DEAR LONDON AGAIN
The Man Who Thought He Was King--A Dance After Dinner--How It
Ended--Corney Grain in Disgrace on the Door-mat--Racing--Trouble
in Burmah--Lord Dufferin and Lord William Go There--Collecting the
Offertory in Church--Some Schemes of Interest
Those few months of leave in 1885 picked Lord William up wonderfully,
and he thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the time after his nine
years of India, a big slice out of the prime of a man’s life, but
he had the satisfaction of feeling he had faced the music, so to
speak, by beginning his life afresh, yet returning after nine years
comfortably off, and holding a high position of great responsibility,
thanks to nobody but himself. Viceroys came and went, but Lord
William Beresford remained, year in and year out, becoming the
cornerstone of the social fabric of India, and ruling its society
with an iron hand, though very much gloved in velvet.
I remember comparing notes with him as to what we looked forward
to most on returning to England after a spell abroad. He said he
“yearned for Curraghmore and Piccadilly, and after that devilled sole
and brown bread and butter!”
Most people will, I think, sympathise with Lord William in his
longing for dear feverish London. She casts a spell over us all,
and when we are exiles the remembrance of her brings on more fits of
home-sickness than almost anything else, visions of Piccadilly come
back to us as we remember her perhaps in the still early morning,
when returning from balls and parties, the streets deserted by all
save a few market carts filled with cabbages and other garden produce
on the way to Covent Garden Market, a few lonesome souls sleeping
on benches between the policeman’s “move on” visits; or perhaps the
visions that come back to us are the evenings when the hurrying mass
of people, the cabs and carriages were all shrouded in the blue-grey
misty haze peculiar to London at night. We remember how we used to
speculate on where they were all hurrying to, and fit histories to
them, all so bent on tasting and testing life, often regardless
of consequences. Each individual wearing that self-absorbed
mind-your-own-business air, that is one of the fascinations of a
great city.
Lord William said he felt “beside” himself with joy when he again
beheld the buses and heard the newspaper boys, and then “The Eton
Boating Song,” so wrought with memories, played on a street organ
filled him with an ecstasy of joy and sadness. He heard again the
splash of the oars, saw again the pals of those old days whose names
were at one time on everybody’s lips, now only little black splashes
of ink on white paper.
I wonder if any of my readers remember the fine old man who used to
sit in the Row during the summer of 1885 fancying himself king; the
way he used to swagger up as if all the world belonged to him, his
servant walking immediately behind him watching for the imperious
wave of his master’s hand, which, being interpreted, meant he
wished to sit down. Two chairs were then hastily arranged, on one
of which he sat down with a good deal of action, the other proudly
supported his legs. This arrangement took up a good deal of room
where people were walking up and down, but nobody interfered with
this aristocratic-looking, well dressed and groomed old man, with his
large flowing moustache and huge button-hole, consisting one day of a
sunflower, another a peony, or something equally remarkable. The old
gentleman used to talk a good deal to himself about the bad manners
and ingratitude of his subjects who passed up and down without bowing
to him. We often wondered who he was. One day Lord William found
out from a policeman on duty in the park. An accident had upset the
equilibrium of the old sportsman’s brain, but he was quite harmless
and nobody objected to him, so he was allowed to remain. As our bad
manners and ingratitude caused him so much uneasiness, Lord William
suggested we should muster strong one day and march past in couples,
bowing deeply. We felt a little nervous as to what might happen, but
acquiesced, and we all marched past bowing and smiling, being amply
repaid for our courage by the evident pleasure of the king, who
took off his hat with a graceful flourish to us and presented the
sunflower out of his button-hole to one of the girls of our party.
Memories of those days come tumbling over one another with such
rapidity it is hard to know where to stop, the pleasure is so great
in recalling them.
One evening I remember well, during that same leave (I think) of
Lord William’s, he was dining with us, and after dinner somebody
said would I play some dance music as they wanted to dance, so we
adjourned to the dining-room and had it cleared at one end. After
dancing awhile, the men began American cock-fighting. There were some
fierce encounters and amusing scenes. I was still sitting by the
old cottage piano which stood in a corner of the room, when one of
the combatants, breathless from a contest with Lord Bill, came and
leaned against the piano whilst drinking a whisky and soda. Somehow
accidentally the greater part of the whisky and soda got upset down
into the vitals of the piano, the top being open at the time.
