Memoirs of Emily Eugenia Barton nee Elliott (1839-1924).

These memoirs (never formally published but transcribed and distributed by her grandson Ted Barton in 1964) are probably our family's most treasured historical document. The original hand-written journal, now in the custody of Ted's son Rev. Peter Barton, contains both these and the shorter slightly terser memoirs of her husband John; they were written on opposing pages. His were written in 1889, and presumably she started hers at nearly the same time (when she was ~50) and she continued writing, in fits and bursts, until the time of her husband's death in November 1908, when she was 69. She lived for another 15 years after that.

In this online version, I (DBHB) have included the page numberings of Ted's transcript, {in curly braces}, for ease of referencing. I have removed many of Ted's footnotes, and numerical identifiers for people, and replaced them with hyperlinks. I've also chosen my own section divisions and expanded many of Emily's abbreviations, but otherwise this is faithful to Ted's transcript.

As with all Wikispaces articles, you can download a '.pdf' version of this page (for offline reading or printing, although maps and pictures are not included) by clicking on the Page tab menu arrow and selecting 'Download PDF'. Or simply click here.





Family origins



My father, the Reverend Charles Boileau Elliott, was educated at Harrow, and at the East India College of Haileybury - then used only for the East India Company's men; at 18 having won all the honors the College had to offer he left as first on the List, and was considered as the most promising of the 'writers' (as they were then called) of his year. This was in 1821.

His Father, also Charles Elliott was one of the earliest 'writers' who went out under that great and really wonderful Company of merchantman - who held and governed India without any assistance from the English Government - by her own Judges and Army, until the Mutiny broke out in 1857 after which they begged the Government to take over the country.

My Grandfather, above named, went out in 1796, and having married in India Alicia Boileau - from whom you inherit your Huguenot pedigree - sent home my Father at three years old (in 1806) from Calcutta to be brought up by his Grandfather and Grandmother - another Mr.Charles Elliott - then living at Clapham.

It is said that this Great Grandfather as an enterprising lad came up to London from Essex, with 1/- in his pocket, about the year 1770; whether this be so or not, it is known that he left it worth more than a quarter of million of money. It was at the time of Pitt's ministry when our war with Napoleon was going on [i.e. between 1804 and 1806]; and Pitt borrowed from Charles Elliott and others money for the Government, paying high interest for the same. This, added to years of industry and hard work as the first importer of French furniture to England, enabled old Mr. Charles Elliott to retire about the year 1816, and purchase a charming house, then at the extreme end of Brighton, and still known as 'Westfield Lodge' [where the 'Hilton Brighton Metropole' now stands, on King's Road, facing the sea; an attractive polychromatic brick building built in 1889], where he and his family spent the remainder of their days. During his life in, or near London, being a good man, he became intimate with the Macaulays, Wilberforces and other good men who took part at this time in the revival of Religion in England, after a long sleep of years. Also with the Venns one of whom [John Venn (1750-1813), son of Henry Venn (1725-1797) of the Clapham Sect] at the beginning of this Century helped Mr. Charles Simeon and others found the Church Missionary Society.

My great Grandfather married twice – first a Miss Sherman - and second a Miss Venn. It was this latter dear and gifted lady who acted a Mother's part to my father from three years old to eighteen years. To his dying day I never heard him call her anything but 'my dear and honoured Grandmother'. {p2} It was this old gentleman, my Great Grandfather, you see, and his wife, Miss Venn who brought up my father with their own large family - who were my father's young Uncles and Aunts. There were six sons, and six daughters [actually seven of each, but only six of each survived infancy] - I will only enumerate six of them, besides my father's Father whom we have left in India, and who was the eldest of the twelve.

William Pearson, the second Son, had a high post in the Persian Embassy and after distinguishing himself there for a few years, died near Teheran, before he was 30. There is a beautiful chalk drawing of him by Russell in the possession of your Great Aunt Mary Elliott of Holland Park. She possesses all the family portraits. Another son 'Basil' entered the Navy - and the bright 'Middy' sailed away one day, full of hope, with one of the few godly Captains then to be found in Her Majesty's Service - who was engaged to his eldest sister Mary Sophia. But neither ever came back again - for the great ship went down in mid-ocean with all hands on board, and none was left to tell the tale.

external image William%20Pearson%20Elliott%201780-1802%20secretary%20to%20an%20embassy%20to%20Arabia%20where%20he%20died%20and%20was%20buried%20in%20the%20garden%20of%20the%20Imam%20of%20Senna.jpg
William Pearson Elliott (1780-1802). Portrait by John Russell.


Two more Sons of this remarkably clever family with whom your grandfather was brought up, I ought to mention. 'Henry Venn' (so called after his mother’s father) and 'Edward'; both distinguished as Fellows of Trinity College Cambridge, and men of note in their day. Edward, was the author of a famous work on Unfulfilled Prophecy, called the 'Horae Apocalypticae'. 'Henry' was for years the popular preacher of Brighton (where he was Incumbent of a Church built by his father as a thank offering to God). And some years after 'Henry' built, and endowed later in life, the Clergy Daughters' School there, known: as St. Mary's Hall, and which has now for 50 years done excellent work educating the daughters of our poorer clergy for a merely nominal sum. (Your Father is now, by my great Uncle Henry's request before his death, one of the Trustees of this School).

Of the daughters of this family I will mention only two. Mary Sophia after her lover's and brother's death, never thought again of marrying - but being a clever woman, mixed in distinguished literary circles, and lived much amongst great and good men. The Wilberforces, Macaulays and Venns I have already mentioned as intimate in the family. Sir James Stephens - Colonial Secretary - Charles Keen and Mrs. Keen the well known recitors of Shakespere's plays - Cesar Malan of Geneva - and Mr. Charles Simeon of Trinity Church, Cambridge were a few that I can remember hearing of. Her close friendship {p3} with this last good man is proved by the fact that he left her, by Will, his preaching Bible- which has, during the last few years curiously enough come back to your Father as present Vicar and successor to Simeon’s Church from the husband of the last living member of that family Canon Babington and is now in our possession - where you may any day read on the fly leaf the copy of the extract from Mr. Simeon's will, leaving it to 'His dear friend' my Great Aunt Mary Sophia.

The other daughter I wish to name is my [Great] Aunt Charlotte Elliott. Her well known hymns 'Just as I am' and 'My God my Father while I stray' - and many others have been a gift to the world. I am afraid to say into how many languages 'Just as I am' has been translated. Her brother 'Henry Venn', who often visited her on her sick bed, for she was a great invalid all her life, used to say "You have done more by that one Hymn of yours, than I by all my years of preaching"; this was a modest speech from a 'popular preacher', and yet it may have been true - and proves how God is pleased to use the 'weak things' of the world. So let not the weakest of you, my Children, be faint-hearted. You are not as gifted a family as the one I am describing, and whose blood runs in your veins - but 'To every man his gift of God', and 'To every man his work' - and to use that 'gift' and to take up that 'work' is surely the way to turn two talents into four - and the five into ten.

Brought up as my Father was in such an atmosphere, where the conversation was said by someone to be 'the feast of reason, and the flow of soul', it was not astonishing that he was at 18 much beyond his years; with a traditional respect and love for all that was highest and best, though without any deep personal knowledge of it. When, after a six months voyage in a luxurious cabin for which his indulgent grandfather paid £300, having given him an outfit worth as much besides, he found himself sailing up the river Hoogly to Calcutta, how gratified he must have been to find his Mother sailing down to meet him, with a white flag hoisted at her mast's head that he might know her. And when his Father, proud of his eldest son's honors, and personal attractions, brilliant conversation etc, plunged him at once into a vortex of the most worldly society, and feted him everywhere, what wonder that his head was turned - and as each year saw him rising higher, and very {p4} rapidly to important positions, with unlimited power, a love of autocratic power, and an impatience of opposition grew upon him which were the bane of his life, alas! and of his happiness.

His Father was at this time 'Resident of Delhi' - in charge of the 'Great Mogul', state prisoner of Government and never moved out without my Grandfather, and a guard of 300 mounted men. This great man was so grateful to my Grandfather for getting his pension raised from £20,000 to £25,000 per annum, and finding it impossible to get this honorable Englishman to accept any pecuniary compensation for doing what he considered a mere act of justice, he induced my Grandfather to allow the little form of adopting my dear Grandmother as one of his 'daughters'! - whereupon his real daughter placed on her finger a ring containing a single emerald, the largest I have ever seen except among Royal jewels. She gave this ring to my Father - and all my life, as long as he lived we knew it, and its story, on his finger. It is in possession of your Uncle Charles’ family now.

My Grandfather retired in 1826 after 30 years spent in the East India Company without going Home; and my Father followed him three years later, after only eight years in the country - with liver complaint. The East India Company kept his appointment open for him 5 years in hopes of his being able to return, but ere this time was over he had made up his mind to throw over the Service. This was the greatest mistake of his life - and a most unfortunate one to make so young.

But before I entirely close this page of their Indian life, I must say a word about the private life of my Grandfather and Father, which I am deeply thankful to be able to say to you their descendants; especially as they were rare and marked exceptions amongst men in the high circles in which they moved in India. Although my Grandfather was not a religious man until quite his latter years, his standard of morality and honour, and of temperance were so infinitely higher than that of any of his surroundings, that he was never known to fail in any one of these respects. It was the custom in those days to drink a good deal of wine, but as he knew that he could not take much, he had the lower half of his glass colored so that he might appear to be doing the hospitable with his friends when he had no intention of taking any more! As to receiving bribes, it is said that he {p5} and my Father were the only men then in the Civil Service who refused, to take them - so universal was the practice for a man who had a case in court, and who was desirous to win favour, to put Bank Notes under his Judge's plate at breakfast time - and let him know, of course, where they came from. I thank God that no money that will ever come to my children has been thus dishonestly come by.

I think we may fairly believe that the prayers of his godly parents and family at Westfield Lodge, Brighton, were as a wall of fire protecting this their eldest son in that vicious atmosphere; where Englishman at this time lived such godless lives that I think it is [Baron Thomas Babington] Macaulay, in his life of Lord Clive, who describes 'the natives turning out in Calcutta to see the rare annual sight of Englishmen going to church'! - and where all, with a few bright exceptions, lived licentious and intemperate lives, and took bribes right and left to bias them in their verdicts and decisions in Court.

For my own Father, fresh from his Grandparents' wonderful home, it must have been comparatively easy - for all this vice must have been most repulsive to him. Still - you and I too must be thankful to know that he passed through that fiery ordeal and came out unscathed.

I may just mention here that my Father's two brothers followed him to India: 'William Henry' who spent 30 years in the Bengal Civil Service — and during his later years was 'Magistrate of the 24 Pergunnas' as it is called - a very large Province in Bengal Proper, and lived at Alipore, a suburb of Calcutta. He married in England his first cousin, Miss Pearson, daughter of one of the six at Brighton whom I did not enumerate; and most of you know her as 'Great Aunt Mary Elliott' who lives now in Holland Park [Kensington, London]. She is my Uncle Willie's widow; a very clever, gifted woman, who painted when at Alipore the best collection of Indian flowers that I have ever seen.

My father's youngest brother 'George' entered the Indian Army - and was drowned in the deep mountain Lake of Naini Tal when out shooting in 1850.

But to return once more to my Father. He came home in 1829 - an invalid - and was nursed and beloved by all the large party at Brighton who had ever done their best to spoil him. But they soon discovered the work Indian life had done for him - and spent many sighs over him, wishing old days back again. {p6}

My Grandfather was much annoyed when my Father finally decided to throw up the Indian Service - having seen that he had great administrative talents, as well as linguistic, in addition to a first rate pen - and I never for my own part, could understand why he did it. Had his father not made him a handsome allowance, he would probably have returned to India - and would have been a happier man for the rest of his life; for he never really found his sphere in England.

He had a passion for travel; and as soon as he was well enough, travelled through Norway and Sweden with two other Englishmen, and published a Volume on his journey through those then little known countries on his return.


Emily's father meets her mother, 1830


It must have been in 1830 that my Father met my sweet Mother (Emily Dougan), of whom I love to say that 'I owe her all I am and have' — (for she always prayed for her daughters' husbands and her sons' wives from the time they were 17).

They met in a romantic way – for being caught in a summer shower in Torquay he suddenly bethought him he must be near the home of the sisters of a young officer he had known in India, and promised to call on. He said to himself 'there will I take shelter, and pay off my visit at the same time'. No sooner said than done - and he found himself in the middle of what must have been a very charming family of sisters, of rare accomplishments and good looks, and seems to have been in no hurry to leave Torquay. Their name was Dougan, a good Irish family, descended from the O'Neils. But we know but little of our dear Mother's family – for both her parents died before she became our father's wife; and as his jealously absorbing love induced him to separate her one by one from all her family, it came to pass that we never saw but one of them - whom you elder boys may possibly remember in Strathmore Gardens in 1876, your Great Uncle John Dougan: a handsome gentle old man, with marked features very like our little Guy Douglas. He had been in the Army. What I do know of my Grandfather Dougan is that he owned large sugar plantations in Jamaica and did such good service, first on his own property and then for the Government in inducing plantation owners to free their slaves, that he was received with honors as he sailed up the Thames - the shipping being decked with flags etc. But he lived only a short {p7} time to enjoy his honors, and his pension dying with him, his family were left indifferently off.

My Grandmother Dougan was known in Devon as one of the three beautiful Miss Squires; her Christian name was Clarissa. (On two separate papers given me by my cousin Sir Claude Macdonald - great nephew of my Mother's - you will find full particulars of the Dougan family [DBHB: these documents are now lost, unfortunately]). When therefore my Father returned to his Father's house, 47 Portland Place, London, to tell him he had won the heart of the lovely and accomplished Emily Dougan but who nevertheless had no fortune, my Grandfather who was a proud and ambitious man, and had other plans for his son, was little pleased. He sent him to stay with Lord Delaware, and Sir Theophilus Lee and many great people where he hoped he might take a fancy to someone else - but my father's mind was made up, and nothing would move him; and as he soon got his Mother on his side, my Grandfather had to yield, and said 'Go fetch your Emily, and let us judge of her ourselves.'

external image Rev%20Charles%20Boileau%20Elliott%20FRS%201803-1875.jpgexternal image Emily%20Dougan%201806-1877.jpg
LEFT: Rev. Charles Boileau Elliott (1803-1875). RIGHT: Emily Dougan (1806-1877).


My gentle mother has often described how she dreaded the ordeal of being introduced to my formidable Grandfather, who was not welcoming her as a daughter in law. She was now staying in London with her Guardian, Sir James Stephen, Colonial Secretary - and on a certain day they were all invited to a large dinner party at Portland Place. Great was my dear Grandmother's loving wish that her future daughter in law should please her Sire! And having already made her acquaintance at her Guardian's, she managed to waylay the timid girl ere she entered the Drawing Room, and encouraged her to fear nothing. I can picture her as I have heard her describe that night, as my dear kind Grandmother took her by the hand, and led her into the large gathering, where were many criticizing eyes. Dressed in white India muslin, with her glorious black hair done in coils upon coils on the top of her head, with strings of pearls twisted in amongst them - her only ornament - her lovely pink and white complexion, which she kept to the day of her death, her perfect features, and deep set, dark, loving hazel eyes, my Grandmother rightly thought she would soften the heart of stone, and in her own merits, break down the strongest prejudice. And she was not far wrong; for after holding her at arms length for a few seconds, my Grandfather stooped down and kissed her forehead; and the ice was broken, and the thaw set in. She had not easy work with him though for many years; but her imperturbably sweet {p8} temper, and almost too perfect conduct as a wife, at last won him completely - and he was known to say 'Was there ever such a perfect woman as Emily’! And during his latter years nothing was too good for her - and after his dear wife's death she was more and more to him - drawing his now softened and humble heart to believe in God's love to him ..... But I have forestalled.

Shortly after the aforesaid introduction to her husband's family, my dear mother was married to my Father in Holy Trinity Church, Marylebone, by the Rev. Charles Simeon, of Trinity Church Cambridge, her guardian, Sir James Stephen, giving her away.

Of course all the Brighton party came up by coach days beforehand to welcome 'Charles' bride' into the family, and a very loving welcome they gave her. There was none of the worldliness about them that had gathered round my Grandfather in his Indian life - they only wished to make sure that he who had been as a son or brother to them all his boyhood and youth, had chosen wisely and well. I never pass Trinity Church, Marylebone to this day without recalling the little speech my Father told me my Great Uncle 'Henry Venn Elliott' made him as he led his Bride down the flight of steps to the carriage: 'Well Charles! if you haven't got a fortune with your wife, you've got one in her!' It shewed the just estimate that portion of the family had formed of her during those few days.

And so they went off on their honeymoon, which was spent at the country house of Sir Harry Verney, an old friend, near Farnham. He lent it them for a month.

When summer was over, and October came round, it was time for my father to return to Cambridge, to keep his terms - for he had some time before entered Queen's College as a Fellow Commoner, and resolved on taking Holy Orders. This most unusual decision on the part of one who had held the position my Father had done in India attracted the notice of all good people in the University - and particularly of dear good Mr. Charles Simeon - with whom he had become, ere this, great friends. So my young parents took a house, on Parker's Piece, and settled down for a year. In the following June they left Cambridge, and settled at Southampton; and my Father came up to keep the necessary days required for his terms at Cambridge, until he took his degree. I came across an old bundle of my Father's letters to my Mother {p9} lately, written at this time, in fine writing, the ink pale with age and much crossed, for the days of the 1d post were not yet. He told her, writing from Queen's College, Cambridge, how he had accepted an invitation from Mr. Simeon who was a fellow of Kings College to dine with him one night at the Fellows Table, and how shocked he had been at the murmur of surprise which greeted Mr. Simeon's entrance in the company of a Fellow-Commoner; whose remarkable dress at this time, gold lace on their gowns, and gold tassels on their caps, made them objects of notice. I mention this letter as it curiously corroborates the fact of Mr. Simeon's unpopularity amongst a portion of the University, even so late as 1832 when this great and good man was really at the zenith of his influence. I am glad to say my Father was quite above such pettiness - and was proud to be seen with Mr. Simeon at any time.

Some months after this your Aunt Alicia was born at Southampton; and my Father, who had caught small pox, was ill in an adjoining room. His Mother left London directly, and came down to nurse him herself - at the same time keeping strict guard that no one but her own nurse went near the young mother, and child. By means of the greatest care, this perilous time was safely passed, and no harm came to my dear Mother and sister. My Father was dreadfully marked by this frightful disease - and suffered in his eyes and throat more or less, in consequence, for the rest of his life.

In 1834 he was ordained by the Bishop of Winchester, and immediately instituted as Vicar of Godalming, Surrey - a living presented to him by his uncle the Dean of Salisbury, Dr. Pearson; whose daughter (Mary) as I have before said, had married her cousin, my Father's brother Willie Henry, and gone to India. This was an unusual, and one cannot but think unwise proceeding; for without any previous training as curate, under a Superior, how could he be fit to be incumbent of a large parish! However - he did the best thing he could - and chose two curates, one in priests orders (the present Dean Fremantle of Ripon), the other in deacon’s. In December of this year your Uncle Charlie was born at Godalming Vicarage - and before another year was over the Doctors had ordered my Father abroad, his throat being in such a state that they said he could not pass the winter in England. So my poor Mother had to leave her two babies in charge of a Nurse, and one of the Curates, who came to live in the Vicarage, and began her {p10} travels with her husband. They went to the South of France; and at Nice in 1835 or 36 my baby brother 'Harry Verney' was born. When he was 8 months old, my father wished to be off on his travels again; and as the poor little babe would have been an 'encumbrance', he had to be left behind, with the Doctor and his wife. The last my poor Mother saw of him was, as the French nurse lifted him up to the windows of their travelling carriage, covered with violets, for a last kiss. She never saw him again - he died 2 months later of convulsions, and is buried at Nice.

It was at this time our parents travelled in Spain and Portugal. One curious little incident my Father used to tell of this time, in addition to scenes of Bullfights, Tournaments etc. Putting up their carriage at a country inn for the night, the Innkeeper apologized for limited room - and said there was but a wooden partition between the bedroom he could offer them, and that of a single gentleman who was in the other part of the room - 'but he was a very quiet gentleman'. To such good travellers this mattered not - and next morning their quiet friend and they breakfasted together, and had a little conversation on travelling in Spain, politics etc. When this young man, then about 20, left the room the Innkeeper said confidentially to my Father 'Who do you think that is, Segnor? Prince Louis Napoleon! now exiled from his country'. It was little thought at that time that he would ever be Emperor of France.

In 1836 my parents went to Smyrna - and my Father left my Mother, who had been very ill, in the family of some dear German missionaries named Jetter, for six months, while he went to the Holy Land. The two young daughters used to take my Mother out for a sail, for her health, every fair day, and amused her greatly by chattering in Romaic to the sailors.


The Elliotts move to Tattingstone Rectory, Suffolk, 1837


It must have been in 1837 I think that, on their way home, my brother 'Willie Henry' was born at Paris; and then they returned once more to their two little ones at Godalming - and my dear Mother must have hoped her travelling days were done. A year or two after this, my Father, who felt Godalming was too much for him, exchanged with a Mr. Ball, for the quiet country living of Tattingstone in Suffolk, where there are only about 400 souls. And soon after this, his father taking a fancy to the place, bought the advowson, as it is called, and became Patron, with power to present whoever he liked during his life time, and I think one life beyond. It thus became a family living, and the burial place of our family. {p11}

My Father, who had a great taste in landscape gardening, took a good deal of interest in laying out the place - and planted it with beautiful trees finding they took kindly to the soil. His brother George sent home deodara fir seeds [a species of Cedar], from the Himalays - each seed sown up separately in muslin - and my father took great interest and pride in a nursery of these until they were big enough to be transplanted into the Avenue in which you now know them. There were originally twice as many - but as they grew bigger than he had any idea of (the tree being quite new in England), they had to be thinned out.

And here, during 3 or 4 quiet years, I and my brother Arthur, and sister Isabel, were born.

In January 1842 my Father asked and obtained leave to present to the Queen [Queen Victoria] a bottle of water he had himself brought from the River Jordan, for the christening of the Prince of Wales. His father's friend Lord Delaware being then Lord Chamberlain, easily managed it for him, and he was allowed to be present at the Baptism in St. George's Chapel, Windsor, an honor he had hardly hoped for. After the ceremony, Lord Delaware asked him if he would like to have the box and bottle back again? as these things were his perquisites. Of course he said Yes - and two or three of us were baptized from the same bottle.

My dear Mother's quiet time was nearly over, and my sister Isabel was but a few months old when my Father was off again on his travels, leaving a good Curate in the Rectory. This time there were 6 children to leave. Alicia and Charlie were disposed of among relations, and we four little ones, Willie and I, Arthur and Isabel, found a home at Bromley in Kent with a married Governess, a Mrs. Hewison, a very sweet person, whom we involuntarily called 'mama' for two or three years, knowing no other; and she did indeed act a mother's part to us. My Parents now went straight to Madeira - as the air was recommended for my father's throat. They made there some lifelong friends - chiefly a Mr. and Mrs. Austen and their only child [Frances Eliza Austen (1836-1864), a relative of the writer Jane Austen (1775-1817)], a girl of 5 years old; who grew up to be a great friend of ours - and at 20 married Dr. Cartmell, Master of Christs College Cambridge, a man 25 years older than herself.

This little girl was a great delight to my {p12} parents who had left six behind them - and my father often reminded her in after days how he taught her her letters on the hill sides of Madeira. Mrs. Austen, whom we have loved to call 'Granny' for many years - and who still lives - has told me of this time that my poor mother could not bear the sight of a pair of baby socks without tears - but she was a wonderfully brave and plucky woman, and made the best of everything instead of the worst. She rode a good deal at this time as every one did at Madeira, being often accompanied by Mr. Austen, as well as by my Father. This gentleman was her very devoted squire - always trying to serve her, and one day made the pretty speech that my Father was a happy man to be the 'cinosure of brightest eyes'. We have a few sketches of Madeira done by dear Mother at this time, and wish we had more. This year or 10 months passed only too quickly, and they left these dear friends behind, and returned again to the South of France - and thence to Paris - where in the autumn of that year my youngest sister Mary was born, and left with a French Doctor and his wife and wetnurse for two years.

They went through the cold water cure at Grafenburg in Silesia this winter - supposed to be bracing to the system. It consisted of a good deal of cold water drinking, and snow walks before breakfast - of a 'pack' in bed, when you had a cold, being piled with blankets until you perspired profusely - and then, when taken out of this, having a cold wet sheet thrown around you - and being furiously rubbed. The same thing is now more pleasantly done by means of a Turkish bath; but the idea was novel at this time, and instructions were sent to our quasi mother to try all these experiments on us!

After this strange winter (of 1844), they went a tour through Wallachia and Moldavia, and down the Danube, which my Father was anxious to explore. My Mother must have suffered great hardships on this journey; it is said she was the first lady who ever went down the Danube. They went on to Palermo for the winter, and in the spring cruised about the East or South part of the Mediterranean; and amongst the Islands of the Archipelago; whence my father visited the Crimea, 10 years before the famous war there, and in a Volume of his travels at this time, published when he returned to England in 1846, he foretold that the Crimea would one day become a bone of {p13} contention between Russia and Turkey. [Volume 1, p89: “it does not seem improbable that, ere many generations have played their part on the stage of life, unless France and England interfere, Russia will be in nominal, as well as virtual, possession of the two principalities”. The Crimean War, between Russia and an alliance of Turkey, Britain, France and Sardinia, lasted from 1853 until 1856.]

They encountered a great storm when on a miserable Italian barque at this time, and my dear Mother, being in very delicate health, was carried on shore more dead than alive at Constantinople, where they were landed. Ominous glances were cast at her - and dark hints about 'the plague' whispered to my father, for it was then causing much anxiety in Turkey; but despite all his protestations that my Mother was only ill from sea sickness etc. they were both carried off to the Lazarind, where they had to spend 3 miserable weeks in quarantine!

And now their journeyings were nearly over for a season - and in June 1846 they returned to England, picking up the little 'Mary' (who was naturalized as a Frenchwoman at 8 days old!) at Paris; and the first time I can remember my parents was when we met now in Portland Place. Alas - there had been a gap made in the family during this 3 years absence, and my brother Willie had died 2 years before, very suddenly, it was said from an enlarged spleen.

And now we were all to assemble in our own home, Tattingstone; to which, I suppose, there could at this time have been no railway; for we all went down by sea to Ipswich, and drove the 6 miles to our pretty home, where everything was new to us younger ones; and I remember feeling very happy that sweet June evening, to be in our own Home, with our own parents at last. And here they really did settle down for 10 years.

It is very interesting to see, how Time throws a softening halo over years which were undoubtedly not all happy. And looking back now I would say that I think we had much innocent happiness, and a great deal of love for one another during the years that now followed; though our Father was very strict and had peculiar views about ruling his family, even down to their food and dress! From the standpoint of the present day, much of this looks Spartan training; and yet I am sure it had its most excellent side, which present day training in little matters of good etc. has not; every thing was a treat to us. So much so that a story is told of me that at this time I called brown bread 'cake'!

Of course part of the regime was to begin every day with a cold bath at 6 o'clock summer and winter - and many a time have I broken the ice to get in. At 7 we were all turned out of doors, all the year round, dark or {p14} light, sleet or snow, 'to run about and get warm', till 8 o'clock; and we often dragged your Aunt Mary up and down the walks in the dark winter mornings, when she was too lame with broken chilblains to go alone! We saw but little of our dear Mother at this time - all our meals were in the Schoolroom with our governess; and here our Mother was forbidden to come without my Father's leave. But little as we saw of her, the dear Mother's was the influence felt in the house - her loving, prayerful spirit was the power which kept us all together. So blameless and loyal a Wife that she always allowed it to be thought our Father's vigorous rule was her wish as well as his; we instinctively knew differently though it was many years before we dared put it into words. And her Sunday talks and prayers, and little notes pinned to my pillow when something had gone wrong can never be forgotten.

In 1847 a great event happened. Half the Rectory was to be rebuilt, and our Grandparents invited us four younger ones, and governess to spend three months at 47 Portland Place, their London home. As soon as we arrived, our Grandfather met us in the Hall, and took care to tell us that our place was at the top of the house! while the dear Grandmother took care to show us that we had a place in her heart and thoughts all day long. When we arrived on the 4th Floor where our rooms were, we found a sumptuous tea prepared for us - which made a great impression on our minds. In fact the dear old lady determined to spoil us with love for the happy time she meant to keep us.

And here I must describe my dear Grandmother, for this was really our introduction to her. Being of Hugenot descent, one of the Boileaus de Castlenau, near Nismes, who fled to Ireland at the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, rather than become Roman Catholic, she had Irish and French blood both in her veins. Her dancing black eyes and great vivacity and high spirits won all children; while her thoughtfulness for others, and power of adapting her conversation to the different class of minds she was talking to, made her popular in all society whether high or low, old or young.

I always remember her dressed in stiff black satin, with rather stiff black curls caught back with a comb either side of her face, after the fashion of those days. It was the only stiff thing about her, though, as any one would have said had they seen the wonderful old lady, now 66, every {p15} evening amusing her grandchildren by making what she called "cheeses"; by whirling round at any pace on her toes, and then quietly subsiding on to her knees, leaving her dress standing up stiffly, like cheese, all round her! As we proceeded to cut up this cheese, she would gradually pretend to die, and just as we were lamenting over her, up she would get on all fours, and scramble after us all round the room. I can remember her doing this as late as 1850 when she was 69, in the drawing room at Tattingstone. She belonged to a generation made of different material from the present one - for I do not know one to equal her nowadays.

At the end of our happy three months in London, we left this dear Grandmother, and stately and somewhat terrifying Grandfather, and returned to our much improved home. At this time your Aunt Alicia was at school, and we only saw her during the holidays, but she then and always after proved herself a perfect elder sister - so wonderfully unselfish, and bearing the brunt of everything she could for the younger. She must have been an untold comfort to our dear Mother, in her tried life and was an only too willing and devoted slave to our Father.

Your Uncle Charlie had been at Marlborough for a time, and was now with private tutors preparing for the Indian Civil Service.

Of the next 5 years, I cannot remember much - but will just mention what I do. Our Mother always tried to make our Sundays as happy as she could. We had to repeat before Church a good deal of scripture and hymns, and were then pretty free. As we got older we took a little class in the Sunday School. On Summer afternoons after School, the unselfish pleasure was encouraged in us of having all the School children in about 5 p.m. to pick up and eat the hundreds of mulberries which fell from our fine old tree on to the lawn all round it. As we were never allowed to touch one, or any other fruit either, it was wonderful that we did enjoy the sight of others eating what we might not touch! But we were brought up to it - and I do not regret now that part of my education. At other times of the year we took a walk in the Park with our Father after Church, when fine.

After tea, which I think on Sundays we always had downstairs, we used to form a semicircle round the French window in the Drawing Room and repeat hymns, beginning with the youngest – one of our summer visitors {p16} entitled it 'The Sunday Picture'. Sometimes amusingly mal à propos texts would be said - when suddenly asked for one - as when Arthur stood up in a very solemn way and said "There is no fear of God in this house"! Though I remember we all felt much more confused when, during one of Grandpapa's late visits - he far on the way to 80 - Arthur or Isabel stood up and said "The days of man are 3 score years and ten" etc., and then as they sat down made it worse by saying, in an audible whisper, "that wasn't meant for a hit at Grandpapa"! Hymn singing at the piano always ended the day for us – the old melodys by Kelly, being great favourites of ours - 'Sound the loud timbrel' - and 'From Egypt lately come'; and we always concluded with the 'dear and honoured' Great Grandmother's favourite 'Father whate’er of earthly bliss, Thy sovereign will denies - Accepted at the throne of grace, let this petition rise - Give me a calm and thankful heart, From every murmur free - The blessings of Thy grace impart, And make me live to Thee'.

After 1847 the great event of every year was our grandparents' visit from London - with carriage and pair, coachman and footman and maid, for all August and half of September. These were high days for us - and often a half holiday for two would be asked, and we would go out, as proud as princes, to drive in the 'rumble' at the back of the great landau, Mr. Gee the coachman, and a favourite footman, Frank, who had been many years with them, enjoying our fun from the Box. Our dear Grandmother always came from London laden with presents for us; the most memorable of which was a Dolls' House, for which the aforesd. 'Frank' had made all the furniture; and she herself had dressed every doll - from the nurse and baby in bedroom to the grand coachman in 'Servants' Hall'; and two lovely ladies in wax in the drawing room, one in blue satin and white bugles; the other in pink satin and black beads. (That I should actually be able to recall their dresses at this length of time proves how few pleasures we had). Books - Toys - Dresses of all sorts came also - and frequent showers of pink and white sugar plums thrown from her bedroom window were a great treat to those who never had any at any other time in the year.

I remember being much overawed one day by finding out that this dear bright Grandmother always spent from 6-7 p.m. quietly in her bedroom at her devotions (before late dinner) every day - saying that at bed time she was too tired to enjoy prayer and reading. I think hers an example worth following where it can be done. {p17}

One incident I remember in 1848 making an impression upon all of us. Our Mother suddenly entered the Schoolroom, and said to our Governess "There is a revolution in France! Louis Philippe is dethroned and flying to England for refuge." I think I jumped at the conclusion that war with England was imminent!

Our dear Mother was becoming more and more of an invalid, feeling the damp of our home which was then far too much shut in by trees - though scores have been cut down since those days. I am sure too she had a very sad heart at times - but we were light hearted - and with her bright sweetness she easily put us off - even if we caught her in tears unawares, and looked a loving question which instinct told us had better be unanswered.

I was very much sobered for a few days about this time by overhearing her pray for us. It was summer, and she was pacing our large lawn alone - her back to me. I followed her, running unheard on the grass, till within a few yards of her. I slackened then, hearing her speaking aloud. I listened and heard her praying for us her children - heard my own name too! Then I fled, feeling a traitor, and hid behind a deodara tree, not daring to intercept her, and not wishing to be seen. It sank deep into my heart that she should; be praying for me that bright evening - talking as it seemed - to such a near Friend. I was sure I must have caused her sorrow - and was quite aware I gave a good deal of trouble in the schoolroom, and I made great resolves never to grieve her more.

