Feb 1^st 1944

A cold continuous rain today – a spare hour or two – no further possible excuse for putting off this task to which my children urge me. For their sakes then I take up my pen and start off. They want from me a record of family doings in general & my own life in particular. I think they should have it. There is a great gap between the lives we led in the last century v quarter of this v life as it will be for them. They want to know the family traditions so that they may understand us of the past and carry on what is worth preserving of those traditions in the future.

Where then to begin? “Hans Man” of Rochester 1080 AD? “William Christopher Man” of Cant. 1680 AD Best to begin with one’s own life story and let the rest come in as one writes.

 My earliest recollection is the horrid taste of the top of a brass bedstead, which I was tempted by its glitter. I was apparently sucking! I was very sick. My next was being stripped by my mother who was putting stuff on my “spots”. I was standing naked on her bed & two elder sisters were in their beds watching & I resented their presence. The same feeling of shame (false modesty according to the brains trust) arose in me a few years later when I was expected to bathe naked from a machine at Herne Bay whilst others had dresses and drawers on. I was considered so small that it did not matter – perhaps not to my elders but it certainly mattered to me! Then I recollect going with my two brothers dressed in white sailor’s suits as a HMS Capt. to the baptism of a sister at Croydon church. There were tarred railings round the church & the hot sun had melted the tar in places into tempting soft black globules. We happily picked these off with our fingers and when called by nurse Julia (she was red headed, quick tempered, a trifle odious when she brushed our hair & she loved a policeman and sang about him to us) to assist at the ceremony we wiped our fingers on our white jumpers and knickers. When I entered the church for months after I had a guilty feeling when on Sundays we put on those same sailor clothes & noted the marks where the stains had not quite been eradicated. By the way at this ceremony Father called his girl child “HE” on every possible occasion.

In my early days we lived in Royal Crescent, London, where our father had taken a house during one of the intervals of his furloughs from Burma, where most of us (nine in all) were born. He was a Barrister, had rooms in Temple Court but most of his time was spent at the Bar in Rangoon, Burma where he became Judge Advocate General and had a large practice. He was sent on a Govt. mission to Mandalay to induce King Theebaw to treat his subjects better and to release the Missionary Judson. The mission failed but father enjoyed the experience and returned with two large (Burmese) gold cups given to him by the King (Theebaw) – unfortunately my eldest brother sold them many years later (I can see them as I write). An unpleasant occurred in Mandalay, my father took my mother with him and their first child. A Burmese Royal Guard tries to kiss the Ayah and my father happened to see and knocked the man down! This became an “Incident” since to strike a blow in the Royal Precincts was a penalty punishable by death! But King Theebaw, cruel villain though he was apparently saw the humour in the affair and passed it over and as the gold cups showed, bore no malice. I know now how father must have enjoyed the whole thing - he was a very humorous and courageous man, if impetuous and hot tempered.

 To return to Royal Crescent and my early childhood, looking back I realise what a wonderful woman Mother was, journeying round the cape backwards and forwards to Rangoon with us children – an ever increasing number – setting up house here and now there. At Royal Crescent she had brought home with her our Klitmutgar or native Butler – he was sometime with us and I well remember his white turban and dress. When any of us children was specially naughty he was sent for and would carry us down to the basement in his arms and son soothe us. It was no punishment, as we all liked him. When at last he got homesick and was sent back to Burma he took with him some snow in a bottle to show his wife! He must have been very sad when he arrived at Liverpool to join the ship and looked at the bottle!

Then we moved to Croydon. How those Croydon days are impressed on my memory! Long tiring walks on pavements myself trotting by the pram pushed at great pace by Julia who hoped to meet her policeman, my two brothers (I was the youngest boy) running on ahead. On one occasion one of the boys gave Julia a push and they all fell on the top of me – the pram remained standing.  Then when my two elder sisters were at the High School (where also was Lilian Braithwait) my two brothers attended a kindergarten and I used to meet them with a hop and a skip. On one occasion a dog appeared and chased a small girl towards me, screaming with fear - I too was terrified, but seizing the skid in my right hand – praying to my God I threw it at the dog and hit him square on the nose! He retired honking. A boy then came up and seizing my cap off my head threw it over the fence of a garden, whereupon the little girl opened the gate and retrieved it for me and I made a long nose at the boy. The great incident of our Croydon life was the Election when W. Grantham opposed in the Conservative interest Jabez Balfour (of Liberator fame). The constituency was a Liberal seat and the election hotly contested. My father who called himself a Tory Democrat threw himself into the fray on Grantham’s side. My father was an eloquent and popular speaker and entirely fearless. In those days Jabez Balfour was at the height of his popularity – people used to visit his house and admire even the chair he sat on. My father had grave, well-founded suspicions about him, and spoke his mind on the matter in his speeches, but being a lawyer he just evaded the law of libel. I recollect some remark he made about the “Two Theories on Calvary" with an obvious application. The excitement was terrific and the night when the result was declared (a victory for Grantham) we children were, as a treat, allowed to be present at the Town Hall to hear the poll declared. I shall never forget the scene that night – the raging crowds. Our house was put under police protection as some of the Liberal mob considered my father mainly responsible for their defeat. We boys knew this and went to bed armed to the teeth (we slept three in a room) with sticks and toy pistols. The only incident that occurred that night was the temporary arrest of a great friend of fathers who came to congratulate him in a state of some inebriation. There was a kind of justice in J.B’s defeat because many years later my wife told me that her father, who was a staunch Liberal and a Quaker, was one of the victims of the Liberator frauds and lost a lot of money by them. We were always great churchgoers – mother had a great admiration for John Keble and his portrait hung over the bed, father was one of the old type of Calvinist Churchmen and a keen Protestant – we had a lot of fun round the family table about his views on the Pope. We were allowed to speak our minds and father always enjoyed a joke.

Once he was in bed with a chill and my brother Harry, the family wag, organised a popish procession to his room and around it. We children put on nightgowns and carried pokers and I am ashamed to say a hastily made up cross (we meant no harm) and waved imaginary Censers. The joke was thoroughly enjoyed by him and helped his recovery. But his religion was sincere – always with a touch of humour – when he grew old when one passed their bedroom door (often open) we could often see him in his red dressing gown and nightcap on his head kneeling on a stool saying his prayers. Harry asked him “Why the stool”? He replied, “To keep my legs out of the draught you fool!" Family prayers were always held after breakfast with all the children and the servants. And we always went to church – I personally was not very comfortable on Sundays because being the youngest I inherited (when wearing their suits) the collars, which were too small for my brothers as they grew and the ends were frayed and cut my neck. A truly Victorian family? Yes indeed but not such as is described by an eminent Dean as his. We were a travelled Victorian family and our minds widened by contact and knowledge with the Empire (for some time when we all had grown up – I was the only one of the nine in England – the others were in Canada, Spain, Burma and Africa. Mother wrote weekly to each one. The said Dean is family and many others like his belonged to the stay at home English. “What do they know of England who only England know”. The knowledge of what the British Ensign meant all our lives saved us from narrow ideas and ideals.

I well remember an old Aunt of mine married to one of my Fathers much travelled brothers being attacked as follows by a friend. “Travellers Tales, my dear, travellers tales she replied with heightened colour and flashing eye “There is such a thing Mrs Brown, as untravelled ignorance”

 A knowledge of the Empire Text for which it states is a cure for Scarlet or Russian fever – good as a mild attack may be for the untravelled who can get their experience in no other way.

The Mans were certainly a much-travelled family, Kentish to the core, they mostly returned to Kent – and I hope my Sons and Nephews when they return from the wars will do the same. At the moment I can count eight Mans who are serving the King by sea and land.

 My grandfather, Harry Stoe Man, when he left the navy retired to Halstead Hall, Knockholt near Sevenoaks and had a large family. He married Caroline Fowle, of Cobtree Manor, Maidstone (her tomb is in Boxley Churchyard.) and the grandfather clock I now have dating from 1740 stood in her father’s house for many a year. There is a tradition that her father, who was a wealthy and sporting yeoman of Kent was said to be the original Mr Wardle of Dickens’s “Pickwick Papers” in Cobtree Hall the original Dingley Dell. If so the clock immortalised as follows: -

 INSERT PHOTO OF ANDREW’S CLOCK

 They must have been an interesting family at Halstead Hall nr Sevenoaks where my grandfather Harry Stoe Man lived when he retired from the Navy. His father was the Henry Man (1747 – 1799) mentioned by Charles Lamb in his book “Essays of Elia”  “Can I forget thee Henry Man, the wit the polished man of letters, the author of the Southsea House? Who hear enterest thy office in a morning or quittest it in Midday (what did’st thou in of an office) without some quirks that left a sting. Thy jibes and thy jokes are now extinct or survive in but two forgotten volumes who I had the good fortune to rescue from a still in the Barbican not three days ago” found thee terse, frise, epiframatic as alive …… (Essay South Sea House)

 Henry Man was an Essayist, humorist of some note in his circle. He married Eleanor Thompson in 1776 who was a lady of some social ambitions. We have a sampler worked by her in 1756, which is worth quoting: “O ‘tis a lovely thing for youth to walk between in Wisdom’s way, to fear a lye, to speak the truth that we may trust to all they say. But Lyars we can never trust though they should speak the thing that is true, and he that does one fault at first and Lyes to hide it makes two. Have we not known nor heard nor read how god abhors deceit and wrong. How Ananias was struck dead catched with a Lye upon his tongue. So did his wife Sapphira die when she came in and grew so bold as to confirm that wicked Lye that just before her husband told. The Lord delights in them that speak the words of truth but every Lyer must have his partner in the Lake that burns with Brimstone or with Fire. Then let me always watch my lips lest I be struck to death and hell since God a Bark of reckoning keeps for every Lye that children tell. 123.456.789.10 11 12 13.

 April 13^th Eleanor Thompson 1756.

