A Painting by Romney—Hunter’s School at Kineton—Corporal
Punishment—A Sporting Parson—My Schoolfellows at Kineton—The
Warre-Malets—Lord Charleville.
Before going to school in England, I was taken to Richmond to see my
mother’s aunt, Lady Caroline Murray, who was now an old lady and lived in
a house near the Thames, for, as the Duchess of Gloucester, to whom she
had been lady-in-waiting, had been dead some years, she was no longer at
Court. In her younger days, Lady Caroline had been a good horsewoman and
had ridden very well to hounds. But, at this time, she was leading a very
quiet life, receiving only her relatives and friends.
I can remember that in Lady Caroline’s drawing-room at Richmond there was
a most beautiful picture of her mother, Viscountess Stormont, British
Ambassadress to France and Austria, painted by Romney. It represented
the Countess in her own right, as she afterwards became, sitting beneath
a large tree and wearing a kind of loose _peignoir_ of a pale yellow
colour, like the colour of the sea just before a storm. The _peignoir_
was fastened at the shoulder by a brooch, in which was a large yellow
stone. Her hair was dressed high above the head, in the style of Marie
Antoinette, in whose days her husband was Ambassador in France, and over
it she had a Scottish plaid of the clan to which she belonged. One leg
was crossed over the other, and her arms were folded. She was painted in
profile; her _peignoir_, open at the front, displaying a perfect bosom
and a beautiful, swan-like neck. Her hair possessed that glorious auburn
tint with shades of gold in it, which made it appear as though the sun
were shedding its full rays upon the gold tresses, one of which had
escaped from the rest and hung loose. Her face was of a tender oval, with
expressive eyes of a peculiar shade of green, like that of the sea when
the sun falls upon it, or as it is in Böcklin’s pictures. Her nose was
straight and delicate, with nostrils like those of a Greek statue. Her
mouth was unusually small, with a tiny upper lip, slightly curved; her
chin short and classical. The expression on the face was of pride, of
audacity, of childish innocence, of sentimentality, and it possessed a
marvellous charm and attraction.
[Illustration: The Author’s Mother.
[_To face p. 40._]
This beautiful portrait, which Lady Caroline bequeathed to Earl Cathcart,
as he was the head of her mother’s family, was once seen by a wealthy
American, who said to the Earl, into whose possession it had then come:—
“Have you ever seen such a lovely woman as this in all your life?”
“No, I have not,” the Earl answered.
“Well, I guess you haven’t,” rejoined the other, “and I don’t think there
ever was such a lovely woman on earth.”
And he offered Lord Cathcart £20,000 down for the picture, which the
latter, though not a rich man, refused. The American then promised the
Earl’s son, Viscount Greenock, £500, if he could persuade his father to
accept the offer; but it was all of no avail.
I showed Mr. Noseda, the well-known print-seller in the Strand, the
engraving of this picture by J. R. Smith, which had belonged to my
grandfather, when Mr. Noseda told me that he very much preferred the
engraving to the painting, as the latter had been so much touched up,
whereas the former was so beautifully executed in every detail that he
considered it finer than Romney’s portrait. This was after I had told him
about the offer of £20,000 which the American had made for the original
painting.
Viscountess Stormont had been Ranger of Richmond Park, and was allotted,
as her official residence, the house which is now the Queen’s Hôtel.
An old gentleman whom I met at Richmond in later years told me that
he thought the hôtel ought to have been named after the Countess of
Mansfield, as Lady Stormont became later, instead of being called the
“Queen’s.” He remembered Lady Caroline Murray, and remarked that she was
one of those ladies of the old nobility who were scarce nowadays.
Viscount Greenock afterwards became Earl Cathcart, and died in London
in 1911. He was at Eton with me, and afterwards joined the 23rd Welsh
Fusiliers, from which he was transferred to the Scots Guards. When at
Eton, he often came to my tutor’s house to see his cousin, Charles
Douglas, whose father had placed him there to be with me. The Hon.
Reginald Cathcart, a younger brother of Lord Cathcart, was in the 60th
Rifles, and I recollect giving him a letter to his colonel, Godfrey
Astell, in India,[9] when he first joined the regiment. Reginald
Cathcart, who was a very nice young man, tall, dark, and handsome, was
one of those unhappily killed in the Boer War.