It was the first time in my life that I believed in the reality of Prayer - for I realized then that she prayed about everything.

In 1850 our Parents were longer in London than their usual annual visit to Portland Place, as our dear Grandmother’s fatal illness had begun.

Miss Hyde was now our Governess - and as my Father trusted her completely, they stayed away all the haymaking time that summer - she paying the men etc. and we had grand times in the hay - and a very happy summer. When asked how it was she could manage Mr. Elliott so well, Miss Hyde replied with characteristic wit 'I always say Yes, and do No!' and she was never afraid of him, and carried her point with a laugh, which was a new thing to him, who was accustomed to every one giving in. He only respected her the more. {p18}


Death of Alicia Boileau, 1851


In 1851 the dear Grandmother died, giving blessed testimony of her trust in the Lord and perfect peace. Her funeral at Tattingstone was an event in our childhood - many relatives coming down for the day, whom we had never seen before; amongst others I particularly recall my Great Uncles Henry, and Edward Elliott. Our Grandmother did not wish us children to wear black for her - and some weeks before her death got her faithful maid to make us each a lavender grey dress - saying "it will come in for them by and bye you know, when I am gone - and save their Mother trouble."

This year too (1851) saw our brother Charles pass into the East India College, Haileybury - then the first step, towards the Indian Civil Service. The entrance exam was quite as stiff as that for entering Sandhurst now; and my Grandfather and father were delighted. Two years after he passed out 4th of his year and sailed for India, I think in December 1852.

[Footnote by JEBB: A very interesting document came into the possession of J.E.B.B. on the death of Aunt Jessie in 1953. It is dated Lahore, May 16. 1857, and was written by Sir Robert Montgomery, then Judicial Commissioner, Punjab, and officiating L.G., to Mr. Charles Elliott, Assistant Commissioner at Lahore. It reads as follows: "My dear Elliott, Go to the Central Jail as fast as you can with every sowar (cavalryman) with their arms, ammunition and swords. We shall meet you there. The Sepoys in the lines are in open mutiny. R.M." The original of this letter is with NJB.]

It was now thought well that I should go to School abroad. I was told that I was found unmanageable in the Schoolroom! though our dear old friend Miss Hyde stoutly denied having said so, in later years. One cold October morning I drove away from the old Home with a bright face, and won a character for great pluck because I did not shed a tear! and though that is 36 years ago I can remember as well as if it was yesterday, comforting myself with the thought 'after parting comes meeting'! Life has proved that it is not always thus — but yet that same thought has come back, as a sort of refrain from childhood's days, scores and scores of times to me with solid comfort - and thank God we need not stop short at Meetings in this life. Brussels was decided upon - and our Father took Arthur and me across the Channel to our respective schools. {p19}

After little more than a year there, I went on to school at Coblentz, on the Rhine - to a German school of 16 girls, where I was extremely happy and rapidly learnt the language. The summer excursions to neighbouring villages to eat cherries off the trees - or stroll through the gardens attached to various Chateaux - having café, and black bread and 'brodchens' when tired, were delightful. The Easter egg-fete was quite new to me; and on Easter Tuesday we took dozens of hard boiled eggs, of every color conceivable, to the top of a hill, and rolled them down to others who remained at the bottom. I think my principles as to Sabbath keeping were sometimes severely tested at this period for tho' the ladies 'von Volsen' were good Lutherans, it is generally accepted in Germany that the first half of Sunday should be kept as a holy day - and the second half as a holiday! So when on summer Sunday evenings after a long walk, we ended as usual with 'café' at a roadside inn, and the other girls immediately after betook themselves to playing games (quite the fashion there), I used to wander away by myself, and read my little English books, and repeat my English hymns to myself - and felt a little sentimental as I thought of home! I was too happy to be homesick - and had too much common sense!

The girls, meaning kindly, would tempt one thus 'do buy some cherries we have, all done so' - 'No, thank you - we English don't buy things on Sunday' - 'but we will pay for them today and you can repay us tomorrow!' and I don't think they could understand the principle which still said 'No'. (The above actually happened to Aunt Isa and Aunt Mary who followed me to the same school).

One summer, for I did not go home, my parents and your Aunt Alicia came to see me - and took me with them to Wiesbaden for a fortnight. After this my dear sister returned with me to Coblentz, and spent three months at the 'von Velsens' as a parlour boarder, just to learn German colloquially. She was made a great deal of - for an English young lady was thought something very superfine in those days! I remember when she was leaving, how this wise elder sister extracted from me a promise that I would not read a novel until I was eighteen. I am glad I gave it, for it saved me from swallowing a great deal of trash; and insured my spending such time as I had for light reading on sensible books. At this time I read nothing but German, of course, and thought and even prayed in the language. {p20}

I grew very fond of the country - and its people - for they were very good to me - and a fragrant memory remains in my heart of pretty Coblentz -with the glorious rushing river Rhine ever dashing along - the bridge of boats by which we crossed it - and from which depended floating bathing sheds, which we often enjoyed using. The noble fortress 'Ehrenbreitstein' (the broad stone of honor) became by its meaning a sort of motto to me for years - the pretty villages and simple folk along the banks - the grand old castles topping high rocks on either side, some dark with legends of evil deeds done in the middle ages - others inhabited, and like 'Stolzenfels', occasionally honored by the presence of our own Royal family: all these are remembered now - though I have not seen them since! Being at this time very matter of fact, I could not help seeing the ludicrous side of periodical 'Weeping Scenes' whenever one of my school friends left. We all stood up round the table - handkerchiefs to our eyes - as she went from one to another to sob out her farewell upon their necks. I never could squeeze out a tear! and used my handkerf. for another purpose, viz to hide my amusement; and was happily never found out. (I mention this incident to show what an emotional people the Germans are.)

All the same, when my own turn came to leave, though I got out of the 'Weeping Scene' somehow, there was a considerable lump in my throat as I left the sweet place I had grown so fond of, and the kind people who had made me quite one of themselves. They thought they could not say more for me than that 'I might be a German'! and I think I was rather pleased to hear them say so, although patriotism has always been a strong point with me. I came home to England with a friend via Rotterdam - and have never been to Coblentz again.

It was a happy moment when we stopped at St. Catherine's Wharf, and I saw my handsome brother Arthur standing waiting for me; for he was my pair in the family, and I thought him as near perfection as could be. Moreover we had not met for two years. He laughed at my broken English - for I had hardly spoken my mother tongue for 18 mons.; but my dear parents were well pleased that I had accomplished the end for which I had been sent abroad.

external image Emily%20Eugenia%20Elliott%20aged%2015%20and%20brother%20Arthur%2C%20by%20R%20A%20Heapy%201854.jpg
Arthur (aged ~13) and his sister Emily (~15) in 1854. Portrait by R. A. Heapy; inherited by Lt. Col. Ted Barton (1897-1971) from Kathleen Barton (b.1874).


After a happy summer holidays at Tattingstone I went to School in St. John's Wood - and I feel I owe my parents a great deal for the advantages {p21} I there enjoyed. English masters seemed to inspire me with a real zest for acquiring knowledge, such as I never had before during the more vegetable life I had lived abroad, where I imbibed languages from soil and air, so to speak, without effort! Music too, a love for which I had also inhaled in German air, received a new impulse when I was allowed to learn of Sterndale Bennett, afterwards knighted as Professor of Music at Cambridge - and who during the next three years became as much a friend as Master.

I learnt singing too of Signor Ferari, a then well known master whose motto was 'Whosoever can speak may sing'. These years were so happy that though I was to have left after two years, I was allowed to stay a third at my own request. My confirmation fell during this school time - and the preparation, and solemn time itself were certainly a blessing to me. At this time I am conscious that duty was my Master - I did not serve him as a hard taskmaster, but loved him so that I could not least enjoy any pleasure unless I knew all my duties done. "Duty first and Pleasure after" was a motto printed in large type by dear Mother in our schoolroom at home - and she succeeded in printing it deeply on our hearts too. I had good health and good spirits, and made my pleasure to consist of my duties, which I found at this time to be a very good foundation for a happy life. It was a rather later experience that I could please God by thus conscientiously using to the best advantage my time and talents and influence - for I had many friends here - and feel that my character was much formed during this time by those I made, and the religious advantages that surrounded me.

My Grandfather died in 1856, and my Father, who was his Executor, had a great deal of business to see to that summer. His fortune was divided between our Father, and our Uncle William Elliott, his only two sons then living; and from this time my Father was very well off. But the last tie that bound him to England was now severed and he resolved to give up his house in England, and live abroad. My parents and Aunt Alicia spent that winter at Naples; I returned to school in London - and your Aunts Isa and Mary sent to school on the Rhine where I had been. The following year, 1857, your Uncle Arthur left Cheltenham, Head of the College, where he had been for 5 years, with all manner of honors and prizes; and we all met our parents for the summer holidays at Spa, Belgium; and enjoyed the novelty of riding the Ardennes ponies which abound there. {p22}

In August I returned to school in London - and Arthur entered Addiscombe College for a two years course, preparatory to getting into the Engineer Corps. This time was a crisis in his life; destined to be bright, though short.

The well known agéd Divine, Dr. Marsh, was then living with his family at Beckenham Rectory, in Kent; and his daughter, Catherine Marsh, a woman of great and consecrated powers, was one of the first ladies who braved public opinion, and took up Evangelistic work as a preacher amongst navvies, then engaged in constructing a Railway in North Kent. The account of her remarkable work amongst this fine, albeit rough, race of men, is told in 'English Hearts and Hands' by herself. Her Sunday evening meetings in the "Barn" for these men, was thrown open also to the young Addiscombe cadets - who thought little of the three mile walk when they found such a warm welcome ever ready for them from this dear and excellent family - the Marshs and Chalmers. And here it was that dear Arthur first read his title clear, and full of youthful zeal and fire, set himself to win his bro.sub officers, and cadets for the Lord. His plan was to concentrate prayer on one man until he was converted, and then on another, and when possible to get one in sympathy in the College to join him in prayer.

The story of one, whom I remember myself, is so instructive that I must record it. His name was Charles Baldwin - a very fine fellow - but much opposed to my brother as a 'pi man'; and one of the rowdy drinking set. As this young man was popular among his own party, Arthur felt it was the more important to win him for the Lord. Having prayed for Charles Baldwin some weeks, Arthur at length asked him to go for a walk, hoping for a good opportunity of coming to close quarters. But half of their walk was over, and no way had been made. Arthur said to himself 'I must make the plunge now or never' as they turned their faces towards Addiscombe; and began without any apology 'I have been wanting for some time past to speak to you about your soul, Baldwin'. His companion stopped short in the road and said 'Pray why haven't you spoken sooner then! I have been wretched for a long time, and wishing someone would speak to me.' Met thus half way, the work was easy - for the soil in that soul had been doubtless prepared to receive the good seed by dear Arthur's. prayers. And that young soldier of the Cross stood firmly by his {p23} banner throughout his bright career - ended soon after our Arthur's on the burning plains of Southern India as a Royal Engineer.

But to return to Addiscombe days. With Baldwin's help, and the all powerful Arm of Prayer, Arthur now made a great stand against drink, which was a curse to the College; and was able not only to stamp out a great deal of the evil, but always shewed himself the truest friend to every man who wished to start afresh on a better road. The only record of the work then done is in Heaven - for Arthur was (rightly) very reticent on the subject. The most we knew was from finding a little list of some 12 or 15 names on a small paper in his Bible headed 'to be prayed for'; these were the names of his greatest opposers. In the spring of '59 Arthur had measles severely, and was nursed at West Wickham Rectory - 3 miles from Addiscombe - by dear Mrs. Austen in a peaceful and lovely home which was at this time of our lives our haven of rest; for while our parents were abroad, we all spent our holidays there; and Arthur and I had many happy hours, and first learnt to read and pray together in that sweet spot.

In June [1858] Arthur surprised everyone by coming out Head of the College; winning the Sword, given for the highest moral conduct during 2 years; and the 'Pollock Gold Medal' for greatest general proficiency, and largest number of Prizes, despite the serious interruption to his studies caused by his ill health. But grievous disappointment awaited him; for the Medical Board now refused to pass him for India! it was with a strange mixture of feeling that we received a telegram from him saying "India will never see me"! for this verdict which had blighted all his then prospects, spared our brother to us in England. Our Father was very proud of Arthur - and I think nothing loth to keep him in England - so it was decided that he was to read with a tutor for a year, at Rowsley near Matlock in Derbyshire, and enter at Trinity College, Cambridge, in October 1860.

But I must return to my own life - though my Brother's was so bound up in mine, that I can hardly omit it from this record.

In the summer of 1858 I left school, and joined my parents in Belgium. We spent a month or so at Blankenburg, on the coast near Ostend, and there I caught gastric fever, and was taken to Brussels very ill for the first time in my life. Your dear Aunt Alicia nursed me with her usual devotion; {p24} and my Father and Mother were very kind making no trouble of being delayed in their autumn plans. When I had recovered, we moved on to Paris - and I saw, for the first time, that beautiful smiling, but wicked and godless city: the Louvre, the Champs Elysee, and the Madeline etc.

Thence we moved on towards Italy; and via the fine cities of Lyons, Nimes, Avignon, Arles, Marseilles and Hyères, to winter in Rome. I must not linger on these places; but though over 30 years ago, the impression produced on me during that journey of dipping ever South, has not yet faded, and will not fade I think. The first sight of the grey olive tree - on which, as Byron has it "the ashes of Gethsemane have been cast for ever" - the first taste of green figs at Avignon, sitting in a bower formed by a vine full of clusters of ripe grapes ready for the vintage! And the first scent of lemon and orange groves on the Riviera - the brightness of these memories is not dimmed with years.

We went by steamer from Marseilles to Civita Vecchia - the nearest port to Rome; and drove the remaining few miles to the famous city. Day was dawning, and the sun rising, as we reached the top of a long ascent overlooking Rome; and as the horses stopped to rest, we awoke to find ourselves in full view of the 'City of the Seven Hills', with St. Peter's and the Vatican spreading out its arms in the foreground; and the Sabine and Alban Hills, and the great waste Campagna stretching away for miles in the distance.

The six months and more we spent there, was a time of education in more ways than one; for besides studying Italian, and having singing lessons, our father was anxious we should see all the historic ruins, and we went through them methodically. The wonderful and awful amphitheatre - the Colisseum -which must ever be associated in the Christian's mind with blessed saints and martyrs who there laid down their lives, for Christ's sake - and of whom (as St.Paul, probably writing from Rome itself, rapturously exclaimed) 'the world was not worthy!' The Arch of Titus, built to commemorate his conquest of Jerusalem - and with a bas relief on the inner side of captive Jews carrying the seven branched Golden Candlestick, and other holy vessels from the Temple in procession. The Via Sacra and Forum, of which literally every stone is interesting. The Palace of the Cesars - where St. Paul must oft times have been. The Baths of Caracalla - huge ruins - where in those {p25} days , though not now I suppose, you often saw valuable pieces of rare marbles and Roman mosaics laying about on the grass. We saw a good many Catholic Churches too; the gaudy finery of their decorations, and the faint scent of incense everywhere helped dissipate any dangerous romance over the inexhaustible wealth of marble and painting and sculpture on every side. And there may be danger when these things are associated with the worship of Him who is a Spirit, and must be worshipped 'in spirit and in truth'. I know my own great love of music and art at this time, added to a good deal of natural reverence, would easily have led me to like a much more ornate service than I had been brought up to, had I not been wisely led.

But looking back, I think now that my 'churchy days' which lasted at this time for about 3 years, did me good and not harm; encouraging reverence and self denial, which are perhaps not always sufficiently insisted upon by the more Evangelical party of our Church of England to which we all belonged. Those of you who may ever have the pleasure and advantage of visiting Rome, will learn for yourselves its endless treasures of interest, connected both with past and present - but I cannot attempt here to detail them. A Sunday afternoon walk was often taken up the long long flight of stone steps to the Pincian Hill, crowned by the Trinita dei Monti Church - to watch the effect of sunset upon that lovely facade of cream colored marble - first golden - then pink - and changing into ashy grey 'as she died away' we used to say. Sometimes we went in to hear the Nuns' exquisite singing in the Church - and it was always arranged that there should be a pretty English 'Sister' at the door to speak to those of her country people, who came to listen, and give them seats.

Once we met Cardinal Manning in the streets; he had but just left the Church of England I think, and joined the Roman Church, and always looked very uncomfortable when he met English people. He preached a course of sermons at this time, in one of the R.C. churches in the Corso; and his eloquence and name drew large audiences. We went out to musical evenings this winter - and Aunt Alicia and I often sang together, both Italian and English duets. We saw a good deal of society in this way, and knew many folk both English and Italian. Mr. and Mrs. R. Barrett Browning, the poets - also Mr. Aubrey de Vere - and Gibson the sculptor - and the young Rajah Dhuleep Singh - are some who occur to my mind now. We had an apartment first in the Via Condotti; and later, at {p26} No.8 Piazza di Spagna. The Caravale which takes place the Monday and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday ushers in Lent, was an amusing and pretty sight. The Corso - or main street - was made a moving promenade by strings of carriages, filled with people in grotesque costumes, who pelted those in the houses with confetti, or sugar plums, and flowers, and were pelted in return. Those too who filled every window in every house, exchanged tongue with those who passed in carriages, or with their neighbors.

I had a curious adventure with the Prince of Wales, who was then a youth, and spending the winter with his tutor in Rome. It came round to him through his chaplain whom our Father knew, that I had been baptized in Jordan water from the same bottle as himself - (brought by my Father from Palestine, as before mentioned) - and he dubbed me his "baptismal sister"! So one day during the Carnival - at which time all things are permissible - we exchanged bouquets and bows and smiles by means of a string let down from the balcony we were in, to H.R.H! I dried the flowers - and still have some camelias left as a relic of that little episode.

By May it became very hot; and the English began to fly to the mountains and Switzerland. We did not get away till the 12th ourselves; which was too late; and I got a touch of sun, and was laid up for some days. We travelled via the St. Gothard in a diligence (for there was no tunnel in 1860 of course) to Lucerne; and after a short stay on that most lovely lake, returned to England, to spend, what was to be our last summer all together at Tattingstone.

In July we were all there, except our brother Charles who did not come home from India till the following year; and two of Arthur's chief friends were also with us part of the summer. These were our cousin Robert Hawkins (whom Arthur had nursed through a dangerous illness at Addiscombe) and Henry Clarke, now Colonel of R. A. who had just passed out of Addiscombe and was bound shortly for India. How strangely lives cross and recross each other when God means to bring them together you will see later on in this year, when I shall again mention H.S.Clarke. These three friends were very closely united in the Lord - having suffered a good deal for His Sake at Addiscombe.

I remember hearing that our father was much moved at surprising them one day praying together in Arthur's bedroom; for in those days it {p27} was not as common as now, for young people to commune thus together of holy things. Sometimes we four girls joined them for a Bible Reading in the Shrubbery, ending with prayer. We had a good deal of music together too; as amongst us we had all the parts required - Arthur and H. S. Clarke took bass; Robert Hawkins tenor - Aunt Alicia and Isa altos – Aunt Mary and I sopranos. We got up many beautiful glees - and sacred quartettes and trios. Sterndale Bennett's "May Queen" - "As pants the hart" (Spohr) Trios of Haydn's - Mendelssohn's "Lift thine eyes" - and a quartette by Waley was a great favorite, "This world is all a fleeting show".

Dear Miss Marsh came down during this summer, and addressed, a large gathering of our poor people on the lawn. She gave away many of her delightful little books - and quite recently I found one of these on a shelf in a cottage at Tattingstone. Our dearest Mother, who now met Miss Marsh for the first time, thanked her warmly for all the help she had been to our Arthur - to which that great soulwinner replied "Don't thank me, my dear Mrs.Elliott! I was only the poker who stirred the fire that you had laid by long years of prayers." Words of noble disinterestedness - and of undoubted truth. How encouraging to every praying Mother!

But I must linger no longer over these last days at Tattingstone, as the Home of our youth.

By September [1860], the dear Mother began to suffer greatly from the damp of England; and our Father decided to put in a permanent Locum Tenens at Tattingstone Rectory, and to hasten abroad again. This time Isabel went in my place, and they wintered at Nice. I remained with our dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Austen, at West Wickham Rectory, Kent, for 9 months; and she was glad to have a 'daughter' about her - as their only child had married Dr. Cartmell, Master of Christ's College, Cambridge. West Wickham is an ideally pretty English village - and Wickham Court on rising ground close to the Church, both in view of the pretty Rectory, is of historic interest – Henry VIIIth having courted the unfortunate Anne Boleyn there. The neighbourhood is well known for its beauty; Hayes Common, Keston Common, and Bromley and Chiselhurst all lying within six miles, we could not walk anywhere, or drive, without lovely scenery. I have never enjoyed spring time so much as in that peaceful spot; and have a vivid remembrance of the glory of the white and pink and red {p28} trees in full bloom on Heyes Common-- and the chorus of cuckoos answering one another on different notes from different parts of the common; and of nightingales who sang all day and all night over their mates' nests. Wickham is only 3 miles from Beckenham, and 3 from Addiscombe - they formed in fact a triangle - and we were often at both places; especially the former, as Mrs. Austen was a cousin of Miss Marsh's. Just about this time Miss Marsh moved with Dr. Marsh to Beddington Rectory; which he held for five or six years until his death. This village was again three or four miles from Beckenham - and à propos the atmosphere of the three different Homes, we called Beckhenham 'LOVE' - Beddington 'JOY' - and West Wickham 'PEACE'!

I was very happy these nine months; and never felt the least dull, though living alone with two elderly people. I undertook a little parish work; and learnt to illuminate texts, and many other things from this dearly loved 'Granny' as we called Mrs. Austen. Mary, now at school in London, always spent her holidays with us; and Arthur also joined us sometimes, until the summer of '61, when Charlie returned from India on furlough; and we four went out to meet our Parents, Alicia and Isa at Interlaken.

When we broke up our home at Tattingstone in October 1860, Arthur went up to Trinity College, Cambridge, and our great uncle Henry Venn Elliott undertook to introduce him, with his own son Julius, to friends there.


Arthur meets John Barton, 1860


One morning they breakfasted at a Mr.Gell's rooms, Fellow of Christ's Coll. and Arthur was introduced to a young man, just ordained, and about to sail (on the 20th) from Southampton to India, for Mission work. As that young man, who was one day to be your Father - and my brother looked each other in the face, they knew that they were kindred spirits. I see that 'Father' has on pages 67 and 68 of his 'Story' written at some length about that meeting, so I will not repeat; and only mention what he has not done! {p29}

That, at your Father's request, Arthur undertook the Secretaryship of the Church Missionary Union, and worked it well for the two years of University life granted to him. And further, that Arthur gave your Father a letter of introduction to his dear friend, Henry Clarke, who was sailing in the same ship for India, feeling sure they would be friends. He thought rightly - and that voyage was a most happy one for both the young men; and a time of blessing to many who sailed with them.

The summer of 1861, as already mentioned, was spent by us all eight at Interlaken. My brother Charles had come home to look for a wife! and was very droll about the unlikelihood of his success! As Arthur had more address, and more conversation than he, Charles took a pride in extolling the younger brother's superior attractions! and with real and naive humility used to push Arthur forward to make friends for him saying that he would try and make a good impression later on the strength of Arthur's charms! However, when it came to the point the following year, as usually happens, Charles chose for himself and married your Aunt Fannie - a Miss Lister - in May 1862.

In September 1861 the two brothers went for a short walking tour to the Italian Lakes (I think); and 'Aunt Isa' went into a Swiss family at Clarens (at Basset Barrilliet) for a year; and Mary to school at Geneva, the opposite end of the Lake. It was one of my father's strange fancies, not to have more than two daughters at home at once; and another was not to let sisters be at school together, if possible. I do not think the two sisters, though so near each other, met once during the year! On leaving Interlaken, our parents, Aunt Alicia and I went through the beautiful valley of the Simmenthal to Geneva; spending three weeks at the lovely Chalet hotel 'Rossiniere'; and so to Nice for the winter of 1861-62.


Falling out between Emily and her father, 1861


This was a very shadowed year of our home life; and one that I must almost pass over in silence; for all that should not have been ought to be forgotten in the grave, and looking back I see how good the training was, and would not have had one hour less. Faber says truly:

'All is right that seems most wrong
If it be His sweet will.'

Very briefly - our Father's conduct to us all had been so much talked about by this time outside the family, that our Great Uncle Henry Venn Elliott thought right to interfere on our behalf. My father resented this {p30} exceedingly, and little good resulted. It came out that during my stay in England, Arthur and I had both been questioned by the uncle, and being no longer children, had not kept silence. The chief brunt of my Father's displeasure fell of course on me, as present, and I was more than willing to bear Arthur's share.

How many dark, dark days there were that winter! We never expected sunshine, and were thankful to get through a day without a storm. My Father saw but one way out of the difficulty of keeping any longer at home one who had offended as I had done; and this was to send me to India with Uncle Charlie in the coming autumn. But - for the sake of appearances, I must be supposed by the family to have elected to go, myself. So, having told me how desirable he thought it that I should accept Charles's invitation, he said that if I went, I should carry with me his blessing - but if not ........ And thus it was left to me to 'choose' - and I was to give in my decision on a certain day.

A text book I used at the time helped to assure me that my decision to leave home was a right one. For on opening it on January 20th (1862), the day fixed by my father, these words met my eyes: "Thine ears shall hear a voice behind thee saying 'This is the way, walk ye in it' (Isa.30.21)". So I told my Father that I thought I should be right to go under the circumstances, and the matter was settled; though none but my Mother and Aunt Alicia knew what it cost me to leave them, and (as I then thought) the dearly beloved Arthur.

From this time forth I was, so to speak, 'whitewashed', and arrangements were made that I was to have everything of the best for my outfit, most of which was obtained from England. The greatest pleasure of this winter was our friendship with the Reverend Charles Childers' family, at Nice. His sweet wife and daughters were almost the only friends we were allowed. We went out a good deal to formal musical evening parties - but were never allowed to sit long beside anyone. Our dear Mother, whose talent for sketching both with pencil and brush I have, I think, hardly mentioned, used sometimes to go out with her block and paints - and sitting down on a camp stool in an olive grove, or orange garden, or on a hill side, forget all home trouble while transmitting to paper the beauty of the scene around us. I was always her companion at these times and found out many years later, {p31} when I painted a few flowers for your Father, how very much I had learnt from watching her use of colour at these times. As summer approached, we paid short visits to both Menton and Cannes - then very small and rural places unspoiled by a great influx of strangers, as now.


Death of Emily's brother Arthur in Switzerland, 1862


On leaving Nice we spent a month at Vichy in France and then once more made our way to Interlaken, where for the last time we met as an unbroken family, in July. Arthur joined us from England - Aunts Isa and Mary from Switzerland; and later, Uncle Charlie and his bride. How little we thought that, ere the autumn took three of our party to India, one of our number would be called 'to go up higher'.

We were, all struck with Uncle Arthur's delicate looks - and on the 15th July, after getting wet through on a steamer on Lake of Brientz, returning from a day at the Giesbach, he began visibly to fail. He seemed to lose all strength and appetite - and to be gradually consumed by a low fever. Everything was an effort - and one thing after another was given up. During the hot part of the day we used all to sit down by the river side under a clump of walnut trees - and read aloud and work. Gradually Arthur became too weak to walk down, and kind friends wheeled him there for a few days; soon even this became too much for his gradually waning strength - and he ceased to join us. Then he could not come in to meals, and used to lie on a sofa outside where he could get air, during out Table d'hote. On one such occasion we heard afterwards that he said to a lady friend who was keeping him company (alluding to the quartette by Mendelssohn which we often sang together) "I often long for the wings of a dove to fly away and be at rest - for I am so weary."

About August 1 [1862] our parents felt so anxious about the dearest Brother, that a Swiss doctor was called in - who failed to see the serious character of his disease, and treated him wrongly. Later on an excellent American, Dr. Bolton, came to our hotel, and immediately threw his whole strength into the case, seeing how serious it was - and what a beautiful life was fading away. He pronounced the fever to be typhoid - and used every human means to bring our dear one through. But God willed otherwise ... Meanwhile we were being taught to live without him - and only one of us at a time was ever with him - either sitting near, while he slept, or reading to him. {p32}

Our Mother seemed to have special strength given her for those two weeks of incessant nursing - for I never remember her either before or after that time able to do so much. On August 12th [1862] Charlie and Fannie had to leave us, for England; and I know he realized that he might never see Arthur again - for he said with faltering voice after wishing Arthur goodbye 'remember if anything happens to Arthur I should value his Bible.' Next morning at 6 o'clock Dr. Bolton told our parents he had no longer any hope of our dear one's life being spared; and our brave Mother knelt by his side to tell him so. He answered directly with a bright smile: "Well - to depart and be with Christ is better - far better! "

Throughout the day he repeatedly took his pocket Bible, Miss Marsh's gift, and read portions aloud to us - such as Rev. XXII, Phil. III, and passing over Eph. VI said "the work is all over now." To our dear Mother he said "You did not think I should be first! But I'll be at the gate to welcome you, my Mother." Canon Hugh Stowell who happened to be in the Hotel, came up for a few minutes, and prayed with him, and on leaving said 'Would that all in this Hotel could see how a young Christian can die!' We encouraged him to sleep a good deal, and once after a cup of broth when I was settling him comfortably for a doze, he turned and looked earnestly at me and said: "Darling - if I should go to sleep, and never wake again, you'll know that I have gone straight to Jesus! What a quiet passing away that would be, and what a glorious awakening to find myself with Him." And then he closed his eyes, and fell asleep evidently thinking he should never wake again.

Our Father, knowing that Miss Marsh would wish to hear of it, telegraphed to her 'Pray for Arthur's departing spirit - he is conscious - all is peace.' The answer came back "Tell him Jesus says 'because I live, ye shall live also' - nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. Tell him how we love him, and shall meet him." (This incident is mentioned by her in her life of her father - the well known Divine Dr. Marsh D.D.).

During the two following days life ebbed fast; and he wandered much - though the incessant talking was always on flowers, or on children or on the longing to be up again, and on the mountain side, which never left him. He had asked us when he felt himself getting ill to pray that if he should be delirious no word should escape him concerning the late troubles in the family - and this prayer was fully answered. {p33}

Twice at different times, when our father tried to see if he were still conscious, by asking if he knew different members of the family, he failed to respond in every case, until asked 'you know Jesus don't you? ', then he turned his head on the pillow, and the dear eyes from which the light of earth was fading fast, seemed to reflect a far more glorious light beyond as he said "Oh yes, I know Him! He loves me - I love Him." Every hour of the 14th we expected he would breathe his last - but he had still one last word to speak for his Lord. During that night when he had for some hours seemed unconscious, and the Swiss nurse alone happened to be in the room, one more flicker of life and consciousness seemed given him - and looking round the room he called her - and thanked her in broken French for all her goodness to him. She replied 'Mais, Monsieur, c'est vous qui etes si bon si gentil!'; to which he replied "Non - non - je suis un pauvre misérable pécheur, mais pour l'amour de Jésu Christ jé serai sauvé! Et le sang de Jésu nous nettoyé de tout péché." ["No, no, I am a miserable poor fisherman but with the love of Jesus Christ I will be saved! And the blood of Jesus cleans us of all sins."] And thus with his last words, a wish of years was fulfilled, and he was permitted to preach his first (and only) sermon from 1 John I.7.

A few hours later, as the sun rose behind the Jungfrau, Mönch and Eiger mountains who clad in their eternal snows looked like majestic sentinels watching that hallowed room, angels carried the blesséd spirit of our Arthur to be 'for ever with the Lord' - and the chiselled marble features lay peacefully on the pillow - with a smile on his lips.

Swiss authorities require that burial should take place in 24 hours. When laid in his coffin, we covered our dear one with fresh flowers - especially heartsease - and the following day, August 16 [1862], a low charette, covered with flowers drawn by one horse, and led by one man, carried him to the sweet village churchyard of G'Steig, a mile out of Interlaken, - we sisters all four following in white, and a few other sympathising friends from the Hotel joining us there.

Canon Stowell repeated our glorious Church of England service by heart I remember, in the little Lutheran Church; and then they carried him through the long pass, and laid him on the hill side where he had longed to be, and whence there will one day be a glorious resurrection unto eternal life.

Within a month, a marble and granite stone engraved at Thun, marked the spot - which is in the left hand corner near a great walnut tree; {p34} and I think after this little record of the bright and blesséd death of their young Uncle of 22 years none of my children would go to Interlaken without visiting this, to us, so sacred spot. If you do so, you will recognize on the slab the device on the onyx ring he always wore, and gave me when dying; viz a cross, encircled with the words 'Ye are complete in Him'. A year or two ago your Aunt Mary on visiting the spot had a German rendering of his favorite text 1 John I.7 added to the inscription - so that he 'being dead, yet speaketh' to the people of the country amongst whom he rests. 'Until the day dawn, and the shadows flee away.'

I have lingered long over the first great sorrow of my life, and you who are young will find it perhaps hard to believe that these memories are still so fresh even after 28 years. Did we wish him back again? No - not for an hour, I can honestly say; for was he not "Gone to see the King in his beauty!" Though we ... seemed left far behind him - and life looked long, and sorrow looked endless then.


Emily travels to India, 1862


But ere September [1862] was out, we were called upon to take up our lives again, very practically, though he would never share them on earth. Uncle Charlie and his bride appointed to meet me at Marseilles on October 20, and our passages were taken thence to Bombay. My Father thought a thorough change of country and scene necessary for our dearest Mother, who nevertheless never really recovered from the shock of this great sorrow - suffering much from sleeplessness - and each year from this time forward, being increasingly a martyr to rheumatic gout - until she became so helpless as not only to be unable to walk, but even to feed herself. So - he decided to spend this winter on the Nile, with Aunts Alicia and Isa; and they came with us on board the S.S. "Valetta" from Marseilles, as far as Cairo. Aunt Mary was left at school at Geneva again, and must have felt very desolate that winter alone in Europe.

