Memoir
"I was born on May 13th 1907 in - a Nottingham slum! My Father had been offered the living at St. Nicholas, Nottingham by my Mother's father, Henry Thornton, a very fervent, outspoken and sometimes infuriating old gentleman. He was a director of Smith's Bank (later incorporated in the National Provincial), and was a descendant of Henry Thornton of the 'Clapham Sect', a rather narrow, but very enthusiastic band of Evangelical Churchmen. (William Wilberforce was one of their members.) He married - in about 1870 - Catherine Charlotte Grenfell, daughter of Pascoe Grenfell, of an old Cornish family. Sir Wilfrid Grenfell of Labrador was one of this family, also Julian Grenfell, the poet, killed in the 1914-1918 war. In the same war the "Grenfell Twins", Francis and Riversdale were also killed. They were the nephews of my dear great uncle, Francis, first Lord Grenfell, and one-time Gold Stick in Waiting. Joyce Grenfell's husband, Reggie, was also of that family. So much for my grandparents on that side!
My Father, Jack Barton, was the second son of a missionary, John Barton, who came home from India to be vicar of Holy Trinity, Cambridge at a time when there was a tremendous upsurge of spiritual life in the University. It was the time of the famous "Cambridge Seven", and when Handley Moule (John Barton's brother-in-law) was Principal of Ridley Hall Theological College. Together these two fine Christian men taught, helped and encouraged great numbers of University students. John Barton married Emily Elliott, a member of an equally devout and enthusiastic family. Henry Venn Elliott founded St. Mary's Hall, a school for the daughters of clergy, and other members of the "clan" were the hymn writers Charlotte Elliott ('Just as I am") and Emily Steele Elliott ("Thou didst leave Thy throne and Thy kingly crown"). From all this you will see the sort of home I grew up in! Father spent most of his ministerial life in the Missions to Seamen, but after their first child, Jackie, died at Lowestoft aged 8 (of meningitis - probably T.B.) he felt he needed a change, and that brought him to Nottingham. In 1910 Father's younger brother, my Uncle Cecil, died of appendicitis (yes, they did die of it in those days!); he had been Rector of Rousdon and Combpyne, two tiny Devon parishes, and the Patron, Sir Wilfred Peek, asked Father to come and take over his brother's work. So we moved to Rousdon when I was 2½, and the next 8 years are some of the most clear and vivid in my whole life! The Squire's house at Rousdon is now All Hallows School. Then it was the "Big House" and the whole village was ruled over by the unmarried Squire's mother, the Hon. Lady Peek (daughter of the Earl of Middleton). It was a very benevolent autocracy; she took an immense interest in the whole village, and though a somewhat severe and forbidding lady she could be kindness and generosity itself when anyone on the Estate was in any sort of trouble. The grounds of the House were always open for Sunday School treats, Coronation celebrations, national or village festivities of all sorts. She expected the villagers to attend Church, and it was always our great amusement when sitting, as we did, in the pew behind the Squire's, and at the beginning of the Vent Lady Peek would turn majestically round intoning "O COME, let us sing unto the Lord", and have a good look down the Church to see who was - NOT there!
We were a very happy family. I am always so sorry for those children of clergy who found their home and Church life so restricted, frustrating and boring. We had a certain number of restrictions, but the special "Sunday games" were regarded as a treat - how could it be boring when Ray, requiring a parable beginning with 'R' produced 'The parable of the riotous living'? Church going was made interesting and exciting, and - speaking for myself, I was NEVER bored! We went to Matins as a matter of course, having looked up the collect, lessons, psalms etc. and put coloured bookmarkers in all the right places, and I think the music must have added to my enjoyment, for I can't remember a time when I didn't want to sing. I'm told I sang (in tune!) at the age of 2½ but the earliest I can remember was singing "Come to the Manger" to Father Christmas at the age of 4½, little dreaming that the old gentleman in the scarlet coat had been listening to my practising it for weeks past.
My elder brothers, Bernard, Arthur and Ray could do little wrong in my eyes, though Ray and I, being so close in age, fought like cats on occasions; though we loved each other dearly. He and I squabbled over our prayers at Mother's knee, when he prayed for a baby brother and I for a baby sister - and I won! (Madeline was born in 1911). And then in 1916, in the middle of the War, when Ray and I were ill and in bed in the nursery at Rousdon, my Father came upstairs on January 17th and said "We've got a new recruit!" This was Francis, and no one will ever believe me when I say that Ray and I had NO idea that Mother was pregnant! She was tall (5ft 10½") and the voluminous clothes of those days helped to disguise the fact.
The next year my Father was asked by the Missions to Seamen to spend 3 months in Gronigen (Holland) as Chaplain to the Royal Naval Brigade, interned "for the duration" after the retreat from Mons. This gave him great joy, and they obviously loved him and called him the "Fatherly old bloke"! and asked him to go again the next year, after which the M to S. asked Father if he would take on the job as Chaplain at Dover; so we moved from the peace and quiet of Devon to the turmoil of a busy port in wartime, with occasional air raids and bombardments from the sea to liven things up!
It was at Dover that I first caught a glimpse of the GLORY of music. The Parish church organist used to give recitals on Saturdays, for which we paid the vast sum of seven pence, and the tympani with which his wife joined him in the Overture to William Tell at the end was worth at least sixpence of this. (Also I first heard Walford Davies' Solemn Melody, and had more than my money's worth that afternoon) After one of these recitals he had called for a rehearsal of the local Choral Society who were practising the Messiah. 'And the glory, the glory of the Lord' WAS revealed to me that day - I thought I was in heaven!
