THE DIAMOND JUBILEE—INDIA—THE PASSING OF THE GREAT QUEEN

I realise that in the foregoing pages I have dwelt more on foreign lands than on our own country. This only means that they offered more novelty, not that England was less interesting to my husband and myself.

The great Lord Shaftesbury used to say that his was a generation which served God less and man more. I trust that only the latter half of this dictum has proved true, but certainly throughout Queen Victoria’s reign men and women seemed increasingly awake to their duty to their fellows and particularly to children.

Without touching on well-known philanthropic movements, I should like to mention one, unostentatious but typical of many others—namely, the “Children’s Happy Evenings Association,” founded by Miss Ada Heather-Bigg and inspired throughout its existence by the energy of her sister, Lady Bland-Sutton. This was the pioneer Society for organised play in the Board, now “County,” Schools. It owed much to the work of many of my friends, and was specially fortunate in the personal interest of its patron, now Queen Mary. Though the exigencies of the new Education Act compelled it to cease its voluntary work after the Great War, during thirty years it brought happiness into the lives of thousands of poor children.To return to our Osterley experiences.

We had one specially interesting Sunday in June 1895. Among others staying with us from Saturday to Monday were Lord and Lady George Hamilton and Sir Stafford and Lady Northcote. Mr. Arthur Balfour came down on Sunday to dine and spend the night, and he and Lord George were busy with a game of lawn tennis on the garden front of the house. Several of us were in another part of the grounds under the cedars overlooking the Lake, enjoying the fine warm afternoon.

All at once a very hot and dusty figure appeared through the little gate near the portico and revealed itself as Schomberg—commonly called “Pom”—McDonnell, then Lord Salisbury’s Private Secretary. I went to meet him, offering tea, dinner, or whatever hospitality he preferred. All he would say in breathless and very serious tones was, “Give me an egg beat up in brandy and find me Arthur Balfour.”

The desired refreshment and the statesman were produced in due course. It appeared on further inquiry that Mr. McDonnell had bicycled from Hatfield to London in search of Mr. Balfour, and not finding him in Carlton Gardens had pursued him to Osterley. Such were the exigencies of pre-motor days. The interview over, the messenger retreated as swiftly as he had come.

We were not allowed to know the message till next morning when the papers came with the thrilling announcement, “Resignation of the Government”! Mr. Balfour said to me, “I might quite well have told you, but Pom was so very determined that I should not.”

The only recipient of the secret was Lord George Hamilton.

When Mr. Balfour returned to the lawn-tennis ground he said very quietly to Lord George between the sets, “The Government have resigned”; and then continued his game as if nothing had happened.

Viscount VilliersHon. Arthur VilliersHon. Walter RiceLord Dunsany
Imogen RiceEarl of Jersey

GROUP AT MIDDLETON PARK, CHRISTMAS, 1904

Col. Earl of LongfordCountess of LongfordLady Margaret RiceCountess of Jersey
Lord SilchesterLady PansyLady DunsanyCharles Rice
PakenhamElwyn Rice

Lord Rosebery’s Government had been defeated a few days previously on the cordite vote, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman having been Secretary of State for War. Of course there was great excitement. Mr. St. John Brodrick spent the next Sunday with us, and was summoned to London by Lord Salisbury early on the Monday morning, when he was offered, and accepted, the post of Under-Secretary of State for War.

There was a prevalent idea that Mr. Chamberlain would become Secretary of State for War, but I felt sure that he would obtain the Colonies, knowing what a deep interest he took in the Overseas Empire. We had once had a long conversation about it at a dinner at Greenwich. When the appointment was made I wrote to congratulate him, and he said in his reply, “I hope I may be able to do something to promote the closer union of our Empire”—a hope amply fulfilled.

I have many recollections of Mr. Chamberlain at Osterley. He was a charming guest, always ready to take his share in any amusement or discussion. It was comical to see him on one occasion making his way in a sort of trot down the Gallery with a serious expression on his face, and his arm extended at full length holding a poker towards him, which the game somehow entailed his keeping clear of his nose.