Poor old piano, it is going still, but the shock to its nervous
system was so great it every now and then has the sulks for a time,
until coaxed by a tuner into fresh efforts.
At the party to which I am referring, I remember the men with us were
Corney Grain, Gerry Portal, Jim Lowther, Lord Hay of Kinfauns, and
my young brother, as well as Lord William. Those who knew the men
will guess what the evening was like. I was afraid we should disturb
the neighbourhood with our laughter over an impromptu that Corney
Grain gave us at the partially intoxicated piano of his experiences
at the houses of some of his patrons where he had been engaged to
amuse the guests. No names were mentioned, but so excellent was his
mimicry that we at once recognised a number of people. Having been
cheered and heavily patted on the back he proceeded to give us a
musical sketch of a certain V.C. hero on board ship making love to
a shy young lady. Lord Bill was much tickled and so were we. It was
screamingly funny, and with our eyes shut we could have imagined it
was Lord William speaking, or perhaps I should say cooing.
This was followed by another sketch, this time Gerry Portal supposed
to be bamboozling some foreign potentate into believing we, the
British, were doing everything for his good, from pure unadulterated
philanthropy, while really benefiting ourselves. This was considered
too much, and brought the house down. They all set upon Mr. Grain,
who, I had better explain for those who never saw him, was a huge
man both in height and figure. He clung desperately on to the
music-stool with his legs and the piano with his hands, until the
piano, music-stool, and Mr. Grain began to move together first in one
direction and then another. Lord William tried to get his arms round
Mr. Grain’s rather voluminous waistcoat, and Mr. Gerry Portal tried
to untwiddle his legs from the music-stool. Jim Lowther seized the
tea-cosy from the sideboard and clapped it over the musician’s head.
This led to one hand relinquishing its grip on the side of the piano
to remove the head-dress, a weak moment on Mr. Grain’s part, for he
got separated from the instrument and dragged half across the room
when crack went the long-suffering music-stool, and he was on the
floor. My brother held the door open while the rest tried to eject
the man who dared to be ribald about Mr. Portal’s foreign policy,
but each time when it was nearly accomplished out flew a huge and
long leg slamming the door to again. At last, when all were hot and
exhausted, Mr. Grain was laid unresisting on the front-door mat.
We received many apologies next day from our guests for being
so uproarious, and Lord Bill wished to provide a new piano and
music-stool, but of course we would not hear of it. I never mean to
part with that piano, even when it gives up the ghost, for it has
witnessed many cheery parties, and has been with me long voyages
north, south, east and west.
In addition to all this froth and frolic Lord Bill had been doing
some useful business in the way of buying race-horses for himself
and his friends. He had also engaged the lightweight jockey named
Dunn, who arrived in India about the same time as his lordship
returned, ready for the October meeting at Umballa. While at home he
had purchased and sent out two or three horses and a pony for Indian
racing, amongst them, Metal, in hopes of carrying off some prizes at
Calcutta. The horse came from the Duke of Westminster’s stable, but
had disappointed his owner in the Goodwood Cup, Baron Hirsch’s horse
just beating him. What a cheery meeting it was, the 9th Lancers being
there under orders for home. They marched out of the station on the
last day of the races, the whole of the white population turning out
to give them a hearty send-off.
A great number of racing men collected there, combining their wish to
see the 9th Lancers off for home and see some racing. All were in
great form, and the fun was tremendous.
Lord William’s valuable Prospero won three races for his owner.
Dynamite and Oliver Twist also won a race each.
A rising Armenian barrister in Calcutta was also present, having
conceived a passion for racing and started a stable for the purpose.
In the club at Umballa on settling day a sporting match was arranged
between this barrister named Mr. Gasper and Lord Bill, the suggestion
coming from the former. The match was for 2000 rupees a side, P.P.,
each horse to carry not less than 8 stone 4 lbs., distance ¾ mile.
Horses to be named by 1 o’clock the day before the race, which was
to be run the last day of the first Calcutta meeting, horse to be
nominated by Lord William Beresford must be his property or the
property of H.H. the Maharajah of Durbangah.
Lord William hoped to win this on one of his new purchases named
Metal, but when the day arrived the horse was ill with colic so Mr.
Gasper’s Regulater walked over.
Great things were expected of Metal, and as the Maharajah of
Durbangah was very anxious to win the Viceroy’s Cup Lord William
sold the horse to him just before the race, and His Highness had the
pleasure of seeing his colours carried first past the post.
