburst of enthusiasm,
like rumbling thunder, announced that the first troops
had passed under the famous arch. The chains which
protect the majesty of the Arc had never been removed
since 1860, when the troops, fresh from victory after
the Italian campaign, passed through. The Germans
had walked on either side of it in 1871, but to-day, which
is to signalize the freedom of the world, there is no
obstacle to hinder the direct progress of the conquerors.
Every allied nation was represented, every regiment
of France sent its detachment, from the little Chasseurs
Alpins to the grim and romantic Légion Etrangére—
picked men, who walked proudly behind the tattered
flag they had so gallantly defended.

As each man passed through the Arc he reverently
saluted the monument to the dead.

The procession was led by the Americans in their
immaculate uniforms and with their brand new colours
in striking contrast to the faded flags which followed in
their wake.

The Guards and the Highlanders met with a deafening
310 Memories and Base Details

 

welcome. It seemed impossible that there could be |
another cheer left—but as the French troops appeared
slowly and majestically in their war worn tunics, these
sons of France, marching along the Champs-Elysée, evoked
a fresh burst of enthusiasm.

The crowd seemed to know every general by name.
Le Petit Mangin; severe, alert and energetic, Gouraud,
with the empty sleeve, still saluting gravely, Le Pére
Fayolle, as he was familiarly known by his men, Castel-
nau, a veteran of 1870, who had lost three sons in the war,
were all acclaimed by name. As Pétain passed, cries
of Verdun and on les aura were literally yelled. In spite
of the enthusiasm it was no light-hearted rejoicing—the
spirit of the day seemed embodied in that waiting multi-
tude. They were imbued, one felt, with reverence and
gratitude, sorrow mingled with rejoicing.

The masters of victory were there with one exception.
Where was Lord French? It was a question one heard
on all sides, for the French people have good memories.
Foch was a dignified example to some, as he passed on
his favourite white charger, and with only two generals
on his staff. He looked neither to the right nor to the
left as he saluted. One felt a little sadly about Joffre
riding behind, but his heart must have rejoiced at the
special ovation he received—and after all it is never
Moses who enters triumphantly into the Promised Land.

The Peace rejoicings were carried on at night—and
the same spirit, that one admired in the morning, held the
crowd that thronged Paris. I was lost for an hour in
that surging mass that marched, in self-arrayed order,
up and down the Champs-Elysée. Once with them one
was swept by them, but with no sense of discomfort,
no sign of panic or of rowdiness.
Memories and Base Details 311

 

The fireworks were quite wonderful. All the monu-
ments, private houses and buildings were lit up, and the
bridges spanning the Seine made Paris, old and new, into
a glowing fairyland. For the first time since the war
the restaurants were kept open all night. At Montmartre
the fun was stupendous, but even here no sign of rowdiness
or drunkenness was to be seen. Sir John Cowans was
one of the many who found their way there in the small
hours of the morning, and rode gaily on a wooden pig,
and spent many sous on the switchback railway. For
mne day at all events class distinction—even family
juarrels—were forgotten. A Frenchman so well de-
scribed it to me ‘‘ Nous sommes tous sur le méme bateau,
t nos ceurs ne fond quun.’ They were all brothers
chat day who had fought for the same cause, with the
same courage.

* * * * * *

The best laid schemes go wrong. I had, very
‘tupidly, taken possession of Miss Willmott’s house before
the lease was signed, at her urgent request, and backed
xy her promises of assistance. I had, unfortunately,
tot been warned of her idiosyncrasies until I was es-
ablished there, and no sooner was I installed than fresh
lauses were drafted, and impossible stipulations laid
lown. As a result the negotiations completely broke
lown, and at the end of a year I moved.

The Government scheme of training had been trans-
erred from the Ministry of Pensions, and was in future
o be under the Ministry of Labour and the Board of
igriculture. A representative from the Board came
nd inspected me, and apparently approved of the Centre,
312 Memories and Base Details

 

so, in the circumstances, it seemed worth while looking
out for another place where I could carry on. There was
nothing to be found at the time in the neighbourhood,
but a representative from the Ministry saw and “ passed”
a place I had selected in Sussex. Most of the men had
finished their training, but the few left were to be trans-
ferred as soon as possible.

