[Illustration: FRANCIS AND RIVY, AUGUST 1914.]
Francis and
Riversdale Grenfell
_A Memoir_
BY
JOHN BUCHAN
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD.
LONDON, EDINBURGH, PARIS, AND NEW YORK
_First Published October 1920_
I should like to dedicate this little book to the Twins’ brothers and
sisters: especially to their sister Dolores, who was rarely absent from
their thoughts—or they from hers.
J. B.
_Degno è che dov’è l’un l’altro s’induce_
_Si, che com’ elli ad una militaro,_
_Cosi la gloria loro insieme luca._
DANTE, _Paradiso_, xii., 34-36.
_Ah, that Sir Humphry Gilbert should be dead:_
_Ah, that Sir Philip Sidney should be dead:_
_Ah, that Sir William Sackeuill should be dead:_
_Ah, that Sir Richard Grenuile should be dead:_
_Ah, that brave Walter Deuoreux should be dead:_
_Ah, that the Flowre of Knighthood should be dead,_
_Which, maugre deadlyest Deathes, and stonyest Stones,_
_That coouer worthiest worth, shall neuer dy._
GABRIEL HARVEY, 1592.
CONTENTS.
I. 1880-1889 1
II. 1900-1904 20
III. 1904-1905 53
IV. 1906-1907 81
V. 1907-1909 102
VI. 1910-1914 153
VII. 1914 186
VIII. 1914-1915 207
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Francis and Rivy, August 1914 _Frontispiece_
The Twins at the Age of Eight _to face page_ 7
The Twins with the Eton Beagles ” 14
The Twins with Lord Grenfell at Malta, April 1901 ” 24
The Twins after the Kadir Cup ” 62
Francis at Polo ” 94
Rivy on “Cinderella” ” 104
Francis on “Michael” and Rivy on “Cinderella” ” 161
PREFACE.
BY FIELD-MARSHAL LORD GRENFELL, G.C.B., G.C.M.G.
The Twins wrote to each other almost daily, and when Francis went to the
Boer War they settled to keep each other’s letters. A large collection
was found after their death, and when examined it seemed to their family
worthy of some form of publication. Mr. John Buchan, who was one of the
Twins’ greatest friends, most kindly undertook to prepare a memoir. It is
intended that any profits derived from the sale of the book should go to
benefit the finances of the Invalid Children’s Aid Association, a branch
of which was founded in Islington by Rivy in 1912, and in which both
brothers were greatly interested.
On September 5, 1880, when quartered at Shorncliffe, I received a
telegram from my brother announcing the birth of the Twins. Thus the
family of seven sons and four daughters had increased to a total of
thirteen. Of these, eight went to Eton, four of them being in the Eleven;
one entered the Royal Navy, and five of them died in the service of
their country—Pascoe, the eldest, killed in the Matabele rising; Robert,
12th Lancers, my A.D.C. in Cairo, in the charge of the 21st Lancers at
Omdurman; Reginald, 17th Lancers, of illness caused by service in India;
Francis and Rivy in the Great War. All the surviving brothers served in
the war, one as Brigadier-General, and three as Lieutenant-Colonels.
My various military appointments and duties kept me out of England most
of the time the Twins were children and boys at school; but on the death
of their father, when they were sixteen, I became their guardian, and our
friendly relations of uncle and nephew became much more intimate and more
like those of father and son. I was known to them as “The Uncle,” and was
accustomed frequently to hear the phrase, “Go it, Uncle.”
I remember arriving on a visit to them at Eton and finding their room
strewn with answers to their appeal for help to build new kennels for
the beagles, of which Francis was master. They were then at the zenith
of their popularity and success: Francis in the Eleven and Master of
the Beagles, Rivy Whip, and both members of Pop; and I felt my position
as Sirdar of the Egyptian army to be a far inferior one to that of my
nephews at Eton.
Later, at a review of a large number of Public School Cadets by the
Queen, I, in my official capacity, was standing close to Her Majesty to
announce the names of the various schools, when the leading company of
Eton Cadets marched past, and I was alarmed to hear the usual signal
whistle of the Twins to me, with the exclamation “Hullo, Uncle!”
Francis was my godson, and began his military career in my regiment. When
staying with me as extra A.D.C. at Malta he received his commission in
the King’s Royal Rifles in 1901.
The visit of the Twins to Malta had a decided effect on their future.
They met interesting men of the army and navy, and began to realize the
vast extent of the British Empire, and also their own ignorance of its
history and geography. They had never even heard of Napoleon III. and the
last French Empire! Our daily readings, especially the _History of Our
Own Times_, enlarged their understandings and made them eager for further
instruction and more knowledge. From that time dates the remarkable
assiduity with which they pursued their studies, both in languages and
history, especially military history, and laid themselves out to meet men
of culture and distinction, whose acquaintanceship they felt would be
useful in the future.
Each was invariably in the other’s mind, and they sometimes had
premonitions of harm. When Francis fell ill at Inverness with what seemed
at first only a chill, Rivy, who was staying with me, said he _must_
go to Francis. Oddly enough he was quite right, as when he arrived in
Scotland he found him very ill with typhoid fever, no telegram or warning
having arrived.