Tim Whiffler, who had been bought at the same time as Metal, had so
far not done anything worthy of record or the pay for his keep, and
at Tollygunge, running for the Ballygunge Cup, he went head over
heels at the first hurdle, rolling on his rider. This was an unlucky
race for most of the riders, as every horse fell except the winner,
Mr. Charles Moore’s Prospect. The second day Tim Whiffler won a race
after another fall.
At the second Calcutta meeting in January, Metal won the Kooch Behar
Cup after a good race with Sir Greville, belonging, I believe, to
Major Prior.
Trouble had been brewing in Burmah for some time, and Lord Dufferin
decided he would go and see for himself if things were working
satisfactorily. The British resident had been withdrawn owing to
King Thebaw (chiefly at the instigation of his unprincipled wife)
having massacred all the men-kind of the Royal Family with a view
to ensuring the stability of his throne. Commercial relations were
however maintained, and whispers reached Lord Dufferin of some sort
of treaty having been signed between the Burmese and the French,
by which the valuable ruby mines with other perquisites which in
parliamentary language would be termed accessories, had been leased
to a French trading company.
All this pointed to trouble in the future, especially as King Thebaw
was known to have expressed himself of the amiable intention of
driving “the white devils into the sea,” also it would not be wise to
allow British trades to be excluded. This was politely but forcibly
pointed out to the King, who was evasive and unsatisfactory. The
Secretary of State then gave instructions for an immediate advance
on Mandalay. King Thebaw begged for time, but was told nothing but
instant submission would be considered, under which circumstances
he would be spared and treated properly. He was only allowed a few
minutes in which to make up his mind, and it was thanks to this
promptness and decided policy of ours that the campaign came to a
satisfactory conclusion so quickly and with so little loss of life.
But we were not quite out of the wood as China was asking pertinent
questions about our future policy; but all was explained and approved
in a short time, and a convention signed giving England a free hand
in Burmah. In consequence of all this Lord Dufferin started on
February 3rd, 1886, to see for himself what was happening. Burmah
lying directly on the east of Bengal with a population of four
millions, it was regarded as a frontier over which we should keep a
jealous eye and some control. Besides, he was anxious that commercial
relations should be established with Thibet. Lord William as Military
Secretary was in attendance on His Excellency, receiving the medal
and clasp, being mentioned in despatches, and promoted to Brevet
Lieut.-Colonel. Speaking of the Burmese ladies he said they were most
enlightened and independent people, choosing their own husbands and
divorcing them also if they wished to do so.
The Viceroy was anxious to have our army considerably increased
in India. In Lord Ripon’s time the native army had been reduced,
but Lord Dufferin thought owing to changed circumstances a fresh
arrangement should be made, and that we should be in a position to
launch a strong force of both British and native troops on short
notice against any neighbour whose conduct was suspicious and
unsatisfactory. He also felt it would be better for the country
itself, but all he could get from the Government was an extra 11,000
men. Both Lord Dufferin and the Commander-in-Chief were against the
short service system for India, thinking both from the point of
utility and economy longer service would be better.
The work of the India Office filtered more or less through the hands
of the Military Secretary; he therefore was well posted in all these
questions under consideration and discussion.
Especially was he interested in Lord Roberts’ scheme for doing
away with the old army canteen, for it was he who inaugurated “The
Institute,” where not only could the men get their beer, but food as
well; they could sit down comfortably and write letters, play games
and read the papers. Places of this sort had been a long-felt want,
and they have been great successes and certainly conducive to less
drunkenness.
During Lord Dufferin’s time several important steps were taken in
the way of military reform, as he expressed himself plainly on the
difficulties of military administration under dual control, for
while the organisation and commissariat were worked by the superior
Government at home, the discipline, training, equipment, and matters
of that sort were ruled by the Commander-in-Chief.
Neither were the native troops forgotten, for now in commemoration
of the Queen’s Jubilee they received medals for good conduct and any
special services, also gratuities in much the same way as the English
soldiers.
Lord William, and indeed most of the thinking community in India at
this time were anxious as to the result of the higher education of
the natives, who, though finding their feet, were not yet able to use
them. He felt the education ought to benefit both them and us, but
would it?
I have often doubted whether some, even of Lord William’s more
intimate friends, fully recognised the more serious side of his
character. The world is ever prone to think that brilliancy excludes
wisdom, and gaiety is the enemy of common sense. As a matter of
fact there was a world of deep feeling and strength of character
underlying Lord William’s light-hearted manner.