The Railway strike developed as soon as I was in
the throes of moving. Some of my goods were already
on the train, but the date of their arrival seemed more
than problematical. I spent my own time during this
short upheaval by driving my car for the Great Eastern
Railway. I felt full of importance carrying despatches
between Liverpool Street and Cambridge, and various
other stations. I met with no untoward mishap, but
with the cussedness of Fate my lighting set was in a
rather dicky condition, and on one of my trips, struck
work altogether. Luckily, the last faint glimmer sub-
sided in a village where I was able to buy a bicycle lamp,
but I finished my journey, illuminated by imagination,
rather than by the light it shed! The motor lorries
with the food supplies kept to their own side of the
road, which made things much easier for me.

Sir Henry Thornton, the managing director, asked to
see me when it was all over. He was a very charming
man and seemed to know all about my work in France,
and I was much touched later at receiving a gold pencil
case from him, as a souvenir of my despatch drives! I
don’t think that he anticipated that the Railway strike
settlement was going to be conducive to a permanent
industrial peace. .
Memories and Base Details 3138

 

The move from Essex to Sussex entailed more than
the mere uprooting of my possessions. My funds were
more or less depleted and a year’s farming wasted.
The only way to solve the financial difficulty was to sell
my house in London and make my permanent home
at the training centre. The Board of Agriculture had
promised me huts for the accommodation of the men,
but when it came to getting these it was a most compli-
cated matter, and once more I found eternal officialdom
across my path. The huts, though already promised
by the Board, had to be applied for through the County
Agricultural Executive Committee, and the Board
forgot to tell me this until very late in the day! Mean-
while the A.E.C., irate at not having been previously
consulted, were most obstructive, and but for the tactful
and firm intervention of the Board, would most probably
have left me planted with the Training Centre, but with
no men, for automatically they were responsible for
sending the trainees.

The Board were in a predicament. I had Lord
Goschen’s letter before he retired from the Board, agree-
ing to the scheme, and at the same time they were
anxious to avoid issuing a direct order to the County
Committee. Eventually things simmered down, but
the A.E.C. looked on me from first to last with
antagonism. As soon as they sent an inspector—who
inspected nothing, except in the most casual manner—
fault was found and I had to appeal to the Board, who
at once sent their inspector, who reported favourably !
It was the most absurd game, and one felt one was dealing
with thwarted children instead of a responsible body of
men.

Meanwhile, I put myself in communication with the
314 Memories and Base Details

 

Ministry of Labour. Ever since the inception of the
scheme, the making of poultry appliances had been one
of the subjects taught, as it was one from which I had
had the most satisfactory results. With the sub-division
of the training I was not permitted by the Board of
Agriculture to allow a man to specialize in this, even
if he possessed a heaven-born gift in that direction and
showed no taste whatever for the land, as carpentry came
under the jurisdiction of the M. of D. The allowances
came from the common pot !

Of the various Government departments with which
I have come into contact, I have found the Ministry
of Labour the most prompt, practical and considerate,
and the least hidebound. I had to draw up a scheme
for the Divisional Director, who obtained for it the
approval of the Ministry. My great hope had been
eventually to establish a business on co-operative lines,
so that the most badly wounded cases might automati-
cally pass from their training into employment, where
their disabilities would not handicap them in the same
way as in the open market. Before co-operation is
appreciated, or even its advantages understood, much
propaganda work will have to be done. The men are
suspicious of it, a bird in the hand, they consider, being
worth a great many possible ones in the bush.

I had practically agreed with the Ministry of Labour
either to employ, or provide employment for the men
after their training, and my first batch of men were all
satisfactorily placed—a firm in the North wired me during
the coal strike to send them four more. The com-
paratively easy task of placing men trained in the work-
shops, and the difficulty of finding any employment
for men trained on the land, made me concentrate en-
 

Memories and Base Details 315

 

tirely on the former. The weak spot in the Government
training scheme is the future of the men when their
training is over. There are hundreds of bootmakers who
have been trained and not placed—the same is the case
in other trades—but the Ministry of Labour were recog-
nizing this and as far as possible diverting the men from
blind alley occupations.

The overlapping of public and private endeavour
is one of the regrettable things that strikes one daily.
Individual jealousies might so well have been wielded
into universal harmony, and the men who fought and
won the war, but who lost the only thing that makes
life possible—their health—might have found sanctuary
and occupation to the everlasting benefit of the State.

