CHAPTER X

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.