Recent Changes

Sunday, September 10

  1. page *Bernard Barton the Quaker Poet Correspondence edited ... I notice only one line in which the meaning is ambiguously expressed – "Thy power man's s…
    ...
    I notice only one line in which the meaning is ambiguously expressed – "Thy power man's strength alone;" – perhaps I might not have noticed it if the want of perspicuity did not arise in part from a license which I detected myself in committing this morning – the use of alone instead of only. What you mean to say, is, that man's only strength is thy power; but as the words now stand they may convey an opposite meaning.
    Robert Southey to Bernard Barton, May 1822 (p165)
    ...
    May, 1822.
    Thank you for your volume, which I received three hours ago long enough to have read the principal poem, and a large portion of the minor ones. They do you great credit. Nothing can be better than the descriptive and sentimental parts. In the reasoning ones, you sometimes appear to me to have fallen into Charles Lloyd's prosing vein. The verse indeed is better than his, but the matter sometimes, (though rarely,) like much of his later compositions, incapable of deriving any advantage from metre. The seventh stanza is the strongest example of this. On the other hand, this is well compensated by many rich passages and a frequent felicity of expression. Your poem, if it had suited your object so to have treated it, might have derived further interest from a view of Buonaparte's system of policy, the end at which he aimed, and the means which he used. I believe that no other individual ever occasioned so much wretchedness and evil as the direct consequence of his own will and pleasure. His partisans acknowledge that the attempted usurpation of Spain was his sole act, and it was so palpably unjust, that the very generals who served him in it, condemn it without reserve. That war, in its progress and consequences, has not cost so little as a million of lives, and the account is far from being closed.
    You will not like Buonaparte the better, perhaps, if I confess to you that, had it not been for him, I should perhaps have assented to your general principle concerning the unlawfulness of war, in its full extent. But when I saw that he was endeavouring to establish a military despotism throughout Europe, which, if not successfully withstood abroad, must at last have reached us on our own shores, I considered him as a Philistine or a heathen, and went for a doctrine applicable to the times, to the books of Judges and of Maccabees. Nevertheless, I will fairly acknowledge that the doctrine of non-resistance connected with non-obedience is the strongest point of Quakerism. And nothing can be said against it but that the time for the general acceptance is not yet come. Would to God that it were nearer than it appears to be!
    (view changes)
    10:19 am
  2. page home edited ... Follow @BartonHistory [[include component="tagCloud"]] {http://bartonhistory.wi…
    ...
    Follow @BartonHistory
    [[include component="tagCloud"]]
    {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/visitors?year=2014} {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/edits?year=2014}
    {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/visitors?year=2015} {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/edits?year=2015}
    {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/visitors?year=2016} {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/edits?year=2016}

    {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/visitors?year=2017} {http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/space/graph/edits?year=2017}
    (view changes)
    9:54 am
  3. page home edited {Barton thumbnail 1.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 2.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 3.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 4.…
    {Barton thumbnail 1.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 2.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 3.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 4.jpg} {Barton thumbnail 5.jpg}
    Welcome!
    UPDATE & APOLOGY: Unfortunately, Dropbox, whichUPDATE: Recently some image links broke on the site. I used to hostthink I have repaired them all the images for this site, has changed its public hyperlink protocols and this has broken all the images on this site, which produces blank boxes with text saying 'external images'.now, but let me know if I am in the middle of fixing this.missed any.
    My name is David B. H. Barton and this 'wiki' is an online encyclopaedia of my family history. My family has been interested in its own history for generations, and we've amassed a huge archive of material. The lion's share of this information has been painstakingly gathered, over several decades, by my father Nicholas J. Barton. My job, as I see it, is to digitize it, organize it, and share it with the handful of people who might be interested in it. Still, there is some original research of mine on here as well. I don't have much time to add more at the moment though.
    The name Barton is Anglo-Saxon in origin, meaning either 'barley farm' or 'lands of the manor or meadow', depending on who you ask. It's quite a common place-name in England and there are probably many different Barton families hailing from different places called Barton. There's even a Barton Historical Society to help keep track of them all, and they run a DNA project too. If you are a U.S. Barton looking for clues to your origin you'll probably have better luck with their site than mine.
    (view changes)
    3:18 am
  4. page *Ronald Barton Diary and Letters edited Ronald Barton (1901-1986) began this diary on his 40th birthday, in the middle of World War 2. It i…
    Ronald Barton (1901-1986) began this diary on his 40th birthday, in the middle of World War 2. It is stylishly written and contains some wonderfully haunting descriptions of blitz devastation. At this time, he was a copywriter (i.e. composing slogans) at the advertising firm S. H. Benson Ltd. (where Dorothy L. Sayers had also worked as a copywriter from 1922-1931), which handled advertising for Guinness, amongst others. Some of Ronald's work on that campaign is described in this diary, and also in this 2009 Independent article.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20scans/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20v1%20cover%20%26%20inscription%20-%20Small.jpg}{Ronald Barton War Diary v1 cover & inscription - Small.jpg}
    Cover of the first diary (left) and (right) endsheet inscription by Ronald's son Nicholas, age 5 years, 7 months.