Their son Harry Stoe Man, my grandfather mentioned above, is thus commemorated on the family tablet in Halstead church: -

Harry Stoe and Mary Fowle settled at Halstead Hall, Knockholt with their cousin Col Garnet Man (52^nd regiment served in Madras, professor of fortifications Hampshire regiment) at Sandhurst his wife and also Anne Man. She, Aunt Anne was very plain (she had a goitre) but was very witty and helped to keep the varied household together. She always said that her epitaph should be “Here lies Anne Man who lived an old maid and died an old Man.” With them also lived Catherine Man, called Aunt Peter, wife of Harry Stoe Man’s elder brother. She was a widow with one son. Hers had been an interesting life. The daughter of Capt. Walch of the 80^th regiment she married in 1808 in India t. Bruels Man of the 54^th regiment and had two children. She made many voyages between England and India and was, on one occasion shipwrecked. Her letters describing this experience are extensive. She joined the household at Halstead in 1853 and died in 1873 aged 82. She was a clever woman of marked personality. With those elders about then the children of Harry Stoe Man grew up – Eleanor, Emma William Lionel (Uncle Bill) Harry, Morrice, Septimus and George Octavious – a large community in the Hall at the little village of Halstead. There is no doubt they were a quick-witted rigorous lot of children and a “handful” to manage. Their father was a strict disciplinarian of somewhat hasty temperament, their mother placid and sedate. Though they lived in a small village, the children must have been from childhood, accustomed to hearing their elders tell tales of the big world – of the sea (their father & Aunt Peter) of India and the Cape and Soldier experiences of Uncle Col. Garnet Man. Only their mother and Aunt Anne had not travelled but the latter was an exceptionally clever woman and both were Kentish to the core. The mother was accustomed to the sporting life of the Fowle family at Cobtree where her father kept a pack of beagles – bred at such a rate that he kept his children very badly off. Thus, unlike other Victorian families of the day (e.g. Dean Hewlett Johnson’s experiences) they had all the Victorian religious background (with little or no sex instruction) tempered by the knowledge of the great world and the status of the Englishman therein and the prestige of the far-flung British Empire. They were brought up in the strict old-fashioned Calvinistic Churchmanship of the day but the boys were high spirited and full of adventure. Many are the tales my father and Uncle Bill used to tell of their pranks in the village and often the “Old Man” had to Discipline them. One evening they crept through the village tying up the “Bobbins” of the cottage doors and then ran down the street calling “Fire” watching with mischievous delight the frantic efforts of the villagers trying to open their doors. With other boys, they frequented an old quarry, which they made their headquarters, and on one occasion one of their comrades got so deep into the quarry that they get him out and he was left there all night. They (and their elders) were superstitious – it was believed that ghost haunted the house. In fear and trembling, they used to run about the churchyard and once they dared one another to run around it after dark. One of the younger boys accepted the challenge and started off. In the gloom, the others awaited his return, presently the air rang with his terrified shouts and close together the in fear the others went to his assistance. He was discovered at the bottom of a newly dug grave into which he had fallen. The ringleader in all these pranks was Uncle Bill, the eldest, abetted by Edward Garnet, my father. To church they were all marched on Sundays and listened to the old dreary Victorian services Morning Prayer, Litany, Ante-Communion in long Calvinistic Services. They all (except Uncle Bill) grew up at heart deeply religious, though certainly not outwardly so – with a little firm belief in the existence and malignant power of the Devil. In fact a good deal of their religion might be described as Devil dodging  - though token fears were always expressed in a humorous fashion and never interfered with their “Joie de Vivre”. There was also a mysterious girl called Sophie in the village whose “goings on” were met with stern disapproval by the Aunts. When William was about 16 or so and started work in London he administered a shock to the whole family by running away and going on the stage. This was a terrible thing to do in those days and though he acted with Edmund, his adoption of that profession was viewed with horror which turned much later to absolute dismay when he married an actress, Rosa Cooper, a woman of much talent and good character. But she was a Roman Catholic! I could fill many pages with accounts of our Uncle Bill, for he became a great influence on our lives years later on when he returned from touring Australia and India where with Rosa he ran a company of play actors in Shakespeare, Sheridan etc. His wife and two children died tragically – Aunt Rosa from Cholera suddenly in India, the boy Horace from a blow of a cricket ball at school at home. He married, when he returned a second time – a Mary Starnes, a Kentish woman and settled in Maidstone and later in Hythe. In both places he left a name for eccentricity. He had a long black beard and dark piercing eyes and clad in Velveteen coat, Glengarry Cap, white waistcoat and check trousers he used to drive his Australian mare Kitty full gallop down Maidstone High Street down the steep hill and over the Medway Bridge in his Phaeton often with one us, his nephews clinging on behind in the seat back to back with him!  It was great fun! Then, I could not have been much more than five or six and often with or without one of my older brothers used to stay with him. He lived at the old house, now pulled down, the post office is now built on the site with stables in a large garden with concrete roller skating rink. We used to sit on the back wall and watch the troops from the garrison march to Holy Trinity Church which was just opposite and sometimes go ourselves and listen to the vicar, Mr Moore, preach. We were friends with the Moore family and they used to come to tea. Uncle Bill had a skull with a jaw with a spring to it. This skull he used when acting Hamlet  - it was a thing of joy and terror to us. By inserting the little finger in the spring he could make the five teeth of the skull (a Negro’s) snap. I remember once when the Moore’s came to tea we beguiled them down a long dark passage  - one of my brothers leapt out on them snapping the skull and screams of terror (for which we suffered afterwards). Years, years later I met one of the Moore’s, Beatrice Ella de Jersey (I recollect her name) and reminded her of the shameful incident. She did not remember it!

Uncle Bill had Dr Sarkey’s carriage, a smart Brougham in his stable. One day the painters had been painting the stable and left a pot of red paint. Being Sunday we boys were at a loose end and my two elders, Harry and Hubert had the brilliant idea of painting the carriage, which they proceeded to do. Fortunately when they went in to tea, some of the stains of paint on their clothes gave them away before much damage was done. Uncle Bill sent for them in his study in a fury but the boys defence got the better of his wrath when they naively, “But Uncle Bill we thought it was your carriage and we were helping you”! He was never angry with us for long and was a very indulgent Uncle. We formed an audience whilst he recited long passages of Shakespeare to us. He liked me, being the youngest and spoiled me a bit. He taught me the “Charge of the Light Brigade” and often he would take me, when he lived at Hythe to “The White Hart” and stand me on the bar (by permission – with the encouragement of Miss Cobay, who was her fathers Barmaid, the Cobay’s owned the White Hart for years) and make me recite to the assembled company. He taught me to use my voice in public but I did not like it. He was too frequently at the Inns. Years later when vicar of St Peter’s Maidstone I called at the White Hart and reminded the Cobay’s of my early efforts in their bar. Endless are the tales I could tell of Uncle Bill – one must suffice – a curious coincidence. In his early days he took his company through Australia and New Zealand acting Shakespeare, by rail but mostly by old-fashioned coach from town to town acting for a week or a fortnight in each place, sometimes in theatres, sometimes in Town Halls, sometimes in bars. These were rough times in Australia – there were bushrangers who held up the coaches - the Kelly gang and a highwayman called Silvar. These men had accomplices everywhere. Once travelling a long way, a stern looking stranger got on the coach where Uncle Bill, Rosa and the company were travelling. At the stopping places Uncle Bill, always ready for a drink and a chat, got quite friendly with the stranger. At one Inn the man told him that he was Silvar and had arranged to hold up the coach, at the same time, opening his coat and displaying a long sinister “gun”. Uncle Bill was alarmed but Silvar said,” I know you will not give me away – I will see you safely through to ----- and there you will have a bumper show. Sure enough when the show opened at ----- they played to full enthusiastic houses and Silvar was a prominent figure in the stalls! Now for the coincidence mentioned above. From Australia they went to New Zealand and played Hamlet (Uncle Bill) with Aunt Rosa as “Ophelia” at Hokitika a growing town in the South Island, a flourishing community with Mayor & Corporation. The weeks spent there were a great success and they played to full houses. When the time came to move, the inhabitants arranged a gathering at the Town Hall to which the whole company were invited, complimentary speeches were made and finally the Mayor presented Uncle Bill with a gold watch duly inscribed within as a gift from the people of Hokitika. That watch Uncle Bill always wore. Years later when he had retired to a house he and his wife purchased on the front at Hythe (Beaconsfield Terrace), a house in the same terrace became vacant and was taken by some newcomers. It was Uncle Bill’s custom to pace up and down the sea front opposite his house contemplating the sea and reciting Shakespeare to himself, clad in his velveteen coat, bell bottomed trousers and Glengarry cap with his black beard (now dyed) flowing in the breeze. His new neighbour came out to take the air and they soon began to chat. The neighbour said he came from New Zealand and from a town called Hokitika. Uncle Bill said he had been there told the tale and drew out his beloved Gold watch. The neighbour turned out to be the very Mayor of Hokitika who had presented it to him and whose name was in the watch! Incredible as this may seem it is the fact. His was a queer menage – we boys, Harry, Hubert and I often visited there- as we grew up we used to bicycle or walk through Kent from our house at Walton on Thames – staying at Sevenoaks, Maidstone & Ashford for the nights on the way.

 He and his wife were always glad to see us. It was a jolly if bizarre experience to stay with him. Food was abundant - pasties cooked by Mary and Elder wine brewed by her (we used to collect Sloes on the marsh for her Sloe Gin) but the hours of meals were very erratic - breakfast sometimes as late as 11am and we used to get pasties etc from the maids to satisfy our hunger ‘till breakfast was ready. Bedtime was very late and the evening and nights were spent listening to many tales of adventure. The days were blissful bathing, walking etc. Aunt Mary was very deaf and proud of being the wife of an actor but she thought she too could recite. It was a terrible (if humorous) experience to hear her recite “The Curfew shall not ring tonight” Uncle Bill bore it with great good humour and used to look slyly at us as she ranted on. Once I am ashamed to say he whispered to us “Hark at my old War-horse” – as I have said she was very deaf  - a dear kind old lady to whom we owed very much and who, “was very good to us” – but she was no actress.

 At the top of the house was a room – fascinating to us boys as it contained a veritable armoury of weapons – the guns all loaded! Amongst them a case of ancient duelling pistols. One day Hubert, who was then at Rugby and working in the Army Class for Sandhurst, asked permission to fire these pistols from the beach out to sea. After some demur permission was given so Hubert and I adjourned to the beach with a long ancient duelling pistol each. We had some discussion, not being sure of our weapons, which should fire first – he said I should being the youngest. I pointed out that as a military man he should do so. So he dug himself in to the beach stones, knelt down and pulled the trigger – there was a loud explosion, the pistol kicked up and tore Hubert’s forefinger making it bleed. I began with assured nonchalance to walk homeward. Hubert would have none of that so I too knelt down shut my eyes, pulled the trigger, the hammer snapped down without any result – to my great relief. I refused to try again so we returned to Uncle Bill. He looked down the long muzzle of the pistol and found it had been loaded over and over again and with a narrow file extracted much powder and shot. Had that Hammer gone right when I pulled the trigger I should not be here (at any rate) not all of me today.

 As I have said Aunt Mary was very deaf. Once Hubert was carrying one of the rifles under his arm upstairs when by mistake he pulled the trigger – there was a loud report and the bullet bedded in the stairs. Harry and I were with Aunt Mary in another room with the door closed – she looked up and said, “What was that”? Harry with great presence of mind recovering from the shock said something about a door slamming! And she seemed quite satisfied, later he explained the smell of sulphur by delicately hinting that the cat was responsible! We hated that cat, it was consumptive and spoiled and every time I sit to my dining table (inherited from them) I can see today the marks of its claws where it used to scratch at meals to call attention to itself.

Looking back I can see what a queer life it was and how anxious mother must have been at our visiting there but in the early days she and father were often in Burma and when he retired he would not interfere with visits we so much enjoyed. But dear Uncle Bill was not a good example for one like myself who later was “Called” to take Holy Orders. From what I have written it will be obvious that he was by no means a social success either at Maidstone or Hythe  - being too fond of the company at the Inns and quite intolerant of the parochial attitude and respectability of the average stay at home Englishman (whom he despised). Yet let me put on record here that there were some clergymen who were welcome at his eccentric house and as I have found throughout my life the clergy are far beyond the laity in breadth of outlook and understanding of such folk as Uncle Bill. There is after all a good deal to be said for his point of view. I remember how the conduct of the service in church, on the rare occasions he attended, grated on him. He would afterwards imitate to us the giving out of the Hymns thus: HYMN (stentorian voice) 22 (a voice so small to be inaudible) : also the elocution in the pulpit and finally (here again he would send us in to fits of laughter by his imitation) the way the clergy walked in procession. Naturally to an old actor, the voice, the walk were what he noticed. But many were the scraps he had with me about the Creeds, which he wilfully misquoted. He had all the ignorant arrogance on things religious which characterised so many Victorian men of his day. But one always knew he did not mean half he said and there was only one Uncle Bill.

