George Adolphus Huggins was born in a small street off the Old Kent
Road early in the 60’s of the last century. His first introduction
to commercial life was made at the age of twelve as assistant to his
father Jack, or, as one tradition has it, Jim Huggins, who sold fruit
and vegetables from a barrow in that neighbourhood.
Upon the early demise of both his parents young Mr. Huggins took over
the business, which remained undeveloped to close upon his fortieth
year. Long before that he had married Matilda, or, as she was later
called, Amathea, the daughter of another gentleman and lady in the same
branch of commerce: a strong, full-bodied, upstanding young woman of
whom he was very proud, and whose advice in all matters not connected
with barter and exchange he was ready to follow. They were contented
enough with their lot, suffered no more than the average number of
conflicts with their neighbours, and but rarely allowed these to
develop into physical violence.
So late, therefore, as the beginning of King Edward’s reign there was
nothing to distinguish the genius of George Adolphus Huggins. He seemed
to be but one costermonger among so many in the great business life
of London. But shortly after the end of the Boer War and King Edward’s
Coronation appeared those manifestations of the exceptional power which
is latent in every great man, and is bound to express itself at last,
however tardily.
Mr. Huggins, having been chosen for unpaid secretary of a Goose Club
which enjoyed a large membership, found himself in the decline of the
year 1902 possessed of a very considerable capital in trust. Indeed,
it was far more than all his own stock-in-trade was worth, and it is
a great tribute to his sterling qualities that he should have been
entrusted thus by his neighbours with so responsible a task.
Rightly judging that it was imprudent to keep so much money loose, he
took the advice of a friend somewhat superior in social position, a
pawnbroker from Kipling Street (late Nelson Street), and through his
introduction deposited the money in a bank until that expenditure or
division among the members of the club—known in the Old Kent Road as
“shareout”—should fall due at Christmas.
At this point took place an episode on which I have found it very
difficult to get exact information, for there are contradictory
versions.
There is no doubt that the account at the bank had been opened in the
joint names of Mr. Huggins himself and his friend, Mr. Lawson, the
pawnbroker of the neighbourhood. Mr. Lawson for many years complained
in his own circle that he had been defrauded, nor did the complaints
cease until some arrangement was made by the lawyers of Sir George
Huggins (as he had then become) long after the date of the transaction
I am about to describe. We have Mr. Lawson’s own vigorous and repeated
statement that it was by his advice the speculation was made, as how
could that poor fellow Huggins have known anything about it? While he,
Lawson, had had the tip straight from his cousin, who was clerk in a
broker’s office and had obtained early inside information upon the
approaching amalgamation of Paley’s Brewery with Gatton’s.
Lord Mere de Beaurivage never spoke of the incident, to my knowledge,
save, of course, in privacy to his solicitors; so I have no opportunity
for testing Mr. Lawson’s version of the affair; but his friends assure
me _he_ originated the investment, acting upon the very honourable
motive of adding to the sum he held in trust, and not letting the money
of his neighbours lie idle.
At any rate, the order to purchase Paley’s Ordinary must have been
given out in both names. What probably happened was that, in the
absence of Mr. Lawson, Mr. Huggins’ order to sell was taken by the
bank; at any rate, the very considerable profit was, I am again assured
by Lord Mere de Beaurivage’s friends, equitably divided; and probably
Mr. Lawson’s grievance lay in the fact that further transactions, in
which he had no share, were undertaken in Mr. Huggins’ own name.
These further transactions were of a very simple sort. Indeed,
high financial talent is often best seen in the simplicity of its
operations. Mr. Huggins began by repaying in full to the account the
original money due to the members of the Goose Club, which sum was
therefore duly divided and accounted for at the Sacred Season of Peace
and Goodwill to everybody’s satisfaction.
Meanwhile the remaining profit of £150 Mr. Huggins drew out in cash,
closing his account with the bank, which had indeed always troubled him
a little, as being something mysterious, and at the same time putting
himself a little too much into the power of the other man.
The surplus cash thus available he put upon a winner called Winsome
Winnie. Not that he had received any information about the powers of
the animal, but because that very phrase had been attached as a pet
name to his only child, a little daughter who had died some years
before. That the odds were 50 to 1 did not alarm this daring spirit.
He divided the proceeds; keeping two-thirds of them, and losing the
remaining third upon yet another horse, the name of which I have not
been able to trace. Disgusted with the turf by this reverse of fortune,
Mr. Huggins, after some hesitation, simply kept the sum of money now at
his disposal. It was just under five thousand pounds, and he kept it in
the large banknotes of the bookie, under the lid of a rather battered
little japanned box, carefully locked, though inspected with his own
eyes from three to five times every day.
