THE LIFE OF
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FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
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BY ONE OF
HER DAUGHTERS
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THE LIFE OF
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
By
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
The Rosary
The Mistress of Shenstone
Through the Postern Gate
The Following of the Star
The Broken Halo
The Upas Tree
The Wall of Partition
The White Ladies of
Worcester
Returned Empty
The Wheels of Time
My Heart's Right There
In Hoc Vince
A Notable Prisoner
The Golden Censer
U'
Frontitpieci .
THE LIFE OF
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
A Study in Personality
By
ONE OF
HER DAUGHTERS
LONDON AND NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
1921
First published September, 1921
Lord Tennyson's poem, "Crossing
the Bar," is printed by kind per-
mission of Messrs. Macmillan 6- Co.
TO MY FATHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PACB
I. Childhood's Memories i i
II. From Limpsfield to Limehouse 36
III. A Tour in Palestine 59
IV. Life in a Country Parish 88
V. Of Swimming and other Sports 125
VI. Of many Animal Friends 135
VII. Spiritual Work 157
VIII. A Tour in America 179
IX. The Writing of "The Rosary" 207
X. Italy 226
XI. Novel Writing : Ideals and Methods 240
XII. The War 269
XIII. Music 286
XIV. Back to Limpsfield at last 299
ILLUSTRATIONS
To face page
Portrait Frontispiece
Early Childhood 14
Four Years Old 30
Limpsfield Church 34
Nine Years Old 40
At Age of Fourteen 46
Bury Hill 54
A Week before the Wedding 59
A Camel Mount at Cairo 70
Camp at Jerusalem 7°
Hertford Heath Vicarage 88
With the Five Elder Children 98
Portrait, 1890 104
With the Three Younger Children 132
With Hydrangea 138
Portrait, 19 12 157
At the time "The Rosary" was written 207
Portrait, 191 3 228
At Work 240
Facsimile Page from "The White Ladies
of Worcester" 250
The Corner House, Overstrand 272
In the Corner House Garden 288
Limpsfield Court, Surrey 300
March 4, 1921 — Six Days before the "Home
Call " 3 4
F. L. B.
Born December 2, 1862
Married March 10, 1881
to the Rev. Charles W. Barclay
'Called Home" March 10, 1921
" O early ripe ! to thy abundant store
What could advancing age have added more ? "
Dryden
I : CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES
A N old red-brick rectory in a little Surrey
•*• village — that was always " home " to
my mother. The memory of those first seven
years of her life, tinged as they were with a
sense of romance, hallowed by the first strong
love of a child's heart, remained to the end
among her most cherished thoughts. She loved
to speak of Limpsfield, of "home" ; to live over
again in memory quaint little incidents of child-
hood, and feel again as she felt at six years old.
To the end of her life — and especially towards
the end — the memories of those early years were
the most vivid, the most fresh, and, I think, the
sweetest she had. Always she kept her child's
heart, her child's boundless enthusiasm and joy
in life, and it was this that made her feel most
" at home " in the memory of all the surround-
ings and incidents of her childhood's days.
She had a kind of kinship with her six-year-
old self ; a sense that it was her most real self,
and that though she had apparently grown
up and become the centre of innumerable
1 1
12 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
activities and responsibilities, still she was
really at heart " Benny," the small, bright-
eyed heroine of the early fancies and realities
that merged into each other so easily, and had
as their setting the square, red-brick house
among its tall elm-trees, with a white ribbon
of road winding away to Titsey, and just across
it, the stone steps leading up to the church
yard, with its old lych gate, and the little old
grey church.
It is mainly because these memories are so
real a part of my mother's personality that
I am going to recount them ; for in them-
selves they are slight, quaint, whimsical, and
can scarcely be compared with the historical
data that form the early chapters of most
biographies. But of course this book is not
meant to be classed with formal biographies
at all : anything as conventional as that would
seem, somehow, out of place to those who
knew and loved the vivid, unconventional,
child-like personality that was my mother.
That is why I have called the book just " a
study in personality."
The best thing about her was not what she
wrote or what she did or said, but simply what
she was. Her personality was like the sun —
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 13
the sun she loved so much — for it seemed to
give light and warmth wherever she went,
making others feel more alive, more glad to
be alive. She had a radiant and irrepressible
joy in life ; an unquenchable enthusiasm for
everything and everybody ; a firm faith in
God, and in man's possibilities, which tended
to bring out the best in others, the most joyous,
the most true. It was precisely all this — her
personality, in short — which broke forth in
her books and won for her a vast reading public
that looked upon her as a friend.
It is for these her friends that I would paint
the portrait of her who loved them all, known
and unknown, and desired from the bottom
of her heart to give them joy and interest and
hope. It is also for her sake, because I know
that she would like to be remembered.
Once again I say it — this book has no pre-
tensions ; it is meant simply for her friends :
but Florence L. Barclay was ready to admit
the whole world to her friendship.
And so, to introduce her more intimately
to those who desire to know her thus, I must
go back to the early days that left so strong
an impression in her mind. And what 1 tell
are just her own memories, told as she told
i 4 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
them to me at one time or another — and as
a story-teller she was unequalled, because of
her scrupulous regard for truth, her horror
of exaggeration, her accurate memory and her
true artist's grasp of essentials.
" Benny," as her mother called her (perhaps
because she was more like a very active small
boy than a mid- Victorian small girl ; or per-
haps because Mrs. Charlesworth had longed so
greatly for a son), was a very unusual child.
Her big brown eyes, pencilled black eyebrows,
marked features, ruddy complexion and shock
of curly dark hair gave her almost an Italian
appearance. A big, radiant smile added light
and life to her face, which was seldom without
it. She had taught herself to read by the time
she was three years old : in fact she could not
remember being unable to read. Her vivid
imagination was never still : always she was
making up a story or a game ; pretending to
be somebody or something ; and her imagina-
tion was not altogether under control, as some
of her strange memories will show. She must
have been rather a contrast to her quiet elder
sister, Annie, four years her senior, and often
have led her little sister, Maudie, into perilous
Babyhood wi> Early Childhood.
,] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 15
adventures and scrapes. In fact once the
nurses missed little " Miss Maud," and after
a frantic search came on two small, fat legs,
in blue stockings, projecting from a drain-pipe
down which " Miss Florrie " had ordered her
small sister to crawl, being just too big to dp
so herself, and yet desirous of knowing what
it was like inside a drain-pipe !
The Rectory had a nice, old-fashioned garden,
and every corner of it had its own associations,
and almost a sense of mystery and romance to
Benny, as she played busily in it from morning
till night. She had such a real sense of kinship
with everything, animate and inanimate, that
the world seemed literally peopled with
friends. The flowers each had their own
characters and personalities. There was a tall,
proud tiger-lily that was a domineering auto-
crat in a certain border, and that she hated
and feared. One day, with the sense of being
a deliverer of the oppressed smaller flowers,
with the daring of a Jack-thc-giant-killer, five-
year-old Benny advanced upon the tiger-lily,
with a little iron spade, and slew him. It was
a fearful thing to have done and remained a
lasting memory.
But towards the lonely, starved-looking scare-
16 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [r
crow in the kitchen garden she felt nothing
but love ; and, too, inexpressible pity, because
as he stood there, spreading thin, flapping
arms in the wind, at dusk, he seemed so utterly
alone. And so every night she prayed for
him, and when her mother remonstrated —
" But he's so lonely" pleaded Benny, and still
continued to ask God to bless him, every
night.
Simply nothing would have surprised Benny,
and she had somewhat weird ideas of the laws
of nature. One day her mother took her for
a long drive in the little pony-chaise to call
upon a neighbouring vicar's wife. The vicar's
wife seems to have left no impression at all
upon small Benny. Not so the moon. For
that night, as the little chaise crawled home-
wards along the quiet roads, the moon behaved
in a very strange way. It came down very,
very low all among the rustling black trees.
" Oh, mamma," whispered Benny, awe-struck,
from the little low seat of the pony-chaise,
" if you tried you could touch the moon with
the whip."
" Benny mustn't be a silly little girl," said
her mother reprovingly.
But I know you could touch the moon,
a
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 17
to-night, if only you'd try with the whip,"
persisted Benny.
But her mother wouldn't try, and the fat
pony ambled on, and Benny finally reached
home and went to bed with a sense of a great
opportunity missed ; and for years she believed
firmly that the moon had come down quite
low on that particular night, and that her
mother might have touched it.
The Reverend Samuel Charlesworth was a man
of reserved, undemonstrative nature. He had
married very late in life, and had already acquired
the habits of a confirmed bachelor. He would
spend most of his day alone in his study. But
there was one thing he enjoyed doing in com-
pany with his family — reading aloud. A few
years after Charles Kingsley's classical fairy tale,
" Water Babies," came out, Mr. Charlesworth
read it aloud to his wife and a visitor staying in
the house. Benny was playing on the floor in a
corner of the room, but at the same time she
was listening, and presently she stopped playing
and became absorbed in the fascinating adven-
ture that was befalling the grimy little boy
called Tom. To her it was the true history
of a most desirable event — just the kind of
thing one wuuld expect would happen, only
18 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
as a rule grown-ups didn't treat such possi-
bilities seriously. She crawled across the floor
to her father's feet, and fixed her big brown
eyes on his face, drinking in every word. Then
and there she made up her mind that she would
never spend a single penny again until she had
enough money saved up to buy the book about
Tom and the sea people so that it might be
her very own. And she carried out her in-
tention. Month after month passed, and every
penny was hoarded in a secret place, until at
last with her own money she was able to buy
a copy of the book, and could read and re-read
it to her heart's content. That book always
remained a great treasure.
It was during this reading aloud that an
incident occurred which shows the secret
workings of a child's mind. In one of the
early chapters occurs this phrase : " A keeper is
only a poacher turned outside in, and a poacher
a keeper turned inside out." Mr. Charlesworth
read the little aphorism with enjoyment, and
the listeners laughed. " That's very clever," he
said. Benny did not laugh. She saw nothing
funny in it at all. And yet there must have been
something funny about it, she argued, else her
mother would not have laughed. She belonged
ij CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 19
to the age when children knew they should be
seen and not heard, especially when their elders
were reading aloud, so she did not ask to have
the thing explained : she just repeated it over
several times to be sure of remembering it,
and then told herself that some day she would
be grown-up, and then she would know why
it was funny and the grown-ups had laughed.
But quite apart from stories, apart even
from make-believe and imagination, she used
to have strange visions of fairy beings which
were to her a complete reality and whose
existence she never doubted. As she lay in bed,
in the dark, out of a certain corner of the room,
near the ceiling, would issue forth a procession
of tiny people. They were dressed in little
coloured hose and jerkins and caps. Some
rode on tiny beasts, others ran and jumped
and danced. Across the room they would
float, while she watched in delight, and as they
passed her some would turn and wave their
hands and smile at her. So near they seemed
that she could almost have touched them.
Night after night she saw her Little People,
and she grew to know them so well by sight
that she would look out for this and that one
in the procession. She never doubted that
20 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
they were real, and took the keenest delight
in seeing them every night. She often spoke
of them with her little sister, and one day she
was overheard by her elder sister. " What
nonsense ! " this one remarked. " Fairies ! There
are no such things. You shouldn't tell stories.
You're just making it all up."
Benny protested hotly that she did see the
Little People and they were real. So Annie
gave her a little tin box.
" If they are real," she said, " catch a little
man in this. Don't open the box till the
morning. Then open it and show him to
me.
Benny felt a little doubtful as to whether
the little man would like to be caught. How-
ever, Annie pressed her, and thinking he could
be replaced in the procession the following
night, she accepted the challenge. That night
the Little People appeared as usual in the corner
of the room. She had fixed on a certain little
man she meant to catch, and as the procession
came towards her, she stood up eagerly in her
cot, the open box in her hands. Quickly she
slipped it over the little man, and put the
lid on before he could jump out. The pro-
cession moved on without him, and she lay
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 21
down in her bed again, her heart beating with
excitement.
When she woke up the sun was streaming
into her room, and the first thing she thought
of was the tin box. Yes, there it was on the
table by her bed, the lid firmly closed. To
think of it — there was a little fairy man inside !
She was almost too excited to eat her breakfast.
No sooner was it over than she called her two
sisters out to the garden.
" I've got him ! " she said, clasping the box
to her. Maudie was all joyful faith, Annie
was sceptical but interested.
The three small girls made their way to a
remote corner of the garden that seemed suit-
able for a fairy to be let out in. " Now" said
Annie. Benny opened the box. . . . Alas, it
was empty !
Another mysterious person she used to see
was a little old man who sometimes sat beneath
a table at the bottom of the stairs. Once she
called her father and mother out of the drawing-
room to see him ; but he vanished, and she
was so severely reproved for romancing that
she never again spoke of such things.
Benny simply did not know what physical
fear was. At four years old she once took
22 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
advantage of the nurses' attention being dis-
tracted for a moment to kick her little heels
into the fat sides of " Elfie," the pony, and
shouting " Gee-up!" set off at a canter, leaving
the nurses behind in distraught anxiety. At
the end of the village street she pulled " Elfie "
in, turned him and trotted back, with the big
smile that was so characteristic. But a weird
kind of imaginative fear she did know. For
months she insisted on being allowed to go
into church by a side door so as to avoid passing
" the 'ick man " — a recumbent marble effigy
on a tomb — which filled her with terror. And
once, in church, her attention was caught by
her father's solemn, sonorous voice reading
the text, " Behold, sin lieth at the door." In-
stantly a grim picture rose in her baby mind
of a thin, grey, shapeless person, lying at the
threshold of the door. She said nothing, but
so great was her horror that for a long time
she would hang back, refusing to go out of a
door, until someone else had passed out first.
When questioned by her mother, she confided
to her " Papa said, ' Sin lieth at the door.' "
Satan, too, was a very real person to her ;
but her warm little heart went out in pity to
" poor Satan." It seemed to her logical mind
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 23
that since it was Satan who made people wicked,
it was most desirable that Satan should be
reformed without delay. And so, at the end
of her prayers she added the clause, " And
please make Satan good, and bless nurse." Nurse
strongly objected to this — whether on theo-
logical or personal grounds does not appear.
But if " Miss Florrie " had made up her mind
to do a thing, it was quite beyond the powers
of nurse to prevent it, and so Satan and the
scarecrow continued to be duly prayed for
every night.
And Benny had a very great faith in prayer
being efficacious, as is demonstrated by the
story of the resurrection of Jack Martin.
Jack Martin was a lady-bird. He was one
of a beloved family of lady-birds that Benny
kept in a box and loved dearly. They used
to go to church with her. In those days the
big square pews were still in existence, and
the Rectory household having been duly shut
in, the smaller members of it were so com-
pletely out of sight of the congregation as to
enjoy great freedom. It was here that Jack
Martin and his family were so supremely enter-
taining ; for they would run races along the
seats and do mountain-climbing on hymn-books
24 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
and hassocks, whiling away many a tedious
hour. But, alas ! the sad day came when Jack
Martin departed this life. He drew in all his
dear little black legs tight beneath his scarlet
wing-cases and would not stir, even though
called by every endearing name and watered
with hot, salt tears. Moreover, Annie, the
naturalist of the family, declared him to be
dead, and Annie knew. So a coffin was manu-
factured from a match-box ; a grave was dug ;
Benny bore the coffin, Maudie was chief mourner,
and the last rites were sadly performed for
poor Jack Martin.
Two days passed. And then, at family
prayers, Mr. Charlesworth read out the story
of the raising of Lazarus from the dead.
Benny's attention had been caught by the
story being about a death — her own bereave-
ment was so recent that she felt somewhat
affected. And as she listened, she heard
the marvellous fact that Lazarus, who had
been in the grave four days already, came to
life ! Jack Martin had only been in the grave
two days. God was still as kind and power-
ful. With all her heart she prayed Him to
restore Jack Martin to life.
After prayers she announced to her sisters
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 25
the joyful idea. Maudie, as usual, was full
of admiration and faith, but Annie was in-
credulous. Anything as dead as Jack Martin
was, two days ago, couldn't possibly come to
life. But Benny held that it didn't matter
how dead he was — God could cause his resur-
rection. So, with due ceremony, Jack Martin
was exhumed, and the coffin opened. And lo,
Jack Martin ran out ! Benny was jubilant, and
her faith was greatly strengthened, for she
never doubted that it was her prayer and the
goodness of God that had brought back Jack
Martin from the valley of the shadow of death
to the sunny world, her love and the bosom
of his family.
Of course Benny wrote stories at this time,
but, alas ! the precious MSS. did not survive
a certain great clearance of " rubbish ' that
took place after her mother's death, and in her
own absence. The world is no doubt the
poorer. That those MSS. were full of style we
may be sure, for Benny had the greatest aplomb
and savoire faire.
A complete lack of self-consciousness, a naive
confidence in her own powers, a generous
affection for all the world, removed far from
her the least symptom of shyness. The village
26 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
folk loved her, and no doubt her presence was
a great acquisition to the parish parties and
assemblies. It was at one of these — though
what the occasion exactly was I cannot say —
that it was decreed that Benny should make
a speech. Of course no one thought of telling
her what to say — Benny probably had far
more to say than anyone else. She prepared
her speech carefully, moulding her style on
that of some local orator she had once heard.
When the time came and she was made to stand
on a chair, she cleared her throat, looked around
with her merry brown eyes to secure attention,
and then commenced (like her orator) : " Un-
accustomed as I am to public speaking . . ."
The room roared. For once Benny was a
little disconcerted. She had said nothing funny
— yet.
But writing and public speaking were not
her real outlet. She was heart and soul a
musician. At four years old she already
possessed a big and beautiful contralto voice !
Singing she adored. By singing she could let
out all the big things pent up in her idealist's
soul, in her small, brave heart. In church
she loved to sit in the wooden gallery where
her mother sometimes played the harmonium,
ij CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 27
for here she was raised above the people, was
away from the hushing nursemaids ; here
(while her mother was preoccupied with the
complexities of the harmonium) she could pour
forth her soul to her Creator ! It was the chants
she loved best, for here she was unhampered
by any knowledge of the words, and could
raise her voice and sing of all she saw — the
blue sky and the trees outside the window,
the birds, the sunlight, and all the funny people
in church. Of a great many of the hymns
she knew the words by heart, and before she
was four years old she was leading the singing
at her mother's " cottage meetings " on Sunday
afternoons, seated on the table facing the simple
villagers, to whom it was a matter of course
that " Miss Florrie " should start every hymn.
It is a well-known fact among singers that
to a born contralto, singing in a high key during
childhood is a real effort and seems unnatural.
Benny (who had what was later to prove a
really wonderful voice and the soul of a musical
genius) sang always in the rich, low key that
seemed so satisfying and said so much. And
when other people started hymns in a key un-
comfortably high for her, she would sing the
whole hymn through an octave lower. This
28 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
troubled her mother, as did also the fact that
Benny pitched her voice so low in speaking ;
and she came to the conclusion that it was a
pose, adopted as being more like a boy — for
Benny wished ardently that she had been born
a boy. With a view, therefore, to showing
her how little boys did sing, she took her to
hear evensong in Worcester Cathedral (her
father being in charge of a church in Worcester
for a few months).
Never before had small Benny been in so
vast and solemn a place. It impressed her
deeply. She stood by her mother and drank
it all in — the dim, misty heights of the roof,
the pillars, the stained-glass windows, the holy
stillness and the sense of worship in the very
walls. And then the organ began, and for
the first time in her life she heard music, music,
music ! Her heart beat fast — here was what
she had always known there must be. Her
mother little guessed what was happening in
the small figure at her side. The organ swelled
and rose into the vaulted roof, and Benny's
little heart swelled too, and beat faster than
ever ; and the organ died away in a soft sob,
and Benny, too, felt very like crying, though
she didn't know why, for she was very happy.
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 29
And then the angel-like procession of little
white-clad boys filed out of a distant corner
and vanished into the choir, and presently
they began to sing.
Clear, flute-like, the solo pierced up into the
very roof and seemed to be reaching up to
join the angels' voices. . . . But Benny was sad
— for she knew she could never sing like that.
She went home very quiet ; and henceforth
she tried to develop her high notes.
(It was more than forty years after that she
again stood in Worcester Cathedral, and again
the Gothic beauty, the worship that those
faithful hearts of old put into their very stones,
stirred her soul. She had come and stood on
the very spot where so long ago she had stood
and drunk in this big thing for the first time.
Presently she looked about her. " But there
used to be wooden benches here," she said.
The verger shook his head. " No, Madam,"
he said, " this has always been a clear space."
A very ancient verger happened to be making
his way slowly past at the moment, and hear-
ing the question, he stopped. " Aye, aye,"
he said, " there did used to be wooden benches
on this here spot — but that were mor'n forty
year ago." The young verger looked puzzled :
30 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
for my mother always looked far less than her
age, and most people do not remember exactly
where wooden benches used to be when they
were six years old. I mention this incident
as typical of her accurate and vivid memory.)
And now I come to two memories of her
childhood that not only lasted all her life, but
affected her very deeply. She looked upon them
as very real landmarks in her spiritual life :
graces of God for which she could never be
sufficiently thankful.
The first of these incidents occurred when
she was just four. It was a dream. In it she
found herself alone in Sandy Lane — a steep
lane not far from Limpsfield, along the Titsey
Road. Suddenly she found " Satan was coming
after her." She was indescribably terrified,
and did not know how to escape him. Then,
looking up Sandy Lane, she saw Christ standing
at the top. She called out to Him to save
her from Satan ; and in a moment He was
at her side. She slipped her hand into His,
and felt it close on hers. Satan had gone, and
together He and she walked up Sandy Lane,
and she felt no more frightened at all, but
very, very happy.
When she awoke it was all very real to her,
-*S?v
X
Four Years Oi.n.
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 31
and this dream-vision of Christ seemed to have
made Him as it were her own special friend
and protector. Ever after, and when she was
quite grown up, that walk up Sandy Lane was
a vivid memory, and seemed symbolical of
life. She said herself that this dream, almost
of her babyhood, helped her, later, to realise
the continual presence of Christ with those
who need Him ; the simplicity of His friend-
ship ; the wholly comforting sense of His
protection ; the wonder of His condescending
love that will go hand in hand with the little
children we are and never let go all up the
" Sandy Lane " of life. This sense of the
presence of Christ with her was one of her
most marked characteristics to those who knew
her well. In her work she depended on it —
especially in her public speaking on religion ;
in her life she seemed never to forget it. And,
as was to be expected, it had its effect upon
her own personality. Thus wrote one of her
friends, after her death : " I have never known
anyone so truly Christlike — so loving and
courageous, so full of idealism and utter un-
selfishness, and yet so enthusiastic and full of
the joy of life."
The other incident is even more striking.
32 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
It occurred on the Good Friday after her fourth
birthday.
The family were in church, shut safely into
their square pew as usual. No doubt Benny
had been playing with hymn-books and hassocks
as was her wont. But when it came to the
reading of the Gospel for the day her mother
stood her up on the seat. The passage is, of
course, the account of the Passion, according
to St. John. Mr. Charlesworth had a very
beautiful and impressive manner of reading.
This, combined with the complete simplicity
of the evangelist's style, captured Benny's atten-
tion. She began to listen. Soon she was
deeply absorbed in the story, her big eyes fixed
anxiously on her father's grave, handsome face,
as his deep voice rose and fell, and the tre-
mendous tragedy of the Cross was gradually
unfolded. Wondering, she heard how Judas
betrayed, how Peter denied, how the high
priest questioned, and the servant struck his
blow. Breathlessly she listened to the long
interview with Pilate : so often it seemed as
if Pilate was about to save the innocent Christ,
and her heart rose ; and then, no — Pilate was
such a coward, so afraid of the Jews. Still,
something would happen, something must surely
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 33
happen ! Benny's lips were parted, her breath
came quick, her eyes were fixed unflinchingly
on her father's calm face, as on and on he read.
Quite oblivious was she of all the people listen-
ing so callously to the well-known account. To
her it was the story, heard for the first time,
of how God stood arraigned before men ; of
how Jesus, the tender, loving friend of children,
was wholly in the power of evil men. The
story proceeded. How dared they mock Him !
How could they shout that He should be
crucified ! Still, Pilate was trying to save Him
— oh, surely he would. And then, suddenly,
came those terrible, those simple, those tre-
mendous words : " Then delivered he him
therefore unto them to be crucified : and
they took Jesus, and led him away. And he
bearing his cross went forth into a place called
the place of a skull, which is called in the Hebrew,
Golgotha : where they crucified him, and two
other with him, on cither side one, and Jesus
in the midst."
It was too much for Benny. Sinking down
on the seat of the old square pew, she burst
into a paroxysm of weeping. " Why did the}' —
why did they ? " she sobbed. " Oh, mother,
why did they ? "
34 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [i
Nothing would console her, and her mother
was obliged to take her out of church, and lead
her home. She took her quietly to her room, and
holding the little form, still shaken with sobs, in
her arms, she tried to explain very simply how
the Lord Jesus, being God, could have saved
Himself ; and how, instead, He willingly gave
Himself up to that terrible death, because it
was the way God had arranged to save sinful
men and open the gate of heaven to all who
should believe in and love and obey His Son.
" It was for you, too, little one," said her
mother, " to give you the chance of seeing Him
at last in heaven."
The words, spoken so gently by the soft
voice of the mother she loved, seemed to smite
into her heart. " For you." She never forgot
them ; and from that time the necessity for
gratitude, for service, was a very real thought.
But the happy days at Limpsfield were num-
bered. Benny was only seven when she had to
say good-bye to the beloved house, to the lanes
and fields and woods she loved ; to the old
garden, where every tree, every bush, every
flower-bed, every little corner held a charm
of its own, was almost part of her. To it all
LlMPSFIELD CHURI II ,
i] CHILDHOOD'S MEMORIES 35
Benny said good-bye, but it all remained fresh
and living in her little heart and grew up with
her, and she remained lovingly faithful to those
memories until at last she came back . . . came
" home " again.
II : FROM LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE
TT was a wrench to leave the old home, of
course ; and Benny (or " Florrie " as she was
now called) must have missed the Rectory garden,
the woods and lanes and sunshine of Surrey ;
and yet, to an adventurous spirit like hers, there
was something exhilarating in the thought of
going into the very heart of London — great,
rumbling London : for the sound of London in
those days was still a deep, thunderous rumble,
not yet changed to the buzz and whirr and hoot
of motor traffic. My mother came to love the
sound of " London's great voice," as she called
it. She loved the personality of London as
only a Londoner can. In later years she loved
to get back into London, if only for a day. She
loved humanity ; and in London one gets very
close to humanity — a kindly, cheery humanity
more full of bonhomie than that of any other
city in England, perhaps in all the world.
There was a touch of romance in the way the
journey was performed which must have appealed
to seven-year-old Florrie, for she and her father
36
n] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 37
drove all the way from Limpsfield to Limehouse
in the little pony-chaise.
Out of the scenes of her childhood she passed,
along mile after mile of country road, drinking
in the wonder of the green world being so big,
of the road going on and on so far ; and then as
the trees and hedges were replaced by houses
and ever more houses, her vivid interest in
people began to awaken. Presently the sub-
urban streets had turned to thoroughfares.
Here, the roar and bustle of traffic, the beat
of a thousand hoofs, the rumble of wheels, the
cries of paper boys, the hundred fascinating
sights on every side — all spoke to her with a new
voice, and her little heart went out to it all.
Thus it was that Florrie arrived in London
and began a new chapter of her life.
It was to a typical East London parish that
Mr. Charlcsworth had brought his family. The
Rectory was one of those big old houses belonging
to better days, older than the factories that had
grown up around it and the wretched tenements
and squalid streets.
In front of the house was a large gravelled
courtyard, its high wall and gate giving it
almost the privacy of a country garden. This
became Florae's playground. Bare and prison-
38 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
like it might have seemed to some people, but
Florrie counted not at all on the visible world
for her entertainment' — her imagination easily
supplied all that was necessary. Round and round
the gravel courtyard would ride — not Florrie
on her pony, but crusaders on their steeds of
war, errant knights, explorers, kings. Many a
brave fight was fought, many a perilous journey
accomplished as " Elfie's " little hoofs beat in a
monotonous jog-trot around that walled court-
yard.
At the back of the house there was some-
thing that was thrilling in itself. The garden
went down to a canal, and along this canal
passed barges, and on the barges could be
seen bargees and their interesting, dirty, merry
families. The East India Docks, too, were quite
near by, and, wonder of wonders, bright-coloured
parrots, captured and brought back by the
sailors, would sometimes escape and appear in
the Rectory garden. This was really romantic
and seemed to link up the quiet, grey days of
Limehouse with the glowing land across the
blue, blue seas.
Sometimes there were thrilling expeditions
across London. These always meant a long,
jolty ride in an exceedingly stuffy old horse-'bus,
ii] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 39
with straw on the floor. Unpleasant as most
people would have thought those journeys, they
were full of romance to Florrie and her little
sister ; for of course the 'bus became the tumbril,
driving victims of the Revolution to the guil-
lotine. More often, however, it was the Black
Maria, and each fresh passenger that got in
became the subject of an excited conversation
in stage-whispers between Florrie and Maudie,
as to exactly what crime the person had com-
mitted.
Sometimes the object of those 'bus rides
was a visit to the Polytechnic Exhibition — the
children's one treat. Those visits were an in-
tense delight to Florrie, and here it was that
her dramatic instinct was awakened. For here
could be seen flays.
Apparently the actors were not sufficiently
intelligent to learn their parts, for all they could
do was to strike attitudes and mouth the words,
while a gentleman with a shaded lamp read the
dialogue from a corner of the stage. But it
sufficed to stimulate Florrie to a new form of
self-expression. She became at once playwright,
stage-manager, and most of the cast, with Maudie
as the rest of it, and a row of empty chairs by way
of audience. Hour after hour was passed in
40 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
dramatic performances of most intense action
and feeling. No need, here, of a gentleman with
a shaded lamp, for the actors spoke in language
the more eloquent in that it flowed spontaneously
from the heart.
Florence was sometimes naughty — probably
short-lived outbursts of the hot temper that
could not but go with so ardent a temperament,
for anything more deliberate would have been
quite alien to her loving, sunny nature. One
day a punishment took the form of somewhat
prolonged solitary confinement. No doubt the
room became the Chateau de Chillon and other
noted prisons, but at last the punishment grew
a little tedious, and she looked around for some-
thing to do. Her eyes fell on a small, sharp pair
of scissors. Whether it was pure mischief or
some idea of disguise I do not know, but, standing
before a mirror, the small prisoner completely
cut off all her long dark lashes and the fine black
eyebrows that were so characteristic a feature !
Her mother's dismay can well be imagined.
It was now that her power over animals began
to display itself. Her first pets were a pair of
dormice. These she trained to do many quaint
little tricks. She would bring them to meals
and put them on the table by her. During
Nine Ye ars < )ld.
t ■ ■
n] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 41
grace the dormice always sat up on their haunches
and folded their little hands, not dreaming of
falling-to on their crumbs of bread until this
performance was over. She made a little pulpit,
and would array one of the dormice in a tiny
surplice. He would then mount the steps and
stand with his forepaws on the edge, as if preach-
ing a sermon. The other one she taught to hold
a tiny doll's comb and comb its hair ! Later,
her influence over animals was very wonderful.
Music meant more than ever to Florrie ; and
now, besides singing and piano-playing, she found
a new outlet. At a Christmas party she had
been presented with a toy violin. All her
musician's soul went out towards the shin}' little
brown instrument, not as to a thing to play with
but as a means of making music, of speaking.
Shutting herself up alone, she set to work with
the rasping little bow on the wretched strings,
and had soon tuned them up and discovered the
method of playing the scale. After that there
was no difficulty in playing any tunes. But
Florrie herself had doubts as to the result being
music ! She longed for a real \ i< »lin — for some-
thing that would really speak beneath her deft
little fingers and the steady sweep of her bow.
It must have been an inspiration of her good
42 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
angel, for, all unexpectedly, her aunt, hearing
how cleverly she could play tunes on a toy fiddle,
sent her a pound wherewith to buy a real one.
Now, at last, she could make music ! But her new
joy was soon to be marred.
Thinking that it would be a tremendous treat
for her, some one took her to hear a professional
violinist. Breathlessly she watched as he walked
on to the stage with his fiddle. She was all eyes
and ears, for she had never yet heard anyone play
the violin. He raised it to his shoulder, drew
the bow across it, tuned up, and began. But
Florrie hardly heard, her heart was so full of
confusion. . . . All this time she had been
playing the violin the wrong way round !
Musicians rested their violins on their shoulders —
she had rested it on her knee, 'cello-fashion.
She went home and tried to play as the
musician had done, but all the fingering she had
so carefully acquired and learnt to do with such
dexterity was reversed — she could not play.
Nothing daunted, she again retired to some private
corner of the house and unlearnt all she had
learnt, and taught herself afresh.
Florrie was ten years old by this time and her
beautiful voice and wonderful ear were becoming
of real service to her mother, who took her about
n] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 43
to her numerous meetings either as accompanist
on the piano, or to lead the singing if no instru-
ment were provided. Few women did public
speaking in those days, and Mrs. Charlesworth
was very much in demand for evangelical meetings
of various sorts. It was the day, too, of " re-
vivals," where hymn-singing was made a pro-
minent feature. The " revivalists " would bring
with them striking new hymns to tunes that were
not to be found in the old hymn-books. Florrie
would be taken to these great meetings that she
might hear the new tunes ; for once heard she
could play them perfectly by ear, with correct
harmonies, and they could then be taught to
Mrs. Charlesworth's audiences.
Florrie also went with her mother to visit the
poor, and would climb long flights of stairs to
miserable garrets (when the squalor and filth
filled her with pity and not a little with dismay)
that she might sing to the sick and bring some
brightness into their unhappy lives. A loving
generosity had been a marked feature of her
character from earliest days, and so this service
of love pleased her no less than it pleased the
poor.
But the real test of her musical powers was
to come when she was nearlv twelve. The
44 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
church was to undergo cleaning and repairs,
and it was arranged that the services should take
place in the town -hall. There was no instrument,
but the choir undertook to lead the hymns and
chants unaccompanied. The choir, however,
made a dismal fiasco of the whole thing, and the
first Sunday's services were not very successful.
Mr. Charlesworth was a man of few words. He
said nothing to the choir except that its services
would not be required on the following Sunday.
Then, calling his small daughter to his study,
" My child," he said, " I wish you to lead the
singing in the town-hall next Sunday."
" All right, papa," said Florrie, quite un-
daunted, and the next Sunday she was placed on
a chair near her father, in the centre of the plat-
form. When the moment for the first chant
arrived Florrie stood up and commenced, in her
big, full voice. Led thus with complete certainty
the people took it up at once. So with each
chant and hymn. That Sunday's services were
a great success, and Florrie continued to lead the
singing until the services in church could be
resumed.
A strange, quiet friendship existed between
the very silent, reserved man and the very live
small girl. At times he could be full of fun,
n] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 45
but fits of intense depression would make him
isolate himself from his family for days together.
With her quick sympathy Florrie understood him
and knew how to be just what he wanted.