This may be the right place to write of the other Uncles two of them Harry and Morrice that we boys never saw. They also had interesting travelled lives. Harry was born at Halstead in 1822. He became a Major in the Turkish Contingent and fought for the Turks (at Plevna?) during the Crimean War - I still have a thin Silver Russian Cross picked up on the field of battle from some dead soldier - and later joined the Persian Telegraphs. I have in my possession a copy of an interesting letter written to his brother Morrice (they were much attached to each other) from Teheran. It is dated October 14^th 1863 describing his journey from London to Teheran via Calais, Brussels, Cologne, Berlin, Konigsberg, St Petersberg, The Volga, Astrakan, The Caspian, Enzelli and Rescht to Teheran. They travelled (three of them) with a Persian servant (who deserted at Cologne to rejoin his former master Capt. Champain) by rail to Berlin where they had to stop a week owing to the Polish rebellion. Before entering Russia. Ten days were spent at Petrograd thence by Volga steamer to Peva Bazaar, thence post chaise and later on horseback to Rescht, then 200 miles on horseback to Teheran in under four days, changing the horses every 25 miles. Lots of tigers pheasants, partridges - two days over an immense chain of mountains, their vallies (sic), crossing rivers, getting wet all over – scenes very grand: At last - 53 days journey from London we sight the chief town of Persia, Teheran – not half a bad place?  Both Harry and Morrice, judging from photographs were very handsome men (as indeed were William and Garnet). Harry married Harriet Fowle and when he died in 1864 and his wife died also. The two children, Harriet and Ella were taken by his eldest sister Eleanor, Mrs Morgan Thomas, until they both married.

Morrice King Man – by the way I gather that the name Morrice was adopted in the family from a Mr Morrice (surname) a solicitor of East Malling, Kent, or a Naval Office friend of the family who became his Godfather. Uncle Morrice then was born at Halstead in 1823 (my Grandmother had eleven children). He too served with his brother Harry in the Turkish contingent as a Captain and later took up a post in the Indian telegraphs. In 1861 he married Jane Walch, daughter of J.W.H. Walch elder brother of “Aunt Peter” mentioned above, a Tasmanian family and had two daughters who married and have descendants living in England. He died in 1865.

Septimus Man, “Uncle Sep” was the “cleverest” of the family with alas! too sensitive a brain. He joined the Indian Civil Service and sunstroke and an unhappy love affair finally unsettled his mind. His brother, my father Edward Garnet Man being in India at the time, took what charge of him he could, and got him to England. Unfortunately Uncle Sep was not bad enough to be certified and he wandered about, occasionally visiting his relatives. When he first returned, Halstead Hall was temporarily vacant – all the old folk had passed away – and he with his turbaned Indian servant took up his eccentric life there for a while. The village folk, who believed in the “Ghost” at the Hall were at first terrified when at night they saw the gaunt figure of Uncle Sep pass the blindless windows with his brown servant carrying candles to his bedroom. He certainly was a trial to my father who used to try and induce him to lead a normal life. To us children on his periodic casual visits to our home (then at Walton on Thames) he was interesting, as he was fond of us. He liked us to visit him in the basement where he insisted on living, and listen to his queer talk and his still more queer attempts to play “Juanita” over and over again on his guitar. There must have been some attractive if tragic memories for him in that endless re-iteration of that tune. Looking back I realise how good father, still more mother, was to be so patient with him, for father, unlike uncle Bill, had a strong social instinct and gift. Uncle Sep was not exactly a social success in a house where five daughters and four sons gathered their friends around them. Fortunately Sep was very shy and did not appear when strangers (to him) were about. Lastly there was George Octavious, “Uncle George” – the smallest – most conventional of the brothers – very religious, usually dressed in black (he liked black gloves) shocked by Edward (Ned) and still more by William (Bill). He too went to India and was a lawyer there and returned home with wife and family. I am afraid we used to laugh at him rather – his contacts with father were often so amusing e.g. Sunday afternoons at home. Uncle George, “Ned, I had an accident this morning.” Father, “Well what was it?” George lugubriously, “I fell down the steps outside after church this morning.” Father, “Drunk dear boy?” Uncle George, “but me Holy Living – Holy Dying” he revelled in contemplating death. He was very superstitious. When U. Bill died he was cremated (I took the service, being a young curate then) the ashes were entrusted to U.G. and me to take to Halstead and deposit in the family vault. This meant our staying a night in lodgings in Halstead. After depositing the Ashes, we returned to our lodgings and being a quiet summer evening I suggested a walk. So we proceeded down the valley wearing our top hats and frock coats. It was getting dark as we returned and suddenly U.G. began to trot homewards and I asked why the hurry? He seized my arm and pointed to a copse of trees on the hillside above us and said, “A woman was murdered there when I was a boy” and insisted on trotting ‘til we were well past the spot.

Father’s outlook on life was always a trial to the melancholy George. And indeed he had reason to be surprised at “Ned” for my father had led a very adventurous life, full of incident and excitement. We never tired of his tales but always we suspected they were well “embroidered” and the whole family used to roar with laughter when, after some very tall tale he would appeal, with a literally naughty twinkle in his eye, to mother for confirmation. We would wait breathlessly and mother to who “Yea was Yea and Nay was Nay” would pause, and very often reply, “That may have been before we were married, Edward.” That was her invariable formula by which she combined loyalty to him with the truth. We used to enjoy his expostulations. They were a remarkable couple – totally opposites in everything and quite devoted. She was the youngest daughter of James Matthews 1839 – 1897 senior partner of Grindley & Co the bankers in Parliament Street. They were a typical well to do Victorian family. His house, 21 Manchester Square just opposite Lord Hertford’s, now the Wallace Collection was a social centre of some interest and mark. He was immensely hospitable and liked good music, the theatre and clever people. Around him he gathered interesting people – Shirley Brooks (Editor of Punch) was a regular visitor and often wrote verses for the great Christmas dinner gatherings. Marie Tempest, C. Hoey and Ellen Terry being very young all acted in private theatres there. Mark Lemon, Sir Augustus Harris and many others belonged to a circle of people who gathered around my grandfather at Manchester Square. To us children it was a name to conjure with. He loved children and every Xmas filled his house with nephews and nieces and grandchildren. How my dear Aunt Torie (Victoria) who was his housekeeper when Grandma Matthews died ever got us all in and our elders I cannot understand. It was a big corner house (and is) and every nook and cranny was filled with relatives and children. We always had a children’s play each year, for which we were coached long before (I remember Beauty & The Beast especially). And there was a visit to the Drury Lane Pantomime. My grandfather had worked his way up from junior clerk to Senior Partner in Grindley’s and after his marriage lived in Wimpole Street. He brought up his family there until he went to No 21. My father began life as a Clerk in Grindley’s (I cannot imagine him a Clerk and Charles Lamb’s words to his Grandfather apply tenfold to him, “What didst thou in an office – thy gibes thy jokes…). He soon fell in love with the Partners’ youngest daughter, Catherine Jane. Visits were exchanged between the ladies of Halstead and Wimpole Street. My father was sent in to India where he joined the Uncoremartex Service and then (eventually) the Bar. It was shortly after the mutiny and he had the task of riding about tracking down mutineer Sepoys accompanied by a company of Sikh Police. A grim experience because they had warrants to hang convicted culprits and he had a tale of a curious groove in his soap one morning and found that it had been used to grease the rope when it had got damp when last used on the gallows.

He carried to his death an injury to the back of his hand caused by the blow of a “lathi” the tale was that when searching one village for mutineers he got ahead of his police and was attacked by the villagers by their “lathies”. He always said his life was saved because so many hit at him at the same time that their staves crossed. His Sikh police arrive just in time. It must have been a brave thing for quiet devout Catherine Jane Matthews to go out as she did to Calcutta to marry Edward Garnet Man in Calcutta Cathedral on arrival. He was a kind, impetuous, fiery adventurous man brought up in a boisterous family of brothers and sisters. She was placid, truly religious (in a healthy way) brought up in settled and cultured Victorian fashion. Let me say it at once and leave it – mother was a “saint” of the really religious type – not only her children and sons and daughters in law say it, but it was the general assent of all who knew her.

After her death in Sandgate, the place where they then lived, and where she was well known, they drew down blinds – houses and shops to show respect for her. They had nine children and she had us all in her heart and in her silent way she bound us all to her and her god. She must have had some trying moments! There was the occasion when in Burma he (EGM) was to fight a duel and in his superstitious way the night before he opened his bible at random and put his finger at random on a text. To his horror he found it was “the days of man are but as grass for he flourisheth as a flower of the field and the place thereof shall know it no more” (Psalm 103. V 15.) He always said he made up his mind to stand sideways to his opponent – as was remarkably thin he hoped to escape his shot. Mercifully the duel did not come off and the police got on the spot before the principals who were warned in time. Those were wild days in Burma and men behaved in a wild way, but they did believe in their mission as Englishmen to “rule” for the good of the native and consequently were respected and obeyed.

Father had a large practice at the Rangoon Bar and many varied experiences. There was the wife of an Englishman accused of murdering her husband, father was retained for the defence and as the case proceeded he began to have doubts of her innocence. He still did his duty and fought the case through, the jury brought in a verdict of “not guilty” and the woman turned to him after and “winked”! He always said at that moment he could have bitten his tongue out. There were Dacoits amiable patriots of King Neebears disbanded army, who raided villages and poured kerosene oil on the inhabitants and cleared off with the loot and applied to father to defend them. He said he would do his best and after studying the case foretold to them what their fate would be “You will be hanged and you will get ten years – you five – and you will be let off.” He said he was right in almost every case.

Then there was the Chinese secret society who retained him to defend one of their members. He did not want to undertake the case as it meant a journey to Singapore for him so he asked a very large fee which was promptly paid – also a junk provided who took him to Singapore and there he was taken to furnished house. He noticed that some of the bedroom furniture was in the drawing room and vice versa. All was done silently by Chinamen and at the end of the case (the man was acquitted) father was equally mysteriously and silently returned home to Rangoon. He was certainly popular with the Burmese and the Chinese possibly because; secretly convinced of the Englishman’s prerogative to “rule” he nonetheless had none of the Englishman’s fear of contact with the “native”. He had many friends among the educated Chinese and the Burmese Princesses (King Theebaw’s daughters) who used to visit mother at our house. This was possibly the reason why, when years later my eldest brother took up Rice Broking in Rangoon; the Chinese merchants gave him a lot of their trade.

Father never cared at all about “silly” conventions though in other respects he had a very “worldly” side to his character and he always “lived as a lord”. Another adventure of his when he used to take occurs to my mind, which he used to tell with gusto. It was as follows: There was a great stir in the family of a neighbour because a valuable jewel was missing, when their enquiries failed they asked EGM as an experienced lawyer to cross examine the servants and try to find out who had taken it. He undertook to do so on condition that the whole affair was left to him to decide if the culprit was found and the jewel returned. He hoped to keep the police out of it. After interviewing each of the natives, servants, and the household, his suspicions fell upon the young English governess. Further interviews with her led to the discovery that she had taken it because she was desperately in need of money to get away and conceal the results of an intrigue she had been led into by a member of the family. Father hearing the whole tale decided she had been wronged and determined to get her away. He therefore got the jewel back into his possession and arranged her passage to Calcutta with a friend of his (the Captain of a Steamer leaving a few days later). He then told the girl to pack a hand case and to meet him very early on the morning, before the boat started, at the end of the compound (garden). In a light pony trap he came to the rendezvous, picked her up, and delivered her on to the steamer at dawn. It was necessary to act with this secrecy and speed because he had heard that his neighbours, without letting him know, had informed the police of his suspicions of the governess. As EGM was driving back, just when the steamer had started, he saw a police trap driving rapidly towards the quay, the occupants gesticulating to the steamer. Without a moment’s hesitation EGM managed to collide with the police trap, locking its wheel with his, then jumping out he started a heated controversy on “careless driving”. The Steamer who’s Captain turned a blind eye to the police signals started off and the girl got away. EGM proceeded to his neighbours’ house and handed over the jewel with some forcible remarks about his behaviour and hints of the scandal, which might have resulted. The result was that all proceedings were quashed and the girl, thanks to some friends of EGM got a situation in a shop in Calcutta and it is to be hoped “lived virtuously” ever after.