Rivy settled down to a financial career, and when travelling in America
he studied the management of railways and methods of business. While
there he astonished a friend of his father’s by asking him if, as a
favour, he might work in his office next to one of his clerks. “Why,
certainly you may,” was Mr. Morton’s answer. “I am an old man, and have
often been asked for a holiday, but this is the first time any man
enjoying a holiday has asked me for leave to work.”
While taking their occupations seriously, as companions they were most
cheerful and humorous, original and quaint in their points of view,
and very amusing in the simplicity of their observations. Many were
the instances of their sympathy and kindness to others. Francis on one
occasion sat up all night with a porter at the Bath Club who had smashed
his hand in an accident, and this was at a time when he was preparing
for an important examination. Happy days were spent at Butler’s Court,
which was open to them and their ponies whenever they cared to stay,
and I was much struck by the efficient management of their stud. Their
affection for my children, shown in so many ways, was a delight to me
and to their mother, and the attention shown to the villagers and old
employees of Wilton Park made them very popular.
As children they had adopted Lord Burnham, who lived close by at Hall
Barn, as a most intimate friend. He was much amused on one occasion when
they stayed with him during the holidays for a ball, and appeared wearing
large pairs of white gloves borrowed from the footmen, whose billycock
hats they also wore in church the next day. After Francis’s death Lord
Burnham wrote a most beautiful and touching leading article in the _Daily
Telegraph_. They were devoted to him and his family, and their affection
was reciprocated.
The Twins sympathized with all in sickness or sorrow; and in the greatest
affliction that can happen to any man, they arrived to stay with me and
made themselves most useful and helpful.
In 1901 Francis began his military career in the King’s Royal Rifles.
The strong wish to join the cavalry, which I think had always been in
his mind (three of his brothers having been in cavalry regiments and two
in the yeomanry), could not be carried out at that time for financial
reasons; but this was an abiding desire, which the attractions of so good
a regiment as the King’s Royal Rifles did not quite eradicate. He did
well in the regiment, and on his death the colour-sergeant of his company
wrote to me to say what an efficient company officer he had been, and
what care he had taken in the instruction of the men. One reason why he
desired to transfer from the infantry to the cavalry was that the effects
of enteric still clung to him, and he found the long route marches of
the infantry almost unbearable. But he always acknowledged that his
short service in the King’s Royal Rifles had greatly assisted him in his
career, and that he acquired there the soldier-like qualities of training
and discipline.
On his return to England in 1907 we saw a good deal more of each other,
and it was delightful to see his happiness in the cavalry, and his
determination to master all obstacles which would prevent him from
joining the Staff College. I had the opportunity then of reading his
criticisms and notes on manœuvres, which were excellent and commended in
the regiment. In my opinion he would have eventually taken a high place
in the army as a cavalry leader. He loved his squadron and his regiment,
and he left no stone unturned to fit himself for eventual promotion and
command.
A course at the Cavalry School at Netheravon, and several visits to his
friend Colonel Félines at the French Cavalry Establishment at Saumur,
together with his attendance both at French and German manœuvres, show
by his voluminous notebooks that he had taken the greatest trouble
thoroughly to study cavalry training, tactics, and command.
He possessed the highest ideals of discipline in the conduct of war,
tempered by a happy power of commanding the affection and obedience
of men, especially of his own squadron. His desire for knowledge was
insatiable, and he used every endeavour to achieve his objects. I
remember, quite in the early days, finding Rivy and Francis in their
small room at the Bath Club, notebooks in hand, and Dr. Miller Maguire
lecturing to them on military history with all the care which he would
have bestowed on an audience in the United Service Institution.
On the 30th August, after the first month of war, I found Francis at No.
17 Belgrave Square, the temporary and well-appointed hospital of Mr.
Pandeli Ralli, where I told him that he had been recommended for the
Victoria Cross. He received my news with surprise and said, “This honour
is not for me—my squadron gained it”; but he was greatly pleased when
Lord Roberts and Lord Grey came to congratulate him.
When able to move he came down to me at Overstone, and there I had the
sad task of breaking to him the news of Rivy’s death. His brother Harold,
whose brigade was being inspected by the King that morning, was taken
aside by his Majesty and told that Rivy’s name was mentioned among the
casualties, and he came right away to Overstone to tell me. Francis
received the news quite calmly, but from that moment he was a changed man
in everything but his enthusiasm for his regiment and his desire to get
back to the fighting line.