Night after night they would sit silently, one
each side of a chess-board, with no word spoken
but an occasional quiet " check " — and it was
often Florrie who spoke it, though Mr. Charles-
worth was a good player. Sometimes the game
would not be finished by the time she was called
off to bed. The little table would then be care-
fully carried and placed in another room, and
it was a point of honour that neither should enter
this room or look at the board, so that no unfair
advantage in thinking out the next moves might
be taken. To Florrie this war of the kings and
queens and knights and bishops was a serious
matter, and often her grasp of the situation and
rapid calculation would show her keen young
mind to be a good match for her father's powers.
Sometimes Mr. Charlesworth would come out
of his usual seclusion, and calling his three small
daughters together spend an evening with them,
discussing books or sometimes Biblical questions.
He was a man of deep thought and intelligence.
Florrie, eager as usual, would fetch a little chair
and place it as close to her father as possible, and,
46 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
entering absorbedly into the subject on hand,
ask question after question, much (we may im-
agine) as the little Christ plied the doctors in
the Temple with questions.
Three ideas in particular Mr. Charlesworth
left so deeply impressed on his daughter that she
never forgot them. One was a most profound
reverence for the Bible, as being the inspired
word of God. Apart from the mind's veneration,
he insisted on outward reverence being paid to
the book. He would allow no other book —
not even a prayer-book — to be placed upon a
copy of the Bible. This lesson of outward
reverence had a vital effect, for it brought home
to the child's mind the reality and the meaning
of the inspiration of the Scriptures. Her faith
in this became the dominant idea in her mind,
and greatly affected her life and future activities.
Another principle her father taught her was
an uncompromising regard for truth. He con-
sidered no kind of untruthful speaking ever
justifiable. To Florrie's truth-loving soul this
maxim easily commended itself, and the em-
phasis her father laid on the idea made her adopt
it as a life-principle ar>d she never forgot it. In
later years she hated exaggeration and the em-
bellishing of a true story by fictitious details ;
At the Age of 11
n] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 47
not only on account of the value of truth in
itself, but on artistic grounds. Untrue details
added afterwards almost always spoil the artistic
effect of a true story, she would often say ; and
she loved to distinguish between the good racon-
teur who has noted every effective detail and
grasped the dramatic essentials of the situation
and the mere lying fabricator of " a good story."
Many people with dull minds, no imagination
and no literary sense, do not realise this distinc-
tion, and class all story-tellers together as
untruthful people. These dull-minded people
were always a great trial to her. But her love
of true stories truthfully told did not mean that
she undervalued the power of creative imagina-
tion. This was, to her, another department of
the art of story-telling. She had an instinctive
sense that they must be kept apart. Thus, in
her novels she never portrayed actual people that
she had met — always her characters were pure
fictions of her ingenious brain. People never
believed this, and she used to get many letters
asking for the real name and the address of her
" Dr. Brand " of "The Rosary."
The third lesson she learnt from her father
was that of always, on principle, being perfectly
courteous to everyone, of whatever social standing.
48 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
In outward matters there was perhaps nothing
more characteristic of my mother to the end of
her life. She treated servants, porters, cabbies,
beggars with true courtesy, and her fellow
passengers in a 'bus as she would have treated
people in her own drawing-room. It had the
effect of making all the world seem her friends.
It was, of course, largely her love of mankind
and her practical Christianity ; but it was also,
largely, the principle of courtesy she had
learned from her father. After all, courtesy is
only one of the forms of justice — and she was
always supremely just. No one has a right to
be discourteous to a fellow-being, especially if
he is bravely filling some lowly place in the
scheme of things. This was her social philosophy,
so to speak ; and of course it is simply the
philosophy of Christ. If people were only just,
there would be no snobbery and less class-
bitterness. But few Christians translate their
ideals into such literal effect as did my mother,
and I suppose few people could number among
their personal friends people so divergent in
social standing and occupation.
" How nice to be written about by someone
who knows us, at last" remarked a certain
dowager duchess to another, as she finished
u] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 49
"The Rosary " ; and the working people loved her
books because whenever they appeared in them
it was always as real, simple, likeable characters,
never burlesqued, never ridiculed. There is a
literary courtesy as much as there is any other,
and my mother practised it deliberately.
But to return to Florrie. She had not, at nine
years old, quite such nicety of perception with
regard to other people's views as she came to
acquire later on, and she direly shocked her
rather sedate aunt, when she went to stay with
her at Clapham.
Her aunt was mildly distressed at finding
that small, bright-eyed Florence liked to sit in
the drawing-room, with jauntily crossed legs
and folded arms, talking confidently of things
in general, instead of sitting demurely, plying
a needle, as young ladies used to do when she
was young. With a view to remedying this
deficiency, she gave her small niece one-and-
sixpence and sent her out, accompanied by a
maid, to buy a piece of fancy-work and some
coloured worsted, that she might employ her
time profitably and at the same time prepare a
small birthday gift for her mother. The piece
of work was to have a pattern traced upon it of
simple design.
5 o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ n
Florrie was highly delighted at the idea and
the generosity of her aunt, and pranced gaily off
towards the shops.
Arrived at the counter she ran her eyes quickly
over the stock of articles and soon fixed on
a kettle-holder, with her usual assurance and
decision. It represented the devil on a veloci-
pede, and the legend traced below was " How's
your poor feet ? ' (a vulgar catchword of the
day). Having chosen suitable worsteds for work-
ing this enchanting device effectively, Florrie
marched triumphantly home, the very diffident
and rather uneasy maid in her wake. But, alas !
her aunt was deeply shocked and horrified,
and Florrie's treasured purchase was sent back
immediately by the maid, to be exchanged for
some quiet device of flowers, and wools of pale
and uninspiring hues.
One thing that deeply impressed Florrie in her
first years in London was the number of terrible
fogs — both the black kind and the " pea-soup '
ones. The " pea-soup " fogs were bearable —
in fact they were rather fun ; but the black ones
reduced everybody to a helpless condition.
Half choked, with smarting eyes and continual
cough, there was nothing for it but to lie down
and wait for the fog to lift. And horrible were
nj LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 51
the tales of pedestrians robbed in the darkness
as they groped their way home. A story that
particularly pleased her was that of a blind man
who lived in the neighbourhood and made his
fortune, in these black fogs, by guiding people
home : for his darkness was already so complete
that the fog made no difference to him.
The " pea-soup ' fogs were chiefly fun
because they impeded the daily governess. One
day, there being a decided fog, with hopeful
signs of its growing decidedly worse, and the
governess not having arrived at the usual hour,
Florrie announced that they were safe for the
day, and delightedly swept all the lesson-books
off the table, turned it upside down on the
schoolroom floor, and had just rigged up a sail
with the table-cloth, with a view to sailing to
Egypt or somewhere, when, on the threshold
of the door, appeared Miss Smith, shocked, in-
dignant. It was so very difficult to explain why,
just to-day, the schoolroom table should be that
way up. In future mere " pea-soup " fogs were
not trusted as a sure preventative of the daily
governess.
But in spite of these little irregularities Florrie
was growing up, and was already (at twelve years
old) mature beyond her years. Her mother
52 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
leaned on her in everything, consulting her in
household and parish perplexities, entrusting to
her tasks many older girls could not have carried
off. Perhaps Mrs. Charlesworth would be going
out to some important meeting ; suddenly she
would hear that someone of importance was
coming to see the Rector ; while some house-
hold concern even further complicated matters.
Harassed, uncertain what to do, easily upset
because not strong in health, she would call at
once for Florrie and pour out the difficulties.
" All right, mother," came Florrie's deep,
clear voice, and she would take the situation in
hand and deal with it in a complete and com-
petent manner.
" When Florrie says ' All right ' like that, I
know all will be well, and I feel free to go out and
leave it in her hands," her mother said more
than once to a friend, who tells me it is quite
impossible to realise to what an extent Mrs.
Charlesworth leant on her daughter, and how
splendidly Florrie always rose to the occasion.
Her elder sister was very delicate and much
away from home ; her younger sister turned to
her in everything ; Florrie was the comfort and
mainstay of the home from this time until she
married : her remarkable personality being its
ii] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 53
very life and sunshine. She was passionately
devoted to her mother, and, though she lost her
when she was nineteen, her love remained fresh,
loyal, almost pathetically tender to the end.
But to return to Florrie's younger days. It
was at this time (when she was nine years old, in
fact) that she and my father first met.
Miss Maria Charlesworth, my mother's aunt,
the author of that mid-Victorian classic,
" Ministering Children," lived in a charming
little house in the old-fashioned Surrey village,
Nutfield. Miss Charlesworth would very often
lend " The Cottage " to the Limehouse family,
who would come back joyfully to the green
beauty and sunshine of their beloved Surrey.
" The Cottage " belonged to Arthur Barclay,
an elder brother of my father's, who lived at
Nutfield Court, a pretty grey stone house with
a lovely garden full of grassy slopes, velvety lawns,
and winding paths. A little old grey church,
surrounded by a large shady churchyard, stood
between Nutfield Court and "The Cottage," and
a path running through the churchyard led from
one to the other.
At Nutfield Court lived three small boys. To
play with these boys was a great delight to Florrie
and her sisters. Consequently they would spend
54 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
much of their time in my uncle's garden, while
the energetic cricket that Florrie enjoyed so much
wore most of the grass off Miss Charlesworth's
little lawn !
Florrie occasionally stayed at " The Cottage "
with Miss Charlesworth, and used to prove very
helpful at the parties her aunt held for the
villagers, her charming, friendly manners winning
all hearts.
My father (then about to go up to Cambridge)
and his sister Neville often stayed at Nutfield.
One of their visits chanced to coincide with that
of the Charlesworth family to " The Cottage," and
so it was my father made the acquaintance of
this bright-eyed, jolly small girl, with her ready
smile and unbounded enthusiasm for everything
and everybody. They made good friends at
once, to Florrie's great satisfaction.
A close friendship sprang up between Florrie
and my father's sister, Neville, which continued
for many years.
It was at this time that she first visited my
father's home — Bury Hill, one of the most
beautiful places in Surrey. He and his sister
took her over from Nutfield for the day. After
that she was a constant visitor there, and it
became almost a second home to her. She
:
n] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 55
learnt to row on the lake, and altogether used
to have a very jolly time, for she was a general
favourite, and my father's elder brothers would
take her about with them, too.
She always took her precious fiddle to Bury
Hill, and would play and sing to the assembled
company, quite devoid of self-conscious shyness.
It was when she was eleven years old, staying
in Wales convalescing after a severe attack of
scarlet fever, that my father (who was spending
the day with them) made up his mind that
some day this wonderful small girl should be
his wife !
Her visits to Bury Hill continued all through
the years during which she was gradually growing
up. Her mother was glad to send her out of
the poisonous air of Limehouse. The place
appealed strongly to her beauty-loving soul —
the still waters of the lake, the blaze of colour
when the rhododendrons and azaleas were in
flower, the great stretches of grassy park full of
trees.
Still, Limehouse was home, and she loved it
better than anywhere else, however beautiful.
As she grew up her mother would take her
about more and more. She would even take
her into the factories, where it was very difficult
56 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ n
for a Church worker to get a hearing. The
factory girls would shout down any visitor who
tried to speak to them, and even throw rubbish
at them till they were forced to retire. But
when Florrie accompanied her mother, carrying
her violin, and smiling at the girls in her quite
irresistible way, they would keep quiet to give
"the little 'un " a chance. Then she would
play her violin and sing them hymns, or some-
times songs like " Annie Laurie," and after that
they would keep quiet and even gather round to
hear an address from Mrs. Charlesworth.
This factory work appealed to Florrie, and at
the age of sixteen she visited them, simply ac-
companied by the parish Bible-woman, to play
and sing to the girls and make friends with them.
It took a good deal of pluck, for the factory
hands were rough customers.
One day she had climbed a ladder up into the
topmost room of a sack factory. It had been
almost impossible to gain a hearing. As she went
down the ladder again one of the girls dropped a
large sack through the trap door and completely
enveloped her. She found herself in a difficult
and dangerous position, but quite fearlessly
continued to descend the ladder. Arrived at
the bottom, she got out of the sack, rolled it up
ii] LIMPSFIELD TO LIMEHOUSE 57
in a bundle, climbed the ladder again, and, with
her merry laugh, threw it back to the girl who
had dropped it over her : after that she was a
welcome visitor in that topmost storey.
Meanwhile she and my father had become
still closer friends, and kept up a correspondence
for some years. He had travelled round the
world since the Nutfield days, and been ordained,
taking up work at Limehouse as curate to Mr.
Charlesworth. It was, her parents admitted, on
his account that at the age of seventeen Florrie
was sent to Belstead, the school her mother had
herself attended.
She had received a good education under an
able governess. Her very frequent visits to
Nutfield and Burv Hill had not harmed her
education, for her quick mind, powers of con-
centration and wonderful memory made learning
an easy matter. Belstead could not teach her
much, but she was very happy at the school, and
my father, nothing daunted, persevered in
writing to her !
At last, soon after her eighteenth birthday, he
went down to Nutfield, where she was staying with
her family, and they became formally engaged.
On March 10, 1S81, they were married in
St. Anne's Church, Limehouse, a crowd of 2,500
58 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [n
affectionate parishioners gathering in and outside
the church.
He had long promised that their honeymoon
should consist of a tour in Palestine. He knew
the country well, and for years she had longed to
visit the Holy Land. In spite of the sage advice
of many relatives they made their plans, and,
full of joy, set out on what proved to be a very
happy and very wonderful four months.
A Wee k be i ore i hk We dding
Ill : A TOUR IN PALESTINE
SUPPOSE there are few people who set out
on their honeymoon in quite the spirit which
animated this eighteen-year-old bride, as she said
goodbye to grimy old Limehouse and turned her
face towards the rising sun. Her attitude was a
characteristic one, namely, a spirit of pilgrimage
almost passionately intent, yet tinged with high
romance by a natural eagerness for adventure ; and
running through all the spirit of childlike delight
in everything that would be such " fun ' in
this long, strange journey.
Her spirit of pilgrimage was a very living,
real thing ; it was what one might call the
spirit of historical realism in religion. She
wanted intensely to go to Palestine because
it was in Palestine that God became man. She
wanted to walk the roads that He had walked,
to climb the same mountains and pray on them,
too ; to feel her eyes were resting upon the
same scene of blue waters and hills and nestling
white villages that the eyes of Christ beheld.
She wanted Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nazareth,
59
60 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
Jericho to become real places to her, instead
of mere names and dream-cities of the imagina-
tion. To her they were the scenes of the
greatest drama in history. She had always
loved them, and from her babyhood's days
had lived in them in loving fancy. At last she
was to see them, and the sense of worship in her
responded with a deep joy and wondering awe.
But before reaching the sacred spots there
was a journey to be made that would be in
itself an adventure.
Every detail she enjoyed and grasped with
that vivid, dramatic sense that was her natural
attitude of mind. Catching at once the salient
points of every episode, the touches of humour
or pathos or beauty, she wove the whole into
a picture or a story, and wrote it home to her
mother or stored it up in her wonderful memory,
so that we, her children, seem almost to have
made that journey with her, so clearly have
we seen and heard all that she saw and heard.
The French railway journey and her quaint
fellow travellers were a cause of much amuse-
ment, and the week-end spent in Paris an
interest. She records in her diary, with naive
honesty of opinion, that " The pictures at the
Louvre are very wonderful : many most strange
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 61
effects of light. But upon the whole they
are rather a set of horrors, most of them ! '
A ride in a "very hot and stuffy" omnibus
at Lyons proved entertaining on account of
its occupants ; but she was deeply shocked
at the way wives treated their husbands ; and
after describing several episodes and conver-
sations in her diary, she moralises a little upon
the subject. I cannot resist quoting this,
because though her dictum was made after a
brief three days of married life, she lived up
to it through forty years with a complete fidelity
rivalled by few women, I imagine.
" At last we drove off and went lumbering
along through Lyons. Sitting next me was an
Englishman, who had to take his wife on his
knee, as there was no room any other way.
We were much amused at them, for she was
a most cross and unpleasant little woman, and
sat and scolded him the whole way, before
everyone. He was a regular good-natured sort
of Englishman, and took it very patiently,
at first trying to smooth things down and pacify
her, and then listening with meek, silent resig-
nation. I suggested to Charlie that I had
better begin the same with him ; however,
if I did I would not be so mean as to do it sitting
upon his knee and leaving him no possible
62 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
chance of escape ! It does make me so indignant
to hear women pecking at their husbands in
that fashion. I think a wife ought to blame
everyone in the world, herself included, before
she dreams of blaming her husband."
" Marseilles," she says, " is a beautiful
town. I am delighted with it. . . . We saw
the old state prison, Chateau d'lf, out a mile
or so from the shore, standing on a rock. I
was wild to see the place where ' Monte Christo '
spent so many weary years. We rowed out
in a small boat. We were three hours altogether,
and it was a most choppy sea ; but I did not
feel the least ill, though we ate bread and butter
and biscuits and cheese and oranges the whole
time, more or less ! . . . We saw ' Monte
Christo's ' cell, and also the place where they
threw him over the rock supposing him to be
the dead abbe. I have been telling Charlie
the story."
Her next entry, made at Alexandria, records
the voyage.
" When I woke, at about half-past six, the
sun was streaming in through the port-hole.
I sat up and looked out. It was glorious ! Blue,
blue, everywhere. For the first time I saw the
Mediterranean in its true colour. I could
not lie still, but kept jumping up to look out,
every minute. At last Charlie woke, and soon
came tumbling down out of his berth. Then
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 63
we had coffee, dressed, and went on deck. A
glorious surprise awaited us. We were out
of sight of land the night before, when we went
below, and now expected to see nothing but
blue, everywhere. But rising out of the water,
within a few miles of us, was a grand chain of
snow mountains, glittering in the sun — which
gave a beautiful, rosy tint to their summits.
We found that this was the Island of Corsica.
. . . Soon after we steamed past Elba, and
looked with deep interest at the small, rocky
kingdom allotted to the man who had conquered
nearly every kingdom in Europe. One could
fancy him pacing up and down the shore, like
a caged lion, and looking over the blue Mediter-
ranean towards France. It was grand to think
that after all he did escape, left little Elba
behind him, and came back again to shake the
world once more. Charlie and I do not agree
about Napoleon."
In a long letter to her mother she gives many
amusing little details of the voyage. " I am
delighted with everything on board," she writes,
" and expect to have the greatest fun." Among
their fellow passengers on board were the famous
M. Lesseps (engineer of the Suez Canal) and
Captain Condcr of the Palestine Exploration
Fund, with both of whom my father and mother
made acquaintance.
64 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
In her next letter (posted at Naples) she
mentions more of the delights ; for instance :
" There are half-a-dozen mules on board,
on the lower deck. I stroke their noses when-
ever we pass them. There are also sheep, some
rabbits, and a good many fowls. I am afraid
they are to be killed during the voyage. . . .
All our meals are most comfortable ; we are
quite at the top of the table. I sit next the
Captain — a fine, good-natured-looking old
Frenchman, who persists in calling me
' Mademoiselle.' Who he supposes Charlie is
I don't know ! "
But, alas ! the joys of the voyage were short-
lived. The sea became very rough, and for
the remaining five days she was unable to eat
anything at all or leave her berth. She was,
in fact, very ill, and had to be carried on shore
at Alexandria. After describing her " jolly
looking ' old doctor, and " the very nice
stewardess who had quite made up her mind
that I was going to die, and used to sigh over
the thought of ' ce pauvre jeune monsieur ' going
back alone ! " she remarks, " I need say no more
about the rest of our voyage. It is better to
draw a veil over its miseries. I must, however,
just note that the only thing I was able to take,
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 65
and the only thing which gave me anv relief,
was champagne. I shall always recommend it
for sea-sickness in future."
Still she managed to take interest in the
landing, in spite of her condition, and get a
very good first impression of the East, which
she records in her diary with words of delighted
wonder.
She was carried up to her room in the Hotel
Abbat.
" We have a delightful room," she writes,
" with windows looking down upon all the
scene of bustle below. I find endless amusement
in watching the people passing to and fro."
(In her letter to her mother from Marseilles
she remarked, " I think seeing people is really
far more interesting than seeing places.")
She wrote a long letter to her mother from
Alexandria, her health and spirits evidently quite
recovered. After a minute description of the
weird animals of the place, she remarks :
" This afternoon we got out our cornet for
the first time. Charlie practised for some
time in all sorts of attitudes. He succeeds
best lying on his back and blasting towards
the ceiling ! I played my fiddle, and found it
in perfect tune, in spite of the three thousand
66 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [m
miles it has travelled since I played it last." In
the middle of other news she remarks, in brackets :
" (I must just tell you that Charlie is in the
act of blowing the cornet and has just accom-
plished wonders ! He has been sitting by me on
the sofa for the last quarter of an hour, prac-
tising, and studying the book of instructions,
and has just found out where to put his tongue ;
the result is stupendous, to say the least ! I am
so delighted. I shall be so proud if he really
turns out musical. I am sure the cornet is
his instrument. I think if he did it out of the
window all the donkeys in Alexandria would
begin to bray !) "
The next entry in her diary is made a fortnight
later, on the Suez Canal.
" Cairo," she writes, " is indeed a glorious
place, and I have rarely enjoyed myself any-
where as I did there."
The next four pages of her diary are entirely
devoted to the description of a somewhat quaint
party staying at Shepherd's Hotel.
One member of this party was a good lady,
" not short-sighted really, but who occasionally
put up an eyeglass, just for effect, when she
remembered to do it. If I laughed much with
Charlie, she would look reprovingly at me,
as much as to say, ' What unbecoming levity ;
m] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 67
and in a married lady, too. How shocking.'
But this good lady caused much delight to the
romanticist's soul of her little fellow traveller,
by getting engaged to " a tall gentleman with
spectacles, who always sat next to her at table
d'hote."
Then follows a long and graphic account of
climbing the Great Pyramid. As they drove
along the road and ncared the Pyramid they
were joined by some Arabs, who ran along
by the carriage.
" One was a tall, fine-looking man, to whom
I at once took a fancy," she writes, " and whose
name was Schehatie. . . . When we at length
reached the Pyramid ... we were surrounded
by a crowd of Arabs, from which we chose out
three good strong ones to help me. Directly
they understood that I really wished to go up
the Pyramid, Schehatie seized me by one hand,
while another Arab took tight hold of the other,
and off we started, with two more to push
behind. . . . Up we went, step after step ;
the two Arabs holding my hands jumping up
first, and then pulling me after, while those
behind gave appropriate shoves just at the
right moment. Most of the steps were about
to my waist. I managed to get one foot up on
the edge, then came a pull in front, and a push
behind, and I was up. We went very quickly.
68 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [m
. . . Some of the steps were up to my chin,
but before I had time to wonder how I should
ever get up them, my four Arabs had jumped
me bodily up, so that to my great surprise I
suddenly found my feet where my head had
been a moment before. . . . You only have
to keep your wits about you, spring just as
they pull, and it is quite easy. It was harder
for me than for most people, because being
short, and not having very long legs, I could
not stretch up so high — but I was not once hurt
the whole way. I kept hearing Charlie's voice
behind, calling out to know if I was tired, and
I had just breath to shout, 'All right.' ... I
tore my dress — a long bit off the bottom —
which Schehatie promptly mended by tying it
up in a bow. This time Charlie was in front,
and looking up I could see his legs every now
and then as he went springing up the steps.
I am sure he could beat any Arab in a race up
the Pyramid and down again ! . . . Twice more
we rested for about a minute, then came the
' final heat.' (At our last rest we were many
feet higher than the cross on the top of St.
Paul's.) It zvas a pull, that last ! Schehatie
put on a spirt at the last four steps, and nearly
carried me up them. Then they gave a yell
of triumph, and I became aware of two facts —
first that at last I was really on the top of the
Great Pyramid ; secondly that before doing
anything else I must drink a pail of water. I
think Charlie felt the same, for we both sat
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 69
down with one accord upon a rock and drank
and drank and panted and puffed. . . . And
then we stood up and looked.
" It was wonderful, that view from the top
of the Great Pyramid — wonderful from its
strange contrasts. On one side lay the fertile
Delta, with its groves of waving palm trees,
oranges and olives, growing in rich profusion
on the banks of the river Nile, which flowed
along looking like a broad band of silver as it
sparkled in the sunlight. On the other, the
desert — with its rolling waves of golden sand,
stretching away, away as far as the eye could
reach, not a tree, not a leaf in sight, nothing
but bare barren desert everywhere. And yet
it was grand ; more than grand — it was
glorious ! It gave one such a free, bounding
feeling, to be able to look straight away for
miles and miles, and see no boundary, nothing to
shut one in, no walls, no trees, no distant hills ;
1 'v a boundless, endless, glorious stretch of
id. This was my first real view of the
desert. I loved it at once, and shall love it
for ever."
The diary ends here, but her impressions
and the history of her adventures are recorded
in letters to her mother and father and her
little sister. There is a long letter from Cairo,
describing with delight the town, the bazaars,
the Eastern bargaining.
7 o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
" The donkeys here are splendid fun. Not
the least like our donkeys in England. They
are very sleek and pretty, with long ears and
beautifully shaped legs. They gallop at a
tremendous pace, and keep it up wonderfully.
Everyone goes about on donkeys here, but most
people only go at a sort of jog-trot pace. We
tear about in fine style. The donkeys enjoy
it, and so do the donkey-boys. I often say
to Charlie, ' If only our mothers could see us ! '
There is one street here, called the Muski,
the principal street in Cairo, where all the
traffic goes on, full of shops and crowded with
people and donkeys. You should see us go
charging down this street, shouting ' ua, ua,
shemalak ! yemunak ! ' at the tops of our
voices, to clear the way. . . . We certainly
do enjoy ourselves. The other day we rode
through Cairo on camels — a most unusual thing
to do. I like camel-riding immensely."
The insect life of Cairo was not quite as
delightful as the donkeys, but even this afforded
copy for a " quite private " letter to her
" Little One " (as she always addressed her
sister Maudic).
" We wage a fearful war against the fleas
here. Yesterday morning, while we were getting
up, we caught and drowned no less than jourteen !
Charlie was very proud because he performed
\ Camei Moun r at C wko.
1
m] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 71
a great feat. Three fleas were sitting on his
foot together. He caught one in each hand
and only one escaped ! "
The next letters were from Palestine, and
now the adventure and the " fun " began to
turn into the pilgrimage in good earnest. In
those days the Holy Land was still in its quite
primitive condition — no railways, no European
hotels, no means of travel, save on horseback,
no roads even. This pleased my mother very
much, for it meant that the country was prac-
tically as it was in the days of Christ. I will
let her give her first impressions in her own
words :
" From our camp on the
hills above Jaffa,
"April 11, 1881.
" My own darling Mother, — On this our
first day in Palestine I must write a line to you.
We arrived here at five o'clock this morning,
after a moderately good passage from Port
Said, of twelve hours. Joseph, our dragoman,
came to meet us on board. We rowed to shore
in a small boat. While half a mile off we could
smell the delicious fragrance of the orange
trees, and see our tents pitched, up on the hill,
with the Union Jack and red ensign flying.
Upon landing we found our horses waiting for
us, ready saddled : two beautiful bays, such
72 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
a rich, dark colour, with black manes, and long,
flowing black tails. We rode up at once to our
camp, from which we have a lovely view, look-
ing upon the sea on one side, and across the
plain of Sharon, and over the hills of Judea
on the other. Everything was ready for us in
our tents, of which we have three."
Her next letter is to her father — twenty
pages beautifully written in her bold hand,
with scarcely an erasure.
" Jerusalem,
"April 18, 1881.
" My own dearest Father, — My first letter
from here must be to you, for you first taught
me to love Jerusalem, and the whole place seems
associated with you.
" I shall never forget my first sight of this
holy city. We had camped the night before
at Gibeon, high up among the mountains of
Judea. It was about three hours' ride from
there to Jerusalem, straight over the mountains.
Going in that way the hills hide Jerusalem
until one is close upon it, when it suddenly
bursts upon you, and is far grander than the
usual way up from Jaffa, along the road.
" The first sight of Jerusalem is almost more
than one can bear. When we got close to it
I was riding a little way behind Charles and
Joseph, and thinking of our Sunday talks about
it, and how we used to sing ' Jerusalem ' and talk
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 73
about going there, and I longed for you. Soon
after, we all galloped up a hill in front of us,
and from the top looked down upon Jerusalem.
" I shall never forget that moment. The
city lies all amongst the hills which surround
it on every side. We looked down over the
Mount of Olives. It was far more beautiful
than I expected. I scarcely know how to
describe the city itself, it looks so very different
to every other place, with its white, flat-roofed
houses, and countless domes — the great Mosque
of Omar standing probably on the very site of
the Temple, close by the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, the whole city surrounded by high
walls. We looked across the vail ty of Jehoshaphat,
towards Stephen's Gate, on the east side of
Jerusalem. We took about half an hour riding
down into the city.
" It was very sweet and s :mn to be in this
place on Good Friday and on Easter Sunday.
I think I enjoyed Sunday r ost. . . .
" In the afternoon we walked to Bethany —
His favourite walk it seems to have been, and
it was wonderful to tread the same paths which
had so often been trodden by His blessed feet :
for there is no doubt that they are the same,
being deeply worn into the hard limestone.
" We first went up the Mount of Olives.
From the top we had a wonderful view of
Jerusalem on one side ; the Dead Sea, the
valley of the Jordan, the mountains of Muab
and Mount Nebo, on the other. We could
74 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
also just see Bethlehem, nestling away in the
blue hills. Looking down upon Jerusalem it is
so beautiful to remember that verse in the 125th
Psalm, ' As the mountains are round about
Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people
from henceforth even for ever.'
" We descended the Mount of Olives on the
other side, along a winding path to Bethany.
We looked with great interest at the fig-trees,
for it must have been somewhere along that
path that our Lord came to the fig-tree and
found nothing but leaves.
" Bethany is a most lovely little village ; by
far the prettiest I have yet seen in Palestine.
We went down into a strange old cave cut out
into the rock, which is shown as the one where
Lazarus was raised. They also show the house
of Martha and Mary, but I did not care to see
that, as it is not at all likely to be the real one.
It was interesting, however, to see an old well
which undoubtedly was there in their time.
We watched the women drawing water from it
with their stone water-pots, and tried to fancy
Martha coming to fetch water with which to
prepare the supper for Jesus. We carry a little
Bible with us, and read at each place what
occurred there. You may think the intense
interest this is.
" We returned by another path to Jerusalem ;
the most usual one, which is also the high
road to Jericho. It, too, is worn into the hard
rock. It was along here that our Lord came
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 75
when He made His triumphal entry into
Jerusalem. We could tell even the very spot
where, beholding the city, He wept over it ;
for all along that way the Mount of Olives hides
the city until you come to a sudden turn in
the path — when the whole city bursts upon
you, as you look down. We read the account,
in Luke xix. 41-44, standing on the spot, and
felt quite certain about it. From there it is
about the most lovely view of the city, and He
must have looked straight upon the Temple.
Besides, this turn in the path only comes when
you get quite near Jerusalem, with nothing
between but the valley of Jehoshaphat, and it
says, * When He was come near, He beheld the
city.' I cannot express to you what it was
to stand there, perhaps upon the very stone on
which He stood, and read how He wept over
the city. One could so well understand how
the sudden sight of Jerusalem, lying there
amongst the hills, in all its beauty, would move
Him. Oh, being in this land docs bring out
every Bible scene with such wonderful vividness.
I shall be thankful all my life for this time.
" It was about six o'clock in the evening
when we came home along the Mount of Olives.
The shepherds were bringing in their flocks,
and we watched them with much interest, as
they came winding down the hill side?, the
shepherds walking before, and all the sheep and
goats following. . . .
" I enclose a few leaves which I picked for
76 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
you on the Mount of Olives. I like walking
there as much as anywhere. It seems more
closely associated with Jesus than any other
place. I feel so thankful that the real garden
of Gethsemane is not known. . . . The feeling
that at any moment one may be walking through
Gethsemane gives a solemn interest to a walk
on the Mount of Olives. It is a wonderful
thing to look at it and remember how it says
that ' His feet shall stand upon the Mount
of Olives.' Charles and I were wondering,
yesterday, as we came home, how long it would
be before we walked there with Him"
There is, in this letter, a long and beautiful
description of the Jews' Wailing Place, and the
sorrowful sight there to be seen. The rest of
the letter tells of camp life, and steep and rocky
rides around Jerusalem.
The next letter is to her mother :
" We have had such a delightful ten days
here. . . . To-morrow we ride to Jericho. We
shall have an escort with us, so you need not
fear us ' falling among thieves.' We shall be
riding along the very road from Jerusalem to
Jericho mentioned in our Lord's parable.
" Yesterday we saw the Greeks' Holy Fire
in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre — the most
strange and awful sight I ever witnessed. . . .
" I have such a beautiful horse. I have named
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 77
him ' Thalaba.' . . . Our dog we have named
1 Kehama.' He was one of the wild dogs of
which there are so many about in Palestine.
He came prowling about our tents, so I fed him
and petted him, and now he is quite tame and
has attached himself to the camp. He is a
large dog, something like a mastiff in shape and
colour, only with a head like a fox. He always
sits by me at dinner. . . ."
Before moving the next day she adds a
postscript :
" Our tents are down ; I am writing under
an olive-tree. To-morrow I shall be bathing
in the Dead Sea ; next day in the Jordan.
Charlie and I had a splendid swim in Solomon's
Pools — enormous places. They were made by
King Solomon — we thought it one of the wisest
things he ever did ! We shall camp near Jacob's
well next Sunday.
" Goodbye, my precious mother,
"Ever your own loving,
" Florrie."
Later she wrote as follows :
" I must tell you one thing I noticed : wherever
there was water in Bible times there is water
now. The Dead Sea, the Sea of Galilee, the
river Jordan, the Abana and Pharpar, rivers of
Damascus, Gideon's spring, Elisha's fountain,
the Pool of Siloam, Philip's fountain, in which
78 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [m
he baptised the Ethiopian — in fact, every river,
pool or spring mentioned in the Bible is still
to be found."
The next letter is to her sister Maudie, and
is dated " Shechem, Samaria," and consists of
twenty-four pages ! It gives many amusing
details of camp life, and tells of a delightful
three days' camp under an apricot tree, on
Mount Gerizim.
" We are very glad of a few idle days. It
seems such a rest, after riding every day for five
or six hours. I do not find the riding tires me
at all, though it has been pretty rough work
the last day or two, riding over the mountains.
You would be surprised if you saw the sort
of places we ride up — straight up steep rocks
where English horses could never go. The
horses out here are so used to it they scarcely
ever slip. However, Thalaba, my horse, fell
down the other day, while climbing one of
these places. I tumbled myself off as fast as
I could and got clear of him, before he began
to get up again. I jumped up again directly,
and Thalaba went on all right, neither of us
any the worse for our come down."
She tells of an amusing bathe in the Dead
Sea in which " it is quite impossible to sink,
the water is so buoyant " ; and of a bathe in
mj A TOUR IN PALESTINE 79
the Jordan, and another in Elisha's fountain.