Such proceedings as I have narrated above will shock the stay at home Englishman – they only show the sort of things that took place in those early days in Burma and the type of pioneer men who built up the Empire to earn the respect of nations.

To my mother, bred up in secure Victorian surroundings and conventions of Wimpole Street and Manchester Square life with her impetuous and erratic husband must have been disturbing. But she never flinched, either in her loyalty to him or her devotion to her children. She was always quietly and serenely at his side, whilst watching over us. Sustained by her deep religious instincts and the love she inspired, devoted to her handsome and dashing young husband – very young herself- used to sit in the veranda in the end nearest to England. The point about her, which almost exasperated us, was that she never lectured or punished us when we deserved it. She was by nature “silent” but she had a way of looking at one, which was more than punishment – a look of disappointment entirely untinged with anger, which led me to deepest repentance. She had a finger in the heart and life of every one of her nine children all her life, and that touch she never lost.

EGM it must be confessed in early days was somewhat jealous of his sons, always excepting Harry, and he could be very vociferous when we annoyed him unduly. Only once did he beat us, Hubert and I were the culprits. It was at Croydon and mother happened to be away. I had in the nursery just received my very first letter from her by the morning post, as I was reading it Hubert jokingly plucked it out of my hand and I just went for him tooth and nail. The consequent scrap was accompanied with howls and yells of wrath, which Harry (who never lost his temper all his life) could not stop. The bell rang and EGM sent for our nurse Julia (who was quite unable to cope with us). We were then escorted to his bedroom where he was in bed. He sent Harry for his riding switch and gave Hubert three strokes on the hand and me two. I was pleased that Hubert got one more than I, but we both, most unreasonably, were seriously annoyed with Harry, and got together under the nursery table and decided to run away to Shirley woods and become highwaymen! Apart from this incident I never remember EGM punishing us and we three boys were very good friends, though Hubert called by the family “Bully” because when annoyed as a youngster, he would roar like a bull (people passing used to stop outside the house when he started roaring!). Hubert would sometimes scrap with the quiet Harry, who was a notorious family “tease”. I recollect once seeing Hubert running after Harry with a huge in his hand. But our scraps never lasted long and we were very good friends. Garnet, the eldest was the best elder brother any family ever had. He got in to trouble once though by firing an airgun he had at a target at the end of the garden, he missed the target and the bullet went through a window opposite and through the newspaper, which an elderly gentleman was reading! There was trouble about that! Burt EGM liked his sons to be a bit daring. Once Garnet found that he could climb through an attic window at the top of our (tall) house on to the top of a covered cistern there. There was no protection at all and the sheer drop in to the street below. We boys used to play about on this cistern and once a breakfast EGM read aloud a letter he had received from a neighbour saying he had seen in the moonlight three figures in white night gowns dancing about on top of the cistern!  (I do not think I was in this – too small but I knew all about it) EGM read the note aloud, looked severely at the culprits seated round the breakfast table and mother looked “pained” but to our huge relief suddenly his face broke into a smile and we got off with a warning. Garnet got whacked a good deal at school – Whitgift, Westminster. Usually he concealed the fact from EGM but once his father took him on a boat on the Thames and suggested a bathe in a backwater (they were alone) Garnet when stripped revealed certain marks of stripes upon his nether side. On being questioned it turned out he had been beaten for climbing up on a tomb in Westminster Cloisters and carving his name thereon. EGM smiled and said “foolish boy, fancy writing your own name and not a faked one”. That phrase “foolish child” was a favourite one with him.

 We had family prayers after breakfast each morning always taken by mother. To this day I can hear her voice praying “for the absent members of this family” (a prayer we still use). I also remember the break in her voice the morning after Garnet (aged 18) had started for Canada to learn farming in Alberta, the first of the nine to leave home. The time came when eight were abroad and still the prayer went on and I am sure it kept us straight. EGM always said grace before meals himself, an old fashioned grace often (he varied it), he used to start in a stentorian voice “FOR” (what we are about to receive) or “FOR” (these and all thy other mercies). This cry of “FOR” was a sign for the noisy crowd of children to keep silences.

 As it often occurred rather unexpectedly at times we were not ready and conversation did not cease at once where upon he would turn on the culprit (usually one of the girls) and say “Godless Girl” with a twinkle in his eye, which we liked to see. His religion though sincere was always accompanied with humour.

 He used to take us boys sometimes for walks to Carshalton to visit his eldest sister Eleanor, “Aunt Nellie” who had married one Morgan Thomas and adopted the two daughters of her brother Harvey when they were left orphans. Like all the Mans Aunt Nellie was a character a Protestant Dame of the deepest dye. She always seemed to be dressed in black though with a kind heart and grim humour. She had not the faintest knowledge of the management of children. She was the only one of the family who had not travelled and she retained the dreadful religious outlook of a little country parish of the 1850s. Occasionally we three boys stayed with her and as the bath seemed always blocked up with Geraniums, Fuschias etc. (just as the parlour was over shadowed with Aspidistras. She installed a bath in the stable filled by the gardener with cold water; wither each morning we used to go for a plunge. She had a cordial disapproval of her brother Bill, as an actor, as married to a Roman Catholic, and as a man. She feared his influence over us youngsters and returned the dislike and delighted in shocking her. She had a faithful maid / cook / friend on Martha and elderly acid protestant virgin who prided herself on keeping her kitchen spotlessly clean. On one occasion when we were staying there, uncle Bill turned up unexpectedly to visit his sister when she – Martha – happened to be “out”. Uncle Bill at once mobilised us and (this sounds incredible but I am ashamed to say we helped to do it) we put lumps of coal on the spotless kitchen shelves and then hid, all four of us, to hear what Martha would say on her return. To our regret she was speechless with indignation.

We had some fun at Aunt Nellie’s however in her garden and the field next door she had a pensioner, a very old sailor living in a little cottage and we spent hours with him. Alas I was too young then to remember how his conversation went but I still recollect the smell of the shag he used to smoke.

Once, village boys came apple stealing and after one successful raid they tried another but we boys were on the watch and swooped upon the thieves with yells. They all fled but we cut off and caught one, we did not quite know what to do with him till Harry, I think, had a brainwave. We shut him in the empty refuse bin and held him there for a long time, taking it in turns to sit on the lid and keep him prisoner.

 Later when separation came because Harry & Hubert went to school I used to stay for weeks at a time at Carshalton and “was I lonely”? And frightened too at night though I never dared to say so. In the room where I slept, sharing it with a maidservant, there was a wardrobe over the top of which protruded the hilt of Colonel Garnet Man’s sword wrapped in black mackintosh. It looked by moonlight like the head of a black man looking down on me as I shivered in bed. I dared not be this grimly watched so I used to creep down stairs and sit outside the sitting room on the stairs in my white night shirt for hours, or so it seemed to me till sleepiness compelled my return. I was never discovered and I never said anything partly because in our nursery in the old bad fashion of today been always held up as an example of courage to my elders, Harry and Hubert when they got an attack of “bogey” fears. I did not dare confess to my own terrors. I used to share a bed in those days with one of the maids, which I disliked (just as much as I expect she did). One hot summer night I must have rolled up against her, anyway I remember the disgust with which I recoiled when I realised I had rolled up against her bare flesh.  

Aunt Nellie had no idea or understanding of children e.g. one night a non-conformist elder, a great adversary of the vicar’s came to supper. I was of course in bed, and later I was awakened and brought down stairs to recite in my dressing gown some poem or hymn or other for his benefit. I loathed the smug man in his black suit and ginger whiskers and later when I read Dickens “Pickwick Papers” I felt I knew all about Mr Stiggins and hailed him as an old friend, or rather enemy. My loneliness at Aunt Nellie’s led to me reading a very great deal – every book I could get hold of – for I could read when very young – I could read till my head ached – there seemed nothing else to do as I has no companions. In justice to Aunt Nellie I ought to add that I heard afterwards that in order to help the family when the old Halstead home had broken up she married, much against her inclination a kindly man of some means. I never heard Morgan Thomas speak at all & I believe when I knew him he was ailing and non- compos! The fact that I was a very lonely little boy in those days and considered studious as I was always reading (I had nothing else to do). It did not occur to Aunt Nellie that I ought to get out daily – very long walks with Martha were not stimulating! Moreover I was always constipated – Aunt Nellie used sometimes to enquire about my intimate health in a way that embarrassed an unusually shy little chap and when I confessed to the fact it usually meant to a large dose of Gregory Powder which led to much Griping and painful results. She had a queer custom of giving me a penny each time I was “a good boy” – three pennies were put in a queer little knitted worsted purse – jug shaped with a collapsible twisted top. This purse was kept in the Parlour on the mantelpiece. I do not remember the results being given to me – I expect they went to Protestant Mission or some other cause anyway, as I have indicated, there could never have been much in the purse!

 I found my elders looked upon me as a studious “wise old” child when retailing, in front of me, my doings and sayings over tea cups and always called me the Prime Minister. Of course I acted up to this title since it seemed to please them just as I acted up to my bogus reputation for courage not having the pluck to reveal my real cowardice but I must say I was not afraid of village boys of any size. But I did fear the unseen goblins of the darkness. I was taken, not, I think by Aunt Nellie to church at Carshalton “a very high church” and curiously enough I well remember the first of an excellent extempore sermon from the vicar pointing out how wide is the embrace of the church and that there is room for many high, low, and broad within her fold. Also I remember that our pew was just in front of those occupied by those of the boys of the Sunday school and on one occasion the Benedictus was being sung and I heard some giggling from the pew behind. On turning round I saw several fingers pointing at me at the words and thou child shalt be called the prophet of the highest”. I was indignant at the time, as I have often thought since then, when I have listened to those familiar words sung in the churches in which I have served that in a very inadequate way they have been fulfilled.