His Majesty showed gracious and kindly interest in both, and gave Francis
a special interview, the account of which I quote from his diary:—
“On Monday, February 22, 1915, I was ordered to go to Buckingham Palace
to receive my Victoria Cross, driving there in khaki with my sister. Was
shown into Clive Wigram’s room, who told me of the heavy loss of the
16th Lancers. A few minutes before eleven we went into the equerry’s
room, and he took me upstairs to the King’s room, which I entered. He was
alone in the room, which looked like a study, with many Indian ornaments
about. The King came forward and shook hands with me. As my right hand
was wounded, I was only able to use my left. Both remained standing and
talked for some time about the war. He had heard of the heavy loss of
the 16th Lancers, and that we had been sending out some 15-inch howitzer
guns which would greatly strengthen us, and every day we were getting
stronger. I asked the King if he had visited the prisoners who had come
from Germany. He said he had, and described how badly some of them had
been treated, and spoke strongly against the Germans. He then stepped
back and took my Victoria Cross out of a small box and pinned it on to
me, congratulating me on getting it. He said how sorry he was for the
loss of my twin brother. I said I had not deserved the Victoria Cross,
and hoped he would allow me to convey to the men who really deserved it
his kind congratulations and good wishes. I said I hoped in the future
the decoration would urge me to go forward and do a great deal more for
him and for England, as the army thought only of him and loved both. My
interview then ended.”
Early in April, having recovered from his second wound, he returned to
France. The last letter received from him was to his sister. It is dated
the 18th of May:—
“On the 14th we remained in pouring rain in trenches, bitterly cold,
and then reached the camp at 3 a.m. very tired, and my feet a little
frost-bitten. On the 15th and 16th we rested, and are moving back again.
I am writing to you from a trench. We are up to our knees in mud, and it
has rained since yesterday when we came here, but we are all hale and
hearty. My boots and puttees are soaked, but must remain so for three
more nights. I never felt fitter, though tired of this sort of warfare.
I hope I never get shelled again like the other day. It is a very high
trial sitting still and enormous shells bursting, blowing all the ground
up, able to do nothing, and just waiting for your turn.”
His turn came the day after this letter was received. On the 28th of May
I received a letter from Lord Charles Beresford, who had just arrived
from France. He announced the death of Francis, shot through the heart,
dying in a quarter of an hour. He had come over with an officer who had
attended his burial. It was better to have got the news in a sympathetic
letter from an old friend, rather than a curt telegram from the War
Office.
By his last letter to me, after the fifteen hours’ bombardment on the
13th, when the Ninth stuck it out, I gathered that whatever happened he
would never retire, but meant to do or die. He had great charm, good
looks, strength and purpose in important things; was utterly careless in
the conventionalities of life, too much being crowded into the same day;
but in greater questions he had a strong will, great determination, and
would not be denied. No loss was more genuinely felt than Francis’s and
Rivy’s death.
I received a large number of letters and telegrams.
“ROYAL PAVILION, ALDERSHOT.
“TO FIELD-MARSHAL LORD GRENFELL,
“OVERSTONE PARK, NORTHAMPTON.
“The Queen and I are grieved beyond words that your gallant
nephew has fallen in battle. I was proud to give him his
nobly-earned Victoria Cross, and trusted he might live to wear
it for many years. Our heartfelt sympathy with you.
“GEORGE R.I.”
* * * * *
“_May 1915._
“Deeply grieved by sad news. Please accept and convey to his
sisters my heartfelt sympathy in your great sorrow.
“ALFONSO R.”
* * * * *
“_May 28th._
“G.H.Q.
“TO FIELD-MARSHAL LORD GRENFELL,
“OVERSTONE PARK, NORTHAMPTON.
“Will you let me condole with you on the loss of your gallant
and distinguished nephew in the 9th Lancers after having been
twice wounded. His record of gallantry is unsurpassed.
“FIELD-MARSHAL SIR JOHN FRENCH.”
* * * * *
From COLONEL HON. C. WILLOUGHBY, 9th Lancers.
“Francis joined the Ninth just about the time I got command
when we were stationed at Rawal Pindi. I was very pleased to
get him as a subaltern. He was one of the hardest working
officers I ever knew, always doing his best whether at work
or play, thereby setting a high example to others. His good
horsemanship and quick eye soon made him a very valuable
cavalry officer; this combination also brought him to the
fore in the polo world, where he did such good work for the
regiment in after years. The Ninth have lost a good officer, a
high-principled gentleman, and a real good sportsman.
“As you probably know, Francis was a dear friend of ours; I was
very, very fond of him.”
* * * * *
From COLONEL DESMOND BEALE-BROWNE.
“Francis has left a memory and example that will never fail.
A braver soul never stepped. His high ideals, and boundless
enthusiasm for the regiment and the cause in which we are
fighting, was an example we shall never forget, and the
regiment is indeed proud to think that it had Francis Grenfell
in its ranks. I only so regret he did not live to hear the
praise bestowed on the regiment which he loved so dearly, and
whose honour he had done so much to maintain.”
* * * * *
From MAJOR-GENERAL VESEY DAWSON.
“I must send you a line of sympathy in your great sorrow. I
know how much you will feel the loss of your two nephews, and
I do indeed feel for you. I feel that the loss is really the
country’s, for we do not produce too many gallant, brilliant
soldiers such as the one who is just gone. He would, I think,
have gone far in the profession if he had lived, and it seems
indeed sad that he should have been taken.”
* * * * *
From MAJOR-GENERAL HON. JOHN LINDLEY.
“He was a right gallant soul, and the very embodiment of all
the manly virtues that go to make a cavalry leader, and the
cavalry have sustained a loss well-nigh irreparable. Modest,
bold, and as cool as a cucumber, it will be many a day before
the men of his squadron and the 9th Lancers get another leader
like him.