It was at Dover that I really began to LEARN music. I had learned with my governesses at Rousdon (I had 6 in 3 years) for a while, and I had always loved singing, but when I began lessons with Miss Marguerite Pauline Laurie, who lived at 97 Maison Dieu Road, then a great and wide door was opened. She taught me most of what I learned in the next 8 years, and to my pleased surprise allowed me to belong to her rather exclusive Girls Singing Class, though I was 3 years younger than the others. My joy when I could sing, or sight-read, something that they couldn't, was enormous. HORRID little girl!! Miss Laurie was very strict and rather awe-inspiring; in fact when I had the great pleasure of meeting the wife of Leon Goossens about 40 years later, who had been 'Lucy Burrowes' at the same school at Dover, I found that she had been terrified at music lessons, and made her mother go with her! But I loved - as well as feared - Miss Laurie, and kept in touch until her death many years afterwards.
I took exams; I won a prize for getting 97% in a Trinity College of Music Theory exam, and was crushed by Miss Laurie's silent disappointment when just one slip prevented me from getting 100% in another! I learned to play the violin, but only kept this up for a few years (it was too hard on my Mother, who had to accompany my catterwauling), but when I went to boarding school I was thoroughly well 'grounded'. I took some exams there, and finished with passing Grade 7 - with one mark to spare! (The examiners were Stewart Macpherson and John Ireland, and they were notoriously strict!)
I was also very happy at school at Dover. For the first year I attended the equivalent of a little 'Dame School, but after the war a Miss Hill and a Miss Lasbrey started a small school, and the education there was amazingly good. Miss Hill was way ahead of her times; in French lessons we CONVERSED in French (J'ai fini; puis-je les couriger?'). In English we criticised each others 'Compositions'; we learned potted biographies, General Knowledge, and all sorts of exciting things. And we learned Elocution. The upshot of THAT was that I won a prize in a Trinity College exam, and had to recite (part of Tennyson's 'Morte d'Arthur) in Dover Town Hall (the Maison Dieu Hall). Sir Frederick Bridge presented the prizes, and pleased to have something new to talk about (classes for Elocution had only just started in TCM) launched into a dissertation about the pleasure he felt at 'the young lady we heard this afternoon'. Father cut out the newspaper cutting and stuck it in his 'Bit Book'!!!
I have always felt grateful to Miss Hill for those elocution lessons; she taught me to 'speak to the back of the hall', and consequently I have never had any difficulty, ever since, in making my raucous voice heard!
My great friend at that school was Barbara Stewart; her father was a retired Colonel who lived in the same road as our house, and who was very popular with my 4 years old brother Francis, who referred to him as 'my gentle friend'. Unfortunately Barbara went to boarding school before I did, but we kept up for a few years, and then lost touch for about 45 years! And then I saw the announcement of what I was sure must be a son of hers, wrote, and we picked up the threads again, and we greatly enjoy and value our renewed friendship.
I was a Girl Guide at Dover, and loved it. We 'helped' at the Seamen's Mission and loved it. I sang songs, and sometimes hymns to the sailors - but I don't know if THEY loved it. But in spite of the war, our 4 years at Dover were most happy. Then my Father was asked to go and rescue the Missions to Seamen at Swansea from a shocking state into which it had unfortunately been allowed to lapse. Perhaps part of the answer lay in the fact that the Chaplain's notepaper had his name printed in ENORMOUS capitals! Father spent 2 gruelling years there, restoring the good name of the Mission, and getting the Seamen's Institute and Chapel into a good, and ACTIVE condition. I remember one Easter Sunday vividly; Mother had asked the Rousdon children to send us primroses, and they responded magnificently. The result was that every man coming to the Sunday tea (and most of them came to the service afterwards) wore in his buttonhole a whole BUNCH of the lovely flowers! They were the envy of their mates when they at last left the premises! New Year's Eve was also a memorable time. The object was to get the sailors inside the Mission, for a late tea, and then KEEP them there and entertained till the pubs had shut! It was hard work, but with tea, games, a concert party, supper, more entertainment (I used to sing through clouds of 'Woodbine;' smoke), and finally a Watch Night service, we were successful.
I was only at Swansea for school holidays, for I went to boarding school in 1921, but the holidays were fun. In the summer we often took picnics to the Mumbles, going by the famous, funny little train that chugged along the Bay. It's speed was such that Ray once raced it on his bicycle! In those days Langland Bay, Rotherslade Bay etc. were glorious, unspoilt, uncrowded, un-built-over places. The last time we were in 'those parts' I didn't like what I saw.
All those years I had the joys of brothers and sister. Bernard was in the Royal Flying Corps in the 1914 war. I shall never forget the look on Mother's face when she got his telegram 'Overseas to-morrow'; the life of the average pilot being about 3 weeks. Bernard didn't even last that long! He was wounded a few days after his arrival in France, and after convalescence was kept at home as an Instructor, to his wrath and Mother's relief! He was always my loved 'big brother' to whom I looked up with love and respect - and I still do. Arthur was just too young for the war, and this I think made him unsettled afterwards. But after a few turbulent years he went to the Falkland Islands where he began life as a not much wanted cadet on the Luxton farm at Chartres, and ended up as Manager of the Falkland Island Company, Member of the Legislative and Executive Councils, with a CBE for 'services to the Islands'. He married Dorothy Felton, daughter of an Island farmer-owner at Teal Inlet, and they lived very happily in the Islands till his death in 1974, and her death a few years later. We were told that Stanley Cathedral wouldn't hold all who came to Arthur's funeral (in the middle of their winter) and an 'overflow' was held outside. His coffin was carried by members of the Sheep-owners Association and the farm workers, between whom he had so often acted as peacemaker! A memorial service was held for him in Lincoln's Inn Fields Chanel a few months later, to which we all went, and Sir Cosmo Haskard, a former Governor, gave a very moving address.
