SEASIDE HOLIDAYS
"_Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating,
Where will all come home?_"
--STEVENSON.
In May, 1886, I took my children to the Queen's Hotel, Eastbourne,
for a change, and, after a few days spent in looking for lodgings, I
settled them in St. John's Road. Parnell enjoyed the bathing at
Eastbourne greatly, and was much distressed that the weakness of my
heart prevented my joining him in his swims, and that boating had
most disastrous effects on me.
He was boyishly determined that I should at any rate join him in some
way in his sea "sports," and one warm May evening he insisted that if
I went into the sea fully dressed it could not hurt me. I thought it
would at any rate be most uncomfortable, but to please him I held
tightly to his arm while we waded far out to sea till the waves came
to my shoulder and threw me off my feet.
He held me tightly, laughing aloud as the ripple of waves and wind
caught my hair and loosed it about my shoulders; and, as I grew cold
and white, my wonderful lover carried me, with all my weight of
soaked clothing, back to the shore, kissing the wet hair that the
wind twisted about his face and whispering the love that almost
frightened me in its strength. Luckily the dusk of evening had come
down upon us, and I was able to get back {239} to the house in my wet
things, half-walking and half-carried by Parnell, without unduly
shocking Eastbourne's conventions.
As I thought I should be able to be away from my aunt, with
occasional flying visits to her, for about two months, Parnell had
two of our horses brought down to Eastbourne. He had during that
time to go to London and Ireland, but it was on the whole a peaceful
little interlude in his strenuous political life, and we were very
happy. He rode his horse President in the morning, and afterwards I
drove him far out into the country around Eastbourne with Dictator in
my phaeton.
We often drove out to Birling Gap--a favourite haunt of ours--and
there we selected a site for the ideal house of our dreams; a place
where one could hear nothing but the beating of the surf on the rocks
below and the wild call of the sea-birds. He loved that place, where
we could be absolutely alone save for the coastguardsman along the
cliff, who never intruded his interesting conversation, but who was
always ready for a chat when we cared to hear his stories of the sea.
It was impossible to drive near the place, so we had to leave
Dictator and the phaeton far off on the last bit possible to drive
upon. Parnell had an easy method of "hitching" a horse to something,
in the firm faith that he would find it there on return a few hours
later, and this made me very uneasy where my far from patient
Dictator was concerned. Parnell would settle the horse with a feed,
in charge of his groom, well sheltered behind a hill, and take a
fantastic pleasure in observing the sulky gloom of the young man's
face after an hour or so of this isolated meditation.
Parnell had a great love of sea-storms, and when there {240} was a
gale blowing from the west, and rough weather assured, he loved to
get me out to Birling Gap to listen to the roar of the sea and the
screaming of the wind as it blew around us, nearly carrying us off
our feet. He would tie his coat about me, and hold me firmly against
the wind as it tore about us, and while we gazed out at the raging
waves he would exclaim: "Isn't this glorious, my Queen? Isn't it
alive?"
Our coastguardsman friend always seemed somewhat pleased to see us,
though undoubtedly he thought us odd in our amusements. I have often
thought since that if we had built our house in that isolated
loveliness, where the sound of the sea and moan of the wind were
incessant, there would have been some truth in what was said
afterwards as to our house in Walsingham Terrace, that it was so
"terribly dreary."
On one occasion we drove to Pevensey, and, passing the station on our
return, a crowd from some local train came pouring out. Parnell
asked me to pull up to let the crowd go by; but to his consternation
this attracted the attention of some young men in the crowd, who at
once recognized him, and, waving their hats, cried "Parnell,
Parnell!" with that horrible emphasis on the "nell" that is so
prevalent. Parnell, lifting his hat, urged me in an agonized tone to
drive on, but it was too late. The crowd clustered about us,
insisting on shaking hands with him, and throwing covertly interested
glances at his companion. They would not let us go on till he had
made a little impromptu speech on current affairs, after which we
drove off amid cheers.