And of how she dived after a tortoise and brought
him up and took him back to camp, and how,
when she took him back to the stream, by moon-
light, and put him down on the grass, " he
fairly kicked up his legs behind him and galloped
off to the water. I had no idea a tortoise could
run such a pace ; no wonder he beat the hare."
She tells of the snakes, too, and how she shot
a very large one clean through the head with
her revolver. She gives amusing pen sketches
of the Arab servants, particularly of Khalil, the
cook, who only knew one word of English —
" goodbye " — and would come running out as
they rode into camp to take her horse, saying
" Goodbye, goodbye ! " by way of welcome.
But much as she loved the East her heart
evidently turned often to her own dear land, for
at the end of this letter she suddenly remarks :
" I often long for dear old England. There
is no country libp it. Out here we have red
buttercups and blue buttercups — the most
brilliant colours — but I think if I saw a little
yellow English buttercup I should almost jump
off my horse with delight ! "
It was during this stay in Samaria that my
mother noticed something which she felt sure
80 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [m
threw light on a certain oft-quoted yet rather
puzzling saying of Christ's, and also supplied
a detail of the picture not given by the
evangelist.
The Samaritans, she noticed, all dress in
white. Hence, unlike the ordinary, gay-coloured
Eastern crowd, a crowd of Samaritans is quite
white. Now in the account given in chapter iv.
of St. John's Gospel of the conversation between
Christ and the woman of Samaria, we are told
how she went back to the city and said, " Come,
see a man, who told me all things that ever I
did : is not this the Christ ? Then they went
out of the city, and came unto him." But
while He still waited by the well, alone, the
disciples returned and pressed Him to eat, but
He said, " I have meat to eat that you know
not of. . . . My meat is to do the will of him
that sent me, and to finish his work. Say not
ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh
the harvest ? behold, I say unto you, Lift up
your eyes, and look on the fields ; for they
are white already to harvest. . . ." And the
account ends with how the Samaritans came to
Him, and took Him back to their city.
The very probable conclusion which my
mother deduced, and which was a source of
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 81
great pleasure to her, was that Christ's words
were not metaphorical. That when He said,
" Lift up your eyes and look on the fields,"
He really meant it, and was pointing out the
great white crowd flocking out over them from
the city, to come to Him. Hence His use of
the word " white " rather than " golden," and
His bidding to the disciples to look. It was a
great joy to my mother to feel that by her own
observation and imaginative deduction she had
been able to supply an important detail in one
of the most beautiful gospel pictures, and
discover what the eyes of Christ were resting
on, as He spoke. It was points such as this
which made her time in Palestine such a joy,
and which helped to supply the realism of her
conceptions of Christianity's beginnings. Such
incidents seemed to span the nineteen hundred
years (for the changeless East is much as it was
in a.d. 30).
But to return to her letters. The next is
from Damascus.
" We have arrived quite safely," she writes,
" after a most successful and delightful journey
up country. We have ridden about four hundred
miles since we left Jerusalem. . . . How I
wish I could tell you something of the places
82 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [m
of such deep interest to which we have been
— Jericho, Bethel, Shechem, Samaria, Endor,
Nain, Nazareth, Mount Tabor, Tiberias, and
many others, but if I once began I should never
know where to stop, and I have not much time
for writing. One thing I must tell you, however.
Charlie and I discovered the true mouth of
Jacob's well, which has been buried for many
hundreds of years beneath the fallen ruins
of an old church, built over it as long ago as
the 4th century, and which was quite a ruin
as early as the 12th. It was a hard day's work,
with the help of four Arabs, to clear away the
rubbish and debris, and lay the old stone bare ;
but when we had finished we were indeed
rewarded for our trouble. Without doubt we
have found the very stone upon which our
Blessed Lord sat when He rested and talked
to the woman. There are two ledges, one on
each side of the mouth of the well, which would
most naturally be used as seats. There is the
round hole in the rock down the sides of which
the very grooves made by the ropes as they
drew the water pots up and down are distinctly
visible. We consider it by far the most interest-
ing thing in Palestine. It is the one place of
which we can be sure. The road from Bethany
to Jerusalem is wonderful because we know
that He must constantly have walked over it,
but one cannot pick on any special stone and say :
' on this very stone His feet rested.' But of
the mouth of the well there is no doubt. I have
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 83
not time to tell you more fully about it. I
cannot describe to you what finding it was
to us."
This find was, indeed, very remarkable.
Accounts of the discovery were published in
the Times and in the Illustrated London News,
with a picture of the stone, while paragraphs
referring to it appeared in a very large number
of papers in the United Kingdom and the
colonies. An official account is given in the
large " Memoirs of the Survey of Western
Palestine " and in the Statements of the Palestine
Exploration Fund (reprinted in many books
on Palestine).
Captain Conder (as he was then) visited the
spot a few days later, and corroborated the
fact that it was indeed a discovery of the utmost
importance.
It remained one of my mother's most cherished
memories all her life.
She and my father had ridden out from their
camp on the slopes of Mount Gerizim, on the
Sunday afternoon. Climbing down through the
aperture in the roof of the ruined crypt — all
that remained of the church built over the
sacred spot — they saw the heap of rough boulders,
with the irregular hole among them which
84 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
had hitherto been looked upon as the mouth of
the well. They were much disappointed ; for
it was impossible to picture this a way-side
resting place.
Feeling that there might be something more
to find, and knowing that excavation would
never be permitted by the Mahommedans,
they determined to return later and make
their own investigations.
Consequently, the next day, taking no atten-
dants with them, they rode down to the spot,
tied up their horses near by, and climbed down
once again into the crypt.
It was heavy work removing the earth and
stones, but they persevered, and after about
two hours they were rewarded. Noticing a
dark hole between the stones, my mother thrust
her hand into it, and her arm disappeared up
to the elbow. Feeling about the bottom,
she found a smooth surface, unlike that of the
other stones. More boulders were removed,
and at last (to their intense joy and excitement),
a great flat stone was revealed to view, with a
round hole in the centre of it. This was blocked
by a great bit of masonry, too heavy to be
moved. Calling to their aid some fellahin who
had gathered round, and with the help of their
in] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 85
stirrup leathers, this also was shifted, and the
well at last was clear.
Their delight was great, for they felt confi-
dent that they had indeed found the stone upon
which Christ Himself had rested.
Her next letter is a very long one, begun at
Baalbek and finished at Beyrout. She describes
their camp on Lebanon, and her quaint
experiences with the villagers. " All the in-
habitants are Christians," she says. " It was
most delightful after being so long amongst
those wretched Mahommedans to find a little
church in every village." Riding across the
snow, they reached the cedars and camped
at Ehden — " a little village about twice the
height of Snowdon above the sea ... a place
where Europeans scarcely ever go."
Her next letter is dated " Constantinople,
June 13," and describes the seven days' voyage.
" We steamed in and out amongst numbers
of little islands. One at which we stopped was
Chios, the scene of all those fearful earthquakes.
Of course I was most anxious that there should
be one while we were there, but we just missed
it ; there was one ten minutes before we got in ! '
She tells of her delight at seeing the shores
of Europe again — " dear, dear Europe, the
86 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [in
continent in which lies our little England " —
and gives a beautiful description of their first
sight of Constantinople, as they steamed up
the Golden Horn at sunrise.
The next letter is written on the Danube, for
they returned home across Europe by water.
" This is our fourth day on the Danube,"
she writes, " and slowly but surely we are nearing
home ! As I sit reading on the deck I often lay
down my book and listen to the splash of the
paddle wheels as they go round, and think to
myself, ' Every turn brings us nearer home,
nearer to dear Limehouse, nearer my precious
mother,' and my heart jumps for joy ! ! . . .
Some of the countries through which we have
passed were rather interesting because of the
last Russian war. We have been through
Bulgaria, Walachia, Scrvia, Roumania, and are
now in Hungary."
The next day she writes :
" Hour by hour and day by day as we glide
along everything begins to look more like our
own dear country. Mosques and minarets
disappear, and in their stead come lovely little
village churches, with their ivy-covered towers
peeping out from amongst the trees, or here and
there a white spire with a vane on the top, just
like our dear old England ! And the turban
and fez are changed for caps and straw hats,
m] A TOUR IN PALESTINE 87
and the great baggy Eastern trousers gradually
grow narrower and narrower, and horses and
cows graze in the fields instead of camels and
buffaloes, and everything says the same to us :
1 You are going home, you are going home.'
Home, sweet home ! Before we reach England
again I shall have been in fifteen countries,
but I have not seen one which can be compared
with our little island. . . . We get off the
Danube on to the Rhine, and go down the
Rhine as far as Cologne ; then from Cologne
to Brussels, from Brussels to Calais, from Calais
to Dover, from Dover to Limehouse ! "
Thus ended the journey my mother's eager
heart had so greatly longed for. It had proved
a real adventure ; and there had been a great
deal of fun about it, too. But above all it had
been satisfying to her ardent soul. She had
lived in the land that was " home " to the Son of
God ; she had visited the spots He loved, and
grown to love them too. And now, with a
full heart, she turned to England, to settle down
to the hidden life of a quiet country village —
truly her Nazareth.
IV: LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH
"\yf"Y mother was not yet nineteen when a
new life, full of responsibilities, opened
before her.
For a time she had dreamed of stepping out
before the world and finding in the musical
profession the means of expression her ardent,
artistic nature yearned for. In fact, her father
had promised that she should go to the College
of Music, where her wonderful voice would have
been given its chance.
To a free, restless temperament like hers home
ties might have seemed irksome ; but she entered
with a whole-hearted generosity and selflessness
upon her new tasks. She threw the whole of
herself, of her full, rich, gifted personality, not
only into her duties as worker and organiser in
the parish, and friend of the poor, but as wife
and mother and mistress of a household.
As was to be expected, she won the hearts of
the people at once ; and her energy and genius
in first devising things and then carrying them
out, combined with her quick sympathy and
88
_
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 89
generous love, and animated by the spiritual
motive at the back of it all, crowned her every
effort with speedy success.
The first piece of work upon which she entered
was a somewhat unusual undertaking for a girl
of eighteen, but it was in response to a special
request. It was the forming of a Men's Bible
Class on Sunday afternoon. This gathering (a
kind of informal service, with hymn singing and
an address) was for men, not boys, and the question
of the age-limit to be fixed came up. My
mother laughingly pointed out that it must not
be fixed over eighteen, or she would herself be
excluded.
The class at once proved a great success, and
the men of the village, young and old, flocked
in. The simplicity and sympathy of the young
speaker, combined with her enthusiasm and
burning faith, went straight to the hearts of the
men ; while her easy confidence as a speaker and
her joyous personality made listening to her
a pleasure and inspiration. Before long the
membership of the class was a hundred — practi-
cally every man in the village. This class con-
tinued quite regularly for nearly thirty years.
The fame of it spread abroad, and a party of
men used to walk up from Hertford (a mile and
9 o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
a half) to attend it regularly. One of its members
was a strange individual, who had previously had
no belief in religion, but who now walked seven
miles across country to attend the Men's Class.
But it was not only the men that were catered
for ; a " Mothers' Meeting " was very soon
opened, to which virtually every woman in the
place belonged. Here not only the spiritual
wants of the women but their temporal needs
were provided for, and my mother started a
system (common nowadays, but then seldom
practised) by which she bought large supplies
of material wholesale, and then retailed it to
the women, who paid instalments every week,
and had each their own card upon which their
payments were entered. Thus thrift was en-
couraged, and the poor were helped to help
themselves. Other classes of various sorts were
also opened.
Meanwhile my mother's home duties were
increasing. In February her first child — a girl
— was born (shortly after the death of her own
mother — a very deep sorrow), and her family was
gradually increased by the advent of two more
girls and two boys. This meant, of course, an
enlarged household and the anxiety of greatly
increased expenses. Her health, too, had failed
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 91
somewhat. And yet she was always the same —
gay, hopeful, energetic, and, above all, so youth-
ful that strangers found it hard to believe she
was the mother of five children. In fact those
who found her playing in the garden with the
children, in her simple white dress, her thick
dark hair tied back in a coil on her shoulders,
found it almost impossible to believe that she
was not simply one of them — an elder sister.
The children felt the same ; and when a visitor
one day enquired of them, " Which of you is
the eldest ? " " Mother's the eldest," was the
reply, " and I come next ! "
It was now that she devised what proved to
be an intensely popular thing in the village.
Finding that a good many of the villagers flocked
to the public-houses on Friday nights, when the
men returned with their wages, and that the
family finances were thereby reduced for the
rest of the week, she devised a counter-attraction
— for her sympathy and understanding saw at
once that the men only went to the " pubs "
for lack of anything better to do. If they could
only be kept happy elsewhere on Friday night,
the money would get safely spent at market, on
Saturday, and all would be well.
The counter - attraction was a wonderful
92 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
entertainment, of which she was stage manager
and chief performer, but in which the men them-
selves took an active part. It was held in the
Mission Room (a parish hall with a small stage
or platform, and a minute lobby, which served
as green-room). The entertainment was free
of charge, and all were welcome. The room
was thronged every week, people sitting in
every available place, including the tops of
cupboards, and standing packed like sardines
at the back.
The programme was different every week —
always some fresh excitement to keep everyone
enthusiastic. It generally included a song or
recitation in costume by my mother. She was
a born actress, and could impersonate so perfectly
as to take in even those who knew her intimately.
Sometimes it was a song, such as " Caller Herrin',' '
my mother dressed in the short, striped petticoat
of a fisher girl, with a basket full of herrings on
her hip ; another time Tennyson's poem, " The
Grandmother," when spectacles, a mob cap,
shawl, and white powder would transform her
beyond recognition ; or she would thrill the
villagers to the marrow by turning into " Lady
Macbeth," or send them out Shakespeare en-
thusiasts by her " Portia," or, dressed in black
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 93
velvet, make them creep by reciting Edgar
Allan Poe's " Raven."
But not the least attractive items on the
programme were those provided by the villagers
themselves — especially the working men. These
would gather for rehearsals, at which they would
sing quaint songs not to be found in any book.
My mother would soon catch the air, and work
in an improvised accompaniment. Then, at the
entertainment, the old traditional village song
would come out, with a new, professional air
about it, and bring the house down, being
encored enthusiastically. Sometimes the words,
passed on by word of mouth, had lost all sense,
but no one seemed to mind. For instance, my
mother could never fathom what was meant by
the following picturesque couplet which occurred
in an oft-repeated song, and was sung with
emphasis and feeling by a vocalist of stentorian
tones :
" And I took the morning train
Across the raging main . . . " !
A popular item, very frequently repeated, was
the singing of Longfellow's " Village Black-
smith ' by the real village blacksmith of Hert-
ford Heath, with his sledge-hammer over his
shoulder.
94 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
The programme also included humorous
readings by my father, and sometimes songs by
other friends. But my mother, her magnificent
voice, her violin, and her radiant personality,
was the real piece de resistance of the whole
proceeding.
A very professional touch was given to these
entertainments by beautifully printed pro-
grammes ! These were set up by my father on
his own printing press. In fact, all the parish
printing was done in this way, including the
parish magazine. My father and mother would
spend hours together at this work, she putting
in and taking out the sheets, and he rolling and
pulling.
Every night in the week was now taken up
by one class or another, and the day was divided
between family cares and visiting in the village.
To her other activities my mother now added
that of organist, playing for all the Church
services and training the choir. This work was
a particular joy to her, not only because she
loved music in itself, but because it was to her
the very essence of Divine worship. She con-
tinued to play the organ right up to the time
my father resigned the living, in 1921.
Not only did she train the choir (a mixed
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 95
choir of male and female voices — no boys) but
she trained the entire congregation, and would
hold congregational practices, which were very
popular, and meant that the entire congregation
sang every chant, as well as the hymns, in perfect
time, in tune, and with all their hearts. With
their intelligences, too ; for my mother was
very particular about telling effects, and cres-
cendos, diminuendos and rallcntandos depended
on the words of the hymns rather than merely
on the tunes, and she dealt with these at her
practices in a very illuminating manner. She
was, in fact, a born musical conductor, and (to
go on for a moment to a rather later period) she
surprised the neighbourhood with a large choir of
picked voices from several parishes round, which
she trained, first for a Convention, and afterwards
in carol-singing. Concerts were given in the
Hertford Corn Exchange, and the choir sang at a
large gathering which she organised to hear Lady
Henry Somerset speak. The real music she got
out of that choir was long remembered with
enthusiasm. Her car was marvellously accurate,
and in those forty voices she would detect at
once a single flat note, and know exactly who
was the offender.
Every Saturday night she held the ordinary
96 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
Church choir-practices, and one who was a
member of this choir for many years (and has
had a good deal of experience of voice-training
elsewhere) assures me that she never came across
anything like it for thoroughness, inspiration,
and all-round excellence. Her methods were
original. She scarcely used the instrument at
all, even in teaching a new tune or chant, depend-
ing entirely on her own voice. She would sing
over the new air once or twice, and then make
the choir sing it in unison to "la" (no words,
yet), the altos, tenors, and basses gradually coming
in with their parts, still with no instrument,
merely reading from their score. To ensure
good time (about which she was intensely strict)
she would then make them sing the tune, counting
the beats to the bar. At last they would get
to the words — but not until these had been well
explained and their real spirit and meaning
appreciated.
Every kind of fault made by any voice she
would imitate, slightly exaggerated, to make it
more apparent, but never so as to make it sound
ridiculous. She would then explain the cause of
the fault, and persevere until it was overcome.
(Wonderful to relate, she never offended anyone
in spite of these methods.)
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 97
When at last the piece was perfectly known,
then her organ accompaniment became an in-
spiration in itself.
She put her whole heart into this matter of
Church music, and spent hours choosing it,
combining chants, selecting the hymns, and
searching the Scriptures for texts which specially
brought out or stressed some meaning in the
hymn, or suited some occasion or season, and
which would be read out by my father before
the singing of the hymn. The very voluntary
she played before the service, or as the congrega-
tion went out, was an act of worship inspired by
all the faith and devotion of her heart. She
was greatly encouraged by Bishop Festing's
words of unqualified praise, when he visited
the parish in 1896. He was full of wonder
that a village choir could produce such real
music.
My mother always took a great interest in the
sick of the parish ; chiefly, of course, because
her love and sympathy prompted her to help
them ; but also because medical science attracted
her strongly. Had she been in a position to do
so she would, she sometimes said, have entered
the medical profession.
The help she was to the sick, and the deep
98 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
comfort of her presence with the dying, cannot
be adequately described.
When every house was attacked by influenza,
in some cases every member laid low, so that they
could not nurse each other, and scarcely a single
doctor was available, she took it upon herself to
nurse the whole village.
All day and even half the night she would
tramp in all weathers from house to house,
administering remedies, and making the patients
more comfortable. They would say that just
the sight of her made them feel better, for she
seemed the very embodiment of health and joy,
and knew just the encouraging remark that would
best cheer each patient. It was a marvel to
everyone how she could stand the physical strain
of those weeks ; for at home my father was him-
self down with the epidemic, after weeks of hard
work, while the children and most of the house-
hold were also in bed.
So much for my mother's work in the parish.
This, in spite of the time and energy it required,
did not tend to take her away from her children.
If I give, here, the impression of her made on my
mind at a very early age it is because a child's
point of view is generally a very true one. The
instinctive judgment of children, though biassed
Wi i h i he Fi\ e Elder Childre \, l B86,
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 99
by an almost passionate devotion, does seize on
and remember essential characteristics.
We were, I suppose, what is called " naughty "
children ; and inclined to be rebellious against
grown-up authority. But towards my mother
we had a kind of passionate loyalty. It was
a tenet of faith that " Mother " could not be
" cross ' or " angry," only " grieved." More-
over, she was always right, and altogether above
the range of possible criticism. Also, with her
one never dreamt of sulking or showing temper
or irritation ; and a command given by her had
to be obeyed, whether in her presence or not. I
cannot remember ever feeling even the smallest
sense of irritation with her. This, I think, was
because we knew that she was perfectly just
(<>r, as we should have put it, "fair"). Also
that her demands and rules were always reason-
able. If she said " no," it was because there was
a good reason, and not merely because she did
not feel in the mood to say " yes." We knew
she would have said " yes " if it had been at all
possible ; that she would have much [referred
to say " yes " ; that she never did or said anything
merely to contradict us. We believed firmly
that everything she did was because she loved us.
Sometimes, when we had been very naughty with
ioo LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
other people, she would punish us severely, but
we never resented it. Other people's punish-
ments, on the other hand, would fill us with
impenitent wrath. It was because we felt she
hated punishing as much as we hated being
punished that her punishments were never
resented. We knew she always understood ; that
she would never laugh, and make us look silly.
When I was quite a small child I thought of my
mother as somewhere midway between God
and ordinary people — but nearer God, if any-
thing ; certainly in a department by herself.
There was, therefore, a certain awe and reverence
in my love for her, and none of the casual
familiarity of some children with their parents.
From our earliest years onwards my mother
always took us for our Scripture lesson. In the
very early days these consisted of stories graphically
told. Hence I cannot remember a time when
all the better-known stories of both the Old and
New Testaments were not in my mind as
brilliant pictures, and all the characters as
familiar friends. She taught us, too, by games
- — especially one called " dreaming." In this
each of us, in turn, rested our head on a sofa-
cushion and pretended to go to sleep. We then
began to dream aloud. Our dream had to be
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 101
some scene out of the Bible. One began with
unimportant details, so as not to give a clue at
once. Presently something well known would
be " seen," and then anyone who recognised the
episode called " Wake up ! " and had to say what
the dream was about, and if right, then take
their turn at dreaming. Our dreams were not
generally very ingenious, but I remember the
fascination with which we listened, our eyes
fixed on my mother's sleeping face, as some
wonderful, vivid scene developed, detail by
detail. Sometimes we forgot to say " Wake up ! "
even though we knew quite well what story she
was dreaming, because we were too busy follow-
ing in imagination the dramatic things she was
seeing.
Later the scripture lessons became more
elaborate : we would go through a whole book
of the Old Testament, or one of the Gospels. I
can still remember things she said when I was
very small. She was a born teacher.
I remember the time (I was seven) when she
taught us all the responses we ought to make in
church. She said that we must not just gabble
them like a lesson, but say them meaning to pray,
otherwise they would only go up as far as the
roof of the church, and not reach God. The
io2 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
idea impressed me and stuck in my small
mind,
Sometimes my mother's punishments were
amusingly original. We had a phase of being
silently insulting to each other (and to grown-ups)
by facial expression. It was called " making
faces." Sometimes it was a form of direct
attack ; but more often a last resort when words
failed. Anyhow, it was a punishable crime
in the nursery. At last the high court of my
mother's authority was appealed to, and she
devised a punishment which completely put a
stop to the offence. She bought two wire
masks, painted, one to look like a sweetly-smiling
lady, the other like a very benign gentleman with
a drooping yellow moustache. When brought
to her for the crime of " making faces " we had
to sit on chairs facing each other, and each wearing
one of those masks. You could see through the
painted wire-meshes perfectly well, and the
gentle expression of the person opposite told you
how sweetly foolish you were looking yourself.
You could not resist looking, and the more you
looked the more you loathed. There was one
alternative to this punishment, namely, to make
the original " face " at my mother ; but we never
chose that alternative.
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 103
My mother used to read aloud to us a great
deal — Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales (which she
delighted in herself) ; children's books, like
" Little Lord Fauntleroy," " The Little Duke,"
etc., and, later on, Scott. At one time, when
reading Scott, she told us to stop her every time
we came on a word of which we did not know the
meaning. This was then written down on a
piece of paper, and the next day part of our
schoolroom lessons was to find out the meanings
of all these words with the help of our governess
and a dictionary. It was characteristic of my
mother that we never looked on this plan as a
dull schooly thing, or as a tedious interruption to
the story ; rather, the reading became doubly
thrilling, because there was the added excitement
of the hunt after unknown words. It was just
my mother's own enthusiasm for language that
prompted the plan, and she herself always did
evcn-tliing as if it was an exciting game. Another
book she read us was " Water Babies," out of the
very copy she had bought with her own pennies
as a tiny child. There must have been some-
thing very telling in the way she read, because
those books she read aloud when I was six or seven
are still fresh in my memory, while books read
by other people, or to myself, have faded. She
104 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
herself had a theory that if the reader allowed
his mind to wander from the sense of the passage,
and did not visualise the scene depicted, the
hearers would not grasp the sense and would also
fail to visualise ; hence she would sometimes
read a paragraph over again, if she felt her mind
had not been concentrated upon it. It was part
of her strong belief in the effect of one mind on
another.
The first ten years of married life had been full
and fruitful, and she had indeed proved herself
to be " in favour with God and man." But a
time was approaching to which she had long
looked forward. The thought of being thirty
meant a very great deal to her, because it was at
the age of thirty that Christ set out upon His
public mission. Her own life was one of loving
activity in the service of men and in obedience
to the will of God ; the life of Christ was her
model and inspiration ; and so the thought of
living those years from thirty to thirty-three
filled her with high resolves. One may guess
that it was a deep disappointment and trial to
find herself, after the first few months of this
year, overcome by a painful and dangerous illness,
which completely laid her low, and turned her
into an invalid for nearly a year. The illness
Portrait 1830
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 105
was a form of peritonitis, and all but cost her life.
Only the skill of the famous doctor, Sir Andrew
Clark, and the careful nursing of devoted friends
pulled her through ; and even these would have
been of no avail had it not been for her extra-
ordinary vitality and recuperative powers.
On Easter Sunday her life was despaired of,
and she herself thought her last hours on earth
had come. But the next day there was a slight
improvement. For seven weeks, however, she
lay between life and death, the doctors holding
out but small hopes of her recovery.
Then one day she suddenly said, " If I could be
carried out into the sun I know I should get well."
A doctor would undoubtedly have forbidden
that she should be moved, but my father knew
her wonderful instinct about such things. A
stretcher was fetched, and she was carried out
and laid on a couch, on the tennis-court, in the
blazing sun. With a sigh of contentment she
closed her eyes and fell into a quiet sleep, lying
so for two hours, her frail body seeming to drink
in the life and light and warmth. From that
day she began to get well. Her recovery was a
matter of real wonder to Sir Andrew Clark.
Now began a long, tedious time of convales-
cence. The role of invalid was one which was
106 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
the greatest possible trial to my mother. Her
energy, her enjoyment of life, her naturally
bounding health, made long hours of lying still,
and the necessity of going out in a bath-chair very
irksome. But her patience, courage, and joyous-
ness never flagged. The first of the three years
that she considered the sacred age was certainly
passed with Christ-like heroism. But it contained
a no less Christ-like service too ; for from her
couch she would give the most beautiful and
carefully prepared addresses and Bible studies to
the ladies of the village, who assembled weekly
at the Vicarage. This gathering she termed a
Ladies' Bible Reading, and it was the beginning
of what later became one of her chief activities
and enthusiasms. Her methods of Bible study
were original and full of thought, the result of
long study and meditation and much prayer to
God the Holy Spirit for enlightenment.
By the autumn of 1893 her strength had
almost returned, and in November her fourth
daughter was born. Another followed a year
later.
Her health now quite restored, she was able
to start again on all her old parish activities.
Every year the family spent six or seven weeks
in the Isle of Wight, where my father had
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 107
bought a delightful little house, the garden
sloping right down to the seashore. In addition
to this holiday, when my mother would enter
with youthful enthusiasm into all the amuse-
ments of her family — bathing, boating, etc. —
she also had ten days of spiritual refreshment
at Keswick, where a great convention for Bible
study and spiritual addresses took place every
year. This was a great delight to her ; especially
as, between the meetings, there was boating
on the lake and long mountain walks.
My mother was much interested in the
question of telepathy and mental influence. She
herself possessed what would, I suppose, be called
in modern jargon " psychical gifts ' of a very
peculiar sort. One of these was a form of
clairvoyance I have never heard of in anyone
else, namely, the power of finding lost things,
so long as she had at one time or another touched
the object. As children it was to us a matter
of course that mother could find anything
lost, though the mysterious power filled us
with wonder and admiration. What she did
was simply to make her mind a blank, and then
suddenly go straight to the place where the
thing lay concealed, and put her hand upon it.
If the object was inaccessible, she would insist
108 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [:v
on furniture being moved until it could be
reached.
For instance, my father once lost the signet
ring my mother had given him. He had no idea
where he had lost it, but searched thoroughly
in every conceivable place. In despair he at
last appealed to her. She did not search, but,
after pausing a moment, went straight up to
a large wooden chest in which he kept the type
for his printing-press.
" Your ring is behind it," she said.
" It can't possibly be," said my father ; " there
isn't room between the chest and the wall.
Besides, how could my ring have got there ? "
" But it is there," said my mother ; " you
must have the chest moved."
The chest was so heavy that moving it was
impossible without emptying its contents. My
father thought it hardly worth while, considering
how little likelihood there was of the ring being
behind it. However, my mother persisted, and
the type was taken from the chest and it was
drawn away from the wall. To his surprise,
there was the ring !
This same ring was again lost some years
later and found by my mother in an almost
more curious way, for in this case there was
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 109
no possibility of a guess, or of any explanation
founded on telepathy.
After having searched high and low, my father
came to her and told her of the loss. She stood
quite still for a moment, and then went up to
him and took the edge of his coat between her
finger and thumb.
" Here it is," she said.
Sure enough the ring could be felt beneath
her fingers, in the lining of the coat, having
slipped through a hole in the pocket. It should
be noticed that it was not that the idea
occurred to her that it was in the lining, and
that she then proceeded to feel for it. No
idea came to her — she simply felt irresistibly
drawn to place her hand upon the ring,
wherever it was, and so without hesitancy
picked on the exact spot in the lining of the
coat.
There were many other instances of this
curious faculty. To mention the first that
occurred, and the last.
She lost one of her dormice when she was
about eight years old. Everyone had searched
for it. It occurred to my mother, during family
prayers, to pray that she might find it. No
sooner were prayers over than she felt impelled
no LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
to go up to a bookcase and take out the large
old family Bible, seldom moved. There, curled
up in a little ball behind it, was her dormouse !
Not long ago she was staying in an hotel with
my youngest sister, who was much distressed
at finding she had lost a treasured brooch. She
was sure she had left it on her dressing-table.
She told my mother what had happened, and
asked her to find the brooch " her way."
My mother did not look at the dressing-table,
but at once dived under the bed, drew forth
a suit-case, and, thrusting her hand under the
tissue paper, slipped it into the torn lining of
the case, and drew forth the brooch.
She always said that she could not find a
thing unless she had herself touched it.
Things of her own had a way of doing what
she termed " calling out to her " if inadvertently
lost or stolen. Here are two instances which I
often heard her recount.
She had an umbrella, with a black-and-silver
crook handle. She had bought it at the time
when the nation went into mourning for Queen
Victoria. It was a great treasure, and she always
called it " the umbrella with which I mourned
for Queen Victoria " !
One day, as she sat in a railway compartment,
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH in
" The umbrella with which I mourned for
Queen Victoria suddenly called out to me,
wildly," she would tell us.
She looked about to see what could have
befallen her faithful umbrella to account for
this, and found that it had mysteriously dis-
appeared from the place where she had stood
it. Looking across at the lady in the opposite
corner, she noticed that propped up by her
was a bundle — her parasol and umbrella wrapped
round in a large fold of paper, only the two
handles sticking out. The lady was a mild
and inoffensive-looking little person, but my
mother knew without a shade of doubt that in
that bundle was concealed the umbrella with
which she mourned for Queen Victoria !
Not wishing to make a scene in the carriage,
she waited until the train stopped at Liverpool
Street Station and the occupants of the compart-
ment got out. She kept close to the lady,
and then was able to see the other end of the
bundle, from which protruded three ferruled
sticks !
She touched the lady on the arm. " Excuse
mc," she said, " but jrou have my umbrella
in your bundle." The lady of course protested
that she knew nothing of my mother's umbrella.
ii2 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
But my mother only smiled quietly. " Oh,
yes," she said, " it's there in your bundle. Please
remove the paper and give it back to me."
Rather flustered, and as if she found it im-
possible to disobey or continue to protest, the
lady unwound the wrapping and handed my
mother her umbrella.
One day she had unpacked a small suit-case
in a station waiting-room, and having packed
it up again, was about to leave the place, when
something " called to her, frantically, from a
certain chair." Upon the chair reposed a very
stout lady. Still, so certain was my mother
that something of hers was upon that chair,
that she went up to the lady and, with the
disarming smile that always conciliated the
least affable of strangers, remarked :
" Excuse my troubling you, but I think you
are sitting on something of mine."
The stout lady arose, surprised, and lo, one
of my mother's little fur caps was revealed,
much flattened !
There were no abnormal conditions or pheno-
mena connected with her spiritual life, beyond
very striking objective answers to prayer and
the fact that certain things, which afterwards
turned out contrary to her desires, she would,
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 113
as she said, be " kept from praying for." It
was not that consciously she omitted to pray,
but that the thought would mysteriously vanish
from her mind and somehow would never get
prayed for.
She was not given to having premonitions,
but on three occasions she seemed to hear a
warning voice, and by acting upon the warning
averted a calamity.
The first was as follows :
She was driving herself home from the station
in a light dogcart. Suddenly she seemed to
hear a voice close to her ear say, " Drive slowly,
or you will regret it all your life." She drew
in the horse a little, but continued to go at a
fairly brisk trot. Twice, however, the warning
was repeated, so that she felt impelled to go at
little more than a walk as she rounded a corner
which, as a rule, she took at a good pace.
Suddenly, from the back of a dray, a tiny,
curly-haired boy darted across the road, literally
under the horse's hoofs. She pulled him up
short ; but had she been going any faster the
child must have been knocked down and run
01 er.
The second occasion was in the Isle of Wight.
A lot of us were going bathing. My mother
H
ii 4 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
was sitting writing and had no intention of
bathing that afternoon. But a voice said in
her ear : " Go with them." She obeyed, and
was ever after thankful she had done so : for
save for her skilful and timely assistance one of
my younger sisters, who was not a strong swimmer
like the rest of us, would most certainly have
been drowned.
The third time was in an airraid. A Zeppelin
was overhead. A strange, rushing sound filled
the air, and no one knew what it meant. " It's
a bomb," said a voice in my mother's ear.
Seizing my youngest sister, she flung herself
on the ground. Had she not done so the con-
cussion of an enormous bomb exploding near
by would have thrown them down with great
violence, while pieces of flying metal would
have been far more likely to strike them than
when lying flat. My mother always said that in
these three cases it was not a mere premonition,
but that the words were distinctly spoken close
to her ear.
No one could tell my mother a lie without
being immediately detected. She could thought-
read very well. This and other psychical gifts
and tendencies she could easily have developed
had she wished to, but she believed such gifts
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 115
to be unnatural, too great a strain on the mind,
and not intended for use in this life.
She had an intense horror of spiritualism,
and she believed that to have anything whatever
to do with it would be grave sin, and a violation
of God's laws. Such things were absolutely
forbidden by God in the early days of His divine
revelations, as recorded in the Old Testament;
again in the New those who tampered with
occult powers were uncompromisingly con-
demned ; and in the Middle Ages all witch-
craft, magic, and communication with spirits
was strictly forbidden by the Church.