 I shall never forger the first fight I ever saw. I was taken a walk by the pond at Carshalton one afternoon and saw two men fighting – a big man and a small man. We were thrilled and watched it (Martha was not my companion that day). My sympathies were of course with the little man who got knocked down, but with face streaming with blood he got up and soon showed he knew how to use his fists for soon the big man was knocked down again and again till the fight got so sickening that my servant companion hurried me away. Bye the way, Uncle Bill was very fond of the ring and I heard a lot about Jim Sayers, Tom Heenan, Mendoza and others and often at Hythe he used to show me how to tackle any rough who might come squaring up to me (none ever did thanks be …). Uncle Bill would get me to approach him fists up in a threatening manner. Just when I was close he would drop on one knee and seize my foremost ankle with one hand, chop me under the knee with the other and explain how I should then go flying over his head! It must have been a comic sight, the little boy in tight blue jersey, the elderly man on one-knee black eyes flashing and long beard flowing. Bye the way I hated that jersey and I often suffered from stiff necks and nurse maids were not always too careful when they took it off at bedtime – their theory seemed to be “one good wrench and the job is over”. They seemed always to be in a hurry about it. I had a red jersey, which was more comfortable – I expect the blue one was inherited and the red one bought to fit me only. But the nurse in our nursery did not have it all her own way – by no means – we in order I suppose to invent a “Carsus belli” we imagined that she was ill treating our baby sister. Untrue of course but we wanted a pretext. We had a regular plan of campaign for attack on her. Hubert being the biggest and bravest could make a frontal attack on her whist Harry and I leapt onto her back! On one occasion the attack was too successful for she fell prone on the floor and was reduced to tears, we were so contrite that we merged our tears with hers and thereafter peace resumed. The best part of those Croydon days for me was when mother became Dame President of the local Primrose League. That meant many messages to be delivered. She chose me as her messenger after telling me of the importance of the post. I was of course delighted and became her “Knight Errant” on the spot. There came a test almost at once – it was summertime and mother entrusted me with an “important note to deliver”. I went bounding off – a curious childish idea in my mind. It was Whitsun I suppose as she had been telling us about the Holy Spirit – the sun was shining as I started down the road and I had the conviction that I had the Holy Spirit within me – joy and peace. Off I happily ran – my way led over the railway bridge (where we used to sit and fill note books with the names and numbers of the engines) and along a narrow path leading to the turn. As I came running along in the sunshine I saw a black figure lying right across the path at a narrow spot. I cautiously drew near and saw it was a woman lying quite still, white as a sheet and altogether hideous and terrifying. A knight-errant filled with the Holy Spirit obviously could not return, message in hand to his Mamma and to go round would be cowardly. So I went back some paces and took a running leap over the body! Having accomplished the feat I went gasping along dreading to hear the patter of the following feet of the corpse! To my relief she remained prone and I delivered my message. On my return journey I scouted up to the spot and was intensely relieved to find the “Corpse” had been removed. I had many nightmares about it afterwards.

 There came a time when EGM decided to leave Croydon and we were told we were all to go with mother and Emily to France. A house had been taken in Dieppe in the Rue Claud Crullerd and we were to prepare for the journey. I have often wondered since why this move took place. I think the reasons were financial. EGM had no idea of money at all – had it not been for mother the whole family would have been “on the rocks”. He was now practising at the Bar in London, which was not so lucrative as his large practice in Burma, had been. Moreover though he had made heaps of money in Rangoon he was very fond of horses (I never heard of his betting) and he kept many and indeed once rode his own horse in the Calcutta Derby as an amateur. From a young man he had been a keen horseman – there used to be a sunken road with hedges on either side at Halstead called “Mans Leap” because he in daredevil fashion once put his horse at it and got over the road and both hedges. But these horses cost money and I fancy that was a reason why we all had to go to Dieppe on the rent, housekeeping etc. EGM never lost his love for horses. Later on he drove the Judge (W.W. Grantham I think) from London to Maidstone in a four in hand which he had hired. On London Bridge a van collided with the leaders and it was only by the skill of father in the box that the whole equipment escaped real disaster. As a consequence the Judge and friends in the coach presented a bronze coaching horse to EGM duly inscribed, which my eldest son Andrew now treasures.

In Burma my eldest brother, Garnet used to ride a lot and the two elder sisters, but I never got much chance, not till we were in Guernsey years later when I went riding with my sister May. We were racing each other on the sands, and I was leading when my horse put his forefoot into a hole – and I sailed over his head. My sister came galloping blindly up and her horse mercifully saw me just in time and leapt over me – one hoof just smacking my behind. I shall not forget the horror of the moment – those four flying hoofs over my head!

Yes EGM loved horses. At the end of his life when seventy he used to hire a horse on the Riviera at Sandgate and when it was brought up our drive he would appear, dapper, neat, handsome, white top hat white waistcoat, flower in button hole, well fitting riding breeches and polished boots. (He was always very proud of his small feet – many a time I had to kneel down and tightly lace his well-polished boots). There he would stand and shout first for “Kate” and then for any of his children who happened to be at home. Harry would leap forward and bring a chair set alongside his horse (a steady old creature) we would get EGM onto the chair and then would come the great heave when we seated him in the saddle and handsome and distinguished he looked too. Slowly he would walk his horse to the gate and trot up the road. Once when Lord Kitchener held a review of some of his army stationed at Shorncliffe Camp, EGM appeared on his horse among the crowd of spectators handsome, serene and distinguished. There were among the crowds many Belgian and French refugees. EGM on his horse found himself surrounded by these enthusiastic patriots all cheering the troops. A respectful murmur greeted his appearance – they looked on him as a prominent member of the elite possibly a cabinet minister. Smilingly he responded to their cheers – then waving his riding whip he commanded a respectful silence. Turning in his saddle he addressed them in his quite execrable French, “Mes Amis! Dongs ung vous auvez Alsace Lorraine! (My friends, within a year you will have Alsace & Lorraine” there was a moments silence and then the crowd of refugees surged around his horse shouting  “Merci, Merci, Monsieur”! (Thank you oh thank you Sir) Thus EGM in one gesture won the war and presented to La Belle France her lost Provinces. The family greeted this tale when it was repeated to them with shouts of hilarity to which he listened with his smile of satisfaction.

But I must return many years’ back to resume my tale of our journey to France. How excited we all were when we all (except EGM) filled our reserved 3^rd class carriage in the train from CX (London Charing Cross Station). As we sped through the Kentish landscape and the poles in the hop fields swept past the carriage windows, seeming to approach the train, bow deeply and retire to make place for others, one of my sisters Mary I expect suddenly said “A Riddle”! Why do the Hop poles Hop? We all could not guess the answer and she exclaimed joyfully “Because they have only got one leg!” Garnet, that peerless elder brother, spent some of the time teaching us smaller ones French. We learned by heart the phrase Pardon Monsieur, nous ne comprendre par ce que vous dites. (Sorry, Sir we do not understand what you are saying.) & so on. Then Dover and the sea in the summer sun and the cross channel steamer and the voyage a dream of delight, the receding cliffs of Dover, then the growing coast of France. Then the entrance to Dieppe harbour the immense Crucifix at the end of the pier – the Babel of blue-bloused French porters swarming on board - then the queer smell of the port, the narrow streets, the market and the church of San Remi. The Cathedral of Saint Jacques (which we learned to know so well) and then the wide boulevards and the seats around the avenue of trees opposite the house and its front garden and then the house itself and the verandah and the two maids Augustine (Justine) and Albertine. We soon settled down and to our delight discovered a large attic which was to be all our own. Filthy floors cobwebs galore on the open ceiling beams. But we all got to work with brooms and brushes under Garnet’s occasional supervision constituted himself mothers factotum too – and we each put up little corners for our own things. I had a little writing desk with ink! to myself. And so we settled down. Dear Dieppe! How we loved it – the sands and the bathing. Garnet in red and white striped bathing costume in a canoe hovering about us as we paddled  - shrimped and splashed about. And, Oh Boy, were we shocked at the French people. I never saw so much female body since I was weaned but was too small then to experience any great thrill. What did amaze me was the fact that the French mothers let their children run around naked whilst some of the more select thought it sufficient to cover the behinds of the rather elder children with handkerchiefs knitted round the waists leaving the fronts exposed. But we did not take much notice – much too happy (I think Hubert was the most interested). Then there was the “Marchand de Guimauve” (I don’t know what the word means but he used to go round with sweets which he brought out of a round box with a silver ball which twinkled every time he took sweets out. He used to sing “Voila le Marchand de Guimauve Voila la Vanille, Voila l’ Amande (Almond) Voila de Marchand de Guimauve.” He became still more fascinating to us when we were told that the reason why he dragged his left foot was because he had been a convict in the Devil’s Isle and had always borne a chain with iron ball attached to that leg! What fun it all was! How we laughed at Emily’s attempts at French! There was the tragic time when Mary was lost for half a day, till Garnet found her wandering about crying.

Then the morning when Hubert stepped on the sharp teeth of a rake which was lying business end up in the garden when we were all tidying it up to welcome EGM on one of his occasional visits. How he leaped in the air and how he roared! And how he bled. His sandshoe was no protection. Mother used to take me with her daily to Market Place  - I enjoyed the stalls. We used to buy fruit and vegetables there and Tea Buns to take on to the beach to feed the family (elevenses) after their bathe. Garnet soon taught us to swim. Then came the great event – the wreck of the steamer “Victoria” onto the point beyond the harbour. Father was at home and we went with him in a little launch (he used to report to the “Times” then, having been a regular contributor in Burma in the Sonthal War about which he wrote a booklet called Sonthalia and the Sonthals). The curious thing was that the ship was carrying Crêpe, which got loose from the hold somehow and clung round the masts. There were many drowned and the bodies were laid out as they were returned or came ashore in a room in the Hotel de Ville – of course we did not see them. But we with the local English took into our home survivors’ relatives who came to Dieppe. We had a boy who had lost his parents. We did not like him, poor child, but we were kind to him as we could be in our shy way. But we soon got over the gloom of it. Mother became poorly (I did not know that our youngest sister, Dorothy, was on her way into this world) and courageous as mother was she got an alarm one night. She woke Garnet up to say that a man was creeping up the verandah. Garnet leapt up joyfully and seized his revolver and rushed to mother’s aid. To his disappointment on reaching the verandah he found the quiet silver moon shining on it and no man there! Mother was ashamed of this and we would not have known had not Garnet summoned us boys “his Army” to aid him to face possible attack! He used to give us P.T. every morning and kept a notebook wherein was recorded the height weight and muscle development of each of us! How we used to work to get good biceps. Then we had sports with the handicap for each worked out. This was no new thing as some years before when we went to Dymchurch for the summer – a desolate spot, then only two farm-lodging houses – he arranged sports there with prizes. There we also met to Garnet’s delight A.M and P.M. Walters two Amateur Association Internationals, who with their sisters were staying in Dymchurch – nice folk and great he was to us. Garnet himself was a good Cricketer and Footballer and got his X1 at Westminster for both. He also played at Croydon, Cricket for the “Condors”. We used to watch him bowl and make runs at the matches. In one of the matches, Westminster v Charterhouse he got badly stunned and it is my opinion he was permanently injured by the accident.

We soon picked up some French, which stood me in good stead when I stayed years later as a Cambridge undergraduate in a French family near Orleans and was more useful still when I became a chaplain to the Forces in France in 1916 (but more of that anon).

We used to go to the English church with mother. I cannot remember much about it except that on one occasion on a weekday Lent Service the organ blower did not turn up. Hubert was pressed in to the job. The result was awful, as he did not, naturally know how to blow properly and the result was a noise of banging and heavy breathing at the back of the organ and then sudden squeaks from the instrument as the wind gave out followed by gaps of complete silence. We were covered with confusion! Our religion was based on daily family prayers read by mother and our own private prayers directed by she and books read to us “Truth in Tale” etc.