    The diary consists of three volumes, written over eight months up until August 1941 when Ronald joined the RAF. Most of the first volume was transcribed by his wife Molly, and I (DBHB) initially used this transcript, and have embedded her footnotes in the text, as well as adding some notes of my own. I expanded most of the abbreviations (e.g. N. to Nick - which is what he calls his son in a post-war letter, also reproduced below). After borrowing some of the original diaries (volumes 1 & 3), I am able to continue the transcription where Molly left off. However in looking at the originals I have found a number of sections - crossed out in the original, probably by Ronald himself - that Molly did not transcribe, and other sections that are not crossed out but which Molly omitted anyway. These tracts seem to have been omitted either because they were considered not interesting enough, or else because they were perhaps too interesting (i.e. a trifle impolitic!). Feeling that enough time has passed, I have restored these parts but in grey text. There are some later corrections, clarifications or changes as well; where I consider it informative to do so I have included the original version in grey text with a strike through effect. I have also found places where Molly altered the text - for clarity perhaps, but I have reverted to the original. One recurring case concerns what Ronald called his wife: in the original he wrote 'B.', for Bunny - his pet name for her (perhaps to distinguish her from his elder brother Ted's wife who was also called Molly). In her transcript she altered 'B.' to 'M.'; I have gone with the original, but expanded the abbreviation.
    (view changes)
    3:06 am
  5. page *Ronald Barton Diary and Letters edited ... 1.1 January 10th, 1941 (Friday) {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Di…
    ...
    1.1
    January 10th, 1941 (Friday)
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20scans/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20v1%20p1%20-%20Small.jpg}{Ronald Barton War Diary v1 p1 - Small.jpg} My birthday.
    The day began earlier than usual as Nick wanted to do a short journey spend a ha'penny, and so effectively woke us up that we decided to have tea right away. This provided a leisurely moment for undoing parcels - this diary, a most superior pair of slippers from Bunny (which I gratefully put on at once) and, auxiliary presents from Nick, three coloured chalks wrapped up in a drawing, and an envelope containing a picture torn from one of his books and coloured by himself - with two paper ribbons fastened with safety-pins to the top corners, and joined with another, for hanging the picture up. Very fine presents indeed. {p1.2} 1.2
    Doug [his younger brother] rang me up at Sunnyside [the house at Rickmansworth to which some departments of the Advertising Agency, including Copy and Design, were evacuated]. Mighty casual about their neglect of us at Christmas. "An oversight". However, I said the oversight would be overlooked for this once. Took the opportunity of urging him to read "Babes in the Darkling Wood" [by H. G. Wells]. He promised he would. But I doubt it. My belief: he's afraid of Wells upsetting his fixed ideas.
    ...
    Returned to library "The Long Week-end" (Graves and Somebody [Alan Hodge]). Disappointing. Apart from the interest of recalling one's own reactions to the events chronicled, there was nothing to it. No colour, no comment, no personal viewpoint expressed or implied by the authors to give the chronicle character. The only figure for whom the authors (Graves, presumably) appeared to have any admiration was - of all people - Laura Riding. And of all reasons, chiefly because she had achieved a "complete synthesis" summed up in her quoted aphorism "Historical events have ceased to happen". Well, well!
    An early evening warning produced no unpleasant consequences - no gunfire, not even an interruption in the wireless. A second warning, about bedtime, was followed by the sound of a plane and a burst of local gunfire, but that too died away, and no further noises interrupted our repose. {p1.12}1.12
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20scans/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20v1%20pp10-11%20-%20Small.jpg}{Ronald Barton War Diary v1 pp10-11 - Small.jpg}
    January 17th (Friday)
    Realised that I had let Thursday go by without writing my promised weekly letter to Mother, so spent lunch-time rectifying the omission. If it did nothing else, this diary would justify its existence by providing me with ready-made material for this letter, which used to involve a prodigious cudgelling of the brains in the effort to find something to say [altered by Molly to "remember the week' s happenings"].
    ...
    January 27th (Monday)
    Bound for Kingsway, I was walking along Market Place buswards when I became aware that a female figure had attached itself to me and was even plucking at my sleeve. My astonishment was not much the less when I recognised Dora. She is apparently sharing a flat with two other Missionary Misses, and though she has been in residence for some time, has not thought fit to make her presence known. Strange, unsisterly behaviour, to be sure, but if she wants it that way she can have it that way.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Douglas%20Molly%20Ted%20Dora%20Ronald%20Barton%20possibly%20at%20Teds%20wedding.jpg}{Douglas Molly Ted Dora Ronald Barton possibly at Teds wedding.jpg}
    Douglas, Molly Bushby, Ted, Dora and Ronald; probably at Ted & Molly's wedding in 1924.