During the eight days voyage to Alexandria, we made friends with a Major Field, of the Indian Army, now General C. B. whose name is well known as having been second in command, a few years later, under Lord Napier of Magdala, in the Abyssinian Campaign - when 8 or so European captives were rescued from King Theodore. I parted from the dear Mother and sisters at Cairo - and my Father accompanied us as far as Suez - and saw us off on the great P. & O. Steamer "Jeddo", since wrecked. {p35}

As I stood alone on that moonlit night looking over the side of the greatest vessel I had ever been on, and watched my Father's receding figure on the little 'tug' which having brought us on board, was now returning to shore, I felt that the bridge was burnt, so to speak, between my home and me - and that a new life had begun. I realized how my Heavenly Father had indeed looked ahead for me; and arranged every step of my way - and how He had made this break with my home less hard for me to bear by taking Arthur up to Heaven in August, than it could and would have been otherwise. And though at this hour I felt utterly desolate and alone, I realized fully, that He who had put me forth, had gone before me into this untrodden, new world. (John X.4).

As I turned round I saw Major Field behind me and from that time forth he 'fathered' me - and was the kindest possible friend until we reached Bombay - November 16th [1862]. I must not linger long over the voyage. It was the first of six I have made through the Red Sea, and across the Indian Ocean - and after getting through the tail of a cyclone in the Red Sea we had a fairly smooth passage. At Aden we went ashore and drove into cantonments - and saw the huge fresh water tanks built to guarantee a supply of good water to the troops in time of drought, on that barren and arid Rock. We had tea in a regular Indian bungalow with young Charles Baldwin of the Engineers (Arthur's 'son' in the faith of Addiscombe days) and found his light 'burning brightly' in the shape of an open Bible on his table. A few hours on shore were a great refreshment after a fortnight or more at sea; and we returned to the 'Jeddo' when dark - and soon after slipped our anchor, and steamed slowly Eastwards; and on landing in the fine harbour of Bombay 8 or 9 days later I parted from my kind friend the Major.

A few hours in a Bombay hotel bewildered Aunt Fannie and me with the novelty of the Indian sights, and scenes, and scents which surrounded us; and after this a three days voyage on a crowded little steamer, swarming with natives, brought us in rather depressed spirits to Karachi. Here we had our first experience of an Indian dak bungalow - or travellers' Rest House, such as are kept up by Government all over India for the convenience of European travellers in places not large enough to boast of an Hotel.

A spacious room, with white washed walls, a bare table and two or three chairs - a mud floor, not always matted even, a punkah overhead, and {p36} bedstead in the corner - such is the furniture of a Dak bungalow room. Everyone carries their own bedding with them in India, for more reasons than one! To this room is attached a large bathroom with big wooden full length tub - and a good water supply. A cook and waiter (all men of course) also paid by Government are always on the spot ready to do your bidding - and for this you pay Government a fee of 1 Rupee per head. The cook came bowing to the ground on our arrival - and promised that a meal should be ready for us in half an hour; and a few minutes after we saw it being chased round the yard by the nimble youth in the shape of an unfortunate fowl! The dish set before you on these occasions is therefore appropriately called "sudden death"! However - dished up with rice, or turned into curry, and with the unfailing tea and toast without which no Anglo-Indian could get on at all, one learns to be content - and as we were all young we did not stop to think the poor fowl tough or leathery, though I am sure it must have been. You pay the native servants for the food you have, and they take care to get a living out of those who occupy the Rest Houses - though their charges are very small. Such a fowl as mentioned above, for instance, would be put on your table cooked for 6d. or 8d.

On leaving Karachi, a little piece of rail took us to Kotree, on the banks of the Indus; where we found a small steamer which brought us in 22 days to Multan. Every night we had to anchor by the river's edge, as the Indus is shallow, and only navigable by day. Along the muddy River's bank, as we steamed along, we saw plenty of crocodiles basking in the sun, and gentlemen on board had a shot at them sometimes. Sukker was the only pretty place we passed during this three weeks; and nowhere else do I remember seeing natives fishing as there - lying on a large-mouthed earthen pot, into which they put the fish as they netted it. We were not sorry when this less interesting part of our journey was over; and we spent a night each at Multan and Gogavia on our way to Lahore; which took us 2½ days travelling in a doolie, fastened on to a truck minus springs - and this upon a very rough road.


Meeting John Barton, 1862


My brother's old friend, and chief, Sir Robert Montgomery [see note on page 18], then Lieutenant Governor of the Punjab, had invited us to stay at Government House - and I think one's introduction to one's friends' houses in India in those days {p37}especially when one had come off long dak (or posting) journies, was very unique. Instead of driving up to the front door, the servants, who are on the look out for your carriage to arrive, quite early in the morning, sign to your driver on which side of the house he is to draw up - and on coming to a stand still on this morning the 16th of December [1862] at about 6 a.m. we saw an Ayah (the only female servant of the establishment) and one or two white robed men bowing us a welcome and an entrance, at the doors of our bedroom, with utmost gravity and dignity. All rooms in an Indian bungalow open on to a verandah which runs right round the house, and is a great protection against the tropical sun - and the doorways into the rooms are protected against flies and sun by close fine grass mats, which are called 'chicks'.

Here we found 'chota hazari ' (or little breakfast) waiting for us; and soon heard buckets and buckets of water being emptied into our respective baths - to which the barefooted 'bhisti' (water carrier) has access by an outer door with which each bathroom is provided. By the time you have drunk your tea, the Ayah tells you your baths are ready - and that 'big breakfast' is at 8.30 or 9 o'clock and that your host and hostess will not expect to see you until then.

The Montgomerys were very kind and cordial, and I could hardly have had a more delightful introduction to Indian life than during the three weeks spent in such a palatial residence as that of the Lieutenant Governor's. Here I first met dear General and Mrs. Lake who, as long as they lived, were our best Indian friends. On Christmas Eve we dined with Mr. Douglas Forsyth, Commissioner of Lahore - and I heard him say they were expecting a Mr. Barton to spend Xmas with them - and he was coming from Agra. Remembering how interested my brother Arthur had been in a Mr. John Barton, whom he had met at Cambridge (see Father's story and note on p.28) I asked if he were a C.M.S. missionary and was told Yes.

You will easily understand that I was predisposed to like one who had met our 'Arthur' - and that I followed Mr. Forsyth with my eyes with some interest when he was shortly after called out to the adjoining room to greet the traveller, just off his long dak journey of some 300 miles. In the dimly lighted drawingroom I discerned a tall young man of 25 (though he looked more) with a short light brown beard, in a black and white travelling suit! {p38}

And this was my first sight of him whom - unquestionably - God had brought me out to India to meet; and had so ordered our previous lives, and hearts, that ere long we each found in the other, a truly congenial spirit.

Our host hurried his guest away to a tent pitched for him, as for several other bachelors in his capacious compound at this time, when every one was full to overflowing - being Christmas time - and there being also a large gathering of Missionaries of every denomination for a Conference in Lahore; and these two gentlemen did not enter the drawing room until an hour later when music was going on. I was at the piano, singing, with a Mrs. Prinsep, Mendelssohn's two-part song 'Owert thou in the cauld blast', as the new arrival, now in clericals, joined the party - and standing near his old friend Mrs. Forsyth, asked her who was that 'fresh looking English girl at the piano?'; 'the sister of our old friend Charles Elliott' was the answer; 'they have just come out from Home'. He walked to the piano, and after speaking to Mrs. Prinsep asked me if I sang 'Ruth'? I never had done so - but I knew the air, and as Mrs. Prinsep had it on the piano, and Mr. Barton asked for it, I sang it.

As one good turn deserves another, I thought I would get something out of him next. I had brought out a parcel of books for Lieutenant Henry Clarke's Soldiers' Library from the dear Mother, without an idea where to find the good young man. But remembering that he and Mr. Barton had become friends on board the steamer coming out from England two years ago, through an introduction from my brother, I turned to him when my song was ended saying "You know Mr. Henry Clarke I think - can you tell me where he is? for I brought out some books for his men." He looked bewildered for a moment, wondering what Clarke I meant - for he knew others - when suddenly the connexion between our two names seemed to strike him, and he exclaimed: 'Are you a sister of Arthur Elliott whom I met at Cambridge? Do tell me about him - where and how is he?" ...

He told me afterwards that the words were hardly out of his mouth before he saw the answer from the look of pain in my face, and my hesitation in replying - coupled with the deep mourning of my dress. I think all I said was 'he is in Heaven' - and feeling almost as sorry for him as for myself at the moment, I turned away, and spoke to someone else. But as we {p39} were leaving the house shortly after, I found a pair of gentle hands putting a wrap round my shoulders; and a voice said in a low tone 'You must tell me all about Arthur another day.' We met several times during the ten days that followed, and I heard him preach on Revelation XII.ll; and then he returned to St.John's College, Agra, of which he was principal during 2½ years, and I settled down at the lonely little station of Ludhiana, about 100 miles S.E. of Lahore, where Uncle Charlie was Deputy Commissioner.

During the next five months I saw many men, and knew some intimately, but none came up to my standard like him whom I had met in Lahore. In March [1863] he began to write to me - and proposed to stay with us as he passed through the station in May en route to Amritsar where he was to take up another educational appointment, also for the Church Missionary Society. He arrived on May 2nd [1863] and baptized Uncle Charlie's first little girl, then 2 months old. We had a very happy ten days together, and found more and more that on the highest and best subjects we were thoroughly of one mind - as well as having many tastes in common - such as love of music; and mutual friends.

On May 13th [1863] I left the oppressive heat of the plains in Ludhiana to pay a visit of three months to Colonel and Mrs. Lake, at Dharmsala on the Himalaya Hills. The journey, of two days and a night was accomplished partly in 'dak ghari' (post carriage) and partly in a 'doolie', carried by four man at a time. The motion of constant shaking, together with the great heat of the sun in the early morning, as we ascended the steep side of the mountain on which Dharmsala is situated, 8000 feet above sea level, produced the same effect on me as seasickness! and I was indeed thankful when set down at my dear kind friends' door. Would that my pen could describe the exquisite beauty of my new surroundings! A temperature of 60° instead of 90° or 100° - mountains covered with forest trees whose stems were draped with rare ferns of great variety, that grew happily embedded in the moss that covered their stems; the gold and silver ferns, parsley and maidenhair all grew in greatest profusion by every roadside together with a correspondingly rare flora, of which the only one I recall at this moment was cyclamen, both white and pink, which I have never seen elsewhere growing wild.

The atmosphere inside the dear Lakes' house was delightful as that outside; for they made their home the centre of influence for good in the {p40}station; and as the General's (then Colonel) position of Commissioner in the Kangra District in which Dharmsala was situated, constituted him the great man of the place, their opportunities for influencing others was great. They filled their house with those who could not otherwise have come up to enjoy the Hills; or with sick friends who needed nursing. They opened it also every week for Bible Reading, to which all were invited who cared to come.


Marriage to John Barton in India, 1863.


Your dear Father had spent a month here the previous year, as the Lakes' guest, and they had invited him to come again in June this year 1863, purposely wishing to throw us together! As dear Mrs. Lake had been his confidante all along, they were not surprised when on May 26th I received a letter from him asking me to be his wife. From that hour to this we have been blest with happiness and perfect one-ness which is given unto few. Such love as ours for nearly 27 years past cannot be written of. I can only say that it implies an unwavering trust and faith in one another that length of years only deepens; and involves on either side unfettered confidence, and unselfish consideration. Moreover our love would never have been of the quality that wears had we not first given ourselves to the Lord before we gave our hearts to each other; and if it had not been reverent love, remembering that we were heirs together of eternal life.

I wrote to my parents that Tennyson's line well described their future son-in-law: 'Gentleness when it weds with manhood makes a Man' – and years have only served to establish the truth of my earliest impressions of him whom you, my children, have the honour to call 'Father'.

On June 13th [1863] he came up for three weeks, to Dharmsala, and we had a time of supreme happiness, dipping for the first time into the depths of each others hearts and confidence. I cannot-desire greater earthly happiness for our dear girls than that they may be blest with the love of those as wonderfully able to understand and sympathize with the complex nature of a woman's heart as is their Father.

My Father's consent had of course to be obtained; but happily there was no difficulty about money matters; and on August 18th [1863] after I had returned to Ludhiana, the longed-for mail letters arrived, bringing cordial approval. {p41}

The Belovéd managed to come and spend two days with us just when these letters were expected; and finding all was smooth, asked if we could not fix upon a day before he left us? So October 12th [1863] was decided on, and I did not see him again until two days before our wedding. The two months soon slipped past - and he was there again at Ludhiana to claim me.

We had to waylay a friend, the Rev. W. Keene of the C.M.S. passing through the station, to marry us! The quiet little place only contained six English families as residents, all of whom were of course invited guests; as well as the excellent American Missionaries, from whom in that very place had gone forth three years before the first call to United Prayer all round the world during the first week in January - and which has been responded to by hundreds of thousands of God's people now for 30 years. Two or three kind friends (including Monty Lang, then my Brother's Assistant) decorated the little Church with wreaths of pink and white oleanders for the Service; and my Brother's cook prepared a very pretty wedding breakfast for about 25 of us, and made the cake.

Your dear young Father, who was the guest for the nights of the 10th and 11th of the Doctor of the Station, very unconventionally looked in at my Brother's house about 7 a.m. on the 12th to ask if he might have 'chota hazari' with me; and found me decorating my own cake! with natural white flowers (for there was no one else to do it).
It was quite to the taste of both of us that everything should be very simple at our wedding; for where there is great love, outward accessories are rather distasteful than otherwise. Still - we both liked to have everything very nice; not for our own sakes, but because it would give our kind friends pleasure. So having no sister, or a single girl friend with me, I made a wedding favour myself for each of the guests, and finished them after I had adorned the Cake, while he sat and watched me. Then we had a prayer together .... and three hours later, a calmer, happier bride never drove to Church than I; though I had neither Mother or Sister at hand - and had I loved less perfectly, it must have been a shadowed day. But through God's great love, and undeserved goodness to me, there was not then, neither has been since, through all the long years of our life together, one cloud of doubt, or mistrust of each other. And so, surrounded by a few kind friends, we were married at 11 a.m., my dear Brother giving me away. It was truly {p42}to me a blesséd, and thoroughly enjoyed service - for I was able to feel, and to mean, every word I said; and your Father at my side seemed then, as ever since, a tower of strength to me.

Returning to Uncle Charlie's house, five and twenty guests sat down to breakfast; and I heard that many said they had never seen a happier looking bride. The truth was that the parting with all whom I loved best in my own home was over a year before! and I was able to feel on this day that I had nothing to lose, and all to gain. At about 3 o'clock we drove off in my Brother's carriage and pair, as far as the Sutlej River - about 10 miles I think; and there found a dak ghari, on which we crossed, by means of a ferry, the wide rambling river; over which there was not then, as now, a magnificent bridge. In this conveyance we drove another 20 miles; and five miles from Jullundur were met by Col. Lake's carriage which took us to their house in this large cantonment station, which they lent us for a week; after which we joined them at their hill house again, which had been the scene of our happy engagement in the summer. We were present now at the christening of our dear friends' only child - to whom your Father and Sir Herbert Edwardes were sponsors.

By November 1st [1863] I think, we reached our little home at Amritsar, in the Punjab; which your Father had made so pretty; and here we spent three and a half months. Father had promised his family when he came out, to return after 3½ years; and thought he had now a double reason for doing so - namely to introduce me to his family, and make the acquaintance of mine. You can fancy the delight of my Mother and Aunts Isa and Mary on hearing that we were coming. Aunt Alicia had already left the home roof, having been married in the previous October at Berne, to the Rev. J. B. Cane; Rector of Weston, Notts, after a very romantic courtship on the Nile the previous winter, and a somewhat stormy engagement. 'The course of true love' did not run so smoothly alas! in their case, as in ours.

Leaving Amritsar the end of February [1864] we accomplished the 1800 miles to Calcutta, partly by dak ghari, partly by train in about ten days; stopping constantly with friends by the way. At Agra it was with the Vines - who had taken charge of St. John's College after Father left Agra for Amritsar. There I saw the famous tomb called the Taj Mahal, erected by an Indian prince Shahjehan 200 years ago over his favourite wife, made of pure white alabaster, {p43}inlaid with precious stones and others of colours in the style of Florentine mosaic. Indeed it was made by Italian workmen; and is said to have cost 3 million of money. At Calcutta we put up with old friends of Fathers, Captain and Mrs. G. C. Williams of the Engineers, and there I met for the first time, one who was six years later to marry your little Aunt Isa. Father introduced him to me as "William Mackworth Young - brother of my old College friend, Sir George Young".


Return to Europe, 1864


On March 9th [1864] we sailed in a P. & O. steamer for Marseilles. I was very delicate at this time; and your Father's tender nursing and care saved me a bad illness. As he carried me on shore at Marseilles, he said I must have lost two stone in weight on the voyage. We went straight to Nice, where my parents and sisters were wintering - and I leave you all to imagine my joy in seeing how thoroughly your dear Father was appreciated by them all; and taken to their hearts as a son and brother. My Father, who was not easily pleased, said he thanked God for having given him such a son-in-law! After a fortnights good nursing, on terra firma, I was nearly well again; and we moved on to England, where at 2 Clarendon Terrace, Brighton, I was very warmly welcomed by dear Aunt Rickman, and Father's five sisters, all of whom were then unmarried.

Later in the spring and summer I was introduced to the Wigrams, parents of Father's first wife 'Cattie', who at once received me as a daughter for his sake "who had given their daughter one year of such complete happiness" as Mrs. Wigram once said to me. In June we went to Osmaston Manor together, near Derby, the home of the Wright family described by Father on pp. 27 and 28 of his story. It was a rare pleasure and privilege to breathe so Christ-like an atmosphere in so palatial a residence. Our kind host himself took me all over the place, shewing how everything (even to the mashing of potatoes!) was worked by machinery, turned by a stream! also the dairy where cheeses were made. {p44}

One day we both had a narrow escape from a serious accident - the Miss Wrights having lent us their pony carriage to save me fatigue in going over the Park, without warning us that the high-mettled creature was given to running away! which he did on this occasion. Father, who jumped out to go to his head, was thrown down and laid up for a day or two with bruises etc. But God 'gave His angels charge over us', and we were kept from any great harm.

Thence we went to visit Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wright, second son of the family at Osmaston; and one who had 5 or 6 years previously become a very close friend of Father's. Henry Wright was then Chaplain to his father's 500 workmen at the great Iron Works at Butterley — and much beloved by them. He told me during that visit that for 12 years. he had wished to devote himself to missionary work but since he had not done it before his marriage, he saw it was not God's will that he should go now. Nevertheless - eight years later he did give himself wholly to the work - by becoming Honorary Secretary to the C.M.S. in London - which office he held until translated to a higher sphere by drowning in Coniston Lake in 1880. I never saw a face which reflected so much peace and quiet joy as did that of this most holy and gentle man of God. His Missionary spirit has descended to his children - and one son and two daughters are already in the field - and two others have followed.

external image Rev%20John%20and%20Emily%20Barton%20July%201864.jpg
John and Emily in July 1864, the year after their marriage. Emily was ~6 months pregnant with Arthur.


In August [1864] we went abroad to Switzerland for a month or so - visiting our Arthur's grave at Interlaken - and the Lakes of Geneva and Lucerne. Father and his sisters went over some mountains to Chamonix, and left me for 2 or 3 weeks with the Childers, of Nice, as I was not up to climbing. We divided this time between a mountain village in the Rhone Valley called Grion, looking on to the Diablerets; and a place near Clarens, Chailly.

In September [1864] our large travelling party of 8 returned once more to England - and we settled down quietly in the Sisters' home at Brighton. And here, on October 12th 1864, God gave to us our firstborn son - whom we called 'Arthur Elliott' after the dear sainted brother. You were a bonny lusty son, from the first; and a source of the greatest joy to your mother; though I had never cared for a helpless baby before. I can never forget the hour when Father brought you in his arms, and laid you in mine, and then knelt by my bedside and prayed over you. I was ill for many weeks after, and more or less lame for a year; and of course the Baby suffered too; {p45}and many an hour did Father pace the room with the little man, soothing his infant pains and griefs. He was baptized on December 2nd in All Souls' Church, Brighton; and dear Aunt Rick - and 'Uncle' Fred Wigram - and Mrs. Astley, a cousin of mine, were his sponsors. Mr. Henry Venn, then Honorary Secretary of C.M.S., Uncle Tom Causton (who two years later married Aunt Phena) and some others, came for the day to the christening of our Firstborn.


Calcutta, 1865


In January 1865 we left England en route for Calcutta; and taking with us an English nurse for 'Arthur-boy' spent a week or more at Nice, to shew my parents their first grandchild. My sweet mother and sisters were sure there had never been a more splendid boy at 3 months old than this one! and gladly relieved nurse of her charge for most of the day; until during the first week of February we started on our return voyage to India. It was my third in 27 months!

We settled down in the Church Missionary House, No.8 Chowringhee, in Calcutta in March; and Father was associated as Joint Secretary of the C.M.S. with the Rev. E. C. Stuart, now Bishop of Waiapu; and also started the 'Cathedral Mission College' for young Hindu gentlemen from 18 to 25. They went through a course of education in English literature and composition, and mathematics very similar to that of our own Universities - Sanscrit and Arabic being their 'classics' in the place of Latin and Greek with us. In addition to the above, Father gave them one hour of Bible teaching every morning - and often had private talks with them in their own houses. The Last Day alone will reveal the results of the five years of patient toil that followed. His hours at the College were from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. daily.

Calcutta contained a very large English society at that time, as now; being the Headquarters of the Government of India; and chief residence of the Viceroy, Members of Council, Judges of the High Court etc. Lord John Lawrence, and his charming family, were then at Government House, and shewed us much kindness. They and many of the big folk in high places at that time attended the Chuirch in which Father took regular duty during the next 5 years. In this work Mr. R. Greaves of the C.M.S. and Joseph Welland were associated with him. The latter became as a brother to us, and we formed with him from this time forward until 'God took him' in the end of '79, the closest possible friendship. {p46}

This holy and humble man had rare gifts - and every prospect of occupying a prominent position as an eloquent and very thoughtful preacher, in England - full of poetry too - and of the native wit of his own Emerald Isle. But in his heart was such a burning desire to reach the heathen, that England could not hold him back - and he landed in India in 1860 with his College friend and compatriot Dr. Bruce, since well known in Persia, as the pioneer of that Mission - and the same year also that Father went out to India. Mr. Welland acquired the Bengali language with great facility; and initiated for some months every year in rural Bengal, preaching everywhere. Your Father soon saw that such a man ought to work more amongst the educated than the simple folk; and much against the grain, brought him to the front in Calcutta work on every occasion; until in a few years he was known amongst both the English and native society as the greatest preacher in Calcutta, and the best speaker and lecturer. There is a tender passage connected with this beloved Friend's life amongst us during the years that followed which made him more than an ordinary brother to us - but this is buried with him - and I will only add that the sweet fragrance of our friendship with this saintly man permeates all memories of our Calcutta life, and will last in the life to come.

During these five years in Calcutta, we made friends with some whom you all know by name. Lord and Lady Lawrence (the Sir John Lawrence of the Mutiny of 1857, whose prompt action saved the Punjab in those stormy days); the Barclay Chapmans – Charles Hoggs - Lowises - Bishop Cotton and his wife; Mr. Edward Stuart too, now Bishop of Waiapu, New Zealand, and others.

In September 1865 we went up to Simla, a journey of nearly 2000 miles for a month of cool breezes. I know we spent Arthur's first birthday there, and that he was photographed with Father on that day; an amusing little picture which still exists; and we kept the day further by a little picnic on the Hills.

I stumbled lately on a long journal letter I wrote and sent home for the benefit of our respective families, giving an account of a ten days' trip into the Interior as far as Kotghur, which was most enjoyable. We made up a little party - and were eight in all; and someone made an amusing etching of the cavalcade as we wound along the mountain footpaths, single {p47} file, together with our 60 coolies, carrying our various conveyances, food etc. for ten days; for we went almost beyond the limits of civilization. The great sight we went to see was the unbroken range of eternal snows, 150 miles long; varying from 12,000 to 20,000 feet high; and we were so fortunate as to get a glorious sunrise before 6 a.m. and watched the first rays of the sun's light shooting up from behind the grand majestic range illuminating first one pure white spire and then another, until all the golden peaks seemed to shout for joy, glorifying Him who created them. We spent Sunday at the remote little Mission Station of Kotghur, where kind German Missionaries (C.M.S.) by name Rebseh, 'held the fort', on the borders almost of Thibet. Here apricots are so abundant, that the fruit is accounted as nothing, and given to the pigs; these trees being cultivated entirely for the sake of the delicious oil made from the kernels, and burnt in lamps, and used lavishly for all domestic purposes.

The next great event was that the following hot weather in Calcutta, Father was very ill with dysentery for several weeks, and was finally ordered on a sea voyage to Burmah for three weeks. I was not well enough to accompany him, so he went alone; and I only heard of him by telegrams sent from Moulmein and Rangoon.

He returned much better, thank God, on September 21st [1865], and on the following day God gave us another sweet son whom we called John Bernard, after your Father and his ancestors. You were from the very first, my Jack, a placid contented loving creature, and I cannot remember that you ever gave me an hour's trouble from the time of your birth. You were born a very fine child, and your nurse was much struck by your strength; and said to me "his cry is like thunder!" It was so amusing to see how Arthur eyed you askance at first, and gave your cradle a wide berth as he went by; instinctively realizing that he was no longer the only one, and that someone had come to share honours with himself. But he soon began to be friendly, and after he had certified himself (by poking his fingers into your eyes) that you were as much alive as he was, and could defend yourself by making as much noise as he could, too! he took a lively interest in you - and by the time you were a year old, you used to play together like a pair of kittens. {p48}

As Father was never able to work more than 10 months out of 12, we went North again the following hot weather, in August [1866]; and I spent a quiet month at Fatehgarh, N.W. Provinces, with my cousins the C. A. Elliotts keeping the Baby-boy, while Father took Arthur, now nearly 3 years old, to Simla. He wrote me that Arthur walked and rode famously everywhere, proving quite a companion to him. Our friends, Dr. and Mrs. Farquhar put them up, in one of the houses occupied by Lord Lawrence's suite, as Dr. P. was his private medical attendant. Meanwhile my cousin, Louise Elliott (first wife of the present Sir Charles Elliott) and I, enjoyed ourselves quietly with our little ones - their 'Minnie' being a little older than our 'Johnnie'. Harry and Alfy, whom you all know, and Frank, were not then born.

This was the only time I ever remember eating peacock - but beef and mutton being sometimes unattainable in the hot weather, my cousin sent their under kitchen man to shoot some for dinner. He brought back three, and I still have the feathers of one which were then given me.

Our quiet time was suddenly broken in upon by news of Father being very ill again with dysentery, and I was asked to join him at once at Simla to nurse him. So little Johnnie was sent at a few hours' notice to friends at Allahabad with a young English nurse, and I went off alone with one man servant, on my long journey to Simla. It was September now, and still very hot; and the heat, added to my great anxiety brought me into a high fever two days after, just as I reached Uncle Charlie's summer quarters at Kasauli - a hill station a day's journey short of Simla. Here I was detained four days; but though tantalising to be so near dear Father and unable to reach him, I was thankful to receive improved accounts of him - and also for the loving shelter of my Brother's and Aunt Fannie's roof and their good nursing. Their 'Arthur' was the baby in the cradle, and 'Charlie' nearly 3, our Arthur's age.

By the time I reached Simla eventually, Father was up again through God's mercy; and he and Arthur came a little way on the road to meet me; hearing the eight bearers carrying my 'jan-pan', chanting their long singsong as they came along, from a mile off.

In October [1867] we returned to Calcutta, picking up little Johnnie at Allahabad - and staying there with the then Lieutenant Governor and his wife, Sir William and Lady Muir - who throughout their long Indian course were ever in the forefront of all there was for the glory of {p49} God. Sir William has been made President of the Edinburgh University since he retired from public life in India - and they are still doing excellent work there. (Written in 1893).

On the last day of October [1867] we had the joy of welcoming dear Aunt Isa in Calcutta. She came out by P. & O. steamer with my cousins the Edward Pearsons as her chaperones. Things had been going on very sadly at home for two years past - my poor Father could not learn to treat his grown up daughters as anything but children - and this naturally caused endless friction. His restrictions also upon their correspondence, even with their own brothers and sisters was such as no high-spirited girls could stand without a protest. And Aunt Isa, who had always had more spirit than body, whilst withstanding what we all felt was unjust, with indomitable pluck, had seriously overtaxed her frail little body. At length, when the Doctor had thoroughly frightened our Father by saying she might be in her grave in six months time if she did not leave home, he wrote out to ask us if we should like to have her with us in India for a time? Your Father, who loved her dearly, accepted the offered charge as eagerly as I did, and we felt it would be a sweet privilege to nurse her, and love her, back to health again.

But the last few months at Pisa and Genoa with our Father, and above all the prospect ever nearing, of parting from Aunt Mary who had been her dearest and closest in the family all her life, had well nigh spent the little strength left. And when she arrived, she seemed to us but a wreck of what we had known her 2½ years ago. Nevertheless - a few months of peace and love in our home, with Arthur and Jack as playmates for recreation, and a good many pleasant friends in Calcutta, that cold weather soon helped to pick up her life and wonted spirits again - and we rejoiced as we saw her colour coming back to her cheeks, and smiles to her lips, and watched her light form tripping about the big rooms of our Indian Home.

She was indeed a 'winsome wee thing' – only 5 feet high, and weighed but 6 stone - and had a pretty way of ensconsing herself on a stool at your Father's feet, and embracing one of his knees with her arms and clasped hands; and tried to look very meek as she asked 'Brother's' advice on sundry matters, or received his gentle admonition if he thought she had been rather wild! These were happy months, and sped only too quickly. I have often said {p50} since that the happiest year of our married life, was the one she spent with us. Then came a heavy cloud - and heart and body both nearly succumbed in the storm that broke over her. She was very ill with a severe attack of bronchitis which left her so weak that Father used to carry her up and down our long flight of stairs in his arms for many days. When able to travel she paid a visit to the Edward Pearsons in Tirhoot, and returned to us the end of May 1868 in time to accompany us to Madras - and thence to the Nilghiri Hills for five months, whither Father was ordered on account of his health - the only alternative given him being to go to England.

Four days sea voyage brought us to Madras 'Roads' and we spent a day or two at the Church Mission House in 'Egmore' with Mr. (now Bishop) Royston and his wife - then Secretary, to C.M.S. There we met for the first time one, who four years later became a very dear friend and brother, the Rev. David Fenn, C.M.S. He had been for 15 years associated with Messrs Ragland and Meadows in itinerating work among the villages of N. Tinnavelly; and only gave up this work in 1871 when he came to reside with Father in Madras as Joint Secretary of C.M.S.

Perhaps this is the best place in which to mention a delightful and characteristic story of these three self-denying bachelor missionaries. After some years of tent life spent together, moving about from village to village, and living amongst the native people 'having all things common' in true Apostolic fashion, they wrote home to the Parent Society that they found themselves "in pecuniary difficulties" - for that they were unable to spend, in such a life as they were living, the Society's modest allowances - and therefore begged that the surplus (which they returned) might be utilized to send out two more missionaries! - and this was done.

But to return to our first meeting with dear David Fenn. I can recall how much struck he was with little Jack's sedate bearing, and earnest countenance, declaring that his deepset eyes and brow were just like Mr. Henry Venn! (my Father's cousin) - and Mr. Fenn, always full of humour, went on bended knee before this dignified infant of not quite 2 years old, and putting his hands together, as natives do when they make a petition, saying "Oh! Johnnie Sahib, when I want a high post under C.M.S. may I come to you!" I shall say more of this dear friend later. {p51}

We spent two months at Coonoor, 5000 feet above sea level, the first station reached on these 'Blue Hills' - literally 'blue' as we saw them on awaking at the foot of the mountains in our bullock 'bandies' (carts) the morning of our journey thither. The little house which we called 'home' at Coonoor was planted in the middle of fields of tea - and we were so interested by our first sight of the pretty myrtle like plants and flowers, that I ventured to try and paint one. I think it was the first flower I ever drew - and not the last.

The flora of these Hills is most luxuriant, and creepers often of gorgeous colours climb to the tops of trees 30 or 40 feet high - I have never seen any place where everything beautiful in nature seems so to delight, to grow, as on these Hills. Plumbago, and heliotrope, and 3 or 4 kinds of geranium and roses; also fuchias, hybiscus in three colours, deturas, ticomas, messinda, gardinias, and many plants cultivated in our English greenhouses only, grew here as bushes in every hedge. One of the great charms of these Hills over the Himalayas, is that you can drive a pony carriage everywhere; and we used to take long drives every afternoon, lovely views appearing at every turn. In August we took a house at Ootacamund - twelve miles further up this high plateau, for three months. 'Woodcock House' overlooked the pretty little lake, about 2 miles long - but was well above it - and stood in a garden full of lovely flowers. In one adjoining grew two trees of lemon scented verbena, 20 feet high or more; with stems so thick that Father could not compass them with his two hands! Here the eucalyptus, or blue gum tree, grew to great perfection. It had been imported from Australia, and took very kindly to the soil, imparting quite a blue grey tint to the foliage of the whole place, as olives do to the South of France and Italy. The Chincona tree is also largely cultivated here by Government for the sake of the quinine produced from its bark. The hills that rise round the Lake at Ooty are studded with good houses, and for four months of the hottest weather most of the officials in Madras migrate thither.