Ray, like my Father and all my brothers, went to Haileybury, and he and I spent all the holidays together. He was the inventor of marvellous games, and never at a loss for entertainment. He had wanted to go into the Indian Civil Service, but was rejected on account of his poor eyesight, so he - rather madly - went out to Kenya to plant coffee! However he had not been long in that country when he was asked to take a teaching post, and he continued to teach in Kenya for the next 27 years. It certainly seemed a better way of using a Cambridge M.A. than in planting coffee! (He was at Jesus College, Father having been at Pembroke) For the last 18 years of his time in Kenya he was in charge of the 'Children's Church' near Nairobi, and they had some wonderful services there. Cecily, his wife, whom he had married in 1929, trained the choir al Nairobi Cathedral.
Holidays; usually we went to stay with relations; this often meant Moorcroft at Weybridge, where my Barton grandmother lived with her two unmarried daughters, Aunt Ethel and Jessie, until her death in 1924. Here a favourite occupation was rowing on the Wey. In the 1914-18 war each bridge was guarded by a cold, bored sentry. We used to save buns from our picnic and present them with something to enliven their tedious duty! Sometimes we went to Ramsdale Park, in Arnold (Notts) where Mother's younger sister, Aunt Ger lived. She had married Colonel Frank Seely, (brother of General Jack Seely, the first Lord Mottistone) and they were most hospitable to all their relations. Uncle Frank had first been married to Eliza Russell, who died leaving him with a daughter Leila now Leila, Viscountess Hampden) and two sons Jim and Bill. (Jim married Vera Birkin, sister of Freda Dudley Ward, the then Prince of Wales' friend.) Uncle Frank and Aunt Ger then had two daughters. Sheila and Nina, and Madeline and I used greatly to enjoy holidays spent in their company, though I was terrified of their 'Nannie' and often used to seek the shelter of our beloved 'Nana', who accompanied us.
Or holidays could mean going wherever Uncle Theodore and Aunt Nina (Mother's elder sister) lived, and this would be the highlight of any year. They had, alas, no children, and consequently gave their nephews and nieces a marvellous time. It was first at Bishop Auckland, at a time when my great uncle Handley Moule was Bishop of Durham; then at the Vicarage at Bradford, and then in the Palace at Peterborough when Uncle Theodore was made Bishop of that large and unwieldy Diocese; and, last of all, in Farnham Castle (when he was Bishop of Winchester) and then - after the division of the Diocese - at Wolvesey, Winchester. It was always a thrill to stay in Farnham Castle; we loved the huge hall, and there was a tiny gallery high above it, where we occasionally used to eavesdrop on clergy luncheons going on in the hall below, when the uncle's huge and infectious laugh would keep all the company in good spirits. We also enjoyed looking at the tiny room where, it was said. Bishop Morley used to sleep with his coffin! And we loved the glory of the Chapel, with its wonderful carving. I was once at an interesting confirmation service there, when my three cousins, Harry, Francis and Roualeyn Cumming Bruce were confirmed. (Roualeyn is now Lord Justice Cumming Bruce - but I haven't set eyes on his since that day at Farnham!)
But THE holiday, in my younger days, was in 1920, when we went to the Lakes. My father's father and his family were lovers of the Lakes; they went in for fell walking, rock climbing (the two of my uncles used to climb with the Abrahams brothers of Keswick), bicycling, boating, botanising in a big way; and so we had grown up hearing all these stories, and thought it must be the most wonderful place. It was! and it still is! In those days it was train from Dover to London, train from Euston to Ulverston, (including morning tea, made on the floor of the carriage - luckily filled with our party -with a (saitit?) stove. It's a wonder we didn't set the train on fire). Then a smaller train from Ulverston to Lakeside, where we joyfully threw all our cycles on the little steamer (the Tern?) and sailed up the length of Windermere in the early morning. An unforgettable experience.
That holiday was my introduction to the Rydal Stepping Stones; to Grasmere, with its little island, then almost bare, now tree covered; to Rydal, and the lovely Loughrigg Terrace where we could take our cycles, but not cars (and where one of my brothers kindly mended a puncture for me while another fought with a recalcitrant Primus stove, making the picnic tea). To Windermere, and the beautiful little White Cross Bay, quiet, deserted, peaceful. (NOW???!!!). Then there was the Ferry, and the Ferry Hotel, now the Research Station, where my parents celebrated their Silver Wedding day with a very special, VERY EXPENSIVE TEA, a one-and-sixpenny tea no less, with their famous brandy snaps, eaten and enjoyed on the little terrace, looking up the length of the lake. We went to Keswick and Derwentwater, with memories for our parents of evenings in the 1890s when Bartons and Thorntons sang Mendelssohn's four-part songs from their boats on the lake, to the great pleasure of those on shore! I wish I'd heard them! Thirlmere, Wythburn, and the path up Helvellyn; the climb up to the top, and Father's delight on introducing us to the spring, a little way from the summit, rather as if he had put it there himself for our benefit! The long ridge of the summit - and looking over on to Striding Edge; starting the somewhat perilous descent down the loose screes - and deciding I'd stay safely on top! (I thought I should end up with a splash in Red Tarn!). And then the descent - on our backsides, sliding most of the way, and on arrival at Wythburn invading the Nag's Head (no, NOT the King's Head! but the Nag's Head is alas, no more), which a coach load of holidaymakers had just left. Ray collected ALL the plates of uneaten cakes from ALL the tables - and we ate the lot! A great day!