She had seen people lose all peace of mind,
all faith in God through tampering with this
forbidden subject, which made her conclude
that spiritistic phenomena were due to diabolical
influence. Hence, she would never allow any
kind of dealings with such things — even " table-
turning " or " planchcttc " — as a form of amuse-
ment.
Her horror of spiritualism was partly due
to an experience of her childhood. She v.
staying with two friends in a small hotel in
Switzerland, convalescing after typhoid fever.
An Italian count was also staving in the
hotel. He was a spiritualistic medium, and
n6 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
held frequent seances to which numbers of the
guests would go. He chanced to be occupying
the room adjoining my mother's, and there
was a communicating door. As she lay awake
at night she would hear the count pacing
restlessly, madly, up and down, up and down
his room, hour after hour, groaning, arguing,
pleading, now raising his voice in protest, now
mumbling low or whispering hoarsely. It was
the sound of a soul in utter despair. Often
the speaking was so continuous that it was hard
to believe that only one person was in the room.
After a few nights of this my mother's friends
insisted on the hotel authorities changing her
room. She was glad, however, to have had
the experience, for it made a deep and lasting
impression on her mind, and acted as a very
potent warning against this subtle spiritual
danger.
The tremendous increase and popularity of
spiritualism in these days distressed her deeply,
and she restrained many people from taking
part in it.
She possessed the power of " mental-sugges-
tion ' very strongly, and this, combined with
a magnetic power in her hands, enabled her to
effect the most wonderful cures, by a kind of
iv] LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 117
massage. There were numerous instances of
this, and many people had reason to be grateful
to her. To mention two :
A neighbouring farmer's wife had for years
been rendered almost helpless by rheumatism.
My mother drove over the five miles during
several successive weeks, and applied her form
of massage, effecting a complete and lasting cure.
In Switzerland my father slipped and sprained
his ankle very badly. The doctor gave him no
hope of being able to walk for at least three
weeks, and he lay in agony, quite unable to put
his foot to the ground. My mother felt sure
that she could cure him. At first his ankle
was so intensely tender that he could not bear
the lightest touch. She began by making passes
over it, then laying her hands gently on it, and,
as the pain grew less, giving the massage. By
the time she had done, the pain had completely
gone, and the next day the doctor was astounded
to see my father walking about as usual, and, a few
days later, skating and tobogganing once again.
From the earliest years at Hertford Heath
her friendship, sympathy, and counsel were sought
by those who were in both spiritual and material
difficulties. Her power of consoling, reassuring,
giving hope and inspiring new resolves was very
n8 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
wonderful, and lay largely, I think, in the way
she always gave her whole mind to the one seek-
ing her help. She would bring her whole
personality to bear upon the case, as if nothing
else mattered in all the world. Those in diffi-
culties would feel they had her whole attention,
her full sympathy, all the kindness and strength
of her heart. They would, as it were, relax
the strained and anxious tension of their minds,
letting the strength of hers support them.
Then, filled with her buoyant hope, enlightened
with a new vision, aided by sound advice, and
often materially assisted, too, they would go
on their way, consoled. Considering her busy
life, and the many calls on her attention, this
calm and collected power of concentration must
be recognised as a very special gift. She told
me once herself that, however busy, however
distracted with a multitude of things to be done
and little time in which to do them, if any one
came to see her she would never let them get
the impression that she was in a hurry or occupied.
A quarter of an hour of her whole attention
would draw out what was in their minds, and
she would probably be able to deal with them
to their entire satisfaction ; whereas, had they
been conscious of hurry they would have become
ivj LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 119
flurried and inarticulate, and gone away with a
sense of disappointment. Eves in quite trivial
matters she observed this rule of concentrated
attention and the atmosphere of leisure.
Another characteristic trait arising from her
sympathy and genuine love of humanity was
her attitude towards those with whom every-
day circumstances brought her in touch. To
her, no one ever appeared to bear a wholly
formal and conventional relation with herself.
It was not only that she took interest in the
particular individual ; she felt any service per-
formed for her was a matter for real gratitude,
and that the stranger who served her became
related to her through the service. In shops,
for instance, the girl who served her at the
counter, or the proprietor who stepped forward
courteously to make sure she was being supplied
with what she wanted, was, to her, a fellow
human being who for the moment had really
come into her life. She would be genuinely-
grateful for the trouble taken to supply her
requirements, never looking upon it as a matter-
of-course. So that a bit of shopping was not a
mere business transaction, but a human little
episode in which her need brought her into con-
tact with a fellow man, and became a link between
120 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
them — he trying to please her, she grateful for
his help. As you stood by, you could not help
feeling that the mere serving of her over the
counter was being a source of pleasure ; that
the assistant was feeling that here was a friend ;
and the smile as they parted would be one of
mutual sympathy. It was so in shops where
she was a complete stranger ; but as to the
shops where she went habitually — here were
her true friends : and one realised it vividly
if one spent a day in town with her. London
seemed full of her personal friends, known by
name, with an interest taken in their private
concerns ; and everywhere she was greeted by
name, too, and with radiant smiles.
I have only mentioned shopping as a case
in point. The same applied to all circumstances
which brought her in touch with her fellows :
such circumstances were an opportunity to make
new friends. In the stations which she used
frequently the inspectors and guards were her
friends, known by name, and always ready to
assist her in any way they could, or at least
come up with a word of greeting as she hurried
for her train.
One of my mother's rules of life was not only
never to make uncharitable remarks about
ivj LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 121
other people, but carefully to avoid even think-
ing critical thoughts about strangers. She used
to say, " If you see anyone who looks quaint or
badly dressed, don't send them a thought that
will make them feel uncomfortable or unhappy."
She taught us this as children : and to the end
of her life, as she walked with a companion in
the streets, she would never allow a critical
remark, or a laugh at another's expense.
It became quite a joke with one of her friends,
who would say : " Oh, look at that funny
person ! ' To which my mother would re-
spond : " How lovely the sunshine is, through
the trees ! "
She disliked travelling or using a taxi on
Sunday. If she had to, she would always give an
extra generous tip, because it was Sunday ; and
her tips were always accompanied by a smile
and often a kind word. During the war she
used to carry about with her a tiny booklet
containing simply that comforting Psalm kk Whoso
dwclleth under the defence of the Most High "
(Ps. 91.) She would give these to Tommies or
to people whom she discovered had sons at the
war, and they always seemed to give such pleasure.
One Christmas she carried with her a little
Christmas booklet for children which particularly
122 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
appealed to her, and would ask her taxi-driver,
when she paid him, if he had any small boys and
girls. If he had, she would give him a copy.
My mother had a very great and loyal devotion
to Queen Victoria. As children, she brought
us up to have a real reverence for " the Queen."
The National Anthem she taught us to regard
as specially sacred : even the tune she would not
let us strum on the piano. She would seize
every opportunity of seeing the Queen drive
out in her carriage, whether in London or at
Cowes. One of my own earliest memories
is seeing the Queen at Cowes ; and I suppose
it is impressed on my memory because of my
mother's anxiety that we should see and realise
who it was.
It was on one of these occasions when we had
rowed out and tied up our boat quite close
to the royal yacht that the following little
incident occurred.
As the Queen passed slowly along the gang-
way on to her yacht, Princess Beatrice drew her
attention to the boatful of happy children
below, and pointing out one of my sisters who
had a wealth of auburn hair about her shoulders,
remarked :
" What glorious hair that child has ! "
ivj LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARISH 123
The Queen looked down with kindly interest,
and that look was a source of real pleasure to
one of the most loyal and devoted of her
subjects.
At one of the Red Cross Sales she bought a
ring of Queen Victoria's, given her by her
governess, Baroness von Lehzen, on her wedding
day — February 10, 1840. It had been presented
to the sale by Princess Victoria of Schleswig-
Holstcin, and my mother was greatly delighted
at having been able to buy it. It was one of
her greatest treasures. Later she gave it to her
great friend, Miss Phyllis Lett.
I well remember my mother's grief at the
Queen's death : one would have thought it was
one of her personal dear ones that had passed.
But to return to her history. In 1900 her
eighth child was born — the " Angela " to whom
" The Rosary " is dedicated.
Meanwhile, her activities had spread beyond
the bounds of the little country parish, and
speaking engagements were more and more
taking her from home.
In 1905 she found herself again laid low by
illness — her heart this time, strained by over-
exertion in a long bicycle ride. She was confined
toher room for nine months and nursed devotedly
124 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [iv
by one of my sisters. It was during this
illness that she wrote " The Rosary," though it
was not published for some years.
In 1909 and 1910 she visited America.
Outside calls became very numerous and her
correspondence was enormous. The production
of a long novel every year also took time. She
therefore gradually handed over her village
activities to other willing helpers, and faced the
work of a larger sphere. Always, however, she
clung to her post of organist, and would make
every effort to be at home for Sundays, in order
not to miss accompanying the services. Often
this meant long and weary journeys, or the giving
up of an attractive engagement ; and latterly,
when a very painful illness had attacked her, she
would play the organ under conditions when
n >:>t people would be lying on a couch, groaning.
Her courage was indomitable, and it was im-
possible to persuade her not to go to the services,
or to give up this or that engagement. As some-
one has well expressed it, " she had the courage
of a hero and the heart and gaiety of a child."
This, then, is an outline of my mother's life
at Hertford Heath. The history of these thirty-
nine years will be filled out and coloured in
the chapters which follow.
V : OF SWIMMING AND OTHER SPORTS
/ HpHE picture of my mother would be in-
-*- complete were I to leave out her intense
enjoyment of physical activity of every sort. It
was simply her radiant health, her irrepressible
energy seeking its natural outlet — for with her
there was no thirst for competition, for mere
exhibition, for the performance of feats.
As a matter of fact she excelled in every form
of sport she took up, and had she cared to
specialise in it, her physical strength, powers
of endurance, courage, cool-headedness, quick-
ness of eye and sure dexterity would have won
for her a place in the ranks of the " champions."
But she cared nothing for laurels. All she wanted
was to satisfy her instinctive need of movement,
to enjoy the feeling of abounding life to the full.
So long as her own children and immediate friends
shared her simple enthusiasm in the accomplish-
ment of the moment that was all that mattered.
Though she enjoyed games, it was the purely
natural activities, like walking, riding, swimming,
that pleased her most. My mind is full of
1-5
126 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [v
brilliant little pictures of sunny scenes, my
mother the centre of them, seeming to con-
centrate in her own personality all the sun-
shine, all the joy of existence, all the energy of
human life. Here are some of the pictures that
I see.
Blazing sunshine on the sparkling snow. Over-
head a sky of pure, fathomless blue. On every
side, some near and accessible, others vast and
distant, range upon range of mountains, snow-
covered, pine-clad. In the foreground, my
mother, her face tanned to a wonderful bright
brown, clad in a short skirt, and grasping a ski
stick. All she wants is to get away, walking,
walking, then climbing, on and on, up and up
the steep mountain paths, until she is far up in the
rare, cold air, among the brown rocks, the stubby
firs, the stretches of untrodden snow. She takes
with her one companion, a meagre meal of
biscuits and fruit, and is gone. The rest of us
take ourselves off to our more artificial forms of
sport — tobogganing, ski-ing, skating ; to the gay
life of St. Moritz. . . .
That evening, when the sky has turned a
luminous green, the last streaks of orange already
faded from it, as the first bright stars prick out
and the twilight has transformed the shadowy
v] SWIMMING AND OTHER SPORTS 127
snow to a mysterious purple, appears my mother,
down from her mountain heights, still full of
energy and life, but satisfied. She has found
more joy in that day of simple exercise than we
in all our elaborate sports.
She would spend whole days like this, too, in
the mountains of the Lake District, climbing up
above the Falls of Lodore, perhaps, and tramping
along the top of the range for hours and hours.
She never seemed to get to the end of her strength
and powers of endurance.
A hot morning of sun and steady clouds, the
sea, blue in the distance, and a clear, cool green
in the rocky pools ; my mother, clad in her dark-
blue swimming costume, eager to get into another
clement, and feel herself master of that, too.
Into the green depths she dives, down, down,
down, until she is lost to view. Presently she
appears again on the surface, shakes the drops
from her face and hair, and, cleaving the water
with strong, steady strokes, swims away into the
distance, out of sight and hearing of human-kind,
to be alone, for a little, with sea and sky, and the
gulls that swoop and circle on silver wings. After
a time she reappears, the salt dried in silver rime
on her face, to enter with youthful enjoyment
into a jolly bathe with her family.
128 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [v
A white stone is thrown into the water, and
three or four of us dive after it, but it is usually
" Mother " who gets there first, and rises trium-
phant, the stone held up in her brown hand.
A boat full of children comes out, and she
delights them by diving beneath it and appearing
on the other side.
Once, during a summer holiday in the Isle of
Wight, she conceived a desire to swim out to the
" Warner " lightship, two and a half miles across
the Solent. She was warned that the currents
were very strong, and it would be a good deal
more than a two and a half miles' swim, on
account of these. I believe she would have set
out alone, for she knew no fear. My father,
however, insisted on accompanying her in a boat.
She reached the "Warner" as fresh as she set
out, and after dressing in the captain's cabin,
rowed gaily home.
So sure was she of herself in the water that she
was not afraid to swim out on her back with her
nine-months-old baby crowing with delight on
her chest ! And she would take her little monkey,
" Bacco," with her when she swam far out. He
was a wonderful swimmer himself, and would
dive off her chest and swim under the water
much further than any human being could, his
v] SWIMMING AND OTHER SPORTS 129
little black head popping up again in the distance
just when she had begun to get anxious at so long
a disappearance.
One of my own earliest memories (I was not
yet three) is of sitting in a canoe and my mother
paddling me far out to sea, till the houses on
the shore looked far, far away, and there was no
sound but the soft swish and ripple of the green
water.
She loved rowing, too, and would pull a long,
steady stroke for hours at a time, both on the
sea and on the English Lakes.
Bicycling was a great delight at one time —
real, long, lonely rides for hours and hours along
the smooth high roads. Once she started in the
very early morning, with only the larks awake as
yet and the dew still white on the grass, and
arrived to breakfast with my brother, at Cam-
bridge ! — a thirty mile ride. Another time she
rode from Hertford Heath to Cromer (120 miles)
in one day.
There is an amusing little story of an earl}- visit
to Switzerland which shows how she naturally
excelled at sports, caring little for recognition.
My mother and father were staying at Maloja,
in 1890, as my mother was badly needing the
tonic of some Swiss mountain air. She had, of
1 3 o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [v
course, thrown herself with keen enjoyment into
the winter sports, especially the pass tobogganing —
for the long winding pass from Maloja to Vico
Soprano, once the snow was well beaten down,
formed a splendid toboggan run of nearly five
miles.
My mother had become quite expert at this
sport, but entirely for its own exhilarating
fun, and not with a view to competition of any
6ort. The faster tobogganing on the artificial
run did not please her so much, though she did
that, too, sometimes. When a ladies' race on
this run was organised it did not occur to her to
enter.
She was, however, pressed to do so by the other
visitors at the hotel, in order to fill the place of
someone who had fallen out, and make up the
full number of entries. It was made quite clear
to her that she stood no chance at all, on her old-
fashioned Swiss toboggan, against the new, swift
American type, and that she was merely being
asked to oblige.
She agreed to enter ; and to herself she said,
" If I ride, I ride to win."
There was great excitement over the race, and
one or two sporting ladies were looked upon as far
and away the favourites, and bound to carry off
v] SWIMMING AND OTHER SPORTS 131
the prizes. The heats began, and the stop-watch
duly recorded the number of seconds. Little
interest was taken in the start of the stranger on
the Swiss toboggan ; but as she flew down the run,
lying back quite flat, swinging neatly round the
corners, and scarcely touching the ground at all
with her pegs, the onlookers realised that here
was a likely winner ! When her time was called
it proved, indeed, to be the best done in that
heat.
The same thing happened in the following
heats, and at the end of the race my mother
found herself being loudly applauded as the
winner by the men and eyed indignantly by the
disappointed ladies ! It was a typical instance
of her success at such sports and of her deter-
mination to win if she entered into competition
with others, though she cared little for doing this,
in reality.
She was a graceful skater ; and though she did
little ski-ing, she seemed to take to it naturally,
and could enjoy an afternoon on the slopes
around St. Moritz or Grindclwald, seeming to
need no instruction in the art, or any assistance.
Golf she played a good deal at one time, and
tennis too ; but perhaps her most characteristic
connection with games was the cricket club for the
132 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [v
ladies of the village, which she ran in connection
with her Bible reading, from 1894 to 1897.
She trained the team herself, and formed two
elevens (the " Cardinals " and the " Blues " —
she being the captain of the " Cardinals ") which
met and played matches almost every week
during the summer in the Vicarage field. Some
of the members were middle-aged mothers of
families, but all entered into the game with a joy
and zest probably caught from that of their
captain.
The same ladies she put through a course of
Sandow's physical training a few years later.
She went through a professional course, herself,
in London, and then formed a regular class at
Hertford Heath. The ladies made themselves
the approved costumes, and attended regularly,
every week. March tunes played on the piano
assisted and enlivened proceedings. Many of the
members testified to the enormous improvement
in their health, and continued to practise the
exercises when the classes at last came to an
end. My mother had a theory, which she often
mentioned at this time, that happiness in spiritual
life depended much more than people realised
upon the physical condition, and that Sandow
exercises were of real value to the soul !
v] SWIMMING AND OTHER SPORTS 133
My mother enjoyed motoring intensely, and
she and her devoted chauffeur, " John," covered
many hundreds of miles together. My youngest
sister accompanied her on many of these trips,
and was struck by my mother's surprising
" bump of locality." They would be making
for some place to which she had never been
before. The road would be hard to find, sign-
posts of little help. But she would quite con-
fidently tell her chauffeur which road to take —
and often he would do it quite against his own
judgment and the apparent indications of map
or sign-post. But my mother always proved
right. She herself could not explain how she
knew the way : it was an instinctive sense of
direction, a curious impulse to take one road
rather than another.
During the war, when motoring became
impossible for lack of petrol and a chauffeur,
all her old enjoyment of driving a horse re-
turned, and she would drive her big grey about
the country roads. She was devoted to him,
and he had always been used to his lump of
sugar. When sugar became a rationed luxury
my mother felt she could still give him his lump
as she did not herself take sugar in her tea, so
that he really shared her ration ! Even in
134 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [v
restaurants she would carefully save the lumps of
sugar provided in the little paper cornets for
each person, and take these home for Grey Boy.
To the end of her life my mother remained
untiringly active. Only a fortnight before her
death she walked nearly five miles, exploring again
the favourite haunts of her childhood in the
lanes round Limpsfield, and showing my youngest
sister that spot made sacred by the dream of her
babyhood — Sandy Lane.
VI : OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS
A VERY characteristic thing about my mother
"*■ was her love of animals, and a very
remarkable thing about her was the strange,
almost mysterious power she had over them.
It was not that she hypnotised them ; she
simply won their affection. Because they trusted
her they ceased to fear her, they obeyed
her, they rejoiced to be with her — and it was
shy, wild birds and beasts she won, as well as
pets.
To begin with she loved life in itself. Life
seemed to her a precious gift — the greatest
gift of the Creator. Life was to her a sacred
thing. She believed the life of every little animal
v. as a thing to be respected, just because (unlike
a human soul, with its certainty of everlasting
survival) its life is all it has. The phrase was
often on her lips. It testified to her instinctive
sympathy and justice, as well as to her all-
embracing love. " Oh, don't kill it ! — its little
life is all it has," she would say, even about
an insect. And the real anxiety on her face
«33
136 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
as she pressed forward, with gentle fingers
eager to rescue, showed a genuine impulse of
the heart.
The following amusing little incident illus-
trates this enthusiasm for life. It was during
a recent visit to Cromer. A fisherman stopped
her in the street, offering to sell her a fine lobster,
" all alive, mum ! " At first she turned away
with the sorrowful sense of resignation she
forced upon herself with regard to the necessary-
taking of life. But looking back she saw the
beautiful, shining blue-black of the lobster,
his waving antennae, his poor claws opening and
shutting despairingly, and his eyes (to her)
almost appealing ! Her sympathy went out to
him in a flood of " sweet unreasonableness,"
and she bought him.
Holding him carefully she hastened down to
the sea, and joyfully placed him in the cool,
refreshing water. Anxiously she watched. He
moved his feelers, stretched his legs and claws
as if uncertain whether it was true that he
was actually back in his own element, and then,
with a great dart of joy, sped out into the deep.
That giving back of life to a wild creature filled
her with a thrill of joy — a faint reflection, perhaps,
of the joy of the Creator in giving life !
».
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 137
But she never allowed herself any foolish
weakness in the matter, such as a refusal to
sanction the necessary taking of life, or in adopt-
ing fads like vegetarianism, or subscribing to
the sentimental societies which put animal life
before the crying human needs of the day.
Still, all killing for sport she abhorred ; while
cruelty to animals called forth a blaze of indig-
nation.
Few things caused her such genuine pleasure
as the affection and trust of wild animals —
especially birds. Several robins, thrushes, and
even common little sparrows she tamed at
different times ; but one thrush, in particular,
she loved, and his story is remarkable enough
to be worth telling in detail.
He lived in the old-fashioned and secluded
garden of her beloved " Corner House," at
Ovcrst rand. A most beautiful thrush he was,
with a great speckled chest and the biggest,
brightest of bright eyes. She named him
Hydrangea : he seemed to demand an imposing-
sounding name.
By infinite gentleness and patience she won
his confidence. At first it was fur crumbs
or meal-worms he came. But after a while it
was for love. She had but to whistle his own
138 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
particular call, and, with a rush and whirr of
wings, there would be Hydrangea at her feet
on the grass, or perched on the arm of her
chair.
No meal on the verandah would be complete
without Hydrangea — he was always one of the
party. And in and out of her writing-room he
would come and go at pleasure.
As if he knew the joy and inspiration he was
to her, he would sit on a rose-tree and sing to
her while she wrote — sing from the depths of
his joyous, free, loving bird-heart ; but every
now and then he would swoop down on to her
chair to see how she was getting on, cocking
a wise, bright eye at her manuscript.
In the nesting season he would, of course,
woo and win a beautiful (but shy) wife, and
very proudly he would bring her into the writing-
room, to be introduced to his human friend.
At first the wife would not be very sure if she
approved of this somewhat unusual attach-
ment of her mate's ; but she would come in
with him from the first, and after a time would
grow quite bold. Soon, however, the building
of the nest having been accomplished, she would
find herself tied at home ; and Hydrangea
would appear alone once more, and just a little
m =
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 139
distrait. His visits would be shorter and less
frequent, too.
My mother would find his nest, of course,
and call daily to inquire after Mrs. Hydrangea
and the eggs.
And then, one day, Hydrangea would fly in,
in a perfect fluster of excitement — his babies
were hatched !
The meal-worms my mother kept in a tin
and threw to him, or held on her palm for him
to take, were, apparently, the very best diet
for the children, and he would appear for a
supply as soon as my mother was down in the
morning. The wonderful thing was that
Hydrangea proved himself capable of doing
perfectly accurate mental arithmetic. If he
knew that there were three wide, yellow beaks
at home he would not dream of flying away
with one meal-worm, or two \ he would wait
quite persistently for three. It /our were given
him he would go on wailing, pick up the fifth, and
stand with a bunch of meal-worms sticking
out each side of his beak like whiskers, and wait
patiently for the sixth, or even the ninth !
Nothing would make him go away unless he
were carrying a multiple of three. The same
if he had four children : he must then have four
140 LIFE OF FLORENCE (BARCLAY [vi
or eight worms. He never made a mistake,
and my mother tested him over and over again.
The amount the young Hydrangeas ate was
amazing. Their father was busy with them all
day, and his visits were only business ones, now.
Then would come the day when they were
old enough to leave the nest. Hydrangea would
conduct them to a certain lilac-bush and make
this the family headquarters. From this bush
he would bring the babies out on to the lawn,
where, like fat, speckly balls they would sit,
with wide beaks, keeping their energetic father
busy. My mother used to be amused at
Hydrangea's little ruse for concealing the family
abode. He never by any chance brought a baby
straight out of the lilac -bush on to the lawn,
but always went round a very circuitous route,
by way of flower-beds, and emerged from quite
another corner, as if the hiding-place of the
babies was really a certain rose-bush.
When at last his sons and daughters were
sufficiently grown up to be able to fly, he would
proudly bring the whole family into my mother's
writing-room, and introduce them. They would
sit on the carpet, very round-eyed and sur-
prised, but evidently enjoying the adventure,
and especially the meal-worms.
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 141
And then would come the strange day when
Hydrangea, seeing his children old enough
to cater for themselves, would quite suddenly
harden his heart against them ; and soon he
would be busy building another nest.
All this happened season after season, and
for four successive years it was a delight to my
mother. Hydrangea spent the winter abroad.
But no sooner did he arrive back in the early
spring than he would make straight for my
mother's window, deeply distressed if she was
away and it was closed. As soon as the care-
taker arrived and opened it, he would dart
in and search every room in the house, hoping
to find his friend. The caretaker would then
write off at once to my mother to announce :
" The Bird has arrived," and if at all possible
my mother would hasten to spend a few days
at the Corner House to welcome Hydrangea
home.
But one spring a tragedy occurred. Hy-
drangea had wooed and won a mate ( u Sarah
Maria "), built his nest, and she was duly sitting
on four beautiful spotted eggs. He was full of
anxious joy, and my mother was all interest
and sympathy. But one morning Hydrangea
came to her distraught. After flying round
i 4 2 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
and swooping down in agitated darts, he took
up his position on the top of a rose-arch, and
began to give forth the most piercing shrieks.
It was a sound my mother had never heard
before from any bird. It was the voice of one
distraught, almost demented. Rightly she
guessed that it was the cry of a broken heart,
and that her bird-friend had come to share with
her some overwhelming grief, as so often he had
shared his bursting joy in life.
Full of anxiety she hastened to the place
where the nest was hidden, Hydrangea flying
with her, still shrieking wildly. And then my
mother saw the piteous sight : the nest rumpled
and deranged, no precious eggs in it, and just
a pair of legs and a few feathers all that was
left of " Sarah Maria." A rat had attacked
the nest, and the brave little mother had stuck
to her eggs to the bitter end.
My mother was deeply grieved, and returned
to her writing-room full of sorrow, her heart
bleeding for her bird-friend, as he stood high
on the rose-arch, venting his agony in piercing
voice, inconsolable — even by meal-worms.
It was characteristic of my mother that she
prayed that her dear Hydrangea might be
consoled by finding another mate. This seemed
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 143
almost impossible, for the nesting season was
in full swing, and no unmatcd hens remained.
Still, faith can obtain anything ; and she was
full of confidence ! The very next morning there
appeared in the garden, and even perched upon
the rose-arch, a tall, slim, strange thrush.
Hydrangea stopped his crying and eyed her
cautiously. He would never have tolerated
a cock thrush in his own domain, so my mother
knew it must be a hen, and that her prayer had,
indeed, been answered ! She felt sure that the
strange thrush must be a beautiful young widow,
whose mate had, perhaps, been overtaken by
a fate like " Sarah Maria's."
Hydrangea left off his sorrowful cries ; soon
he began to sing . . . and before long he and
the widow were busy about a nest !
It was the third year of the war that spring
failed to bring Hydrangea, and my mother often
wondered if he fell a victim to some deadly
barrage, as he flew bravely across the war-zone
on his way to Africa.
Another bird-friend of hers was " Billy "
(his real name was " Jubilee," because lie came
to her in 1897). He was an extremely cheeky
cock-sparrow. He, too, was in and out of the
house, free but completely tame. He would
144 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
come to the table for meals, and was a regular
member of the household at Hertford Heath.
It seemed to amuse him to settle on the end of
her bow and balance himself there as she played
her violin.
There was a robin, too, named " Bobby "
(in later days), who spent most of his time in
her writing-room at Hertford Heath, and par-
ticularly liked sitting in a dwarf Japanese tree
on her table. A bronze figure of Dante was
also a favourite perch, and my mother would
put little bits of cheese on Dante's knee for
Bobby.
" Parson Fletcher " and his wife were a pair
of black and white water-wagtails, who ran
and strutted up and down and became very
bold. One day they produced a large family
of little Fletchers, of a beautiful pale grey,
who became very tame, and were a great delight
to my mother.
" Battems " was a very large bat which she
heard squealing in the hands of a workman,
and rescued from certain death. She became
deeply attached to him, and he to her. He
would fly round the room in the evening, but
slept all day — his favourite place being inside
her wardrobe, where he would hang himself
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 145
up, head-downwards, on a dark-coloured cloak.
He knew my mother perfectly, and would
love to nestle in her hand or hang himself on
her clothes, though he struggled to get away
if others tried to hold him, and even bit at
times, with needle-like white teeth. I can
remember well seeing Battems on the floor
and my mother and several of her friends stand-
ing round. It was in the days when skirts
reached practically to the ground. Battems
would crawl round nosing the hem of each
skirt. Only when he reached my mother's
would he begin to climb up it. She fed him
on raw kidney. Once he was lost for some time,
and discovered under a large pile of music that
had not been moved for a long time. It showed
his wonderful strength, for he had evidently
got there himself, and was quite flat. He soon
woke up, however, and seemed to enjoy a meal
of kidney !
But perhaps my mother's most marvellous
accomplishment in the taming of wild things
was her shoal of fish in a stream running into
Derwent Water.
She often stayed at Keswick (for the Con-
vention), and was fond of rowing across Derwent
Water and up this little river. One day, having
K
146 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
moored the boat in a pool, she noticed a beautiful
silver shoal of minnows — little fish about an
inch and a half long — in the brown, sunlit
waters. A great desire came over her to tame
them, and she made up her mind to do it.
Sitting in her boat absolutely still, she held
a long stick in the water with a piece of bread
fastened on the end. After waiting patiently
for a long time she was rewarded by seeing the
minnows nibbling at it. Day after day she
repeated the performance, always drawing in
the stick a little nearer to the boat, and always
whistling a certain little call over and over
again.
At last she dispensed with the stick alto-
gether, and held the bread in her hand, and
still the minnows flocked round it for their
daily meal. Then, one day, she put her hand
into the water without any bread, and the
minnows came and swam round her hand, in
and out of her fingers, nibbling with gentle
little lips — hundreds of them — and she knew
she had won !
After that, any day she came to the pool and
whistled and put her hand and arm into the
water, in about three minutes the shoal would
be round it. If other people put their hands
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 147
into the water, too, the shoal would dart away.
If, however, my mother took the strange hand
and held it under the water, introducing it to
her fishes, they would gradually come back,
and cluster round the strange hand in the same
way ; after a while even remaining round it
though held the length of the boat away from
hers.
The year after this taming of the fishes my
mother again visited Keswick, and lost no time
in rowing to the pool. Her friends smiled
incredulously when she put her arm over the
side of the boat and whistled the fish-whistle.
But her faith in the fidelity of her little silver
friends was rewarded — they had not forgotten,
and soon were seething round her hand, their
tiny tails fairly wagging with delight. That
the fishes should have remembered for a whole
year seems to many people quite incredible,
but there are numbers of trustworthy witnesses
who could vouch for it, for year after year the
same thing happened, and my mother would
take parties of her friends to be introduced to
her minnow.
Even when she missed a year, and two passed
by without a visit from her, still the fishes
remembered. She must have become a tradition
148 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
in the pool, for after over twenty years it could
scarcely have been the same little fishes
which she had originally tamed ! I myself went
with her in 191 5, and saw the minnows come
back for the first time after her two years'
absence, and was duly introduced to them, and
experienced the strange sensation of hundreds
of little fishes clustering round my hand, and
swimming in and out of my fingers quite fear-
lessly. Nothing frightened them. If you held
one for a moment in your closed fist he would
wriggle out, swim round with a wag of his tail,
and in again. Her last visit to the fishes was
in 1919, when she introduced them to Miss
Phyllis Lett.
If other people moored their boats in the pool
and whistled all day, and even held bread in
the water, the fishes would not come.
I like to think of this power of my mother's
over birds and beasts as not mere physical
magnetism but rather a spiritual power, like
that of St. Francis of Assissi, or our English
St. Guthlac, who also tamed fishes as well as birds
and animals, and made the following beautiful
reply to a friend who asked him " wherefore
the wild birds so submissively sat upon him " :
" Hast thou never learnt," said St. Guthlac,
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 149
" that he who hath led his life after God's will,
the wild beasts and wild birds have become
the more intimate with him ? And the man
who would pass his life apart from worldly
men, to him the angels approach nearer."
That my mother herself believed it was
largely a matter of the mind is evident from
a passage in one of her books, where she makes
one of her characters describe her method of
taming birds :
" ' How on earth do you make all the birds
so tame ? '
" ' By keeping absolutely still, at first ; never
making a sudden movement when they begin
to come near. By never failing or disappointing
their eager little expectations. If they found
seed in a certain place yesterday, they may be
sure of it in the same place to-day. If a bath
of refreshing water is on the lawn to-day, it
will be pure and bright and freshly filled
to-morrow. . . . Also, I think, continually,
thoughts of love and sympathy and tenderness
towards them. I try to understand their point
of view — even a sparrow has a point of view !
I try to make them feel that they need not be
afraid of me, because I love them and want
them. That, because not one of them is for-
gotten before God, therefore — little chirping
eager sparrows though they are — not one of them
150 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
can be forgotten by me. They more than repay
my love and care, when, having learned to believe
in it, they come to me with trust and with
confidence.' " *
But it was not only the wild things that
became her friends, always there was some animal
in whose affection and companionship she
delighted. An account of my mother would be
quite incomplete without a description of those
friends whose dumb sympathy meant so much
to her.
Of these " Bacco," a little monkey, stands
out supremely. She bought him in 1893 when
he was quite a baby — soft brown fur, fluffy
grey chest, long tail, and wonderfully expressive
brown eyes. She had been dangerously ill,
and was still convalescent during Bacco's first
year, so that he was her constant companion.
He became passionately devoted to her, and was
more like a child than an animal in his complete
understanding of all that was said to him. He
was like one of the family and came to meals,
having his portion like everyone else, and his
own little goblet, which he would raise to his
mouth and drink from, very carefully. He
* The Broken Halo.
vij OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 151
went everywhere with her, and showed an almost
incredible intelligence. If she showed signs
of grief or anxiety he would note it at once,
and become full of sympathetic distress. Bacco
lived five years, and was succeeded by Tamalaine,
a chow.
" Tammy's " intense devotion to my mother
was wonderful. He was fond of all the family,
but it was nothing to his overwhelming and
boisterous affection for her. To find her again,
after only one day's separation, would send him
almost mail with delight.
Peter, a little white poodle, was equally devoted.
He figures in one of her books.
For some years a jackdaw was her chief pet,
and his devotion, too, was most unusual. So was
that of a quaint-looking tropical bird — a toucan
— with a great green beak like a banana. She
loved him dearly, and he was quite one of the
family. His cage was always placed by her
at meals, and lie would be allowed out to sit
on the back of a chair. Sometimes, however,
Toucan got a panic, and would suddenly ily
over the table with his big flapping wings.
I remember him once alighting on the surloin
of beef and surveying the table from this point
of vantage ! Once he put out both the lamps by
152 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
flapping over them, and left us all in darkness.