The bishop of Madras, and his sister Miss Gell, had a house there for some years - and Father was very pleased to meet his old Cambridge friend again, who was a Fellow of Christ's College in his undergraduate days. {p52}

When they left the Hills in September [1868] they lent us their pair of Pegu ponies, called 'Pearl' and 'Diamond' whom it was a real pleasure to drive. One of these had a tragic end, alas! for she dropped dead one Sunday afternoon just as I drove them up to the Church door, without having given the slightest warning previously of indisposition. It was discovered that her heart was four times its normal size, and we were told that many of this high-spirited breed die of heart complaints.

Three weeks after 'Pearl's' sad death, another dear little one came to claim a share in our hearts and home; a quiet, pretty, neat little babe you were, my Fred, and not very strong. Aunt Isa spent that day, September 28th [1868] with General and Mrs. Fordyce, who had a house near ours. On receiving the news in a note from Father, she wrote back a loving line of congratulation and said 'Tell the baby's Mother it is evident God meant her to be a Mother of Sons!' All the same, it was a little disappointment just at first that you were not a girl. Had you been one of the gentler sex we had meant to call you 'Grace'! - but thank God your life has proved that His own gift is not limited to sex or name. I took one or two last drives in our pony carriage before we left these dear Hills - and on one occasion, whilst you lap, Aunt Isa took a pretty sketch of one side of the Ooty lake, with the 'Willow Bund' or breakwater (used as a bridge) in the distance, with Mount Dodabet in background, and the new English church in the foreground. You know the picture well - it hangs in our Drawing room, and you, Fred, possess a duplicate.

The time had come to return to Calcutta, and on October 30 [1868] we left the pretty house covered with flowers where we had spent three happy months, and I drove our ponies the 12 miles of gentle descent to Coonoor, Father riding his own pony 'Jack'. There you were christened, in the beautifully situated Church - with a panoramic view, from the church yard - by Bishop Gell; Father standing proxy for the Bishop, who with Uncle Charlie and Aunt Isa, were your sponsors. Our good nurse, Wilson, held you; and Arthur and Jack were both present though I do not think they took much interest in you yet! I remember standing over Father afterwards, and asking him to spell your name in the Baptismal Register 'Frederic' (minus K) saying 'some day we may like to call him 'Eric''. During the last year or two it would appear that my remark was prophetic! {p53}

Another long drive of 22 miles the following day brought us to Metapalayam, at the foot of the hills, whence a train took us to Madras, and we spent several days at the Gell's house in the Adyar (the aristocratic suburb) waiting for the P. & O. steamer which was to take us the four days voyage to Calcutta. We were having very stormy weather, and the steamer was so long overdue, that there were anxious whispers heard in the town as to her non-appearance. At the Sunday evening service, as the tempest howled around the Cathedral, the well-known hymn 'Eternal Father, strong to save' was sung by the English congregation assembled, many of whom were awaiting friends in the missing steamer. As the long 'Amen' died away, an electric thrill seemed to run through all present, as three great guns boomed into the night air signalling the arrival in the Roadstead of the longed-for steamer with passengers and mails; and with thankful hearts we knelt once more, for the prayer had been heard and answered -- 'O hear us when we pray to Thee, For those in peril on the Sea'.

We reached Calcutta on November 9th [1868] and after ten days, and leaving dear Father behind to resume his work at the Cathedral Mission College, Aunt Isa and I proceeded on our way up country - about 1800 miles to pay our brother Charlie and Aunt Fannie a long promised visit. Our nurse, Wilson, and you three little boys came too, aged 6 weeks, 2 years and 4 years, as I was to be absent over two months, and see my dear sister settle down in her new surroundings before leaving her at Ludhiana.

It took about 2½ days and nights to reach Ludhiana in the Punjab, but we had a carriage to ourselves, and a bathroom adjoining, and little children are good travellers, and you were all particularly good. When the night was sultry, and the train stopped at stations often for 20 minutes at a time, I used to keep you asleep by fanning two of you at a time, with palm leaf fans, as you lay full length on the seats. I was stimulated to do this, by hearing a chorus of crying children the whole length of the train who had been awakened by the accés of heat experienced when the train was no longer in motion - and I wondered other mothers had not discovered my simple device for keeping the little ones happily asleep. In due time we reached Ludhiana, where my brother Charles Elliott was Deputy Commissioner (or Magistrate) for seven years - and where we were married five years before; and which had been my first Indian home. Aunt Fannie had then {p54} 'Charlie' and 'Arthur' only, aged respectively 4 years and 1½ years, so that there were five little boys playing about together, and tyrannising over their devoted 'bearers'.

The Elliotts and Aunt Isa and I (with baby 'Fred') all went to spend Christmas with the Douglas Forsyths, at Jullundur 30 miles North of Ludhiana. He was then 'Commissioner' of that great District, and some years later was Knighted in consideration of his services for Government on an embassy to Yarkund. At this house - called the 'Bara Dhurri' (or Twelve-doored) on Xmas Eve, the 6th anniversary of the day I met your Father at Lahore, in this same gentleman's house (who was then at Lahore), Aunt Isa met Uncle Willy Mackworth Young of the I.C.S. whom you all know and love, and whom she married the following year. We knew all about him; and I had met him four years previously in Calcutta; and Father had known his elder brother, Sir George, at Cambridge. It came out later that he too had heard much of Aunt Isa - and they met as friends prepared to find much in common from the first. She played Chopin that evening, which delighted him; and then he, taking her place at the piano, burst forth, with his perfectly trained baritone, into the exultant strains of 'Anthea': 'Bid me to live, and I will live, thy Protestant to be!'

Those ten days, they had much much music together; Uncle Willy acting as Choir Master, got up some of Mendelsshohn's 'Four Part Songs' (then new to us); and we learnt 'Ye birds that sing' and 'The New Year' for the first time. They got up Tableaux Vivants too; and Isa acted as the Fish Girl in the well known picture of 'Bolton Abbey in the olden time'. As I watched the dear pair, so plainly gravitating towards each other, and daily getting more insight into each others minds and hearts and tastes, I could not help feeling that God meant them for each other; and so it proved, and although they had a short life together here, it will be 'a long life' on the other side - 'even length of days for ever and ever'.

Mr. Forsyth's large Christmas party of 25 guests dispersed to their respective homes the first week in the New Year. Uncle Charles Elliott, Aunt Fannie and Isabel and I returned to Ludhiana; and at the end of the month you three little ones, Nurse and I set our faces Calcutta-wards. It was a great wrench leaving the sweet sister - but we tried to be brave – as {p55} it was my Father's plan for Isa. So we took our long return journey to Calcutta without her; and my brother Charlie and Aunt Fannie were very good to her. By the time we reached Calcutta again I calculated that we must have travelled between 6 and 7000 miles in India and on Indian seas in 8 months with our little ones. Three months later Aunt Isa went to pay a visit at Hoshiarpore to Mr. and Mrs. Perkins of the India Civil Service. He was then Deputy Commissioner there, and Uncle Willy his Assistant Commissioner, and soon after this we heard of her engagement.

In June this year (1869) we sent Jack and little Fred home to England with Nurse Wilson; dear Aunt Rick having kindly promised by telegram to receive them until we returned home, in the winter, which doctors insisted upon for Father's sake. It was hard work sending such young things thousands of miles across the sea without us; but we felt it was shewing true love to do so. So good 'Wilson' went off early in June with you both; and Dr. Frank Macnamara and his wife who were on board kindly promised to keep an eye on you. You owe your life, dear Fred, under God to the devoted care bestowed on you by the dear Aunts and the Canes this summer; for you had a fight for your life; and by every mail sent out for some weeks after you reached England, we thought we might hear of your death. 'Johnnie' too had run up a tall slim child in Calcutta heat, with long flaxen hair, and deep solemn eyes - regular hot-house plants, both of you.

About June 25 [1869] Father and I and Arthur, then getting on for 5 years old, started again North; this time for Aunt Isa's wedding, which was to take place from Uncle Charlie's house at Dharmsala in the Himalayas, where he held the post of Deputy Commissioner. The rains were very late this year, and not a drop fell in June, when we generally looked for 3 weeks rain yearly. So great was the heat in consequence, and, so fatal, that we all three travelled with wet cloths round our heads in the train; and heard that a room was set apart at every station to receive the dead from the trains. At Hoshiapore which is at the foot of the hills, we spent 24 hours with the bridegroom-elect, and found him even more charming than we had thought. He travelled with us to Dharmsala, then a 36 hours journey - and we slept at a Government Resthouse about 3000 feet high, called Perusain dak bungalow.

In August [1869] we heard of the sudden death of my cousin Julius Elliott, killed whilst ascending the Shackhorn. It is said that he fell {p56} 2000 feet; and his spirit must have returned unto Him who gave it ere he touched the deep bed of snow, in which after three days' search his body was found: no bone broken - not even a little bottle of glycerine in his pocket. He was 27, a member of the Alpine Club, and had but recently taken his late Father, Mr. Henry Venn Elliott's, post at St. Mary's Church, Brighton. After a parting prayer with his Scripture reader before he left Britain for his usual summer ramble on the Alps, Julius said to this man "There is one prayer in our Litany that I can never offer 'from sudden death Good Lord deliver us', for I always think how happy it would be to die thus." Strangely prophetic words. His body was laid by loving ones summoned from England, in Grindelwald churchyard; and the grave, and adjoining marble slab with a beautiful inscription in German on the church wall, are well known to travellers. Strange that he should lie so near to his very dear College friend, and cousin, my brother Arthur, whom we laid to rest 7 years before at G'Steig, near Interlaken, as before mentioned.

Aunt Isa's wedding-day soon came round - August 17 [1869] - and it was with a perfect assurance that all must and would be well for them both, whether in life or in death, that I acted the part of Mother to her - and Uncle Charlie gave her away; and your dear Father tied the knot which made them one. I seem to see it all now - the four wee girl bridesmaids, dressed in white, with wreaths of double pink daisies on their heads, followed by Arthur, who, though not yet 5, felt himself very important as the only 'bride's male'! (his own name), and did not feel particularly friendly to Uncle Willy who was "taking my own little Auntie away." The Church was beautifully decorated with wild maidenhair and parsley fern and white roses, by friends; and the English soldiers, who formed the Choir, and whom the little Bride had trained all the summer, decorated their own seats brilliantly with dahlias in her honour. A goodly number of guests in the Station were entertained by my Brother and Aunt Fannie at the then universal Wedding Breakfast; and at 4 o'clock the Bride went off in a 'dandy' (or hammock) carried by four hill coolies in new warm liveries looking very spry. Your Father tucked her up, and gave her a parting kiss, and little thought it would be the last time he would see her sweet face. Uncle Willy jumped on his Arab horse, and rode off beside his sweet wife to Kangra, a well known picturesque {p57} town with a celebrated Hindu temple and shrine, and where the Meeks, of C.M.S. for many years did good work. These old friends put their house at the Youngs disposal, and they spent 24 hrs.there en route to Dalhousie where the Uncle had taken a house for 2 months - and whither 70 coolies carried his beautiful piano on their heads; with the help of which this dear musical pair lived in a perpetual concert - both of them musicians of the first order.

A few days after the wedding, Father was summoned to Calcutta to relieve Mr. Dyson who had been taken very ill, and resumed his work again at the 'Cathedral Mission Training College'. Edith Elliott was born on September 6th [1869] and a great cause of rejoicing to her parents, as both her elder sisters had died as infants. Towards the end of September Arthur and I started off across the hills 100 miles to join the Youngs at Dalhousie. It took us the best part of 3 days, as we were carried in a doolie by four men at a time, who were relieved by four others every ½ hour - and 4 more carried our luggage, and a flaming torch by night to frighten away leopards and other timid wild beasts who prowl about at night in search of food; but never attack man save in self-defence.

We spent three delightful weeks at Dalhousie; and it was a joy indeed to see this sweet Sister finding real rest of the deepest kind, and in every sense, in the home of such a Husband; one we could love and admire with our whole hearts. We travelled down together as far as Gurdaspur dak bungalow: I remember the date, because it was Arthur's 5th birthday - October 12th [1869]; and the following day he and I went off in a 'dak ghari' together. My last sight of them was as they stood in the verandah together, his arm around her, as they responded to our waving handkerchiefs - Arthur bravely trying to swallow his tears as he asked 'When I'm eight years old, then will little Auntie come to England?' . . . Uncle Willy knew it was a hard parting for us sisters - for within a month our party would be on the wide seas en route to England - and perhaps a dim foreboding of sorrow to come deepened the shadow of that hour. How kindly God veils our eyes - and thus I knew not that our next meeting must be in Glory, . . . I was perfectly happy about her, for I had implicit confidence in Uncle Willy, and this was only strengthened when she wrote three months later 'even you and John could not be happier than we are!' {p58}

A few days later Arthur and I reached Calcutta; and I began to pack for Home going - and to say goodbye to friends of five years standing - and we had many.
I had interesting work in a large Sunday School for half-castes, or 'East Indians' (as they are called), in the Free School Church Compound; which Church, by the way, was built for the survivors from the 'Black Hole' tragedy in 1750, and their descendants. A young Civilian named George Knox (brother of the present Bishop of Coventry) was our most energetic helper here on Sundays. He is now (1894) one of the Judges of the High Court at Allahabad. There was a 'European Orphanage' too, which I visited sometimes, interesting as being the first of the kind established in India - and as old as the present century. On mentioning this institution to my Father once, he said he knew it well, and when residing himself in Calcutta had constantly visited it, and given the children treats etc. It was jealously kept for pure European orphan girls only - and many of them married really well, in days when it was difficult to meet with English girls in India. The Normal School for training 'East Indian' teachers as Bible women in Zenanas was an interesting place too, of which I saw a good deal, examining the different classes sometimes. It was in these days, and still is I understand, under the management of an Indian Female Zenana Society Lady Superintendent. This Normal School was in Cornwallis Square - quite in the City. Just opposite was a Native Church, well filled by educated natives - one part curtained off by courtesy for the native Christian ladies - who, though no longer 'purdah' (or shut up) yet shrink from publicity in consequence of the customs of their people for centuries ever since the Mahomedan invasion, when it was first felt to be necessary to hide Hindu ladies in the higher walks of life from the insults and villainy of Mahomedan men. Mr. Welland preached in this Church at this time every Sunday - to highly educated Christian Babus (gentlemen) some of whom told us that he could speak far better on religious subjects in their tongue than they could; because their own theology had all been learnt in English.

Amongst these were the Dutt family, some of whom were afterwards well known in England, and published a book of Poems - translations made by themselves from Sanskrit, Persian and Bengali into English. Most of this {p59} work was done by two girls Aru and Tauru Dutt, who travelled with us to Europe - and afterwards spent three or four years in England (one at Cambridge) studying - with their parents - but both died soon after their return to India, while still quite young, having acquired lung disease in our inclement Island. There were three Brothers Dutt, all very remarkable men; Govin Chunder, father of the above-named girls; Grish - and Haru, and their wives - all thoroughly cultured and refined. One day Father was calling on 'Grish Babu', whose wife was present. On asking whether they had any family Grish said 'No - God has withheld from us this blessing - so I have spent some time in teaching my wife European languages'. Pointing to the bookshelves he said 'These are our children', and turning to his wife said 'Shew Mrs. Barton how many German and French books you have read with me!' - which she, smiling, rose shyly and did - running her hand along the shelves. This was a very isolated and remarkable case 25 years ago.

I visited a good many Zenanas with ladies of different societies, and always found them very grateful. One wrote out for me on a slate 'Jesu lover of my soul'; and shewed me at the same time a pair of slippers she had worked for the then Viceroy Lord Lawrence, which she hoped he would accept.

The compound where most of the Missionaries lived was called 'Mirzapore' - in which were three houses; one occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Sandys (she a sister of Bishop Stuart, of Waiapu, New Zealand; and now in Persia); another house by Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan - he was the first who had a Home for lepers in Calcutta, and also wrote 'The Trident, the Crescent and the Cross'; and the third house was occupied at intervals during our 5 years in Calcutta by Dr. and Mrs. Hooper, and by Mr. and Mrs. Greaves. Of these eight splendid and devoted workers, only three are now living. Dr. Hooper is still at work at Lahore, at the Theological College – he is said to be the greatest scholar now in C.M.S. ranks. Mrs.Sandys and Mrs.Greaves continue their labours on behalf of Foreign Missions now in England - each of them having given two children to the Mission Field.

So we said 'Goodbye' to Calcutta - on November 9 1869 - sailing for Marseilles, and thence made our way to Nice for a short visit to my Parents and Aunt Mary, now the only daughter left at home. They were delighted {p60} with you, my Arthur, who were certainly a very jolly boy of 5 years; very fair, and with lots of fair wavy hair. We chaperoned Aunt Fannie Elliott home too - and her Arthur, 2½ years your junior, and baby Edith. You two little men had several smart altercations in Hindustani on boardship, in such idiomatic language, and with such a perfect accent that gentlemen used to stand and listen to you, and say they would 'give three months pay' to talk as well as you children did! Little Arthur Elliott and his mother remained in the South of France all that winter, and he picked up French quickly; and we used to say of him a year later that he "learnt 3 languages, and forgot two of them before he was three years old!"



April 1897. It is nearly 3 years since I wrote the last sentence; and as I am growing old, I must hasten to chronicle the events of my life , up to date, if possible.

On Xmas Eve 1869 your Father, Arthur and I landed in dear old England once more; and by evening found ourselves at Spring Cottage, Tunbridge Wells, with such a warm welcome from dear Aunt Rick, Aunts Bessie and Emily; who after spending 10 years in Brighton, made their home for 7 years at this pretty place. They had most lovingly given little Johnnie and Fred and Nurse Wilson a home for several months, and we found the former a splendid sturdy little chap of 3¼ years, in the greatest excitement at our return; jumping on the spring bed prepared for us, clapping his hands for joy. Fred was a lovely boy of 15 months old by now - and for the time had quite outgrown his delicacy. The beautiful and queenly Aunt Rick was Mother and Grandmother by turns to us all, and we had a very happy 2 or 3 weeks together. I remember that Arthur could hardly get dressed on Christmas morning for gazing out of the window at the wonderful white world on which his eyes now opened for the first time - for he had of course never seen snow lying in India.

In the middle of January 1870 we took up our abode at Tuxford Rectory, Nottinghamshire; and there on February 25 you were given to us, my Cecil, our 4th dear Son. Dear Joe Welland came next month to your christening - and stood godfather, with Uncle Jack and Aunt Emily. Our attraction to Tuxford was the prospect of being near the dear Canes; and the 3 miles of the good London to York Road between Tuxford and Weston Rectorys were constantly traversed {p61} by both families. It was the first time since our marriage that Aunt Alicia and I had lived at all near each other - and we were glad that our children should meet, in their respective gardens and nurseries. It was most amusing to see dear Uncle Jack carrying his four tinies at once - and he amused the Railway Company one day by travelling with all four 'under paying age' (3 years old). He was quite an ideal Father with young children: and I never knew a child who did not love him. The most timid would grow fearless with him, and the most solemn grow merry. All his own children inherited his love of water; and were ready to follow his lead even recklessly on expeditions to the River Trent etc. Our little ones used to love to stand on his shoulders, and try to touch the ceiling with their hands; quite confident that his strong arms were holding them safely. And since it has pleased God to take this beloved Brother and Uncle to Himself, young and old in the Family all agree that there is no one who can fill his place to them - the freshness of Eternal youth was seen by all of us, before Eternity claimed him.

May came - and our happy party had to break up; and we went first to Uncle Gerard's home - Fundenhall, in Norfolk, where we found him surrounded by 9 out of his ten children. To our dismay poor baby Cecil developed whooping cough here! and passed it on to some of his little cousins. Cecil was very ill for 3 or 4 months - and caused us much anxiety - and I dared not trust him even at night, to anyone but myself.

We were in lodgings in London the beginning of June [1870], when the India mail brought the tidings of dear Isa Young's birth on 7th May (my own birthday) at Hoshiarpore, Punjab; and in the middle of that month, whilst on a visit to Uncle Willy's mother, old Lady Young, at Formosa, near Maidenhead [Formosa Place, Cookham, home of Sir George Young, which was later renamed Lullebrook Manor], a telegram brought the heart-breaking news of Aunt Isa's death, on May 28th. For weeks after it seemed as though the Flood had come over one's life, and drowned every other thought and interest - and my greatest comfort was my own wailing sick baby as I thought of the precious motherless girlie far away. I took little Cecil away to Brighton with a nurse - it seemed easier to bear so great a sorrow alone with God. The telegram from India asked your Father to break the sad news to my Parents abroad - and he went off immediately to Genoa. Directly my dear Mother saw him she guessed the truth - perhaps no one could have given her such comfort at this time as he - who has so great a power of sympathy. {p62}

Aunt Mary who had left my parents some months before, on account of her health, and came to England to spend the winter with Lady Eastlake, was with us all this summer - and faded like a crushed flower under this heavy trial - Aunt Isa and she never having been separated until '67 when Isa came to us in India. Aunt Mary completely lost (and has never recovered) her high soprano voice that summer: and for the next 10 years had more or less ill health. Sorrow leaves different marks on different souls, but as we look back on life we learn to thank God as much for the dark days as the sunny ones; and we would not have been without the clouds - for 'he that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend...'

July and August of this year [1870] the mind of Europe was full of the Franco-German war - the Siege of Paris etc., and few went abroad for their summer holiday.

As soon as dear Father returned from Genoa, we decided to go to Scarborough for August - as the sea was best for Cecil, who was still very ill - and all 4 boys now had whooping-cough. The dear Aunts came too, and we shared a large Vicarage there - a Mr. Parr's. In September I had my first sight of the English Lakes - and dear Father was delighted to introduce me to Ambleside, and its surroundings, where he had botanized and walked so much all his undergraduate days - and knew every mountain top. In October [1870] we settled in London for 6 months at 24 Onslow Gardens, and Father had work daily at the Church Missionary House [Salisbury Square, Fleet Street?], as one of the Secretaries. We were very glad to find ourselves near dear old Indian friends this winter, General and Mrs. Lake, Lady Edwards, Lord and Lady Lawrence, Sir William and Lady Muir, and others.

In November [1870] we went for a few days to Formosa again, so as to be there to welcome Uncle Willy and his baby, when they arrived from India. It was a dark winter's night when as we sat listening for the travellers, we heard the carriage drive up; and poor old Lady Young, who was trembling at the prospect of meeting her stricken son, dared not go to the door to meet him, and told me to go. I went - and dear Uncle Willy stepped out of the carriage, and put a soft little warm bundle into my arms. Neither of us said a word - silence was eloquent. I took our sweet sister's little legacy into the warm drawingroom, and opening the shawl in which she was wrapped, beheld a pink and white vision! At this moment she opened her blue forget-me-not eyes {p63} and smiled; from that moment she has had a place in my heart next to one of you eight, and you know she has ever loved to call herself 'Number 9'. I think no amount of expressed sympathy could have said more than did the hushed silence of this reception of the dear young widower, who had brought his motherless child 6000 miles across the sea to his own old home, to his people and to her people. His own mother and sister, your Father, Aunt Mary and I and the old servants at Formosa will never forget that hour. Presently, the little one, very wide awake with intelligence, began to realize her strange surroundings and looked round for him who then and for many years after, was father and mother combined. He took her upstairs to his own old nursery, followed by the dumb whiterobed native nurse; and next morning gave Isa her bath with his own hands for the last time, as he had had to do all the journey, and then made her over to me and his own old nurse. During the following months they spent many weeks with us, and baby Isa in her black velvet pelisse and white satin bonnet was a radiant picture, as she sat side by side with the solemn little Cecil (not 3 months her senior) in his perambulator!

In May [1871], Fred picked up measles somewhere and gave it to his three brothers, returning Cecil's compliment of the previous spring, when he conferred whooping-cough on the family. Kind Aunt Em took Arthur and Jack into lodgings at Tunbridge Wells, and began to establish her fame in the family as a highly-qualified nurse and universal child-lover, as a friend indeed because a friend in need!

In June [1871] we took a house on Streatham Common for 3 months, a dear old-fashioned roomy house, covered with glorious wisteria; and Father took the duty very often for Mr. Eardley, Vicar of Emmanuel Church. We used to quote Tennyson's lines, when speaking of this summer home: "Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite beyond it blooms the garden that I love ..." - a garden much appreciated by us all that summer; its shady old trees, green lawns, and roses in abundance, being luxurious rest to Anglo-Indians.

Arthur went to his first day school here to keep him out of mischief being very active both in mind and body. He knew all his letters by 4 years old - and could write them all by 5, and enjoyed his school, tho' not yet 7 years old.

On July 17 [1871], a glorious summer morning, Nurse Gibson went to fetch Arthur home from school, and asked if he would like a present? He answered that he had very often asked God to give him a little sister, but she had never come! 'That is just what he has sent you today' said Gibson, - and thus with great rejoicing by the whole family was our sunshiny Ethel received - though Arthur said he 'should have liked her better if he had seen the angels bring her! and if she had been big enough to play with him'!


John returns to India, 1871-1872


August [1871] soon passed - and your dear Father began to prepare for his return to India, having now quite recovered from his Calcutta trouble - dysentery. The C.M.S. asked him now to take Mr. Royston's place in Madras, as Secretary to the Society - and hoped the much drier and healthier climate would suit him better than Calcutta. It was a great trial to contemplate being left alone for a year with our five little ones - but we felt it would be wise - as Father wished to see all the South India Missions now, which meant a good deal of travelling for some months; as the Presidency was new to him, and the Missionaries and their Stations also. Besides this, it was best that I should spend another year with the four small boys before I left them, and followed the Father to India with Ethel.

So he took a snug little house for us on Mount Ephraim, Tunbridge Wells, called 'Ernstein Villa', and settled us in there, before he left us on October 3rd [1871]. By this time Uncle Willy and little Isa and nurse had returned to India; and Aunt Mary to our parents at Nice the previous month; so it was a happy arrangement for me to be near dear Aunt Rick, and Aunts Bessie and Emily. I was known in the town as 'the lady with the Boys', as I was never seen without one or more of you - and you two elder Boys wore grey tweed kilts at this time, which gave you rather a distinct personality. Arthur and Jack were inseparable friends - Jack being very tall for 5 years made a good pair to Arthur at 7.

One of the last days of October [1871] I received a telegram from Bombay telling me the dear Father had arrived safely. This same morning I heard a discussion going on between Arthur and Jack as to how many steps on the stairs they could each jump. Arthur's finale was "You think you can jump 6! See - I can jump 12!" and before I could reach them Arthur had leapt his vaunted 12 steps, and coming down on his right wrist, bent it back. The bone was not broken, but had to be bent back, a painful experience for the venturesome {p65} little man, and was most bravely borne. It was during this winter that Arthur, who was often in trouble, made the far-seeing and calculating remark "If good were bad, and bad were good, what a good boy I should be."! He went to a day school here again, and Jack was my pupil and chief companion - and never liked me out of his sight. Indeed both of these dear little men had a chivalrous feeling that they ought to take care of me, in their Father's absence. Canon Hoare, Vicar of Tunbridge Wells, was a very kind friend to me, often giving me fatherly advice about my 'Boys'; and we all felt 'Spring Cottage' like a second home, whenever we went to the dear Aunts there.

During the first half of 1872 I had to hunt for a home in which I could happily leave you four Boys. I corresponded with, and saw twelve families before I decided finally to leave Arthur and Jack at Harrow, with Mr. and Mrs. James Stuart; and Fred and Cecil with Aunt Annie and Henry, then 6 years old, at Dorking. Both homes were very comfortable - though the Stuarts was very expensive; but we had every reason to believe that parents who had succeeded so well in bringing up their own 4 boys, would do their duty well by ours.

Late that summer [1872] we went to Ilkley - and to see the W. T. Stows at Great Bradford - whom we had known well, and stayed with at Taljhin, in the Southel Mission, in previous years. We had an objectionable landlady at Ilkley, and Arthur and Jack were much incensed because they had heard her speaking rudely to me. They were playing cricket together one day on the green in front of our house, when I heard the gallant little Jack (not quite 6 years old) say with much warmth 'I wish the old landlady would come out here! Wouldn't I bowl my ball at her legs!' After one more visit, to West Wickham Rectory, Kent, to the dear Austens, and where Jack spent his 6th birthday, I took and left these two at Harrow - and Fred and Cecil at Dorking. Fred was just 4 years and Cecil 2½; very backward, being tongue tied, and could not speak a word before I had to leave him - the string was cut twice after this, and before he spoke at all. Ethel had the same little defect - but it was discovered at a week old, and soon put right with her.

Arthur was very good at chess now - and much amused Mr. Stuart by beating him. He was the only one of the four fully aware what the long parting from me would mean. The last night, he leant over the sleeping Jackie in bed, and said 'Poor little J! he doesn't understand anything about our going {p66} away - we won't wake him'; and the next day he was most brave; and tho' he squeezed my hand very tight when the carriage came in sight which was to take me away, he never shed a tear. I had explained to them, that we were leaving them for Christ's sake - and must each of us take up this cross bravely. Only those who have to do it, know what it is to leave four children thus, and sail away over the Seas.

I spent my last two nights at Dalston, East London, where Uncle Jack (Cane) had temporary work for 18 months whilst Weston Rectory was rebuilding. On October 2nd [1872] this dear brother saw me off at 6 a.m. from Holborn Viaduct, with Ethel and Nurse Gibson; and I seem now to hear the lines that rang in my ears that early autumn morning, and started me with courage on my long journey alone to India - 'So long Thy Hand hath blessed me, Sure it will lead me on'.

We went first to Vevey with my parents, and my sister Mary, and there I first met Mr. Littler. He was then Secretary to my Father, who suffered much in his eyes - and wrote his letters and read to him - an excellent fellow, about 21. During my short visit my Father had an operation for glocoma performed by Dr. Dor, the first Swiss oculist of the day. I held his hand all the while, and watched with great interest. He was not under chloroform, or ether.

As our passages were taken by a Rubattino steamship from Genoa on October 24 [1872] it was arranged that the dear Mother, and her maid and Italian manservant and little Ethel and her nurse and I should travel together as far as Genoa; and after we had sailed, my Mother would go on to their winter quarters at Nice; leaving my Father to follow with Aunt Mary and Mr. Littler, so soon as his eye was sufficiently healed. We travelled to Italy via the Mont Cenis tunnel which had not long been open - and my dear Mother being rather nervous, I remember I held her hand in one of mine, and my watch in the other, to see how long the transit took us. We emerged on the Italian side of the mountain in 24 minutes. I daresay it is done quicker now; but this was 25 years ago. Next morning as we neared Genoa, Ethel seemed very feverish and fretful, and 'Nancy' (mother's Swiss maid) examining her closely said 'C'est la rougeole! (measles)!' In a few hours the Italian doctor at Genoa confirmed this opinion - and further insisted on my delaying my voyage to {p67} India for a month. This verdict was rather a thunderbolt as I remembered how it must affect Father's plans also - for he was to cross India from Madras to meet us in Bombay. I telegraphed to him "Ethel measles come by Nov. 24." - and then all difficulties were smoothed for us, and we spent a very happy month with my beloved Mother, who christened you Ethel 'Gentianella' because your eyes were so blue (tho' now brown!)

As soon as you were well enough, we sailed all together for Nice, and spent the remainder of our month of waiting in my Parents' winter home. It was here that Antonio, who was very fond of nursing you used to say whenever you coughed, my Ethel, "Ucelli! Ucelli!" to make you look up to the painted ceiling of our Italian salon, to look for the 'birds'. The device generally answered, and as you stretched your little throat in search of them, you ceased coughing. It became quite a family saying - and I often found it answer with you younger ones. My Father joined us at Nice quite recovered two days before we left again for Genoa; and he sent Mr. Littler with us thus far, most kindly. Here our old friend the Marchese Durazzo met me - and took me over his historic Palace, a show place in Genoa; as was his country home Pegli, ten miles off, where he, drove me also. He is a liberal and devout Roman Catholic - called by the Genoese their 'saint'. He saw us on board our steamer on November 24 [1872] - and on the following night, as we lay in the Bay of Naples for an hour or two, the heavens were ablaze with a magnificent shower of falling stars. I have since heard Sir Robert Ball say that on that date our planet was passing through the tail of the constellation Leo.

[Emily is confused here: meteor showers are caused by Earth passing through the tail of a comet (in this case probably the remains of Biela's comet), though they may well appear to emanate from a radiant point in a constellation such as Leo.]

December 19 1872 was perhaps the happiest day in my life when we dropped anchor in Bombay harbour. It seems now but as yesterday that I watched a little boat briskly rowed by six or eight natives come cutting through the water; and your handsome Father, then 35, with a white helmet sun hat on, and his bright colored beard looking quite golden in the sunlight, came alongside our big steamer. I left Gibson with Ethel in her arms to meet him at the head of the companion ladder - and met him myself in my cabin. We were soon on shore; and after a day or two with the C.M.S. Secretaries, went to a pretty little hill station close to Bombay called Mattaran, for two days. Thence to Allahabad, in those days a journey of 2½ days and nights, {p68} to attend the first great Missionary Conference (the first ever held, and suggested by your Father), at which 140 men of different societies, American and English, were present. On this journey we made the acquaintance of Lieutenant Seton Churchill (now Colonel), who was the only layman present at that Conference.

Early in January 1873 we travelled North, having promised to pay Uncle Willy and little Isa a visit at Delhi, where he was then Deputy Commissioner I.C.S. One day we drove out 11 miles to the famous Minaret called the Kutub, the tallest in the world, and climbed to the summit. Later the same day we watched a clever feat of natives leaping slowly from a height, and diving into a tank below. Father went on to Lahore to stay with Mr. Valpy French (since made Bishop of Lahore, and who later gave up his See, and ended his days, as a 'faquir missionary' at Muscat, in Arabia). This great 'Seven-tongued Man of God' was at that time the first Principal under C.M.S. of a Theological College for training educated native Christians for Holy Orders.