And then, most lovely of all, the beloved Blea Tarn and the Langdale Pikes. How vividly I remember the hot, gruelling ride, the pushing of our cycles up that last stiff hill, the gate - the two trees - and then! Is there a view that can beat that one? It thrilled me just as much in 1984 as it had done in 1920! Father climbed a little way up the hill opposite the tarn (where the little car park is now), lifted up his voice and hallooed. A cascade of notes came back from the opposite hill; he had hit the right note to make the famous echo respond. (But only in one book have I seen it mentioned; Baddeley's Lake District 'Hereabouts is a notable echo') On one visit there, an old fashioned horse drawn coach came up the hill. The driver took his 'yard of tin' and blew it. The result was magical. 'Horns of elfland faintly blowing' wasn't in it!
We climbed Pike of Stickle, and I remember Mother stopping firmly before the last ascent to the summit and announcing that she was going to stop THERE! There wasn't time after that for Harrison Stickle. I well remember the fearsome ache in my legs as we came down - and cycled back to Ambleside in pouring rain!
In 1921 I went to St. Mary's Hall, Brighton (founded by my ancestor, the Rev. Henry Venn Elliott) and spent 4 very happy years there, though I can't say I was 'good' at anything! I suppose singing was my best subject, and to my amazement I was told to sing the Wenceslas page solo at the Carol Concert in my first term. The King was sung by the 'odd job' man who cleaned our shoes - and who had a fine voice! I sang in various concerts, and took the name part in Walford Davies' Cantata "Humpty Dumpty" - and loved every minute that I was singing. I enjoyed English literature, and Latin - though Miss Ghey, the Headmistress, who taught us Latin, was terrifically strict. I learned a lot of ENGLISH from her, for she would never let us translate two Latin words with one English one, and I learned more English grammar there than in English lessons. My bugbear was Maths. I hated it and was hopelessly stupid at ALL of it. But I was very lucky, for not only did we have a delightful teacher, Beatrice Pope, but also one of the lordly, but kindly, Sixth Formers used to give me extra coaching in her spare time. Between them they got a little into my head - just enough to scrape through 'Matric' in due course! (Beatrice Pope went to Hong Kong as a CMS missionary, and was interned during the war. I kept up with her for the rest of her life. A truly delightful Christian woman).
I reached the Upper Sixth, but I had no clear idea what I should do after school; I just enjoyed my time there! I was one of about 30 in St. Hilary House (it shows how happy I was there that I wanted to call you after it, Hilary!) whose House Mistress was a Miss Rita Wisdom. She was large, plain, unattractive to look at, and could be very stern and forbidding. But she was a MARVELLOUS Housemistress, and spent all her days in working and planning so that we should have the very best time possible in our schooldays. We had Sunday picnics on the beach in summer; walks over the Downs to Ovingdean in the winter, sometimes including snowball fights. She read to us while we did our Saturday mending; we had more reading one evening a week for the House prefects. We were introduced to all sorts of delightful books and she read aloud superbly. And at the end of summer and winter terms we had 'Pigs' Paradise'; a wonderful supper with songs and speeches, with jellies and trifles and treats such as we never saw on ordinary days and it was all paid for out of her pocket (which we never knew till afterwards). Dear old Wiz! We didn't really appreciate her till we had left school! My very dear friend through those 4 years was Marion Lloyd, 'Fish', because, as we rudely told her, her face was like a cod! She was a wonderful person, a wholly dedicated Christian, AND such fun! She used to come and stay with us and share my brothers (having none of her own) and spent a memorable holiday in the Lakes with our family. She went to Rwanda as a nurse in 1934, and died of cancer there in 1956. Her example of self sacrifice and service was an inspiration to me. She was Raymond's godmother, and her younger sister, Esther, whom I also love dearly, (still going strong in New Zealand) was Dermot's.
We had one or two notable occasions at school. In 1921 Princess Mary came to visit the school, the day before her engagement was announced to the then Lord Lascelles. She was terribly nervous, but perhaps that was the reason why! The whole school was in hoots of laughter over the newspaper account after that visit, for it said, 'The Princess was shown round the school by a fair haired little girl called Joan Blackledge'. The said Joan, though undeniably small, was our Head Girl, could quell a room full of noisy girls with a glance, and was held in such respect that if she visited a Form room all the occupants instinctively stood up! She was a wonderful person, and became an admirable doctor later. She was succeeded by Dorothy Emmet, now a Professor of Philosophy - I think, but she couldn't keep order like Joan! Perhaps philosophers don't need to be kept in order!
Very occasionally the senior forms were taken to the Dome at Brighton. I well remember three of these rare and exciting events. We heard Kreisler play, and the programme included the Kreuzter Sonata, with Charlton Keith. A never-to-be-forgotten afternoon. Another day we heard Cortot give a Chopin recital, including the 24 Preludes. I was so inspired that I promptly bought a copy, thinking they sounded so easy. So they were but only when Cortot played them! The third memorable event was the visit of George Leigh Mallory, after one of the unsuccessful attempts on Everest and the year before the attempt where he, and Irvine, were 'last seen going strong for the top' and lost their lives. He made a great impression on us.