“Well, he has gone to join his twin soul, and a more gallant
pair never entered this world together.”
* * * * *
From LIEUT.-COLONEL EDGAR BRASSEY.
“I feel I must write to you to express my deepest sympathy in
the sad news about poor Francis. Whatever else this war may
bring about, the absence of the Twins can never fail to be
noticed and lamented. I have known them for over twenty years,
have played cricket with them, hunted with them, and played
polo with them; and for myself, I can say that there is nobody,
even in the long list of friends who have gone in this last
nine months, who will be missed more than Francis and Rivy. We
may be sure that neither would have wished to be separated or
to die a more glorious death, and the example of the Grenfell
family, not forgetting poor Robert, who was also a friend of
mine, will stand for ever in the annals of the British army.”
* * * * *
From MR. CHARLES MURRAY of Loch Carron.
“I must send one word to say with what sorrow I read of dear
Francis’s death. He is almost the last of Alasdair’s close
friends who has remained to us, and he always kept up his
friendship. Only the other day he came in to cheer me up when
I was ill in London, and, as with Rivy, it is a great break
with the past. I ever hoped that Francis and Rivy would live
to distinguish themselves, and that Francis, a keen and good
soldier, would follow in your footsteps and some day lead
British forces in the field. It could not be, and, with others
of the best, the boys have gone from us, and I know how deeply
you will feel the blow.”
* * * * *
From WALDORF ASTOR.
“The deaths of Francis and Rivy mean an irreplaceable loss to
their friends, and bring grief to all who knew them intimately.
We are all forced to bear trouble, anxiety, and bereavement,
but apart from this there is perhaps the greatest tragedy in
the real loss inflicted on the country. Never will two persons
like them be found.
“Kipling asks in a poem, ‘Who dies if England lives?’ One feels
inclined to say, ‘How can England live as one has known her if
such as these die one after the other?’
“None of the blows caused by the war have been so hard, and
have even by comparison tended to diminish this one, or to
lessen the grief I and many others feel.”
* * * * *
From the DUKE OF TECK (MARQUESS OF CAMBRIDGE).
“I have just heard the sad news about the death of poor
Francis. I am so deeply sorry for you in the loss of your other
nephew. What a blank the death of the ‘Grenfell Twins’ will
cause to a good many people, my wife and I amongst them; but
to you it means much more, and I ask you to accept my deep and
heartfelt sympathy in your great sorrow.”
* * * * *
From SIR HEREWARD WAKE, King’s Royal Rifles.
“I am so grieved about Francis. I would like to send you a
word of sympathy. Francis compelled the love of every one who
knew him, and there are hundreds of people who will mourn his
death. I think there never was a more gallant pair of soldiers
or Englishmen than those two.”
* * * * *
From DR. MILLER MAGUIRE.
“I esteem it an honour to testify to the great merits of your
brave nephews, Francis and Rivy Grenfell. I had intimate
knowledge of their zeal for their noble profession, and all
connected with its study, almost to the date of their death.
They excelled in cavalry exercises and in the ardent devotion
to that particular branch.
“Francis was making himself well versed in European and
American campaigns, and no doubt would have been placed high in
any Staff College tests had he been spared; but almost from the
desk of study
‘He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.’”
It was on April 14, 1915, that I said good-bye to Francis. He walked
home with me round Portman Square, after dining with his sister. He
was cheerful at the idea of rejoining his squadron, but no doubt the
knowledge that Rivy would not be with him was in his mind. He spoke with
enthusiasm of his squadron and regiment, and the chances of war, and
was very hopeful as to the future. He was happy in the belief that the
most distinguished regiment in the army was the 9th Lancers, and that he
commanded the best squadron in the best regiment of the best fighting
army in the world. He mentioned that he had refused a Staff appointment
after being twice wounded, being so greatly impressed by the unanimous
response which was made for his call for volunteers to save the guns at
Audregnies. This touched him deeply, and he said that no offer of Staff
service would ever induce him to leave his squadron.
We said good-bye, and I think both felt that we should not meet again. Of
that, personally, I had a strong presentiment.
The Twins, so happy in their generation, are now together; freed from the
feverish anxieties they suffered ere they went to war, they are linked
in a new and better life, surely for them one full of activity and high
service.
“Time takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous,
To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death;
But the flower of their souls he shall not take away to shame us,
Nor the lips lack song for ever that now lack breath.
For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell,
Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we farewell.”
FRANCIS AND RIVERSDALE GRENFELL
CHAPTER I.
1880-1899.
Once when Rivy had had a bad smash at polo he spent some time in
hospital. “It seems odd to say so,” he wrote to Francis, “but I enjoyed
it immensely. What lucky people we are, taking an interest in so many
things! This was another side that I had not yet seen.” I set down these
words at the beginning of this short record, for they sum up the attitude
of the two brothers to life. Few people can have had a larger share of
the happiness of youth, for not only had they ample opportunity of action
and experience, but they bore within themselves the secret of joy. They
never ceased to wonder at the magnificence of the world, and they carried
a divine innocence into soldiering and travel and sport and business,
and not least into the shadows of the Great War. In the comfortable age
before 1914 they were among the best known and most popular young men
of their day, and some picture of their doings may be of interest as a
memorial of a vanished world. The coming of war upon their eager life is
a type of the experience of all their countrymen, and a revelation of the
inner quality of that land which has so often puzzled herself and her
neighbours. But I write especially, as the friend of Francis and Rivy,
for their many friends: who, before memory dies, may wish some record of
two of the most endearing and generous spirits that ever “before their
time into the dust went down.”