During this month Uncle Willy took me to see the dear Sister's lonely little grave at Hoshiarpore - about 150 miles North of Delhi. Accacia trees surround the sacred spot - and in the distance the majestic range of Himalayan mountains keep guard around; at our feet we read the words 'He brought me to His Banqueting House - and His banner over me was LOVE.' ...... Father was ill at Lahore again, with his old Calcutta complaint, and I joined him until he was ready to travel - and thus had the pleasure of seeing Bishop French, Mr. George Gordon, and Mr. Wade - who three lived in their bachelor chummery there.

Some time during February [1873] we travelled South the 1800 miles rail journey to Calcutta, picking up Ethel and Nurse Gibson at Delhi; and spent a month with Mr. and Miss Welland at the 'Old Mission Church House' - where he was then Secretary to C.M.S. as well as private Chaplain to the Viceroy Lord Northbrook, taking morning prayers daily at Government House, and the Vice-regal suite all attending the 'Old Mission Church' where this dear brother-friend preached.

By the middle of March we had settled down at the Church Missionary House, Egmore, Madras; and although Father had spent the best part of a year here already, {p69} it was a new home to me, and a very different one to Calcutta. The house stood in the middle of a large compound - with a grove of mangoe trees on one side of it; and on the other a famous old banyan tree, much frequented by cobras, and snakes of sorts. The Father spent much pains on laying out this garden - in laying on water - and making a fountain etc. It was his one daily recreation, to be out from 6-7 a.m. superintending the malis (gardeners) with the blue water cart, drawn by the little red hump-backed Indian cow; for without abundant water no Indian garden may thrive. Our porch was filled with a great variety of foliage plants - colias, and crotons which flourish well in Madras - and many beautiful creepers, of every hue, grew luxuriantly on the porch and climbed the trees, 20 and 30 feet high. I have never seen except on that porch the 'moon flower creeper' - which only opens its large snow white blossom to look at the moon, and closes it again before daylight.

The lower floor of this house was used by C. M. S. as an office, where their Secretaries and 9 Clerks worked; and our rooms were all on the floor above, with a wide and lofty verandah on two sides, in which Ethel delighted to play, and was monarch of all she surveyed, the little tyrant of all the native servants; especially of 'Chunnia', then a lad of 13, who has since visited us in England. In India our servants will only do one work, which necessitates a great staff of them, though I once calculated that the cost of 20, to whom one gives neither food nor washing, comes to the same as that of 4 in England to whom one must give both.

During the three years that followed, we had another very dear Missionary Brother associated with us closely, who lived in a bungalow in our compound which Father had built for him, and for receiving Missionary friends whom (as Secretary) he was expected to entertain. 'David Fenn' was one of the noble band of three itinerating Missionaries who, living fifteen years in tents, had started evangelistic work in North Tinnevelly, as I have before said. Mr. Fenn was a first-rate Tamil Scholar and devoted to the natives, and his bright, brotherly and youthful manner made him correspondingly popular with them. Every early morning he spent sitting in the native bazaar (or city) talking and preaching in Tamil - always obtaining an attentive audience. Then, after breakfast, he would have all our native servants in, and seated {p70} in a semicircle on the floor around him, these would hear daily the Words of Life. 'Little Ethel' always attended these Tamil Prayers; not that she could understand much, but she took a great interest in seeing that the servants behaved properly! more so than in doing equally well herself at English Prayers, which were taken by your Father directly after, and to which Nurse Gibson came. Every evening we drove out our pair of Pegu ponies to get some air on the sea-shore - for Madras is situated on an open 'Roadstead' - the bare red-brick dusty shore being very uninviting except for the breath of air to be met there at sundown.


April, 1902. It is sad to see that it is five years since I touched this book; and life behind looks very long now, and ahead looks very short here. I see that I still have to record nearly 30 years of blessing and privilege. My pen must needs be a long one indeed if it could tell a hundredth part of the loving kindness either of God or of one's fellows during these many years.

When I left off we were in Madras - you four dear elder Boys were far away in England; and Ethel was the sunshine of our Indian home; toddling about the big rooms with great independence, and with a strong personality of her own already. One day when I was prophesying a rheumatic old age for myself, Bishop Speechley who loved and admired her said "Never mind! you'll have an Ethel to nurse you!" The Father had a Church in Madras, as he had previously in Calcutta, during five years. The C.M.S. kindly undertook this duty for the Christ Church Grammar School for many years, thereby saving the expense of a Chaplain. We became much interested in our congregation there during the three years that followed. It was mainly composed of East Indians (as the half breed population is called in India); though a good many of our friends among the Government officials attended Christ Church, Egmore. Amongst these were the Rowlandsons and Dobbies, Nangles, Sturrocks, and Sir William and Lady Robinson.

The work I most enjoyed was the Sunday School, of which Mr. Malcolm Goldsmith was Superintendent. (He is still at work in Madras; a very delicate, humble and holy man of God). His work has always been among Mahomedans, who often became furious if worsted in an argument, at Open Air preaching for instance. One day (he told me long after) they had thrown {p71} bricks at him, and spit at him (as at his Master before him). The preaching ended, he took refuge in his little shut-up carriage and drove up to our house. I met him on the stairs, very white, his handkerchief stuffed into his mouth, and he pointed to his lungs. I laid him flat on a sofa at once, and after an hour or two we got him to bed, where we nursed him for a month. The excitement of the preaching scene had brought on haemorrhage. I mention this because it is interesting to be able to add that though this happened when Malcolm Goldsmith was only 25 or 26 years old, he has been able to live and work in India for 30 years service; and has been much blessed, and beloved by many Mahomedans since those days. They greatly respect a man who leads an ascetic life, and understand it, because they think it resembles their own faquirs; but they can not understand any higher motive for a life of self denial than to attain merit. They only understand 'what must we do to be saved?' - not 'what may we do because we have been saved?' They only understand reward in this present life, of human applause, money etc. not the infinitely higher reward of the Hereafter. Missionaries are often asked 'How many Rupees did Government give you for making so and so Christian?'!

external image Emily%20Eugenia%20Barton%20nee%20Elliott%20with%20class.jpg
Emily with her Madras Sunday School class, ~1864.


Another interesting, though very different Sunday School from that for East Indian children, went on every Sunday morning, under the trees in the compound surrounding our Church - when a native Catechist gathered together from 80 to 100 dark skinned and be-turbaned coachmen and grooms, who had driven our congregation to Church, and there Sunday after Sunday preached Christ to them. There was also a Refuge for English-speaking East Indian girls nearby - where I took a Bible class, and taught them some of the earliest of Mr. Sankey's hymns, which were just becoming known in England.

In July of this year [1874] we again went to the Nilghiri Hills (or Blue Mountains) for two months, and had a house called 'Burton Cottage' at Ootacamund. It was here that Father christened Ethel 'Gyps', for she loved to come in with her arms full of chips of wood, and toss them on to our wood fires; her eyes which had now turned dark brown, dancing the while full of mischief. She was in a fair way to be spoilt - had not God sent her a dear little sister on April 21 1874 to share her nursery.

I think you were quite as welcome as your 'Gipsy-sister', sweet 'Jessie-mine', but very different in looks. Exceedingly fair, and from the first delicate, as was natural, born in an Indian hot weather. I remember that for two months at this time we could not get the temperature of my bedroom below 96° day or night - and we had to have a punkah pulled inside our mosquito net all night long. We asked David Fenn, Uncle Willy Young, Aunt Annie Fitzpatrick, and Fannie Littler to be your Godparents - and knew that we thus insured you much prayer.

This July [1874] we again spent two months on the Hills, at Ootacamund. Here baby Jessie somehow contracted whooping cough, and by the time we reached Madras again was very ill. A low fever reduced her strength to a minimum, and a day came when all hope seemed gone. There were no clinical thermometers in those days, but when she was burning like a little coal on the fire our Doctor said 'If you have the courage to put her into a cold pack, it might save her.' Like a Spartan mother I did it - and wrapped in blankets soon rocked her to sleep in a chair. In half an hour or so, I saw big drops rising on her forehead, and knew that humanly speaking the crisis was past. It was not unknown to me when I ventured on this strong measure, that Lord Hobart, Governor of Madras, had on that very day died in a cold pack at Government House - but it pleased God by this means to save our Jessie's life - and she has on this very day that I write (at Bishop Auckland, 1902) completed her 28th year.

[Emily probably misremembered: Lord Hobart died not in 1874 but in 1875, only a couple of months before Emily's father died, which she describes as happening at the end of her tour of South India below.]



Tour of South India, 1874-1875



View Emily & John's Tour of South India, 1874-5 in a larger map


In October of this year [1874] (continued at Tattingstone Rectory, August 1902) I accompanied Father on a deeply interesting tour in South India, leaving you two dear little girls in Gibson's and dear Mrs. Fenn's care in Madras. Twenty-four hours rail journey brought us to Cochin - and thence to Trichur, on the Malabar Coast - West - amongst the Travancore people, who speak the Malayalam tongue. It was at Trichur that the devil-priest 'Walayalam', whose nail-studded sandals, and spear, and silver needle we possess, with which he made painful pilgrimages in search of deliverance from Sin, and obtained instruction and found peace through the help of a C.M.S. Missionary, Mr. Bower.

Here too it was that we walked through fields in the evening where the sensitive plant, which lined either side of the footpath, curled up as my skirt brushed it in passing; and we heard that if one man owed another a grudge, he sewed this plant by night in his field! Thence we travelled some days in a 12-oared boat, along the circuitous salt backwaters which {p73} fringe this Western Coast - having left railroads behind us for some weeks. The rowers beguiled the way by singing us many of their weird minor songs - and we stopped at several little Mission Stations to see small self supporting Christian congregations and simple Churches and Prayerhouses. Then on to Cottayam, the scene, since 1816, of the labours of the C.M.S. family of 'Bakers'. Mr. Speechley too (afterwards Bishop) was at this time Head of the 'Nicholson' Training Institution here for young clergy; mainly drawn from the Colony of Syrian Christians settled in this District, since the days of the Apostle St. Thomas, who is believed to have died at 'St.Thomé' close to Madras.

Old Mrs. Baker, who was at this time 75, had in her large School of Syrian Christian girls, the great grandchildren of her first pupils. An effort was made to induce these girls to remain unmarried until 17; the custom of very early marriages proving so prejudicial to the race; and scholarships had been founded wherewith to dower every girl who thus braved public opinion, and married comparatively late! I have samplers, worked on one thread of muslin by these girls amongst our curiosities; and some very fine beadwork of their doing - also a bundle of neatly cut strips of palmyra leaf, on which - with sharp steel stylos - some of them wrote me out a text in Malayalam, putting the reference in Roman character in English, to shew they knew thus much of our language. With Archdeacon and Mrs. Caley we were rowed down the River Ravee - famous for the beautiful vegetation that borders its banks - hidden in whose deep shadows are many little villages well-peopled.

At intervals, we came abreast a long flight of stone steps, surmounted 150 feet higher by a tall and ancient stone cross, reminding one of those on the Island of Iona - and of about the same date; and behind this cross stood always a little Church. In every such village we were met by the Syrian priest - or 'Catanar' - who lived in rooms, appropriated to the celibate clergy alone, over the Church Porch; but many of the priests are married, and live elsewhere. Their dress is a long white cassock - bare heads - and a tonsure. Once, arriving about midday, we called on the priest who immediately rang the Church's solitary bell, and summoned a large congregation.

Another time Father having had some interesting talk with the priest who told him he had 'preached all the Revd. Canon Clayton's sermons'! and that Nichol's Help to reading the Bible was his favourite study, was asked to take a seat at the raised East End, and watch the 'Mass' Service. This ended, the Priest descended the flight of steps, and standing amongst the congregation, passed the 'Kiss of Peace' to everyone; having first put it between his own two hands; and then placing these on either side of his assistant's hands, with words of blessing, bid him likewise pass on the 'Kiss'. Mrs. Caley and I from a gallery witnessed this interesting service. A great Revival of spiritual life took place 30 years ago in this Syrian Church - and they came quite out of Romish doctrine, though retaining some of their ritual.

Leaving this Syrian colony behind us, we went on to Trivandrum which is a Native heathen state, with an English protectorate, and native Rajah. Miss Blanford, a C.M.S. lady has now worked for over 30 years here, with great devotion, and seen hundreds of girls through her School; and visits the Rajah's ladies as a well-loved friend. The marriage contract alas! is a strange and very loose one here, and the succession goes through the female line. A child is never asked who her Father is? but who her Mother? Little girls are betrothed at 5 or 6 years of age, and not usually allowed to go to school after 12 when they go to their mother-in-law's house. The iron heel of tyranny lies heavily on both sexes in this Native State; but thank God it has been lightened now for 50 years past by the labours of the servants of God; and a knowledge of Him and of the only way of salvation thus deceminated.

We were now nearing Cape Comorin; and our only means of locomotion was in hammocks, carried by 4 men at a time, and our youth Chunia ran alongside us all day, and at night cooked us curry and rice, in primitive style making a fire of charcoal in a hole scooped out of the earth.

At last the extreme end of the great Continent of India was in sight, and the vast spreading Indian Ocean beyond. Shortly before we reached the great temple erected by faithful Hindus on these sacred Southernmost Rocks we met a dishevelled, long-haired, faquir-looking man, who was evidently, from his dress, quite a foreigner to his surroundings. We accosted him in Hindustani, at which he beamed, and salaamed, and we both halted to converse. On enquiring where he hailed? he told us that he had taken a year to come on foot from Kashmir, and was now turning his face homewards, for another year's tramp Northwards. This was in fulfilment of a vow made to his god; his son's life having been restored after a severe illness. What a lesson in gratitude! We gave him a coloured text card; and prayed that the true Light might shine into his grateful heart.

From that uttermost shore of South India we picked up and brought home in a bottle three different coloured sands, red, black, and white - garnites, emery, and quartz. Edyinggoody was our next halting place; on the East, and Tinnevelly side of the Peninsular. We spent a night or two there with the Wyatts, S. P. G. Missionaries; and must have seen there for the first time Arthur's future wife - Lilian - then 4 years old! I remember admiring there a set of tubular Church Bells, which Dr. Caldwell (Mrs. Wyatt's father) had just brought out from England, and had taught a native to play Hymn tunes upon, by way of chimes. We were now in British territory again - and divided from the Native State of Travancore by the range of the 'Ghauts' mountains.

Both here, and at Palamcotta and at Menganapuram and every other station we visited, we were greatly struck by the brilliant coloring of the long winding cloths (called saris) worn by the women; a great contrast to the pure white, colorless cloths worn on the opposite coast. The bright colours were far better suited to the dark hair and eyes, and chocolate coloured skin of these graceful, and for the most part, good looking women. At Palamcotta we stayed with Bishop and Mrs. Sargent; and I taught her Boarding School of daughters of Christian pastors to sing 'Safe in the arms of Jesus' in parts. It was at Menganapuram, 24 miles off, that your Father preached in the splendid church built by Mr. Thomas, of C.M.S. 50 years ago, to a congregation of 1500 native Christians seated cross-legged on the stone floor - and, as I was present, I can endorse a statement I have heard him make about that service, i.e. that on giving out his text, the noise of the turning over the leaves of hundreds of big Tamil Bibles was so great that he had to wait before he could be heard. (I am afraid our clergy at home are not similarly troubled by the use of too many Bibles by their congregation!) Father spoke by interpretation to this sea of upturned dark faces, and most attentive audience. {p76}

We visited Sivagasi, where Mr. and Mrs. Robert Meadows were then at work - the former having done many years itinerating work with Ragland and David Fenn, as I said before; and here Mrs. Meadows had rallied many women around her by her medical work. We saw Ragland's grave here - regarded by the Natives as the shrine of a holy man. Madura we next visited; which boasts one of the largest, and most ancient temples in India, also one of the wealthiest, owing to the enormous amount of jewels belonging to the goddess who reigns supreme within its walls. On asking to see these, we were told that the lady in question had gone out to lunch! and was wearing her most valuable gems. Those we were shewn however were the largest stones I have ever seen - emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds - some as large as the Kohinoor, but badly cut; or rather uncut, and in barbaric settings. The last place of interest we saw in this District was Trichinopoly, famous for its Rock-temple; as also for the English church where Bishop Heber lies buried under the Communion table.

By this time Christmas was near; and we took train for Madras, to be ready to meet our friend Mr. Sholto D. C. Douglas who was on his way out to us from England, to conduct a Mission in Madras amongst the English - at Father's invitation. This was our first experience of these sort of services, which were then comparatively new - and it was a time of great help and blessing to our congregation. After the Mission, Mr. Douglas, who was an old College friend both of Uncle Arthur's and your Father's, went a tour round the South India Missions, as we had lately done; and we lent him 'Chunia' who had just done the tour with us, and who proved invaluable. Mr. Douglas ultimately went a tour round the world, which was then not so readily accomplished as now.


Death of Emily's father, and birth of her son Guy Douglas, 1875


In August [1875] we heard of my Father's death on July 1st and decided to go home the following spring. We spent two months of this hot weather at Coonoor, a Hill Station 12 miles short of Ootacamund; and at an elevation of only 5000 feet instead of 8000. I was in poor health, and during September was in bed with congestion of the liver etc. As soon as I was able to travel we descended the Hills; I in a hammock or 'dandy' as they are called in India; Father riding his pony beside me; and Gibson and the two little sisters, drove down in a bullock cart with the luggage. {p77}

Early on the following day I awoke to realize that an event not due till November, was imminent; and dear Father promptly chartered a special train to take us into Coimbatore, 25 miles off, where the nearest Doctor was to be found. With his wonderful consideration, he made light of what any one might legitimately have labelled an 'inconvenient contretemps', and saw the bright side only. And there, in the Government Dak bungalow two hours later our fifth son was born, and named Guy Douglas. A fortnight later, baby and I and the dear Father and nurse, in an invalid carriage, made the 16 hour rail journey into Madras; and found Gibson and the little girls to welcome us. You were a delicate baby, my Douglas - and privately christened - your second name being after our Scotch friend who had spent the previous winter with us. He, and Uncle Tom Causton, and Aunt Phena were your Godparents.

Towards the end of November [1875] we had the great pleasure of a visit from Uncle Willy Young and Isa, then 5½ years old. They came all the way from the Punjab - 2000 miles by train, and spent two months with us. The Uncle wanted to see us, and the Madras Presidency, and South India Missions whilst we were still there; and also wished his lonely child to have the companionship of her cousins. It was a great joy to have them with us for so long, and Isa and you dear girls have been like sisters ever since. Uncle Willy went, during December, for a three weeks' tour in Travancore with Father, whose Secretarial duties took him there; but found the damp heat of the West Coast so trying that he fainted one day! and thought it just as well that his sphere of work did not lie on the Malabar coast. He was at this time Secretary to Sir Robert Egerton, Lieutenant Governor of the Punjab - whose daughter 'May' he married six years later. In January or February [1876] Father and Uncle Willy travelled together to Bombay to meet Uncle Charlie and talk over business connected with my Father's will, as Charlie was en route to England.


Return to England, 1876


My Father's death had made our duty clear to come home - and we arranged to leave India in March 1876. We had a very kind 'send off', and parting gift from members of our Christ Church congregation, in the very handsome silver tray of Indian design that you all know; with medallions of Indian scenes on it, and a coil of snakes all round. In Bombay {p78} we parted from our faithful Gibson - who had been with us six years - and she went to take charge of Isa Young in the Punjab for two years; and then brought her home to us in Cambridge.

An East Indian nurse helped us on our voyage Home with the little party of three: Ethel then 4½ years old - Jessie nearly 2 years - Douglas 6 months; and we landed at Naples to avoid any longer sea journey. Here we were detained by the 'douane' discovering that our 'ayah' had a large lump of tobacco packed in with her clothes! As we had innocently denied having any such taxable article amongst our luggage, these hot-headed Southerners were furious on finding the Ayah's baccy! and accused us of complicity in the deception etc. The tobacco was confiscated - we were heavily fined - and had a long Hotel bill to pay besides, for our three days detention in Naples.

After this followed two days in Rome, which Father then saw for the first time - though I had spent the winter of 1860-61 there. Thence two days in Florence - and after 36 hours or so rail to Paris another two days rest; and we found ourselves once more in dear old England, about April 8 or 9th. Looking back I realize what a very bold venture it was taking three tiny children, with an Indian Ayah, across the continent, thus, through Italy and France; and I do not know the man living who would have done it except your Father, whose chief object was to save me a longer sea passage, as I am a bad sailor. Can you imagine him cooking baby Douglas' food over a spirit lamp as we made those long rail journies, during quite six days and one or more nights? A better traveller than he in those days I cannot imagine - and he never saw difficulties - and made a trouble of nothing.

April 1876 saw the commencement of our English home life. Uncle Charles Elliott and Aunt Fannie had preceded us a few months from India - he being my Father's only son now, and executor, and your Grandfather's will being very complex, and as your Uncle recognised unjust to your Aunts, his presence was essential before it could be 'proved'. Your Uncle met us at Charing Cross Station, and we were much shocked by his ill looks, though we little thought that he had but three months to live. {p79}

My dearest Mother had settled in Strathmore Gardens, Kensington, since my Father's death at Geneva the previous July; determined to end her days with her children from whom she had been much separated all her life. And here she and Aunt Mary received us, for a short time until we found a house at Blackheath for the Easter holidays which would hold us and our seven including the four boys left at home 4 years previously. My Mother though sadly helpless now from rheumatism was so bright and rejoiced to have us home; and seemed to us so delightfully free after the many years of constraint she had endured; and we hoped she might long be spared to us.

Miss Fitzpatrick who had latterly had charge of Jack, Fred and Cecil at Notting Hill, was told to bring them over to 'make acquaintance with their parents' - and Mother loved to see us surrounded by our children. Jack, then 9½, was by far the strongest, and had an excellent treble voice which was at once a great pleasure to me - and which early encouraged our little family to sing. Fred less sturdy, was 7½; gentle and dreamy, a lover of flowers and of country life. Cecil who was just 6 read and repeated poetry remarkably well - with a good memory and pretty manners - and was so old and companionable for his age that his Granny was quite happy left alone with him for the afternoon to amuse her.

An abscess had just formed on Cecil's foot at the ankle which caused us anxiety; and was followed by a second which rendered him quite lame, and we took him for advice to Sir James Paget, who said - prophetically - that he would never be able to live in the valleys of rivers. Nor has he - and the lupus from which he has suffered on that foot ever since has been a trial bravely and silently borne. During this summer he was on crutches or in arms whenever moving - and Ethel who was next him in age was much devoted to him, though rather overwhelmed at times by the three elder brothers' somewhat boisterous attentions. Arthur was the last to arrive to renew acquaintance with his parents, as he came from Tyttenhanger School, near Hertford, for his Easter holidays; and I remember standing at the window watching for him as he drove up in a hansom cab; and as he jumped out in Eton jacket and top hat felt very proud of our big Boy; and thankful that we had seen it right to leave India and return to make a home for them ourselves. Arthur was a fine, strong, well-built boy of 11½ now; a good pair to Jack, and they were always the best of friends. {p80}

In June [1876] we became anxious about Uncle Charlie's health - and a London Doctor advised his trying Buxton waters. We were paying a visit to Weston Rectory to the Canes, when Father received a note from Uncle Charlie asking him to come and help him settle up your Grandfather's affairs. He went at once to Buxton, and next day wired me to follow him, as Uncle Charlie was dying. This came very suddenly upon us, but proved only too true; for three days after I reached Buxton, viz. on July 1st, your Uncle died. His complaint was then called atrophy of the liver; he did not suffer, but got thinner and weaker until he passed away from us. He was only 42, and left Aunt Fannie and three sons and Edith; Bob the youngest was five the day of his Father's death.

My Brother had evidently felt nearing his end - and as he had the utmost confidence in your Father's judgment had sent for him to advise him about making his Will. He authorized Father to got our lawyer - Rhodes - in London, to make out a Will at once, as briefly as possible; and as my dear Mother had been advised to dispute her Husband's Will, as being both unreasonable and unjust, your Uncle instructed Father to have a certain portion of the Grandfather's legacy to himself made over to your two Aunts (who were the parties most injured by the Will) on condition that all legal proceedings were stopped. This was a filial act on Uncle Charlie's part (as well as a brotherly and generous act); for though he fully agreed in the injustice of the Will, he was most anxious that his Father's name should not be dragged into Court. And he knew he could depend on your Father, who held both the above views with himself, to carry out his wishes in conjunction with the lawyer. The time was short, and the matter urgent; for my Brother had said he could not die happily until all was settled.

Your Father went to town next day - the lawyer and Counsel sat up all night to get the papers ready; and the following day Mr. Rhodes took the Will to Buxton to read to your Uncle and get his signature. This was done in the presence of your Aunt Fannie, Father, Mr. Eddy - Vicar of Buxton - and Mr. Rhodes of course. Dear Uncle seemed greatly relieved when this business was over; and your Father helped him dress in his Indian 'chaga' etc. and wheeled him into the adjoining Drawing Room on a sofa. But a few hours later, a collapse came on, and he began to sink, and peacefully {p81} passed away about midnight. He was a man of few words, but told your Father he knew all was well. His was a case such as is described by Micah in Chap.VI.8. We laid him to rest at Buxton, and the verse on his white marble cross is 'We asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest him a long life - even length of days for ever and ever.' Ps.21.4.

After the funeral we left Buxton, and spent the remainder of July [1876] at Matlock; Aunt Fannie was with us, and two of her children. August at Retford, in Nottinghamshire; and September at Southwold, where Uncle Claude Thornton, and your Aunt Fanny his wife, then lived at the Vicarage. She was a very fine woman, both in looks and in character; and her five children were of the same ages as our, from Jack to Jessie. I think this was the last time we saw her - for her children alas! were left motherless less than 18 months later.

In October [1876] we took a furnished house in Strathmore Gardens a few doors off my dearest Mother, who had made a home there for herself and Aunt Mary and fitted it up with Tattingstone furniture. There was a good deal of vigour about the dear Mother's mind and manner, though she was much crippled with rheumatisms and gout in her eyelids made her almost blind. Many of her watercolour and pencil sketches are known to you all but her clever hands could no longer paint or work. Yet she never allowed herself to be dull - because she had a wonderful gift for throwing herself into the interests of others and of living in their lives; and of picturing their friends and surroundings which she had never seen, nor would see. This true unselfishness made her greatly beloved by all who knew her. Outwardly she might have been thought a wreck of a lovely, and in some ways a brilliant woman - she certainly was this last in conversation, and in linguistic talent; and in the rapidity with which she read and mastered books so long as her eyesight lasted; as well as in her remarkable memory, for we often tried in vain to puzzle her with a question in history. But spiritually and intellectually there were no signs of age about her. She liked to keep up with all the best books of the day - and was read aloud to much by Aunt Mary and by all of us in turn. She greatly enjoyed music, and when the Canes were staying with her, and we had the help of Uncle Jack's sweet tenor voice, we managed a good deal together. Her powers of learning {p82} by heart too were first rate - so that within a week of her death she and Aunt Mary used to see who could learn a chapter in the Epistles first! Mother drove out now in a brougham most days, and I was often her companion, not being able for much walking.

We had a bright Christmas with her, and our children delighted her with carols. And then - a slight chill taken brought on bronchitis, and after only three days in bed, God took her Home, on January 3rd 1877. It was a crushing and sudden blow to us all; for there seemed no reason why she should not have enjoyed some years of love, joy and peace surrounded by her children, and their children. But it was all gain for her to go hence - and she smiled when we reminded her shortly before the end that her Arthur had said 'I will be at the Gate to welcome you, Mother'. We laid her in the vault at Tattingstone [Church], where our Father, and Grandparents, and Uncle William Elliott all lie, and with her 'passing' the Chapter of my early life seems to close.

The two houses in Strathmore Gardens were now broken up; and your Father accepted a charge at Harrow, and took duty at Rosceth Church; and we had a lovely house there for nine months called 'The Mount' - since turned into a Nunnery! There on April 5th [1877] our sixth son was born; and we called you Claude William Boileau, my 'Benjamin'. Mr. Henry Wright, Uncle Claude and Aunt Fanny were your sponsors.

It was the beginning of this year [1877] that Pryke came to us, as cook. She was then a young widow if 27 with one delicate boy. As you all know she has been in the family almost ever since; partly with us, and partly at Thornhaugh - and is (as I write, 1903) now living with Will at Rawdon, as Housekeeper.

That summer [1877] we had a Missionary Garden Party at the Mount, and gathered many of the gentry around us, to hear Bishop Crowther, of Sierra Leone speak. The 'little ones' came down later in the afternoon; and I well remember my confusion when Jessie - aged three then - gave a terrified scream on catching sight of his coal black face! which I had to cover by flying with her into the garden. Next day too, Arthur was found in tears; because on the Bishop's departure, when Arthur returned to the bedroom from which he had been ousted for a night, he thought he would have to sleep in the same sheets as the Bishop, and that the black would come off!! {p83}


Settling in Cambridge, 1877-1881


This was the first summer we took you all to Cromer; and thence Father and I went one day to look at Trinity Vicarage, Cambridge, to decide whether he should take charge of Mr. Charles Simeon's old Church - Holy Trinity. This was eventually agreed upon; and in October of this year [1877] we furnished, and settled down in, our first English home; and I know it was a very happy and interesting home to all of you dear ones, as well as to ourselves for 16½ years; for we did not leave it until February 1894. It was a large roomy house; 14 bedrooms, 6 sitting rooms; with a Drawing Room planned by our dear old patron, Mr. Peache, to suit large gatherings of Undergraduates; and when our friend Sir Arthur Blackwood gave an address in that room in November to 80 men as our 'house warming', it was the first of very many that took place there during those 16 years.

Looking back one realizes with sorrow how much was left undone - and how much more might have been done. Yet I feel bound to record here our deep thankfulness that we were allowed to fill our lives all these many years full for others; and that we were given the health, the means, and the desire to use our great opportunities amongst hundreds of young men at the University, during this critical time in their lives. We came to that work with eight children; the eldest 13, the youngest 6 months. Aunt Mary was now a member of our family too; and when the following year Isa Young from India joined our schoolroom party, our household numbered 20 - including our two selves and a governess.

Besides this large establishment, we had a parish of 2000 a mile or more off; which had many calls upon us. And finally we had a large, and steadily increasing family of 'Sons in the University', as I have said; never less than 200 on our books, introduced by parents, guardians or clergy; and all were invited to the Vicarage two or more times every term. Father's advent in Cambridge was the beginning of a new era there as regards interest in Foreign Missions. He speedily started the plan of having a collector in every College, amongst the men themselves, for Missions; and at the close of each term, these men brought their boxes or lists to Father to shew how they were getting on. The result was not only a great increase in funds derived from the University; but the increase in offers of personal service was still more marked; the number of offers to C.M.S. alone during the next few years amounting to 140. {p84}

Our friend Arthur Shields who gave 15 years to the Mission Field, has told us that it was a remark of Father's on one of these occasions which sent him out. Putting his hand on Shields' shoulder, after he had brought up his collection from Jesus College to Father's study one day, the Father said 'Why don't you go yourself, Shields?' For years Father Had a Bible Reading for young men in his study once a week - and two or three times a year large gatherings in our Drawing Room to hear such men as Bishops Hannington, Poole, and Stirling; Col. H. McGregor R.E. - Mr. Sholto Douglas - Sir A. Blackwood - Mr. Evan Hopkins - Webb-Peploe - C. A. Fox - Hay Aiken and others.

One afternoon a week during Term, we were always At Home to Undergraduates; and with the help of little books of notes which I called my 'cribs' I easily learnt to remember faces, names and initials, parentage and homes, Colleges and lodgings, tripos and sports of each. Sunday evenings too we kept open house for men - and 25 to 30 often came up to coffee and singing. We wondered more houses were not thus opened to Undergraduates when we heard that tutors and proctors said more men got into mischief on Sunday night than on any other day, from not knowing what to do with themselves. As years went on, and you dear boys were absent at school nine months out of twelve, and our table less full, we used to ask men in to breakfast, lunch and dinner, two, three or four at a time, and seldom had a meal alone, or a half hour that we could call our own. Thank God for the youth and health and strength to live such a life - we could not do it now - and I often wonder how we did it then.

Our dear old Church — Holy Trinity dating from the 12th Century - underwent much restoration during the next few years; and your Father's tact and smile got over any difficulty experienced in small changes he felt it right to make in the Services. Doors with locks to them were first removed from the seats; and then high pews cut down. The organ loft and one gallery were taken away, and organ put into transept; the chancel re-pewed in oak. The Psalms chanted, and Amens sung; surplice in pulpit etc. Mr. Death, then Mayor, gave £500 for an East window in 1887 in memory of Queen Victoria's Jubilee; and Mrs. Death gave an oak eagle lectern later, as a thank offering for Father's safe return after a four months trip to Ceylon (in 1884) to smooth over matters between C.M.S. and Bishop Copplestone. {p85} (This last event, by the way, was engraven on Jessie's memory in an amusing way, as I have since discovered; for she, being then ten, was set to write out a copy 12 times for some peccadillo committed; and the words given her to write were "Father is a peace-maker"!) Later on a new pulpit was given by the Deaths; and Charles Simeon's old mahogany one converted into a cabinet to contain books in the New Vestry. Ladies in our congregation worked long and short kneelers for the East End; and I worked an altar cloth which was a great pleasure.

The autumn of 1877 had been Arthur's first term at Haileybury, and Jack joined him there the spring of 1879. Arthur, after 3 years at Haileybury, began to coach for the Army - and went to the Oxford Military College for a year; thence to a crammer, Mr. Wolfram at Blackheath; and got his Commission in 1885. Jack, after six happy years at Haileybury, entered that same year at Pembroke College, Cambridge. Whilst Fred, after 3 years of day school in Cambridge, went to Monckton Coombe, near Bath, in 1880; and spent from 1883 to 1886 at Highgate School, coming up to St. John's College in 1886.