The weekly Government allowance given to the men
while training is, to my mind, very generous, but one
feels it is money thrown away if the man is not to be
employed afterwards, and it is a pity that something
practical on the lines of the German scheme, of which
I recently saw a report, cannot be adopted here. The
Report was made by a man who has had considerable
experience amongst the disabled men, and their work-
shops, in this country. In Germany unemployment is
practically unknown and it is punishable for a disabled
man to beg in the streets. The German Government
have established training schemes and factories, and the
grants, which they give for this purpose, are allocated to
the mayors in the respective towns. Able and disabled
men work side by side, and the result of this system is
that the factories are self-supporting. Apart from this,
every employer of labour is compelled to employ one
disabled man to every five able-bodied ones in his ser-
vice. Every tradesman has to reserve some portion of
316 ; Memories and Base Details

 

his counter to display the goods which are turned out
in the factories by the disabled.

To have adopted a similar scheme in this country
would not have exceeded the amount of money which
has been expended on that most pernicious measure—
the Out of Work Dole. There is not a decent-minded
man who does not resent its existence, and who stoutly
avers that its institution has been the cause of half our
post-war troubles. The blame of its inception has
been laid, rightly or wrongly, on the shoulders of one of
our most dangerous Ministers. Whoever did invent it
is cursed from many a home to-day. It is the root of
our unemployment and the main reason why wages have
remained at so high a level. Common-sense will tell
you that if anyone can get a pound a week for not work-
ing, only a full-fledged idealist will labour for an addi-
tional ten shillings.

The existing scheme of training was evolved, with-
out sufficiently careful consideration, as a palliative
thrown to the men who were calling out for the redemp-
tion of some of the Government promises made in 1915.
Every man was to return to his occupation, or his busi-
ness, which in some manner was to be guarded for him,
and with the passing of the Military Service Acts and
the enrolling of practically every able-bodied man in the
Crown forces, fresh promises, of an even more alluring
nature, were held out. The men, to do them justice, had
not made any stipulations for their future welfare, but
the gaudy prospects that were dangled before their
eyes, naturally made them inclined either to force the
Government to redeem their obligations, or thoroughly ;
to mistrust a Government which had broken them.

* * * * * *
Memories and Base Details 8317

 

What a queer thing loyaltyis! The Coalition, which,
like the poor, is apparently to be always with us, has
made an even more complex problem of the word.
Politicians have apparently decided that loyalty to
their chief is preferable to loyalty to their convictions.

“ Kill that fly,” a familiar catchword not so very
long ago, was hardly more absurd than the “ Kill the
Kaiser’ cry at the last election.

To insist on this point was the stupidest thing Lloyd
George ever did. He had the entire confidence of the
country without it. The general relief at the war being
over was the main feeling at that time. L. G. and Clemen-
ceau had deservedly, or undeservedly, received the full
credit of winning it, and were consequently secure in
their respective positions, without having recourse
to any election cries. The Kaiser’s annihilation made
good paragraphs for the Yellow Press, but really the
public were not thirsting for his head on a salver to the
extent that might have been imagined. On the other
hand, because the head is still on Wilhelm’s shoulders,
the non-fulfilment of that promise is constantly raked up
by his opponents as proof positive of the Prime Minister
possessing an elastic memory.

If I were a Prime Minister I should promise nothing,
but I should spend my time in devising means to reduce
this strangling taxation and unemployment, and if I suc-
ceeded even a little in that direction my tenure of office
would be secure. I should reduce Government staffs
to a practical minimum, and I should order other people
about—not be twisted round other people’s fingers.
I think I should know that Kharkow was not a general,
even though I could not put my finger exactly on its
situation on the map. I should bind our colonies to us
318 Memories and Base Details

 

with bars of steel; I should make the firmest alliance
possible with France ; I should fight alien labour to the
death ; I should squash the Jewish invasion by every
means in my power, even if it meant having fewer new
frocks.

But then I never shall be Prime Minister. . . .

*

* * * * * *

I found it difficult to remember incidents accurately
that occurred when I was a child, but the important
events since the war are even harder to sort and tran-
scribe. The last two years seem to represent at first
a period of reckless spending, followed by groaning
retrenchments. People are looking for shillings where
they scattered pounds; weak whiskies-and-sodas are
replacing magnums of champagne, and soon the whisky
will be entirely omitted. We have passed through the
coal strike period, a barren victory. We are now dealing
with the ever-present Irish problem. Voices are raised
loudly for and against the Government, but they soon
sink to whispers, and one realizes the real apathy
that exists among the majority. They are drifting
anywhere the tide carries them, stirring themselves
only to very temporary anger, as they are called upon
at regular intervals to pay their income tax and rates !