Parnell never swore, and "Goodness gracious!" learned from his nurse
in extreme youth, was the strongest expression he ever used, but the
dull, quiet anger such a {241} contretemps as this caused him would,
I felt, have been relieved could he have acquired the habit of
"language." This little incident at Pevensey would lead to newspaper
paragraphs, and it was hard we could not have a few days' quiet
amusement without having it boomed through the country. However, a
brilliant thought struck me. If we were to be bothered by paragraphs
let them be our own! So we drew up by the wayside, and concocted a
paragraph which told an over-interested world that "Mr. Parnell had
been staying at Hastings with his sister, and on visiting Pevensey
with her had," etc., etc. This, forwarded to the Press Association,
left us in peace at Eastbourne to complete our little holiday.
Apropos of Parnell's "Goodness gracious," he was at first quite
unconscious of his use of the words, and it was only on Willie's
plaintive query as to why he did not d---n like other men, instead of
using "that foolish and vulgar expression," he became aware of it.
He then admitted with some amusement that he liked the homely old
expression and did not d---n merely because it never occurred to him
to do so.
On the cliffs towards Beachy Head is a house that at that time was
built but not quite finished. Parnell took me up to see it, and
suggested that it might be a charming seaside retreat for us, even
though not the ideal we always had in our minds. This house then had
a beautiful and wide outlook over the sea, and I liked it so much
that he arranged to take it on a three years' agreement directly it
was finished. He wanted to have all the walls distempered instead of
papered, and we spent many hours over this and the selection of the
Minton tiles for the hall. The details of the house interested him
greatly, and one day when the men working there had gone to dinner
Parnell {242} showed me how to lay the tiles with so much energy that
we had finished their work by the time the men returned. He then
insisted upon my writing "Heatherbell Cottage" on a tile, which he
proceeded to inlay over the front door, earning the comment from the
men working there that he seemed to know as much about the "job" as
they did.
He then turned his attention to making a smooth lawn in our little
garden, spending hours pulling a roller up and down, while I sat on
the steps writing from his dictation "A Proposed Constitution for the
Irish and the English Peoples"--a production that excited the
greatest wrath in the minds of some of the Irish Party at a
subsequent meeting. I do not think that the English members of
Parliament were ever made acquainted with the benefits proposed for
their consideration under this "Constitution."
This Constitution was more fun than anything else. Parnell
undoubtedly put it before certain members of the Irish Party instead
of one drafted by his own hand. He told me afterwards that they
looked "absolutely ill" when they saw my handwriting, so he would not
withdraw it in favour of his own--till later.
I was sitting on the doorstep of our new house one day, idly watching
Parnell build a bank that was to be turfed over to keep us from
prying eyes, when he stopped suddenly and, leaning on his spade,
said: "I am a poet! And descended from the poet, Thomas Parnell."
"Not a poet," I answered gently, "even though descended from one."
"I am a poet myself; give me a pencil and paper." And, throwing
himself down beside me, he wrote down the following verse proudly.
"It came to me while I was digging," he said as he tossed it over to
me, "and it is a {243} real poem, and makes me a real poet. It's as
good as any of Tom Parnell's stuff!"
I was forced to confess that I agreed with him, as I do now, that it
was and is as good as, and better to me than, any of Thomas Parnell's
stuff, or "the stuff" of any poet who ever graced the world with
song. This is it:--
"The grass shall cease to grow,
The river's stream to run,
The stars shall ponder in their course,
No more shall shine the sun;
The moon shall never wane or grow,
The tide shall cease to ebb and flow,
Ere I shall cease to love you."
CHAS. PARNELL.
One evening in 1886, on his return from town, Parnell told me about
Mr. O'Brien's Plan of Campaign. He did not approve of it, and said
that he did not wish to have anything to do with the working of it,
adding: "I shall let O'Brien run it by himself."
Parnell was looking and feeling very ill at this time, and when Mr.
O'Brien took upon himself to call at my house to see him, entirely
uninvited, Parnell was not really well enough to see him. He was
suffering from nervous breakdown, chiefly brought on by gastric
trouble, which in its turn was produced by overwork and the strain of
political life. All through his life Parnell was delicate. From
1880, when I first met him (and nursed him into health) to 1891, when
he died, it was only by incessant watchfulness and care that I was
able to maintain his health at all. It is certainly the fact that
only his indomitable will and power of mind rendered him capable of
enduring the strain of his public life and of the feats {244} of
strength that few men of far greater physique would have attempted.