His death was a very great grief to my mother.
At one time a collection of little foreign
birds of various sorts was her delight. These
used to fly at large about the drawing-room !
A bowl would be placed in the middle of the
room, in which the whole lot would have their
baths, with much splashing and enjoyment.
Every night great was the commotion when the
family's combined efforts would be bent upon
catching the birds and putting them back in
their respective cages. This operation was
known as a " chivvy," and the birds enjoyed
it more than the family, I think, and would
persistently evade being caught. One very
favoured little bird — a tanager — of wonderful
blue and green shining plumage, was exempt
from being caged for the night. He would
go to roost in a little plant of broom, and be
carried up, nightly, to sleep in my mothers
bedroom.
Some other rather unusual occupants of the
drawing-room were three pairs of jerboas !
Jerboas look like miniature kangaroos, about a
foot high. These would play games of hide-
and-seek with each other round sofas and arm-
chairs, book-cases and piano. Once, however,
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 153
one of them hid himself rather too well — namely,
in the inner regions of an American organ, and
it was a matter of great difficulty to get him out.
I remember my mother's amusement when,
at family prayers one day, a jerboa, who had
concealed himself in the part of the drawing-
room behind the bench on which the household
sat in a long row, emerged, suddenly, from
beneath the petticoats of the astonished maids,
and sat up on his little haunches, looking at them
intelligently. A new housemaid was so much
overcome that she got up and left the room.
Horses my mother loved, too, and she took
great pleasure in driving. She would take an
interest even in her cab-horse, in the davs when
one got about London in a hansom. She often
spoke kindly to her cabby about his horse, as
she thought this would encourage him to take
a pride in it, groom and feed it well, and, perhaps,
be kinder to it. She used to tell a little story
of how this habit was once the cause of a rather
amusing humiliation.
She had driven across London to Liverpool
Street Station in a hansom drawn by a par-
ticularly well-groomed and brisk little animal.
Thinking to encourage the cabby's evident care,
she gave him a more than usually generous tip,
154 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
and, with one of her glowing smiles, remarked :
" A nice little horse you've got, cabby ! "
The cabby was very deaf and rather dense.
" Eh P " he said.
" A nice little horse you've got, cabby ! "
repeated my mother.
" Eh ? ' grunted the cabby, bending down
from his high perch.
My mother had become conscious of a row
of grinning porters, leaning against the station
wall ; nevertheless, she bravely made one more
attempt.
" A nice little horse you've got, cabby ! "
" Wha-at ? " said the cabby.
Then a friendly porter came to the rescue.
" Noice little 'oss you've got, cabby ! " he
bawled.
" Oh ! " said the cabby ; and my mother fled
in confusion.
My mother believed that in their own way
animals have communion with God, their Creator.
She was fond of quoting passages from Scripture
in support of this ; especially the following :
" Thou makest darkness, and it is night : where-
in all the beasts of the forest do creep forth.
" The young lions roar after their prey, and
seek their meat from God. . . .
vi] OF MANY ANIMAL FRIENDS 155
" O Lord, how manifold are thy works ! in
v. i>dom hast thou made them all : the earth is
full of thy riches.
" So is the great and wide sea, wherein are all
things creeping innumerable, both small and great
beasts. . . .
" These wait upon thee ; that thou mayest
give them all their meat in due season.
" That thou givest them they gather : thou
openest thine hand, and they are filled with good.
" Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled :
thou takest away their breath, they die, and
return to their dust.
" Thou sendest forth thy spirit, they are
created : and thou renewest the face of the
earth." *
One of her favourite texts in the whole Bible
was the glad cry which excludes no living being :
" Let everything that hath breath praise the
Lord ! "
She loved the story of Balaam's ass, who saw the
Angel of the Lord standing in the way, whereas
the prophet's dull sight saw nothing ! In fact
all the Biblical allusions to animals were of the
greatest interest to her, from the serpent in the
garden of Eden to Daniel's linns. She loved
the little touch in the gospel story which ^hows
• Psalms, civ. 20-30.
156 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vi
Christ's consideration for live things ; for when,
in righteous indignation, He drove out the men
who were profaning the Temple, we are told that
" He overthrew the tables of the money-changers,"
but to those who sold doves He said, " Take these
things hence."
She loved all the world because it was the work
of the Divine Creator, and she loved animals
especially, because she felt that, even more won-
derfully than inanimate nature, they revealed the
creative power of her God.
VII: SPIRITUAL WORK
A LL work was " spiritual work " to my
^~^ mother simply because she did not divide
up life into water-tight compartments, so to
speak. Religion was not necessarily connected
with churches, chapels, pious books, meetings,
or formal religious exercises of any sort. And
" spiritual life " was not connected only with
what the world means by the word " religion."
Life, to her, was a joyful adventure made up of
experiences, happy and sad, beautiful and un-
bcautiful, mostly enjoyable, sometimes hard to
bear, tinged generally with humour, always with
interest ; an adventure where her fellow men
were of great moment ; where love, sympathy,
service, friendship, were outstanding features.
And this adventure, with all its vivid perceptions
and experiences, had running through it, giving
it its very raison d'etre, a great, invisible, but
dominant reality — spiritual life.
To her the tilings we see were only half of
what is. Everything had a spiritual significance.
Nothing that was, nothing that happened, was
»57
158 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
unrelated to the things of the spirit. There was
to her no such thing as chance. She was con-
scious of man's free will, and she realised that
man's free will implies the deliberate choice of
a rational soul, and cannot be separated from
spiritual life, whatever the choice is concerned
with. She was also conscious of Divine gui.l nee,
when a soul trusts.
Her mind was not of the type that feels much
need of doctrinal statements and intellectual
adjustments, but she had a simple and thorough-
going faith, which nothing in the world could
shake, in the central facts of Christianity, and in
the Holy Spirit's working in the souls of men.
She believed that only a life in union with God
was a complete life, and that the future happiness
of the soul depended on its having lived such a
complete life in this world.
To this she added a very practical view of
Christian love and the kind of life which should
result from making it the rule and ideal of all
conduct ; and in the Bible — " the inspired word
of God," as she loved to call it — she found her
whole inspiration.
In short, she was as conscious of the life of
her soul as she was of the life of her body ; and
equally was she conscious of the souls of her
; RA1 i . 1912.
vii] SPIRITUAL WORK 159
fellow men. With her to be conscious was to be
interested ; to be interested was to care with a
whole-hearted sympathy, with an intense desire
to be of service.
Hence, it necessarily became to her a matter
of the first moment to help her fellow men to
realise what was, to her, so clear ; to strive to
awaken in them the faith which she believed to be
God's most precious gift to her soul ; to instruct
them in the knowledge with which she believed
the Holy Spirit of God had illuminated her mind,
and according to which she ordered her life.
She chose, accordingly, chiefly those forms of
work which were directly concerned with the
spiritual life ; but at the same time her dominant
idea broke out in whatever she was doing. She
never " dragged in " religion : it was there, the
very foundation and inspiration of her actions,
so that when it came up into view it was quite
spontaneous.
So in her novels — religion is not dragged in,
but the idea of spiritual life flows through them
and every now and then gets expressed.
So in her friendships — and she had many in her
life — her friend must share in her spiritual en-
thusiasm : it must necessarily be a friendship in
God.
160 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
So in her enormous correspondence — the bulk
of her letters were in reply to those who sought
her sympathy with their souls.
She saw God in everything, and everything
that was beautiful and good in itself was to her a
gift of God. She loved to quote a remark of St.
James — " Every good and every perfect gift is
from above, and cometh down from the Father
of light."
But besides this general conception of all her
work being in a sense spiritual work, she spent an
enormous amount of time, and gave the very best
of herself, to work directly in connection with
religion.
Her Bible classes had been a special feature of
her work at Hertford Heath from the earliest
days, especially the Ladies' Bible Reading. The
fame of this had spread abroad, and from time
to time my mother would be asked to give
courses of six or twelve in other parishes or even in
London drawing-rooms. When staying in the
south of France in 1903 she delivered addresses
on the Bible, in French, which she spoke like
a native. It was in 1901 that she undertook
to give one of these courses in the parish of St.
Mary's, Leyton. It was held in the parish hall,
known as the Victoria Room, and was attended
vn] SPIRITUAL WORK 161
by some seventy ladies. But this course did
not come to an end with the number of
Bible readings originally arranged for ; it went
on and on, enthusiasm increasing with every
week's gathering. Ladies from the neighbouring
parishes had begun attending — from Leyton-
stone, Walthamstow, and even from farther
afield. Soon it had to be admitted that the
Leyton Bible Reading, held on Friday afternoons,
was a permanent institution.
My mother would prepare for it with the
greatest care, and every Friday in the year (except
during a few weeks in the holidays, when it was
closed) would see her on the platform of the
Victoria Room, open Bible in hand, full of joy
and unflagging enthusiasm.
The Victoria Room would be completely
packed every week, and when, in 1909, it was
decided to pull down the Victoria Room and
build a larger hall, the offer of the Weslevan
Lecture Hall, Leyton High Road, was gratefully
accepted, and the Bible Reading re-opened there
with the satisfactory sense that there was now
plenty of room, and that people could be en-
couraged to join, and friends brought, without
fear of being turned away through rinding a room
already full to overflowing.
1 62 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
The membership reached 500, and there were
never less than 300 to 400 present every week,
wet or fine.
The Bible Reading was exclusively for ladies,
but on one day in the year the members were
permitted to bring their husbands, sons and
brothers — namely, on Good Friday. And so,
every Good Friday afternoon the great hall, with
its wide galleries, would be completely packed
out with over 1000 people.
There was something quite unique about these
weekly gatherings : it is difficult to give an
adequate description of them.
It must be remembered that they went on for
twenty years, with the original members as keen
as ever, every year adding new members who
became regular attenders. It must be realised
that between my mother and those 500 ladies
there existed a bond of the strongest devotion, a
very large number being personally known to her
and in correspondence with her, while with
many she was still more intimately acquainted.
The glowing enthusiasm of my mother for her
religion must be taken into account, and the joy
to her of this great gathering where she was free
to conduct everything as she pleased, in her own
unconventional, inspiring way. Her musical
vii] SPIRITUAL WORK 163
powers must not be forgotten ; nor that she was
a born orator. But above all her boundless
faith in God, and desire to serve Him, and un-
swerving confidence that His Spirit was with her
and working through her.
Long before the hour members would begin
to arrive, many taking up their own particular
scat, occupied by them year after year. By
three o'clock the body of the hall would be
full — a sea of expectant faces, an eager, waiting
atmosphere pervading the place.
On the stroke of three my mother would enter,
and walk with her buoyant step across the wide,
high platform, a light of joy upon her face, the
vision of Heaven in her eyes, and her beloved
Bible in her hands. She would stand silent for
a while, her eyes looking out over this gathering
of her devoted, expectant friends. Then she
would open the Bible Reading, sometimes with
prayer, sometimes with a hymn.
A portion of Scripture would follow, given
new meaning by the way she read it, the music
of her voice, the emphasis, the pause, the sense
of her adoring devotion for the Word of God.
Then would come a hymn — and with my
mother a hymn was not a mere conventional
matter of routine ; a hymn was primarily worship
1 64 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
of God, but also a means of expression for the
human soul, and an awakener of the under-
standing and inspirer of the heart. She had, of
course, trained her members to sing almost like
a choir. To many beautiful hymns with in-
adequate tunes she had composed tunes ; and
so the hymns at these gatherings were an event
in themselves.
After the hymn would follow an informal
quarter of an hour in which my mother would give
out notices, read aloud letters requesting prayer
for special objects (both spiritual and temporal)
or returning thanks for graces received. During
this time she would have much of a friendly and
personal sort to say to her members. They were
truly her friends, and she shared with them
her every joy and sorrow, success and anxiety.
They knew all about each of her eight children
and all their doings. Everything of interest she
would share with them, knowing she had their
heart's sympathy and could depend on their
prayers. Many amusing little stories she would
tell them, and have the room joining with her in
happy laughter, her own vitality and joy in life
seeming to give new life to all.
Then another hymn, followed immediately by
the body of the Bible Reading — a quite unique
vii] SPIRITUAL WORK 165
form of address, delivered almost in oratorical
style, and yet part teaching and part devotional
appeal. The subject would generally be part of
a course of Bible Readings on some particular
subject, worked out with infinite care and won-
derful ingenuity, and innumerable references
both to the Old and New Testaments (each
reference being looked up by the members in
their Bibles, while my mother read aloud the
verse).
Sometimes it would be a book of the Old
Testament that was being studied (always finding
its meaning and full significance by reference to
the New). Sometimes a spiritual idea, worked
out in type and prophecy, shown as running
through the inspired books of the Old Testament
and explained, at last, in its full meaning by
Christ or St. Paul or one of the other Apostles.
For three-quarters of an hour my mother would
speak, throwing her whole heart into it, carrying
all with her in her unbounded enthusiasm for the
things of God.
Then a last hymn and final prayer, and the
Bible Reading would be over.
Now would commence a time of hand-clasping,
brief but intimate conversations, expressions of
thanks, words of encouragement, and always my
1 66 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
mother's radiant smile and sense of loving
sympathy extended to each individual as much
as to all collectively.
At last they would disperse to their scattered
homes — people of many dominations, of varying
stations in life, but strangely one in this discipleship
of one whose sole claim was that she was a disciple
of the Divine Master.
How much the Bible Readings meant to her,
personally, is apparent from the first part of the
following letter to her members, written from
Grindelwald in 1905 :
"... As I take up my pen, to-day, my mind
goes back to last Friday. Do you know, I had a
real hard time of it ! I had no idea how it would
feel to know the Bible Reading was going on, and
not he there. I kept looking at the time ! As
the hour drew near I could not cease praying
about it, although I had to be out on the skating-
rink part of the time. I could picture you all
arriving, and the seats filling up. At last it
was 3.30 (by English time) and I went in, to
be quietly with you in spirit and to meet with
you before the Throne of God. My friends, it
was so strange to be so far away in body and so
very near in spirit. I could almost see you all
assembled ; and I found I knew exactly where to
look for each dear, familiar face as it came into
my mind. You know, you do have your own
vu] SPIRITUAL WORK 167
' sittings ' and keep to them ! I am always glad
of it. I like to know, in a moment, where to find
a face I want, for a special look or a quick response
to a thought. . . .
" Now you will like to know something of our
doings here. I wish I could make you all see
something of the wonderful beauties of this place
red with its robe of spotless white, deep and
silent and exquisitely pure — but crisp under foot,
and glistening like countless diamonds in the
sunshine ; reminding one of the appearance of
those travel-stained earthly garments when a
foretaste of His glory came to the dear Master as
He prayed, and we read, ' His raiment became
shining exceeding white, as snow,' and ' His
raiment was white and glistening.' Then the
grand snow mountains stand all around, like
silent sentinels, lifting their great rocky heads
against the bright blue sky. And the intense
cold is never trying, because of the perfect
stillness and dryness of the atmosphere. The air
is so rare and invigorating it seems fully worth
while to do deep breathing here. Everyone
is full of energy and life, and outdoor sports go
on all day — skating, tobogganing, ski-ing.
k ' How it would have amused you to see us the
other day on Norwegian skis for the first time,
flying down the slopes and going headlong into
the deep snow, or sitting down suddenly and
disappearing (for at first one can only stop by
tumbling down). But the more you fall the less
you mind falling — though it is sometimes a little
1 68 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
difficult to get up, when you find yourself on your
back in deep snow, with flat wooden skis, seven
feet long, strapped firmly on your feet ! But I
must not tell you any more of these sort of doings
or you will begin to think there is little prospect
of my coming back to you whole on Friday week.
" And now may I use my last two pages to give
you a thought that has grown so precious to me
during these days here ? You remember how
in the 125th Psalm we find these words : ' As the
mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the
Lord is round about His people from henceforth
even for ever.' I know of no place to which this
verse so perfectly applies as to Grindelwald, for
the mountains are literally right round us, and the
little village of Grindelwald lies in the deep, still
valley, so safe and peaceful, shielded from wind and
tempest. ' So the Lord is round about His people.'
" I pondered over that little word ' so,' and
asked, ' How P ' 1 st. In perfect strength. Nothing
can move these mountains, nothing can shake
them, they stand in their towering majesty,
sublime emblems of the almighty strength of our
Jehovah. 2nd. They are always there — not only
when we happen to look out of the window and
see them ! When we forget them they are still
there. When we are indoors, busy over little,
trivial things, the grand mountains are still
' round about ' us ; we have but to go to the
window and look up, and we shall see that this is
so. Thus is the Lord round about His people
for ever. Let us cultivate the habit of going
vii] SPIRITUAL WORK 169
quickly to the window and looking up ; often
verify the fact that the Lord is round about you.
When worry and anxiety come, say : ' Lord, Thou
art round about me in Thy changeless strength.
Keep me restful.' When trouble comes, casting
its dark shadow over your sunny valley : ' Lord,
Thy Love is all around me ; this could only come
to me through Thy dear will. I lean on Thee,
and bear it.' How much secret sorrow we all
have to bear through earthly props in some way
failing ! Remember, He never fails ; He is always
there ; always strong, always changelessly faith-
ful ; always round about you.
" Did you notice this expression in one of the
Psalms last Sunday morning, in church : ' Have
I not remembered Thee in my bed ; and thought
upon Thee when I was waking ' ? My window
looks out upon the Wetterhorn. I always sleep
with my blind up, and my bed faces the window.
When I wake each morning, the first thing I see
in the early dawn light, is the grand old Wetter-
horn standing firm, as it has stood all night, while
we in the valley slept. And now its snowy peaks
catch the morning light, and I see them gleam
and glisten against the rosy sky.
" Oh to begin each day with the absolute
assurance that the Lord is round about us ! '
My mother's striking personality had, un-
doubtedly, much to do with the life and success
of these very unusual gatherings, but to her there
was nothing (consciously) of self about it. She
170 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
expressed her attitude of mind with regard to
this point very beautifully in a letter written to
her members, from America, where she was
lecturing on " Palestine and the Bible " to vast
Chautauqua audiences.
" I feel more and more," she writes (after
weeks of unprecedented success, and the applause
of audiences of 5000 people), " how little the
personality of the messenger need matter, or be
considered of much account, so long as the
message goes home and does its work. ' Then
said they unto him * : Who art thou ? He said :
I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness :
Make straight the way of the Lord.' If you
were holding up a beautiful, life-size picture of
the Christ before a large audience, as you raised
it you yourself would be hidden from view ; the
higher you lifted it, the more completely you
would be hidden ; the more they saw of the
Divine Face and Form, the less they would see
of you. ' Now we believe, not because of thy
saying : for we have heard Him ourselves, and
know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour
of the world.' "
She had the gift of speaking, the power of
holding her audience in absorbed attention, of
swaying it as she would, to tears or laughter or
high resolve. There are few gifts more likely
to excite the elated sense of personal power, the
• John the Baptist.
vii] SPIRITUAL WORK 171
desire to feel a crowd held in control, to ex-
perience the mastery of the mind over other
minds. But my mother never allowed it to
carry her away thus. Always her supreme effort
was to subject her own power to the Divine
Power of which she felt she was the instrument.
How this idea dominated her mind is again
shown in a letter from America to her members.
Her success with the vast American audiences
had been great ; she had seemed to be speaking
with an case of eloquence, a fund of power that
carried all hearts with her into a genuine interest
in her subject. And yet this is how she writes
at the end of those eventful three weeks :
" And now, my friends, I am anxious to give
you a final word about this time in America, and
to tell you what I really feel about the Chautauqua
work. 1 1 lias been a deeply interesting experience,
fraught with much which was expanding to one's
ideas, and enriching to one's mental develop-
ment. At the same time I cannot say that I
want to take up Chautauqua work again. And
you must not think from that that it has been
a disappointment as regards the externals. The
great audiences were all one could wish in the
f kind attention. But —
• k Let me try and explain, very simply. On
Monday, the 6th, Labour Day, i visited Hope
172 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
Hall, with Mrs. Booth. We held a meeting for
the men in the afternoon. A large number were
present. Mrs. Booth asked me to give them a
Bible Reading. For the first time since leaving
England I stood up, with my Bible in my hand,
to read from its inspired pages, and deliver God's
message to waiting hearts. And, oh, my friends,
the difference between that and Chautauqua
lecturing ! It is all the difference between
walking heavily along the ground, or soaring on
eagle's wings to the sky. The one is a carefully
worked out production of one's own unaided
endeavour. The other is the direct message
given by the Living Spirit of God, delivered in
His power, and accompanied by His individual
and collective working. I shall never forget the
marvellous joy of realising the difference. Having
come through a course of the speaking without
the Power has made so much more real the gift
of Himself in the ministry of the Word.
" Meanwhile I pray God that in the great
Testing Day the other work may prove to have
been not altogether barren and unfruitful ; and
that, amid much which was undoubtedly wood,
hay and stubble, some gold, silver and precious
stones may be found, to stand the fire and shine
to His glory."
Such were her quite genuine sentiments — for
my mother never said what she did not mean.
Hence it is not surprising to find that she very
vnj SPIRITUAL WORK 173
rarely spoke on public platforms save directly on
religion. Once " The Rosary " had brought her
name prominently before the public she would
have been a welcome speaker anywhere, and her
versatile mind would easily have grasped enough
of any popular subject to enable her to speak very
persuasively upon it. But she refused all invita-
tions, save those from religious organisations.
Of the latter she had a great many during some
six or seven years after the publication of " The
Rosary," and until her health obliged her to cut
down work. The societies for which she most
enjoyed speaking were the Bible Society and the
Bible League, and she travelled a great deal on
their behalf. Wherever her name was advertised
the hall would be packed with people who had
no interest in the Bible Society, but wanted to
hear the author of the books they loved. She
was pleased, of course, to see these crowds of
eager readers, but she always confined herself
completely to her subject, and was altogether
the Christian teacher and not at all the novelist
on such occasions. The subject on which she
generally spoke at these meetings was " The
Inspiration of the Bible." In 191 3 she packed
the great Free Trade Hall at Manchester, and
spoke to an enthusiastic audience of 3500. She
i 7 4 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
was fond of picturesque and telling illustrations,
and one that she loved to use was that of a won-
derful little jewelled box which she had bought in
Italy. On a spring being touched the lid would
fly open and a tiny bird, hardly an inch high,
would spring up and pour forth a flute-like song.
Having described her treasure and pointed out
his lesson, she would then produce it, and, holding
it up in view of the audience, make the little bird
perform. He had delighted Leyton, of course,
and many of her smaller meetings, but, with great
boldness, she determined to make her little bird
preach his eloquent sermon to that vast crowd at
Manchester. The meeting held its breath and
listened. She touched the spring, the little bird
sprang up, and his clear notes penetrated to the
farthest corner of the hall ! At the end of the
meeting a clergyman came up and said that he
had been at the farthest extremity of the gallery,
right back against the wall, and had heard every
note of the little bird's song and every word of her
address. And one may be sure that the lesson
of the little bird stuck in the minds of those
present — namely, that there are people very much
like him, ready to stand up in the pew on Sunday
and sing a hymn right through, but with Monday
morning down goes the lid — they are shut into
vn] SPIRITUAL WORK i 75
the prison of vvorldlincss, sclf-sccking, money-
making; and like the little bird, they lack,
without knowing it, life, light and liberty.
She often spoke in London — in the Queen's
Hall, once, for the Religious Tract Society, and
in Spurgeon's Tabernacle — but her journeys were
far and wide. To Edinburgh she went on one of
these flying visits ; to Cardiff, and even over to
Ireland. Her Irish trip was characteristic in
that she crammed as much as possible into a very
short time. Leaving London on Tuesday morn-
ing, and arriving back on Saturday, she visited
Dublin, Belfast and Cork, speaking to a large
gathering at each place.
She visited Birmingham several times, speaking
once at the Digbeth Institute, and once at the
Boots' Institute. On the former occasion the
Birmingham Daily Mail had a column on " The
Author of 'The Rosary ' visits Birmingham," but
in the course of the article the writer had to
admit :
" Her first visit to Birmingham was made under
circumstances which would hardly remind one
best of her literary fame, since it was the anni-
versary of the Digbeth Institute she came to
attend. It was a Digbeth audience, too. . . .
There were old ladies in aprons and little black
176 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
bonnets, old people with tired eyes and worn
finger-tips. There were young men and their
lassies ; stout, middle-aged, middle-class citizens
with their wives, and all the queer flotsam and
jetsam of humanity that floats upon the currents
of districts like Digbeth. Not in the least an
audience to which a great literary reputation
would make any appeal ; yet Mrs. Barclay held
the audience for something over three-quarters
of an hour, last night, with an address which was
mainly religious in character.
" It was a personal triumph, not at all a literary
triumph. It was the triumph of the woman and
not of the writer. Except for a smiling remark
that she hoped her audience would agree that
' a little fiction, in moderation, was a good thing,
sometimes,' one would not have guessed she was
a novelist at all."
She could easily have obtained a welcome in
any of these big towns under very different cir-
cumstances, and been duly " lionised." But she
preferred to come to the simple and unliterary,
and in the name of Christ.
My mother never wrote magazine stories or
articles, though many editors plied her for such.
But when she was pressed for a contribution of a
religious character she found it hard to refuse, and
many quite secular papers published a spiritual
" message " to their readers from " the author
vn] SPIRITUAL WORK i 77
of * The Rosary.' " For instance, the Daily News
for January 191 3 published "A New Year's
Message to Women," which was purely and
simply a sermon on the woman of Samaria's
famous conversation with Christ at the well.
She contributed to the Quiver, The Teacher's
World, 7 he Woman's Magazine, and similar
periodicals, but always her articles were religions,
and I suppose they may be considered a real
part of her spiritual work.
In 1905 she published a very striking little
booklet called " A Notable Prisoner." Its sub-
ject", was the Passion of Christ from the point of
view of Barabbas. It gave scope for her sym-
pathetic imagination and dramatic power, and
she describes vividly the terror of the man as he
hears the crowd shout first his name and then the
words, " Crucify him ! Crucify him ! " In 191 4
she published a small volume on prayer — " The
Golden Censer."
Someone once asked my mother if she would
ever take to writing poetry.
" Not while I can write prose," she laughingly
replied ; and yet, when she wanted some verses
to give her Leyton Bible Reading members as a
New Year's motto, she composed some of a
beautiful simplicity, and had them printed in her
178 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vn
favourite purple and gold, on her cards of greeting.
That for 1910 was as follows :
" Dear Christ, move on before !
Ah, let me follow where Thy feet have trod ;
Then shall I keep, 'mid life's perplexities,
The Golden Pathway of the Will of God."
The year after, she wrote the following for
them:
" My Lord, come home with me !
Come, through the turmoil of the busy street,
Where none can see the shining of Thy face,
Where none can hear the moving of Thy feet ;
Yet come, dear Master, to the humble place
Where love hath raised a royal throne for Thee :
My Lord, come home with me !
" My Lord, come home with me !
And, when the noisy rush of life is o'er,
When all the things of life have ceased to be,
When swiftly passing years come round no more,
And the eternal dawn breaks o'er the golden sea ;
Then, for the sake of Thy great love to me,
Let me — come home — with Thee."
VIII : A TOUR IN AMERICA
[T was in 1909 that my mother first visited
■"■ the United States. Her younger sister, to
whom she was deeply attached, had married
Mr. Ballington Booth, the son of the great
" General " Booth, and after some years of active
work with the Salvation Army, both in England
and in Ameiica, had severed her connection with
that movement and founded the Volunteers
of America, later on developing with enormous
success her great work among the prisons. It
was in order to accompany her sister on a
Chautauqua tour that my mother crossed the
Atlantic.
America moved her to a wondering admiration ;
Americans charmed her.
" This is a land of extremes," she wrote,
" everything is on an exaggerated scale — exag-
gerated in the sense of being so far larger than
our ideas or expectations. . . . Everything runs
to extremes. It is in the climate ; it is in the
character ; it is even in nature. American
robins are the size of thrushes ; and each spring
I have to send out marrow seeds from England
for my sister's garden, because an English
179
180 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
vegetable marrow in its second year out here
becomes a pumpkin !
" Living in the midst of this largeness of fact
and conception has a decided influence upon
the mind. It widens out one's ideas and ex-
pectations. It tends to make one say : ' Why
not a thousand ? ' where before one was content
with a hundred. This is well — up to a certain
point ; providing we keep clear of the pumpkin
growth, and do not make for quantity at the
expense of quality"
The " great things of America," as she called
them, delighted her — whether those of man's
creation or God's, whether in the form of a
" sky-scraper " or the Falls of Niagara. She
used to describe with great enjoyment her
visit to the Singer Building, consisting of forty-
seven stories, and standing 762 feet high. It
appealed to her to get into a lift (" elevator "
as they would say) and remark, " Put me out
at the 38th, please." While the experience of
coming down from the top by " express " was
somewhat startling. She realised the immense
height as she looked down from the top upon
New York City, and saw the spire of Trinity
Church far below ! She often used the high
buildings of America as an illustration in giving
spiritual addresses : the rock-foundation of the
vin] A TOUR IN AMERICA 181
city making it possible to build high up into
the sky.
She was never tired of describing Niagara —
its overwhelming power, its tremendous beauty,
its " mighty onwardness " ; or " the blinding,
breathless, deafening experience ' of passing
through the Cave of the Winds, until shelter
is reached, at last, in the cleft of the Rock of
Ages.
Another thing she considered one of the great
things of America was " the great interest
everybody takes in everybody else." She had
always regretted the chill aloofness, the awkward
shyness between strangers in England, and
the conventionality often found in English
society. The real friendliness of Americans
delighted her. It seemed to her that people
introduced to each other at social functions,
for instance, meant literally what they so often
said in place of our English " How d'you do ? '
— " Delighted to make your acquaintance."
They seemed to her to enter with real interest
into the business of getting to know one another,
asking questions, and thereby soon discovering
a topic of mutual interest.
At first there was something just a little
disconcerting about the simplicity and lack
182 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
of conventionality in some of these opening
remarks. It seemed strange, for instance, when
she and her sister were introduced to an old
gentleman to be greeted by the ejaculation,
"Well, you are alike! Now which is the
oldest ? "
My mother liked the way perfect strangers
took interest in each other, so ready to be
enthusiastic over another's concerns. She was
much amused when an old lady came up and
inquired, " Are you a poet ? " On receiving
a reply in the negative, the old lady explained
naively that it was the way my mother's hair
grew that had led her to think it might
be so !
She liked the gardens of their summer resi-
dences, sloping right down to the roads, with
no fence or wall or hedge to make for a selfish
privacy, and shut out the passer-by, with his
interested and appreciative glance, cheered on
his weary way by the sight of flowers, and a
cool verandah, with pretty women in white frocks
drinking iced water.
Her impressions of a baseball match are worth
quoting :
" .... I was taken out to the polo ground
to see a baseball match between New York
vni] A TOUR IN AMERICA 183
and Chicago — otherwise the * Giants ' and the
' Cubs,' champion players of the world. . . .
There I saw the biggest crowd I have ever
seen in my life. The polo ground seats 35,000
people, and at these big games the stands are
packed.
" Cricket and baseball, the national games
of England and America, exemplify in a remark-
able manner the individual characteristics of
the two great nations. An American crowd
cannot enjoy itself while watching a game unless
it is given cause to leap to its feet and yell every
two and a half minutes ! (You should have
heard us yesterday !) An American crowd likes
to feel free to ' rattle the pitcher ' at a critical
moment when the whole game depends on his
next throw of the ball, by drumming with its
feet upon the wooden floor of the stands, so
that a noise like thunder rolls around the ground.
When thirty-four thousand, nine hundred and
ninety-nine people (I refrained !) stamp their
feet and groan, it requires nerve to pitch
straight."
Comparing baseball with cricket, she remarks :
" An American crowd would delight in watch-
ing a batsman who hit out freely and scored
rapidly. But they would never sit patiently
on while a batsman kept up his wicket for hours
without adding materially to the score ; or while
an eleven who could not secure victory carefully
184 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
played out time. These perfectly legitimate
though wearisome tactics have no place in base-
ball, nor could they happen in America."
The difference between cricket and baseball
" resolves itself," she says, " into a psychological
problem. The distinctive differences in the
game are but a clear-cut, vivid exposition of
the remarkable differences in the spirit, the mind,
the essential character of the two races."
" The Rosary " had not yet been published ;
it was not as a writer, therefore, that America
welcomed my mother on this occasion but as a
public speaker. She had accepted an engagement
as a lecturer and was to accompany her sister on
a tour, addressing the vast Chautauqua gather-
ings — an institution peculiar to America.
Mrs. Booth was to lecture on her prison
work, and my mother undertook to speak on
" Palestine and the Bible."
It was, I suppose, a unique experience for
an English woman — this tremendous journey
through twelve States, a distance of 7000 miles
in three weeks, with audiences of anything
from 2000 to 5000 (and one occasion, 8000)
keen-minded Americans to be kept interested
for an hour and a half at each place !
The fact that the tour took place before the
mi] A TOUR IN AMERICA 185
publication of her novels had given the public
an interest in my mother, meant that the atten-
tion of her audience depended entirely upon
the intrinsic interest of her lecture and her own
power as a speaker. Fortunately I am able
to give the story of this tour in her own words,
for she wrote a long letter every week to the
members of the Leyton Bible Reading, to be
published in the Leyton District Times. That
her thoughtful affection for her Leyton friends
led her to do this is very fortunate, for she
was not the sort to keep a diary of her own
doings, and her letters home were always of
a more intimate nature, so that the history
of that tour might otherwise never have been
fully known. She does not tell, of course, of her
quite extraordinary success in holding those vast
crowds, and of the enthusiastic appreciation they
showed, but of this we learnt from her sister.
These letters give a real impression of the
personality I am trying to show fortli in this
book — her enthusiasm and enjoyment of life,
her courage and endurance, her sense of humour
and appreciation of detail, the way spiritual
ideas dominated her mind.
It may be asked, What is a " Chautauqua " ?
The name is really that of a town in New York
1 86 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
State where the gatherings originated. The
idea is this. Near the principal (or most central
town) of a State is erected an enormous tent,
or a wooden building, seated to hold anything
from 2000 to 5000 people. During eight;
or ten days in the summer an intellectual pro-
gramme is arranged, chiefly literary, but also
including music, dramatic impersonations, and
like attractions ; well-known American writers,
actors, speakers, and musicians being secured
at large fees. People come in from many
miles round, and camp in tents near the
great centre, attending the lectures and enter-
tainments every afternoon and evening. I have
before me the elaborate eight-page illustrated
programme of the Fifth Annual Assembly of
the Coshocton Chautauqua. It is written in
the enterprising Yank style, opening with the
statement, " This year we have the strongest
program ever presented here. Our talent alone
this year costs us $1655.00." ; and ending with
the business-like bit of advice, " The grove
will be filled with tents, this year, and all your
friends will be there. Bring your tent or rent
one and join the tenters, for they are the people
who get the most for their money." But I
feel that by quoting the pages on my mother
vm] A TOUR IN AMERICA 187
and her sister I can best give an idea of the
kind of expectations they had to live up to.