Apart from that, we practically did not go into Brighton at all, though we were allowed to walk, two and two, along the first part of the front. I have always thought Brighton sea front railings the most boring in the world! We played various games; hockey and netball, tennis and cricket. I hated hockey; I was always put at back, and I just stood there with my chilblains driving me mad. I adored cricket, especially bowling, but wasn't much good at it. But I did once play in a match against Roedean (our great rivals) - for the Third Eleven!
In 1923 my wearied Father left Swansea, having put the Mission on its feet again, and done what the Superintendent described as the 'best 2 years work' in his life. He found that he was getting rather past climbing up rope ladders on to ships! He was appointed Rector of Great Holland in Essex, a parish where the last 3 Rectors had covered 109 years! Father only stayed 9 years, so they must have felt he let the side down! I left school in 1925, and there followed 3 very happy years at home. I helped in the Parish; I sang songs to rather bored parish worthies; I taught in the Sunday School; I ran a Missionary class for children; I trained the choirboys; but my main joy was my music. I was lucky enough to be taught by a most gifted teacher, Madame Juliette Matton-Painpare, who lived in London but spent week-ends at Frinton. I had piano and singing lessons with her, and used to practise about 4 hours a day. I was never up to concert standard, but she did let me play (Cesar Franck and Bach) at an 'Amateurs concert' which she arranged. And I used to sing - all over the place! I well remember some of the concerts she arranged in Frinton, for there we heard for the first time the wonderful 'English Singers', the superb violinist Albert Sammons (who gave me a taste for Cesar Franck I have never lost) and the unforgettable Dolmetsch family, presided over by Papa Arnold Dolmetsch who, when the Frinton audience clapped politely, stamped up and down the platform shouting "Stop that horrible noise!" The Frinton ladies were NOT amused! (I was!)
There were notable events in those three years I spent at home from 1925 to 1928. Arthur's homecoming in 1927, after 6 years in the Falklands, and his marriage to Dorothy Felton that summer - a most happy time. Ray's departure for Kenya - and oh how I missed him! Bernard's wedding in St. Giles' Cathedral in July 1928; and that was a wonderful time. I was staying with Uncle Theodore and Aunt Nina at Winchester, and Uncle T. had been asked to preach at a broadcast service in York Minster, and to stay at the Deanery. We were all going up to Edinburgh afterwards, and the Dean and Mrs. Ford kindly included me in the invitation, and it gave me a most memorable weekend. The Dean took me for a walk around the walls of York, discoursing on the history of the city, and on cricket, which was exactly to my taste! Mrs. Ford was gloriously mad - perhaps I should say eccentric! - and addressed me at the top of her voice as 'NIECE', being unable to remember my name. While at the Deanery, I talked to the daughter (I think) of S.R. Crockett, the novelist, and to the mother of Aidan Crawley, then doing great things on the cricket field at - Oxford?
I went to five services in the Minster that Sunday! I was in the seventh heaven with the glory of the building and, even more, with the glory of the music. There I first heard the Stanford 150th Psalm, as the choir recessed at the end of the service, a veritable paen of triumph. I was asked to sing to the assembled company in the Deanery in the evenings, and they approved and asked for more - which was gratifying. The song which they liked so much that I had to sing it twice was Arnold Dolmetsch's arrangement of "Have you seen but a white lily grow?" A most enchanting thing, and I loved singing it. Then to Edinburgh and the glory of St. Giles, and after Bernard's lovely wedding (which included a telegram from Kenya 'Send us some cake!') a wonderful week touring the Borders; Melrose Abbey, Dryburgh, Abbottsford (even though I never COULD cope with Sir Walter Scott's books!); standing in awe at the Scottish National War Memorial in the Castle; and finding a different place for lunch each day - one excellent shop supplied a good 3-course meal for 1/6d.!! Those were the days!
I had been confirmed before I went to school. It seemed the natural thing to do. Father prepared me with thoroughness and devotion, and I was quite happy about it. The service was in Peterborough Palace Chapel on April 15th 1921, and was taken by my very dear Uncle Theodore. His nephew and niece Frank Woods (later Archbishop of Melbourne) and Priscilla were also confirmed then. We made our first Communion at home later. I'm glad I was confirmed in the days when it was considered advisable for candidates to have an extra preparation class before receiving Communion for the first time. To have the two services in one, as nowadays, seems to me to be too much to take in at once.
I was happy about my Confirmation, for I had been brought up in a Christian home, and taught the Christian faith, and given an example by my parents of Christian behaviour. But some years later I realised that I had never made a personal commitment of myself to God. It was all very good - but only 'good secondhand'! Not till I was 21 did Christianity become the intensely personal thing that it is now. But I always maintain that I was then able to draw upon the spiritual gifts that I had been given on that April day, which had more or less lain dormant since. So I feel it was never wasted! I went regularly to Communion at St. Mary's Hall, and I shall always remember the impressive example of the sight of our Headmistress, Miss Ghey, kneeling absolutely absorbed in prayer and worship, at that service. She never missed a Sunday there.
August 1928 was a very wonderful month for me. The C.S.S.M. was at Frinton, and Francis and I used to cycle in for the beach services and other events. Jack Collins, the 6ft 7in Cambridge rowing blue was the Leader, and many 'Frintonians' used to come down to the beach just to see him - and, we hope, get some spiritual benefit thrown in! But it was the challenge of a young man, Jim Walkey (later a missionary, who died at an early age) who said one day, on the beach pulpit, "Do you KNOW that your sins are forgiven?" It was, at a meeting like that, a quite ordinary thing to say; but for some reason it HIT me! I had to think about it a lot, and I came to the conclusion that I didn't 'know'. And from then on I gave my life to the Lord Jesus Christ, to be used in His service. I have fallen and failed Him more times than I can count, but He has NEVER failed me.