    On my way home, called at Thurlow Road [No. 17 Thurlow Road was the post-Moorcroft home of Aunt Jessie Barton and Sarah, now evacuated, used as a kind of London base by all Bartons] where I found the caretaker Mrs. Burr, dutifully taking care. Having succeeded in assuring her of my bona fides, I was permitted to pack up Ted's wireless which was standing silent beneath a protective layer of cushions in the study. Unable to phone for a taxi, I had to go down to the rank, where I secured the last and lonely cab to convey me, with the wireless set, back home. I had it functioning before supper - a great improvement on Elizabeth's brassy-voiced baby, though it did not succeed in bringing in Lord Haw-haw. Another "Lullablitz",as the ever-fertile Daily Express now calls it. {p1.26}1.26
    ...
    A reasonably decent morning, and Burrett and I were inspired to relieve the tedium of our journey with song. The piece de resistance was a spirited rendering of "Mad Dogs and Englishmen", of which, in response to our vociferous applause, we kindly consented to give an encore.
    The day at Rickmansworth was as dreary and depressing as usual. Lewitt and Him have completely fallen down on my "Mixed Metaphors" page for Guinness [see March 5th]. They turned out a wildly Surréaliste composition of vanishing perspectives and fantastic proportions, the pair of socks standing upright without visible means of support on the distant horizon, being in proportion about 2¼ miles high. It has now returned to Gilroy whom I found at work on it entrenched behind a parapet of flints, models for the stone (for not leaving unturned).
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Guinness%20-%20What%20The%20Situation%20Demands.jpg}{Guinness - What The Situation Demands.jpg}
    Gilroy's completed Guinness advert.
    It is increasingly a relief to get home to my family and fireside and domestic busyness and restfulness. {p1.149}1.149
    ...
    So I thought I would write to you today. It's high time I did anyway. I have a theory that you were – and are – the only person who really understood what the Pageant meant. What it meant to me, anyway. It was a queer affair. Looking back on it now, with a detached interest, I can see all its ridiculous imperfections. Its pathetic amateurishness, its rawness, its gaucherie, it's probably embarrassing naivety.
    And yet... and yet... all I know is that I meant, and still mean, what I said afterwards about never producing another amateur performance, not because I thought the Pageant wasn't good enough for me, but because it was, to me, so completely good. And why that should be so, I think you probably understand even better than I do.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20in%20pageant%20to%20celebrate%20end%20of%20war.%20High%20Wycombe%20bomber%20command.jpg}{Ronald Barton in pageant to celebrate end of war. High Wycombe bomber command.jpg}
    Ronald Barton (as Richard the Lionheart?) in the Pageant which he produced, directed and acted in at High Wycombe Bomber Command, to celebrate the end of the war. Ronald's son Nicholas attended, as did "Bomber" Harris himself.
    But that was all a year ago, and God forbid that we should wax wistful and nostalgic about the Pageant or anything else. By a curious coincidence, I find myself today in the same sort of approaching-zero-hour ferment and flatness, thinking of all the things I could have done a better way and dismissing such thoughts with an "Oh, well!…"
    ...
    [This concluding phrase 'collapse of stout party' - meaning basically 'the fat/stoic gentleman faints' - is an interesting one. According to Michael Quinion at http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-col5.htm, the phrase is commonly supposed to have been a common Victorian punchline in Punch magazine cartoons, except that nobody has been able to find it there, although there was a recurring character called 'Stout Party'. Still, Ronald's son Nicholas does remember his father using the phrase and remembers Ronald attributing it to Punch. Still, the earliest that Quinion can trace the complete phrase to is a 1953 publication, but Ronald was here using it seven years earlier.
    According to this site, Ronald's adaptation of Chesterton's "The Man Who Was Thursday" was broadcast on 4 May 1953 and again on 17 November 1975, both presumably repeats of the first airing which must surely have been in 1946 or 1947?]
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p1.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p2.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p3.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p4.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p1.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p2.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p3.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p4.jpg}

    (view changes)
    3:04 am
  6. page *Ronald Barton Diary and Letters edited Ronald Barton (1901-1986) began this diary on his 40th birthday, in the middle of World War 2. It i…
    Ronald Barton (1901-1986) began this diary on his 40th birthday, in the middle of World War 2. It is stylishly written and contains some wonderfully haunting descriptions of blitz devastation. At this time, he was a copywriter (i.e. composing slogans) at the advertising firm S. H. Benson Ltd. (where Dorothy L. Sayers had also worked as a copywriter from 1922-1931), which handled advertising for Guinness, amongst others. Some of Ronald's work on that campaign is described in this diary, and also in this 2009 Independent article.
    [[image:Ronald Barton War Diary scans/Ronald Barton War Diary v1 cover & inscription - Small.jpg]]{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20scans/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20v1%20cover%20%26%20inscription%20-%20Small.jpg}
    Cover of the first diary (left) and (right) endsheet inscription by Ronald's son Nicholas, age 5 years, 7 months.
