ELSIE MAUD INGLIS
1864-1917
‘Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the
womb is His reward. As arrows are in the hand of the mighty man, so
are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver
full of them; they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with
the enemies in the gate.’
NAINI TAL, _Aug. 16, 1864_.
‘MY DARLING AMY,--Thank God, I am able to tell you that your dearest
mother, and your little sister who was born this morning are well.
Aunt Ellen thinks that baby is very like your dearest mother, but I
do not see the resemblance at present. I hope I may by and by. We
could not form a better wish for her, than that she may grow up like
her dear mother in every respect. Old Sona is quite delighted to have
another baby to look after again. She took possession of her the
moment she was born, as she has done with all of you. The nurse says
she is a very strong and healthy baby. I wish to tell you as early as
possible the good news of God’s great mercy and goodness towards us in
having brought your dearest mother safely through this trial.’
Mrs. Inglis writes a long account of Elsie at a month old, and says she
is supposed to have a temper, as she makes herself heard all over the
house, and strongly objects to being brought indoors and put into her
cradle.
In October she writes how the two babies, her own and Aunt Ellen’s
little boy, had been taken to church to be baptized, the one by the
name of Elsie Maude, the other Cyril Powney. Both children were
thriving, and no one would know that there were two babies in the
house. ‘Elsie always stares very hard at papa when he comes to speak
to her, as if she did not quite know what to make of his black beard,
something different to what she is accustomed to see, but she generally
ends by laughing at him’--the first notice of that radiant friendship
in which father and daughter were to journey together in a happy
pilgrimage through life.
Elsie had early to make long driving expeditions with her parents, and
her mother reports her as ‘accommodating herself to circumstances,
watching the trees, sleeping under them, and the jolliest little
traveller I ever saw.’
In December 1864 Mrs. Inglis reports their return from camp:--
‘It has been most extraordinarily warm for the time of year, and
there has been very little rain during the whole twelvemonth. People
attribute it to the wonderful comet which has been visible in the
southern hemisphere. Elsie is very well, but she is a very little
thing with a very wee face. She has a famous pair of large blue eyes,
and it is quite remarkable how she looks about her and seems to
observe everything. She lies in her bed at night in the dark and talks
away out loud in her own little language, and little voice, and she is
always ready for a laugh.’
Later on Mrs. Inglis writes: ‘I think she is one of the most
intelligent babies I ever met with.’
Every letter descriptive of the dark, blue-eyed baby with the fast
growing light hair, speaks of the smile ready for every one who speaks
to her, and the hearty laughs which seem to have been one of her
earliest characteristics.
One journey tried Elsie’s philosophy of taking life as she found it.
Mrs. Inglis writes to her daughter:--
NAINI TAL, 1865.
‘We came in palkies from Beharin to a place called Jeslie, half way
up the hill to Naini Tal, and were about ten hours in the palkies. I
had arranged to have Elsie with me in my palkie, but the little monkey
did not like being away from Sona, and then the strangeness of the
whole proceedings bewildered her, and the noise of the bearers seemed
to frighten her, so I was obliged to make her over to Sona. She went
to sleep after a little while. As we came near the hills it became
cold and a wind got up, and then Papa brought her back to me, for we
did not quite like her being in Sona’s doolie, which was not so well
protected as mine. She had become more reconciled to the disagreeables
of dâk travelling by that time. We reached our house about nine
o’clock yesterday morning. The change from the dried-up hot plains is
very pleasant. You may imagine how often I longed for the railroad and
our civilised English way of travelling.’
Mrs. Shaw M‘Laren, the companion sister of Elsie, and to whom her
correspondence always refers, has written down some memories of the
happy childhood days in India. The year was divided between the plains
and the hills of India. Elsie was born in August 1864, at Naini Tal,
one of the most beautiful hill stations in the Himalayas. From the
verandah, where much of the day was spent, the view was across the
masses of ‘huddled hills’ to the ranges crowned by the everlasting
snows. An outlook of silent and majestic stillness, and one which
could not fail to influence such a spirit as shone out in the always
wonderful eyes of Elsie. She grew up with the vision of the glory of
the earthly dominion, and it gave a new meaning to the kingdom of the
things of the spirit.
‘All our childhood is full of remembrances of “Father.” He never
forgot our birthdays; however hot it was down in the scorched plains,
when the day came round, if we were up in the hills, a large parcel
would arrive from him. His very presence was joy and strength when he
came to us at Naini Tal. What a remembrance there is of early walks
and early breakfasts with him and the three of us. The table was
spread in the verandah between six and seven. Father made three cups
of cocoa, one for each of us, and then the glorious walk! Three ponies
followed behind, each with their attendant grooms, and two or three
red-coated chaprasis, father stopping all along the road to talk to
every native who wished to speak to him, while we three ran about,
laughing and interested in everything. Then, at night, the shouting
for him after we were in bed and father’s step bounding up the stair
in Calcutta, or coming along the matted floor of our hill home. All
order and quietness flung to the winds while he said good night to us.