At a big dinner party at Government House, Bombay, I remember
hearing a number of people discussing Lord William, his career,
racing successes, deeds of daring, etc., when someone asked the
rather unexpected question, “What is his religion?” The then
Commander-in-Chief replied, “I don’t believe he’s got one.” This was
surprising coming from a man who was both officially and socially
in almost daily association with him, proving what I have so often
thought that the faces of those around us, even those of our nearest
and dearest, may be photographed on our brains, while yet we know
little of their minds and hearts; they are sealed books to us.
Lord William’s religious feeling was profound, though his views
were not altogether orthodox, but there are some dogmatic doubts
while leading us away from the altar bring us nearer to the Throne.
Aristippus tells us “Good cheer is no hindrance to a good life.” His
lordship agreed with this founder of Hedonistic philosophy, but I
doubt if he had been asked to put down in black and white what his
religious convictions were, whether he could have clearly defined
them, any more than a great number of people could. It would be good
for us all if we had to put our faiths and beliefs into writing, but
what confused and contradictory statements they would make, and how
annoyed we should be if anybody dared to say so to us. Faith and
reason unfortunately will not walk kindly hand in hand, and Lord
William felt that amid the latter-day clash of theories, new fields
of thought were being opened to us, thoroughly recognising how some
of the old moth-eaten shibboleths, we have so often repeated, have
prevented us forming unbiased judgments. He maintained that ancient
religions had no creeds but were fed and brought up, so to speak, on
institutions and facts. Faith is not peculiar to Christianity, it
is the ordinary characteristic of the highly developed religions.
Lord Bill always said he felt it was possible to be a good Christian
without being a theologian. I think “good Christian” exactly
describes Lord Bill, yet how hard it is to define a good Christian
when ideals among Christians differ so greatly in different countries
and ages. St. Ethelreda was canonised for never washing; this was
not Lord Bill’s Christianity, though I have known some people who
certainly qualified, but as far as I know, have as yet, had no
justice displayed towards them. Then again St. Onofries was called a
saint because he disappeared into the desert seeing nobody and doing
nothing (so he said), but this saint does not matter at the present
moment; what does matter is the extreme difficulty we all find in
locating the middle distance between two points, when the points do
not stand still.
Lord William had his faults in common with the rest of us, but not
many can comfort themselves with the belief that they have done as
many kindly acts. He may not always have been aware of the amount
of good he did, for kindly acts towards ourselves make us kindly
to others, thereby forming a common good. That the happiness of
everybody depends to a certain extent on the forbearance and help
of others was part of Lord Bill’s religion. His charities, which
were many, were not of the order that creates multitudes of sins,
but covered them up, often, and helped those who had made grievous
mistakes, to begin afresh.
The nice little church at Simla used to echo with the sound of Lord
William’s clinking spurs as he walked up the aisle. One Sunday when
he was carrying round the collection plate, he halted in front of
a canny old colonel whose careful habits had made him decline to
subscribe towards the Annandale Races, which had annoyed Lord Bill,
so he held the plate, whispering audibly, “It’s Zenana this time, not
Gymkhana!”
The scene outside this church on Sundays and high days was curious,
as in the hills everybody rode to church, or came in hand-carried
or drawn equipages. When all the rank and fashion had entered the
building the syces with the many ponies congregated for a smoke and
chatter. The men who ran with the rickshaws and jampans after their
kind, followed suit, arranging their carriages in neat rows. The
owners usually dressed their carriers and runners in some distinctive
livery. One would have, say, claret-coloured coat, cut fairly long,
hanging square over the draped loin cloths which are worn instead of
trousers; only the head man indulged in this form of civilisation.
This combination of coat and loin cloth finished off with possibly a
yellow cumberbund twisted round their waists, and yellow puggeries
round their heads. Others would have brown and blue, and so on,
only the Viceregal party using scarlet, the many colours of the
liveries and the grouping of the natives and their charges forming a
picturesque foreground to the church, though very unusual to the mind
of the everyday English church-going community.
There were several matters occupying Lord William’s mind at this
time. The enlargement of the Annandale racecourse for one; this was
a great undertaking and a considerable expense which will be readily
understood, as big ravines had to be filled in and levelled as well
as portions of hills removed. His lordship subscribed handsomely
towards it himself, and some of the native princes, who were always
ready to help him in his endeavours for the good or pleasure of
the community, came to the fore also, subscribing liberally. While
the alterations were being carried out the usual races and sports
were taking place, tent-pegging, tilting at the ring, riding one
pony while leading another over the jumps, rickshaw races, which
proved highly exciting for the occupants, and mirth-provoking to the
on-lookers.