The school to which I was sent was at Kineton, near Warwick. It had been
recommended to my father by Lady Caroline Murray, who had heard of it
from the Duke of Buccleuch, and a cousin of mine, Greville Finch-Hatton,
was being educated there. When my father and I arrived, we were shown
into a sitting-room, looking out on to a garden, where we were received
by Mrs. Hunter, the headmaster’s wife. Mrs. Hunter was an old lady, whose
age, I afterwards ascertained, was about seventy. To guess it would have
been a difficult task, so terribly made up was she. Everything about her
was false: false teeth, false hair, and a false bust, giving her somewhat
the appearance of a wax figure at Madame Tussaud’s. She had, however,
very pretty white hands, with pointed fingers. She was dressed in black
satin, with a large gold brooch at her throat, and a long gold chain
round her neck, a costume which she always wore.
“This, I presume, is your little son, whom you are leaving with us?”
said Mrs. Hunter to my father. “Will you tell me whether you belong to
the High or Low Church, as it is my province to look after the boys’
religious instruction, and I am always interested to know.”
The question was rather a poser for my father, who, I do not think, had
entered a church since he left England. So he turned to me and said:—
“Tell the lady to what church you go with your mother.”
I said that at Ostend I always went to the English Protestant Church.
Upon which Mrs. Hunter observed:—
“I see, you have been living on the Continent, and foreigners have very
little religion. However, I will take care that your son has the proper
religious instruction.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and an immensely stout man, of about
sixty-five, with mutton-chop whiskers and spectacles, entered the room,
and introduced himself as Mr. Hunter, the headmaster.
In his youth Mr. Hunter had probably been an exceedingly handsome man,
and was still, apart from his corpulence, decidedly good-looking, with
a fine forehead, a small mouth with thin lips and very good teeth, and
regular features.
After showing us over the school, Mr. Hunter sent for Greville
Finch-Hatton, telling my father that I should occupy a dormitory with my
cousin and two other boys. At eight o’clock, supper was served in a large
dining-room, where the presence of a new boy provoked a good deal of
talking amongst the other boys. Mrs. Hunter sat at one end of the table,
her husband at the other; and the meal was a cold one, carved on the
table, and consisting of cold meat, followed by bread and cheese, washed
down by draught beer.
As soon as supper was over, we were sent to our dormitories, where I had
not been long in bed when my cousin leant over from his and asked if I
were asleep. On finding that I was awake, he told me that we must talk in
a very low voice, as talking was forbidden, and Mrs. Hunter occasionally
paid us a visit to see whether this regulation was being observed. The
two other boys in the room also began talking in low tones. Later on,
when they considered themselves pretty safe from detection, they talked
louder and carried on a long conversation about cricket, discussing who
were the best bowlers in the school and whether fast bowling was more
effective than slow.
I could not sleep, and, for some unaccountable reason, felt very
miserable. At last I began to cry, at first quietly, but soon I was
unable to restrain my sobs. My cousin, hearing me, tried to console me,
saying that he, too, had found it hard to leave his parents at first. I
felt inclined to tell him that it was not that which made me cry, but I
thought better of it. Soon afterwards I fell asleep, and dreamed that I
was at Kirchhofer’s school at Frankfurt, and that Vogelsang was talking
to me. I even fancied that he kissed me, when I awoke suddenly, in
despair at finding where I was.
Mr. Hunter was a very pleasant man, when he cared to be, which was by
no means always the case. He was most severe with everyone, and had no
particular favourites. Some boys he disliked, particularly those who
did not learn quickly, and those who were inclined to be noisy. He was
full of fun when he played football with us; making jokes and chaffing
different boys in turn. He was, however, quite a different kind of man in
school from what he was in the playground.
On Sundays, we, of course, attended church. The clergyman who preached,
a Mr. Miller, had two voices: a very squeaky voice and a very gruff
one. When he preached in his squeaky voice, most of us would fall
asleep in the high pews, which screened us from the observation of the
headmaster; but when Mr. Miller altered his tone, and his deep, gruff
voice was suddenly heard, coming, as it were, out of a vault, we would
be disagreeably startled from our slumbers. The sermons, I am inclined
to believe, were bought ones, for Mr. Miller used sometimes to lose his
place in the midst of his discourse and come to a stop, and when he
continued, it was on quite a different subject. But it mattered little,
so far as we were concerned, for most of the boys were usually asleep,
and those who tried to listen could not follow the squeaky voice of the
preacher—which had all the disagreeable sounds of a clarionet played
badly—even by straining their ears, which few of them were disposed to do.
Our French master, who was obliged to accompany us, used sometimes to
unfold the Paris _Figaro_ at full length and read it during the sermon.
Mr. Hunter, owing to the height of the pews, could not, of course, see
him, or he would most certainly have taken very strong exception to such
an irregular proceeding. One Sunday, when Monsieur happened to have
forgotten his _Figaro_, he passed the time of the sermon in an animated
conversation with Rush, the captain of the Eleven. Unfortunately for
the latter, Mr. Hunter happened to detect them; and, after church, he
sent for Rush, and, refusing to listen to his appeals, took him to the
schoolroom and, making him bend down, gave him a severe caning.