    The diary consists of three volumes, written over eight months up until August 1941 when Ronald joined the RAF. Most of the first volume was transcribed by his wife Molly, and I (DBHB) initially used this transcript, and have embedded her footnotes in the text, as well as adding some notes of my own. I expanded most of the abbreviations (e.g. N. to Nick - which is what he calls his son in a post-war letter, also reproduced below). After borrowing some of the original diaries (volumes 1 & 3), I am able to continue the transcription where Molly left off. However in looking at the originals I have found a number of sections - crossed out in the original, probably by Ronald himself - that Molly did not transcribe, and other sections that are not crossed out but which Molly omitted anyway. These tracts seem to have been omitted either because they were considered not interesting enough, or else because they were perhaps too interesting (i.e. a trifle impolitic!). Feeling that enough time has passed, I have restored these parts but in grey text. There are some later corrections, clarifications or changes as well; where I consider it informative to do so I have included the original version in grey text with a strike through effect. I have also found places where Molly altered the text - for clarity perhaps, but I have reverted to the original. One recurring case concerns what Ronald called his wife: in the original he wrote 'B.', for Bunny - his pet name for her (perhaps to distinguish her from his elder brother Ted's wife who was also called Molly). In her transcript she altered 'B.' to 'M.'; I have gone with the original, but expanded the abbreviation.
    ...
    1.1
    January 10th, 1941 (Friday)
    [[image:Ronald Barton War Diary scans/Ronald Barton War Diary v1 p1 - Small.jpg width="360" height="545" align="left"]]My{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20scans/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20v1%20p1%20-%20Small.jpg} My birthday. Hence
    The day began earlier than usual as Nick wanted to do a short journey spend a ha'penny, and so effectively woke us up that we decided to have tea right away. This provided a leisurely moment for undoing parcels - this diary, a most superior pair of slippers from Bunny (which I gratefully put on at once) and, auxiliary presents from Nick, three coloured chalks wrapped up in a drawing, and an envelope containing a picture torn from one of his books and coloured by himself - with two paper ribbons fastened with safety-pins to the top corners, and joined with another, for hanging the picture up. Very fine presents indeed. {p1.2} 1.2
    Doug [his younger brother] rang me up at Sunnyside [the house at Rickmansworth to which some departments of the Advertising Agency, including Copy and Design, were evacuated]. Mighty casual about their neglect of us at Christmas. "An oversight". However, I said the oversight would be overlooked for this once. Took the opportunity of urging him to read "Babes in the Darkling Wood" [by H. G. Wells]. He promised he would. But I doubt it. My belief: he's afraid of Wells upsetting his fixed ideas.
    ...
    Returned to library "The Long Week-end" (Graves and Somebody [Alan Hodge]). Disappointing. Apart from the interest of recalling one's own reactions to the events chronicled, there was nothing to it. No colour, no comment, no personal viewpoint expressed or implied by the authors to give the chronicle character. The only figure for whom the authors (Graves, presumably) appeared to have any admiration was - of all people - Laura Riding. And of all reasons, chiefly because she had achieved a "complete synthesis" summed up in her quoted aphorism "Historical events have ceased to happen". Well, well!
    An early evening warning produced no unpleasant consequences - no gunfire, not even an interruption in the wireless. A second warning, about bedtime, was followed by the sound of a plane and a burst of local gunfire, but that too died away, and no further noises interrupted our repose. {p1.12}1.12
    [[image:Ronald Barton War Diary scans/Ronald Barton War Diary v1 pp10-11 - Small.jpg]]{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20scans/Ronald%20Barton%20War%20Diary%20v1%20pp10-11%20-%20Small.jpg}
    January 17th (Friday)
    Realised that I had let Thursday go by without writing my promised weekly letter to Mother, so spent lunch-time rectifying the omission. If it did nothing else, this diary would justify its existence by providing me with ready-made material for this letter, which used to involve a prodigious cudgelling of the brains in the effort to find something to say [altered by Molly to "remember the week' s happenings"].
    ...
    Much discussion about a walk. Finally Edward, Nick and I went, the females staying put. Walked over snowy-slushy common, Edward and I trying to fit fragments of political debate in between snowball fights which Nick found highly entertaining. Edward seems rather less politically, rather more psychologically minded, but it was difficult to get anywhere with Nick clamouring for fun and games.
    Followed a hasty tea, to let Edward get off in time to his duty. He had been occupying odd moments polishing his buttons, assisted of course by Nick. Doing without a batman they get his allowance of 14/- a week. Family left soon after Edward and got home about 6.30. {p1.16}1.16
    ...
    'Prig novels': [[@http://www.depauw.edu/sfs/chronologies/wells - books & pamphlets.htm|'stories'stories that "turn
    ...
    with his life"']]]life"']
    Read the papers by a roaring fire and suppered late off sausages. A latish warning followed by what seemed almost continuous gun-fire but all pretty remote - away to the south it appeared when I looked out at bed-time.
    January 20th (Monday)
    ...
    After a day of alarms - 3 in town and 4, I think, at Rickmansworth, during one of which a few alarmists claimed to have heard the German plane going over - it was rather surprising to have no night alarm at all.