It was impossible that some rumour of his good fortune should not
have spread. He was privately visited by more than one neighbour with
pressing requests for a loan, even at considerable interest; and as he
had every opportunity for judging the prospects of the barrows in his
row, he could, and did, lend with judgment. The loans were at short
term, usually of a week, at the most of a fortnight, and calculated
at a penny in the shilling for each seven days; or, as a special
accommodation for larger customers, a shilling in the pound.
He extended his operations. He became the Providence of Barrow-men in
South-East London, and soon extended his activities to shopkeepers.
Mr. Huggins had the supreme gift of discretion. Each operator was left
under the impression that the loan had been made to him as a special
favour, though it was certainly remarked that the lender’s circle of
acquaintance was rapidly extending, and that he had many callers at
his house after business hours, especially of a Saturday. He was wise
enough to make no display, as his wealth increased, and it was greatly
to the credit of his wife Matilda (or Amathea, as she was soon to be)
that she added little to her _parure_, though she could not resist
one particularly fine ostrich feather which she had seen in the shop
of a neighbour, Mrs. Carey, who took in, mended, cleaned, turned, and
otherwise served, the ladies of her neighbourhood. The transaction was
the more tempting, as Mrs. Huggins had kindly helped Mrs. Carey upon
more than one occasion and could, therefore, demand a special price.
The profession of private banking upon which George Huggins was now
fairly launched is a lucrative one so long as it is confined to a
certain scale. After that, it not only needs a particular _clientéle_,
with offices in the West End and a considerable organisation,
but involves grave risks and a special knowledge of the wealthy
world—especially its younger members. It further requires a public
licence, and is hardly ever conducted without occasional appearances
in court. The financier was wise, therefore, to abandon those direct
methods. He spent a few weeks in settling his affairs, concluding every
transaction with great tenacity and vigour, still maintaining his own
barrow as though nothing were to happen.
Feigning illness (a legitimate ruse), he put in a caretaker, and
finally sold the humble barrow-stall which had been the foundation of
his fortune and the good-will of a still sufficient trade in vegetables
and fruit. Shortly afterwards his wife and he took a small villa in
the northern suburbs, where he would be free from interruption by any
former friends. There, dressed in the style required by the new state
of life to which it had pleased God to call them, George and Matilda
Huggins acquired a solid circle of new acquaintances, including the
Reverend Percy Hay, the local clergyman. For they were now members of
the Established Church and regular in their attendance.
George Huggins took the train for the City every week-day morning,
returning rather earlier in the evening than most of his colleagues. He
had at first no office. Later, after many discreet inquiries, he joined
his name to that of a Mr. Jeffreys, General Agent, on a second floor in
Austin Friars: an address which was useful for the receipt and despatch
of correspondence, for telephone orders, and for following the markets
upon the spot.
It is no derogation of a man who so splendidly made good later on
to admit that during the first two years the total of his capital
slightly diminished. He was disappointed in the Paolo Mine venture,
and deservedly annoyed when the friend who had told him they would
rise came out with a new Rolls Royce, himself having sold the stock
in question. He was also quite wrong upon the fate of the Electricity
Bill, having as yet no acquaintance among politicians. Shortly after,
however, he successfully staged the Roumanian Loan. It was a matter of
only a few thousands, but they were enough to put him well forward of
what he had been when he first took to the City. And then came the
great stroke of his life, of which he is deservedly proud. As it may
not be common knowledge, I will describe it.
It was the eve of the Great War. Mr. Jeffreys was out at lunch. The
private telephone was rung up, and a Voice asked that, without delay,
a very large bull account should be opened on margin in the stocks
of three named armament firms, a bear ditto in two named foreign
government loans and a solid investment in a controlling company
which had hitherto been under a German directorship. The Voice went
on to explain without reserve, and as to a full confidant, the nature
of his information, introducing two important political names, and
before ceasing confirmed the usual proportion of the proceeds to its
correspondent. Only after all this had been said (and it took a good
two minutes to say it, for the Voice was very eager and even excited),
did the Voice, intrigued by Mr. Huggins’ silence, ask anxiously whether
it had the right number? Mr. Huggins saw no cause to inform It that It
had not. He replaced the receiver on its hook without a word.
There has grown up a silly modern habit of decrying the genius of our
great commercial men, especially when their fortunes have been rapidly
acquired. Their success is set down to chance, and is besmirched with
imputations of dishonesty.
I say this modern habit is a vile one, born not only of envy but of
ignorance. For had the calumniators any real knowledge of the men they
run down they would be unable to deny them the same sort of genius as
distinguishes the great Captains of History.