When I first came to the school, I was chaffed about my pronunciation,
and Rush said:—
“If you pronounce Themistocles like you do, I wouldn’t be in your shoes.”
Then he used to ask me questions about my German school, which at first
he laughed at. Soon, however, he took a great interest in it, making me
tell him about the boys there, what they were like and what they did.
“It must be very much jollier than here,” said he, “and none of that
beastly caning and flogging, as there is at Kineton.”
Mr. Hunter was certainly a devout believer in the precept: “Spare
the rod, and spoil the child;” indeed, he seemed to have a perfect
passion for caning the boys, and at times performed this operation with
astonishing zest. Sometimes, of an evening, in my dormitory, we would
play at being Mr. Hunter, each of us taking it in turns to personate the
master and beat the other boys with a hairbrush, in place of a cane. One
night, one of us happened to remark:—
“I think it is a pleasure that would grow upon one, as it evidently does
upon old Hunter.”
Scarcely had he said this, when, to our consternation, the door suddenly
opened, and the master appeared. The boys bolted into bed as fast as they
could, but it was too late, and we were told to come to Mr. Hunter’s
study after prayers the following morning. There, after we had been duly
admonished, we were all severely caned.
Rush and other boys used to put hairs in the canes to split them; but Mr.
Hunter found this out, for one day, he broke six canes one after another.
He then rang for his whalebone whip, and we received a fearful thrashing,
with no time to prepare for it by padding our clothes with books.
One day, the Duchess of Marlborough, who was a friend of Lady Caroline
Murray, called, and asked to see my cousin and myself. She was
accompanied by her son, Lord Randolph Churchill, and her visit to the
school was due to the fact that she thought of placing him there. But
Lord Randolph became too ill to go to school just then, and had a private
tutor at home instead, until he was old enough to be sent to Eton.[10]
We often went for picnics to the charming woods of Compton Verney,
belonging to Lady Willoughby de Broke. That lady, who was always very
pleasant and full of fun, would sometimes come and talk to us and to Mr.
Hunter. The latter had formerly been private tutor to her eldest son,
and the school was on Lord Willoughby de Broke’s property.[11] The late
Hon. Rainald Verney, Lord Willoughby’s younger brother, was at school at
Hunter’s, before going to Eton, and often came to the school when I was
there, before he joined the 52nd Light Infantry.
Mr. Hunter had a young and rather pretty niece, a girl of eighteen, with
black hair, who stayed for a time with him. She used to go into the boys’
dormitories at night, when she would give them bonbons and generally kiss
them. But her stay at Kineton was so short that her presence there was
more like an angel’s visit than anything else.
One day, the Rev. William and Mrs. Finch-Hatton called to see their son
and also asked to see me. Mrs. Finch-Hatton, who was at that time known
as the “Rose of Kent,” was a lovely woman, with very black hair and
regular features. She was a sister of Sir Percy Oxenden. She told me that
both she and her husband were struck by my great resemblance to their
son Greville; and Mr. Finch-Hatton very kindly gave me half a sovereign,
which I never forgot, as I rarely received any money from anyone. Mr.
Newenham, who had married a daughter of the Earl of Mount Cashell, and
was a clergyman in Ireland, also came to see his son. He played football
with us, and afterwards told us the following story:—
“I was once asked to see an old woman in Cork who was dying. She asked
me to read the Bible to her, but as I was unprepared to find her so ill,
I had not brought one with me, nor had she one in the house. So I pulled
out a copy of _Bell’s Life_ which I happened to have in my pocket, and
read her an article from it, which, as she happened to be deaf, had
precisely the same effect upon her as the Bible would have had.”
Mr. Newenham was a regular sporting parson, with, however, a good deal
more of the sportsman than the parson about him, but full of fun and very
agreeable.
There was a boy named Charles Taylor at the school, who afterwards went
to Eton. His father, who had himself been at Eton, was a famous cricketer
and had played in the All-England Eleven. He was, however, somewhat
eccentric, having the most intense dislike of being asked his age; in
fact, when one put this question to him, he invariably answered that he
neither knew it nor wished to know it. He had also a strong objection to
anything of a violet colour, and if a person called to see him wearing
a tie or a dress of that colour, he always picked a quarrel with his
unfortunate visitor.