It was in allusion to this illness at the time of the visit of Mr.
O'Brien that Parnell said in his speech at the Eighty Club (May 8,
1888): "I was ill, dangerously ill; it was an illness from which I
have not entirely recovered up to this day. I was so ill that I
could not put pen to paper, or even read the newspaper. I knew
nothing about the movement until weeks after it had started, and even
then I was so feeble that for several months--absolutely up to the
meeting of Parliament--I was positively unable to take part in any
public matter, and was scarcely able to do so for months afterwards.
But, if I had been in a position to advise, I candidly submit to you
that I should have advised against it."
Mr. O'Brien called again to see Parnell during the time he was so
ill, and he left his room for the first time to go down to the
sitting-room to see him. They had a long talk over the Plan of
Campaign and other matters, and the interview left Parnell so
exhausted that he was very ill again for some days afterwards.
Long after he told me, "All I got for getting up to see O'Brien was
that he went about telling people that I was insane."
Mr. Parnell had been feeling low and depressed all through the summer
of this year, and towards the autumn I became very much worried about
his lassitude and general feeling of illness. I tried different
diets without effect, and, thinking it might be better for him to go
straight to bed after "the House," I took a house in London for him
and settled him there, but he could not bear the loneliness and came
back to Eltham as usual after a few nights. In November he became
worse, and I insisted {245} upon his consulting a doctor, suggesting
Sir Henry Thompson, as I had heard he was very clever. I took him to
London on the afternoon of November 6, in a closed carriage, and he
was feeling so weak and nervous that he asked me to go in and see Sir
Henry first for him. His nerves had completely broken down and I
felt terribly worried about him. He stayed in the waiting-room while
I went into the consulting-room. Here Sir Henry hurried in from
dinner, extremely irritable at being disturbed at such an unseemly
hour for a "Mr. Charles Stewart," whom he did not know. "Look, look,
_look_! Look at the clock! What's the matter? I have a
consultation in a few minutes!"
I was very glad that the door between the rooms was shut, as I felt
that such a reception in his state of nerves would have caused
Parnell to leave the house without waiting for an interview. I began
to point out that "my" patient could not, in such a low state, face
such an ungenial reception. So he permitted me to explain a little
about Mr. Stewart's ill-health, and as he was kindness itself, losing
every trace of impatience, he helped Parnell into his room, where,
after receiving a smile of assurance from Parnell, and having seen
the relief in his face, I left them together, feeling what an
inestimable blessing it was to have placed Parnell's health in such a
haven of security in so far as human skill could aid it.
The knowledge, throughout the rest of Parnell's life, of being able
to obtain Sir Henry Thompson's advice was a great comfort to this
overwrought man.
Sir Henry Thompson warned me that it was most important for Mr.
Parnell's health that his feet should be kept very warm, as his
circulation was bad. When his feet became cold it upset his
digestion, and this so {246} disorganized his general health that he
was then laid up for several days. I always insisted upon his
frequently changing his shoes and socks when he was at home, and gave
him a little black bag containing a change whenever he was sure to be
away for a few hours, as I found that the trouble of the frequent
changing was amply compensated for in warm feet and therefore better
health.
So curiously inquisitive were some of the Irish Party about its
contents that the little bag with the change of socks and shoes
became an obsession with them till one of them made the brilliant
discovery that "Parnell had boots and socks in it to save him from
wet feet!" Parnell used to complain to me when he handed it over to
me that I might see by the different coloured socks that he had kept
his promise of "changing" in town, that ----'s eyes seemed to be
boring holes in the bag, and he was really thinking it would be
better to hang the other shoes and socks round his neck if he must
take them about with him!
When Parnell had to go over to Ireland he desired his secretary, Mr.