‘It was always understood that Elsie and he were special chums, but
that never made any jealousy. Father was always just! The three cups
of cocoa were exactly the same in quality and quantity. We got equal
shares of his right and his left hand in our walks, but Elsie and he
were comrades, inseparables from the day of her birth.
‘In the background of our lives there was always the quiet strong
mother, whose eyes and smile live on through the years. Every morning
before the breakfast and walk, there were five minutes when we sat
in front of her in a row on little chairs in her room and read the
scripture verses in turn, and then knelt in a straight, quiet row and
repeated the prayers after her. Only once can I remember father being
angry with any of us, and that was when one of us ventured to hesitate
in instant obedience to some wish of hers. I still see the room in
which it happened, and the thunder in his voice is with me still.’
Both Mr. and Mrs. Inglis belonged to the Anglican Church, though they
never hesitated to go to any denomination where they found the best
spiritual life. In later life in Edinburgh, they were connected with
the Free Church of Scotland. To again quote from his daughter: ‘His
religious outlook was magnificently broad and beautiful, and his belief
in God simple and profound. His devotion to our mother is a thing
impossible to speak about, but we all feel that in some intangible way
it influenced and beautified our childhood.’
In 1870 Mrs. Inglis writes of the lessons of Elsie and her sister Eva.
‘The governess, Mrs. Marwood, is successful as a teacher; it comes easy
enough to Elsie to learn, and she delights in stories being told her.
Every morning after their early morning walk, and while their baths
are being got ready, their mother says they come to her to say their
prayers and learn their Bible lesson.’ There are two letters more or
less composed by Elsie and written by her father. In as far as they
were dictated by herself, they take stock of independent ways, and the
spirit of the Pharisee is early developed in the courts of the Lord’s
House, as she manages not to fall asleep all the time, while the weaker
little sister slumbers and sleeps.
Eva, the sleepy sister, has some further reminiscences of these nursery
days:--
‘We had forty dolls! Elsie decreed once that they should all have
measles--so days were spent by us three painting little red dots all
over the forty faces and the forty pairs of arms and legs. She was the
doctor and prescribed gruesome drugs which we had to administer. Then
it was decreed that they should slowly recover, so each day so many
spots were washed off until the epidemic was wiped out!
‘Another time one of the forty dolls was lost! Maria was small and
ugly, but much loved, and the search for her was _tremendous_, but
unsuccessful. The younger sister gave it up. After all there were
plenty other dolls--never mind Maria! But Elsie stuck to it. Maria
must be found. Father would find her when he came home from Kutcherry
in the evening, if nobody else could. So father was told with many
tears of Maria’s disappearance. He agreed--Maria must be found. The
next day all the enormous staff of Indian servants, numbering all
told about thirty or so, were had up in a row and told that unless
Maria was found sixpence would be cut from each servant’s pay for
interminable months! _What_ a search ensued! and Maria came to light
within half an hour--in the pocket of one of the dresses of her little
mistress found by one of the ayahs! Her mistress declared at the time,
and always maintained with undiminished certainty, that she had first
been put there, and then found by the ayah in question during that
half-hour’s search!’
These reminiscences have more of interest than just the picture of
the little child who was to carry on the early manifestations of a
keen interest in life. A smile, surely one of the clouds of glory she
trailed from heaven, and carried back untarnished by the tragedies of a
stricken earth; they are chiefly valuable in the signs of a steadfast,
independent will. The interest of all Elsie’s early development lay in
the comradeship with a father whose wide benevolence and understanding
love was to be the guide and helper in his daughter’s career. Not for
the first time in the history of outstanding lives, the daughter has
been the friend, and not the subjugated child of a selfish and dominant
parent.
The date of Elsie’s birth was in the dawn of the movement which
believed it possible that women could have a mind and a brain of their
own, and that the freedom of the one and the cultivation of the other
was not a menace to the possessive rights of the family, or the ruin
of society at large. Thousands of women born at the same date were
instructed that the aim of their lives must be to see to the creature
comforts of their male parent, and when he was taken from them, to
believe it right that he had neither educated them, nor made provision
for the certain old age and spinsterdom which lay before the majority.
There have been many parents who gave their daughters no reason to
call them blessed, when they were left alone unprovided with gear or
education. In all periods of family history, such instances as Mr.
Inglis’ outlook for his daughters is uncommon. He desired for them
equal opportunities, and the best and highest education. He gave them
the best of his mind, not its dregs, and a comradeship which made a
rare and happy entrance for them into life’s daily toil and struggle.
The father asked for nothing but their love, and he had his own
unselfish devotion returned to him a hundredfold.
It must have been a great joy to him to watch the unfolding of talent
and great gifts in this daughter who was always ‘his comrade.’ He could
not live to see the end of a career so blessed, so rich in womanly
grace and sustaining service, but he knew he had spared no good thing
he could bring into her life, and when her mission was fulfilled, then,
those who read and inwardly digest these pages will feel that she first
learnt the secret of service to mankind in the home of her father.