I.
Francis Octavius Grenfell and Riversdale Nonus Grenfell were born at
Hatchlands, Guildford, on September 4, 1880, the twin sons of Pascoe Du
Pre Grenfell and Sofia Grenfell his wife. Family history would be out
of place in such a narrative as this, and I do not propose to discuss
the intricate question of the Grenfell pedigree, and whether kin can be
counted with the great figures of Sir Richard Grenville of the _Revenge_,
or Sir Bevil, the Cavalier, of Lansdown Heath. It is sufficient to
say that they came of an old Cornish strain, which in their case was
double-distilled, for their parents were cousins. A Grenfell fought at
Waterloo and lost a leg; their mother’s father, Admiral John Grenfell
of the Brazilian Navy, was Lord Cochrane’s second in command, and
performed many famous exploits, notably the cutting out and destruction
of the Spanish flagship _Esmeralda_, in the midst of an armed squadron.
His brother, Sydney, was a British admiral, distinguished in the China
War. Their father’s brother is Field-Marshal Lord Grenfell. Of their
own brothers, Pascoe served and died in the Matabele War; Robert fell
gloriously in the charge of the 21st Lancers at Omdurman; Harold did
brilliantly as a column commander in South Africa; and Arthur won the
D.S.O. at the Battle of the Somme. A cousin, Claude Grenfell, was killed
at Spion Kop; and all the world knows of their other cousins, Lord
Desborough’s sons, who will live because of Julian’s poetry and their
mother’s exquisite memoir in the literature as well as in the history
of England. There are many famous fighting stocks among our people, but
there can be few with a more stirring record than this.
A word should be said of their uncle, their mother’s brother, because
he was a hero of romance to the boys in their youth, and they loved to
dwell upon his amazing doings. Francis and Rivy were always gentle in
their ways, and for this very reason they had a weakness for a stout
swashbuckler. Admiral Sir Harry Grenfell was a British sailor after the
eighteenth-century pattern. His gallantry was proverbial in the navy of
his day, and he had various medals for saving life at sea. There must
have been much of Julian’s spirit in him, for he had an insatiable zest
for adventure and fighting, and when he could not get it in the way of
duty he went out to look for it. Among other things he was middleweight
champion of the navy. There is a story of him with which Rivy once
delighted an American public dinner. He went ashore with some brother
officers at Constantinople, and drifted to a music hall, where he found
an immense Turk offering fifty dollars to any one in the audience who
could knock him out in five rounds. Harry Grenfell promptly accepted the
challenge. He put on the gloves wrongly, and stood awkwardly, so that
the challenger thought him a novice and gave him some easy openings.
Taking advantage of one of them, he stretched his antagonist on the
floor. On recovering his senses, the Turk advanced to the footlights and
announced in the pure accents of Limehouse, “Gen’l’men, the hexibition
is closed.” Then, going over to Grenfell’s corner, he shook him warmly
by the hand, whispering, “You’re no bloody lamb.” There is another tale
which may be apocryphal, but which the Twins cherished as an example of
how their uncle looked at things. Once Admiral Grenfell was dispatched in
his ship to some Pacific isle to arrest and bring to Sydney a chief who
had eaten a missionary. The chief was duly arrested, but during the long
voyage back the British admiral came to entertain the highest respect
for his qualities as a man. The upshot was that he dumped him down on
some desert island and returned to report to his superiors that, having
gone most carefully into the case, he had come to the conclusion that the
missionary had been entirely in the wrong.
II.
The first seven years of their life were spent at Hatchlands. As the
youngest members of a large family they were a perpetual delight to their
sisters, and their brothers vied with each other in directing their small
feet in the paths of sport. They were solemn, self-possessed children,
quiet in their ways, and as inseparable as the two sides of a coin. They
would lurk peacefully for hours in corners, and once a short-sighted
visitor sat down on them on a drawing-room sofa and nearly smothered
them. As babies they were not so much alike, but as they grew older they
became perfect doubles, puzzling everybody, including their mother, who
often gave the wrong one medicine. At Hatchlands they acquired two red
fox-terriers, known as the Gingers, who were as much alike as their
masters. Only the Twins knew the Gingers apart, and only the Gingers
could tell which twin was which. They had an air of serious cheerfulness,
especially in their misdeeds, which was so endearing that it disarmed
wrath; and they played their confusing twinship for all it was worth.