Too soon the time came when EGM (wrongly) determined that Garnet should go out in to the big world. So at 18 he went to Canada. I remember the pride with which he showed us his equipment – a leather money belt, a sheath knife etc. He was much too young to go and of the wrong temperament at that age – too idealistic – unworldly altogether. But he went and when next we saw him years after at 6 Montague Street on his return from Liverpool I did not recognise him. He had a bad experience and was disappointed, ill and sad and we were all shocked by his appearance. But he regained his jollity after a rest under Aunt Tory’s care (EGM and mother were in Burma) and he joined them in Rangoon where he took up rice broking with some success with James Adam, married to my elder sister, as his partner. He became a business man and married dear Beatrice Crofts and until his retirement they lived in Rangoon. On his return to Kent you, my children, saw him often and will never forget him and his joyful appearances at our Xmas parties. He excelled himself among the children especially as the “naughty Schoolboy” in the little scenes we used to act where in you all appeared with him seated on a bench “in Class” with myself  as the Schoolmaster. He always played the dunce and to your huge delight used to be continually sent to the bottom of the form. He had a way of wearing one of your small school caps on the side of his head, which made of him an inimitable and droll schoolboy among you.

He was always ready to help in an emergency. When I had a breakdown at St. Peters, Maidstone – he swooped down, dressed in Canadian backwoods fashion and took me with him for a months rest in Switzerland and Montreaux, paying all the expenses, returning me fit to work again. And when he died he left many friends especially among the lesser folk at Benenden. God bless you, Brother, I hope to be worthy to meet you again someday in that place where you would choose to be, next the mother you so loved and the Master you tried to follow. (St Matt XXV v 34 – 40)

An Interlude. I am writing this on a beautiful cold sun-shining morning March 15^th 1944 in my study of Verrall Cottage. Last night was made hideous by the whirr of planes and the dropping of distant bombs – the roar of the London barrage. A telegram has just come from David to say his flat at Grosvenor Crescent was bombed but he is unhurt. What a life, my young people all, is yours! What a contrast to that recorded in these pages! Yet I feel encouraged to go on writing of the “old times” for I believe it will interest you to read of them when quieter days come when, I pray God, you may be spared to “look unto the rock whence ye are hewn” (Isaiah ch.1) – “Chips off the old block” you are proving yourselves to be, by sea, land and in the air. And as one of the old ‘uns I salute you, and take off my hat to you and say we are proud of you. But don’t forget that the secret of Life and Courage and Hope is Religion – faith in the God who inspired your forefathers to endure. Stick to the Creed and hand it on to your children – lest they lose the support and comfort and strength, which have upheld the Fathers & Mothers of our race and family. “There remaineth a reward for the people of God” “Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. But God hath revealed them unto us by his spirit. 1 Corinthians 2.9.

To return to Dieppe; after Garnet’s departure the next to leave the circle were Harry and Hubert. They were sent to Miss Ellaby’s school, Lynchmere, Eastbourne and mother was left with the four of us youngsters, May, Katie and the baby (Dorothy). I was 8 years old and the two girls about 18 months and 3 years younger than I. That meant that I saw a great deal more of mother and well remember some walks with her. Once we were together on the Cliffs behind the old Château and we passed what I thought was a wounded nanny goat, cut by the chain attached to her collar. Mother pointed out a little living pink thing beside it – a Kid – and made some remarks, which I failed to understand as we walked off. I think that she missed here a big opportunity of explaining to me the “facts of life”. Just as today in my opinion there is often far too much discussion of these facts with the resultant coarseness of outlook and, the stripping of the veil of mystery from love relationships. So in those days these mysteries were not enough revealed and information from proper sources being withheld, it was acquired from lower points of view and sex became a sort of “Dirty Story”. I was told nothing at all and fortunately, as we were a big family excellently brought up boys and girls. We (at any rate I) did not go astray but I had a lot of unnecessary struggle with myself, which would nowadays be relieved by one small stroke of a doctor’s knife. The Calvinist teaching of that day (and today) about the body was wrong and cruel. A false view of the body as evil in itself, led good people to try to be purer than the Holy One Himself with disastrous results. The church in her real teaching has always fought this view  - “God made the body and God wore it therefore in itself it cannot be impure – yet it must be kept under – the body is a good servant but a tyrannical master.

So, my children teach your children the facts e.g. mother to young son: - “My boy you know I am fond of you, that is natural because I carried you beneath my heart for 9 months. It cost me a lot of risk and pain bringing you into the world etc. etc. When the whole thing is connected naturally – simply with mother – it all falls into the right place in the child’s mind.

As I had no brothers to sit on me I began to throw my weight about. No longer called “Prime Minister” I think Cocky would have been a better nickname. Anyway mother began to notice this – especially when Justine and Albertine complained one day to her that I had fought them! I remember the whole scene. They were making a bed and I came into the room – jumped on the mattress and as they raised the sheet, one on each side, to put it on the bed, I standing by the pillow pushed it out of their hands. That, which began as a game, a rag, ended in a fight, their little Gallic tempers rose and the more French they talked the more English I became. The struggle became international neither side would give way – till the allies by sheer force overcame the young Hitler and I was yanked off the bed and complaint was made to mother. The result was that somewhat later, after a quiet talking to I went alone to the kitchen and in broken French apologised. Then I narrowly escaped the ignominy of being heartily kissed by the elderly females. Talking of Albertine and Justine reminds me of a custom of EGM’s, which highly entertained us the boys, when he was with us. There was no inside sanitation in that house (as in every French house I knew of and indeed in Germany when I was living there later). The “Cabinet” was at the bottom of the garden and kept locked. The key hung in the kitchen so after dusk a serious call of nature meant going through the kitchen, taking the key and walking down the garden path. One pitch dark still evening EGM needed the key and not being accustomed to the path, as we were, he could not find his way in the night. But he had no foolish modesty or inhibitions (far from it) so he went to the kitchen, called to Justine and Albertine to fetch a candle each and so we boys who happened to be at the window saw a solemn procession. Albertine leading with a candle, EGM brandishing a key and Justine bringing up the rear with another candle.

They returned to the kitchen till summoned by a stentorian shout, they then re-lit their candles and the same procession returned to the house. But, and this is the point, though we thought it was very amusing the two servants with the Latin understanding of the “vile body” and simplicity showed no sign at all that anything unusual had taken place. Of course EGM though outwardly solemn as a Judge enjoyed the delight of his irreverent children when they met in the parlour and reported the incident to the family.

The glimpse that Dieppe gave us of the Latin view of life was on the whole beneficial (more than can be said of our experiences when we lived at Brussels later on). We were all young together at Dieppe. My own childhood ceased there and I began to “grow up” “There is” writes Dr. Wm. MacDougall in his book “The character and conduct of life” a persistent tradition among older people that youth is the happiest period of life. It is perhaps true that youth knows moments of more intensive rapture but such moments are rare and brief and against them must be set off a multitude of distresses to which we become increasingly immune as our years advance. Youth is uncertain – if itself unaware of the world full of doubts and anxieties about itself – liable to agonies of shame on ridiculously slight occasions – it has to struggle against temptations of a strength such as it will not know in later life. In sex, love youth is in a most difficult and pitiable condition, liable to grotesque errors, errors leading to effects, which only too often ruin the rest of life. How few men can look back to their youth and honestly assert that their sex was a source of more delight than trouble, torture or even despair!” Strong words these but he adds these encouraging and, I think, true words. “Let youth know that the lower parts of the (ascending) slope of life are the steepest, and that as they rise above them, the air becomes more stimulating, their organs better attuned to their task, and the prospect more rich and satisfying. We (elders) learn to smile at our youthful agitation’s that were so bitter – sweet and to laugh at the youthful errors that mortified us so deeply.

Well, when I left Dieppe to go to school the “steep slope” began which lasted some 20 years, and now I can look back and agree with every word of Dr MacDougall’s quoted above, especially the last few lines.

When the time came for me to join my brothers at Ellaby’s for some good reason unknown to me, I had to travel alone. I was nine years old, I was put on the steamer and a passenger was asked to take charge of me. I hated leaving home and the parting was hard. Nobody spoke to me, so far as I remember, the aforesaid passenger forgot all about me. I never saw him (or her) again. It was a rough passage; I was home sick and very seasick. On reaching Newhaven I got ashore – somehow – I had a through ticket to Lewes where I was to be met. On arrival at Lewes, still sick and very sorry, I was met by one of the mistresses a Peruvian, Miss Quintare. I had lost my luggage and had had no food and must have been a miserable little object. On arrival at Lynchmere I was handed over to Miss Ellaby who promptly put me into her own bed and nursed me back to serenity. Miss E had a doctors training, her school did well and later moved to larger quarters. In those days it had not long been started. She was a sensible woman but today her ideas and equipment would be considered out of date. The sanitary arrangements were primitive, but the chief snag was that her dread of the curse of the drink brought on the male sex led her to imagine that the way to check it early was to limit the supply of liquid, tea and water, allowed to the pupil. I have never been so thirsty in my life since. After a hot summers afternoon games we were only allowed one mug of tea each! The result was that, after tea, when we were sent one by one to wash our hands in the basement, the first comers, Elder Boys used to drink the water before washing. The next to come would often drink the soapy water used by the first. I still remember the taste of water diluted with soap. It can be gathered from this lack of moisture in the body my necessary natural function became still more difficult for me, and I suffered frequent headaches. The food was sufficient - good. I have no recollection of any religious observances at all. I presume we went to church and had prayers. There used to be a lot of fun time in the dormitories – some of it of doubtful nature. Miss E in her maiden innocence had no idea of the temptations and tricks of the growing boy. If the noise we made was such as to be likely to attract her attention in her sitting room downstairs we used to station a small boy as a sentry on the landing. We had learnt by experience that though she made no noise in her ascent up the stairs to check us, that she always had her hands on the banisters as she came up. When the scout saw the hand sliding up he would warn us and we would all be fast asleep when she appeared. The only event, which I remember in my days at Lynchmere, was the Jubilee of Queen Victoria (1887). There were great celebrations at Eastbourne  - during the day processions with bands and at twilight an attack by local boatmen, dressed up as Pirates, on the Wish Tower. At night we went two and two to see the large Torch Light Procession. It was very exciting especially so as a cart full of spare torches caught fire not far from us and we escaped the blaze – but it was near enough for it to be scorchingly hot! The other incident I remember was when one of the bigger boys – a cripple who had to wear an iron on his leg and was a boy of twisted nature on purpose jumped from the stairs onto Miss Quintare’s ankle and gloated over her distress. Nasty fellow!

One other memory of Eastbourne days; we used to go to a dancing class where we shared lessons with a school of little girls. I was the show dancer of the school and the tall and elegant dancing mistress used to take me as a partner to show the others how it was done. Then she selected the show dancer from the girl’s school and we used to dance together. It was a great thrill to me. The first time I felt the attraction of the other sex – she was a nice little girl! 

The holidays were fun though especially the Christmas holidays in Manchester Square. Grandpa flanked by his daughters Aunt Tory & Victoria and her eldest sister Mrs Webber D Harris and her husband General Webber Harris retired from the Indian Army – a veteran of the siege of Delhi. Mrs Webber Desborough Harris whom we all feared and called “Auntie” was the only woman ever allowed to wear the Victoria Cross. (Which cross my eldest son Andrew arranged to be presented to the United Services Museum, Whitehall and later transferred to the Army museum, Chelsea where it can still be seen).