He loved to sit on the platform on the top of the double flight of steps leading to the garden after dinner on hot nights, smoking and talking. I remember that he told us a good ghost story, but am sorry that I forget the details. The last time I saw him before his sad illness I sat next to him at dinner at his own house. He had then taken up Protection (which I always wished he had called “Preference”). I said to him: “You know, Mr. Chamberlain, I am a Free Trader?”

“Yes,” he said, “I know, but you will give an old friend credit for being honest.”

“Certainly,” I replied, and I said that truthfully with my whole heart.

In later years we were neighbours at Cannes, as we had the Villa Luynes for four seasons, not far from the Villa Victoria where he took up his winter abode. Everyone bore witness to Mrs. Chamberlain’s devotion, and it was splendid to see how she encouraged him, and helped him to retain his interest in the outer world in which he could no longer play an active part.

Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897 was marked by even greater enthusiasm than the celebrations of 1887. Ten years of that life of devotion to her Empire had drawn ever closer the links between her and her people. They had shared with her yet more sorrows and yet more joys, especially the death of the Duke of Clarence, the marriage of our present King, and the births of our Prince of Wales and the Duke of York.

I think the Prince of Wales began his inroad into the hearts of the populace on this occasion. When the Queen returned from her triumphal procession to St. Paul’s the two little Princes were taken out on to a balcony to see and be seen by the throng below. The infant Prince Albert danced in his nurse’s arms, but Prince Edward, or, as he was always called, Prince David, solemnly and correctly saluted in return for the ringing cheers with which he was greeted. An eye-witness recounted at the time that still the spectators cheered, and again and again the boy saluted, till at length as they would not stop he evidently felt that something more was required, and saluted with both hands.

We had an exciting time, as the custom has always been that when the Lord Mayor receives the Sovereign at Temple Bar he should await his or her arrival at Child’s Bank, which is No. 1 Fleet Street. We accordingly went there with our family and particular friends, including my father and mother. My father’s ancestor, Sir Thomas Leigh, was Lord Mayor when Queen Elizabeth visited the city on her accession and presented it with the Pearl Sword; and two of my husband’s ancestors, Sir Francis Child and his son bearing the same name, who were Lords Mayor in the eighteenth century, are represented in their portraits at Osterley as holding this sword.

The Lord Mayor of the Diamond Jubilee, Sir George Faudel-Phillips, brought this same sword to the Bank and showed it to us, realising our special interest, as the representatives of both our families had had charge of the sword in bygone years, and were present to see it offered to Queen Victoria.

This ceremony took place exactly opposite the Bank, and was certainly a trying one for the Lord Mayor, as he had to offer the sword to her Majesty, receive it back, and then in his flowing robes leap to his horse and still bearing the weapon ride before her carriage to St. Paul’s.

It was impossible not to recall pictures of John Gilpin when one saw his mantle flying in the air, but I must say that Sir George displayed excellent horsemanship and carried through his part without a hitch.

I never saw the Queen more beaming than on this occasion, and no wonder, for she fully realised that the wild acclamations of the people came straight from their hearts. When we were again at Windsor in the following May I ventured to hope that Her Majesty had not been overtired. She said, “No—not on the day, but when the celebrations had gone on for a month she was rather tired.”

Rather an amusing incident occurred during the procession. Lady Northcote and her father, Lord Mount Stephen, were among our guests at the Bank. A few days previously Lady Northcote had met Lord Roberts, Sir Donald Stewart, and Sir Redvers Buller, and had said jokingly: “What is the good of knowing Field Marshals if they do not salute one on such an occasion?” As a result all three saluted her—Lord Roberts in particular was riding at the head of the Colonial and Asiatic troops on the little white Arab horse which he had ridden all through the Afghan War, and all the time when he was Commander-in-Chief in Madras and in India. The horse wore the Afghan medal and the Kandahar Star given him by Queen Victoria. When Lord Roberts was opposite Child’s, he duly reined his charger round and solemnly saluted. An evening paper gravely asserted that he had saluted the city and that it was “a fine thing finely done.” It was finely done, but the salute was to a lady, not to the city!