Campbell, to bring his correspondence down to me at Eastbourne in
order that I might deal with one or two matters on which he desired
immediate intelligence telegraphed to him in our private code. He
had long since registered the telegraphic address of "Satellite" for
me that he might be able to telegraph with more privacy, and this
arrangement had proved its usefulness many times in political and
private matters. He had himself put together the code words we used,
and insisted on my learning them by heart, to obviate the risk of any
misunderstanding in case of loss.
Most of the words used were taken from his assaying operations,
though not all, and were sent as from one {247} engineer to another
about work in hand. In the code Willie appeared as "Tailings" and
with Middlings, Crude, Gas, Overseer, Slag, Concentrate, Deposit, and
a few other such words for Gladstone, Chamberlain, and other
politicians, our code was an excellent working medium of private
communication.
Before we took the house in Eastbourne we made a flying visit to
Bognor, but this, though in those days a pretty, fresh, little place,
was very difficult to get at, and impossible from a politician's
point of view. We went there on a gloriously stormy day, and
thoroughly enjoyed it. In our search for houses we even got as far
as Selsey, but when, on our going into the house we had come to see,
the caretaker carefully double-locked the door, Parnell turned with a
horrified gesture to me, and insisted upon leaving at once without
going over the house at all. It was an omen of misfortune, he said,
and we could never be happy in such a house.
I have always thought that one of the greatest charms of Parnell's
personality was the extraordinary simplicity of his outlook on
ordinary life allied to the extremely subtle trend of his intellect.
A man of moods, he never permitted a mood to blind him to probable,
or possible, issues in political matters. A keen judge of character,
he summed up, mentally docketed, and placed in the pigeon-hole of
memory, each and every man who came into his political vision, and
could thus at any time place, sort, and direct any pawn of the Irish
political game. Yet in things having no political significance his
simplicity was almost absurd in its naïveté.
An amusing instance of what I mean occurred while we were at
Eastbourne in '86. There was a boy I {248} employed about the house
at Eltham, who was growing too fast, and looked as though he would be
all the better for a little sea air. As I was taking my own servants
down to Eastbourne I took this boy down also for a holiday, since it
made little difference as to expense. This child was, I suppose,
about fourteen years old, and once as I sat at the window, sorting
Parnell's letters, and enjoying the morning air, I was suddenly
struck with consternation to see my protégé, Jimmie, escorted up the
road between two of Eastbourne's largest policemen. I said to
Parnell, "Look!" and, following the direction of my horrified
forefinger, he gazed sadly out at Jimmie, and replied, "Throwing
stones, I'll wager. _More_ paragraphs, sweetheart! You shouldn't
have boys about."
But the large policeman insisted upon an interview with "the
gentleman," with "Mr. Stewart," and, on my having the whole party in
to hear the worst, we were informed that poor Jimmie had been caught
trying to change a £50 note at the grocer's shop! "Mr. Stewart's"
cold gravity of expression changed to one of deprecating amusement as
I glanced indignantly at him. "I had no change, constable, so of
course sent the boy to change the note," explained Parnell. "Told
'em so," threw in Jimmie, now feeling fairly safe and the centre of
interest. But Eastbourne policemen are far too unimaginative to
believe that boys of Jimmie's age are to be sent for change for £50
notes, and it was with the utmost difficulty we got rid of these
stolid guardians of our pockets.
Parnell, after sending the boy for change, had temporarily forgotten
the matter, and no explanation could convince him that it was the
obvious thing that the boy should be "arrested" on trying to change
so large a note. {249} "Jimmie's a nuisance, but anyone can see that
he is honest," was his conclusion.
On one of our excursions, ostensibly to look for a house, but really
as much as anything for the purpose of getting away for a few hours
to the sea, we went to Herne Bay. This was a charming and lonely
little place then; a cluster of houses set in green fields and a
fresh sea dashing over the little pier. It was always on days when
the wind was high that the longing for the sea came over us, and thus
we generally found the sea responding to our mood.
At this little village of Herne Bay the house we saw was unsuitable,
but the day is a memory of salt wind and rough waves, followed by a
picnic dinner at the little inn, where Parnell ordered a fowl to be
roasted, and was momentarily saddened by my refusal to eat that
murdered bird, which had been so pleasantly finding its own dinner
when he gave the order.
{250}