Leaving Lynchmere I followed my brothers to Charles Wellers’s school – a building at the very top of Maze Hill, St Leonards on Sea. From our dormitories we could look across to Beachy Head and on the other side there was a country lane down to the South Saxons Cricket Ground. C. Weller was the son of the old Capt. Weller. RN a neighbour of Aunt Nellie’s at Carshalton hence our going to his school. He was a fine handsome man, and looked his best when he marched us on Sundays to the Parish Church in Warrior Square. I enjoyed the services there – the singing was excellent and there was a Curate who sang the responses so well that even I was impressed: “Make clean our hearts within us” he would sing and the response pianissimo “And take not thy Holy Spirit from us”. One Sunday our old friend Mr Moore from Holy Trinity, Maidstone came to preach. I looked forward to his coming but alas! He had lost his powerful voice from age and the result was very trying.

C. Weller looked after us well according to the ideas of the day. He was a keen bather and diver and in the summer we all went to the “White Rock” baths. Every boy was expected to learn to swim. First he was allowed to splash about in the “shallow end” then when he could swim a few strokes he was taken to the deep end by two elder boys who swam beside him across the baths. Then later he was expected to take to the diving stage and it was a great day when one dived from the top of the diving stage. It was chilly and windy on the top of Maze Hill in winter and we often got colds. Mr Weller would then heat a big shovel red hot and pour some carbolic mixture on it and go round the big hall where we would be sitting at evening “Prep” and blow the fumes into the face of each boy! There was a difficulty however in getting enough handkerchiefs when one had a cold and I was often embarrassed by having to use mine over and over again. We had a cricket and football ground down the lane towards the South Saxon Ground and we had many good games. I got rather badly kicked in the knee one afternoon and woke up the following night in agony. My roommates woke up and sent for C. W. He arrived in dressing gown and looked at my knee, which was one lump of swelling. Apparently he thought it was out of joint so calling two big boys he told them to hold me and by force endeavoured to straighten the joint (to re-set it?). I uttered a yell and fainted. The next day the doctor found that two ligaments were broken in the knee. I had weeks in bed before it got well. Boys used to visit me to cheer me up but the most regular visitor was a new young master who was very unhappy at the school and homesick. He used to come and pour out his troubles in my juvenile ear!  

We had some fun in my dormitory. On Sunday mornings we had an hour extra in bed and we employed the time dissecting mice, which we caught in traps. We used to cure the skins by rubbing in salt and pepper which we managed to secure during meals. Also we used to buy little tins of Swiss Milk, bore two holes in the top and suck the contents in bed after lights out. I got into bad trouble the first Sunday I was there. C. W. kept fowls and as that afternoon we were watching them two Cocks began to “spar”. Quite innocently I suggested putting them together and letting them “fight it out” so as to be friends ever after. We did so and a frightening bloody contest ensued. A neighbour saw it all and informed C. W. I had left the scene and was not present when he caught the crowd of boys around the cocks. All were “kept in” and compelled to sit the afternoon through at desks except me. This made me very unpopular  - I hope I told C.W I was the “fons et origo meli”. I really cannot now remember. If I did it was the bravest deed of my young life! We went to bed much too early on summers evenings and consequently were ripe for mischief. Opposite our house across the garden and over the road stood another house, like ours, standing in it’s own grounds. It was a girl’s school. Some young spark attempted signalling across to them. To our delight there was an immediate reply. This signalling became customary – one evening a red-haired and amusing lad called Knill Jones not content with waving a handkerchief seized a white counterpane and flourished it out of the window. In his excitement he let go and the counterpane floated down and settled on the green lawn just outside C.W’s study window. The blinds of the study were up and there was a circle of gaslight outside his open window. Fortunately he had not noticed the counterpane floating down. But there it lay. It must be retrieved if we were to be undiscovered so Knill Jones in his white night gown, his red hair on end, left the dormitory and started creeping downstairs. At the window we watched breathlessly. Presently round the corner of the house there came wriggling along on his stomach, Knill Jones. He at last reached the counterpane and gently drew it towards him presently with an upward grin of triumph he gathered it up and disappeared round the corner. A few moments later his red head appeared in the dormitory again and he was the hero of the evening. What added to his pride was that the girls opposite were watching and took as much interest in the proceedings as we did.  

Meanwhile Mother was journeying to Burma to rejoin EGM. On the voyage she met a young clergyman and consulted with him about a Public School for us three boys. His name was Westcott and he was one of two sons of the great and good Bishop Westcott of Durham. He suggested Rugby. Thus our future was fixed. Harry & Hubert joined F. D. Morice’s House in the Fillmartin Road, Rugby and I joined them some terms later. Mother had taken a house in Belsize Square, Regents Park and there she left my second sister, Josselyn, in charge of us (May, Katie, Harry, Hubert and I) and we spent our holidays at first there “A great time was had by all. Jo (as we called her) was very steady and trustworthy but also very young. But we all pulled together well. True the servants got a bit out of hand. One day the cook dressed in tailcoat and trousers (left behind by EGM?) and putting on a top hat called at the front door and walked up the stairs! I wonder we growing boys did not get into mischief – (Harry once kissed the housemaid) – but we did not. We always felt mothers eye was upon us and we all backed up Jo. She delighted us one day by bringing home  - “What do you think? A Lobster for lunch. We were delighted but not quite so elated when she said “You see I got it cheap because it is not fresh” However we ate it – we were none the worse. One day we got tickets for the Globe Theatre to see Richard Mansfield act as Richard 111. At Croydon we always went to see Sarah Thorne’s pantomimes each Xmas. (Hubert fell madly in love with “Alice” in Wonderland) but this was a real play. When the evening came, off we all went to catch the old two-horse Swiss Cottage bus, which ran to Trafalgar Square. We boys ran on in front of the girls, got round a corner and bent down waiting, the girls came running up and of course fell over us as we hoped. Well, we got to the theatre very early, the first comers and advanced in the silence to our seats in the upper boxes rather over-awed. One of the girls, over come by the solemnity of the occasion, knelt down believing she was in Church! We were all about to follow when the incongruity struck us and the Theatre echoed with our laughter. What an actor Mansfield was! I have just been reading (March 1944) C. B. Cochrane’s last book on his life “Cock-a-Doodle” and I see there that he says he was with Richard Mansfield in USA and that he (R.M.) was one of the best actors ever on the stage, and gave him (C.B.C) his first acting job. Certainly he thrilled us. I can still hear in my ears his words when he is courting Queen Anne after slaying Henry V1: Queen Anne. “Villain thou knowest no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. Gloucester (Richard 111) But I know none and therefore am no beast. Queen Anne. O wonderful when devils speak the truth!  Gloucester. More wonderful when angels are so angry!  

Now that I am speaking of play going it may be interesting to write down notes from my diary written in 1889 to 1893 when I was 12 years old. Under the heading “Plays I have seen” occur the following entries: Richard 111, As You Like It, (Mrs Lily Langtry), and Much Ado about Nothing, Henry V111. In these I saw Henry Irving and Ellen Terry. I shall not forget Ellen Terry in Much Ado. Years later when vicar of Tenterden she lived as a very old lady in my parish (Small Hythe) and came to the Vicarage after one Armistice Day Service and sat on our drawing room sofa. She was much taken by the service and my address and said in her wonderful deep voice, “Vicar, you have the voice and elocution of an actor”! I replied, “Dame Ellen, I have always been your faithful and admiring knight. I shall not forget once seeing you in Much Ado about Nothing” She replied, “What passage in the play?” I said, “It was not merely what you said and how you said it but what you did!” She replied, “What did I do?” I said, “You gathered your skirts up in your hands and ran laughing across the stage.” She seemed pleased.  

To continue the plays which I saw up to 1890 - there are 21 of them: I select:  “Hands across the Sea” (Wm. Terniss afterwards stabbed to death by a rival actor) “The Harbour Lights” these melodrama “Claudia” (Wilson Barrett), “Brighton” (written by Sir James Barrie, I think his first play). “The Private Secretary”, “The Pantomime Rehearsal”, “Carmen up to Data”, “In Town” both these at the Gaiety (Nellie Farrer, Edmund Payne). We used to pay 1/- each to go to the Pit, waiting in the queues and wasn’t it a scrum to get in! As a family some of us were keen on acting – my sister Mary was a good actress and later at Guernsey distinguished herself in private theatricals. I could always act. At school, Weller’s, he presented Racines play “Les Plaideurs” I took the prologue of about thirty lines at the rise of the curtain. The French was no difficulty to me as we were living at Dieppe. May and I used to write a little duologue at various parties and at Manchester Square at Christmas. Later at Rugby I acted “Nathaniel Winkle” when too I have presented the trial scene from Pickwick. I was delighted to get a note next day from Mr Waterfield, our house tutor and afterwards headmaster of Cheltenham, as follows: “Man, if everything else fails go on to the stage”. Many years after I enjoyed the parts I was given in Lewis Parker’s Dover pageant in which my wife appeared as a Court Lady (Catherine of Aragon) and I was “Gawaine” the dying knight and had a wonderful funeral with knights in Mediaeval Armour, procession of mourning monks, tolling bell, full orchestra before two thousand spectators for a week. But best of all I enjoyed acting in the chapter house, Canterbury Cathedral in Dorothy Sayers play “Zeal of thy house”, I was the sub prior Stephen and some of you my readers, saw the play. When later it was produced by professional actors in Westminster Theatre London, I sat beside Miss Sayers and told her I thought amateurs did the “Monk Chapter Scene” better, and she agreed! One of my most valued little possessions is a copy of the play signed by her hand.  

I am afraid that from now on “These Memoirs” must become egoistic in the main because as we grew older, naturally our lives divided and each of us followed his or her destiny and did not often meet. To return to my diary, i listed the names of the books I had read up to 1892 under the names of their authors and find it works out as follows; Lever (7) C.A. Henty (28) Whyte Melville (6) C. Dickens (18) Harrison Ainsworth (7) C. Reade (2) Balckmore (2) Bulwer Lytton (6) Walter Scott (17). I read two or three of Thackeray’s but did not like them then. I was a very romantic boy at a romantic age in a romantic epoch, and I suffered for it later on when I learned as a student and curate what real life is like. 

Those were happy days at Belsize Square, I remember one thrill, a woman murdered her baby and wheeled in the pram through our part of London. Later when we went to Madame Tussauds, as we did once or twice, we saw the pram and a bit of toffee the child was sucking! We did not know we should see these gruesome things and were disgusted. We all, except Hubert, fell victims to the great influenza scourge. I was staying at Aunt Nellies (Carshalton) and got my first attack there and the whole household succumbed to it, Martha and the maids and all. I got it first and was the first to recover and was given the task of carrying the food trays from the kitchen to the top of the house, the maid’s room. It certainly was a struggle up all those stairs. As soon as I was fit to go out I was sent back to Belsize Square. I felt awful and I shall not forget the struggle I had to carry my bag from Swiss Cottage Station to our house, I had to rest every few minutes. As a result I had a serious relapse, which was unfortunate as all the others succumbed one by one, all except Hubert who had heard somewhere that oranges were a good preventative so he ate twenty-five (I think) in one day and waited for us all – good stout fellow! My life was, I vainly believed saved by Aunt Tory who drove over from Manchester Square, took one glance at me, wrapped me up and took me to number twenty one where I recovered and had the most unforgettable convalescence. She used to read to me and as she was very well read I learned a lot, I can remember her reading a translation of Dante. It was during our illness at Belsize Square that I got my first acquaintance of the Clergy as visitors. The Vicar, Doctor Trimlett, whose church was close, whose services and sermons we liked, came to visit us and was very helpful. 