In the following year our eldest daughter Margaret married Lord Dynevor’s son, Walter Rice, and in 1899 our second daughter Mary married Lord Longford. These proved the happiest possible marriages, and our grandchildren as delightful as their parents. Both these weddings took place from 25 St. James’s Place by the extreme kindness of Lady Northcote, who provided the whole of the entertainments, including putting us all up for the two occasions.My brother Rowland in 1898 married in America the daughter of General Gordon of Savannah, who was warmly welcomed in our family.

In March 1899 Lady Northcote and I had a short but delightful tour in Holland and Belgium.

Soon after this came the black shadows of the African War, in which Longford took a distinguished part, serving with the 2nd Life Guards and with the Imperial Yeomanry, and, at Lord Robert’s desire, raising the Irish Horse. Though he was wounded at Lindley he returned safely—but, alas! in the European War he was killed at Suvla Bay—one of the best and bravest of men.

Lord Northcote having been appointed Governor of Bombay, he and Lady Northcote left England early in 1900. My remaining daughter Beatrice and I travelled with them as far as Marseilles, where they joined their ship and we went on to North Italy.

The war was still raging in South Africa and we lived in a state of constant anxiety. While we were in Florence, however, the news came of the relief of Kimberley. I shall always recollect the arrival of a brief telegram to the effect that “General French had ridden into Kimberley,” quite sufficient to induce total strangers to address each other in the tea-shop, which was a common resort, and to exchange happy speculations as to the truth of the news.

In Paris on our way back we had the further tidings of the surrender of Cronje, and the relief of Ladysmith, which I regret to say did not improve the temper of the French or their manners towards English travellers—but perhaps all this is better now forgotten. We had found the Italians perfectly amiable.

One great difference between the Boer War and that which has since devastated the world was that the former did not in any way interfere with ocean travel, and in the autumn following the departure of our friends, Jersey, Beatrice, and myself set off again to join them in India. They were on tour when we first reached Bombay, so we went to see some of our former haunts and a few places which we had not previously visited.

I have already written so much of India that I will only very briefly mention some incidents which particularly struck me on this occasion. I pass over the wonderful Caves of Ellora, for, marvellous as they are, they are fully described in guide-books. We paid a second visit to Hyderabad, and it was curious there to note the strong contrast between the modern education of the girls of the higher classes and the conservative attitude of some of the old ladies.

We attended a large dinner given by the Vikar, or Prime Minister, who was married to the Nizam’s sister, and after dinner he expressed a wish that I should pay a visit to his wife, who lived in a palace near the hall in which we had dined. The Resident’s wife kindly accompanied me, though she had not hitherto made the lady’s acquaintance.

It was the weirdest visit I ever paid. Darkness had fallen, and we were received at the entrance of the Palace by a number of wild-looking females bearing torches and wrapped in red saris. They reminded me of an old print representing a beldame with a flaming torch at the Gate of Tartarus, with Cerberus and other monsters in the background: rather a libel on the women, who were doubtless excellent in private life, but who seemed to be guarding a fatal portal on this occasion. They conducted us to a vast, dimly lighted chamber with pillars and arches; which might have been the Hall of Eblis.

What was happening in its recesses I could not see, but in the middle, on an ordinary-looking chair, sat the Princess, her destined daughter-in-law squatting at her feet and attendants in the background. She was wrapped in a gorgeous green-and-gold sari and covered with jewels on neck, arms, and ankles, but her bare feet projected in an uncomfortable manner; she looked as if a cushion on the floor would have suited her much better than her stiff seat. Near her, looking singularly incongruous, stood her son, and a stepson whose existence scandal said she resented. The young men were attired in immaculate European dress-clothes, and might had walked out of the Bachelors’ Club except that they wore on their heads curious mitre-shaped hats which indicated their connection with the Nizam’s house. They both spoke English perfectly. Our conversation with the lady was naturally limited to translated platitudes, but I was interested to see the heroine, who was reckoned very clever but not over-scrupulous.