Cecil, who was seven when our Cambridge life began, was the eldest of our Schoolroom party, then presided over by Emmie Smyth as governess. Ethel was Cecil's companion there; and a year later they were joined by Isa Young. Jessie, Douglas and Billy formed the Nursery trio. In 1880 we were advised to send Cecil to live by the sea on account of his poor foot; and he spent three years with Mrs. Vines at Ramsgate, and went daily to the South Eastern College for his lessons. He was then 10; and when after six months, he brought home a prize for Scripture knowledge, he told us he felt sure he owed it to having been so well grounded at home in Mrs. Mortimer's later books 'The Captivity of Babylon', and 'Kings of Judah and Israel'. In 1884 Cecil joined Fred at Highgate; and in 1887 or 1888 he too came up to the University, and entered Trinity Hall.

You three elder Brothers were always good at every kind of sport; but Cecil, to whom this was denied, had music as his compensation. From a child he had shewn real talent in this way; and as he grew up, both Organ and Piano were a great resource to him, and have been so increasingly.

And now I must look back for a spell. {p86}

In 1879 or '80 we saw the foundation stone laid of Ridley Hall - at Newnham – and your Father being one of the Council of this new Theological College, persuaded Mr. Handley Moule, after some difficulty, to accept the post of Principal of this Hall, when opened, and to combine with it the Evening Lectureship at Holy Trinity Church. He was well known in Cambridge, having been Dean of Trinity College for some years - but had given up this post three years previously in order to act as curate to his revered old Father at Dorchester - whose death in 1860 set his son free to return to Cambridge; and many both amongst 'town and gown' rejoiced at his return.

In January 1881 'Ridley' was opened with its first 8 graduate students. Canon Girdlestone, who was one of the large company present on the occasion, when congratulating Father on his success in persuading the new Principal to accept the post, added (prophetically!) "the next thing you must do is to get him a good wife"! The remark was not made seriously - and at the time nothing seemed more unlikely; and yet, as you all know, that very year, in August 1881, he married your Aunt Mary and became your 'Uncle Handley' - and has ever since enriched our family by his prayers, his sermons, and many other gifts; and has proved a 'Brother indeed' - for no man living loves your Father so much.

After their marriage Isa went to live at Ridley Hall, and she and Ethel and Jessie went daily to the Girls' Perse School for some years; thence Isa and Ethel went to Vevey to school together; and later on, the first went to Cheltenham College, and the last to Brownshill Court, near Stroud, until 1888 and 1889 when School days ceased for both.

I should not forget to mention that in April 1881 Uncle Willy Young married 'Aunt May' - and in 1884 they came home together - and again in 1888; after which last visit they took Isa back with them to India.


British holidays, 1878-1882


Our summer holiday outings were such a marked feature of every year, that I must chronicle these; and perhaps it may have a rejuvenating effect on some of you to recall those weeks in years to come. The dear Father was anxious so soon as you Boys were old enough, to pass on to you, and share with you, his own early love for the English Lake District; its Hills and Dales and Lakes; and he knew it well, for he had botanized much in this {p87} country-side during the fifties. He also taught you early to study, and make maps of the country you walked, and later cycled through - thus encouraging a topographical knowledge of your own land first and foremost. We had both of us realised the educational advantages of travel in other countries as well as our own; and as far as able, carried this out. Our rule was not to go two summers running to the same place for our holidays; but we gave a great preference to the English Lakes having visited them ten times between 1878 and 1901.

1870 was my own first sight of Windermere and Ambleside, where Father and I spent a week or two near Waterhead. But I believe 1878 was the first year we took you three elder Boys there - and had Willy and Arthur Storrs with us at the same time; about your ages. Just before you young people joined us, we had been present at one of the earliest of the Conventions started by Canon Battersby at Keswick. These gatherings began in a field at the foot of the Rectory garden, in a tent; and have been held annually now for nearly 30 years. They were the outcome of two previous Conventions held in 1874 and 1875 (while we were in India) at Oxford and Brighton, for the deepening of the spiritual life of believers; and to refresh and help those whose lives are mainly spent in teaching and in helping others. In those days 300 or 400 looked forward each year to spending ten days in the lovely Vale of Keswick (then a quiet retreat) for rest and teaching as to how to lead 'a higher holier life'.

Now the hundreds have become thousands; and although many feel that these occasions have been somewhat spoiled by numbers, and regret that the assemblies have not been more regulated by clergy of the Church of England, yet there can be no question that they have been fraught with a vast amount of blessing to both men and women; and amongst these to many clergy. The chief leaders of this movement after Canon Battersby have been Mr. Evan Hopkins, Mr. C. A. Fox, Mr. Webb-Peploe, Mr. Elder Cumming; and in later years your Uncle Handley Moule (who has been on the Keswick platform once since he was made Bishop of Durham) - and George Macgregor. Afternoon sylvan gatherings on Friar's Crag, or on one of the little islands on Derwent Water; and singing of well known hymns in boats on the Lake on beautiful summer evenings enhance the charm of the retrospect. 'Like a river glorious' is perhaps the best known of the hymns whose harmonies we often heard floated across the waters, and joined in. {p88}

August 1879 we were again at Cromer - where Colne House, the Dowager Lady Buxton's home, has for many years been a rendezvous for the great Buxton, Gurney and Hoare clans, and for many other privileged friends. The myrtle bushes, and fuchias growing out in that garden, the latter 20 feet high, are remarkable; and as Cromer faces directly to the North Pole this greatly surprised me. Father says it is due to the soil. The proximity of country lanes, and of the heather-covered Lighthouse hill, and a Roman encampment on the moor near the sea shore, add greatly to the charms of Cromer; and at this stage in your lives you younger ones loved it much.

In 1880 we made a great departure, and went for June and July, with the 4 younger ones and Fred, to Wemyss Bay on the West coast of Scotland; and Father took duty at a little church there built by Mr. John Burns, afterwards Lord Inverclyde, who lived at Wemyss Castle; and which is now owned by his son. Aunt Mary, and Isa (who has always called herself 'No.9' in the family) were also of our party; also Pryke and Pratt and Nurse and parlourmaid and Emmie Smyth. I have a very happy remembrance of that two months. You two sisters were dressed in scarlet petticoats and dark blue sailor blouses; and Douglas and Willie in scarlet knickers and blue jerseys. I fancy I can see you all tripping barefoot on the rocks after sea weed; or Isa and Ethel either side of Pratt bathing from the beach.

The outline of Arran is very beautiful from Wemyss Bay, and we spent one lovely day on the Island; and found fuchia hedges growing like privet or laurel, and rare ferns and flowers for which Fred had a sharp eye which pleased your botanical Father. I may mention here, that before he was 20, Father (together with Aunt Rick) made a very interesting collection of wild flowers and dried and classified and named 1300 out of 1500 of those that grow in the British Isles; the mahogany cabinet containing which he has now given to Willie. He also made a large collection of Indian ferns when in that country.

Aunt Alicia and Uncle Jack Cane paid us a visit at Wemyss bay, and we went for a two days trip to Inverary and Oban; and thence to the two interesting Islands of Staffa and Iona. The first with its basaltic caves into which we rowed in a small boat, amidst columns like those of a Cathedral aisle. The latter island hallowed by the memory of St. Columba, the first English Bishop who brought the Gospel to our Northern Isle {p89} from the East, in the year 563 and who lies buried there, with many other early Christians. A very beautiful Iona cross, date about 300 A.D. is the original of one we often see copied - and is in wonderfully good preservation, with a crucifix cut in it.

At the end of this July 1880 Father and I went again to Keswick - the younger ones returning to Cambridge; and Arthur and Jack met us there from Haileybury. Father enjoyed great walks with them, and pioneered them over most of the Hill tops in turn: Great Gable, Grisdale Pike, Skiddaw etc.

In June 1881 Father went to Switzerland, and was at Bex with dear Uncle Jack Cane; and in August that year as I have before said, Aunt Mary was married to Uncle Handley; after which great family event we spent a quiet time at a village called Bourne nine miles from Cambridge which was not very interesting.

For July and August 1882 we all went to Tattingstone Rectory; and Father took duty for my cousin Mr. R. Hawkins, in my dear old Home. The Moules paid us a little visit there; and it was a great pleasure to see many of my dear ones around us in a spot which must ever be peopled by the memory of dear ones 'gone before'; and of my own childhood and girlhood, for I was born there. It is the garden that I love best - with its deodara avenue; and rustic flower-covered arches; its fine ibex and copper beech on the big lawn; and long shrubbery walk leading up to the Church where sleep our blessed dead until the Resurrection Morn. The Park, too, across the road is delightful with its fine witch-elms, and swans and wild fowl on the waters.


Moody & Sankey's visit to Cambridge, 1882


During November this year (1882) Mr. Moody, the American Evangelist, held a Mission in Cambridge which was a unique experience. Although he had been actually invited to the University by the Undergraduates, a large number of young men were prepared to mob Messrs. Moody and Sankey on the first evening. There were said to be 1700 young men in the Corn Exchange, 300 or more of whom were singing rowdy songs before the speakers came on to the platform. As soon as these gentlemen appeared, they were greeted with derisive shouts, and jokes from these ill-mannered youths; until half a dozen Proctors and M.A.s present (your Father being one of them) walked down the Hall in cap and gown, and picking out the ring leaders, quietly ordered them out, and thus restored silence. This apparently bad {p90} beginning, wraught for good in the end; for the more gentlemanly men (though not yet at all of Mr. Moody's way of thinking) were so indignant at their companions' rude behaviour, that they got up a memorial to apologize to Mr. Moody; and Mr. Lauder (recently consecrated Bishop of Hong Kong) who presented the apology became a changed man from that day. In addition to special addresses to men, there was one general meeting each night for All; and as I sang in the choir, it was a wonderful sight to watch the rapt attention of hundreds of upturned faces, as that remarkable 'Apostle' from the far West arrested and held them by his simple racey style; his only eloquence being that of a Heaven-sent Power. Such men as Oscar Browning, Fellow of Kings, Welldon (now Bishop), Ryle (also Bishop), Appleton and others, sat daily under Mr. Moody; and other 'dons' also. The 'After-Meetings' held nightly in the Annexe for speaking individually to those who desired guidance and help, were crowded. Most of the 'Cambridge Seven' who went out the following year for the China Inland Mission, found these gatherings the beginning of a new life to them. Amongst these were the brother cricketers Stanley-Smith - Charles and J. K. Studd - Pohill - Turner - Beauchamp and very many others; including a remarkable Japanese named Wadagaki. Mr. Sankey was the first to prove at this time, by his Solos and Quartetts, the power of the Ministry of Song at such services; and his methods, from their unconventionality and warmth and reality reached the hearts of all classes rich and poor; in all the greatest towns of England and Scotland - including London where - in one of our great Theatres - even some of the Royal Family went to hear the Evangelist.


Nine months in Europe, 1882-1883


This Mission in Cambridge gave a great deal of work to the Clergy; and when it was over, Father quite broke down; and Sir George Paget [brother of James Paget?] ordered him abroad for several months. Thus it came to pass that on December 22nd [1882] ten of the family migrated to Brussels for a month, en route to Switzerland, and did not return to England for nine months. Brussels is a bright, clean, beautiful town; but Father was so poorly all the time, that I was not sorry to move on at the end of January 1883 to Clarens, on Lake of Geneva. Jack returned to school at Haileybury; and Fred and Cecil were at Monckton Coombe and Ramsgate respectively. We placed Arthur for three months in a family at Montreux to learn French; and settled down at {p91} 'Maison Martin' a Villa above Clarens, for four months, with Carol Mathews, who had now been with us a year; and Ellen Jacklin as house parlourmaid; and a Swiss cook.

We sent the 'four little ones' to a French Day School; and when snow and ice abounded, it was great fun to toboggan down our long hill to School every morning; Father generally steering. As the winter passed and the snow melted, numberless wild flowers spring into life and blossom, and our little Chalet was surrounded by a many-coloured carpet. Gradually the dear Father regained strength and tone, and thoroughly enjoyed the life. Every afternoon he took you dear children long walks - with his botany case slung over his shoulder; and brought back treasures to make our rooms gay — first with the wild crocus, then hepatica; later anemones white, mauve, and scarlet, and sulphur. Snow-flakes, 'primula farinosa', golden adonis, globe flower, monkshood, gagea followed; besides fields white with narcissi, which also covered the hillsides, and strongly flavoured the cows' milk! and several varieties of gentian. Many of these Father dried, and has preserved; and others which would not retain their colour, I painted. I had half a dozen lessons from a girl at Clarens - the only ones I ever had; and painted over 40 wild flowers that spring. At Easter dear Uncle Jack and Aunt Alicia came out to pay us a visit for a fortnight, and also Uncle Handley and his brother Charles Moule. We took a carriage and made a two or three days excursion in the Simmenthal with the two last; and revisited Rosinière, where I had been 20 years before with our Parents and Aunt Alicia.

You dear children and Carol had put up a lovely big WELCOME on the Chalet, in oxlips, in letters a foot and a half high, on our return. You were all great walkers; and though Guy and Will were then only 6½ and 5 years old they walked as well as any; and nearly reached the summit of the Rocher du Naye once; and thoroughly imbibed their Father’s keen delight in flowers. To make sure of not overwalking the younger ones, Father let Guy lead and set the pace. Mr. Ormsby was Chaplain of Clarens at this time for many years; and the whole family were very kind and friendly.

In June [1883] we moved to Ballaigues on the Jura Mountains for three months; whence we had wondrous views of the Dent du Midi; and Morchs; and of the {p92} Oberland Alps, and even of Mont Blanc. The lovely sunset hues that these snow-capped mountains took on, made even little Guy exclaim one evening 'The roseate hues of early dawn, the brightness of the day; the crimson of the sunset sky, how fast they fade away'!

In August [1883] the three schoolboys came out from England for their holidays; and we sent Jessie, Guy and Will home with Carol, and kept only four with us. We visited Orbe Chaumont and Neufchatel; and I remember a Nail factory which greatly interested the Boys - also the Clock and Watch and Musical box factory at a lovely place called St. Croix, in the Hills. On leaving Ballaigues, and en route to England, we took them to see Lausanne, Clarens and Chillon; and also Berne, Interlaken and Grindelwald.


Assorted travels, 1883-1890


By the middle of September [1883] we were once more in our Cambridge home, and found Aunt Mary's little Tessa, now 10 months old, at Ridley Hall, had grown apace during our absence.

The summer of 1884 we spent a month at Rednock, on the Lake of Monteath N. B. [North of the border?], the home of an early friend of Father's, Mr. Graham Sheppard. Arthur was 20 this year, and we gave him a gun, and he shot his first game with the keeper; and sent you four 'little ones', who were at Cromer with Aunt Bessie, his first brace of grouse; which she, over-generously, shared with the Causton family much to your chagrin! This August we heard that Arthur had passed into Sandhurst; where in September. he took up his abode, until the following August when he got his commission.

external image John%20Barton%20and%20his%20family%20at%20Holy%20Trinity%20Vicarage%20Cambridge%201884%20Back%20row%20Ethel%20Jack%20Cecil%20Jessie%20Fred%20Centre%20row%20Arthur%20Emily%20John%20In%20front%20Bill%20Guy.jpg
Captioned 'Trinity Vicarage 1884'. Back row: Ethel (aged ~13), Jack (~20), Cecil (~14), Jessie (~10?!) and Fred (~16). Front row: Arthur (~20), Bill (~7), Emily (~45), Guy (~9) and John (~48?!). Possibly it was taken later than 1884, and mislabelled?


This autumn of '84 we had three cases of scarlet fever at Trinity Vicarage; Ethel, Willie and a housemaid all came out in the rash on the same evening. Carol, Jessie and Guy went immediately into rooms in Trumpington Street, and we isolated the three infectious cases on the Nursery landing with a qualified Nurse. You four elder boys were fortunately away; but Father, who was on the point of starting on a Peace Mission to Ceylon for 4 months where ructions had arisen between Bishop Copplestone and the C.M.S. men, felt great difficulty about leaving me; and had such a bad throat himself at the time, that the doctor could not certify his as being safe from infection. He decided to go, however, unless a fourth case developed in a given time; and as all went well, we faced the trial of separation at such an anxious time, and he sailed early in November, {p93} leaving me alone at Trinity Vicarage with the servants and three invalids. Thank God all went well; and after two months we emerged from our seclusion into the world again; and after the most strenuous precautions against retaining infection in the house, we left Cambridge for a month or so, and went to Hastings, the four younger ones Carol and I; whilst Pryke was left in charge at Home to see whitewashing, sizeing, and painting carried on throughout the rooms on the Nursery floor; sulphur burnt in every room, and clothes fumigated therewith. Mattresses were all thrown out of the back windows, and taken away in iron hand-carts to be disinfected by order of the Sanitary Council; and every Nursery picture on the walls, burnt, alas! It was a great deal of trouble (and expense also); but I felt that in a house where there was so much coming end going as in ours it ought to be clear that if another case of fever appeared, infection had come from outside, and not inside.

In March 1885 the dearest Father returned after four months absence, having accomplished the end for which he was asked to go to Ceylon, by the Church Missionary Society; and left matters on an amicable footing between Bishop Copplestone and the Missionaries.

In July 1885 we had a delightful family gathering at Colwyn Bay, a Welsh resort which will always be associated with dear 'Cam' who died in his prime four years later of blackwater fever in Sierra Leone. The Mackworth Youngs, and their baby boys Gerard and Hubert, and Isa, you three elder Boys and Ethel (at Cam's special invitation), Aunt Emily Barton, Effie and Alice, besides the whole Causton clan, made a party of 30 in different houses. Most of us met for morning prayers at 'Penrhyn House' and for evenings of singing, where Uncle Willy conducted the large choir of voices; and joined in the many long excursions and picnics arranged by your Father and Aunt Phena, who were the two enterprising spirits. 'Cam' was the idol of all the young ones; because he loved them, and had great sympathy with those on the threshold of life. He was on leave from his Regiment in Jamaica, and this autumn was a turning point in his life in more senses than one. He was keen on temperance too; having realized that alcohol is injurious, as well as an unnecessary luxury for young people in health; and made his cousins sew a bit of blue ribbon on {p94} to all his coats. He stayed with us at Trinity Vicarage later in the year, and drew Jack and Ethel together as friends; and proved a wise counsellor to Arthur who that autumn joined his Regiment, The Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry at Malta - accompanied by many prayers.

In 1886 the living of Tattingstone became vacant, and was offered to Father by Aunt Mary Elliott. (It had been offered him once before by my Father). In declining it - as he did not feel justified in leaving Cambridge - he suggested your Uncle Jack, as the most suitable person having married your Grandfather Elliott's eldest daughter; and in August they moved from Weston, where they had spent 24 years, and enjoyed a very happy ten years in this dear old Home.

We went to Keswick ourselves that July [1886] - and were afterwards at Ambleside with dear Aunt Rick and Alice for a spell; and spent August at Barden on the Wharf, near Ilkley where the Caustons and we met again, as at Colwyn Bay, for several outings. Yorkshire is beautiful, and the River Wharf is an ideal stormy rushing torrent; parts of it (where shallow) of that golden russet colour in which trout love to disport themselves. And the 'Strid', a romantic formation of rocks on this River, is said to have been leapt by a certain English notable when pursued. Nevertheless Barden was not a success; for we had a trying S.W. wind blowing all August; and I know I was sad about Fred, then a dreamy, sensitive lad of 17 years whose long legs looked too weak to carry him, and the burdens of his morbid and over-furtive imagination.

June 20 1887 was our beloved Queen Victoria's Jubilee Anniversary, and we had great illuminations and decorations in Cambridge, though we did not go to London. In July Father and I went to Lowestoft as I had been ill, and took rooms near Uncle Gerard, whom I then saw for the last time. Madge sat by him shampooing his poor paralized hands and legs to ease him. He was only 52 but had suffered from 'creeping palsey' for 7 years. His was a philosophical and reverent mind; he was a deep student of theology, and something of a mystic. He took a very unusual step in being ordained at 40 by the Bishop of Norwich, after having farmed his own land at Fundenhall, Norfolk for years; and acted as Chaplain to his tenants there as a layman, no clergyman being resident there. He had a very steady eye, {p95} and quiet restrained manner; and impressed you always with the idea that he left unsaid a good deal more than he said of what was in his mind on any given subject.

In August [1887] Father took Cecil with him to Norway; and Ernest Causton accompanied them. They greatly enjoyed this trip for a month, and were charmed with the simplicity of the people, and the beauty of the fjords.

The following year (1888) we spent August again at Ambleside; and took Mrs. Cousins' lodgings, where Father had been with Aunt Rick in 1858. Arthur came home from Malta that summer, for three months, and was with us again in the Lake District. He loved the dear old haunts, though he did not enjoy walking as much as the other brothers with Father over 'High Street', 'Scafell', 'Langdale Pikes', 'Fairfield', 'Loughrigg', 'Bofell' and other mountains. During the three years of Arthur's absence he had been through the Burmese Campaign; and came home, with others, to get his medal, and returned in October to India, joined the Bombay Rifles, and worked there for an appointment in the Staff Corps. We did not see him again until 1896.

In March 1889 Father was asked if he would accept the Bishopric of Travancore; but declined. July 1889 we were again at Keswick; this time with Aunt Rick and Father's sisters at Mrs. Petits', close to St. John's Church. The sunset view from the churchyard on a summer evening once seen can never be forgotten. Derwent Water in the foreground at your feet; 'Catbells' opposite - Portinscale in the distance, and Saddleback on the right. In August we crossed the water to Peel in the Isle of Man; and spent a very pleasant month with Jack; who had been working there a year with Bishop Bardsley as a layman, for Seamen's Mission, since taking his B.A. degree, and before he went to Ridley Hall to read for ordination.

Carol brought the four younger ones direct to Peel from Cambridge; and I think Fred and Cecil cycled to Barrow and crossed thence to the Island; or that Cecil was in Northern Ireland that summer with John Robinson of Christ College and only Fred came to Peel. Alice was with us also this month; and it was here that we received the sad news of her brother Cam's death in Sierra Leone. This was a heavy blow in every way to his good Father (Uncle Joseph) who lent much on his eldest son; and looked to him to father the four young step brothers and sisters when he should himself be {p96} taken. Dear 'Cam' was most genuinely mourned by the young cousins, as he deserved; and they can never forget his unselfish devotion to them all.

The Isle of Man has a unique history all its own, with its Parliament, and 'Deempster' and Governor; and its amusing conceit in speaking of "the adjacent Isles of England and Ireland"! Peel Castle is of historic interest since Walter Scott made it known in one of his standard works, and we went over its ruins, which stand out picturesquely on a narrow promontory. One long day we drove to Erin Bay near which King William's School stands; and whence Dean Farrar laid the scene of his story 'Eric'.

In October 1889 the dear Father promised to go out again to India for a year for C.M.S. They wanted him to accept the Bishopric of Tinnevelly vacated by Bishop Sargent's death; but he preferred to take the work for a year without the Office; and the Bishop of Ely gave him leave of absence for this purpose. His aim was to make the Native Christian Church support and govern itself; by gradually withdrawing English money - and some of the Missionaries. He was kept in wonderful health, throughout a year of very arduous work in the tropics, and greatly enjoyed it.

Meanwhile the family dispersed; and Mr. Ireland-Jones went to Trinity Vicarage, Cambridge as Locum Tenens. Ethel, Jessie and I had rooms for six months in Montpellier Road, Brighton, and they continued their studies – attending Cambridge Extension Lectures - and had singing lessons of Madame Parrisotte, and pianoforte ditto. Jack went to Ridley Hall this term, and whilst spending his Christmas holidays with me at Brighton became acquainted with Mr. Pearson, of St. Margaret's Church (which we attended) - and in January Mr. Pearson offered Jack a 'title' as soon as he should be ordained at Trinity 1890; and this resulted in two happy years work together. Fred and Cecil were both at College now; at St. John's College and Trinity Hall respectively. Guy had just started school life at Repton; whilst Will remained at the Leys School Cambridge until September 1890 when he joined Guy at school.

Jack was ordained on May 28 1890 at Chichester Cathedral, and we had quite a nice family gathering at the Old Hotel there for the Sunday - of Aunts and Uncle Joseph, and the girls and myself - arranged by dear Aunt Rick, with special care because your dear Father could not be present. I think too that our Jack was the first of her great-nephews to be ordained. That {p97} Sunday evening I went with Aunt Bessie to see the house built on the old Chichester Wall where your Grandfather Barton spent his last few years, and died. The following Sunday Jack preached his first sermon at Tattingstone on Phil. IV. 6,7; and we spent a lovely week there with the dear Canes; and thence crossed to the Continent - Jack, Ethel, Jessie and myself; visiting first Coblentz on the Rhine, which I had not seen since my school days in 1855; and down the Rhine and saw Heidelberg, and its famous Castle commanding the fine River Neckar. Thence we went to the Black Forest, stopping first at Triberg, and then at Titisee during the three summer months.

In August [1890] Jack left us to start work as a curate in Brighton - and he was at once replaced by Cecil, Guy and Will. Fred was not of our party this summer, as he went, by invitation of a Cambridge party, with Frank Webb-Peploe to Mr. Moody's Conference at 'Northfields' America, to represent the Cambridge Inter-Collegiate Christian Union; and after this interesting gathering of young men, they saw the Niagara Falls, and Lake Ontario. Returning home however, Fred wrote to us that England looked to his eyes - as he travelled on landing, from Liverpool to Devonshire, to join 'the Aunts' - like a prolonged and lovely garden, after the vast and bleak stretches of the great Western Continent.

This August [1890] was a very lively month at Titisee; and the morning hour spent by our own Boys, and some others, in the Lake daily — bathing, diving, swimming etc. seemed to provide great amusement for the German onlookers. The girls got bathing also; and delightful walks in the surrounding pine woods, and on the Hills. Picnics with German and English friends whom we met in the hotel ('Schwartzwald') were great fun. The young people picked dishes of wild strawberries, and raspberries and bilberries in turn; and an old woman in a Chalet Farm near, gladly provided us with a pint bottle of cream for 3d. to add to the afternoon feast.

As we sat one morning at breakfast under the trees an Indian postcard was brought to me, addressed simply "Titisee - Switzerland"! It was from Arthur telling us of his engagement to Lilian Wyatt, daughter of our S.P.G. Missionary friend, and grand-daughter of the {p98} excellent Bishop Caldwell, of Tinnevelly. Father and he had met the family at Kodaikanal in the Palni Hills - and I believe they were engaged a month after. We received much fuller news of course by the following mail, but this was my first intimation of the first daughter-in-law to be.

The month soon sped by; and we descended by a mountain railway to Freiburg; where, at Pension Utz [a guest house], we found those who had known Uncle Gerard and his family; who had resided there during three years, Uncle Gerard acting English Chaplain - and Conrad being born there.

About September 9th [1890] at 11 p.m. we saw Guy and Will off by train alone to England, via the Rhine and Rotterdam; and a welcome awaited them at Tattingstone from the dear Uncle and Aunt before the Repton term commenced. I have heard since that I was considered foolhardy, and even heartless to send these two boys aged 13 and nearly 15 a two days and two nights journey alone in a foreign land, the language of which they knew but very imperfectly. My experience however has proved that in order to make young folk self-reliant you must trust them early to 'go alone' - boys at least - and though Guy and Will had learnt up many German sentences, they found that they were generally answered in English, and they happily met with no mishaps.

Our reduced party, Cecil, the two girls and I, now made our way to Lucerne, and thence to Vitznau, at the end of the Lake. This summer I again took up painting, after not having touched a brush for seven years. The beautiful bilberry that carpeted the ground at Titisee; a short, large, white thistle; and the hairy blue gentian and some others were the result of a few hours when Cecil and the sisters went long excursions - up Mont Pilatus, the Rigi etc. which I preferred not to join.

On a brilliant Sunday morning - September 28th [1890] - a telegram arrived from Father dated Brindisi or Boulogna saying that he was once more safe in Europe, and asking us to meet him next day at Como. With glad hearts we crossed the Lake that morning to join in the nearest English service (which was at Lucerne); and the words of our beautiful Thanksgiving had a special meaning to our quartett - that we might "shew forth our praise, not with our lips only but also in our lives." Next morning at 6 a.m. we left Vitznau by steamer for Fluelen, and ascended the St. Gothard by train; and much enjoyed the wonderful views on that glorious pass - enhanced by the autumn coloring and brilliant sunshine. We parted with Cecil at Goeschenen, who was {p99} going to walk thence to see the Devil's Bridge, and return to Lucerne, and take train to England that night to keep his Cambridge Term.

Our train steamed into Como Station about 4 o'clock that afternoon – and there stood the dear Father, in his white solar helmet hat - we had seen no one who could compare with him for 12 months past - in our eyes. We took steamer to Cadenabbia; and spent ten very happy days at the "Hotel Belle Ile". The azaleas in the Villa Carlotta were only less beautiful in September, than we found them six years later, when we were again there, May 1896 with Arthur and Lilian. The charm of Italian colouring, and the flower scented air, and dreamy, graceful movement of the people who blossom out in the 'dolce far niente' life cannot be reproduced in pen and ink; but we found that these combined with life on a lakeside, make an ideal Rest by the way. Thence we went for a few days to Baveno, on Lake Maggiore, where the girls found that green figs ripened in an Italian sunshine were very different from the best to be procured in our little Island.

On October 8 or 9 [1890] we set our faces Homewards - and spent the 12th (which was the 27th Anniversary of our Wedding Day) at Coblentz on the Rhine. At Dusseldorf we left Jessie for eight months with the Gericke family to learn German; which proved to be both a happy and successful venture. We reached the dear Aunts' home at Croydon with Ethel on the 15th; and were welcomed in Cambridge again on the 17th having been absent a year and a day.


Generations come and go, 1891-1894


In January 1891 the first marriage in the family took place - between our Arthur and Lilian Wyatt, on the South India Hills. After their honeymoon they settled for some months in Bombay - and then to Shalabagh, North India; whence on September 27 we received a telegram saying that Arthur had been elected into the Punjab Commission, in which he can serve till he is 55; and hold the same appointment as I.C.S. men - and draw the same pay; the only difference between 'Military Civilians' and Indian Civil Service men being that on retiring the former draw the pension of the Military rank then due to them, whereas the I.C.S. draw £1000 a year, after 25 years service.

This summer [1891] some of us shared Hawthorne Villa, Ambleside with Aunt Annie and the sisters, while the Caustons had Leighton Lodge a stones throw {p100} off. It was a wet August; nevertheless we had large gatherings of young people around us - the Ormsbys two doors off - and the George Thorntons not far away. There were so many songsters among us that Cecil got up a concert in the Village Schoolroom, and invited all the friends we knew in the place for an hour's music. The Caustons, Bob Elliott, and some of our own party formed a good sized Choral Society! and the Secular and Sacred Parts – which they kept separate, included many fine songs in harmony; such as Part I 'Blow gentle gales' - 'Have you seen my Flora' - Mendelssohn's Open Air Quartetts – and a 'Slumber Song' of Claude Barton's (son of Uncle Gerard, and brother of Madge, of Frank, and Hugh, and Conrad). In Part II we had 'Hear my prayer' and 'Lift thine eyes' - Mendelssohn; 'As pants the hart' Spohr - 'There is a green Hill' by Lord Henry Somerset, 'God is a Spirit' by Sterndale Bennett, and others.

In May 1892 the first great break came to us all; and the beloved 'Aunt Rick', who had 'mothered' eight of the Barton family, and 'grand-mothered' 44 of the rising generation received her call Home, and entered into her rest, aged 84. This rushing 20th Century will see no more of her calm dignified type we fear. You always felt in a cultured presence when with her; and that she was one whose chief life was lived in an atmosphere above this passing world; although she had no religious phraseology. Her sound judgment, unswayed by her heart, was such that every member of the family was guided by her more or less. She united a firm hand over her household with the gentlest manner, which made her truly an ideal Lady 'Mother'. Her servants adored her; and it was said they never left her but to marry or die. Dear old 'Wrapson' - whom she pensioned - lived 52 years in the family; and died about 1898 - aged I think 67.

She loved to talk of your Grandfather Barton – her only sister's Husband - to whom she felt she owed much of her education; having lived all his married life with him, and his widowed life also; and lived on after his death with his children by his request. She travelled abroad with him and her sister, when she was 20, in the days of Post chaises, and 'vetturinos', through France and Italy; and was his companion out riding when they settled in Hants, being a good horse-woman. {p101} Before Railways intersected, and bisected the country and the Penny Post came in, and before Electric wires circumnavigated the world in 3½ minutes, as now, driving this generation to live at a pace which bids fair to annihilate all leisure, and all time for meditation, this Brother and Sister-in-law had time to read and digest books of which present day folk have only time to read Reviews.

When this noble, queenly and much loved lady 'crossed the Bar' she seemed like a ship in full sail going into port, 'into the haven where she would be'; and none could wish to keep her, although her place in our circle can never more be filled. Father, Cecil and Jack went to Croydon to be present at the funeral at Shirley; and that afternoon the electric wires from the Far East brought news of the birth of our first grandchild - her first great-grand-niece - Doris - our Arthur's daughter, born May 21.
Uncle Handley Moule wrote the sweet lines which I append below, about the strange concurrence of these two events:

"RIDLEY HALL, CAMBRIDGE. May 23. 1892.
My dearest Millie,
I was thinking this afternoon of what I said to you on Sunday, about the sunset sky and the morning star, and in a quiet time in the 'Roundabout' I put the thought into verse (as overleaf), as a little message to you and dear John.
Yr. loving Brother
H.G.M.

May 21. 1892
At noon your mother-friend you laid
Beneath the flowers to rest;
At eve the lightning-message play'd
From India to the West;
And grief forgot itself, and smiled
To hail your children's new-born child;
As if, at shut of summer day,
When all its joys were done,
The star of morning lit its ray
Above the fallen sun,
And lo, upon the darkling plain
The golden dawn came up again."

In July [1892] we went to Red Hill, and occupied Mrs. McPherson's house for a fortnight - and here our Ethel, on a Sunday, kept her 21st birthday. In August, Father took her and Jack to Norway - and the Stewards of Ipswich joined the party. I cannot describe their experiences as I was not with {p102} them.