RUGBY

I have already stated how it was that dear mother entrusted her three younger sons to Arnold’s school – Rugby. As usual I arrived after Harry and Hubert and so the way was in a sense made easier for me. It was certainly in those days a hard not to say rough experience. The school, the most famous in the world after Eton, was made so by T. Hughes “Tom Brown’s Schooldays” which was universally (literally) popular, especially in the United States of America. We had a continual succession of visitors from the USA, who used to be admitted by the School Marshall one Blake, how we pulled his leg! One of his jobs was to get ready the Birch and Block when the headmaster needed it, another to watch over our entry to chapel, to our classrooms and stand and reverently watch the Rugby boys at work and later at play. Once a stranger asked me on the steps of the school quad to show him the school, fortunately I half an hour to spare and I did so to the best of my ability, he turned put to be an American and presented me with a brand new Gold ten shilling piece! What shall I say of Rugby – the hardest working, hardest playing school in the world? Lord Elton in his wonderful book “St George or the Dragon” says some very true things in his chapter entitled “Not Examinees but Men”. That was in a few words the Rugby idea infused into the school by Arnold. “The Public Schools” he writes had no difficulty in transferring to the new class of gentlemen (i.e. the commercial classes) the old soldiers’ ideas of courage in service, which the feudal aristocracy (i.e. Eton) had developed during the centuries in which they led their men into battle. Read that Chapter of Lord Elton’s book my boys, and read it again and again (pp 57 – 82) Rugby “Loyalty, courage endurance discipline”. The ideal was vindicated in 1914 –18 in Ypres, Jutland, Gallipoli and the World War, when a whole generation of Public School Boys gave their lives leading the men of England through “Firewater” to victory. The writers who later wrote critically of the Public Schools were nine time out of ten the boys who were failures at school and in life, men with the “Yellow Streak” who relied upon their brains to overcome the sub-conscious sense of failure in the practical days of their boyhood. 

T. Arnold set himself to turn out “Christian Gentlemen”. Rugby served as the model, which others copied. It was the pre-eminently the school to which the hard headed businessmen of the Midlands sent their sons (and some Irish too) and Arnold trained and trusted his sixth form to be Rulers and Guides of the other boys in their houses. It was a great ideal – everything depended on the sixth form boys and the head boy of each house, they had a tough job as they had a tough class to deal with (from which they themselves sprung). The housemaster and tutor were comparatively powerless; the Sixth form ruled the house. The house to which we belonged had an exceptionally poor type of housemaster when I first went there, a poor old dear who was later sacked by the headmaster for a moral breakdown. Fortunately in our time there was a succession of able boys Heads of the House, otherwise the situation would have been appalling. I was fortunate for I became the first head of house to the new housemaster, W. H. Payne-Smith son of a Dean of Canterbury whose death at the age of 91 has just taken place (March 1944).  

When I appeared on the scene in 1891 brother Harry was obviously unable to face the physical strain of a rough life, he suffered terribly from asthma (you could hear his breathing at the end of the passage where his study was). At last things got so bad with him that Hubert and I wrote out to Burma and told EGM that we did not expect him to live if he returned next term. So Harry left, curiously enough he had showed some promise as a runner. This fact itself is a criticism of the old system, though the school doctor was earnest and capable, the whole system of care for the health of the boys was utterly inefficient. So far as I can see there was no care at all unless a boy got so ill as to compel attention – a visit to the (very good) sanatorium. It is incredible but true that, unless my memory fails me, there was no real physical examination of new boys at all. In those days we had a system of “House Rules” – the longest, the Crick Run, was 12½ miles, but only the elect competed there. Fortunately for me when I came to hold the “House Running Bags” which meant to be the runner of the house, I got ill just before I should have competed in the Crick. There were always cabs waiting to take the boys home after that run and I have watched them “Come In” covered often with spew from sickness. We were expected to run to the last. On ordinary house runs the bigger boys were keen to get as many as possible of the boys in the house to “Come In” because “The holder of the House Bags” had to keep a record in the old books (leather bound, in Green, the house colours) so that the old Rugbeans when they came down could compare their times with those of the past. I had the job of filling in those books and I used to coax along and tow along exhausted youngsters to get them home and so get a good record for the house books. In fact someone drew a caricature of me towing on each side two huge fat fellows up Hilmorton Road, the point of the caricature was my diminutive size and thinness and there fatness and stature. I was always on the small side in fact when in my last year I played half back for the school XV I was only 7½ stone and on one occasion was set the task by the captain of the school XV of marking and tackling C. B. Fry. As a matter of fact it did not prove so difficult as I found that CBF, being a soccer expert, would hesitate a second or two if likely to be tackled. That was one’s chance if he once got off his speed was terrific. Fortunately I was fast and “Nippy” if small, and sometimes I got his angles all right. The secret of course is to “Go low” for the tackle.  

To return to the house runs my criticism that in those days the whole house, old and young went together. This was far too great a strain on the youngsters to keep up with their elders in trying to tow them. The system received a shock when a boy “Coming In” was seen to run in a circle for a moment or two and then fall down. He was picked up dead. Even then some foolish old Rugbeans said we of that generation were getting soft (the same kind of foolish argument prevented our wearing scarves or overcoats in cold weather). Everybody in the house was expected to have a cold bath every the morning, I can still see in my minds eye the look of that cold water at 6.45am on a winters morning when discarding our night-gowns we naked boys stood on it’s edge and feared “to launch away”. The medical side of things was very badly managed, one had to be very robust to oneself justice, for masters made no allowance for boys arriving (through the snow and after morning chapel) at all dishevelled. It was a common occurrence to see a boy faint in chapel. Still worse was it when one was a Fag, that meant sometimes that from 8am to 9.15am one had to get back from the school to the house (seven minutes walk) get breakfast, sometimes make toast for the V1th clean and sweep a study, and oil lamp (colsa oil, filthy stuff), break up coal and light a fire and get down to school with clean hands, collar and lessons ready. I managed to stick it all right and was never once in the sanatorium, though frequently in the sick room of the house (where dear old Mrs Bobbett, the matron was a friend and a mother). My worst experience was when I was stunned at a house game of football in one of the grounds away from the school. When I came round I was sent home. Being dizzy (with bells ringing in my head) I took the wrong turning and started walking towards Coventry instead of Rugby. Fortunately I happened to meet some of our youngsters on a run, they guided me home. The next thing I remember was standing in Hall surrounded by a group of laughing boys, they told me afterwards that I was very amusing. One of the V1th came in to see what the noise was about, took one look at me and sent me to the sick room, he told me later that I was “ghastly white”. Mrs Bobbett put me to bed and I was so sick and vomited so continuously that the doctor was sent for and I had three days of discomfort before I returned to “work and play hard”.  

I was fortunate as a fag; my V1th was one Sir E. M. Crawley Boevay who was very considerate. Hubert had a brute called Hunter and received many an undeserved whacking. When he became V1th in his turn he was far too easy with his fags. This and other reasons made him very popular. He was called “Tomb” and he was liked because when there was a row about taking other peoples coal for fires in the V1th, he had a meeting about it. They decided to give one boy delinquent a V1th beating which meant two strokes from each of the house V1th. Hubert stood out against it as manifestly unfair and refused to take his part in it as a V1th. He was right because we all took all the coal we could find as fags because at all costs we had to keep our V1th fires burning in the study. A shocking system and the boy they picked on to make an example of was a Jew. It was very brave of Hubert to stand out, the only on, against his class, but he was like that. He was usually very mild in manner but once I remember a silly Ass, notorious for his seeking for popularity and called therefore “Bum Scraper” (pardon me!) stood in the house quadrangle and called out again and again “Tooomb”. Hubert was writing in the study at the time and I watched him, suddenly he got up and rushed down stairs, he chased the boy (a big one) who took refuge in the Butlers Pantry. Hubert kicked in the door and there was a scrimmage, presently the boy emerged minus coat, waistcoat, collar and braces and fled in confusion to his study.

Hubert was not then too popular as he was in the Army class and working hard for Sandhurst and wisely put his work first. On the whole I think he was the most popular boy in the house with the Fags and rank and file, especially when he developed in to a very efficient back for the house at Rugby football. Had he not got into Sandhurst I think he would have got into the XV. He was too mild with his Fags and our study was consequently scarped. When I got Fags of my own (five as head of the house) I did not err in this direction, which reminds me of the foolish matter of one of my Fags. On returning to school one term I found a small boy, fair and timid, at the station and as new boy I wanted to share the expense of a cab up from the station to the house. This new boy was wearing our house colours in his straw hat I got him to share the cab with me. He was timid and new so I made him one of my Fags, when I drew up the house list I forgot all about it. Later on in the term his mother, who happened to be a titled lady, came in to the hall with the housemaster to lunch and after grace said in a loud voice to the master, “which is Mr Man”? She was told, and turning to me in front of the whole house and the boy himself, said “I want to thank you Mr Man for what you did to help my boy Conrad. I was covered with confusion. A still more embarrassing occasion was when my second in command, a member of the V1th of course, said in complete innocence to the Housemasters Lady Housekeeper “we saw such a funny thing in the High Street this morning, “Two boys fixed together tail to tail”! Sensation! But it shows that a boy could be some years at Rugby and retain a childlike innocence.

 This brings me to a question of morals at Rugby and so to the chapel and religious aspect of things. There was no teaching on sex at all except general vague warnings and occasional outbursts of ferocious energy on the part of the headmaster and the masters if any sex irregularity was discovered. Ferocious is the right word. Morals to the Victorians of those days meant solely sex morality. There was so far as I remember not one single case of theft all the time I was at school, except of coal, which I have already explained. Naturally with growing boys from varied homes, good and bad, there was curiosity, which was unsatisfied by any direct teaching. Perhaps in some houses at confrontational times there may have been some - it never came my way. Thus whenever any irregularity was suspected or discovered there was a tremendous row. The masters being men with a knowledge of the wickedness of the world read into various things that happened a significance, which certainly did not occur to many of the boys concerned. And things, which happened which, necessitated certain punishments and a grave explanatory talk with the culprits were magnified. Many careers were thus early ruined for irregularities, which, were only the natural excesses of curious and mis-instructed adolescence. Boys were beaten and sacked from the school for crimes, which today would be punished certainly but not made into crimes with life long consequences to the boys concerned. 

Schools run on the ancient monastic system whereby the sexes are segregated it is inevitable that certain unhealthy friendships may, nay must, spring up between big and small boys. It was my misfortune to be head of the house and therefore technically responsible (according to the Rugby tradition) for everything that occurred in the house when such a crisis arose. My position was made more difficult by the fact that when the term began I was the only member of the V1th to return. On the first evening after the prayers, when the housemaster had withdrawn, on me alone fell the responsibility of addressing the house (as was the custom) in my capacity as head. And also I happened to be captain of the house Rugby XV, and holder of the “Running Bags”. An enormous responsibility fell on my shoulders and in addition my second in command was a youngster of no weight who had just entered the V1th. This was certainly unrealistic; he was no athlete and had no power of command. One example will suffice, one evening the housemaster invited me to dinner, and this boy, who I had purposely put in the same dormitory (seventeen boys) with myself, was left in charge till I returned to the dormitory at 10pm. Going up the stone steps to the dormitory I heard a din there and on opening the door I found the floor flowing with water from upset jugs, the boys all over the place in their night-shirts and several of them sitting on the chest of this young V1th shouting with laughter. Amid deathly silence I sent a boy for my cane and then and there whacked fourteen out of the seventeen over their thin nightshirts, and there was no further trouble.