What George Huggins did on this memorable occasion is an example.
During the few moments when he was holding the receiver to his ear with
his left hand George Huggins was rapidly noting down the name of the
stocks, the prices, the margins, the dates, with a pencil in his right.
He immediately left the office. Within a week, all Europe being then
at war, that dreadful calamity had within the mysterious designs of
Providence launched the very moderate fortune of George Huggins into
its advance towards becoming one of the largest of our time.
For once the great man was bewildered. The first huge sum had come so
simply, so rapidly and so naturally, and in such overwhelming figures,
that he hardly felt himself to be himself. And not a few wild projects
cantered through his brain when, after the settlement, he was racing
northward to Palmers Green in a first-class carriage—which projects,
had he indulged in them, might, I admit, have led to disaster. It was
the strong sense of his wife which saved him, and he was ever grateful
to her. He found her eating tripe and onions, a favourite dish of hers
when she could prepare it after her own fashion (for she had given the
servant a night out), and drinking from a tankard a very excellent
brand of stout laced with gin.
He shared the meal, and when it was over and she had heard the full
news, she made him his plan of campaign.
And see how wise she was! The whole thing was simply to be put into
secure Government Stock. She trusted England. Indeed, she was confident
that the war would be over in a few weeks, and of course in our favour.
Meanwhile until things had settled down, and when he had come to know
(as he soon would with such a fortune) those who pull the strings of
our affairs, he might cautiously distribute his investment, and if he
so willed, increase his now great possessions. But the principal thing
was safety. They were made, he and she. That was the point. But both
remembered in silence that there was no heir.
The rest came easily enough. George Huggins was talked of. The
simplicity of his manner and the kindness of his heart were remarked.
No foolish hesitation was shown by families whose wealth happened to
be of older growth in inviting him and his wife to their tables. His
spontaneous generosity in the matter of the Belle Vue Hospital gave
him, not a mere knighthood, as the Secretary had suggested, but a
baronetcy. It was as Sir George and Lady Huggins that they entertained
and did what lay in them for their country during the great life and
death struggle of those four years. Before the end of them, Sir George
had occupied during a few fateful weeks one of the more important
ministries, succeeding to a large wholesale grocer, and succeeded in
turn by one of our shrewdest speculators in rising seaside resorts.
He left office through no other cause than the strain which its cares
put upon a man of his years, and, of course, accepted a peerage upon
retiring from the more active duties of public life.
He was indifferent as to what his title should be. But having recently
constructed (in spite of the building difficulties during the war) a
charming little Jacobean thing at Mere Bruvvish, in Berkshire, the
heralds pointed out to him that the spelling of the name in some early
documents would seem to indicate an original French form, Beaurivage.
George, First Baron Mere de Beaurivage, therefore became the style
and title of this very eminent, and (I think I may say) very typical
British man of business.
It was remarked that his simplicity remained conspicuous in spite of
his elevation. Thus he insisted on the plain pronunciation Mere de
Bruvvish—or even Bruvvish alone—attaching to his new title, as it had
to the village where he retired for the week-ends; and it was with
difficulty that he could be persuaded to sign his name with a little
“d” for the “de,” or to separate that particle from the main term of
Beaurivage. He made no efforts to speak an English other than that to
which he had been trained in childhood, and no one acquainted with
the pride of our gentry will doubt me when I say that it was ready to
receive him in his plain and rugged honesty as it would have been had
he spoken in the most exquisite accents of the stage.
In the now wide circle of their society the Mere de Beaurivages had
been glad to discover a really intimate friend in Hilda Maple. There
was a warm and affectionate sincerity in her relation towards Lady Mere
de Beaurivage which Matilda—Amathea as she now was—sometimes missed in
her grander acquaintances. She felt the atmosphere of Rackham Catchings
to be homely. She admired the close admixture of every modern comfort
with every ancient tradition in these honourable walls—the Ancestor
had got there a little before her—and she often said to herself and to
her husband that when they should build themselves a proper place they
would keep that model in mind.
Moreover, she had an odd attachment to Sussex; perhaps because she had
once been taken to the Downs behind Brighton for a Board School treat
in her early youth, perhaps because an uncle of hers had been ostler in
the then large stables of the Monarch at Byfield.
One way and another, Rackham Catchings was half a home in her mind
already. She was glad to feel that Hilda and she were like sisters. Yet
John Maple had never as yet met her during any one of the four or five
times on which she had passed a week-end in the place; and in the rich
houses of London he had only seen the couple once (and even then it was
from some way off) in a crush at Bakeham House. The poor old gentleman
had seemed terribly hot and out of breath after squeezing up those
stairs.