There was another notable event in 1928, Benjamin Britten was at school at Lowestoft with my youngest brother, Francis, and they became friends - not so much on the cricket field (though they were both good players) as on the tennis courts, where they had battles royal. Ben came to stay with us that September, and - though he was a very shy boy - shared in all our family doings. We had no idea that he had by that time composed an astonishing amount of music. When, afterwards we asked Francis about it he just said casually, "Oh, he was always writing music - bits of manuscript paper all over the place". We wished he had picked some up and brought it home - it would have proved very valuable later! Ben and I played duets with great pleasure (on our lovely Broadwood grand piano - which we still have), although he, having passed ALL the 'Associated Board' exams (at age about 13) was an infinitely better player than I, 6 years his senior. Father persuaded him to play for one of our Parish parties. He played the Mendelssohn Rondo Capriccioso with great brilliance, and this elicited polite clapping from our slightly bemused villagers. But when he then played an imitation of an old fashioned gramaphone running down while playing 'God save the King' this brought ENORMOUS applause! 'He's a real musician!'
I have in my bookcase Imogen Hoist's book 'Britten', and on the fly leaf Ben wrote for me (in 1972) '........after so many years of friendship, 1928-1972....'. And although there were years (especially during the war) when we neither saw nor heard anything of him, our friendship remained till the day of his death. And I may add, that although Ben was a lifelong pacifist and Francis ended his career at Major General in the Royal Marines, their friendship also endured!
I must mention another wonderful holiday we had during those 3 years. It was just after I left school in 1925, and we - including 'Fish' - spent 4 weeks in the Lakes. We stayed as before at Kelsick Villa (still there) with the kind Miss Martin, and walked, climbed and cycled; but also, this time, Father had his car, a bullet nosed Morris, which he had bought in 1923 with the proceeds of his stamp collection! The car came to a halt one day on the top of the Kirkstone; no, the engine hadn't failed, it was completely surrounded by a large flock of sheep! That was a memorable outing, when Ray and I valiantly pushed our cycles up 'The Struggle', which had not then the good surface it has now, and we thought we'd be dead before we reached the top! (But, like all strenuous things, it has been very satisfying to be able to say 'We did it!') And then, I shall never forget the day Bernard, Ray and I walked from Dungeon Ghyll, over Esk Hause and down the Styhead Pass to Wastwater. It was a glorious day! Most memorable was the absolute blackness of Angle Tarn, lying under the shadow of Bowfell and looking most sinister and awe-inspiring. But when we reached the shelter on the Esk Hause ridge we were very lighthearted, and Bernard gave us a demonstration of the Highland Fling - or was it a Reel? We bought home made bread and blackcurrant jam in Wastwater and ate it by the side of Sprinkling Tarn on the way back. The water looked most inviting and Ray said he thought he'd paddle. Bernard said nothing, but grinned. Off came Ray's socks and one toe went in - - - and the mountains resounded with a piercing yell! He hadn't realised that those mountain tarns are liquid ice! How Bernard laughed!
We set out on the same route a week later, with Fish accompanying us, intending to climb Scafell. As we walked through Mickleden we passed through 3 rainbows! 11 was raining a little, and becoming misty, and by the time we reached Esk Hause Bernard firmly said that it would not be safe to attempt Scafell under such conditions, and we must go back. So, sadly over the hills, down Rossett Ghyll with the rain now pouring down, and Ray was the first to reach the Dungeon Ghyll Hotel - where he commandeered the only hot bath available! We got to Ambleside soaked to the skin, and as I had been wearing an old dyed gym tunic I looked like an Ancient Briton for a week! Fish tried to scrub it off for me, but we both laughed so much that it wasn't very effective! Oh, what a gorgeous laugh she had! It just bubbled up like a fountain, and made everyone else laugh too.
One more incident I must include, this one in 1926. The Australians were playing a series of Test matches in England, and the final one was to be at the Oval, in August. This would decide if England won back the Ashes, then held by Australia. Bernard suggested that he should drive Ray and me to the Oval for one day of the match, and I was wildly excited. (I had practically been brought up on Wisden since my earliest years!) There was a violent thunderstorm the night before our great day, and I was very sick - but managed to keep this hidden from Mother (I remember throwing my breakfast out of the window when she wasn't looking!) who would have tried to dissuade me from such a journey as this. We eventually reached the Oval (no parking difficulties on those days!) where we proceeded to sit on the hard ground in utter bliss from about 10.30 a.m. till 6.30 p.m. I occasionally wandered off to be sick in a suitable place, but that was a minor discomfort; the cricket was all-absorbing. England had to bat on the 'stickiest dog' I have ever seen, and the Australians must have been rubbing their hands with glee over that thunderstorm. But that marvellous pair, Jack Hobbs, and Herbert Sutcliffe were there, and we watched, fascinated and thrilled, as they overcame the fearsome Australian bowling and made centuries, both of them. And then my most admired and adored Frank Woolley came in! Alas, he only made 27, but it was made in his own inimitable style. A great day's cricket! And how we wished we had been there the next day, when Wilfred Rhodes went through the Australian side like a knife through butter, and WE WON THE ASHES!! We finished our day out with supper and a visit to a revue, with the enchanting Mimi Crawford (who later married the Earl of Suffolk) singing songs from 'When we were very young' (then all the rage) and Joyce Barbour with 'How now, brown cow?' And we got home at 2.30 a.m.! I was quite well by that time, thank you!