Beneath my aunt's photograph is the following :
" Maud Ballington Booth
Will appear this year for the first time in
Coshocton. We have followed the scriptural
rule and kept the best of the feast to the last.
We have planned to make our last day the
best." [The previous description of various
poets, orators, and musicians had been super-
latively glowing, so this was high praise !] "Just
think of it ! Mrs. Booth in the afternoon ;
Mrs. Barclay in the evening ; and The Chicago
Glee Club at both entertainments. As the
boys say, ' That's going some.'
" Mrs. Booth hardly needs an introduction
to an American audience as she is known and
loved far and wide as ' the little mother of the
prisons.' She is delightfully quiet and un-
demonstrative on the platform. One could
hardly be restless who simply watched, even
without understanding a word. Her face, her
manner, her sentiments are all the inspiration
of earnestness, but there is no surfeit, for pathos
and humour, comedy and tragedy, drift abso-
lutely side by side from the same silver stream.
You laugh with tears in your eyes. Her message
is one worth hearing, and one you will never
forget, for with beautiful words, in telling
touches, she paints a picture in a paragraph
188 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
that preaches a sermon and tells a tale that fastens
itself indelibly. Her voice is such that every
word can be heard in any part of the auditorium
without effort on the part of the hearer.
" Mrs. Barclay
Is the sister of Mrs. Ballington Booth. All
who have heard her realise that she is a very
remarkable speaker. From her earliest girlhood
she has been gifted in this manner.
" Her travels are of great interest, and the
way in which she tells the story and delivers
the deeper message that it is to teach, can but
leave a lasting impression. Both Mrs. Barclay
and Mrs. Ballington Booth come of a family
of writers. She was introduced to the American
reading public by a striking little book entitled
* The Wheels of Time.' A work of greater
importance which bids fair to make a sensation
is to be published this year, entitled ' The
Rosary.' [A brief biographical outline follows.]
The places and dates of the Chautauqua
gatherings for this tour were as follows : Storm
Lake, Iowa, July 23 ; Hiawatha, July 25 ;
Leavenworth, Kansas, 26th ; New Albany,
Indiana, 30th ; Cawker City, Kans., August 1 ;
Hastings, Nebraska, 6th ; Iowa City, 7th ;
Coshocton, Ohio, 8th ; Chautauqua, New
York, 10th.
mi] A TOUR IN AMERICA 189
The following is the story of this remarkable
trip in my mother's own words :
" Blue Point, Long Island, U.S.A.,
" July *9> I 9 I 9-
" To-day we start for the far West, leaving
New York this evening for Chicago, en route
to Storm Lake, Iowa — our first Chautauqua
centre. We speak there on Friday, the 23rd,
but are planning to arrive on Thursday, so as
to see something of the place and people before
our own turn comes. We spend twenty-four
hours in Chicago. It gives one some idea of
this country to realise that we must travel
nearly 2000 miles to reach our first gathering ;
and, in one case, 2000 miles from one centre
to another.
" I know a good deal more about Chautauqua
gatherings than I did when I left England. I
shall not be sorry when I am safely through
my first ! Our success depends entirely — and
literally — upon whether we can hold our audience.
In England if an audience is bored it looks at
its watch. A Chautauqua audience gets up
and walks out ! The English method is dis-
couraging to a speaker, but the Chautauqua
plan would be altogether collapsing."
My mother herself witnessed an unfortunate
speaker treated thus at one centre. Literally
the whole vast audience filed out, leaving a
i 9 o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vin
mere handful in the first few rows to listen,
while he struggled to finish out his time !
" On the other hand, if we do succeed in
gaining their interest and attention, Chautauqua
audiences are most appreciative and enthusiastic.
Many will have driven, ridden, or motored forty
miles in order to be present. Some of the
centres are at little ' one-horse towns,' as they
call them here, of only eight or nine hundred
inhabitants — and yet, on the Chautauqua
grounds, four thousand people will await us.
They pour in from all the country round. Many
bring tents and make a large camp for the
whole session. Others drive in each day from
outlying villages, isolated farms, or distant
homesteads. To many of them in the Western
States it is the one intellectual treat of the
year. It will have to furnish topics for fireside
conversation during long, dull winter evenings.
In one place, where the attenders were largely
farmers and their families, the Chautauqua
dates had to be fixed to suit ' the huckleberry
crops, and the moon.'
" We have just received the programme
from Hiawatha, and it fills me with glad and
earnest expectation ; for we are to be there
on the last day, and mine is the closing address
of the whole Chautauqua. It is Sunday, the
25th. My sister speaks in the afternoon. Then
there is a sacred orchestral concert, early in the
evening ; my address follows, and immediately
vm] A TOUR IN AMERICA 191
after it on the programme comes ' Benediction.'
That Sunday evening seems to me to hold such
possibilities of working out the subject very
fully on really spiritual lines, in such a way
that true ' benediction ' may follow. Ah, if
that great throng could disperse carrying the
Holy Land in their hearts. For is not the
Holy Land the land where Christ dwelt, and
through which His blessed footsteps moved ;
and has He not said of consecrated hearts : ' I
will dwell in them, and walk in them ' ? We may
all have our Jerusalem of worship, our Tabor of
transfiguration, our Bethany of communion, and
our Galilee of calm in that temple of the inner
being, where His promised Presence doth abide."
" Storm Lake, Iowa,
" July 23rd.
" Our first Chautauqua is over, and all is well.
" I wish you could all have heard Mrs. Balling-
ton Booth's magnificent lecture in the afternoon,
entitled ' Lights and Shadows of Prison Life.'
She held that great audience, without the
smallest strain or effort, for over an hour and
a half ; often moving them to tears by the
pathos of the tales she had to tell.
" In the evening, as we walked from our
rooms to the Chautauqua grounds, the lake
gleamed golden in the setting sun. The sky
was clearest blue, flecked with white fleecy
clouds. A soft breeze blew across the lake. It
was a perfect evening.
192 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
" My lecture was on from eight o'clock to
half-past nine. (You see, they expect full
measure in America.)
" When preliminaries were over and I found
myself at last standing forward alone in the centre
of the high stage, with a row of footlights just
in front ; and, beyond, tiers upon tiers of seats,
raised one above the other, and sloping upwards
right to the back of that vast auditorium, I
should have been glad to have had a good supply
of the dear, expectant, encouraging faces of
my Leyton friends packed into the middle of
that big crowd ! . . . Well, I think I ought to
tell you that — even without this reinforcement
of L.B.R. members — I found a very kindly,
attentive and appreciative audience.
" I did not give quite the whole of my lecture,
but I do not expect to do that at any one place.
I have it arranged in sections, so as to be able
to decide in a moment which to omit and what
to put in. Thus I have sufficient material to
be able to lecture twice in the same centre, in
case I should have to fill my sister's place ; and
she, of course, could fill mine many times over,
with her wonderful prison stories.
" In a future letter I must describe to you
more fully the very remarkable Chautauqua
scenes and surroundings ; the hundreds of tents
on the great camping ground, beautifully fitted
up, many of them accommodating parties of
six or eight ; the constant stream of motor cars
at lecture hours, racing in from all the country
vin] A TOUR IN AMERICA 193
round, followed by all kinds of queer vehicles
on wheels — surries, buggies, sulkies, runabouts,
buckboards, and others the names of which I
have never heard. No hats are worn ; and
most of the women look very fresh and charming,
dressed entirely in white. There is a large
proportion of men in the audiences, and a good
many children ; also a few dogs — the latter
very well behaved ! "
My mother's next letter described her lecture
at Hiawatha — satisfactory, to her, because of
its more spiritual tone. The audience was a
most responsive one, " readily laughing, applaud-
ing or hushing to silence." At the conclusion
" there commenced for us a strenuous fifteen
minutes of handshaking ; for when a Westerner
' starts in ' to shake your hand, he keeps on at
it, and he fairly shakes you, not merely your hand !
There were fine old farmers there, wealthy
vet simple-hearted, owning thousands of acres
of pasture land, and fields of beautiful tasselK id
d rn (maize) ; but keen to keep in touch with
things intellectual in all moments they could
spare from their labour on the soil. There
were others who pressed forward eagerly, saying,
with a catch in the voice : ' I am from the old
count ry. 1 have an old father and mother over
there, now.' — ' I am from Wale? : have vou
been there ? ' — ' Oh, do shake hands with me !
\\ hat it is to hear an English voice speak English !
i 9 4 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
There's a little village over there— it's forty
years since I saw it ; but — it's my home.' Ah,
England, England ! A little island and far away !
but always the Mother Country ; and always
holding the hearts of her children.
" And all these introductions and hand-
shakings were an unmixed joy ; because all
minds seemed lifted above personalities. The
remarks were all of blessing received ; of new
lights given ; or illumination of long-loved
Bible passages. Even should every other Chau-
tauqua prove disappointing, I should feel this
gathering at Hiawatha fully worth the long
journey."
" Union Terminal, St. Louis, Missouri,
" July 28th.
" I find my only possible time for concluding
this letter is in a railway station, while waiting
to enter our Pullman car for another long night
journey. This will be our third consecutive
night on the trains. I am beginning to look
forward with longing to the treat of a night
passed beneath a roof. We hope for this at
New Albany, to-morrow.
" We have spent our days at three of the
largest prisons in America — Leavenworth, Fort
Madison and Chester.
" At Leavenworth the Governor took me all
over the prison ; and we spent some time in
the department where all the records of criminals
are kept ; where the convicts are measured
vm] A TOUR IN AMERICA 195
and photographed ; and where their thumb
and ringer prints are taken. Mine were done
by an expert who had been over to study the
system at Scotland Yard, where it originated.
Both my hands were duly imprinted on a State
prison form, classified, and all particulars entered ;
and then the warden said : ' Now, if you are
in a train wreck, and the cars catch fire — as they
mostly do — and the whole of you is burnt but
your hands, we could identify you without
the possibility of a mistake.' No doubt this
was extremely satisfactory, from one point of
view ; but it was not exactly reassuring in the
midst of our constant railway journeys ! I would
sooner be kept out of ' wrecks ' by the loving
prayers at home than identified by my charred
thumbs through the ingenuity of the State
prison system ! "
" Xew Albany, Indiana,
" July 29th.
" At last we find ourselves quartered in a
comfortable Western house, with the delightful
prospect of a twenty-four hours' rest before
our Chautauqua engagements, here, to-morrow
afternoon and evening. It will be a large
gathering. The tent is seated to hold 5000
people.
" We are close to the celebrated * cabbage
patch ' at Louisville, and I hope to go and see
it to-morrow, and call on Mrs. Wiggs. Only
it has to be done tactfully ; for dear, simple-
196 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
minded Mrs. Wiggs is not pleased with her
notoriety, and took the broom to her last visitor,
calling upon Billy Wiggs to supplement it with
a pail of water ! " *
My mother's next letter was dated " Top
of Pike's Peak, Colorado, August 4th." It
was characteristic of her to have begun her
letter there for the pleasure of writing to her
friends at the height of 14,147 feet above sea-
level (10,557 feet higher than Snowdon, as she
explained). The extraordinary view delighted
her, for Pike's Peak rises sheer up from the
prairie. She was alone on this expedition.
" I was given a formidable list of symptoms
and queer sensations which I must expect to
experience. But all I feel is an extra sense of
vigour and well-being. I saw several people,
however, reel as they left the car ; and one
poor lady collapsed at once upon a stone, and
sits there gasping, and waiting to take the first
possible train down again.
" Nothing will induce her to move ; though
I comforted her somewhat by feeling her pulse,
and explaining to her the effect the altitude was
having upon it, and why.
• My mother had delighted in the popular little book,
Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch.
vm] A TOUR IN AMERICA 197
" When we were half-way up, at one of the
Stopping places for watering the engine, a man
suddenly appeared from nowhere, sprang upon
the car, handed me a slip of paper and a pencil,
and asked me to write my name and address.
He was obviously a ' newspaper man,' and I
a implied at once, feeling grateful to him for not
also demanding my impressions of Pike's Peak,
the prairie, America, and the world in general !
The brave little panting engine began to puff
off again ; the ' newspaper man ' sprang off on
to the rocky track and vanished as suddenly as
he had appeared, in the direction of a little wooden
hut near the telegraph wires. Half an hour
later I purchased a copy of the Pike's Peak Daily
News — which calls itself the most elevated paper
in the world — and found, amongst other items,
that I had arrived on the summit of Pike's
Peak !
" There is a small hotel up here, where it
is possible to pass the night, and see the sun rise.
I should be greatly tempted to do this, if time
permitted."
At the end of this letter, dated from Colorado
Springs, my mother gives some idea of their
strenuous travelling.
M . . . The connections are terrible work
sometimes. The other day the train in which
we were to have left Cawker was wrecked,
just before reaching the depot. We waited
198 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
five hours, and finally left on a cattle train, and
made our connection on the Rock Island Flyer,
by two minutes ! And on our way to Cawker
our engine broke down ; and we had to do thirty
miles across country in an automobile, to get
there at all. ... At Kansas City, at 9 o'clock
at night, with a journey before us as far as from
London to Aberdeen, and our connection missed,
I heard Mrs. Booth planning to rush seventy
miles on a ' wild cat engine,' and catch up with
our train at a junction, turning to say to me
reassuringly, l We should be quite comfortable
sitting on our suit-cases ' ! However, the railway
officials, when they grasped the situation, found
another way. Notwithstanding all those vicissi-
tudes, we have not yet had to fail an audience.
Somehow or other we always get there."
" On the Rock Island Railway to Iowa,
"August 6th.
" I am having such a wonderful journey
across the prairie. We passed over it by night
before. Now it is a radiant afternoon. The
sun is inclining to the west. Hundreds and
hundreds of miles of golden prairie stretch
away on every side as far as the eye can see.
It seems so incongruous to be crossing it in a
Pullman car. One ought to be mounted on a
prairie pony, and galloping into the sunset !
" I have just been watching the pretty little
prairie dogs, whisking in and out of their holes,
or sitting up demurely on their hind legs to
vin] A TOUR IN AMERICA 199
watch the train go by. They remind me of
my Egyptian jerboas, and are about the same
size and colour.
" I must not close this letter without giving
you some Chautauqua news. We had a very
good time at New Albany. The tent seated
5000 people. Mrs. Booth rose to the occasion !
Her lecture was magnificent.
" At Cawker City our day was Sunday. The
tent there seated 3000. It was quite the most
beautiful camping ground we have yet visited,
amid fine trees and well watered by streams.
A thousand people were camped there. My
lecture was from 8.30 to 10 p.m. I shall never
forget the scene. The platform brilliantly
lighted by electric lights ; the great tent crammed
with people. Outside — moonlight, oak trees,
countless tiny tents hung with lanterns, groups
of men and boys lying around on the grass hoping
to hear something without coming under the
canvas. It was a very still night ; during my
lecture the only disturbing sound was made
by the locusts in the surrounding trees, rubbing
their wing-cases together. A huge cockchafer,
attracted by the footlights, whirled in from the
side, made a dash at my head, struck the Medici
collar of my gown with a thud, and plunged
down the back of my neck, kicking wildly. I
fished him up, flung him away with a sweep
of the arm, which to the audience appeared
to be merely an oratorical gesture, and concluded
my sentence ! "
200 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
My mother's next letter was dated from
Niagara.
" I am sitting so close to the great Horseshoe
Fall," she wrote, " that the spray damps my
paper as I write. The thunder of the mass of
falling water makes grand music all around me,
and glancing up I notice a rainbow spanning
the Fall with its broad ribbon of gold, purple
and crimson."
After further description she says :
" There is a mighty onwardness about Niagara,
which is stimulating and inspiring. No outside
power can check or obstruct it. Only one
thing ever stops the flow of Niagara. And that
is not an outward obstruction placed in its way,
but a change in itself, a consolidating of its
beautiful flow, an icy piling up of its delicate
spray. When Niagara freezes, Niagara ceases
to flow."
And thence she draws a lesson for the human
heart, as she loved to do from nature ; in
icebound Niagara she finds a warning against
the danger of a frozen heart, " checking the
flow — through us and from us — of Divine and
human love."
In this letter she tells of the great gathering
at Chautauqua itself, where she spoke to an
audience of 8000 people. She ends her letter
vmj A TOUR IN AMERICA 201
with a description of the gathering at Coshocton,
the last Chautauqua of the trip.
" Of all the Chautauquas this was — for me —
the best," she writes. " The auditorium held
3200 people, and we had it crammed, both
afternoon and evening. My time was the
evening : I experienced such happy liberty
in speaking, and the people were so responsive.
It is difficult for me to describe it to you, but
I can only say : If all the travelling had been
for that one meeting alone, it would have been
worth it.
" The heat was intense. The whole audience
fanned with large palm-leaf fans all the time.
At first it is rather bewildering, but one soon
becomes used to it. The men all use fans
also ; and it is a delicate attention when the
man works his fan in such a way that the lady
sitting next him shares his breeze ! The ceaseless,
rhythmic movement of thousands of palm-
hat fans is a curious sight. And I must tell
jrou one thing which is apt to happen; and
any public speaker or preacher who reads these
lines will appreciate its effect upon the mind
of the lecturer. If you tell an arresting story,
or use a thrilling illustration, all the fans suddenly
poise motionless. But, when the climax is
reached and you proceed to point the moral,
the fans move on again. It is quite uninten-
tional, an unconscious outward demonstration
of the mental condition of the audience ; but
202 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
it takes a good deal of nerve not to curtail that
application. I am inclined to think the fan
custom may be largely responsible for the per-
petual introduction of anecdote, the catch-
phrases, and the clap-trap style which we find
so prevalent in popular American oratory. One
might easily be tempted to aim at the arresting
of the fans ! "
My mother often referred to this little
incident later ; she said it had taught her a
deep lesson, both as speaker and writer — namely,
that a story should always carry its moral in
itself and not need to have a moral tacked on,
an application laboriously made, seeming of
less intrinsic interest than the story. The
true teacher must not allow the sudden flagging
of interest (displayed by the resumed activity
of the fans) just when the really important
part of the lesson has been reached.
My mother's last letter to her Leyton friends
was written on the deck of the White Star liner,
Baltic. It recounts a little incident that afforded
her great pleasure — more on account of the kind
thought and appreciation of her work than
because of the material benefit.
" When I came on board," she writes, " a
pleasant surprise awaited me. I went straight
to my little single-berth state-room, expecting
vnrj A TOUR IN AMERICA 203
to find my luggage there ; instead of which I
found a letter from the New York manager of
the White Star Line, informing me that No. 74
was placed at my disposal, and asking me to
accept this improved accommodation, with the
compliments of the company. I went to No. 74,
and there sat my three trunks, looking very small
— instead of filling the whole place — in the
largest double state-room on the Baltic ; such
a beautiful apartment, with an extra large
berth, a wardrobe, a couch, an arm-chair, a
writing-table, a whatnot for flowers, and three
electric lights in the ceiling, besides a little
movable electric reading-lamp. This kind con-
sideration on the part of the company is adding
greatly to the enjoyment of the return voyage."
And so, with a graphic description of passing
an iceberg — " a floating snow mountain in
mid-ocean " — and " a spouting, romping shoal
of young whales " ; with a final impression of
Chautauqua lecturing, ends this scries of letters.
\:id yet there is one more that I feel I must
quote — not from my mother herself but from
her sister. It explains itself :
" 34 Wlst 28th Strei i, \"i:\v York Cnv,
" Sept. 13th, I
"My beloved sister has sailed away from
our shores and ere long will be in youi mi,! 1
again. I know that one more letter of her
204 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
journeying in America is to appear in your
paper, and it has occurred to me that the story
would be very incomplete without a few lines
from my pen, because I know her well enough
to feel confident that of her success and achieve-
ment she will say nothing.
" It has been my joy and privilege to listen
to her inspiring, and, I believe, God-inspired
words as she has met and thrilled the great
audiences which have gathered to listen to her
at the Chautauquas of the West. I have been so
proud of her, so happy to introduce her to the
public of this great land of my adoption. She
has come to many hearts as a bright ray of
sunshine, and has left everywhere the deepest
impression, not only through her message, but
through her own sweet personality.
" When our tour was planned, I studied the
schedule calling for such early rises, so many
nights on the cars, such furious flights across
country, such close connections at points of
change, with my heart a little misgiving me.
I am a seasoned traveller in this land of rush,
used to the journeys over immense distances,
by long habit, but I find few among my friends
and workers who can keep up with me ; so you
will understand my feelings as I wondered how
my sister would stand the experience. I was
delightedly surprised at the result. She proved
herself always bright and buoyant in spirit,
patient in difficulties, smiling through heat
and dust and discomfort, contented with snatches
vnij A TOUR IN AMERICA 205
of sleep and meals at unseasonable hours, and
seemed to gain in health with every increase
of work and effort.
" She travelled like a veteran of the road,
and I can truly say we enjoyed every hour of
the trip, save those, perhaps, spent on the
cattle train — but even then she tried to write
letters, and managed between bumps to take
a little peaceful sleep !
" I wish you could have seen and heard her
in the great Chautauqua tents and buildings.
It is no easy task when unaccustomed to these
places to make the people hear, and it is still
more difficult to hold the audiences in our great
heat, especially when one remembers that they
arc composed of so varying a crowd, from tiny
children to aged people, many of whom have
driven thirty miles across country, and may
have that far to drive again during the night.
Not only did she thrill her hearers, holding her
audiences spell-bound with intense interest,
but far above and beyond any power of eloquence
she left in their hearts a blessing, and made
the dear Book of books a more vital, living truth
to guide their lives.
i need QOI tell you how truly she has won
all hearts, both in the prisons and out in the
free world, because you know her, and those
who know her can appreciate that this is bound
to be the case wherever she goes. You missed
her during these weeks of absence, but can you
understand what it has been to me to have her
206 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [vm
again after the long years of separation ? In
childhood we were inseparable ; an excep-
tionally close tie of love and sympathy bound
us together, and I feel I owe much (an unpayable
debt of gratitude) to her for the sweet, unselfish
influence of her Christian life. When we met
on the 9th July we took up our life together
just as intimately and naturally as if no inter-
vening years or distance or new claims had come
to us in the interim, and during the happy days,
heart to heart, we have been one in thought
and interest and purpose."
During the last weeks of this visit to America
my mother had been hard at work reading the
proofs of " The Rosary."
She visited America again a year later — a
short visit this time — to be in the country
for the publication of " The Mistress of Shen-
stone." Always she kept in her heart a very
warm corner for the great American public
that had given her so kind a welcome, and has
always given to her books so enthusiastic a
reception.
IX: THE WRITING OF "THE ROSARY"
lX/fY mother's life had been a full one —
full in many ways. It had been full of
work. Always she had as much work on hand
as she could get through, and when she was not
working she was busy taking the active recreation
which was really necessary. She was never
idle, never indefinitely occupied with mere
trivialities. Her life, too, was full of success.
Full, also, of love — for all who knew her, loved
her, and she felt nothing but friendship towards
everyone she came across. She had no enemies ;
she was far above petty feuds and jealousies
and scandals. Finally, her life was full of joy
— for, more than any one I know, she knew how
to enjoy things. Her pre-eminent natural gift
was music; her most highly developed talent,
public speaking. She had come, one may say,
to her maturity. There was nothing about
her suggestive of the genius who has not vet
found an adequate means of expression ; nothing
disappointed; no craving for the world's re-
cognition. Her personality seemed singularly
•07
208 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
complete. And yet there were great things
still to come ; undreamed-of success ; a sphere
of work waiting to satisfy her boundless energy.
My mother had always shone as a teller of
stories — whether on the platform or at her own
dinner-table. As a child she had scribbled
assiduously. In her younger days she had
written and published a " religious novel " ; but
her busy life had never allowed sufficient leisure
for the exercise of what seemed to be merely
one of the many talents of her versatile nature.
In 1905, however, something moved her
to write a little story, " The Wheels of Time,"
for no particular purpose, nor with any very
definite idea of publication. But this very
dramatic little study of human emotion was
to prove itself of more importance than she had
thought. For, its vivid characters once con-
ceived, she became so much interested in them
that they had the effect of setting her creative
imagination in motion. This was, as it were,
the opening of the sluice-gates of her " uncon-
scious mind " ; and out of it rose, full and strong,
the long-pent-up store of human experience,
sympathetic impression, emotions, fancies, ideals.
A great story was forming itself in her mind.
It was characteristic of her that she only
Ai in. Time "The Rosary" was Written, 190J
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 209
allowed it a secondary place, and continued
the course of her ordinary life without allowing
herself the relief of writing — save on one
memorable night, when, sitting in the corner
of a third-class railway compartment, travelling
from London to Hertford, she wrote the " terrace
scene " * of " The Rosary " !
And then, quite unexpectedly, she found
herself laid low, with the prospect of many
months of confinement. She had over-strained
her heart by her long bicycle ride to Cromer,
and acute symptoms now caused her doctors
to take a very serious view of her condition.
At first she was obliged to lie flat, and attacks
were frequent and painful. But after some
weeks of rest she was able to be slightly raised,
and it occurred to her that now, at last, she
old unburden her soul, and write what she
called " the story of Jane."
It was all there, simply asking to come out,
and her pencil Hew over sheet after sheet of
manuscript paper, without pause or hesitancy.
The work was sheer delight, exhilaration of
mind and body, and every night she would read
aloud what she had done that day, with the
sense that it was something good.
• Garth's declaration of love.
210 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
It was one of her elder daughters who was
nursing her through this illness. She had gone
for a moment into a room adjoining my mother's,
leaving the door open. My mother was busy
with her book. Presently my sister heard her
call :
" What song shall Jane sing ? "
" ' The Rosary,' " called back my sister,
remembering that the American song had
pleased my mother before the commencement
of her illness, and that she used to play and
sing it, herself.
And so Jane sang " The Rosary," and gradually
the song got interwoven with the story, more
and more. But Jane might equally well have
sung some other song, and the book still have
become a " best seller " under another title.
The incident clearly shows that the book was
not written " round the song," as is so often
supposed, nor " inspired by the song," but
that the song was quite accidental to the story.
Meanwhile eight months passed by, and at
last she was able to leave her room and go to
the Isle of Wight to complete her convalescence.
By the summer (1907) she had recovered
sufficiently to take up much of her old work,
and the two manuscripts were put away.
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 211
How long they might have remained in oblivion
it is hard to say, had she not chanced to send
the manuscript of " The Wheels of Time "
to her sister, Mrs. Ballington Booth, who, at once
realising its worth, insisted on its publication, and
it made its appearance in September 1908.
Mrs. Booth's appreciation of "The Wheels
of Time," and urgent demand to see her long
novel, led my mother to begin copying out her
pencil manuscript. In the Christmas holidays
she read it aloud to her enthusiastic family.
I well remember how we sat round in breathless
interest, time seeming to fly as my mother's
beautiful voice read on and on. At last she
would stop and lay down the manuscript, but
no one would move, and laughingly she would
take it up once more and read on until something
obliged the party to break up. But eagerly it
would collect again at the first opportunity.
It was when she had finished copying the
book that my mother readied the stage at which
(as in the case of almost all her novels) she
suddenly felt the whole thing was bad, absurd,
worse than useless, fit only for the flames ! She
even got as far as locking herself into her room
with the purpose of burning the manuscript.
Something, however, stayed her hand, and
212 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
" The Rosary " was not lost to the world. Be-
fore long it was safely in the mail bound for
America.
My aunt, delighted with it, offered the manu-
script to Messrs. Putnams (one of the leading
publishers of New York), who accepted it at
once. And so it was that in November 1909
" The Rosary " made its appearance in London
and America simultaneously.
Its reception was even better than the pub-
lishers had anticipated. The public, caring
little that the author was unknown, were buying
up the first edition at a surprising rate. Glowing
reviews appeared in every department of the
Press. Soon it became evident that not only
English and American readers were talking en-
thusiastically of the new novel, but Australia
and the other Overseas Dominions had taken
the book to their hearts.
It was in the second half-year of " The
Rosary's ' life, however, that its sales began
to increase at such an astonishing rate. By the
end of the first year 150,000 copies had been sold,
and two impressions a month were being printed
during a certain period, while a perfectly steady
sale went on and on, showing no signs of abate-
ment 1 " The Rosary " had become a household
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 213
word, the purple book was to be seen everywhere,
in railway compartment, hotel lounge, and under
the arms of busy people hurrying along the
streets, while " Florence Barclay " was, as it
were, the name of an old friend in thousands
of English-speaking homes.
Of course my mother was delighted at this
unexpected success. But it was not the fame
she cared about. She had not set out to win
literary laurels, and what pleased her most
was not the praise of reviewers but the frank
affection of the public. Her ardent nature had
always longed instinctively for the sympathy
and appreciation that lies at the root of all real
popularity, and now that it had at last come to
her, she received it with a childlike delight.
All her life her predominant desire had been
to please ; and now she had apparently pleased
the whole world ! *
1 do not believe that the soul of a true artist
ever gets tarnished by pride or conceit He
longs for sympathy, he thirsts for appreciation.
He frankly delights in it when he gets it. He
may yield a little to the enthusiastic people
who like to "lionise," but that is only part of
• The Ros.irv has been translated into eight languages,
and over a million copies of it have been sold.
214 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
his childlike honesty and lack of false humility
and pose. Even so my mother. Her success,
her new friends, her new interests and oppor-
tunities changed her not at all. She entered
into them all with genuine enjoyment, but
remained the same simple personality. She
never went out of her way to shine in
literary circles, to accumulate eminent ac-
quaintances. Hence this book does not at
this point develop (as might be expected) into
a kind of literary memoir wherein move all
kinds of interesting persons. No, to the end
my mother found her happiness in the very
simple things of life — in animals, in the world's
beauty, in music and travel and friendship and
the joy of helping humble people along the
road to Heaven.
No one has ever been able to explain what
it was about " The Rosary " that so capti-
vated the public. Some have thought that
it was my mother's own vivid, sympathetic,
magnetic personality embodied in the story,
creating its very atmosphere, informing and
permeating her style ; that it was her wonderful
sympathy — a sympathy that enabled her to
draw in her books real people, with real emotions.
She sympathised so truly with each of her
ixj WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 215
characters that the reader could not but
sympathise too ; could not but get deeply
engrossed, and feel that the characters really
lived. People said that to read her books was
to live, for the time, in the world they portrayed ;
to make friends with the people of that world ;
to share with them their joys and sorrows and
anxieties and loves. The world she portrayed
was a very sunny world ; its people charming,
amusing, true and brave. Hence it was a
delight to the reader to live therein, for a while ;
to forget, perchance, the dull or sad world of
his own life, the disappointing people of his
acquaintance.
Only true sympathy with mankind can enable
a writer to create people who seem to live.
The reading public, though I suppose it did
not thus analyse its impression, showed in many
ways that it recognised this gift of sympathy
in the writer of the books. It is an interesting
point, worth examining; almost a little
chological study.
First, the books, quite impersonal as they
were — and as fiction must necessarily be — had
everywhere the effect of winning people's affec-
tion for and confidence in the writer herself.
Daily, my mother received a large number of
216 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
letters. Many of these were not the letters
of mere autograph-hunters, but the quite
intimate letters of people seeking sympathy
and understanding — lonely people, sad people,
people in perplexities ; or of happy readers
eager to tell from full hearts how much her
books had meant to them, sometimes merely
in simple enjoyment, sometimes spiritually, or
in helping to solve one of life's problems. It
must have been because these readers scented
in her stories something more than a fertile
imagination ; it was she herself that held them,
that spoke to them, that led them to know
instinctively that they would be understood,
treated with friendship.
Secondly, wherever my mother went she
found herself greeted by unknown friends.
Her photograph had been on the wrappers of
several of her books, and often strangers would
recognise her ; or she would be advertised as
speaking at some religious gathering, and multi-
tudes of readers would throng the meeting,
often to the surprise of the good people organising
it ! It is the attitude of these readers that was
enlightening. They would, as a matter of
course, claim her as a friend. There was none
of the usual English shyness, of the fear of
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 217
intruding, of the thirst for a formal introduction.
They would just clasp her hand as if she was
an old friend found again, and say, with radiant
faces, how pleased they were to meet her. And
they would seem so sure that she would be
pleased to meet them, and hear how they liked
her hooks — and of course she was.
It was always the readers who made the
first advance : she never courted recognition.
Only to one set of people did she introduce
herself, and that was to the booksellers. She
had a very tender corner in her heart for the
booksellers ; for the men who actually dealt
out the books to the public, who displayed
them so artistically in their windows, recom-
mended them so warmly to their customers,
and shared with her the pecuniary reward of
her success. When she visited a town she would
look in at the chief booksellers. Often she
would be recognised at once ; but if she was
not, she would make an enquiry as to whether
the books were going well. If the bookseller
med responsive on the subject, she would
very quietly make herself known. Instantly
his face would light up, and generally his hand
would be outstretched across his counter.
Delightedly she would listen to the " trade "
218 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
point of view of her books. One story pleased
her in particular — that of a man whose business
had practically failed. He decided on a bold
step : he would sink all he had in a large stock
of " Barclays," and catch the public eye, one
morning, by displaying a window dressed entirely
with the purple books. It was a bold specula-
tion, but it succeeded : the " Barclay books '
had saved his little business, and he pressed my
mother's hand in gratitude.
The interest of the public in the writer of
the books was quickly gauged by the press,
and many papers asked for " interviews," and
sent along friendly newspaper men and photo-
graphers. My mother welcomed them, not
with the idea of getting a cheap advertisement,
but because, if the public wanted to know what
she looked like at home, and all about how she
tamed her birds, and where she wrote her books,
she was delighted to tell them and let them
see ! — were they not her dear friends, who
bought books so eagerly, and read them to
pieces in the libraries f I have before me a pile
of such " interviews," one illustrated by no less
than fifteen photographs of my mother and her
home !
My mother's sympathy was universal. Perhaps
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 219
that was why her books appealed to people
so diverse in every way ; to members of every
social stratum, to individuals of every type,
from the royalty she revered to the working
people she loved.
How the wounded Tommies loved her books !
One day she went into a hut at the Nctley Red
Cross Hospital, and she saw a man screened
off because his wounds were so severe. He
was reading " The Following of the Star."
She asked him gently if he liked it. " Yes,"
he said, " it makes me forget my pain." She
always treasured that remark as her very highest
reward.
" Dear Madam,- — I have just put down the
' Star,' and venture to write that Chapter 38
is, in my humble opinion, a masterpiece," wrote
Sir Evelyn Wood. " I doubt whether any
man could have written it, nor indeed but
very few women."
Canon Lyttclton, then the Headmaster of
Eton, wrote his appreciation too — of li The
Rosary' especially, but also of other of the
books. The Lite Sir George Alexander offered
her a box for one of his plays, that he might
meet her and discuss dramatisation. Charles
A. Watts, editor of the Literary Guide and
220 LIFE OF FLORENCE BAI ;LAY [ix
Rationalist Review, wrote to her : "lam inclined
to think that ' The Following of the Star '
is your best book. I read it through and richly
enjoyed every chapter." Church dignitaries,
like the Dean of Worcester, were her enthusiastic
readers ; Dr. Campbell Morgan recommended
" The Rosary " as a book " to keep and read
again." In short, her books appealed to intel-
lectual people of all sorts ; while, on the other
hand, I have seen poor women in the slums of
London brighten at the sight of one of the
purple books — the books that " did them good "
after a long day's work.