In September [1892] dear Emmie Cane was married at Tattingstone Rectory to Douglas Hamilton, and went with him to Hong-Kong. I see have forgotten to mention Nellie's marriage to Frank Paynter in June 1891. The dear old Home and Church looked their best on both occasions, though parents must always hear minor chords in a peel of Wedding Bells.

On Trinity Sunday [28 May?] 1893 our Cecil was ordained at St. Paul’s Cathedral by Bishop Temple, and Father and I and he and Ethel spent a few days at Holland Park, with Great Aunt Mary Elliott. He was 'ordained to the Colonies'; and was to sail for India in October. We spent part of July and August at Keswick and Buttermere. We had rooms first at Mrs. Wilson's, Borrodaile, whence Father and I went to Keswick for the usual Conference; and we managed a house at the 'Heads' for 17 Missionaries, and our young people rowed in from Borrodaile for the morning meeting. There were some dear Saints at this gathering whom we were never to meet again on earth. Bishop Hill and his wife from Sierra Leone; who both died of fever the following January within a week of returning to their labours in West Africa, together with four others who all fell victims to that deadly climate, and were 'promoted' to higher service above. Cecil slept under canvas for several nights with the Bishop, whilst some special Missionary talks were being given; and he joined us in picnics more than once, and figures in a photo group taken by Jack this month. The Robert Stuarts also were two out of seven massacred on August 1 1895 at Kuchong by the Chinese 'Boxers' - 'of whom the world was not worthy'.

In August [1893] we went over the Honister Pass, to Buttermere Vicarage, into which nutshell of a house six of us packed; while Guy and Will, with Seymour Horan, had rooms out. Father was responsible for the duty there this month, in the very tiny Church; and it was a moving sight for me to see him assisted in the service by his two sons in Holy Orders. Aunt Emily and Alice put up at the hotel at Buttermere for a week, and thus enlarged our family party; and we had Tea picnics at Crummock Water, and elsewhere; and all-day walking excursions. Ever since this summer Seymour has been more or less a member of the family, and quasi-brother to you all and my 'seventh son'; and as I write, we are within a few days of his entering the family as a Nephew. {p103}

When we returned to Cambridge in September [1893], Cecil's last packings for India were done, and October was soon upon us. October 12 this year was the 30th anniversary of our Wedding Day, and Cecil's last day in England. It was a day of great thanksgiving, though shadowed by the prospect of parting for some years with Cecil. He had a few young friends in to spend the evening and to accentuate the festive, rather than the sad side of the day - and before parting they made a semi-circle round us, and held hands and joined in the chorus which Cecil played, of 'The Old Dutch' - 'We've lived together, love, for 30 years and it ain't been a day too much!'

The morning of the 13th rose grey and sad, but we were all resolved to be brave, and our dear Boy wrote in my Daily Light before he left 'He shall doubtless come again with joy'. It was a hopeful promise indeed wherewith to part; and as I gave him a last embrace in the boudoir at Trinity Vicarage, Rutherford's words recurred to me as an inspiring thought 'Lord - I do this for Thee'. Father and Jessie went to the station; and after ¼ hour alone, I went upstairs to comfort Ethel to whom this parting was the greatest sorrow her young life had known. We both realized that we should never again see him as he left us. Time must, and does bring changes. Fred accompanied Cecil to Liverpool, whence he sailed in a Hall Line steamer to Karachi, India, and thence by train to Multan. Fred described the experience as one he would not care to repeat - and many have felt the same after seeing dear ones off in a steamer to the Far East, and watching it drift inch by inch from the pier, and steam slowly down-stream until divided indeed by the great waters - 'It must be for years, and it may be for ever'.

This second great break of a son going to India was to be a crisis, and ushered in the closing chapter of our Cambridge life. For soon after this parting your Father was offered simultaneously the Secretaryship of the Church Pastoral Aid Society, and a Bishopric in Japan. He accepted the former, considering that as he was in his 57th year, a younger man than himself might do better work in Cambridge than he after 16½ years of strenuous labour for both the University and Town; and that he was too old for the latter. {p104}

I have often since had reason to think that this giving up of so important a position (where in addition to all other work he had been Rural Dean for two years) was a climax of the unworldliness for which his life had been conspicuous. Especially as by espousing an unpopular cause and Society, he burnt behind him the bridge to any Ecclesiastical preferment. But such an idea would have no weight with him; and he took up the new work keenly because he realized that he could encourage and strengthen the hands of the Evangelical clergy all over England; and the five years which followed proved that the 500 whom he visited in their own parishes during that time, looked upon him as a true Father in God.

The breaking up of the Home we had loved so long was sad; and Trinity Church, with all its interesting associations; and leaving the Moules behind and all connected with Ridley Hall, and the University, was a great wrench; but our path of duty seemed clear. Our dear people gave us the beautiful Hall Clock with Cambridge chimes which you know; and large framed pictures of Trinity Church inside and out, and of the adjoining Henry Martyn Hall - (which Uncle Handley once said ought to be called 'the Barton Memorial' instead of 'Martyn Memorial'! The young people, sons and daughters of our tradespeople, who had for many years attended my Vicarage Sunday Bible Classes, gave me a box of plated Fish knives and forks. We left Cambridge the middle of December [1893]; and spent Christmas at Croydon – some at Thornhaugh, others at Powyscout.


Wimbledon, 1894-1899


On February 1 1894 our furniture began to be moved to the new home we had selected at Wimbledon; and as I passed from one deserted room to another at Trinity Vicarage, having seen the last van off which contained our household gods, I realized that it is not walls of bricks and mortar which make 'Home' - but those whom you live with and who are in close affinity with you; and the furniture and pictures etc. you have surrounded yourself with, and become attached to during the course of years.

Sarah Phillips came with us from Cambridge, and has been first housemaid, and now parlourmaid ever since; and has served us devotedly and faithfully 10 years. [Footnote by JEBB: And another 51 years after that, until the death of Jessie in 1955.] {p105}

We named our new Home on Wimbledon Hill 'Castelnau' [Footnote by JEBB: Now Junior House of Wimbledon High School for Girls], after the Boileau ancestors' Chateau near Nismes, South France; and found several old friends settled there before us. Col. Henry S. Clarke, and family, my brother Arthur's Addiscombe College friend, owned a house at Wimbledon, and happened to be Treasurer to the C.P.A.S. and he went daily to Town, and worked in the same office in Falcon Court, Fleet Street, E.C. The Francis Foxes, she née Selina Wright of Osmaston Manor, invited us to spend our first week with them, until our furniture was settled in. The Douglas Foxes, brother of Francis, who had married Mary Wright, lived at Coombe Springs two miles off. And we attended the ministry of an old friend, Mr. Edward Moore, at Emmanuel Church.

Fred was now 'walking the hospitals' at St. Thomas', London, and lived at home, going occasionally to Cambridge to pass an M.B. examination; and Guy had begun his Cambridge course, and was settled at Pembroke College. He inclined at this time to take up engineering, and as he is a good draughtsman, and good at mathematics we thought these gifts pointed to this profession. However, after having pursued these studies for two years, he told us that he had no real drawing to the work, and that Medicine and Anatomy attracted him far more. Dear Father made no difficulty about this 'family bomb-shell', as some of you called it, and only said that it was well that Guy had discovered his bias toward the Medical profession at 20 instead of at 30!

Early in June [1894] dear Father fulfilled a long promise, and took me to Torquay and Babbicombe, old haunts of his in 1860, but which I had never seen. The views of coast and sea, and the flowers, that delight to grow in that soft air make it a veritable English Riviera. At Babbicombe we met the Augustus Tollemaches, old friends of Cecil's; and he took us a climb up a Devonshire lane to see Lady Mount Temple's romantic home 'Cliff House'; where with their friend Mr. Clifford (the artist's) help, they had suitable quotations carved round the frieze of each room to suit its aspect, and distant outlook on the beautiful surrounding country.

We had felt doubtful whether we could manage a summer holiday this year with the family; but eventually decided that as Father was anxious to visit the Welsh clergy assisted by grants of money from the C.P.A.S., Wales should be our destination for August. {p106}

In May [1894] I had found myself seated at the C.M.S. Annual Meeting, at Exeter Hall, behind Mr. H. E.Thornton, and spoke to him for the first time though we had known and loved his mother, Mrs. Spencer Thornton, and sisters at Broxbourne for years. Mr. Thornton asked me whether our son Jack was in the Hall? as he had often heard of but never seen him; and I pointed Jack out to his future Father-in-law! A week later the Father received one of Mr. H. E. T's amusing postcards saying "Swansea Vicarage is to let; and we are to be at the Grenfells' old home there en famille. Do come." And thus it came about that our two families were thrown together almost daily for a month. Six young Thorntons, and their cousin Grace Trotter and five of ours swam dived and bathed, cycled walked picniced and sang together whilst we six elders, the Thorntons Trotters and ourselves, talked over many mutual interests. Amongst these the Welsh clergy were not forgotten, and Father convened a gathering of 40 of these for the day, and we entertained them at luncheon and tea at a Parish Hall in Swansea before and after their discussions.

After this Father and I went for a tour through the Rhonda Valley for 10 days with Archdeacon Griffiths as guide, and visited all the Welsh Clergy whose parishes were large enough to be aided by Church Pastoral Aid. This was an interesting experience, for we had never before seen such a large mining district, or heard of or seen anything of the lives lived by those to whom we owe the comfort that coal supplies. We stayed first at Neath; then at Ystradyfdog where all mines are owned by Mrs. Llewelyn, Susie's aunt, and where she has finished building a Church begun by her husband who had died four years previously, for the thousands who live in and over his mines. They spent £25,000 on this beautiful Church, sparing no money to procure marbles and carving wherewith to embellish God's House. When complete Mrs. Llewelyn had a small brass plate let into the marble Chancel wall giving her husband's name and date of death etc. and underneath these words "Of Thine own have we given Thee".

A mining community, not unnaturally, seems to be unique both outwardly and inwardly, and the people differ widely from those of their own class whose lives are spent under other conditions. One day I was attracted {p107} by a long procession of men, in black, who were at some distance coming along the side of a hill, and asked a Vicar who was shewing us round his parish whether it was a funeral party? 'Oh no!' he replied, 'only men coming home from night work in the mines to their day rest!' He added 'the beds are never cold here - one set of men occupy them by night, and another set by day!' Miners are very cleanly in their habits. Coming up from the Pits as black as sweeps, the suit of clothes worn below ground is thrown at once into a large empty box kept for the purpose, and every home is provided with a full length bath, fed by hot and cold water pipes, into which these coal-blackened men plunge, to emerge unrecognizably fair, ruddy and clean; and they are to be seen after a good sleep, standing in groups chatting together, dressed in immaculate light tweed suits, and generally scarlet ties. The Archdeacon told us that miners are great readers, and thinkers, and particularly fond of theological books and discussion. He had got a fine Library and Reading room built for them at Ystradefadog, which was extensively used, and the men there had just asked him to spend £40 on their behalf in fresh books. Miners often work only four days a week, and take Saturday, Sunday and Monday for amusement.

Dissent is very prevalent in some places, and we passed 24 Chapels in one street three miles long, distinguished by Biblical names such as 'Salem', 'Bethesda', 'Bethany', 'Sion' etc., and music of various kinds is to be heard everywhere, either on flutes, guitars, banjos or cornets. Walking along the roads, or in the railway trains, they break into part singing as naturally as may be heard in Germany. These national songs are generally wild, weird, and minor, and the voices deep and melodious. On Mondays and Tuesdays everyone seems to be on the move; and we had quite a difficulty in getting seats in the trains on these days; men, women and children, all the working classes were travelling. Mothers usually wearing a shawl round their heads, cleverly carry a small child on the hip supported by this shawl, which eases the arm.

The Welsh clergy are not usually up to the standard socially of our English clerics, but are perhaps more easily fluent; and services are usually bi-lingual, Gaelic and English each having their due share. {p108} On returning to Swansea we spent a Sunday at Dingestow Court, the Bosanquet’s beautiful old home, whose two sons we had known at Trinity College Cambridge; one now doing exploration work in Egypt, the other at Odessa. The curtains and bed hangings of the room we occupied were the most beautiful tapestry designs and needlework I have seen in any private house; the work is sald to be 200 or 300 years old. We rowed down the lovely River Wye, after we left Dingestow, and went over Tintern Abbey on its banks; and shortly after this our party broke up at Swansea. Jack returned to his lonely life in Sunderland, with a warm remembrance of Susie in his mind and we promised that Ethel should go and keep him company there for six months. This proved a useful and happy time; and Ethel started work among the women and girls connected with the Seamen's Mission, which was continued by Susie a year later.

You four younger ones came with us to North Wales, via Aberystwith, Barmouth, Festiniog, Bettwys-y-Coed, and Llanfairfechan, whence you returned home; and Father and I stayed for another gathering of 40 or more Welsh Clergy. Thence to Llandudno and Wrexham where we spent a day or two with Dean Howell; and saw a chained Bible in the Church 400 years Old. We walked with the Vicar of Holywell, near Wrexham, to see some famous warm springs, which are believed by the superstitious to have miraculous power; and around which hung many crutches and splints left behind as votive offerings by those who had been healed, which reminded us of similar scenes amongst Roman Catholics abroad. We stayed at Chester with friends for a night, and saw the Cathedral [footnote by JEBB: where Ted and Molly were married in 1924], and most picturesque old houses for which it is famous; and then found our way home to Wimbledon and settled down for the winter.

In September this year [1894] our Cecil was very happily engaged at Simla to the daughter of a very old friend, Esther Broadbent, child of Col. Broadbent and of his wife, formerly Dora Nicholson whom we had known intimately in Calcutta between 1865 and 1870. Esther and her mother came home in November, and Esther soon found a place in our hearts after we met her at her uncle Sir William Broadbent's house in London.

Ethel came home for Christmas from Sunderland; and told us that Mr. H. E. Thornton had paid them a visit, as he was interested in Jack's work; {p109} and had volunteered to contribute half the salary of a lay reader to assist Jack as he thought he ought to have more help. He also gave Jack a warm invitation to take a week's rest in January after the very heavy Xmas and New Year's work; and spend it in their home at the Ropewalk, Nottingham.

On January 11th 1895 dear Father and I returned late from a devotional meeting, where Parents had met specially to intercede for their families, and found lying on the Hall Table a letter addressed in Jack's neat handwriting, with the Nottingham postmark. As we took it into the Dining Room to read, we guessed the contents before breaking the seal! and soon found that our prayers for this dear Son's happiness had been answered. The Father sat up late to assure him of our sympathy and warm approval of his suit, and posted the letter before midnight. Next morning he also telegraphed, knowing that Jack must leave Nottingham and return that day to Sunderland for Sunday duty; and soon we had happy letters telling us of his engagement to Susie - who has been a very dear daughter to us now for nine years.

In February 1895 both Susie and Esther, and their Mothers, and Jack met one day at Castelnau, Wimbledon, and were introduced to those of the family then at home.
Mr. Thornton objected to long engagements, and as soon as Susie passed her 20th birthday, arrangements were made for the wedding at Nottingham, and a happier one we never attended than her's and Jack's on July 31 1895. The gathering of the Clans is the best part of most of these functions, except for the young couple themselves; and where most are of one mind, and old friends or relatives, and where a fine summer day is secured, nothing can be more enjoyable. Your Father tied the knot - the Bride had six maids to follow her, two of them her own, and two Jack's sisters. The union with the Thornton family was entirely after our hearts, and we were deeply thankful that God had given our Jack, with his young wife, all the good things both for this life and for the next which we, as parents, had for years asked of Him. The large family dinner party after the bridal pair had gone off to Rowsley, Derbyshire, was kept lively by stories from Mrs. Thornton's brother, now Lord Grenfell - who though not then himself a father, had infinite sympathy with, and love for young people; and we experienced that evening none of the proverbial 'depression' after the Bride and her Groom's departure! {p110}

On August 1 [1895] we all separated; and the Thorntons and our own party made our way respectively to Keswick and Borrodaile. For a second time we took Mrs. Wilson's cottage at Lodore; and spent a very happy month. The four younger brothers and sisters spent every fine day either on or in the Lake - where much swimming and singing went on. By the middle of August Jack and Su joined us for a week, and we had some delightful picnics and trips together. Hugh Barton also paid us a short visit from Liverpool, where he then had a five year appointment with the Royal Engineers; and he left us to go to his sister Chrissy, whose husband Ashton Rathbone died shortly after at Malvern. It was then also that Hugh made the acquaintance of Polly Gedge whom he married 6 months later.

In September [1895] we settled down again at Wimbledon; and dear Father continued his devoted labours for the Church Pastoral Aid Society, leaving home for his London office at 9 a.m. and seldom returning before 6 or 7 p.m. Three weeks out of four he spent from Friday to Tuesday away visiting clergy all over England in their own parishes; 500 of such during the five years he held this office. He has had a real passion for work all his life; and used to say at this time that his favourite recreation was a Railway journey.

It must have been this year that you dear Girls were asked to help among the upper class girls; a movement which had been started by Miss M. Pollock to induce those who had left school to use their Time and Talents for those poorer and less favoured than themselves. Work amongst factory girls in Bermondsey was the result of this effort; and from about this time a settlement was supported by 'T. and T.' ladies where four or five honorary lady workers lived who devoted themselves to this work. Though begun with few, there are now (1906) from 400 to 500 Factory girls connected with and helped by this Club. Jessie was Volunteer Secretary for the Wimbledon Branch of Time and Talents Girls; and I think joined to help in this work; and used to go up to the Settlement to assist in winter at the cheap dinners for girls in Bermondsey; and in summer sent up hundreds of bouquets of flowers to the Factories once a week; generally taking the hampers full themselves; two or three ladies going round with the flowers, and giving the poor Girls a five minutes helpful talk during the dinner hour - with permission of the Owner and Master - and ending with a hymn. {p111}

The year 1896 was an eventful one in the family. In May Arthur and Lilian and their three children [Doris, Vyvian and Keith] came home; the former for seven weeks only, after 7½ years absence; and his wife and children were introduced to us for the first time. My meeting with the dear Son was rather amusing, and gave occasion for a great joke against me. It so happened that when Arthur's telegram arrived from Paris saying that he would reach Victoria Station at 7.30 p.m., I was the only person at home to go and meet him. When the Dover mail train ran in I could see no one amongst the 80 or 90 passengers resembling the Arthur of '88 - so I asked a gentleman whom I saw unmolested by relations whether he could tell me if a Mr. Barton was on the train? He replied 'Yes - certainly' and went on hesitatingly 'I am Mr. Barton ... Why, is it? ... Yes! it is my own Mother!' - and she had not recognized him!! He was most amusingly 'at sea' after so long an absence from England, but ready to do anything suggested. He had sent his big luggage round by the Bay; with Lilian and the children and ayah; so had only handbags; and a hansom soon took us to Vauxhall Station; and a train thence to Wimbledon, where we found a happy party awaiting us, Father, Fred, Ethel, Jessie, also I think Eda or Kathleen Barton [footnote by JEBB: from whom J.E.B.B. inherited the portrait of Emily and Arthur]. The Sisters had grown up during Arthur's absence, and he was much charmed to make their acquaintance!

Everything English is a pleasure to Anglo Indians; and the Saturday evening sirloin of beef awaiting us appeared to him 'such a fine size' that he could hardly eat his portion for admiration! and another day a leg of mutton was a 'picture'! It was indeed a very happy reunion - and the dear Son's only sorrow was that he had been so long away, that he had forgotten a good deal how unchangeable the Old Home hearts must ever be towards him. 'Never again will I be so long away' he said; and he has kept his word.

On May 4th [1896] the beloved 'Uncle Jack' (Cane) went to Glory after a short illness; and Fred and I went to Tattingstone to see him laid to rest there on my birthday the 7th. Within three months that sweet home was broken up; and dear Aunt Alicia and the Twins had scattered. No one can fill that dear Uncle's place to any of you young ones; and his memory is a fragrant and beloved one. He was an ideal Father in his family, and a faithful {p112} shepherd to his flock, and knew every child in the village by name. His sense of humour amounted almost to genius; and you dear boys loved to call him 'sportsmanlike'. Such as he was, and is, lives with us still - though we see him not.

On May 22nd [1896] Jack's first-born was given to us all, and 'Jackie' was a very special loan to the family for 8½ bright happy years - but God took him November 1904.

The end of June [1896] dear Arthur had to return to India, his seven weeks holiday being over; and he left Lilian to follow him a year later.

We spent August of this year [1896] at Grantown N.B. [North of the border?], a quiet Highland resort where Fred and Annie joined us, also Marcia Rickard [footnote by JEBB: Later married to Dr. Claudius, and mother of Agnes and Dorothy], Seymour Horan, and the four younger ones. Guy and Seymour had some fine cycling together in Scotland. The Wardlaw-Ramsays had a house near us too; and we often met, and had lovely excursions in the neighbourhood together - that to the Loch an Eilan being the one most impressed on my mind's eye and memory. Your dear Father had not half the rest that was due to him this summer - because my Father's legacy (which had been tied up to accumulate for 21 years from the day of his death in 1875) was released from Chancery on July 1st and divided amongst you all, and had to be reinvested, which gave him a good deal of work.

On October 21 [1896] Cecil and Esther were married at Murree, in India, by good Bishop Matthews of Lahore. Arthur was alas! the only one to represent the family, and he sent us a delightful account of that happy and festive occasion. Colonel and Mrs. Broadbent grudged nothing to their sweet and only daughter - and the Mother (our friend Dora Nicholson of early Calcutta days) quite accepted Cecil as a son, during the eight months she lived after this marriage - after which a sudden illness called her 'Home' [footnote by JEBB: In June, 1897. Two months laters Col. Broadbent having gone to the Malakand Campaign as Chief Engineer, Esther travelled to Barnes Court, Simla, residence of 'Uncle Willy' Mackworth Young, then Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjab, where Ted was born, on September 6th.]. After a brief honeymoon this young couple settled down in Multan to work there for two years.

On December 23rd [1896] Fred and Annie followed their example and were married at Norbiton Church, near Kingston, on a memorably foggy and bitter winter's day. I remember Fred saying à propos the terrible weather as they started for their honeymoon at Davos, before he shut up the windows of the brougham, "We are very sorry for our friends, but the weather does not affect us in {p113} the least"! And with this happy speech and radiant faces, they started on life's journey together - under circumstances uniquely favourable to Fred; who got his Practice, his Wife, and his new Home all in the same month at 28. Your Father and Bishop Tucker tied that knot.

The Easter of 1897 dear Father and I spent at Penzance, and St. Ives, which we had not seen before; and Ethel, Guy and Will followed us, cycling. On April 21 this year Isa Young married Vere Monro at Government House, Lahore; and Arthur, Cecil and Esther were able to represent this family. Dear Isa is one of the few in the world who is unselfish to a fault, as you all know; and Vere was a happy man to get such a wife.

The month of August [1897] found us again at Ambleside, at Mrs. Leighton's; and Jack and Susie, and their Jackie, now 15 months old were with us - also dear George Barton. The Canes too, were at Loughriggholme, and we often met and had picnics together.

I cannot recall anything special about this winter, except that dear Father was working at very high pressure for the C.P.A.S.; and although he is drawn in one of Uncle Handley's books as the model of a 'moderate man', I know that his passion for work made him lack moderation in that particular. Quite lately (1905) he said "I am paying heavily now for overworking. Arthur and Ethel should take warning from me". He burnt the candle at both ends, and it burnt out fast in consequence.

The summer of 1898 saw the Father abroad in July alone - for a spell - though he met Ethel at Murren, and the Athertons. Fred and Annie also went to Switzerland, and we had their little Marjorie, now 8 months, at 'Castelnau'. Guy was now living at home, which was a comfort to us, and 'walking the Hospitals' at St.Thomas'. For August we went to Eynsford Rectory, Kent, and Father took the locum tenancy, but it was not much of a change, nor very exciting.

When autumn came we began to look forward to the return of Cecil and his wife and son Ted - and were thankful when they safely arrived on Sunday evening November 13th [1898]. Cecil's calm and Esther's pluck carried them through a long and anxious journey; and after six weeks quiet rest, dear Esther gave us twin-granddaughters, on December 27, who were christened in February 1899, and called 'Dora and Joan'. They were a great joy to their dear Mother and me, though of course a great handful; and we were rejoiced to give them a home {p114} for three months, especially as Esther's own dear mother was gone aloft, and Col. Broadbent had not then retired from Indian life, so they had no Home in England this year but ours. On leaving us they spent several weeks at Boscombe with their little family; and paid some visits until August, when they joined us at Little Munden Rectory, near Ware, an ideal country home and garden, where Father took duty for two months for Mr. Robert Monro, who married an Elliott cousin of mine.

His engagement as Secretary to the C.P.A.S. had come to an end at the New Year - and we had decided to winter in Italy as soon as the Cecils returned to India. And meanwhile we had a delightful summer gathering in this Hertfordshire home. Visits first from our Arthur's trio and Nurse Ives, who had recently brought home Vyvian and Keith from India. Next from Jack and Sue and their Jackie and Bernard. Fred cycled over once or twice from Wimbledon - and Cecil's party were with us a long month. It was here that Ethel originated the idea of a Blackberry Service, at which all the village children brought offerings of fruit, which when made into jam was sold for the benefit of C.P.A.S.. Cecil preached a delight fully apt sermon on 'Brambles' - one lovely September afternoon [1899], as the sun lit up and glorified all the autumn foliage with which the pulpit, as well as hampers and baskets of blackberries had been decorated. The sermon, was afterwards printed as a booklet, and widely used in following years for Blackberry services.


Travels in Southern Europe, 1899-1900




In October [1899] we let Castelnau for 18 months to the Cadells; and settled Ethel and Guy in comfortable rooms in Spencer Road, Wimbledon, and Father, Jessie and I started on our travels abroad on November 9th, the dear Cecils having preceded us, and sailed for India (where Kashmir was their destination) on the 4th inst..

During the next ten months, Jessie's graphic pen described our travels in such interesting Circular letters to the family that I must refer you to them for details of all we saw and did in the South of France and in Italy; the Tyrol, and Switzerland; and give only a sketch of our delightful sojourn abroad until September 1900; when we returned to Old England; glad enough to be home again; but also deeply thankful for such health all the time that we never once had to call in a doctor; and rejoiced that we had been able to {p115} enjoy the charms of Italian scenery, coloring, antiquities and language for once with you two dear Daughters.

Our first stage was to Nimes, where we spent three or four nights only, and made acquaintance with my French relative, the Marquis de Valfons of Castelnau, 15 miles beyond Nimes and to which we drove, and saw over the restored Chateau which has been 400 years the property of the Boileau family. The present Marquis came to it through his mother, Gabrielle Boileau, who was a more direct heir than any male Roman Catholic descendant living. The English branch of the family is really the elder; as Charles Boileau, eldest son of Jacques, who died after ten years in prison for his faith, resigned the Castelnau property, being a Protestant, at the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, in 1598 [Emily makes an error here: the edict was passed in 1598, but revoked in 1685], in favour of his younger brother 'Maurice', a Roman Catholic and migrated to England. Here he entered the Army, and his sons and grandsons, Simeon, Solomon, and others settled in Ireland where your Great Grandmother, née Alicia Boileau was born in 1780, being the 17th child! My French relations were very cordial; and said how glad they would be at any time to welcome members of the English branch; and that Jessie was the first they had seen of the younger generation. At lunch with the de Valfons we met their only son Henri the future Marquis - only married a fortnight - who expressed a hope that Jessie would go and see them on her honeymoon!

Thence we moved on to pretty Hyéres, picturesque with palms; and to Valescure, on the Estelle Mts. whose slopes were clothed with arbutus trees 20 feet high, gay with their crimson and golden bell fruit. We spent Christmas at 'Mauvarre', Cannes; and the New Year 1900 dawned upon us at Mentone, a sweet reposeful place [footnote by JEBB: Not quite so reposeful in 1963!], which we greatly prefer to Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo or any others of the gay resorts of fashion on the Riviera.

One afternoon we went up by a funicular railway the mountain side to La Turbia, an old Roman tower commanding the coast above Monaco; and walked thence along the old Cornice 'Vetturino' (coach) road to see the site of my dear Mother's sketch of Esa, a Saracenic tower, pitched on a natural sugar-loaf shaped rock, rising 500 or 600 feet, from the level of the sea out of the valley. I had seen Esa last in 1862 when I sat beside your Grandmother on the coupé of a 'vetturino' from which she drew it. Those were the days before the railway came, when that beautiful coast was known only to travellers {p116} by carriage, or 'diligence', as one sometimes wishes it still might be. On our way to Genoa and Pisa we passed Bordighera, San Remo, Spezzia, Alassio and other well known places. At Pisa we spent a night to see the famous Leaning Tower, Baptistry, Duomo, and Campo Santo surrounding the last; made of earth brought in ship-loads from the Holy Land, wherein to lay the precious dust of the sacred Dead.

Our goal now was Rome - where on January 20 our Ethel was to join us; and who courageously undertook the long journey from England out to us alone, as she did not meet with an escort to suit her date. She appeared, as she always does, safe and sound, bright and bonny; and threw herself into sightseeing of antiquities, Churches and galleries with her usual zest.

It was exactly 40 years since I spent seven months in the 'Eternal City' as a girl with my parents and Aunt Alicia; and I was interested to see how much I remembered of Rome's many historic interests, despite all I had seen in the interim in the Far East. The Coliseum, and Forum, Arch of Titus, and the Capitol; the Vatican Gallery of pictures, and the great Cathedral of St. Peters, besides many other churches, and the Early Christians' Catacombs; are memories that can never die. Of all these Jessie has written most graphically in her journal of letters to the Family. We spent five delightful weeks in Rome, at the Hotel Beau Site, on the Pincian Hill.

The Boer War was now in full swing, and we heard of the fatal 'black week' of disasters from the columns of the friendly Italian papers - and every evening after table d'hote the English gentlemen used to wait outside on the steps as the newsboys came swinging round the corner, sending their musical voices before them, calling out 'Tribuna'! and buying their papers.

After Rome we spent a week at Naples and Castellamare seeing Sorrento, Amalfi and Pompei; and thence our Quartett went to Florence, where dear Marcie Rickard met us; and later Isa and Vere Monro. In some ways one can enjoy Florence more than Rome; because the former is more compact, and distances not so great. Our comfortable and reasonable Pension 'Ricciolli' on the banks of the River Arno, gave us a good view of St. Miniato across the River. The hill is crowned by this beautiful Church, and by Michael Angelo's fine bronze statue of David [Donatello's David was bronze, but Michelangelo's was stone], when young. We were fond of going to Fiesole by tram; and made friends with Mr. Venables, the very able though deaf preacher at the American Anglican service which we attended. {p117}



Florence is a City of flowers and of Bells - I could not venture to say how many Church 'Campaniles' ring out the quarter hours; and when the 'Angelus' sounds at mid-day and at 6 p.m. Italians always cross themselves, bow the head, and repeat the 'Gloria Patri'; as in the well known picture [below] which has immortalized this custom, wherein the young man and maiden are represented as arrested in their work in the fields, by the sound of the mid-day 'Angelus' bells from the distant village church tower. The wealth of colours in the flowers mounted on gallery-stands at every street corner baffles description. Mimosa of delicate scent and primrose tint - Anemones - scarlet purple and white - Iris golden and mauve, and Roses in profusion abounded in March. One very marked difference between Florence and Rome struck us pleasantly, which I must mention before I go on. That is the total absence of priests and nuns to be met in the streets of the former city; whereas in Rome they swarm. Seminaries and schools seem to abound in the 'Eternal City'; where morning and afternoon we met 'crocodiles' of priestlings, from 12 to 20 years old dressed in either scarlet or black cossacks, who were out for their constitutional walks. In Florence no such sight is to be seen. The explanation given is that King Victor Emmanuel (grandfather of the present King) insisted on all Monasteries being closed in Florence; as he found that they were schools of sedition, and bred more anarchists than theologians.

external image Jean-Fran%C3%A7ois_Millet_%28II%29_001.jpg
'The Angelus', by Jean-François Millet, now at the Musée d'Orsay.


Easter fell on April 15 this year [1900] - and the following day we moved on to Venice; which was unknown to all of us but the Father. Our expectations were great; but none of us were disappointed by that romantic silent city of water streets; and St. Mark's Cathedral which gives the whole story of the Bible in marvellous mosaics on its walls exceeded our anticipation.

One day we took a gondola and rowed to an Island to see the famous Salviati Glass Factory. And another day went to the Lace Factory, and saw all the women at work. No machine lace to be seen there! but priceless old patterns being copied or mended. Bent iron work is another of the many beautiful Venetian industries; and gold and silver filigree, and mosaics also. Venice struck me as a far more artistic place altogether than either Rome or Florence; and but for the unsavoury odours which pervade the canals, nothing could surpass the charm of our memories of Venice. {p118}

On Jessie's birthday April 21 [1900] we left this lovely place with its matchless interests, historical, architectural and artistic, for the Lake of Como; and spent a beautiful month on its banks, at peaceful Cadenabbia. Three days later Ethel returned to England to keep Guy company again and to carry on her editorial duties for 'On Service' and for the 'Time and Talents News'; and Father saw her off from Lugano. She had a lonely and somewhat eventful journey, but her usual pluck carried her through!

On May 3rd [1900] Father, Jessie and I embarked on one of the Lake steamers, and got off at a typical little Italian village called Nesso, perched on a hillside, with a long flight of flagged stone steps leading ever higher and higher. We were on the look out for a steamer coming down the Lake from Como, which was to bring our Arthur and his wife from India. We kept sitting down on the low wall to rest; and then mounted a little higher, and talked to the peasant women basket-making in the sun, ever and anon looking back for the Boat we meant to board, and return with our dear ones to Cadenabbia. Suddenly in the bright afternoon sun the little steamer rounded a sharp corner a mile off, and we quickly retraced our steps again to the rustic little village pier. As the Boat drew alongside, there was our Arthur, as large as life, standing on the Bridge waving to us! We three were soon on board, and a very happy and lovely fortnight followed at Cadenabbia with Arthur and Lilian as guests. Most afternoons we crossed the Lake in a rowing boat, to different Latières for our tea; and scrambled up the hillside after gentians and other wild flowers, before returning at sundown in time for table d'hote.