By 1928 I had become interested in the idea of nursing, due partly to my great devotion to our cousin, Douglas Barton, who was a doctor. When I mentioned the idea to Mrs. McClintock, wife of the Rector of Frinton, she immediately said, "Oh, you must go to Mildmay!" And forthwith she arranged to take me and my parents to see the Mission Hospital in Bethnal Green. We'll take the train up to London, cross over to Liverpool St. Station, go to the East side, and take a No. 6 bus. One penny fare, get out at the junction of Bishopsgate, Old Street, Hackney Road and Shoreditch High St., walk down a small, drab road Austin Street, and it brings you to the Courtyard of a little Hospital. It's nice and tidy, with a plane tree growing - the only green thing for miles. Go round the back, to the Outpatients Department entrance, and you're in a slum; rejoicing in the name of Sweet Apple Square! Bombed in the war, Sweet Apple Square is no more. In 1866 and outbreak of cholera in East End and some of the Deaconesses from the Mildmay centre in north London were sent down to help: eventually they started this hospital, finding there was a great need for it. It has 3 wards, 57 beds. Outpatients department, theatre, X-ray, dispensary. 18 months ago, the powers-that-be decided Mildmay was to be closed; it was too small. After a fight by numerous people determined that the hospital should continue in some shape or form (including Mr. and Mrs. Spinks in this parish), the powers-that-be relented and said it might stay open as a Community hospital. I was accepted - but was asked to grow my hair! Matron didn't think bobbed hair was proper - or perhaps Biblical! (I cut it again directly I left!) And so, September 1928 saw me in a pink striped dress (8 inches from the ground), full buttons, hooks and eyes, and very heavy, long sleeves, a white apron, stiff collar and cuffs and belt, and a cap, and when I first went a grey outdoor coat. When we went to church the first times I wore it, I couldn't get my mouth open enough to sing hymns! Later bashed felt hats, but my husband never let me throw this away! Uniform was necessary in the back alleys of Shoreditch. What did we get paid? Pay went up the year I joined; first year £20, second year £23. third year £25. So I was doing a staff nurse job with board and lodging and 9/- (45 pence) a week!
One of the first things which struck you about the hospital was that it was full of large texts! As you entered the front door; 'The Lord shall be Thy conscience.' On the walls in the wards; (I am the good shepherd, the way and the life etc.) and (I will never leave thee etc.). And sometimes you would see patients looking at them thoughtfully, or they'd ask you something about it. This was a MISSION hospital, and the motto, "He sent them to preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick." Apart from nursing, one of our jobs was to take our turn at morning and evening prayers. Not just prayer and Lord's prayer; hymn, reading, prayer and 5 minutes talk. Often it took a long time to prepare. On Sundays we had 3 hours extra off duty to go to Church, and each morning extra 1 /2 hour quiet time, to help us prepare for these talks.
We were all called by our Christian names; I've still got the first letter I received from a certain doctor beginning Dear Nurse Joy. It was a very friendly staff, but you minded your elders and betters and treated them with great respect. (Egypt). And of course you ALWAYS stood aside for doctors and opened doors for them (took me a year after married......!) As for specialists, they were treated like royalty. All those consultants were voluntary; got no pay for all the work they did in hospitals.
What were our hours of work? Argument in men's ward one day; "And a 40-hour week is a good enough day's work for ANYONE." One man called out to me "How many hours Nurse?" As I hurtled past, very busy, I called out 59! Silence! In my first year, we worked about a 9 hour day, and 1/2 day once a fortnight. Then they found we did better if we got a 1/2 day a week, and that was a lot easier. We did 3 months on day duty, and then on to night duty for 3 months, 3 nights off at the end of it. Then too many nurses got ill, so they gave us a night off a week! Luxury!
I started work in the children's ward at Mildmay. There was no Preliminary Training School in those days; you just jumped in at the deep end - straight into the wards - and swam - with luck! We had a half day off in a fortnight and after my first 17 days of work I felt I might be in danger of sinking! But I LOVED the work, the children and Sister Beatrice Pierrepont, the delightful motherly Sister of Coventry Ward. I lasted about a month - and then caught scarlet fever. There followed 8 weeks in the London Fever Hospital (in Islington) because it was a serious disease in those days, and I also had tiresome ear complications. It was during this time that I made a lasting friendship when Nurse Elsie Fletcher (later Simmonds), my dear 'Bill', was admitted with the same disease - on her 21st birthday! We had a lot of fun there!
After convalescing at home I returned to Mildmay for a strenuous Christmas - and returned to the Fever Hospital a month later with diphtheria! I was greeted with hoots of mirth from the unfeeling doctors and nurses there who were very amused at my early return to their care! "Diph" in those days was - or could be - a very serious disease (long before the days of immunisation, though they did have, and use, anti-toxin); I was fortunate to have it mildly, but even so, the rules were strict; one pillow only, and no sitting up for 14 days; no reading, writing, feeding oneself, washing oneself or other 'exertion' for at least a week, and it was 9 weeks before I was fit to leave. I also made a good friend there, Aileen - whose father was Sir William Macara, head of the firm that made "Banner" brand pyjamas, shirts etc. I spent a very happy holiday with them in Lytham, visiting the Lakes one day, where Aileen and I climbed Wansfell - one mass of bluebells!