Once, when they had been quarrelling—for, in the immortal phrase of the
_Irish R.M._, they “fought bitter and regular, like man and wife”—their
mother caught up one (she did not know which), set him on her knee, and
scolded him heartily. When she stopped, the culprit said in a calm,
meditative voice, “You certainly do look very jolly when you are angry,
’cos your eyes shine so.” They were very unpunctual, and had always
convincing excuses. “Why are you late this time?” their father once
asked despairingly. “Well, it’s all the fault of the housemaid,” was the
answer. “She’s so selfish. She won’t lend me her stud, and mine has gone
down a rabbit-hole.” One of their traits was a genius for getting hold
of the wrong word. They used to give sixpence to the Christmas “waits,”
till their father reduced the bounty because of the growing number of the
applicants. “Only pennies this year,” the Twins announced to the waiting
mob, “’cos there’s a chrysalis in the City.” This habit long remained to
them. At school they invited their parents to come down and see the new
chapel “disinfected” by the Bishop.
[Illustration: THE TWINS AT THE AGE OF EIGHT.]
Having seven brothers adepts at every form of sport, Francis and Rivy
were early “entered” to most games. They played a kind of polo, mounted
on walking-sticks, at the age of four. They soon learned to ride, and
when hounds met anywhere in the neighbourhood they invariably contrived
to be run away with by their ponies, and avoided lessons for that day.
Their first pony was a communal possession with the name of Kitty, an
aged family pet, which they took charge of and groomed themselves.
Presently Kitty grew so infirm that she had to disappear from the
world. They were told that Kitty had gone to stay with her mother, and
complained that it was cool of her to go off without consulting them. A
little later the coachman, in a moment of forgetfulness, presented them
with one of Kitty’s hoofs. Said one twin to another in bewilderment,
“What an extraordinary mother poor Kitty must have!” At that time they
took a very solemn and matter-of-fact view of life. At their first
pantomime they saw a rustic ballet of beautiful “farm workers,” and for
some time afterwards perplexed the occupants of every farm they visited
by asking where the pretty girls lived. At their second pantomime they
were with their uncle in the stage-box, and argued so vigorously with
the clown that he climbed up beside them, to their mingled joy and
embarrassment. Their engaging gravity had no self-consciousness; they
talked to their elders as they talked to each other. A relation who
pronounced certain words in a bygone fashion, once at breakfast busied
himself at the sideboard. “Who says tea and who says corfee?” he asked.
The serious voice of Rivy replied, “Personally I always say _coffee_, but
I’m too small to have any.”
In 1887 the family moved to Wilton Park, near Beaconsfield, where their
father had spent most of his childhood. It had belonged to Mr. George Du
Pre, his uncle, who for nearly forty years had been M.P. for Bucks and a
colleague of Disraeli. There the Twins were in clover, and could indulge
to the full their love of games and passion for animals. In the park they
raced their ponies and hunted rabbits with the Gingers; they acquired
several ferrets, and the favourite home of the ferret bag was the best
armchair in the drawing-room. The worst poacher in the village was their
habitual ally, and became so much attached to them and the family that
he had to be made under-keeper. They had a cricket ground where they
practised assiduously, and were bowled to by the sons and grandsons of
the boys who had bowled to their father. They organized boys’ matches,
arranging everything themselves. Their mother once asked them to let her
know what they wanted for tea after the match. “Don’t trouble, mother,”
was the answer. “We have ordered two hundred buns.”
III.
In 1887 they went to Mr. Edgar’s school at Temple Grove, East Sheen,
where their seven brothers had been before them. At that time they were
bent on learning every game, but had no ambition to excel in lessons.
They both played cricket and football for the school, and occasionally
brought home a prize, the wrong twin being invariably congratulated on
the achievement. In their schooldays their spelling was original and
ingenious. To one who was about to become their brother-in-law they
wrote: “I can gratcherlate you, she is a niece girl.” Apropos of a wet
day they achieved this memorable sentence: “It pordanpord.” The word
deserves admission to the weather vocabulary of the English tongue.
In 1894 they went to Eton, where their grandfather, father, six brothers,
and many cousins had been before them. They began in Mr. Arthur Benson’s
house, but next year went to that of Mr. Walter Durnford, who was one of
the chief family friends. Their name was sufficient passport in that home
of long traditions, for three of their brothers had played in the Eleven,
and they rapidly became very popular and dominant figures in the school.
In 1898 Francis was Master of the Beagles, and Rivy Whip. At the time the
pack was most indifferently housed, so the Twins raised a fund to build,
on the piece of land known as Agar’s Plough, the kennels which are now in
use. They wrote letters—generally wrongly addressed—to a multitude of old
Etonians, including the late Lord Salisbury, and received subscriptions
and letters—notably one from Lord Rosebery—which they cherished as
heirlooms. “The Head Master,” Mr. Durnford writes, “was never safe from
having his majestic progress through the playing fields arrested by one
of the Twins conveying some petition concerned with the great project,
and the Bursar—not renowned for his acceptance of new ideas—capitulated
before the unceasing attack.” In 1899 Francis was in the Eleven, and in
the match against Harrow at Lord’s, at a critical point in the game, he
and Mr. H. K. Longman, of Mr. Radcliffe’s house, made 170 runs for no
wickets. That year he established a bold innovation. Formerly the two
Elevens kept apart at lunch; Francis, though it was his first appearance
in the historic match, decreed that they should sit together, and ever
since this excellent practice has been followed.