Arthur was lost in admiration of the beauty of the azaleas at the Villa Carlotta, which are at their best in May; the sloping lawns thickly studded with bushes whose colouring was more like brilliant sunset clouds dropped to earth than anything terrestrial; shaded from scarlet to palest pink; and from orange to softest primrose. We could hardly get him away! The pergola outside our hotel, and the walls for a mile along the Lakeside were festooned with luxuriant wisteria creeper, and cream-coloured banksia rose, which combination of colour charmed my eyes quite as much as the Villa Carlotta gardens. {p119}

The lovely fortnight was soon over, and our 'Indians' had to go on to England; and Jessie and we left Cadenabbia for Riva, on Lake Garda, an as yet unknown Paradise to us all. This little town has risen up at the further, and narrow end of the Lake partly owing to hot salubrious springs having been found to attract Italians in search of health during July and August. Some splendid red peaks of Dolomite rock stand as sentinels on either side of the quiet township; rising perpendicular out of the Lake about 1000 feet. So steep indeed that our little steamer went gliding along half a stone's throw from them in sapphire coloured waters that deepened to indigo as we drew up to the pier. The Beau Rivage Hotel where we had bespoken rooms, is nearly a mile out of Riva; and so early as the end of May, is not patronized by many English. We only met a Mrs. and Miss Eliot there, who have since taken up work in South London. (Mrs. Eliot is sister to Dr. Davidson now Archbishop of Canterbury). They were glad to join us in a little service Father arranged for Ascension Day.

The weather was balmy, not yet too hot; and everyone breakfasted outside, at little round tables; and we feasted our eyes on the abundant flowers around, and on the glorious Dolomites overhead. We generally chose a table that faced down a pergola 100 yards or more long, gay with roses, and honeysuckle; bounded on either side by a tall hedge of purple iris, which led up to a plantation of grey olive trees; and the vista closed with a peep of the cobalt blue waters of Lake Garda in the distance, After breakfast we took out books, and writing materials, and sat for hours under the olives, watching the sailing boats that passed. The unstudied artistic effect of a large flopping terracotta sail gliding past; or of a smaller boat painted emerald green with a primrose coloured sail to carry it along upon those blue, blue waters, under cloudless skies, spoke loud of the inborn taste of these, simple Italian fisher-folk. Returning to the hotel in time for déjeuner, we wandered on grassy footpaths beside a streamlet that flowed between four feet deep walls, covered with moss and fern, and a particularly fine forget-me-not, that revelled in this cool damp. Once or twice our footsteps, or voices, startled an exquisite creature whose black eyes gleamed up at us from out the luxuriantly covered walls. It was a large lizard, or newt, of a bright emerald colour, with an azure blue throat! {p120}

After ten restful days at Riva we travelled by a little hill railway line to Toblach, 50 miles off; and there met Lilford Causton, May Steward [footnote by JEBB: Sister of Margaret, for some years governess to the 'Cecil' family], and Eva Paddon, from England. They made a very happy addition to our party, and it was a joy to see their delight over the blue gentians that studded the grass; and over the edelweiss that grew as thick as poppies amongst the hay! We drove the same day on to Cortina, 20 miles off, and found it a veritable garden of flowers during June. We used to say that we spent this month beside seas of pink 'primula farinosa'; lakes of golden 'trollias'; and streams of 'forget-me-nots'. Never before or since have I seen such a wealth of rare wild flowers; and the many I painted during these summer months shews how we all loved them, for dear Father and the young ones, who walked much, often brought me in three or four a day to paint. It was a sad break in our party when Lilford was sent to return to England on account of the death of his Vicar's wife, a cousin of mine, née Ethel Reid. Cortina is only three miles from the frontier into Austria, who is bringing pressure to bear on the people to induce them to adopt both the German language and current coinage - guldens and pfennig. All boys and men are obliged by law to learn German; whereas the peasant women hold fast by their belovéd native language, Italian. Therefore when shopping, you must be prepared to speak in either tongue; and reckon for your purchases in either of the two current coinages - lire or gulden. As evening closed in and we returned from our walks, I often noticed that the men saluted us with 'guten abend'; but the women with 'buona sera', or 'felice notte'.

At the end of June [1900] we made our way to the Riffel Alp, via beautiful Insbruck, Zurich, and across the Fourka Pass and the Rhone Glacier. We saw May Steward off to England from Zurich, and Eva Paddon remained another fortnight with us. Father took the English Chaplaincy during July at the Riffel Alp, as he had done during June at Cortina; and we became very fond of the little English Church, where Daily Morning Prayer was held at 8 a.m., Jessie acting organist. Over the West door is illuminated 'O Ice and Snow bless ye the Lord!' and through a small oriel window above this door one sees the majestic Matterhorn surrounded by the eternal snows of lesser peaks. {p121]

I painted a good many more flowers here; amongst others the rare large blue columbine (aquilegia) whose little known abode Father discovered - also a tiny hairy forget-me-not, an inch high, on the summit of the Gorner Grat, which we ascended by the funicular railway. After spending a month here, during which time Father and Jessie went once or twice on the glaciers, we spent August [1900] at Montana and Finshant [?], meeting dear Ethel again, and Edie Cane, at Sierre. In September we were at Chamonix, and at Clarens for a fortnight, and then returned, with thankful hearts to Wimbledon for a few days, to leave boxes, and repack.


Abinger, 1900-1901


As our tenants there wished to spend another winter at Castelnau, Father undertook to take duty at Abinger, near Dorking, for six months. Before settling there however, we went to Strathfieldsaye in Berkshire - to the home of Isa Monro's father-in-law, for a month; a delightful arrangement, as we thus saw a good deal of dear Isa, and her little Margaret - though Vere was away. It was very interesting to see the big house and park given by the nation to the Duke of Wellington in recognition of his services to his country at Waterloo in 1815. The house was empty, the great Duke's successor and nephew, having recently died - but the old butler told us that the place was very rheumatic, as it lies low. This old gentleman shewed us some rare heirlooms - telling of past glory, and exquisite Spanish china, brought by the old Duke from the Peninsular War etc. One room was panelled with large paintings, each representing the members of different Peers' families who were at the Coronation of King George IV in 1820. Of course the Wellesley family were among the number thus immortalised - and the colouring of the peeresses velvet dresses and trains, and the jewels in their and the peers' coronets were marvellously done.

Our winter at Abinger Rectory would have been a great success; had not the beloved Father made the mistake of undertaking the duties of the Central Secretary of C.M.S. (temporarily) as well. This involved being away from Abinger, and travelling over the country, constantly from Tuesday to Friday every week; or else going to London and back daily. The wear and tear proved too great - and he was obliged to resign this C.M.S. work in May 1901 - but he never really got over the strain of attempting to combine the two works. {p122}

Nevertheless we all look back with pleasure on this winter at Abinger Rectory - a most picturesque house, and ideal garden. Uncle Handley and Aunt Mary Moule, Tessie and Isa all spent Christmas with us. Dear Tessie arrived with a nasty cough and bad throat which proved to be the beginning of lung trouble; and two months after began life in a Sanatorium at Bexhill; and after four and a half years of trial 'in the School of Suffering' entered into the inheritance of the Saints of Light as is most beautifully told in the memoir written by her parents under the above title.

Our little grandson Jackie too, will ever be remembered as part of our Abinger life - for he was with us for eleven weeks at the Rectory. Our Jack was at this time Chaplain at the Port of London, for Seamen's Mission; and living at Poplar; and as his little son had developed glandular trouble in his neck, the doctor forbade East End London climate for him. He had two operations that spring; which involved frequent dressings and bandagings. But no child could have given less trouble - or more pleasure to us all. It was pathetic to hear him say 'I'm such a little boy to have so many troubles!' He stayed with us until his fifth birthday, May 22 [1901], and we little thought then, that more than half his sweet life had already run. I have never known a child with so sensitive a conscience; or such a combination of manliness with love of beauty, colour, flowers, and scenery.

His Father cycled from Poplar to Abinger and back in the day four times whilst little Jackie was with us; and although the dear child was absolutely happy in the country with us, yet of course he longed on such days to go home with his Father, and to take, instead of send, the best golden buttercups he had picked for his Mother. But - never a tear - as he watched his Father's receding cycle, and squeezed one of our hands very hard. He said many quaint, as well as pretty things. Once 'How I do wish we could Poplar into Abinger! that would be lovely - but Poplar is so dirty - when I go back I must take a big piece of soap and wash Poplar!' (Rather a big order!) He walked all round a little plot of moss one day rather than put his foot on it - 'It is too beautiful - I cannot step on it'. When bluebells carpeted the woods, we picked and sent a good many {p123} to Bermondsey factory girls and others. Jackie exclaimed once 'Oh don't step on the bluebells, they are just like heaven!' 'Do you know why lilies of the valley are my favourites? because they always seem to speak of God.' And now both these dear young saints are safely gathered in 'Where ever lasting spring abides and never withering flowers'.

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At Abinger Rectory, 7 May 1901.


Return to Wimbledon, 1901


The Arthurs had spent this winter at 'Belcamp' Wimbledon en famille, and in May [1901] we returned to Castelnau, and were glad to be once more in our own home again after 18 months absence. We had Arthur and his family with us for a while; and at the end of July he and Lilian accompanied Father and me to Ewenny Priory. Coloneland Mrs.Turbervill got up a garden meeting for Father to speak of the many needs of great Mining Districts around, and where Welsh clergy are liberally assisted by the C.P.A. grants. Their beautiful lawns and spreading trees lent themselves well to the gathering. We had lovely weather at Ewenny, and archery and tennis went on daily; and a long table spread under a noble oak with tea for thirsty players, and dishes of magnificent peaches, and grapes was typical of English countryside hospitality. Our friend Beatrice Picton-Warlow was at home; her twin sister was at Simla working for the Y.W.C.A.

On August 1st [1901] Lilian went to Suffolk to her parents and children, and Arthur accompanied us to Ambleside, where (as often before) the family gathered for that month. We took Kelsick Villa, which accommodated six or seven of us, and Guy and Will had 'diggings' out. The photo group taken with Arthur's large camera gives seven out of our octave - Cecil being in India, was the only absentee; and Will's dear dog 'Dimmi' is included. I cannot recall the many excursions of that summer, but you will all remember the dear 'Dad's' last climb up and down Scafell, in which you stalwart young ones had greatly to assist him - and how one of your climbing acquaintances called him a real 'Patriarch' in appearance. Nevertheless - it was a fine close to his many scores of climbs in the Lake District during 44 years, to ascend that mountain with five sons and a daughter at the age of 64.

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Arthur (aged 37), Jack (35), Fred (33), Ethel (30), Jessie (27), Guy (26) and Bill (24) at Ambleside, 1901


Another fine day, after Fred had left us, we went to Ullswater - Father and I on a coach - escorted by six on cycles. After picnicing on one of the shady promontories on the Lake, we rowed to a tiny rocky island, and put the quintett of Jack, Ethel, Guy and Will to sing to us. {p124} Arthur rowed us parents a short distance out on the Lake, as we listened to the Concert they gave us from the top of the Cliff - of Mendelssohn's Open Air Part Songs, ending with 'Like a river glorious', and 'Lead, kindly Light'. Other boats stopped also to listen - to the melodious voices of brothers and sister as they reached us across the water. As I look back and recall the love and union that reigned amongst us all during these summer gatherings, I thank God for the strong cement in family life which is built on a foundation that will stand all weathers.

It was during this month at Ambleside that we heard that dear Uncle Handley had been offered and accepted the Bishopric of Durham; and although this would involve leaving Cambridge where he had spent 40 most happy and useful years, we could not but rejoice at this acknowledgement, by the highest in the land, of our dear Brother's great intellectual and spiritual gifts. After a visit to the Sholto Douglases, at Douglas Support, and to the Learmonths at Park Hall, we reached York in time for Uncle's consecration at the Minster on October 18 [1901], St.Luke's Day; a wonderfully beautiful and solemn service.

This month [October 1901] Arthur and Lilian returned to India with their small boy Leslie, aged one year. They were stationed first at Ambala, where Arthur suffered terribly from sciatica for five months; and a year later went to Ferozepore as 'pukka' Deputy Commissioner - with a District larger than Yorkshire to govern.

The winter that followed was our last at Castelnau, Wimbledon. The dear Moules were very unsettled, as Tessie was ordered abroad with a nurse, and Aunt Mary followed her there in January after an accés of the dear girl's illness. Auckland Castle was found to need such extensive repairs, that it was not habitable for a year; and Uncle Handley and Lilford Causton (then Domestic Chaplain) lived at the Lodge; whence Lilford added to his clerical duties those of 'clerk of the works' in order to see that the new drainage worked, and water and gas supplies were all thoroughly well done; as well as a Library arranged, and kitchens changed.

In March 1902 Aunt Mary had to undergo a serious operation at Cannes; and as the Uncle could not possibly leave England that month, dear Father offered to go, and send him daily reports, wires and letters. This was the {p125} last of many acts of the kind that Father did in the family - and the last long journey he took alone.

On March 25 [1902] your Uncle Willy Young and Aunt May arrived from India, and I had the great pleasure of receiving them at Castelnau late that Sunday evening. I was not surprised that the dear Uncle was very tired, after the 30 hours' journey from Marseilles! for as Aunt May put it, he naturally felt the fatigue a good deal of having to look after the luggage etc. himself when he had been 'waited upon hand and foot for 39 years in the East! ' But you all know how wonderfully they have accommodated themselves since then to English life and conditions in their home at Oak Lea, St. Leonard's, and how Aunt May with her pen, and Uncle Willy by being President of the Church of England Zenana Society. and by advocating the cause of Missions, are continuing to use the great influence they acquired in India.

Jessie and I spent Easter [1902] at Poplar, with Jack and Susie, and much enjoyed his Lantern Service for Sailors on Good Friday - with beautiful slides - and illustrated songs sung by himself. Then we went to Auckland, where the dear Father joined us from Cannes; and we spent six or seven very happy weeks with Uncle Handley at the Lodge there. Lilford Causton (who was at that time his domestic chaplain) and Jessie sorted papers left by the Westcott family, and books ad infinitum. It was now brought home to me that the dear Father's power for work was failing - and it was startling to hear him say as he put aside a packet of papers we had asked him to look through 'I can't do it.'

The first week in May [1902] Uncle Handley and your Father went South for special meetings in London; and Uncle Willy Young met his two brothers-in-law on the C.M.S. Platform in Exeter Hall, the dear Uncle from India making his maiden speech on Foreign Missions, and the Bishop-Uncle giving the concluding address. It was the first, and last time, the three stood together on the Platform. Just at this time Aunt Mary returned from Cannes with Tessie - and Father went with the former to see the Sanatorium at Mundesley, in Norfolk, where the dear girl now went for ten months. We all spent Trinity Sunday - May 25 [1902] - at Durham, with Canon and Mrs. Tristram at the Close. This was Uncle Handley's first ordination in his own Cathedral {p126} - a glorious and solemn service, and Claude Thornton was gospeller. In the evening Aunt Mary shewed us the Uncle's suite of rooms in Durham Castle, where historic interests and old oak abound; and we were present at a service for the newly ordained in the Castle Chapel.

The last days of May [1902] we went into Teesdale, taking Lilford with us, for four days, and Father was delighted to find four different Alpine flowers growing wild here and set me to paint them as in olden days; the gentian verna, golden trollias, primula farinosa, and wild purple large pansy. One day he and Lilford went a ten mile trudge over the moors, and he came back rather 'done' - but this was not surprising. On June 2nd we drove to see the Forse and Falls at Middleton, on which well known lines have been written - and Turner's painting of which is in the National Gallery. We had arranged to meet Uncle Handley here; and as we caught sight of him, he waved a white handkerchief, cheering; and told us the news that rejoiced the whole world the previous evening - namely that Peace had been proclaimed in South Africa on June 1st.

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'High Force, fall of the Tees, Yorkshire' by J. M. W. Turner.

Soon after this we returned to Wimbledon, and spent a quiet summer, preparatory to giving up 'Castelnau' at Michelmas. During July [1902] we migrated to Tattingstone Rectory for two or three weeks, where Jack and his family joined us, and he and Father shared the duty. Jack took me in a trailer about the village, and I saw about 30 old friends amongst the inhabitants thus, which was a great pleasure. I have not seen that dear old Home since those sweet summer days.

On September 25 [1902] we left 'Castelnau' which had been a very pleasant home for nearly nine years, though not one for which we had any real affection. Father had a severe headache I remember; and left his bed with difficulty to go up Wimbledon Hill in a cab to Fred's home [27 Lingfield Road, Wimbledon]; and that night we had another warning that our Dear One's health was failing! for he had some sort of internal haemorrhage. In October, having warehoused our furniture for six months, we went to Mark Ash [House], Abinger, for 10 weeks; and thence Father continued to seek for a home that would suit us for the remainder of our days. {p127}


Weybridge, 1903


We saw houses at Guildford, Tunbridge Wells, Kenley, Broxbourne, Woking and Weybridge; and finally decided to take a furnished one in the last named place, from February 1st 1903 for two months, so as to be on the spot if a house here fell vacant that would suit us all. And thus our 'lines fell in this pleasant place' at Moorcroft, which has been our home now for four years. (I write 1907).


January 1908. We had spent Christmas 1902 at Thornhaugh, Croydon, the dear Aunts' home; and it was there I first saw the small cloud arise in our sky into which it was God's will that we should now enter. Dear Father tried to write a birthday letter to Uncle Handley on December 22nd, and found that he could not control his pen, although he tried on three different sheets of paper. He smiled over it - but my heart told me this was serious; and as I look back now five years, I would give thanks for the loving kindness that has been dealt out to us all; in that the beloved Father's failure has not only been so gradual, but so painless.

We saved him all possible exertion and trouble on getting into 'Moorcroft'; and Jessie and he went to the old home 'East Leigh' for a few days whilst Ethel, Guy and I managed the move together; and Father and Jess returned home on April 9 [1903] so that we might spend Easter together here on the 12th in the new home, which we realized would also be our last home on earth. The shady garden, beautiful flowers, and songs of nightingales, and many other birds, were a great joy to Father as he gradually ceased from all his activities, and accepted henceforth the quiet life in this our Home of Rest. The Father has always been a man of few words, and never spoke (even to me) of the trial of his inability to keep up with all his old interests, Committees etc. But one by one he dropped them, and gave up during the next two years the many Trusts on which his excellent judgment had been so greatly valued for many years. The Simeon Trust - St. Mary's Hall Trust - Church Patronage, and others.

This summer [1903] we paid the dear Jacks a visit at Lowestoft, and went on to Auckland for a fortnight, where the Father was in bed many days with lumbago. The old historic Castle was lovely in July; and we had tea out under the great copper beech many afternoons. Dear Tessie was now entirely {p128} confined to her room; a touching picture, stricken with mortal illness at 20.

August [1903] we spent with Will at Rawdon, and at Birchover, near Matlock Bath, and enjoyed some good walks in that beautiful and romantic neighbourhood, including the 'Via Gellia' pass. In September Guy accepted a post as Doctor on the P. & O. 'Sardinia' for a year, and greatly enjoyed seeing something of India, China and Japan. He was in England again in December and off again in January 1904.

On Christmas Day 1903 Molly Causton and Seymour Horan were happily engaged at Moorcroft which was a great joy to us all, as also to Molly's own family. The winter passed quietly; dear Father going up occasionally to C.M.S. Committees. Ethel and Jessie worked in the 'Time and Talents' Settlement in Bermondsey, and in work amongst Factory girls. Violet Till [footnote by JEBB: Many will remember her from Moorcroft days, and later] now came into our lives, as an 'extra daughter', and greatly assisted Ethel with her 'T.and T. News' work, which was largely increasing. And Jessie worked to get Girls of Leisure here to take up useful interests for those less favoured than themselves; and also to improve their own minds by courses of reading, and by joining in Debates, and also in Bible study, as well as in Missionary and Social studies.

In June (1904) the dear Father and I spent a week at East Leigh, and took Keith with us. This was the first, and last, haymaking season I ever spent in that dear old Home. Uncle Joseph died seven months later, and the place is now sold. Fred and Annie spent July on the Norfolk Broads, and Father and I joined them for a fortnight; often spending eight hours in a little sailing boat, all four together, and having lunch and tea out of doors, returning to our farm house at Thurne to dine and sleep. Fred is fond of sailing, and we much enjoyed his adroit steering and racing with other boats, especially the afternoon when we outstripped seven sailing crafts one after the other!

Jack and his family spent August 1904 with us; and helped us through some anxious times with dear Father, who once or twice went up to town - minus a purse! - and was away many hours. He always gravitated to the Church Missionary House, and brought back a new book or two on Missions; as Uncle Handley used to say, this was 'his ruling passion' and would be 'strong till death'. {p129} The retrospect of the Jacks' visit this summer is very sweet; though mercifully we knew not then that in three short months darling Jackie's bright happy life would close. He was taken the following November, after five weeks suffering, which ended in cerebral meningitis. He rests in a sweet 'bed' in the Lowestoft cemetery, over which a laburnam tree showers drops of golden rain in spring. After this great sorrow Jack accepted a living in Nottingham, realising that it would be wise to start life elsewhere. Little 'Raymond', given to them in January 1905, is a real 'ray' of sunshine in their home at St. Nicholas Rectory, Nottingham.

I have omitted to say that in December 1904 the Cecils, and their little family of four (including Ronald and Douglas; Joan, Dora's twin, had died of typhoid in 1900) returned home from Kashmir. Having said farewell to India, at least for a time, on account of his own health, and his children's, Cecil undertook deputation work for C.M.S. for some months; and they found a nice pied-à-terre at Gishurst Cottage, near us at Weybridge. It was delightful to have them home this quiet winter.

On April 30 1905 Arthur, Lilian and little Leslie arrived from India, and took the 'Warren' next door to us for their children's Easter holidays. We had Doris, Vyvian and Keith here awaiting their parents. The girls were so much grown since their mother had last seen them that she said she felt inclined to address them as 'Miss'! Arthur quite lost his heart to this dear home; and it was a great joy to have this devoted son with us, more or less for the next six months. He left England again in October.

He was struck at once with the great failure in dear Father's powers; and after we two had paid three visits to Cambridge, Arthur joined us at Nottingham on a visit to Jack; and it was a help to have him with his resourcefulness and thoughtfulness, travelling to Auckland for May Learmonth's wedding on July 4th [1905]. We found Uncle Handley confined to bed with a severe illness; but Aunt Mary left Tessie in the south for a few days, and came north for the occasion. {p130}

A happy month followed at Ambleside, where we foregathered (for the last time) with our eight dear loyal children; and three of the daughters-in-law; and dear Isa Moule also joined us for a few days at 'Broutholme'; and Mrs. Pryke and Sarah completed the party - of which a charming group was taken - with the pony trap, Will's 'roundabout' and many cycles, which you all know. In this favourite resort of the family for many years Will met his Dorothy, at a tennis tournament, and they became engaged in August. More than once Father and I sat and watched our six sons all playing in this tournament and at its close four of the six carried off prizes; Arthur though the eldest, who had spent 17 years in India, coming out 'top'. We had sailing and rowing on Lake Windermere; and long drives in Wagonette and Bill's 'roundabout', with picnics at Ulswater and Coniston; and once I went with Susie, on the top of a four horse coach, driven by a picturesque scarlet-coated coachman, to Keswick, some of you young people acting avant-couriers on bicycles. But the dear Father was not up to going that day.

On our return we told him of our picnic on Derwentwater, and of singing heard on Friar's Crag, as in happy days of yore. He smiled on us with a far away look, as if he knew that such days were over for him on earth. In the evenings, all windows open, the greater number of us, lying out on the grassy garden bank, while Cecil presided at the piano inside, we sang a great deal. Mendelssohn's open air songs in parts, and other quartettes and solos; ending with hymns, 'Lead kindly light', 'Sun of my soul' and others; as the northern late twilight gently descended upon us; and Loughrigg, Nabscar, Fairfield, Bowfell and other giants stood as sentinels around us. (Psalm 125.2). Then the dear Father would bless his children, and all were soon wrapped in sleep in their rooms.


Decline and death of John Barton, 1905-1908


At the close of the month there came a day when it pleased God to lay His Hand very gently on the beloved Father with a slight stroke. He said to me "Something has happened, I don't know what." His speech was a little affected, though he still walked and enjoyed drives. He admitted "I know this large party has been rather too much for me, but it has been worth while." {p131}

August [1905] was spent at Ullenhall, Warwickshire, where dear Seymour Horan and Cecil shared the duty. From this time the Belovéd had a nurse. On the 26th inst. we heard of dear Tessie's Home Call, after four years, of the 'Discipline of Suffering'; aged only 22 years. The touching story of her illness and death is told in a little book under this title by Uncle Handley and Aunt Mary; from its pages 'who reads may learn.' To die so young is surely a proof of God's love; and we know that the Eternity of Love is not affected "by the incident of parting.

I was very thankful to get our Invalid home again to Moorcroft by August 30 [1905]; and henceforth he went about in a bath chair. In November dear Miss Eyles came to share our privileged nursing during three hushed and peaceful years - whilst we were being prepared to live without his presence. March 1906 Father had another slight stroke, and said to Dr. Atkins: "I think it is the same as I had at Ambleside." I feel sure that he knew all along, even better than I did, that these knocks at the door heralded an early entrance to a Better Land; for his case was quite similar to his own father's 50 years ago.

It was a pleasure when Guy settled in a practice here December 1905.

During the peaceful three years that followed, the tent pegs which held our Dearest one to earth were gently removed, one by one. He grew very thin and helpless; but to the last he could speak in short sentences, and knew every one of us; and thanked us with a word, and with smiles for all done for him. He never showed any signs of impatience, and was always cheerful and grateful; and would enjoy a joke, and Jessie's nonsense!

He loved being sung to; and on long summer days I used to sit by his open window at work and sing to him by the hour, old hymns that he loved. 'Through the love of God our Saviour, all will be well', or the Scotch version of Psalm XXIII, 'The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want'; and 'For ever to behold Him shine', 'He leadeth me', 'Through all the changing scenes of life', etc. The last line of the first of these hymns he invariably joined me in repeating: "Or in living, or in dying - all must be well." I never left him for more than a week at a time during these three years; and when I did so, was able to feel absolutely at {p132} rest about him; as you two dear daughters, and Miss Eyles, and Mrs. Dix, Mrs. Pryke and Sarah all tended the Father with the utmost devotion during my short absences.

Guy, who married Maggie Horsfall, April 1908, had his home at Weybridge (Norwood Lodge) and looked in daily; as did dear Fred who motored over every Sunday from Wimbledon (27, Lingfield Road). Various friends came at different times to administer Holy Communion to Father: Uncle Handley, Dr. Walpole, our Jack and Cecil; Seymour Horan, Woodward - and Bishop Boutflower came several times. As the last lived at Woking, only six miles off, he kindly begged to be summoned whenever we wanted him; and it was he who gave our Beloved his last earthly Communion on November 4th after which the young Bishop asked for his veteran friend's blessing; and the Father laid his hand on the head that was buried to receive it, in his sheet, and whispered 'God bless you'. We always sang a hymn at these sweet services; and at this last one Bishop Boutflower chose No.517 A and M; 'When Thy mercies, O my God' -- which ends: 'And oh! Eternity's too short, To utter all his praise.'

I have little to record of the Beloved's sayings. He was ever a man of few words; and now speech had become difficult. He sometimes said 'I want to go home'; and once to me 'Don't cry my Pet; God will wipe away all tears'; and again (with emotion, looking hard at me) 'We acquiesce, don't we?' Each night, at the close of prayer together, he would put his hand on my head, and whisper 'God bless you', and on his last day with us, when the last verse of 'The King Of Love' was repeated to him, he joined quite loud in the final line: 'Within Thy House for ever.'

This was his last word to us - and next day at 2 p.m., November 26th [1908], he passed peacefully and painlessly to his inheritance, in sleep; and received his dear Lord's welcome: 'Well done good and faithful servant - enter thou into the joy of thy Lord;' and 'Saw his Pilot face to face when he had crossed the Bar.'

MOTHER




Anonymous tribute made after Emily's death, February 1924.


This was included as an appendix in Ted's transcript of Emily's memoirs:

In her eighty-fifth year her face is a thanksgiving for her former life, and a love-letter to all mankind.

"I am going up the hill pretty fast this winter, and I don't think it will be very long before I get to the Beautiful City!" So she wrote to one of her grand-daughters at the end of November last, who adds, "She was the centre of our big family, and will always stand out in my life, as a great woman, with a wonderful loving heart and room for everybody," while another (not a member of the clan) says, "I can't think of anyone who made the word 'Home' so real to outsiders, with such a big heart and such very wide sympathies, especially with lonely folk." And yet another writes: "To me, she seemed the very ideal of beautiful old age - so gay and wise and loving and fine. I have such dear memories of her kindness and interest when I stayed with you at Moorcroft. Her life will always be an inspiration to me."

For her, all through her happy married life of forty five years and subsequently, "to love was the perfect of the verb to live," and found its expression in giving and sharing all she had and was: thus, with characteristic hospitality, she insisted on planning a full house for the Christmas holidays, and the Festival of family reunion found a party of ten of her children, grandchildren and adopted grandchildren assembled at Moorcroft.

She had not been well enough to go out for some three or four weeks, but Christmas Day dawned so bright and clear that she was determined to go to church in her bath chair, escorted by her grandsons, and afterwards sat at the table with all the young people around her enjoying their Christmas dinner. "I want to be with them all!" she said. But the effort was just beyond her strength, and a slight stroke affecting her speech supervened. Yet for another three weeks she was still able to sit up in her room, looking so beautiful in her mauve gown and lace mantilla with the "young maternal smile" on her face: "the loveliest of all Grannies," as one of the grandchildren calls her. "Mother, why aren't all old ladies as pink and white and beautiful as Douglas's Granny?" a small child enquired who came to see her last October. "Is it because she is so beautiful inside that it shines through?"

Occasionally she would knit a little, or play a game of Patience, but for the most part she just sat quietly happy, living over again those treasured memories of early days, which she never tired of sharing with us. She loved being read to and at night she constantly asked for the twenty-third Psalm and Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar," to be repeated to her, joining in the words "Thy Goodness and Mercy have followed me all the days of my life," and "May there be no sadness of farewell when I embark."
Lucia Young came several times during those closing days to sing her favourite songs "Angels ever bright and fair," "O for the wings of a dove" and "He shall feed his flock like a shepherd." Hymns and Christmas Carol sung by us all downstairs were also a great delight to her.

It was not until January 22nd [1924] that she shook her head when we asked if she would like to get up for a little while, and after that she became rapidly weaker. With the help of our faithful Sarah, who completed her thirtieth year of devoted service on February 1st, we nursed her ourselves, till January 28th when we were able to obtain a nurse who proved the greatest comfort during the last fortnight. Isa Monro and her Margaret were providentially staying with the Mackworth Youngs in Weybridge, and did all that could be done to add to our beloved invalid's comfort, and ease our anxieties.

And so the Good Shepherd led her gently through the Valley of the Shadow and out again into the sunshine of the "Land of Beulah" where pilgrims are "within the sight of the City they are going to, and also meet some of the inhabitants thereof, for in this land the Shining Ones commonly walk, because it is upon the borders of Heaven." During these days, though her words were few, she conveyed messages with her hands in a wonderful way; her grip was tenacious, and accompanied by loving smiles, until the last four or five days, when she ceased to cling to us on this side, appearing more pre-occupied with some vision of those waiting for her on the further side, to whom she seemed to wave a greeting more than once, exclaiming "Over there!" and "What bliss!"

On January 30th [1924] she received the Holy Communion for the last time from her friend and pastor Mr. Kelsey, and followed every part of the shortened service with clear consciousness. Gradually the intervals of conscious recognition grew fewer and further apart, until on February 11th, she, like Christiana, "entered in at the gate with all the Ceremonies of Joy that her husband Christian had done before her." [From Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan]

We knew she would wish the occasion of her being laid to rest to be one of joyful and triumphant thanksgiving, rather than mourning and lamentation, so we dispensed with everything funereal. We discussed with her once whether we should wear morning for her, and she said with a smile, "No, I think purple and gold would be better!" So her bed was surrounded with living and growing daffodils, and royal blue and white hyacinths; we had no hearse, but the lovely coloured flowers that came from far and near supplied a rainbow-tinted pall, and a fitting tribute to one who painted and embroidered flowers so exquisitely. Three of her sons and three grandsons acted as bearers and the rest of us followed on foot, first to the Parish Church, and then to the Garden of Resurrection. The Service was fully Choral: we sang "Palms of Glory, raiment bright," the Twenty-third Psalm, and the Nunc Dimittis in Church, and Lucia Young translated and sang with wonderful effect a solo from Bach.

The Bishop of Winchester (Dr. Theodore Woods) and Jack, Lilford Causton and Mr. Kelsey took the Service between them. We had the Lesson for All Saints Day (Wisdom iii.1-9) and we sang "For all the Saints" as we walked in procession to the Resting Place. There the Bishop read the concluding sentences and a beautiful Prayer of Dedication for us who are alive and remain. The Service culminated in the recital of the Apostles Creed and the singing of "The King of Love my Shepherd is, Whose goodness faileth never." One padre present remarked, "It was all most beautiful and just what she would have wished. Of all the hundreds of funerals I have attended, this was the most human, the most natural, and the least sad."





Note by JEBB:

John (1908) and Emily (1924) are both buried in the 'resting place' at Weybridge Cemetery, together with Cecil (1909), Ethel (1937), Jess (1955), Esther (1959) and Dora (1962). Jack (1941) and Guy (1947) are alongside.