American enthusiasm took yet another form,
and American readers had a chance of showing
their appreciation in their own way when my
mother visited their country in 1910, for the
publication of " The Mistress of Shenstone."
To English readers it may seem a surprising
outburst, and very different to anything that
can be imagined as taking place in England
by way of reception accorded to a private
individual. Indeed, it took my mother herself
completely by surprise, but the genuine welcome
it implied was, to her, a real pleasure. I give
the account of it in the words of her friend, Miss
Maud Burdctt, who accompanied her on this trip.
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 221
" Though Mrs. Barclay had received many
letters of appreciation from all parts of the
world she had not the faintest idea of the warmth
of feeling the Americans had for her, and was
quite unprepared for any special reception ;
so much so, in fact, that as we steamed slowly
into New York Harbour and came alongside
the quay, she did not expect to see more than
her sister and a few friends awaiting her.
" As we stood looking out eagerly for well-
known faces, we noticed a throng of people
standing together on a part of the quay all
hung with purple draperies. Many of these
people held and waved bunches of violets, and
were looking eagerly towards the boat. For
a moment we wondered what the demonstration
could be, and then, suddenly, we saw a purple
banner with 'THE ROSARY' upon it, in
large gold letters. It came as a shock of surprise
to Mrs. Barclay !
" On landing we were at once surrounded
by reporters, photographers, and the crowd of
delighted readers who had gathered to do her
honour and give her America's welcome. In
this surge I lost sight of Mrs. Barclay, so turned
my attention to the luggage, expecting the
usual formalities and difficulties one usually
meets with on arrival in America. But to
mv surprise on presenting the keys 1 was told
that ' the luggage of the Author of " The
Rosary " need not be examined.'
222 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
" Many other unexpected marks of apprecia-
tion were shown during this trip ; such as,
for instance, refusal on the part of hotel pro-
prietors to accept payment, presenting, instead
of a bill, a respectful note of thanks to ' the
Author of " The Rosary " ' for having done
them the honour of staying in their hotel " !
There is one more point that must be touched
on in writing of " The Rosary." Its large
sales naturally brought my mother considerable
sums of money. Perhaps no one can quite
understand what this meant to her generous
heart. Her sympathy with other people could
not but make her realise very constantly what
enormous happiness could be given by money
rightly spent. She longed to give — and yet
she had not the means. Some little while
before she began to write " The Rosary ' she
had come across several cases of great necessity
which it was a real sorrow to her not to be able
to assist. And so, one day, she knelt and prayed
quite definitely that she " might be entrusted
with the sum of ^4000 a year." Having
made her request she felt quite confident that
she would obtain it in God's good time. It
never occurred to her that she herself would
earn the money ; she had some vague idea
ix] WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 223
that a rich old lady would unaccountably make
her a legacy. And so, when her big royalty
payments began to come in, she knew that her
prayer had been heard, and she looked upon
the money as " entrusted to her."
It is typical of her wonderful sense of equity
and justice that her first act, on finding herself
so suddenly enriched, was not to launch forth
on some scheme of romantic charity, but simply
to raise the wages of her household. " Let
not your left hand know what your right hand
doeth," said Christ, and she definitely took
tliis text as her rule. Few people realised her
lavish generosity, for her name seldom appeared
in public subscription lists ; her generosity
was in the unseen corners of the earth. She was
busy sharing her money with those who needed
it, her true sympathy giving her a wonderful
discrimination, and her perfect way of giving
enabling her to help those who would never
have accepted a less genuinely spontaneous
charity. It was not a case of small presents,
but of big items like the education of the sons
of friends, the saving of a bankrupt business,
the summer holiday of a family, the repairs of
a house. No one will ever know the large
number of people whose lives were made happy
224 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [ix
by the money she earned by her pen. She
never spoke of them even at home ; in fact,
they knew their secrets were safe in her keeping.
Besides her bigger acts of generosity she would
take endless trouble over those little gifts that
mean so much, and, for her, Christmastide was
a period of hard work. The number of big
Christmas hampers she sent to people whose
fare, she guessed, would not be very adequate
to the joyful season, will never be known.
She spent very little on herself, and when
she bought a car (largely to facilitate her getting
about to her meetings) she was continually
using it in the service of others.
The charitable work in which she took the
greatest personal interest was the Home for
Motherless Children at Woodford ; though
many other good works also received her generous
support.
The vast public which bought her books
should feel a sense of gratification at the thought
that their money found its way into the hands
of one whose first thought was to redistribute
it to those whose need, if not always the most
apparent, was the most real. It is to such that
Christ has promised to say : " Come, ye blessed
of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared
ixj WRITING OF "THE ROSARY" 225
for you from the foundation of the world.
For I was an hungrcd, and ye gave me meat :
I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : I was a
stranger, and ye took me in : naked, and ye
clothed me : I was sick, and ye visited me : I
was in prison, and ye came unto me."
And the naive surprise of " the righteous "
on hearing these words is typical of the simple,
generous, unself-conscious givers like my mother,
for they say : " Lord, when saw we thee an
hungred, and fed thee ? or thirsty, and gave
thee drink ? When saw we thee a stranger, and
took thee in ? . . . And the King shall answer,
and say unto them, Verily I say unto you,
inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, ye have done it
unto me." *
• Matthew xxv. 34-40.
X: ITALY
T TOT, golden, glowing sunshine ; fathomless
A A blue sky ; Florence, spread out in an
extent of red-brown roofs, softened by the
morning haze, with here and there a window
sparkling like diamonds ; and through all, the
Arno winding — a green ribbon threaded through
many bridges.
Up the long flight of stone steps my mother
had climbed, and now stood on the stone-walled
terrace of San Miniato looking down upon the
city. Away beyond it spread the purple cam-
pag?ia, dotted with its white and pink plaster
houses and spiky black cypresses and pink
blossom.
" I feel, somehow, as if I belong to it all,"
she said, her face radiant with joy and the
Italian sun ; " as if I had found it at last, and
come home. I can't express what I feel. . . ."
But I knew what she meant, and one felt that
about her as she walked with such delight in
the streets of Florence, explored places of
interest, and entered the dark, cool churches
226
x] ITALY 227
in the spirit of a worshipper and not of a
sightseer.
San Marco pleased her greatly, not only on
account of the beauty of its cloisters, looking
out on the shady square of turf and great, dark
cedar, but chiefly because of Fra Angclico's
frescoes.
Fra Angclico was a man who worshipped
God with his brush ; who prayed that he might
paint well, and produced pictures that arc
themselves adoring prayers. In fact it is said
that he painted kneeling. This welding of
religion and art spoke the very language of
my mother's heart, and as she passed from cell
to cell she felt a true kinship of spirit between
herself and that Dominican friar of long
ago. For by his brush he spoke with simple,
thoughtful love of all the same subjects on
which she so often spoke in words. He, too,
had lived in the Gospel story and made it the
very home of his mind. Her delight, therefore,
was great when she found borne out in one of
his pictures a favourite conjecture of her own.
She always loved to believe that the Garden of
Gethsemane, on the Mount of Olives, belonged
to Martha and Mary, and that that was why
Christ had free access to it at night. And here
228 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [x
was Fra Angclico thinking the same thing !
For in the fresco where he depicts the Agony
in the Garden there is, not far off, a little house ;
and outside the house sit Martha and her sister
Mary — (Martha with a black halo to show she
was not quite so blessed as Mary !). This
little discovery pleased my mother more than
words can say.
She took scant interest in Savonarola's hair-
shirt, preserved in a glass case — her soul was too
much absorbed in the chastened beauty of his
brother's art, which seemed to her nearer to the
spirit of Christ.
But it was not so much the " sights " of
Florence that she loved as the quaint back
streets, the fascinating market, the shops of
the dealers in antiques ; or the Ponte San Trinita
at sunset, with the Arno flowing away into the
golden west.
The shops on the romantic Ponte Vecchio
were a favourite haunt, and she had a way of
winning the friendship of the Italian dealers,
so that they would spend hours showing her all
their treasures, not pressing her to buy but
pleased to see her enjoyment of the things of
beauty they themselves loved so much. It
was in the shop of one, Angelo Melli, that she
—
Portrait, 1918
xj ITALY 229
discovered the little bird in a jewelled box.
For many days she called on him and heard him
sing, and at last she bought him.
Certosa appealed to her very much, standing
white and beautiful at the top of its vine-clad
terraces. She liked the monks' cells, each with
its own tiny garden (still just as they were
planned 500 years before). She liked the monks,
too, in their white habits — especially a charming
one called Fra Paccamus, who explained that
once he had been a cavalry officer, and had been
thrown from his horse and all but killed. His
escape had been so marvellous that in gratitude
he had given himself to God, in this life of prayer.
He showed us and told us many things, because,
I think, he felt we understood.
She liked the big quadrangle in the middle
of the monastery, with long-bearded, ancient
lav brothers wheeling barrows along the paths ;
and the well with the pulley and bucket, and
a little plant of violets flowering from a cranny
in the wall, half-way down, and watered (so
Fra Paccamus told us) by drops from the
buckets as water was drawn from the well.
She liked the beautiful church and the exquisite
polished marble in the crypt. She loved the
distant view of Florence and the purple hills
230 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [x
that looked like so many brilliant little pictures
framed by the square stone-work of the cell
windows. Also the grassy terrace dotted with
red anemones, where the monks walked in the
cool of the day, allowed (just for one hour) to
break their silence and talk together of all that
was in their hearts.
Fiesole, too, appealed to her, with its great
Etruscan remains all overgrown with grass and wild
flowers ; and the convent of brown-clad, sandalled
friars. Especially the sight as we entered the
dark church pleased her, for a young friar was
playing a little organ very softly, the yellow light
of a lamp thrown up on to his beautiful, happy
face, his long, thin hands moving gently about
the keys, and his music stealing softly through
the church. He smiled at us gravely to show we
were not intruding, and played on.
She loved the great Duomo, standing as it
does in the very heart of Florence, all thronged
by houses ; she loved its great red dome and
the cool vastness of its interior.
She climbed to the high top of the Campanile,
noting the strange effect of seeing a wide and
always wider view from each set of windows,
as one mounts and mounts.
But two spots in Florence were pre-eminently
x] ITALY 231
dear to her — one, the great stone monument in
the English cemetery, bearing the brief inscrip-
tion, " E. B. B." ; the other, the Casa Guicli.
In all English literature nothing had so greatly
aroused her enthusiasm or won her heart as
the Browning Love Letters. These letters that
so wonderfully reveal a very perfect love appealed
to her as no other book ever appealed to her.
It was because they were not art but reality,
life. Elizabeth Barrett Browning she truly
enshrined in her thoughts.
In London she had discovered the house —
50 Wimpole Street — where her side of the
correspondence was penned, as she lay in the
room that was her prison and from which she
so bravely ran away to wed her poet lover. She
had visited the church where they were married
— Marylcbonc Parish Church — and found the
entry in the register ; and now she greatly
longed to visit the place where that frail form
was laid to rest, and the house where those
years of idyllic married life were passed.
We accompanied her to the gate of the English
cemetery, and left her to find E. B. B., alone.
During her stay in Florence she often visited
the grave, and would sit for hours by it in the
sun, writing the latter part of " The Following
232 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [x
of the Star." One day, as she was thus occupied,
two American tourists came up. They walked
round the sarcophagus, wondering aloud if this
really was Mrs. Browning's grave.
My mother, of course, informed them that
it was ; and finding they knew nothing about
Mrs. Browning except that she was an English
poetess and her grave a place to be verified, she
told them a great deal about her beloved
E. B. B. — pleased at having enthusiastic
listeners.
The Americans were charmed, but before they
went they remarked :
" And may we ask what you are writing ? "
" A novel," my mother smilingly replied.
" Is that so ? " said the Americans. " Now,
that's very interesting. Have you written many
novels ? "
" A good many," said my mother.
" Might we ask," persevered the Americans,
" what are the titles of some of your books ? '
" One's called ' The Rosary,' " said my mother,
with just a little twinkle.
There was a moment's silence while the
Americans took in the fact, and then, to my
mother's surprise, one of them burst into tears !
Clasping my mother's hand, she explained that
xj ITALY 233
she and her husband had read the book together,
shortly before his death, and that it had meant
so very much to them. My mother was greatly
touched by the little incident.
The Casa Guidi she went over, too ; and
tried to awaken in her family at least a spark of
her own devotion. On being shown a large
room in the front of the house, which she was
assured was Mrs. Browning's room, she refused
to believe it, for in her letters E. B. B. had
mentioned a balcony on which she walked
with " Fluff," her little dog. Going through
the house, to her joy she discovered the room,
and walked on the balcony.
Among her very greatest treasures were what
she called " the Browning relics." It was with
great interest that she heard a sale of Browning
things was to take place. She went to it and
managed to secure many things intimately
connected with E. B. B. Among these was
her favourite chair. This my mother always
kept in her writing-room at the Corner House,
with a silk cord tied across from arm to arm,
to prevent any sacrilegious person from sitting
down upon it. This room was, in fact, called
" the Browning room." It also contained the
table on which " Aurora Leigh " was written ;
234 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [x
and Robert Browning's great green velvet arm-
chair. Upon the walls hung two very beautiful
life-size portraits of the poets. On the back
of E. B. B.'s is written, in Robert Browning's
handwriting : " Incomparable portrait, by far
the best ever taken." These are by an Italian
artist, Gordigiani, and are very striking. He
has made the most of beauty of expression
where actual beauty of feature was lacking ;
and the softness and delicacy of the painting
gives to the portraits a real charm. It was my
mother's wish to bequeath these to the nation
by their presentation to the National Portrait
Gallery. They have been offered and gratefully
accepted ; but, however much art connoisseurs
may appreciate them, they will never again come
in for such a wealth of love as was bestowed
upon them in the years during which they hung
on the walls of my mother's room !
Browning's watch and chain she also bought j
not because she wanted them particularly, but
because upon his chain hung a tiny gold signet
ring — the gift of a friend to E. B. B., and long
worn on her little finger. Also the note from
her thanking her for it — typical because of its
perfection of expression and the amount of her
own personality that gets into those few lines.
x] ITALY 235
E. B. B.'s mothcr-of-pcarl tea-caddy is also
among the relics, and a beautiful little miniature
of herself.
Florence had, therefore, an added sense of
romance, since it was consecrated by the love
and admiration of the poets, and hallowed by
being their home for so many years.
Another favourite spot of my mother's was
BeUagio, on Lake Como. She always stayed
at the Hotel de Florence, where she was sure
of a smiling welcome from her friend the pro-
prietor — Signor Gramatica — and of the best
attention.
She loved to sit on the vine-clad terraces,
beneath the whispering olive trees, where,
below, the lake showed clearest blue between
the straight black cypresses, or a misty silver,
as evening closed in and the distant, snow-
capped mountains loomed purple against a
golden sky.
Sometimes we would row across the lake,
and coming home in the darkness she always
loved the golden, shimmery blaze of Bella^io's
lights reflected in the lake.
My mother had a wonderful gift for recognising
the genuine articles of real worth among antiques
of every description — whether weapons, pictun .
236 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [x
jewels, glass or other treasures. She bought
several beautiful things during these visits to
Italy and Switzerland. But it was not only
abroad that she would pick up treasures. For
instance, passing the window of a dusty little
old curiosity shop in Brighton one night, she
caught sight of an ebony walking-stick, inlaid
with ivory and silver. She went in and offered
the dealer a five pound note for it. He was
very pleased and seemed to think it a good
bargain. Five years later, when my mother gave
a number of her treasures to the Red Cross Sale at
Christie's, that they might be sold for the benefit
of the wounded, it fetched fifty guineas. She
had already had the stick valued by a connoisseur ;
and on learning that it was worth so very much
more than she had given, she said that if she
ever sold it she should send a cheque to the
Brighton dealer, for obviously her five pounds
had not been a fair offer. Her keen sense of
justice made her feel that it was not fair that
her guess should enrich her at the expense of
his mistake !
A similar case was that of a little jewelled
troubadour. Parting with him cost her a very
great deal : she loved him above all her treasures.
She had given £12 for him, in Florence, and
x] ITALY 237
he went for eighty guineas at the Red Cross Sale !
The fact that the money went to the wounded
made her feel quite happy as to the price she
had given for these two things.
As a rule, however, she had an intuitive
knowledge of the true value of things, and of
what was a fair price to offer. She never bar-
gained with Italian dealers. She would examine
the article and name her price quite decidedly.
The man would, of course, pretend to be aghast ;
he would say it was absurd, he had paid twice
that himself, and all the rest of it. My mother
would only smile quietly and repeat her offer.
If she wanted the thing badly she would call in,
every day, to see it. In the end the man would
come down to her price.
She loved these treasures of hers, and they
were a source of the keenest pleasure to her.
No one can guess quite how much it cost her
when she gave some of them to the Red Cross
Sale. It was characteristic of her that she gave
those she loved the most.
But if the Red Cross Sale took from her things
that were very precious, it also supplied her
with new delights. She felt free to buy at these
sales, since it was really a bestowing of money
on a most worthy cause. Here she bought a
238 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [x
great many arms. The ones that pleased her
most were a Louis XV rapier, a sword worn by-
Lord Nelson, and a dirk he possessed as a mid
shipman. She always kept her arms on a polished
table in her writing-room, and took great delight
in showing them to people. Among them was
an ancient stiletto, bought in Florence, with
Masonic devices on its ivory handle.
She travelled in Germany, too, a year before
the war. At Leipzig she bought a very beautiful
old 'cello. She took it home and was able to play
it at once, though she had never taken lessons.
She describes this in " The Upas Tree." Some
time after she had written the book, in which
she describes how in days gone by the 'cello had
received a blow from a dagger aimed at the man
who was playing it, she was deeply interested
to find that quite clearly a piece of wood had
been inserted in her 'cello, as if a hole had been
skilfully mended, in exactly the same spot which
she described in her story. This increased her
belief in her theory concerning the psychic
effect of old things upon the mind. She liked
to think that articles of furniture or"' other
possessions of people of long ago could somehow
call up in the minds of those attuned a con-
sciousness of these long-passed events. She
x] ITALY 239
believed that this might be the explanation of
most ghost stories.
Another place she visited was The Hague.
Her books had been translated into Dutch,
and had received a very warm welcome in
Holland. Consequently when it got out that
" the author of ' The Rosary ' " was staying at
a hotel in The Hague, numbers of keen readers
called upon her, and she held quite a little
reception in her rooms. Their kindness and
cordiality, and the polished manners of the
Dutch, pleased her very much, and it was with
real pleasure she accepted the invitations she
received.
She also travelled in Belgium, in earlier days,
and stayed for some time in the hapless little
town of Dinant, its great beauty appealing
to her strongly. It is interesting to remember
that her own birthplace was the Isle of Jersey,
where her mother and father stayed on their
way home from some months passed in the South
of France.
Much as my mother loved all these countries,
in Ikt heart of hearts England always held first
pla< .
XI: NOVEL WRITING: IDEALS AND
METHODS
" TV/TY aim is : Never to write a line which
±** could introduce the taint of sin, or
the shadow of shame, into any home. Never
to draw a character which should tend to lower
the ideals of those who, by means of my pen,
make intimate acquaintance with a man or a
woman of my own creating.
" There is enough sin in the world without
an author's powers of imagination being used
in order to add even fictitious sin to the amount.
Too many bad, mean, morbid characters already,
alas ! walk this earth. Why should writers add
to their number, and risk introducing them into
beautiful homes where such people in actual life
would never, for one moment, be tolerated ?
" A great French savant and writer has said :
1 The only excuse for fiction is that it should be
more beautiful than fact.'
" Saint Paul has laid it down as an inspired
rule for the human mind : ' Whatsoever things
are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, what-
soever things are of good report, think on these
things.'
" It seems to me that in according so generous
240
To face page 240.
xi] NOVEL WRITING 241
a reception to ' The Rosary,' and to other books
of the same tone and calibre, the public has
frankly given its assent to this divine precept,
and its verdict in favour of writers who are
humbly, yet earnestly, endeavouring to make
it their rule and guide, and who may, there-
fore, with glad assurance take courage and go
forward."
So wrote my mother ; and it was, so to speak,
her literary profession of faith.
She was out to supply her fellow men with
joy, refreshment, inspiration. She was not
out to make art for art's sake, or to perform a
literary tour de force, or to rival the makers
of fiction of the past. By eschewing tragedy,
by foregoing the depiction of the more violent
human emotions, by substituting a delicate
fancy for a burning realism, she sacrificed the
dramatic opportunities her vivid imagination
could easily have supplied.
The busy men and women who form the
majority of the reading public, and who read
fiction by way of relaxation and enjoyment,
do not desire to have productions of literary
k art ' supplied to them, that their critical
faculties may be exercised and their minds
educated to a precise valuation of dramatic
Q
242 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
form, powerful realism, high tragedy. They
ask merely to be pleased, rested, interested,
amused, inspired to a more living faith in the
beauty of human affection and the goodness
of God. My mother was the friend of these
ordinary readers ; she was out to supply them
with what they wanted ; to fulfil their expec-
tations, to vindicate their trust ; she had no
eye to the literary connoisseur, the seeker after
mere artistic effect.
I tried in another chapter to suggest the
reason for the popularity of her books, and I
attributed their power to her sympathy. This
was, I think, the secret of their universal appeal.
But I believe the reason why people bought
the books in so unusual a way was just because
of what I have said above : the books so exactly
fulfilled the requirements of a novel, that people
were ready to buy them and take them home
to read again when they wanted to be refreshed
after the dust and heat and weariness of the day.
A problem novel may be interesting ; a novel
with a teaching purpose may be a necessary
form of education ; a book that is a piece of
remorseless realism may be stimulating ; but
people do not want to possess books of that sort ;
they feel a little doubtful about lending them
xij NOVEL WRITING 243
to their friends ; they do not feel drawn towards
reading them a second time, or dipping into
them when the world's sunshine is, for a while,
absent ; in short, they do not care to have
them as part of the permanent furniture of their
homes. I think it was this meeting of a public
need that gave the books their big sales ; and I
emphasise the point because it was a quite
conscious aim of my mother's. She loved to
think that she was brightening the lives of
millions of unknown people, resting the minds
of the world's workers. It was for them she
wrote — not for the critics.
It was for this reason that she so consistently
avoided that artistic achievement — " a sad end-
ing." One of her books — " The Following of
the Star" — had, quite obviously, a sad ending,
and of course she knew it. But out of sheer
consideration for her readers she added a short
chapter ending the book on the note of happiness.
It cost her something, in a way ; and yet, in
another, it satisfied her warm-hearted desire
to please, to give happiness.
There is another reason, too, why people
bought her books instead of merely borrowii :
why, for instance, the father of a family would
be glad to introduce them into his home circle.
244 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
The reason is told by my mother herself in the
extract I have quoted. A man may read
the history of some vile character and his viler
doings with a very human thrill of interest as
he travels up to business in the train. But
he changes the book at Smith's without regret,
and hopes his wife and daughters won't come
across it. As for having it permanently about
the house — God forbid !
This ideal was also an ever-present one with
my mother. She believed that the average
Englishman has a decent mind, and she felt
strongly that writers ought to respect this.
She knew that human nature has hard enough
temptations to cope with as it is, without having
them inflamed by the imaginative power of
writers of fiction. Besides, sin in any form was,
to her, too horrible a thing to make " copy '
out of. To her, sin was not merely a contra-
diction of the laws of society, but an outrage
against God.
There was, of course, a good deal of allusion
to religion in her books. But it was never
dragged in. It was the natural expression of
her own point of view. In fact, there would
have been a good deal more if she had not put
a check on the natural impulse to speak of what
xi] NOVEL WRITING 245
holds first place in the heart, is uppermost in
the mind, and most valued in life. Her characters
thought and spoke about religion as they did
because that was how she thought and spoke,
herself. It was, perhaps, rather an unusual
way to think and speak in these days — but it
was a good way, so she let them do it. It was
not inartistic, as the conversation of people in
religious stories invariably is, because it was
spontaneous and natural, and such sentiments
were an organic part of the characters. There
was no " moral " attached to her stories, but
she tried to write books that were, in themselves,
a moral. Her aim was to make the way her
characters dealt with situations an inspiration
and encouragement to her readers. She hated
the idea of a didactic novel ; but she had no
objection to her characters being a demon-
strative lesson in how to live — how to live like
the young carpenter of Nazareth, " in favour
with God and man."
Hence her characters were not exactly the
kind of people one meets every day, and their
point of view was all their own. I don't mean
just their point of view about religion or about
moral questions, but their attitude towards
each other and life in general.
246 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
Another ever-present aim of my mother's
was never to write anything that might hurt
any of her readers through seeming to slight
their walk in life or their religious views, or
any other matter upon which the human heart
is naturally susceptible. To her there were no
class barriers. From duchess to dustman she
loved her kind. She sympathised very really
with the members of all grades of society, and
understood their point of view. Hence she
had a sense almost of partisanship with people
of every walk in life, and to have written any-
thing that seemed to sneer at or ridicule any
one of them would have been to wound her
friends.
The same with regard to religion. She
respected deeply any sincere belief, she sym-
pathised with every religious enthusiasm. She
would not, consciously, have treated lightly
anything held sacred by another. I well re-
member her heartfelt distress when she received
a letter of remonstrance from someone who
thought she had meant to make a flippant
allusion to something the writer and her co-
religionists held sacred, and what pains she
took to write and explain that her words had
been quite inadvertent. She hated religious
xij NOVEL WRITING 247
intolerance, and never took it upon herself to
judge anyone or his creed.
So much for the aims and ideals that she
kept always in view. Some description of her
methods, of the way she wrote her books, may
be of interest.
First, to describe the usual procedure.
Her last book would generally have been out
some little time. Then, quite suddenly, one
day, a vivid scene would form itself before
her mental vision — a complete picture, with
well-defined characters and action, but so far
unconnected with any story. It would be so
dramatic in itself, that she would know it was
the nucleus of a plot ! She would bear the
scene in mind, making no effort, however, to
invent the story belonging to it.
Then, one day — perhaps in the very early
morning as she lay awake, or during a long, dark
run in her car, the original scene would, as it
were, open the door of her " unconscious mind "
and, without effort, the whole story would How
out (more as one remembers passed happenings,
than as one make9 projects).
In a moment her artistic sense would have
grasped the situation and fixed on the psycho-
logical moment for the opening scene ; and now
248 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
her brain would become intensely active, going
through the whole story, scene by scene, devising
the conversations word for word — in fact, making
a book of it. That done she would be quite
content : she had " got her book," it was as
good as written.
Meanwhile the many and varied activities
of her busy life might keep her for months from
beginning to write. Then, one day, she would
arrange to begin. She liked propitious circum-
stances just for making the start : after that,
nothing mattered. So she would, perhaps,
go abroad for a few weeks. The invigorating
air, the sun and snow of St. Moritz, would
fill her with boundless energy, and, sitting out
in the sunlight, she would begin her book.
Once into the first chapter the story would
flow on in an uninterrupted stream, so that
just as fast as her pencil could move over the
paper, so fast would her story grow. She never
paused, never hesitated, but gladly, untiringly,
wrote on and on, hour after hour, and some-
times far into the night. It would be, scene
by scene, the story she had thought out months
before.
Outward interruptions would in no way
hinder the flow. People would go into her
xi] NOVEL WRITING 249
room to ask her trivial questions, and she would
lay down her pencil and enter with her whole
mind into what they had to say. The person
gone, she would take up her pencil and serenely
re-enter the world of her book, in no way discon-
certed. In fact, she liked us to feel that we
could come in as we liked and that nothing would
disturb her.
In the middle of a scene perhaps the dinner
gong would ring, and she would leave her
writing and come gaily in (always in very high
spirits at such times), joining in the general
conversation and in no way distrait. But she
admitted, once, that it took a little readjustment
of the mind to leave her world and come back
into the other : for instance, if the summer
sun was shining, with her, it was quite an effort
to realise that, with us, it was November. And
if her characters had just finished tea it was
very difficult to come in with any enthusiasm
for lunch \
As a rule she would not read aloud a single
chapter of her book until the whole was com-
plete ; and she would not tell the story she had
in her mind before writing it, for she had an
idea that if she did she would never be able to
write it. But as soon as the last word was
250 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
written, her one desire was to share her book
with her family.
Always, first, she would read it right through
to my father, from whom she was sure of the
fullest appreciation and understanding. After
that we, her children, with perhaps one or
two old friends, would form what we called a
" reading party," and gather round every evening,
or perhaps twice in the day, while she read
aloud her manuscript. It was an enthusiastic
audience, and she loved us to make comments
and conjectures.
She would put the manuscript away for a
time, now ; but before very long would begin
the rather arduous task of copying it all out in
ink, with her own hand. This she always did,
for as she went she would make an enormous
number of minor changes, finding a better
word, improving a turn of phrase, revising the
punctuation, inserting another paragraph or
improving a conversation. She wrote a very
beautiful hand, perfectly clear and quite uniform
throughout the thousand pages of manuscript.
After this there would be a period of rest
while the compositors got busy, and then would
come the proof-reading. She insisted on reading
three sets of proof — unusual with authors. First
( •' \_Xf
—
■'
■■ i .
/ ' —
^ . . (- . (
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/I
• ■* 'C •
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•n ■■ Tiii' White Ladies oi Worcester."
xi] NOVEL WRITING 251
the " galley " — long strips, in which she felt
fairly free to make alterations. (She would
sit long hours over this rather tiring work, and
used laughingly to call herself a galley-slave !)
Next, " page proof," where a very close revision
was necessary, entailing minute attention, for
this was practically the last opportunity for
making alterations. Finally, she would read
" plate-proof," to ensure that the thing was
perfect ; for she was intensely particular about
every detail, every note of punctuation. That
her book should appear with a single printer's
error, a single blemish in her very pure
English, would have been a cause of real
distress to her.
At last would come the day of publication —
a day of great rejoicing. She always visited
her publisher's office (where she took a personal
interest in every member of the staff), and there
would be quite a little ceremony. First she
uld be presented with a beautiful bouquet
of flowers — as a rule flowers of a kind mentioned
in the new book. Then each member of the
staff would come in, and she would have a friendlv
handshake, a few words for each, and an auto-
graphed copy of the book to give.
Then, taking the bouquet with her in the
252 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
car, she would pay a round of visits to her book-
seller friends, receive their smiling congratula-
tions, and see the piles of her new book, which
they would assure her were fast beginning to
diminish.
A few days earlier each member of her family
would have received a copy of the new book,
with some characteristic inscription from her
on the fly-leaf ; and now would begin the work
of sending off copies to her enormous circle
of friends.
Soon would come the interest of a fat envelope
containing press-cuttings — the first reviews.
The kind ones delighted her, for she loved
appreciation, and since her book was like her
child, to hear it praised naturally rejoiced her
heart.
A genuine criticism interested her. But
two kinds of review hurt her very much, and
cast her momentarily into deep gloom : the
crabbing sort, that did unfair things like quoting
little bits out of their context, and then drawing
false conclusions, making the book look ridiculous ;
and the spiteful sort, that emanated regularly
from certain quarters, and that she felt were
an attack upon herself and not a criticism of
her book. Sometimes these contained mis-
xij NOVEL WRITING 253
representations, almost libels, but she had made
a rule never to reply to anything that appeared
in the press, and she kept to her rule to the end.
The full-page skit in Punch always delighted
her ; for she had a keen sense of humour, and
appreciated genuine, good-natured fun, even
at her own expense.
Finally there would be the letters from
appreciative readers, many of which were to
her a deep reward, for sometimes they told of
difficulties overcome, crises passed bravely through
because of her book.
They came from readers of every sort. I have
before me a pile of such letters — so many and
so charming that it is hard to know which to
quote from. Here is one from an enthusiastic
American reader that is typical of a great many :
" My Dear Florence Barclay, — I have read
all your books, and through them I have learned
to respect and love the author. ' The Rosary
is the most wonderful book that I have ever read,
and I have read it more than ten times. Jane
is the most beautiful character that a mind
could ever conceive.
" You wonder, I know, why I should write
across the ocean to the author of the book.
The reason is this. Would you care to answer
my letter, and my one question ?
254 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
" Is Jane real, or is she your ideal of woman-
hood ? She is my ideal. Please forgive me for
so troubling you, but I care so much for Jane
that if I found she was a real person my faith
in this world would increase ten times."
Here is a letter in a child's handwriting :
" Dear Mrs. Barclay, — It may seem strange
that I should write to you, but I feel as if
I know you, through reading your books. I
think ' The Following of the Star ' is the most
beautiful book I have ever read. The best
part of the book, to me, is David's sermon on
' gold, frankincense and myrrh.' This book
was the cause of my being confirmed, yesterday.
We had a most beautiful service. It was the
happiest day I have ever had, and I feel that
I owe it to you.
" With love and thanks,
" Your little friend,
An English lady writes :
" Please pardon me for taking the liberty of
writing to you, but I feel that I owe you a debt
of thanks for writing that soul-stirring book,
' The Wheels of Time.' . . . Thank you so
much for reminding us that we should give
' white roses ' now. I believe everyone who
reads your book will be more tender and con-
siderate towards their loved ones, and more
xi] NOVEL WRITING 255
ready to show love and sympathy to all — at
the right time.
" For myself (after 30 years of very happy
married life) 1 feel inspired ' to live up to the
best that is in me,' and to do all the good I can
while I can."
A Jesuit Father writes :
" Allow me to thank you from far-off Australia
for the keen pleasure I got from ' The Rosary '
and ' The Mistress of Shcnstone.' Books like
these arc calculated to do a world of good. It
must be an unapprcciative mind, indeed, that
could not fashion to itself a nobler ideal from
the study of such characters as ' Jane,' ' Myra,'
'Jim Airth,' 'Sir Dcryck,' 'The Duchess,'
and ' Garth.' One loves even the macaw !
May God spare you to do further work and
much of it ! "'
The Secretary of a large religious institution
in London writes :
" I always like to say ' thank you ' when I
receive a blessing from anv one. Some few
months ago 1 had the pleasure of reading your
' Wall of Partition.' There is a passage in it
which entered into my very soul. These were
the words: 'Ah, the ineffaceable, ineradicable
memories of those early years, cut deep into
the plastic mind of a little child ! Those who
guide and mould the cutting should remember
256 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
they are graving for eternity, and cut high
and holy things ; things which are noble and
true.'
" * Graving for eternity.' These words were
graved into my life after reading them.
" When I stand before my Bible-class of young
men — ' graving for eternity ' rings in my soul.
" When I speak to the thousands of children,
week after week, as I stand on the platform I
hear a voice saying, * Remember, you are graving
for eternity.'
" I just want to give this simple testimony
to the power of your words, and to thank God
for inspiring you to write them, and for leading
me to them."
Here is a letter in a lighter strain, but typical
of a great many received. It comes from
America.
" My dear Mrs. Barclay, — I do so want to
tell you how much I enjoyed reading your story,
' Through the Postern Gate.'