At Eton they showed little interest in books, and later were wont to
lament to each other that they had left school wholly uneducated. But
they learned other things—the gift of leadership, for instance, and
the power of getting alongside all varieties of human nature. They
discovered, too, an uncommon knack of obtaining what they wanted by
their gentle persistence and radiant charm of manner. They had a way of
taking things for granted, and giving large orders which were generally
fulfilled. Being desirous to have flowers on their small window-sill,
they wrote to the gardener at Wilton to send them some “rowderdendrons.”
It appeared afterwards that they meant geraniums, but an under-gardener
was discovered faithfully digging up an enormous bush, which would have
filled their little room, let alone the window. They always worked in
couples, and used their similarity in looks shamelessly for various
unconstitutional purposes. During the winter one would answer for both,
so that the other could get off to hunt. Once the trick was badly given
away by the huntsman appearing at supper with blood trickling down his
sleeve. Taken unawares, he explained that he had had a fall on a heap of
stones. Hunting had now become a passion with both, and during one exeat
they settled to go to Melton, hired horses to meet them at a very early
train, and ordered a hansom to be at the door at 6 a.m. The cab never
appeared, and they missed the train. They managed to get half-way to the
meet in a slow train, and then _took a special_ and had a first-class
day. Coming back in the evening they told Frankie Rhodes the trouble they
had had, and he insisted on paying for the special.
Both of them had an astonishing gift of getting on friendly terms with
every sort of dignitary. The complete simplicity and candour of the two
slim, dark boys was not to be resisted. There is a legend, probably
untrue, that Francis once borrowed a sovereign from the Head to tip
a hunt-servant, and got it! Another tale can be vouched for. After
one of the many consultations about the new kennels, Dr. Warre walked
down the street with his arm in Francis’s. He stopped to speak to some
one, and at the same moment Francis met a friend, upon which the Head
overheard the following conversation. Said the friend, “Fancy you walking
arm-in-arm with the Head! Why, he terrifies me!” Said Francis, “I don’t
see why the poor man shouldn’t have pals among us. It’s bad enough to be
Head, without having to go without pals.” And here is an adventure of
Rivy’s. He was asked by Miss Bulteel, who was then in waiting on Princess
Beatrice, to tea at Windsor Castle. He marched in, and ascended the first
staircase he saw. There he found a kind old lady, who asked him whom he
wanted to see, and on Rivy’s explaining told him he had come in by the
wrong entrance. She summoned a liveried giant, and bade him show the way
to Miss Bulteel’s room. The giant bowed low to Rivy and walked backward
before him along several passages and up and down staircases. Finally the
crab-like progress halted before a door, and with another low bow Rivy
was asked what name. When he gave it the giant drew himself up, flushed
and said, “Oh, is that all? You can go in.” Afterwards Rivy found out
that he had wandered up the Queen’s private staircase, that the old lady
was the Empress-Dowager of Germany, and that the footman had taken him
for a foreign royalty. This was not the last of Rivy’s odd experiences in
court circles.
[Illustration: THE TWINS WITH THE ETON BEAGLES.]
Mr. Walter Durnford has been so kind as to set down his recollections of
the Twins.
“I have been asked to contribute to the memoir of Francis and
Riversdale Grenfell something bearing on their life as boys
at Eton. It is not a very easy task, for though their memory
is still fresh and strong in the mind of the writer, life
at school, with its regularity, its ordered course of work
and play, does not present, as a rule, startling features or
occasions which lend themselves to description. Month succeeds
month, and year follows year, with such quiet regularity that
almost before one realizes the change the small boy has grown
into the big boy, and the big boy is preparing to take his
place in the great world.
“The ‘Twins’—for so we always called them, and it is indeed
impossible to dissociate them in our memory—came to Eton in
1894, and a year later entered my house, where their brothers
Harold, Arthur, and Robert had preceded them—a funny little
pair, so like one another that they were the despair of masters
who only saw them occasionally; and even their tutor, who saw
them perpetually, never really knew them apart till the last
year they were at Eton. Francis, writing to him after Rivy’s
death, says: ‘Rivy used to like you best, I think, when some
one gave him a yellow ticket and you used, when you came round,
to pretend to be furious and curse me instead of him.’
“Like most brothers, they fought. In the same letter Francis
writes: ‘You, who used with difficulty to part us after
fighting in old days, know what we were to each other’; and,
indeed, they had at bottom that love for each other which, it
seems to me, only twin brothers have; nor do I believe that
they were ever happy if for many hours they were separated.