The building of the new Viceregal Lodge or Government House
also occupied a good deal of time, Lord Dufferin supervising and
directing. I have often wondered what the natives must have thought
when they had to build white-tiled kitchens and bath-rooms, and still
more what they felt when called upon to use a correct up-to-date
kitchen equipment.
I well remember when first I arrived in India being full of
high-flown ideas of revolutionising the cooking and cook-house
system. I was warned not to interfere, but to eat what was placed
before me and leave well alone; however, I was full of ardour and
proceeded to the cook-house to inspect the cooking-pots and arrange
everything to my liking. My splendid theories were doomed to instant
death. My experiences were such that for days I was without appetite
and never again had the pluck to face the cook-house. That was
long ago, no doubt now the natives have learnt to live up to and
appreciate modern luxuries.
Last, but by no means least, came Lady Dufferin’s scheme for the
benefit of Indian women. The Queen had asked Her Excellency just
before leaving for India to see what could be done to provide proper
medical aid and nursing for native women, who from their traditional
faiths and customs were unable to avail themselves of the knowledge
and help of men doctors. Lord William was very enthusiastic about
the work which was interesting Lady Dufferin, who, with her usual
thoroughness, soon placed it on firm feet. There was so much to
be considered; first of all the question of finance, still more
difficult the inherited traditional prejudices to be overcome in
conjunction with the superstitions and ignorance of the people of
India. For generations the appalling loss of life through ignorance
in the East had been regarded with the hebetude of fatalism.
Nevertheless in 1885 the work was begun under the mouth-filling title
of “The Countess of Dufferin’s National Association for supplying
female medical aid for the women of India.” It is well to take a good
long breath before starting on this impressive title.
Considering that the undertaking entailed the collecting of the
necessary funds, suitable places being found for the hospitals and
dispensaries, women to be trained as doctors, midwives, and hospital
assistants, and that each and all had to be under the superintendence
of or in the working hands of women for the treatment of their own
sex and children, it is really remarkable that it was so soon in more
or less working order, and speaks volumes for Lady Dufferin’s energy
and for the help of her co-workers.
I remember Lord William saying it would have a more far-reaching
civilising influence in the country than any other measure hitherto
contemplated. That these women doctors and nurses have been zealous
and capable is proved by the work that has been done. In 1901, that
is in six years, 1,755,734 patients passed through their hands, the
increase between the years 1895 and 1900 being 88,000, the whole of
this treatment having been carried out by forty fully qualified lady
doctors called 1st grade, 322 surgeons, 2nd grade, meaning they had
been taught in India and held that country’s qualifications, and 175
hospital assistants and helpers called 3rd grade.
The medical profession for man or woman is one that demands great
sacrifice, and it is a calling that perhaps comes the least before
the lime-light, for it does not advertise, seeks no rewards, no
medals, clapping, or bands to cheer and encourage, yet many are daily
performing heroic deeds, burning the candle at both ends in the cause
of suffering humanity, and for what? Not applause, they get none, not
reward, they get none from the world, but for love of their work,
because they feel there is no higher calling. I do not think many
people know how much this great work is indebted to Lord William’s
collecting and his own personal assistance. Anything in the way of
sickness and suffering appealed strongly to him. The Clewer Sisters
in Calcutta also have little idea where some of the anonymous gifts
came from that were I know from Lord William. Many treats enjoyed by
children were the result of Lord William’s thought and financing, but
he did not like people to know; he only wanted to make them happy and
reaped a real happiness himself in witnessing their pleasure.
He was keenly interested in the leaps and bounds made in later years
in the science and art of medicine. He could remember when it was the
proper thing to bleed people for fainting fits and apoplexy, when
it was quite usual to use the same family pocket knife to prune the
roses and perform minor operations, before what they a little later
called the faddists’ silly craze for sterilising instruments, came
into vogue. “Such silly fuss and nonsense!” Though, if I remember
right, it was only in George the II’s reign that a law was passed
forbidding the company of barbers from practising the art and science
of surgery, which sounds rather like Punch but is nevertheless a
fact, and can be found by an anxious enquirer in Statute 18, Cap. XV.