Unemployment increases and wild schemes, Utopian
in their conception, are breaking the monotony of the
daily cry of want. The days of war were better than
the days of peace. Yet war was to purify and cleanse,
to lighten the world and deliver mankind from bondage
to freedom !

* * * * * *
Memories and Base Details 319

 

Le Touquet—Summer, 1921. Three weeks here,
and I am already regretting the misguided sentiment
which has kept me away from France so long. One
sometimes dreads to revisit places; one is sometimes
frightened of recommencing friendships, lest one is dis-
appointed in the result of either. But the love of France
had me too firmly in its grip, apparently, and I am not
disillusioned.

There is a desolate and decadent atmosphere along
the line from Boulogne to Etaples; the débris of the
camp is still lying about. At one portion quite a number
of the huts are still intact, and have been turned into a
holiday home for hundreds of small children, who are
revelling among the pine woods. Further along, with
the sun’s rays full upon it, I can see the cemetery where
thousands of our men lie peacefully sleeping in that oasis
by the river surrounded by fields of corn.

In the town of Etaples itself the havoc made by the
German airmen is being steadily repaired, but except
for these signs of destruction the little place is once
again pre-war. When I last saw it, the streets were
blocked with military traffic, regulated by a military
policeman. To-day the only vehicles are market carts
and hotel omnibuses. At Paris Plage there is still less
sign of war, and the place is crowded. I feel a little like
Rip Van Winkle as I watch the crowds on the tennis
courts and the golf links, and tbe years that have
intervened since I was here last seem a hundred
instead of three! Most of the villas have changed
hands, and amongst the new tenants I found Major
Langton and Gertie Millar, who has lost little of her
charm,
320 Memories and Base Details

 

My old villa has been bought by some delightful
French people, the de Monti de Reze’s. I found him
an anti-Jew of the most rabid order. It appears that
in France a strong feeling of antipathy is steadily in-
creasing towards the chosen race, and resentment is
ripening at the firm grip of Jewry on national affairs.
The French nation are gradually realizing that the
Jewish pest is a microbe that is multiplying in strength
more rapidly than any known bacilli; but there is a
grave fear that the significance of their power will only
be realized when the disease has spread too far to be
curable. Perhaps the Morning Post needs to exaggerate
to bring this feeling home to Englishmen! It is all
very well to pick brains which in many cases are, unfortu-
nately, obviously superior to those of other nationalities ;
but it is a dangerous experiment to allow Semitic
individuals to burrow indiscriminately, until they emerge
triumphantly into every important post which should
be a Christian heritage.

* * * * * *

Our relations with France cannot be described at
the moment of writing as happy. A summer spent
among French neighbours has changed many of my
erroneous impressions, and one is regretfully called
upon to sympathize where patriotically one yearns to
condemn.

I have been sometimes chaffed over my pro-Frenc
tendencies, and an instance of Gallic graspingness has
invariably been quoted, namely, that we were called upon
to pay rent for the trenches that we fought in. Put
baldly, like that, it certainly sounds bad, and in a moment
uf patriotic defence I have raised this fact as an argu-
Memories and Base Details 821

 

ment in our favour—only to be silenced for ever. The
rent so glibly talked about was compensation due to the
owner of the land, and if we paid the compensation on
one part of the line the French paid on the other. And
what about the price France was called upon to pay
for coal when she was not in a position to refuse to
take it ?

If only a great financier would find some means of
adjusting our war debts! Private financial loans generally
mean an end to existing friendship ; international in-
debtedness is bound to be a stumbling block to mutual
understanding.

Lloyd George has fallen from his pedestal in France ;
he may only be bruised, but if he is to be reinstated on
the pinnacle of French esteem and affection, he must
definitely prove that he is France’s friend, and is not
merely keeping up a society acquaintance with her.

* * * * * *

I am ending these “ jotments ” at Le Touquet, where
I have spent the happiest and the most miserable hours
of my life. The world goes on—the cocottes, the Jews,
the bourgeoisie, the noblesse, are mingling once more
in the baccarat rooms. They have a bond in common—
their dead. The croupier announces the coup—the bank
loses or wins—Mlle. Cagnotte alone wins at the finish.

The game is played where the dead have lain, where
the wounded have suffered. As I stake my five louis
I turn to look superstitiously over my shoulder, to glance
at the heavy curtains, expecting to hear a voice cry out :
“Was it worth while?” and I am ready with my

answer: ‘‘ What is worth while ? ”’
Br
PRINTED AT
THE CHAPEL RIVER PRESS,

Kinston, SURREY.