At the great fortress city of Gwalior we visited very different ladies—the mother and wife of Scindia, who received us in pleasant apartments, well-furnished, light and airy. The old lady might have been an English dowager—she was extremely talkative and full of her son the Maharajah, who was expected back immediately from the Boxer War. The little wife was in the charge of an English governess and seemed anxious to remain in another room out of her mother-in-law’s way. She was about eighteen, and was much amused at the height of my daughter who was her contemporary. Unfortunately the poor young thing had no child, though she had been married for some years. The Maharajah was devoted to her and wanted to avoid a second marriage, but later on was obliged to consent to taking another wife with a view to providing an heir.

I do not know what ceremonies were then necessary, but when he married our young friend certain difficulties had arisen. The wife of Scindia had to be chosen from a very limited caste, and the only eligible young lady at the moment was the daughter of a quite middle-class family somewhere near Bombay or Poona. Now if the lady had been his equal by birth it would have been proper for the Maharajah to ride to her residence in order to bring her home, but he could not have gone to a comparatively humble abode. As a compromise he had to ride the same number of days which it would have taken him to reach his bride, but it was arranged that he should do this in his own dominions, sleeping each night at the house of one of his Sirdars.

At Lahore we saw the College for young Chiefs, modelled as far as possible on the lines of an English Public School and, like the Mayo College at Ajmere, intended to bring up a manly race of rulers without the risks attendant on sending them to England. The majority of the youths whom we saw were Mohammedans or Sikhs. The Mohammedans would mess together, but, though the Sikhs are by way of disregarding caste, in practice it was found that each youth preferred to eat in private. This may have been partly a question of dignity, as these young northern chiefs came attended with personal servants.

Their private rooms, with occupant’s name outside, were not unlike those of Eton boys, and each contained a little illuminated card calling attention to the special observances of the scholar’s own faith, and saying that the Directors of the College were anxious that the students should attend to their religious obligations.I noticed outside one door “Granth Sahib,” and wondered what Scotsman had entered himself as pupil with such companions. On inquiry it proved that this was the shrine or chapel of the “Granth” or Sacred Book of the Sikhs, the one symbol allowed in their worship. We went into the room where it was kept, and found a large volume lying on the floor, with flowers thrown upon it, evidently the offering of some devotee who had performed “poojah” or worship.

At beautiful Amritsar, now a home of sad memories, in the Golden Temple in the Lake, we saw a far more gorgeous shrine, but still with the Granth as its centre of worship.

I must not linger over these scenes, though every part of India offers a fresh temptation to dwell on its manifold races, its historic temples and palaces, but must hasten to our sojourn at Bombay, where Lord and Lady Northcote gave us some of the most delightful weeks of our lives, including a truly cheerful Christmas in a home away from home.

Every day brought something of interest seen under the best possible auspices, and every evening a happy time with our friends. It was a joy also to find how they had rooted themselves in the esteem and affection of both English and Indians in the Presidency.

Just before we sailed for England came the news of Queen Victoria’s serious illness. Everyone knew, though no one liked to acknowledge, that recovery was problematical. Wireless telegraphy was still in its infancy, so we had no news between Bombay and Aden, where we arrived in the middle of the night. I was asleep in my berth when our ship anchored, and I shall never forget waking in the early dawn and hearing a man’s voice saying to a friend just outside my cabin, “She went off very quietly.” No need to ask who it was whose passing from earth had wrung the hearts of many nations, and not least of those who go down to the sea in ships.