    January 22nd (Wednesday)
    ...
    rollicking and [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/François_Rabelais|Rabelaisian]]Rabelaisian extravaganza. The
    Found the girls at home when I got back from Rickmansworth, but they seemed to have learned their lesson in manners, and departed quite docilely when Bunny announced that it was Nick's bedtime.
    Virtuously spent the evening writing cheques for various accumulated bills, and doing accounts generally. Rewarded by the final calculation that we could put another £20 in the Savings Bank, bringing the total to about £525. Quiet night.
    ...
    January 27th (Monday)
    Bound for Kingsway, I was walking along Market Place buswards when I became aware that a female figure had attached itself to me and was even plucking at my sleeve. My astonishment was not much the less when I recognised Dora. She is apparently sharing a flat with two other Missionary Misses, and though she has been in residence for some time, has not thought fit to make her presence known. Strange, unsisterly behaviour, to be sure, but if she wants it that way she can have it that way.
    {Douglas Molly Ted Dora Ronald Barton possibly at Teds wedding.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Douglas%20Molly%20Ted%20Dora%20Ronald%20Barton%20possibly%20at%20Teds%20wedding.jpg}
    Douglas, Molly Bushby, Ted, Dora and Ronald; probably at Ted & Molly's wedding in 1924.
    On my way home, called at Thurlow Road [No. 17 Thurlow Road was the post-Moorcroft home of Aunt Jessie Barton and Sarah, now evacuated, used as a kind of London base by all Bartons] where I found the caretaker Mrs. Burr, dutifully taking care. Having succeeded in assuring her of my bona fides, I was permitted to pack up Ted's wireless which was standing silent beneath a protective layer of cushions in the study. Unable to phone for a taxi, I had to go down to the rank, where I secured the last and lonely cab to convey me, with the wireless set, back home. I had it functioning before supper - a great improvement on Elizabeth's brassy-voiced baby, though it did not succeed in bringing in Lord Haw-haw. Another "Lullablitz",as the ever-fertile Daily Express now calls it. {p1.26}1.26
    ...
    Passing through Leicester Square we skirted the chasm where lately a bomb on the Green Room Club all too successfully brought the house down. Trafalgar Square and the Strand much as usual, and we couldn't get in to the Temple.
    It wasn't till we got to the lower end of Fleet Street that we really began to see things. Turning into Salisbury Square we found Church Missionary House roofless, its top two floors burnt out, though the fire-watchers managed to save the rest. The walls and spire of St. Bride's were a whited sepulchre, the inside blackened, charred and ragged with wreckage. In St. Paul's Churchyard we stopped to put pennies in the monster time-bomb that fell just outside the cathedral, now disarmed and doing penance by collecting for a Spitfire Fund.
    ...
    cousins we [[@http://wordlist.com/wot of.htm|wot of]]wot of who airily
    [Two of the locations destroyed in this attack were of family significance: Ronald's grandfather Rev. John Barton of Cambridge (1836-1908) had worked at Church Missionary House in Salisbury Square, and his grandfather John Barton the Elder (1754-1789) had lived at Cheapside when he first moved to London. Both premises were no more after the blitz.]
    So it was all along Cheapside as far as the Bank. On either side of the street a quite solid-looking facade of "spacious business premises, every mod. conv." And behind this every-day familiar front, the abomination of desolation. To look down any side street was to see not the London of 1941 but Ypres, 1917. The Menin Road [a poetic allusion to the trail of damage, referring to the Menin Road in Ypres] ran parallel with Cheapside.
    ...
    After this fashion, more or less, the stage is set. The overture is working up to its climax. Any moment now the curtain may go up.
    February 26th (Wednesday)
    ...
    sleep" [see [[@http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=Rmw58wA-pHUC&lpg=PA114&ots=DQaT7CYvf1&dq=horlicks "first group sleep"&pg=PA114#v=onepage&q=horlicks "first group sleep"&f=false|this cartoon]]].this cartoon]. The trouble
    Note on the food situation. Biscuits being scarce, and apples a forgotten fruit, a problem arose over the "lunch" that Nick takes to school for 11.0 am. Bunny's solution would earn her a medal from the Ministry of Food. For Nick goes off very happily every morning with a pocketful of - raw carrots! I think this qualifies for the Express's "Odd Spot", almost the oddest feature of it being that Nick now prefers this peculiar pabulum to cake. Unlike Nebuchadnezzar,
    "He murmurs as he champs the unwonted food
    ...
    Another time it was a long, vapour trail laid across the sky, a cotton-wool rope blowing across the moon. Once - but only once - I heard the whistle and thud of a bomb, but at a respectful distance. As usual, towards midnight the uproar abated. But it was obviously no night for sleeping upstairs, and we stayed in our bunks even though the All Clear went about 12.30. Just as well, as there were apparently more alarms later that we did not hear.