“To say that they were diligent would be absurd. They vexed the
souls of masters in whose forms they found themselves, and on
whom they sometimes played off their wonderful likeness with
diabolical ingenuity; they vexed the soul of their tutor, who
had to see that, somehow or other, they scraped through their
tale of work. But it was impossible to be angry with them for
long, for their invincible cheerfulness blunted the wrath of
justly indignant teachers; and all the time they were learning,
unconsciously perhaps, but still learning, the lessons which
were to make them so greatly beloved in after life—lessons of
kindness, of thoughtfulness, of perseverance, of straight and
honourable conduct—the fruit of which will be seen in the later
pages of this book. So the years slipped by—happy years for
both of them—until they found themselves in that position which
is perhaps the most delightful that the English boy can attain
to—‘swells,’ with troops of admiring friends, and a recognized
position as people of mark in the school. Such a position is
not free from danger, and boys’ heads are easily turned by it;
but the Twins never lost the simplicity which was one of their
most engaging characteristics, and they retained, as all boys
do not, the heart of a boy to the end of their schooldays.”
Mr. Durnford notes how little they changed during their school life. It
is the testimony of all their friends at all their stages. They possessed
a certain childlikeness, the ardour and innocence and unworldliness of
the dawn of life, the charm of which was never rubbed off by experience.
The one change during the Eton years was that Rivy began unconsciously to
charge himself with Francis’s future. A list of their school friends—even
of their intimate friends—would be so large as to be meaningless, but
I fancy, looking back, that their closest friendships were with Waldorf
Astor, Lord Esmé Gordon-Lennox, Lord Francis Scott, and Paul Phipps.
From a letter of the last-named I quote a sentence: “Even in those
days Rivy had begun to adopt the protecting, almost paternal, interest
in Francis’s career which he preserved all his life. In the summer in
which Francis got into the Eleven it was Rivy who took out his twin
and sternly made him practise fielding, just as in later life he would
conscientiously read some book which he had heard recommended, not for
his own instruction or amusement, but in order that he might pass it on,
if found suitable, to Francis.”
IV.
The summer of 1899 was their last term at Eton. The time was coming very
near when their paths must diverge. Their father had died in 1896, and
they lost their mother in 1898. Wilton Park had been given up some time
before, and the family was scattering, their many brothers being already
settled in various professions. Their uncle, Lord Grenfell, was their
guardian, and few guardians can ever have fulfilled more devotedly and
successfully their trust, as this narrative will bear witness. I quote
from a letter written by him in September 1898 from Cairo:—
“MY DEAR TWINS,—By the death of your mother I become your
guardian, and shall have to settle with Cecil as to your future
careers.... You may rely upon me to do all I can to help you.
But you are getting on now, and soon you will have to depend on
your own energy for your success in life. You will not be rich,
and you will have to work for your living, as your father and I
have had to do before you. Though you have both been good boys,
and have all the feelings of gentlemen, and have never caused
your father or mother any anxiety, you have neither of you (as
far as I can learn) taken any great interest in your studies.
You must remember that in your future life you will not be able
to do nothing but amuse yourselves, and I do trust that for
this next year, whether you remain at Eton or not, you will
work hard and try to learn all you can to improve your minds
and fit yourselves for the future.
“I always received so much kindness from your father and mother
when I was young, that you may depend on my helping you as
much as I can; and when I am in England my house will always
produce a corner for you and a bottle of the best. You have
your brothers also to advise and help you. But to be successful
in life you must depend on your own exertions, and therefore I
hope you will work hard and learn to be punctual and support
your masters.
“Read your Bibles, and shoot well ahead of the cock pheasants;
and if you are ever in any difficulty that your brothers can’t
help you in, come to your very affectionate
“UNCLE FRANCIS.”
“_P. S._—Since writing this, I have heard of dear Robert’s
death.[1] He died a gallant death for his Queen and country....
Well! he is with God—and your mother—and there we can afford to
leave him.”
Both would fain have followed the main Grenfell tradition and become
soldiers, but their means forbade. One of them must choose a more
lucrative calling, and the duty fell to Rivy, as having entered the world
a few minutes later than his Twin. In any case he would have given first
choice to Francis, to whom he had come to regard himself as _in loco
parentis_. In this assignment Francis was the luckier, for he was born
for the army. Indeed, both were, for it is hard to believe that Rivy had
any aptitude for high finance, and he had beyond doubt the makings of a
fine soldier. There was a very real difference between their minds: for
Rivy, as we shall see, discovered later a restless interest in politics
and a good deal of ambition for that career, while Francis never wavered
in his devotion to his profession; but the aptitudes of both might well
have been satisfied by the multifarious requirements of modern soldiering.
When they left Eton the Twins seemed exact replicas in tastes and
interests, and they were as like as two peas in person. That summer
Francis went to Inverness to join the Seaforth Militia, with a view to a
commission later in the 60th. He stayed at Loch Carron with his friend
Alasdair Murray, who a few months later was to fall with the Grenadier
Guards in South Africa. While he was out stalking one day, Rivy arrived,
was shown to his room, and changed into a suit of Francis’s country
clothes. When he rang the bell a footman appeared, who looked once at him
and fled. “Something terrible has happened to Mr. Grenfell on the hill,”
he told his fellows in the servants’ hall. “His ghost is sitting in his
room!”
Francis caught typhoid that autumn in Inverness, and for several months
was seriously ill. In December 1899 he was sent off to the Cape for a sea
voyage, and so began those wanderings which were to fill the rest of his
life. Meantime Rivy had become a decorous clerk in the Bank of England.
The Twins had left boyhood behind them.