After that I was at home for a year, not being quite 100% fit; and when, in 1930, I was resolved to 'have another go', one of our friends said indignantly to Mother, "You're NOT going to let her go there AGAIN, are you?" I think Mother's reply was that it was up to me - being well over 21! I started again at Mildmay in 1930 (March) and from then till April 1933 I only had one week's illness. I was IMMUNE!
The work WAS very hard; we did a 59 hour week on the wards, and study, lectures and classes took up at least another 10 hours (that part, of course, all in our 'free time'). We had a notable Wednesday 'evening off' in our 3rd year. Off duty at 6 p.m. Class at 6.30, supper at 7 and at 7.30 we caught a bus to the London Hospital for an 8 o'clock lecture, returning about 9.30! But the lectures, by surgeon Russell Howard and physician ? were absorbingly interesting. And the life, though strenuous and tiring was so satisfying and rewarding. In those days there were no antibiotics, Penicillin, tranquillisers - and not much in the way of sedatives apart from morphia and its derivatives. Anaesthetics were rather primitive; the 'good old rag and bottle' was used regularly; blood transfusions were rare. And so it was NURSING with a capital N that mattered so much. Constant attention; keen observation; meticulous care - especially with dressings etc, and in the theatre. Detailed and careful reporting and charting; encouragement to patients in long, debilitating illnesses; comfort when they came round from operations, usually deathly sick and in pain; help and comfort to those lying awaiting operations - no blessed 'Pre-med' in those days. All these things were important. A lot of patients died in those days who would not die now; but sometimes we felt a sense of triumph. We were singlehanded in wards on night duty, with a rather aged Night Sister on call, somewhere in the hospital; especially in Children's Ward, where I once had 20 out of the 24 children under 2, so feeding and nappies in the early morning was a nightmare, though Night Sister helped for one hour...as for a meal, you snatched something in the ward kitchen, when there was time.
Patients stayed in much longer then; 2 1/2 weeks for a hernia or appendix; and what's known as the old men's operation, we had them in for 2-3 months, or more. It did mean you got to know them better, and as you were on duty every day (we never had a whole day off), they got to know you and got some confidence in you. One old lady 20 stone; thought as I was large I could lift her. Used to have to sneak off duty when she wasn't looking, or Nurse JOY! COME 'ere! come and lift me! And you didn't say No.
Children's ward was often full of pathetic little creatures; so much pneumonia and bronchitis for which we had no effective drugs, and many died. We did all we could; "Nurse, every time you pass that cot...." Brandy, glucose and water every 1/2 hour. I've seen babies recover on that...Madams, wasting disease, through lack of proper food; great poverty, unemployment; poor pay. Children stitched into their clothes. Boy and bath. No maternity benefit, no children's allowance, practically no birth control; it was a job for the mums to keep the children alive. They did love them, but sometimes spoilt them. (Alan "lady!) Wonderful ward sister. "About a fortnight" How right!
Given excellent training - ready for anything, England or darkest Africa. Did dressings, stitched wounds, assisted at ops (students) and took out teeth! (I got quite good at that!) But when I think now, the things we HADN'T got - no antibiotics, penicillin; diph, polio, whooping cough or measles injections; no vitamins; tr for PA; very little for arthritis and rheumatism. Blood transfusions in infancy, no pre-med to make you sleepy before an operation; anaesthetics primitive - rag and bottle. Boils, ulcers, very common; bathing, forments (?) cleaning every day. No tranquillisers; pain killers of sorts, but little in way of sedatives; (Glass of foul tasting bromide - felt worse) As no drugs to fight infection, taught to be meticulously careful in our work in theatre and wards. In my 3 years I cannot remember more than one case having trouble with infection after an op. No disposable syringes, instruments, swabs, caps and covers etc. Everything washed, sterilised and used again and again. (Adelaide).
We were trained in theory as well as practice. Lectures and classes all held in our free time, also study, write up notes etc. Sometimes after night duty we had a class at 10 a.m. Tell nurse in next seat to wake me when I went to sleep! In my last year, we had Wednesday evening off duty from 6 p.m. Lovely. Class at 6.30 supper at 7, 7.30 caught a bus to London, where we had an hour's lecture at 8 p.m. That was our evening off! But the lectures were so absorbing we didn't mind. Then we had exams; also in our free time, and at the end of 3 years our finals. So I thankfully was able to put SRN after my name in 1933.
We didn't feel we were being "exploited", or missing our "rights", or anything like that; we took up nursing so that we could serve God and help those who were sick, and we got tremendous satisfaction and happiness out of doing all that we could. I look back on those hospital days with nostalgia and very happy memories; for one reason most of all. One day I was in the theatre washing gory swabs and some people came in, being shown round by our Med. Super. The Sister whispered "That's the new House surgeon who's coming here". I looked at him, said "Oh yes" and went back to my swabs! Little did I think that 53 years later I'd be going to get strawberries for his birthday tea today! Doctors and nurses were not encouraged to be friendly; I think Matron had a thing about it! We never went out together before we were engaged! We got engaged on a correspondence course after he left the hospital! But we'd worked together; we'd been through times of distress and anxiety over patients; I'd heard him take Ward prayers; and for 2 weeks he was ill in the side ward of the ward where I was on night duty, so we did quite a lot of talking! So we did know each other quite well. We both wanted to be missionaries abroad, but every time we made for a door God gently but firmly shut it in our faces, and at last we realised that he meant us to stay in this country and work here. So, for nearly 40 years, till Reggie retired, we tried together to carry on the motto of our dearly loved little hospital, "He sent them....."
26th June 1984"