    March 9th (Sunday)
    ...
    at the [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Café_de_Paris_(London)|CafeCafe de Paris]],Paris, killing, amongst
    Hearing that we proposed to bike to Stanmore, Elizabeth offered us and our bikes a lift as far as Hendon, so having deposited Nick {p1.93}1.93 with the Castles for his usual day with David, Bunny and I called at Kingsley Lodge, and I investigated the possibility of attaching the bikes to the car. But as it was going to be an obviously difficult and probably deleterious performance, we decided not to bother, and taking a grateful leave of Elizabeth, we pedalled forth. It was a pleasant morning, and we found the journey surprisingly effortless and most enjoyable, not hurrying unduly and stopping for a coffee at Mill Hill. Even with this, it took us less than an hour, and our actual running time was just 45 minutes, quicker probably than the vastly tedious journey by bus-train-bus.
    [Arriving at the Van der Werffs:] James, in the throes of a cold, was recumbent on the sofa with a neat pile of handkerchiefs beside him, and drinks were dispensed on his behalf by a breezy, battle-dressed man who turned out to be a brother-in-law.
    ...
    Not having received the fire-watchers' tin hats, I went and collected them, and leaving one with my mates, arranged that we should take our watches in our own houses, assembling outside if any emergency arose. Nothing whatever arose, however, and after an evening's reading aloud we went once more to bed.
    March 29th (Saturday)
    ...
    the opera “[[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Bohème|La Bohème]]”].“La Bohème”]. However, I
    It was then time for lunch, early to enable Bunny to get off to the pictures which she was able to do the more comfortably since Dora had phoned an offer to have Nick to tea. There had also been a call from Nadine & Edward [Moeran], proposing themselves for the {p1.136}1.136 evening. So Bunny departed, leaving Nick furbished and resting till called for. Seeking some warmer occupation for the afternoon, I got out the mower, recently reground and repaired - it had developed, last autumn, an infuriating habit of slipping unasked into neutral, the rollers coasting over the grass without turning the blades. I began in a painstaking way by raking over the front lawn to remove bits of shrapnel and other foreign bodies that that would damage the mower. But as I succeeded in collecting nothing but grass, and leaving the turf so smarmed down that the mower could hardly pick up anything to cut, I decided it wasn't worth it. There were intermittent inquiries from Nick in the bedroom to know "how much longer?", and when he finally appeared, hanging half out of the window, and asking if he could get up, I accepted the fait accompli and allowed him to join me. I was much put out to find that the mower, though improved, was by no means cured of its bad habits and it took me a long time to get just the front done, as I had to go over the same ground ad nauseam.
    Dora duly appeared and took delivery of Nick [Molly altered this erroneously to "Dora looked in and took Bunny off to tea with her"], and I continued my hit-and-miss attempts to mow, taking time off for to consume the tea left prepared for me by Bunny. Having at any rate {p1.137}1.137 gone through the motions of mowing the front grass - which seemed singularly unaffected by the experience - I gave it up as a bad job - which it certainly was - and pruned the roses, eradicating the two defunct standards and re-arranging the survivors in decent symmetry. Bunny and Nick severally returned from their jaunts and at 6.0 I downed tools and went in for a bath in which I was still immersed when Nadine & Edward appeared in their resuscitated car. Nick departed like snail unwillingly to bed, and Bunny ushered in a trolley-load of sandwiches and coffee to satisfy the most exacting appetite (mine).
    ...
    A reasonably decent morning, and Burrett and I were inspired to relieve the tedium of our journey with song. The piece de resistance was a spirited rendering of "Mad Dogs and Englishmen", of which, in response to our vociferous applause, we kindly consented to give an encore.
    The day at Rickmansworth was as dreary and depressing as usual. Lewitt and Him have completely fallen down on my "Mixed Metaphors" page for Guinness [see March 5th]. They turned out a wildly Surréaliste composition of vanishing perspectives and fantastic proportions, the pair of socks standing upright without visible means of support on the distant horizon, being in proportion about 2¼ miles high. It has now returned to Gilroy whom I found at work on it entrenched behind a parapet of flints, models for the stone (for not leaving unturned).
    {Guinness - What The Situation Demands.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Guinness%20-%20What%20The%20Situation%20Demands.jpg}
    Gilroy's completed Guinness advert.
    It is increasingly a relief to get home to my family and fireside and domestic busyness and restfulness. {p1.149}1.149
    ...
    Bunny amazingly bright after another day of unaided Spring Cleaning, complicated by the messy activities of the sweep. No warning before bedtime, but slept in the shelter all the same. {p1.160}1.160
    April 10th (Thursday)
    ...
    a film 202644/The-Youngest-Profession.html|inin 1943]. Said
    A general "end-of-term" atmosphere prevailed at the office, nobody having very much to do and everybody sitting about waiting for the word "Go". As a matter of fact, no-one bothered to say the word "Go" officially, so we just took it for granted that 4.0 pm was the hour appointed and went without being told.
    Home about 5.15 to a most satisfying combined tea-supper meal to which Nick was allowed to sit up. Bunny had reached the final stages of spring-cleaning and I was able to assist by hanging up the fresh clean curtains in the drawing room. Then we had a nice long evening with nothing to do but look forward for the holiday. And so the winter and this volume of my diary drew peacefully to their close.