Another boy at Kineton, whom I shall call L——, had the misfortune to be
afflicted with kleptomania, and would take everything he could lay his
hands on. Mr. Hunter used to break so many canes upon his back that he
said to him one day:—
“I shall send the bill for all the canes I have broken in trying to
correct you to your mother, for you get worse and worse every day.”
The school colours were scarlet and white, but they were only worn by the
cricket Eleven. As I was in the Eleven, I had this coveted privilege.
My cousin did not much care for cricket, and was fonder of riding and
shooting, at both of which he excelled. Mr. Hunter kept a pony for the
boys to ride. When he drove to Warwick, Leamington or Banbury, he would
take two of us with him, one boy riding the pony, while the other sat in
the pony-trap with the master. I can remember once riding to Warwick and
then to Stratford-on-Avon on the pony, which Finch-Hatton rode back to
Kineton. Most of the boys could ride well, and those who could not were
never taken by Mr. Hunter, save on one occasion, when I recollect that
the boy he took with him reminded me of certain Frenchmen whom one sees
riding in the Bois de Boulogne, who are afraid to let their horses go
beyond a walk. As my father used to say in Paris:—
“They praise the Lord on their knees every time they come home safely and
are out of the saddle.”
Greville Finch-Hatton was rather delicate, and, after making a voyage to
Australia, died quite young.
Aubrey Birch Reynardson, who also slept in my dormitory, had a gift for
story-telling. One night he related to us the story of “Eric, or Little
by Little,” with which, I can remember, we were delighted.
Mr. Hunter always wore spectacles. At times, by gaslight, when the gas
fell upon them, it looked as if his eyes were two flames, and that he
was an ogre ready to devour one of us, particularly when he took up his
cane, and glared at the culprit, through his spectacles, with fiery eyes.
But, taken on the whole, Mr. Hunter was a very good fellow, who would
never have done anyone an injury, apart from perhaps giving him a dose of
the cane.
Among the boys who were at Hunter’s with me was Charles Home-Purves, who
was the head of the school. He afterwards went to Eton and took Lower
School instead of Fourth Form, at which Mr. Hunter was much disappointed.
His father, Colonel Home-Purves, was in attendance on the Duchess of
Cambridge, and was accidentally killed by the overturning of a carriage
in which he was driving with Her Royal Highness. He was so terribly
cut about the face by the glass of the carriage-window that he died
almost immediately. His son was offered a commission in the Guards, but
preferred entering the Rifle Brigade. However, he left the regiment
shortly afterwards, and died when very young.
The late Earl of Lonsdale, before he succeeded his uncle in the title,
was also at Kineton with me. On one occasion, he ordered a lot of toys
from Cremer’s toy-shop, but when they arrived, Mr. Hunter was so startled
at the bill, which amounted to a considerable sum, that he had them at
once sent back to where they came from, telling Lowther, as he was then,
that he must make a better use of his money. He found life at Hunter’s
too restricted and not lively enough for him, so he only remained one
half, and then asked to leave the school. I met him at Eton with his
brother, the present Earl of Lonsdale. The latter was attached to the
Rifle Brigade, and was a very keen sportsman, I remember, when we were
both stationed at Winchester.
One day, at Kineton, I was playing with Newenham, who happened to have
a pocket-knife open in his hand, and, by accident, I got a very ugly
stab in the back. Indeed, the doctor declared that, if the wound had
been one-eighth of an inch deeper, it would have been fatal. Newenham
was once mistaken for me by an uncle of mine at the Great Western Hotel,
Paddington, which amused both of them very much, particularly as I was
then at the same school as Newenham. He retired from the Army with the
rank of Major, and lives in County Kerry, for which he is a magistrate.
Once, on the anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth,[12] Mr. Hunter took
us to Stratford-on-Avon, to show us the house where the poet was born
and to visit the theatre. Mr. Hunter was a good amateur actor, and
would sometimes get up plays for us to act. On one occasion, we played
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Lady Willoughby de Broke, Lord and Lady
North, Sir Charles Mordaunt, and all the neighbouring county families
were invited to the performance, which went off fairly well. “Making up”
afforded us great amusement. One of the boys had learned this art from
his sister, and proved himself quite an adept at darkening the others’
eyebrows and rouging their cheeks and lips.
I happened to meet recently the Rev. Henry Knightley, brother of Sir
Charles Knightley. He had been at Kineton with me, but it was forty
years since we had met. From him I learned that Mr. Hunter had died at
Leamington after giving up his school, and that Rush had died quite early
in life, as well as several others who were there with us. It was quite a
pleasure for me, and, I think, also for him, to recall our school-days,
and even the canings I looked back upon with some regret, feeling that I
would willingly submit to them again, could I but return to those times.