People who remember those winter days need no description of their import, and those who are too young to recall them can never realise what it meant to feel as if a whole Empire had become one great orphaned family. Statesmen and soldiers had given place to their successors, poets, philosophers, and men of science had passed away, but for over sixty years the Queen had been the unchanging centre of our national life, and it seemed incredible that even she had laid down the burden of sovereignty, and would no longer share the joys and sorrows of her people.

And here I would end these wandering reminiscences, but must just record one tribute to her memory in which I was privileged to take part.

In the following May a number of women dressed in deep mourning assembled at 10 Downing Street, then the dwelling of the Prime Minister, Mr. Arthur Balfour. His sister Miss Balfour, Miss Georgina Frere, daughter of the late Sir Bartle Frere, and Lady Edward Cecil (now Lady Milner) had assembled us in order that we might establish a society for knitting more closely together British subjects dwelling in various parts of the Empire.

We called it the Victoria League in memory of the great Queen-Empress under whose sway that Empire had extended to “regions CÆsar never knew.” The executive committee then elected was composed of the wives and sisters of Cabinet Ministers, of wives of leaders of the Opposition, and other representative ladies. Most unexpectedly, just before the meeting Lady Rayleigh (Mr. Balfour’s sister) informed me that I was to take the chair and that it was intended to appoint me first President. My breath was quite taken away, but there was neither time nor opportunity for remonstrance, and I concluded that I was chosen because one great object of the founders being to emphasise “no party politics,” it was thought wiser not to select a President whose husband was of Cabinet rank, and that though a Conservative I had the qualification of overseas experience.

The late Lady Tweedmouth, a Liberal, was appointed Vice-President, and shortly afterwards Mrs. Alfred Lyttelton, representing the Liberal Unionists, became Honorary Secretary. Later on Miss Talbot, now Dame Meriel, took the post of Secretary, which she held for fifteen years, and Mrs. Maurice Macmillan succeeded Miss Georgina Frere as Honorary Treasurer, a position which she still holds. Miss Drayton, O.B.E., is now our most efficient Secretary.

For myself I have been President for twenty-one years, and, thanks to the extraordinary kindness and capacity of my colleagues, those years have been full of interest and unshadowed by any disputes, despite the divergent politics of the directing committees. We have always borne in mind the purpose of the League so well summed up by Rudyard Kipling on its foundation, “the first attempt to organise sympathy.”

We have now 38 British Branches and 22 Overseas Affiliated Leagues, besides Allied Associations, and we are honoured by having the King and Queen as Patrons and the Prince of Wales and other members of the Royal Family as Vice-Patrons.

Men were soon added to our Councils, and we had two splendid Deputy Presidents in Sir Edward Cook and Sir James Dunlop-Smith, now, alas! both taken from us. But the twenty-one years of the League’s work lie outside the limits of these wandering recollections.

I would, however, like to insert the wise words which Mr. Chamberlain wrote on March 16th, 1902, in reply to a request sent by desire of our Committee for some official recognition. After acknowledging my letter he continues:

He then proceeds to explain the view which he says he has already discussed with Mr. Alfred Lyttelton—namely, that it is wiser to refrain from giving official colour to a work which had better maintain a “private and personal character.” He continues:

He expresses himself as ready at any time to give such assistance as obtaining special privileges for the guests we represent at the Coronation or other functions, and then says:

Naturally we felt the justice of views so fully and courteously explained.

And now I must end. The years spent under the rule of two great Kings, and the guidance of two gracious Queens, have had their joys and sorrows, public and private, but they lie too near our day for a woman to attempt even a personal record of what they have brought under her ken.

The happy marriages of my eldest son to the beloved daughter of Lord Kilmorey, of my youngest daughter to Lord Dunsany, and of my brother Rupert to Miss Dudley Smith belong to the present century.

I can only say how grateful I am for the affection of many friends, and the love of my children and grandchildren, which have softened the sorrows and heightened the joys of these latter years.

THE END