    ...
    So I thought I would write to you today. It's high time I did anyway. I have a theory that you were – and are – the only person who really understood what the Pageant meant. What it meant to me, anyway. It was a queer affair. Looking back on it now, with a detached interest, I can see all its ridiculous imperfections. Its pathetic amateurishness, its rawness, its gaucherie, it's probably embarrassing naivety.
    And yet... and yet... all I know is that I meant, and still mean, what I said afterwards about never producing another amateur performance, not because I thought the Pageant wasn't good enough for me, but because it was, to me, so completely good. And why that should be so, I think you probably understand even better than I do.
    {Ronald Barton in pageant to celebrate end of war. High Wycombe bomber command.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20in%20pageant%20to%20celebrate%20end%20of%20war.%20High%20Wycombe%20bomber%20command.jpg}
    Ronald Barton (as Richard the Lionheart?) in the Pageant which he produced, directed and acted in at High Wycombe Bomber Command, to celebrate the end of the war. Ronald's son Nicholas attended, as did "Bomber" Harris himself.
    But that was all a year ago, and God forbid that we should wax wistful and nostalgic about the Pageant or anything else. By a curious coincidence, I find myself today in the same sort of approaching-zero-hour ferment and flatness, thinking of all the things I could have done a better way and dismissing such thoughts with an "Oh, well!…"
    ...
    [This concluding phrase 'collapse of stout party' - meaning basically 'the fat/stoic gentleman faints' - is an interesting one. According to Michael Quinion at http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-col5.htm, the phrase is commonly supposed to have been a common Victorian punchline in Punch magazine cartoons, except that nobody has been able to find it there, although there was a recurring character called 'Stout Party'. Still, Ronald's son Nicholas does remember his father using the phrase and remembers Ronald attributing it to Punch. Still, the earliest that Quinion can trace the complete phrase to is a 1953 publication, but Ronald was here using it seven years earlier.
    According to this site, Ronald's adaptation of Chesterton's "The Man Who Was Thursday" was broadcast on 4 May 1953 and again on 17 November 1975, both presumably repeats of the first airing which must surely have been in 1946 or 1947?]
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p1.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p2.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p3.jpg}
    {Ronald Barton to Freddie July 1946 p4.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p1.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p2.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p3.jpg}
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ronald%20Barton%20to%20Freddie%20July%201946%20p4.jpg}

    (view changes)
    2:58 am
  7. page *Memoirs of Emily Elliott edited ... My great Grandfather married twice – first a Miss Sherman - and second a Miss Venn. It was thi…
    ...
    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}2 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.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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 secretary to an embassy to Arabia where he died and was buried in the garden of the Imam of Senna.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).
    ...
    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}7 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.'
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Rev%20Charles%20Boileau%20Elliott%20FRS%201803-1875.jpg} {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Emily%20Dougan%201806-1877.jpg}{Rev Charles Boileau Elliott FRS 1803-1875.jpg} {Emily Dougan 1806-1877.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}8 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.
    ...
    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.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Emily%20Eugenia%20Elliott%20aged%2015%20and%20brother%20Arthur%2C%20by%20R%20A%20Heapy%201854.jpg}{Emily Eugenia Elliott aged 15 and brother Arthur, by R A Heapy 1854.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}21 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.
    ...
    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.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Rev%20John%20and%20Emily%20Barton%20July%201864.jpg}{Rev John and Emily Barton July 1864.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.
    ...
    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}71 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?'!
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Emily%20Eugenia%20Barton%20nee%20Elliott%20with%20class.jpg}{Emily Eugenia Barton nee Elliott with class.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.
    ...
    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.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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}{John Barton and his family at Holy Trinity Vicarage Cambridge 1884 Back row Ethel Jack Cecil Jessie Fred Centre row Arthur Emily John In front Bill Guy.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}93 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.
    ...
    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}123 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'.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Captioned%20Abinger%20May%207%201901.jpg}{Captioned Abinger May 7 1901.jpg}
    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.
    {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ambleside%20August%201901%20Arthur%20Jack%20Fred%20Ethel%20Jess%20Guy%20Bill%20%28Cecil%20was%20in%20India%29.jpg}{Ambleside August 1901 Arthur Jack Fred Ethel Jess Guy Bill (Cecil was in India).jpg}
    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}124 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.
    (view changes)
    2:54 am
  8. page *Memoirs of Emily Elliott edited ... His Father, also Charles Elliott was one of the earliest 'writers' who went out under that gre…
    ...
    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.
    ...
    now stands, [[@http://www.bing.com/maps/?v=2&cp=50.81990808~-0.13987452&lvl=15&eo=0&where1=1 Kings Road, Brighton BN1 1&ss=yp.Hilton Brighton Metropole~pg.1|onon King's Road, facing the sea]];sea; an attractive
    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}2 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.
    {William Pearson Elliott 1780-1802 secretary to an embassy to Arabia where he died and was buried in the garden of the Imam of Senna.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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).
    ...
    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}5 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.