We both agreed that we had not learned much at Kineton, but that, on the
whole, our life there with our schoolfellows had been a pleasant one. I
found that Knightley was under the impression that Greville Finch-Hatton
had inherited the title of Winchilsea, but I told him that my cousin was
dead, and that the present Earl of Winchilsea and Nottingham had been at
Eton with me, and was kind enough to interest himself in my book about
our school life.
[Illustration: C. D. Williamson, at Eton with the Author.
[_To face p. 50._]
[Illustration: Miss Mabel Warre-Malet.
[_To face p. 51._]
The chief prize I got at this school was a copy of Longfellow’s poems,
beautifully bound and illustrated. I was very pleased at receiving it,
as Longfellow was at that time my favourite lyrical poet in the English
language.
Most of the boys remained at Kineton until they were fourteen, when they
left for Harrow, Eton, Winchester, or some other public school. Greville
Finch-Hatton went to Wellington, Rush to Cheltenham, and Knightley to
Marlborough.
During my holidays, I sometimes went to Taunton, to stay with an aunt
of mine, whose husband, a very kind man, was extremely fond of me. His
daughter’s chief friends were some children of the name of Warre-Malet,
nieces of the Ambassador, Sir Alexander Warre-Malet. The eldest girl,
Mabel, who was about thirteen, the same age as myself, was very pretty,
with brown hair, a lovely complexion and eyes of a deep blue. One
Christmas Eve, Mrs. Warre-Malet had a large Christmas tree, with numerous
presents attached to its branches, and we were invited to her house.
Every one of the children received a beautiful present from the tree,
which was illuminated by a great number of candles. Afterwards we played
at forfeits, and I was told to kiss Mabel Warre-Malet as a forfeit, an
act which I felt very shy about performing. “_Si jeunesse savait, si
vieillesse pouvait._” Another friend of ours was a girl whose name was
Amy; who was also about thirteen. She, too, was a very attractive little
lady, with long brown hair, hazel eyes with black lashes, an oval face,
and a small mouth with pearly white teeth. She had a cousin, the Earl of
Charleville, some years older than herself, who was staying at that time
with her people. One day she came with him to see my cousins, and said to
me:
“Charleville can tell you all about Eton, if you want to know anything,
as he went to school there.”
Lord Charleville had to go away before his companion, who remained to
tea. Afterwards, one of my cousins and I accompanied her part of the way
home, and, while we were crossing some fields, she suddenly exclaimed:—
“Good gracious! my petticoat is coming down!”
And she burst out laughing.
My cousin Florence, a girl of thirteen, told me to walk on, while she
pinned up Amy’s petticoat. But this proved a more difficult task than she
had bargained for, as a string fastening had been broken, and it ended in
Amy being obliged to take her petticoat off and carry it as a parcel. The
two girls laughed consumedly at this mishap and its victim said to me:—
“Don’t you tell anyone that you saw me take my petticoat off, or I will
never forgive you.”
I assured her that on no consideration would I breathe so much as a
syllable, and, on leaving us, she said:—
“As you are going away, you may give me a kiss, if you like.”
Which I did right gladly, as you may suppose.
A few days later, I met Charleville at an evening party in Taunton, at
which he paid marked attention to the daughter of the house, a very
pretty girl. I recollect meeting at this party two of the daughters of
the vicar of Taunton, Elsie and Audrey Clark, the elder of whom was
thirteen, while her sister was three years younger, and was much struck
by their beauty, which was quite out of the common. One of them had the
most lovely hair, of the same exquisite colour as that which one sees
in Titian’s paintings; the other’s hair was also very beautiful, but of
a more auburn shade; and both sisters had the most charming complexion.
I danced repeatedly with one of them; _mais mon cœur balançait entre
les deux_, so far as their attractions were concerned. The girl with
the Titian hair afterwards married the fourteenth Lord Petre, while her
sister married his uncle.
Lord Charleville was a tall, good-looking youth, with wavy brown hair
and regular features, but he was very delicate, being consumptive. After
serving for a year in the Rifle Brigade, his health obliged him to resign
his commission. He then went for a voyage in his yacht, but derived
little benefit from it, and died before reaching his majority.
The late Mrs. O. Warre-Malet told me that, when she was quite a young
girl, she and her sister went to Ascot races on foot and disguised as
boys for a joke, and that they got a good deal of money from people
who were driving to the course. Her sister married the Hon. Humble
Dudley-Ward, and after her husband’s death, the late Duke of Richmond
made her an offer of marriage. This she refused, but accepted Mr. Gerard
Leigh, who was an immensely wealthy man. After his death she became the
wife of Monsieur de Falbe, and died some years ago.