    ...
    in his [[@http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=fDjb6HH5xm4C&lpg=PP1&ots=tzI2QAUrEu&dq=Thomas Babington Macaulay lord clive&pg=PA23#v=onepage&q&f=false|lifelife of Lord Clive]],Clive, who describes
    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.
    ...
    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}7 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.'
    {Rev Charles Boileau Elliott FRS 1803-1875.jpg} {Emily Dougan 1806-1877.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Rev%20Charles%20Boileau%20Elliott%20FRS%201803-1875.jpg} {http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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}8 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.
    ...
    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}10 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.
    ...
    missionaries named [[@http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=fXcUAAAAYAAJ&lpg=PA159&ots=n2rigT4QG9&dq=jetter missionary Smyrna&pg=PA159#v=onepage&q=jetter missionary Smyrna&f=false|Jetter]],Jetter, for six
    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}11
    ...
    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}12 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.
    ...
    cure at [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lázně_Jeseník|Grafenburg]]Grafenburg in Silesia
    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}13 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!
    ...
    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}14 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.
    ...
    Castlenau, near [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nîmes|Nismes]],Nismes, who fled
    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}15 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.
    ...
    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.
    {Emily Eugenia Elliott aged 15 and brother Arthur, by R A Heapy 1854.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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}21 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.
    ...
    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}33
    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.
    ...
    the Jungfrau, [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mönch|Mönch]]Mönch and Eiger
    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.
    ...
    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.
    {Rev John and Emily Barton July 1864.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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.
    ...
    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.
    ...
    via the [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fréjus_Rail_Tunnel|MontMont Cenis tunnel]]tunnel which had
    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.]
    ...
    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}71 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?'!
    {Emily Eugenia Barton nee Elliott with class.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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.
    ...
    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}91 '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.
    ...
    and revisited [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rossinière|Rosinière]],Rosinière, where I
    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}92 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'!
    ...
    Chaumont and [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neuchâtel|Neufchatel]];Neufchatel; and I
    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.
    {John Barton and his family at Holy Trinity Vicarage Cambridge 1884 Back row Ethel Jack Cecil Jessie Fred Centre row Arthur Emily John In front Bill Guy.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/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}93 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.
    ...
    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.
    ...
    Cecil at [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Göschenen|Goeschenen]],Goeschenen, who was
    ...
    see the [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teufelsbrücke|Devil's Bridge]],Devil's Bridge, and return
    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.
    ...
    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}105
    ...
    Chateau near [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nîmes|Nismes]],Nismes, South France;
    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.
    ...
    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.
    ...
    Ethel at [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mürren|Murren]],Murren, and the
    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}114 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.
    ...
    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}115 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!
    ...
    to pretty [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyères|Hyéres]],Hyéres, picturesque with
    ...
    and to [[@http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Valescure,+Fréjus,+France&sll=43.436218,6.765347&sspn=0.063447,0.154324&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Valescure,+Fréjus,+Var,+Provence-Alpes-Côte+d'Azur,+France&t=h&z=14|Valescure]],Valescure, on the
    ...
    Christmas at '[[@http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=Mauvarre,+near+Cannes&hl=en&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Boulevard+de+Mauvarre,+06400+Cannes,+Alpes-Maritimes,+Provence-Alpes-Côte+d'Azur,+France&ll=43.549792,7.052536&spn=0.063328,0.154324&z=13|Mauvarre]]','Mauvarre', Cannes; and
    ...
    sketch of [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Èze|Esa]],Esa, a Saracenic
    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.
    ...
    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}117
    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.
    [[image:http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d7/Jean-François_Millet_(II)_001.jpg width="480" height="399" link="@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Francois_Millet#The_Angelus"]]
    'The
    {http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d7/Jean-Fran%C3%A7ois_Millet_%28II%29_001.jpg}
    'The
    Angelus', by
    ...
    at the [[@http://www.musee-orsay.fr/index.php?id=851&L=1&tx_commentaire_pi1[showUid]=339&no_cache=1|Musée d'Orsay]].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}118
    ...
    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}120
    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'.
    ...
    and the [[@http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhône_Glacier|Rhone Glacier]].Rhone Glacier. We saw
    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
    ...
    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}123 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'.
    {Captioned Abinger May 7 1901.jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Captioned%20Abinger%20May%207%201901.jpg}
    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.
    {Ambleside August 1901 Arthur Jack Fred Ethel Jess Guy Bill (Cecil was in India).jpg}{http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2324445/Ambleside%20August%201901%20Arthur%20Jack%20Fred%20Ethel%20Jess%20Guy%20Bill%20%28Cecil%20was%20in%20India%29.jpg}
    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}124 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.
    (view changes)
    2:19 am
  9. page *Memoirs of Emily Elliott edited ... These memoirs (never formally published but transcribed and distributed by her grandson Ted Ba…
    ...
    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.
    ...
    simply click [[@http://bartonhistory.wikispaces.com/page/pdf/*Memoirs of Emily Elliott|here]].here.
    Family origins
    1
    (view changes)
    2:16 am

More