" So charming, so sweet and tender ! But my
curiosity was so much aroused by the reference
to those ' explosive buns.' Do tell me what
they are and how they are made. I should
dearly love to have the recipe if you can give
it to me."
There is another letter asking for the name
of " Jane's " tailor ! And one, very serious,
xi] NOVEL WRITING 257
asking for the true name and address of " Sir
Dcryck Brand," in confidence.
The following is written in the shaky writing
of an invalid :
" I hope you will not think it an impertinence
on my part to tell you what enormous pleasure,
and far more than that, your book ' The Broken
Halo' has given me. I am very ill — hopelessly,
I know. I feel if I do live a few weeks more
I ought and shall try to be a better woman for
having read it. I only wish I had read it thirty
years ago."
Thus writes a man :
" Your words have helped me tremendously
in my daily life, and are a constant source of
inspiration to look beyond the haze and fog of
human conception and perceive the blue skv
of happiness."
Here is a letter of thanks from a great invalid
to whom my mother sent proof sheets of her
book, having heard that holding a volume was
very painful to her :
'I have so greatly enjoyed 'The White
Ladies of Worcester ' and do thank you most
heartily for your very kind thought. I was
able thoroughly to enjoy the reading without
the extra suffering which holding a book entails
258 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
... I like this latest work of yours the best.
All the characters are so human — each a type
of womanhood one meets constantly, though
one wishes there were more of the ' Moras '
and ' Hughs ' and ' Mary Anthonys.' "
A young soldier writes to thank her for the
great joy and benefit derived from reading
" The Upas Tree " :
" It was my privilege to read it out in Mesopo-
tamia," he says, " in a little building taken over
by the Y.M.C.A. It was on the banks of the
Tigris, just outside Bagdad. We rested close
by there after days of marching, days of blood-
shed and want, in that far away, sun-scorched
battle-area, and although books out there were
very scarce, your glorious work was there, to
the delight of all the boys."
Three sheets from South America give a
delightful picture of the pleasure given by the
books to a little mountain community :
" It is always good to know that you have
made the way a little brighter, easier, lighter
for other wayfarers, is it not ? and because I
think that it will give you in return something
of the pleasure you have given to so many here,
I write this letter to you. . . . After reading
one of your books I feel that I want to be a
better, stronger woman, with the self-life denied
utterly, to meet life's actual duties, struggles,
xi] NOVEL WRITING 259
temptations and sorrows with a braver, unfalter-
ing heart, a heart in fuller harmony with the will
of the dear Father, God, Who made and under-
stands. . . .
" Your woman characters, my husband says,
are as the best of Shakespeare's, with a soul on
evidence. I am going to repeat a few sentences
he wrote to me a little time ago, about ' The
Wall of Partition.'
" ' The book charmed me. It is true to nature.
True in the man, true to the woman and woman-
hood. That a woman has been able to see,
without despising, and to draw so exactly the
weak side to a man's character, astonishes me :
and yet, why ? It requires a woman to do it.
. . . The child that exists in manhood ; and
the tender, pitying, understanding, patient,
self-forgetting mother-nature of womanhood,
inherent in God's last and noblest work, are
painted so delicately and so justly, as to give one
often a thrill of admiration of the very art of it.
Not only have I enjoyed the book but it has done
me good — a lot.'
" We come into contact in our work with
heaps of people of all sorts and conditions, and
are glad to have books like yours to lend which
' touch the spot ' and give the forcible message
which we, perhaps, are unable to give in anv
other way. To grip your books I think the reader
must look at them, not from the point of view
of just superficial sentiment, but from the depths
of human feeling. . . . The present time needs
260 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
the healthy representation of Christianity and
its influence on everyday life, as you give it.
Those who have eyes to see can recognise that
your finest characters owe their very strength
and beauty to the Christianity which has brought
them through the veritable furnace of trial into
the haven where they would be."
" We have a guest under our roof," writes a
man in New Jersey, " who has become so deeply
engrossed in ' Returned Empty ' that for the
last three hours she has been totally oblivious
of our existence. But we quite forgive her,
for we feel that she is in happy communion
with some very real people who have crossed
our threshold."
From many lands came these letters ; from
young and old, rich and poor. One that pleased
my mother much was from a woman telling
how she and her husband had been happily
brought together once again by reading "The
Rosary," after living for several years in separa-
tion. They felt they owed directly to her the
joy of their mutual forgiveness and new under-
standing.
We have not, alas ! the beautiful answers
which my mother wrote herself to most of
these letters from her unknown friends. There
is, however, one case where her letter was
returned by the post-office, an insufficient
xi] NOVEL WRITING 261
address, apparently, having been given. Her
Letter is to two girls at Oxford:
" St. Moritz,
" Feb. 24th, 1913.
" My dear Friends at Somerville College, —
Your delightful letter of the 15th has been
forwarded to me out here in the snow and
sunshine of the radiant Engadine heights, where
1 am writing my new book for the autumn.
" I am not supposed to write letters ; but
I cannot let a day go by without sending a few
lines to tell you how much pleasure and encourage-
ment you have given me.
" Yes, indeed I know how much it means
that my books should have proved helpful
to you in the intellectual life at college, so full
of intense interest and fascination, and yet also
so full of danger and temptation.
" I do indeed rejoice that my books have
helped you to keep a firm hold upon simple
faith, and to keep in steadfast touch with the
deeper things of Life.
" I receive many letters from all over the
world, but I can truly say I have never received
one whieh has given me deeper pleasure or more
imine encouragement than yours. I should
like to come and see you some day ! Be sure
you let me hear of you again. Now 1 am
off up a mountain to sit and write in the
perfect solitude and silence of the^e eternal
snows.
262 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
" I could not start without sending you my
loving thanks.
" May God's blessing rest upon your studies,
and upon your whole life at Oxford.
" Believe me,
"Most faithfully yours,
" Florence L. Barclay."
Such, then, is the history of the production
of my mother's books, typical, more or less,
of them all. " The Rosary," of course, has a
rather different story, but I might here mention
that the statement made repeatedly in the
press that " it went the round of the London
publishers before it was accepted by Messrs.
Putnam " has no truth in it at all. It was not
offered to a single London publisher, and only
to one publisher in New York other than
Putnam's.
I mentioned the way no interruption hindered
the flow when my mother was writing. Almost
more wonderful, however, was the way she
could write anywhere and everywhere. She
would carry her manuscript with her in a little
leather case when we went on expeditions at
St. Moritz, or elsewhere, and write at every
possible moment. I remember seeing her sit
down on a luggage barrow in a little Swiss
xi] NOVEL WRITING 263
station and write on, while waiting for the
train, quite undisturbed by her family's cheerful
voices. I remember her coming to the race-
course at St. Moritz to see the skijoring races,
and writing her book between the races, in
spite of the crowd and the babel of many tongues,
as people of all nationalities in bright coloured
"woolies" seethed round her, discussing the
events ! Perhaps it was the absorption of the
writer that produced a similar absorption in
the readers. She would write in the train, on
board ship, anywhere and at any moment.
"The Following of the Star" she wrote at St.
Moritz — some of it far up the mountains, during
her long days of climbing. She wrote the
whole of " Through the Postern Gate " in seven
days, half of it on the voyage out to America,
half on the voyage back. Parts of " The
Mistress of Shenstone " were written on the
vine-clad terraces above the Lake of Como.
" The White Ladies of Worcester " she began
sitting in the Druid Circle, near Keswick. She
felt there was a sense of romance about the
place, and had once visited it by moonlight,
and felt deliciously creepy ! Her last book,
" Returned Empty," was finished in three
weeks. It is curious to note that within a month
264 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
of its publication in England it had been
translated into Finnish !
But on the whole the complete lack of fuss
connected with her writing was its chief charac-
teristic. It never separated her from the ordinary-
family doings, and a great deal of it was done
simply in her writing-room in the little square,
grey " Garden House " at Hertford Heath.
The only one of my mother's books which
has as yet been filmed is " The Mistress of
Shenstone." It appeared in America in Feb-
ruary 1 92 1. Only a week before her death she
saw the " trade show ' ' of the film in London,
and was delighted with the very beautiful
production, and Miss Pauline Frederick's perfect
playing of " Myra." It is hoped that " The
Rosary " will be given to the cinema public
before long.
The song, after which my mother's book
was called, had, when the novel appeared,
outlived its first great success in America, and
was looked upon in England as a semi-classical
song. The year after the publication of the
novel, 40,000 copies of it were sold ! Its
composer, Ethelbert Nevin, was dead ; but
fortunately his widow held the copyright. It
xi] NOVEL WRITING 265
pleased my mother much to know this, and to
hear that the success of her book was so greatly
benefiting another.
Though " The Rosary " had been translated
into six languages and the other books into
several, French publishers had apparently thought
it would not appeal to the French novel-reading
public. In 1920, however, a beautiful trans-
lation appeared in serial form, in Le Temps.
It was so well received that it has since been
published in volume form, and French readers
seem to have taken the book to their hearts.
This pleased my mother, for it showed that
the French public does not necessarily want
the kind of thing usually associated with the
idea of a French novel.
In 191 2, some months after the publication
of " The Following of the Star," my mother
received a violent blow on the head, while
motoring, which caused cerebral haemorrhage
and long spells of intense pain. For several
months it seemed as if her creative faculty had
been destroyed, and her doctors feared that this
was indeed the case. Perhaps nothing could
have been a keener trial to her than this
so sudden cutting short of her work, in the
midst of the full flood of her success. But,
266 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
with all the faith and devotion of her courageous
heart, she resigned herself completely to the will
of God in this matter as in all else, and never
repined or gave vent to regrets. At one time,
so acute were the symptoms that her doctors
took a very serious view of the case, and she was
devotedly nursed day and night by her great
friend, Miss Maud Burdett. The eventual
recovery of her power of writing was one of
the things for which my mother truly thanked
God.
This recovery was brought about in a curious
way. Whilst boating on the lake at Keswick
my mother received a blow on the head from
an oar. It caused her friends great anxiety, for
they feared that it would bring back the more
distressing symptoms resulting from her former
accident. On the contrary, it proved to be the
means of her complete recovery, and before long
she felt her creative faculty fully restored. It
was, indeed, a drastic treatment that could only
have been applied, as it seemed, by accident.
But my mother believed it to have been a
providential accident.
My mother's reading of other writers of
fiction had very little influence on her ideas
xij NOVEL WRITING 267
or literary style. She was not a very great
reader, but this was more through lack of time
than anything else, for she enjoyed a good novel
immensely. Of the classical novelists Dickens
was her favourite — and she had, in fact, a very
great admiration for him, delighting in his
books. Especially in the second half of her
life, she read all the best novels that appeared.
The book which had the most real influence
on her was, as I have said before, the " Letters
of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett
Barrett." These letters seemed to her to tell a
perfect love story, and to reveal an intimate and
perfect friendship that grew into an ideal love.
All that she thought and wrote of love was
tinged with the golden memory of the delicate,
pure, and deep emotion of those two high souls,
whose most precious secret was so openly revealed
to the world when they had gone. If she
sometimes made what looked like a very human
passion in her characters into an almost spiritual
ideal, I think " E. B. B." had a good deal to
do with it ! In the two poets, mature of
character, deeply intellectual, the one a strong,
restrained nature, the other intensely sensitive
and reserved, love was almost a spiritual thing.
Moreover, they were both possessed of a perfect
268 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xi
power of self-expression, so that their love-letters
are literary gems.
It is, I think, this influence pervading her
books that has puzzled some critics not a little.
It is what one writer meant who commented
on " the way in which she blended passion with
the spirit of pilgrimage."
Such, then, were my mother's ideals and
methods in the art of novel writing — an art
which she looked upon as intended, far
excellence, to please the people and elevate
their conceptions of life, and not as existing
merely for itself — art for art's sake.
It is not an exaggeration, I think, to say she
wrote novels ad majorem Dei gloriam.
XII : THE WAR
/ T A HE War, with its heart-rending tales
A of tragedy ; its periods of intense
anxiety ; the great wave of agonised emotion
which swept over the world, could not but affect
\ t ry deeply a heart so sensitive, so delicately
attuned to human sympathy, as my mother's.
This vast, shattering reality seemed to break
the spell : the flow of romantic fancy was
abruptly checked. For a time no more stories
broke into her mind out of the great realm
of imagination, for in the realm of reality
human emotion was running high : men and
women were actually doing what few romancers
would have dared ask of the people of their
own creation.
With wandering admiration she watched the
gay courage with which men faced the reckless
martyrdom ; the hidden heroism with which
their women bid them go, hiding through
months and years the continual dread in their
hearts.
Even had a plot occurred to her she could
269
2;o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
not (so she said) have let herself become absorbed
in a world of imagination. The poignant
realities of the moment were too exigent in
their demand for the heart's attention.
And so a year went by without the writing
of a book.
It was, however, continually being repre-
sented to her that a book from her pen could
do so much to cheer the sad, the anxious, the
suffering; that she ought to try and meet the
needs of the great public that counted on her.
No new plot, however, had occurred to her :
nor did she want one to. For she felt quite
unable to write of the War, to make copy out
of this Gethsemane and Calvary of the human
race ; and yet to write of the old, quiet days
of sunshine and peace, to describe English
home-life as if there were no war — that could
not be done, either.
Then a solution presented itself.
She had long had in mind a strange plot —
its setting away back in the Middle Ages ; its
hero a Crusader ; his beloved a noble lady of
King Richard's court. Somehow, to write of
those days of long ago, so different in every
respect from the present, appeared possible,
nay, easy— a relief. It would be a book with
xn] THE WAR 271
its scene and interest far removed from the
War, and yet in no way savouring of a callous
forgetfulness. It would serve, perhaps, in a
special manner, to distract weary, anxious minds.
More and more the idea commended itself to
her. And so it was " The White Ladies of
Worcester ' ' came to be written — begun in the
summer of 191 5 but not finished until 1917.
Meanwhile, she had produced two other
little books dealing directly with the War —
"In Hoc Vince" and "My Heart's Right
There."
The former was originally a contribution to
" King Albert's Book." The incident it
described was a true one, the facts having been
written home with a few crude details by a
young officer, and recounted to my mother.
The artistic possibilities of the story struck
her at once, and its symbolic value. The
writing up of this little bit of poignant realism
offered her the relief of expression, and she
seized it eagerly.
By the end of the War a dramatic and powerful
war plot had occurred to her, and she had, indeed,
begun to write the book ; but the unfinished
manuscript she left shows only a few chapters.
My mother's name is not connected with
272 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
any war activity in particular, nor her generosity
recorded in the annals of any particular fund.
Hers was a hidden and widely diffused kind
of war service and charity. It was the number-
less people hard hit by the War, but not coming
in for the assistance of any of the organisations,
who received her unstinted help.
How many broken-hearted wives and mothers
found comfort in her friendship will never be
known : for sympathy tendered by my mother
was a thing consoling indeed. Her wonderful
letters, her visits, the very real tears she could
not restrain as she made her own another's
grief were of that quality which, by truly sharing
it, lessens the unbearable burden of a heavy
heart.
Her younger son was in the Grand Fleet,
and took part in the battle of Jutland, her
elder son in Australia struggling hard to get
sent back as a chaplain, but prevented by typhoid
and its after-effects. Four of her daughters she
gave up gladly to the service of the wounded,
though for three it meant absence from home,
with but short leaves at long intervals. The
thought, however, of the work on which they
were engaged was a source of continual joy to
her.
To face page 272.
xn] THE WAR 273
She loved to visit the hospitals and spend
an afternoon in the wards — and how different
she was to the often tactless visitors, who
would ply the men with conventional questions
and give them nothing in return (unless, perhaps,
a few cigarettes). She would go quietly round,
staying longest with the worst sufferers — men
who did not want to talk, but who wanted real
sympathy so badly.
There was a man dying in a ward — half
paralysed, his back one mass of shrapnel wounds.
She asked if she might go behind the screen.
She knelt by his bed, his poor cold hand in hers,
and very softly she repeated a hymn she thought
he would know — " Jesu, lover of my soul." He
did know it, she felt sure, for though he did not
speak, and could no longer see clearly, she felt
his hand suddenly tighten on hers. When she
stepped out of the hut into the sunlight the
tears were wet on her face.
The cheery people sitting up in bed doing
wool-work would delight in talking to her and
showing her the artistic triumph on which they
were employed. Some of them would write
to her, and she had quite a correspondence with
a man who had lost one hand and some of the
fingers of the other.
274 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
My youngest sister, not being old enough for
nursing, was acting as one of the cooks of the
local V.A.D. hospital. My mother would often
look in as she passed through the town on her
way back from London. She usually presented
herself at the kitchen door, where she would
be sure of finding my sister. One day the door
was opened by a blue-clad patient, a tea-cloth
in one hand and a plate in the other.
" Who is it ? " called a voice from within.
" Cook's ma" called back the patient, as he
invited her in.
" ' Cook's ma ' — that is my proudest title ! "
she would say, with a laugh of pleasure at the
recollection.
She loved lending her car that bevies of cheer-
ful, blue-clad people might go out in it.
Once she went to Netley and spoke to the
men on her Palestine travels, in the theatre at
the Royal Victoria Hospital. She was much
amused when she unwittingly called forth a
burst of laughter by chancing to mention the
Arabic word " baksheesh " — for to the men it
was simply a bit of army slang (brought back
from the East) and rather a catchword in hos-
pital, just then. She found the men a delightful
(and delighted) audience.
xn] THE WAR 275
All through that difficult period she managed
the housekeeping for her household, devoting
to it much care and thought. She kept all the
ration-books herself, and would go out hunting
for food and come back joyful and triumphant,
having secured a pot of marmalade or some
other scarce item. Only housekeepers will under-
stand the amount of work and time and thought
all this entailed, but she insisted on doing it
all herself.
At Hertford Heath the service of intercession
held each morning at a quarter past nine meant
very much to her. At it my father would
read out the chief war news, which was followed
by appropriate prayers. Thus the villagers
who attended heard the news and were helped
to view it rightly, and to commend their
country to God's care in each new trial and
danger.
The music at this little service was, of course,
my mother's part, and she put her whole heart
into it. It consisted of a carefully chosen hymn,
and an improvised voluntary, in which specially
consoling hymn tunes often merged into the
strains of some patriotic air, or even of
" Tippcrary," which had become almost sacred
to many anxious hearts, calling up, as it did,
276 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
the brave gaiety of our men, singing so light-
heartedly as they marched to their death.
Often the second verse of "Abide with me ,:
was sung very softly, kneeling, at the end of the
service :
" I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless,
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness :
Where is death's sting ? Where, grave, thy victory ?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me."
The way she played the beautiful, simple
tune was full of the spirit of prayer — for by music
she prayed very truly — and those who sang
could not but pray, too. It was a prayer in
the name of the men — the men out in the
turmoil of blood and dust and flying shrapnel,
finding it so hard to pray with their lips or
from a quiet heart, but praying by their very
life — and death. To my mother that verse
meant infinitely much — whether it was in the
little village church she played it, or whether
she led it from her Leyton platform, thinking
of the hundreds of husbands and beloved sons
represented by that great crowd of her friends.
And to those who joined with her in that prayer,
prayed so simply on behalf of their men, how
much comfort, trust, brave resignation and
living hope was awakened or renewed !
xn] THE WAR 277
There is one thing about my mother and the
War that must be described — her air-raid ex-
periences. For in air-raids she took the keenest
interest, and (it must be admitted) almost en-
joyed them !
The London-bound Zeppelins used to pass
straight over Hertford Heath and return that
way, too ; and so did the Gothas. Every evening
after dinner, during raid seasons, my mother
would go out and walk round the house, making
sure that not a crack of light was visible — for the
Vicarage, with its many large windows, stood
high on a hill and could be seen for miles
around.
She had an arrangement with the special
constable that he should bring her word as soon
as he received the " warning." She always had
an electric bell on a long cord hanging out of her
bedroom window, and this he would ring if the
warning came during the night.
She would get up at once and dress and go
out to listen. When the distant guns began
she would go quietly round and rouse her
family.
It chanced that several of us were at home
during the worst raid period, and I remember
vividly some of those strange nights in the garden.
278 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
We would walk up to a high point where the
long horizon could be seen lit up by continuous
flashes and flickers, as the anti-aircraft guns kept
up their barrage. This sight and the ceaseless
crackle of the guns thrilled my mother. Then,
as searchlight after searchlight shot its great
arm of light into the sky and we knew the Zepp
was near, her interest would increase, and she
would count the rays of light, and insist on us
coming to this and that point of vantage whence
they could best be seen.
It was always she who first heard the distant
hum and grinding whirr of the Zepp, and she
would try and hush the laughter and talk of her
family that we might hear too. And then, at
last, it would be unmistakable, and we would have
to admit that she was right — it was a Zepp, and
coming our way.
The sense of danger seemed to exhilarate her,
and nervous people simply could not be afraid
in her presence. One of her first actions when
the guns began was to hasten off to the bedside
of a friend who was an invalid, and consequently
dreaded these raids. But once the Zepp was
near she would insist on us all keeping together.
And so it was that we came in for the wonderful
sight of seeing a Zepp brought down.
xn] THE WAR 279
The hum of the engine had seemed very near
for some time; the searchlights were searching
the sky wildly. Suddenly my mother cried :
" There it is— look, look ! "
Sure enough, like a little golden pencil-case in
the sky, we saw the Zcpp — caught by the search-
light. The " archies " had ceased, and a moment
later came the light-signal of an aeroplane abo\ c
it. Then, suddenly, the whole Zeppelin glowed
brilliantly and began to fall, growing larger and
larger until it appeared a mass of flame, lighting up
the pitch-black night so that (twelve miles away
as we were) it would have been possible to read
small print. Then, breaking in pieces, it fell
more rapidly and was lost to view.
It was a wonderful and awful sight. My
mother loved to describe it.
Two other Zeppelins she also saw brought
down ; but the experience that I most often
heard her recount, and that filled her with the
sense of joy at a great deliverance, was what
happened on September 3rd, 191 6.
Most of us were away from home, but she had
insisted on my father, my youngest sister, and
her secretary turning out, when the warning
came. At H p.m. they heard the Zepp go
grinding over, and its sound fade to silence. But
28o LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
my mother felt positive it would return their
way, and she and my sister continued to walk
about out of doors, listening. It was nearly
I a.m. when they heard it coming back. Soon
it was straight overhead, the air seeming full of
its terrifying hum. They were on the lawn in
front of the house, with her secretary, and her
chauffeur and his wife. Suddenly there was a
sound like an express train rushing through the air.
For several seconds they listened breathlessly.
It was different to any sound they had ever
heard before, and they could not guess its cause.
Then a voice seemed to say in my mother's ear :
" It's a bomb."
Instantly she seized my sister's arm, and to-
gether they fell flat on the ground, while she
called to the others to lie down. For several
seconds (seeming to them an age) they lay thus,
while the rushing, screaming sound grew louder
and louder.
" Keep your heads down — we shall be all
right" said my mother. Then came a deafening,
bewildering, shattering explosion, shaking the
ground, and quickly followed by a shower of
stones, clods of earth, and pieces of metal.
They lay still until the fragments had ceased
falling, and four more explosions had veritably
XII ] THE WAR 281
rocked the ground on which they lay, and then,
shaken and dazed, they stood up, unable to see
in the pitch darkness what had happened.
The house was still intact, but on going in, it
seemed full of broken glass and plaster. My
father could not be found, and, with a sense of
deep anxiety, my mother searched the night for
him. She discovered him at last, searching for
her, in equal anxiety.
The agonised whinnyings of a foal in a field at
the back of the house drew them thither. So, by
the yellow light of a lantern, the strange and
horrible sight was revealed. A crater, 12 feet
across, yawned in the little meadow ; on its edge
the shattered body of a mare, her foal standing
in the crater badly injured ; blood everywhere,
and the foul smell of lyddite fumes filling the
air. But through God's mercy that was all. No
human lives had been lost.
At intervals of about 25 yards there were four
more craters (not quite as large as the first).
These were all among the houses, but wonderful
to say not one bomb had hit a house : they had
fallen in a field, a lane, and a garden and done no
harm, beyond scattering a good many tiles and
killing some ducks.
There were also an enormous number of
282 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
incendiary bombs ; but these, too, had fallen
where they could do no harm.
The lawn in front of the Vicarage was found to
be covered with debris — stones, earth and bits of
bomb — and yet those lying on the lawn had been
untouched. A sharp, jagged piece of bomb was
found within a foot of where my sister's head
had been, emphatic evidence of the narrowness
of her escape.
My mother firmly believed that this wonderful
preservation was a direct answer to the prayer
daily put up at the intercession service that the
village might come to no harm from attacks by
air, and be preserved through the mercy of God.
In fact, the very evening of the raid, she had
herself, at her choir practice, prayed that whatever
danger might that night assail them, all might be
preserved in perfect safety by God's almighty
providence. Often she would remark how, had
the hand that released those bombs been allowed
to do so one second sooner, the largest one would
have fallen upon the house, killing those within
and probably those without, the remainder per-
haps wrecking numbers of village homes. It
filled her with a sense of trust and exaltation,
and she loved to quote the 91st Psalm :
" He shall cover thee with his feathers, and
xii] THE WAR 283
under his wing shall thou trust . . . Thou
shalt not be afraid for the terror by night."
Numbers of people from the neighbourhood
came during the days that followed to see our
crater, and my mother would delight in showing
it off, and telling the story of the raid : " per-
sonally conducted tours," she would call them,
and they became quite a joke. But my mother's
attitude towards the raids was altogether char-
acteristic : whatever was on hand she liked to do
thoroughly ; she loved to be in for every excite-
ment ; she always managed to find enjoyment
in every kind of occurrence, and I don't think she
would have missed that night of September 3rd
for anything ! She felt that in that hour she had
truly shared in the danger ever assailing our men,
and come very near to the real, terrifying mean-
ing of war.
Shortly before the signing of the Armistice
my mother became President of the East Herts
Women Voters' Association, and gave the in-
augural Presidential address at the very success-
ful meeting held in Hertford. At this time she
was pressed many times to stand for Parliament —
not only by the women voters, but by many
people who had the good of the constituency at
heart. She was firm, however, in her refusal.
284 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xn
though personally she felt much attracted by the
idea.
The last loving act of generosity that my
mother performed before she was called hence
was the erection of a beautiful stone cross in
memory of the fallen heroes of Hertford Heath.
The original subscription raised for a memorial
had only been sufficient to put up a brass plate
in the church. But this never satisfied her.
Something in itself beautiful, something more
visible, must commemorate them ; something
standing among the people, their own ; something
they could look on daily and remember ; some-
where where they could lay the flowers from
their little gardens, as tokens of love for their boys.
And so she chose and gave to them a great white
cross ; and it was put up on a grass plot at the
entrance to the village — a high point, on the
main road, and visible for miles around.
The beautiful ceremony of unveiling and dedi-
cation she planned herself, in every detail, with
the utmost care and thought and love. Strangely
enough it proved to be her last public appearance
in the village that had so long been her home,
for a few weeks afterwards my father and mother
said good-bye to the parish, and during those
last weeks she was already laid low.
xn] THE WAR 285
The whole village — a thousand people — turned
out for that service. A military band, and the
ex-service men marching in fours, gave to the
proceedings a martial note. But at last came a
very touching little incident — unrehearsed, spon-
taneous, and so like my mother.
It had been agreed that after she had unveiled
the cross she should step up and lay her laurel
wreath at its foot, as a sign for the relatives of
the fallen to come forward and do the same.
But when it came to the moment she suddenly
felt she could not be the first to lay her wreath, for
the stone shaft of the cross bore upon it names
held by the women in that crowd, as wife or
mother. And so, very simply, she crossed the
open space, and sought out the mother of the
first of our men to fall ; and hand in hand with
her, advanced to the cross. So, together, they
laid their wreaths upon the step.
XIII: MUSIC
A/TUSIC to my mother was not a hobby, not
an accomplishment, not even, one is
tempted to say, a gift — it was more like a faculty,
inborn, insistently demanding to be used, pro-
viding for her the very purest joy.
" Oh, no one knows what music means to me ! "
she cried one day, in a sudden burst of longing
for sympathy. She realised, I think, in that
moment, that music was to her what the faculties
of sight or hearing are to others — necessary ad-
juncts to consciousness — only supplying, too,
an objective wealth of glory and joy and revela-
tion, so that it was hopeless to expect anyone
fully to understand.
As soon as she could talk she could sing — sing
in a rich contralto voice that was strange as
coming from a little child. It developed,
later, into a wonderfully beautiful voice, clear,
flexible, and marked by the peculiar ease of its
production — no sense of effort, of strain, or
conscious striving after effect. It had, too, a
remarkable compass — three octaves all but
286
xm] MUSIC 287
two notes (from the low C to top A). Some
musicians said it was the most beautiful contralto
voice they had ever heard. The effect of her
singing was enhanced by her depth of feeling and
insight into the words of the song and the thought
of the musician. She sang with her sympathetic
understanding, with her heart, with her soul.
At one time she studied with Madame Blanche
Marchesi. At her first lesson, as she concluded
the song she had sung through before the great
teacher —
" We will astonish the world ! " cried Madame
Marchesi, with jubilant enthusiasm. Her dis-
appointment was great on discovering that the
possessor of this magnificent voice, this radiant
countenance and slight figure, was not a girl of
twenty-three, but the mother of seven children,
the busy wife of a country clergyman !
She cared little for applause, and was too
busy with other things to sing much even at
amateur concerts, and so it was chiefly those
who came to the little village church who heard
her voice soar up through the singing of the
congregation she had trained so well. Though
occasionally she would accept invitations to sing at
concerts given in the Ware Tuwn Hall, the Hert-
ford Corn Exchange, or at Haileybury College, it
288 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xin
was mostly to her own children and at village
gatherings that she sang. At her Leyton Bible
Readings, at the Keswick Convention, wherever
there was singing, she entered into it heart and
soul, carrying with her a tune book, so as to be
able to put in the alto or tenor as the congre-
gation's singing seemed to demand.
Though hers was, really, a contralto voice,
she could sing in the clear, flute-like tone seldom
found except in a boy. She used to sing the
hymn she loved so much, " Veni, Creator Spiritus,"
and round which " The Rosary " is written, to
Attwood's setting, modulating her voice into the
clear, high quality of a boy's voice, with most
beautiful effect.
It was one of the greatest trials of her life that
her heart illness left her unable to use her voice
except in the low register.
Her speaking voice itself was wonderfully
musical — whether used to make an audience of
5000 hear, or in conversation with one person.
In public speaking she could always make herself
heard without effort, in the largest buildings.
And in conversation it was the tone, the musical
quality of her voice, that imparted the idea of
sympathy and understanding to those with whom
she spoke, as much as her smile and the straight,
In mi- Corner House Garden.
xin] .MUSIC 289
intent look in her eyes. Strangers whom she
addressed could not but be arrested simply by
her voice. Its tone and its magic effect are part
of my earliest memory. One word from her
could still the most raging storm of temper and
restore peace not only outwardly but also within.
To the end of her life her speaking voice was
quite unimpaired.
Her use of musical instruments was very won-
derful. The music she could draw out of the
poor little one-manual organ at Hertford Heath
was unbelievably beautiful; and the effects she
obtained with the few stops and pedals was (as
she used laughingly to say) a real feat of juggling.
Her great dream was to be able to put a really
beautiful organ into the church. But when the
time came when such a thing would have been
possible she denied herself this inexpressible
joy because she felt it would be money spent
simply to satisfy her own longing. The organ
was suitable enough for the needs of the church
and probably a more elaborate instrument would
only have been a difficulty to the simple village
organist who would be her successor.
It was, therefore, a joy none of us could really
understand when (one winter at St. Moritz) she
obtained leave from the priest at the Catholic
290 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xm
Church to play as long and as often as she liked
upon his extremely beautiful new organ, with its
electric wind, three manuals and variety of stops.
Evening after evening she would go round and
play for hours, whilst we and some of our cheerful
friends would leave outside our toboggans and our
skis, and sit below in the church, listening. It
was quite dark save for the tiny red glow of the
sanctuary lamp ; and in that holy stillness her
music would steal soft and sad, or swell forth
triumphantly and speak of all that was in her
heart.
The story of how she first began to play is very
remarkable. She was about four when, to her
joy, she was put on a music-stool and her piano
lessons began. She had sung hymns for a
long time, and she at once asked to be allowed
to learn to play hymn tunes. Her teacher was
quite shocked at such presumption, and Mrs.
Charlesworth also agreed that little Benny must
keep to five-finger exercises for a long time before
she could try anything so difficult as hymn tunes.
" If they won't teach me hymns," said Benny
to herself, with characteristic determination,
" I'll just play them without." So she scrambled
on to the music-stool and began to play hymns
perfectly, by car, with correct harmonies ! This
xmj MUSIC 291
precocious and rebellious action was looked upon
as almost naughty, seeing she had been told to
play only exercises, until someone realised it was
rather wonderful, and Benny was given leave to
play hymn tunes occasionally !
At Limehouse there was a beautiful organ —
that of the Great Exhibition of 1 851. This my
mother used to delight in playing. At the age
of about fifteen she composed a whole oratorio
upon it. When at last it was finished, and her
little sister was in raptures over it, she invited her
mother to come and hear. But, alas ! Mrs. Charles-
worth was quite unmusical herself, and showed
little appreciation or surprise at this result of
weeks of enthusiastic work ; and, somewhat
deflated in spirit, Florrie realised that most
people don't understand.
It was not only, however, in composition and
the gift of playing by ear that my mother ex-
celled, as a child. " I well remember," writes
her old governess, " at the time when she was
fifteen, her playing from memory the whole of
Beethoven's Grand Sonata, with the Funeral
March, whilst I sat by her side, score in hand, to
see and correct any wrong or imperfect rhythm
or expression."
With equal ease she taught herself to play
292 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xm
the violin before she was seven and the 'cello
after she was fifty !
The hymn tunes she composed are full of
life and originality : they inspire any congre-
gation by their lilt and swing and joyousness,
and literally force it to sing with expression
by their inherent expressiveness. It was typical
of her regard for the good work of other
people that she would never compose a tune to
words which already had an adequate tune, a
tune of their own, a tune that did them justice
and gave full expression to their sense. But
in the case of " Nearer, my God, to Thee,"
though she loved the grand old tune always
sung in America to " President McKinley's
favourite hymn " (as she often called it), still,
she felt that it no more suited the words
than did the rather mournful dirge usually
sung in England. So she composed a tune with
the same soaring, singing quality as the words.
But, alas ! she would compose these tunes,
teach them to her children and at her Leyton
gatherings, accompany them with full harmonies,
and then never find time to write them down.
Happily the airs are well known, and an effort
is going to be made to get them adequately
harmonised.
xm] MUSIC 293
She also composed several songs full of real
music — but these were never written down,
cither. One, however, to some beautiful French
words : —
11 Si svou saviez comme je vous aime,''
she taught with every note of its elaborate accom-
paniment to a great friend of hers ; thus it will
be possible, in time, to give it to the world. Her
dream was to hear it sung in the Queen's Hall,
accompanied by the orchestra she loved so much.
She would describe to us how here and there
would come in " the sweep of the violins,"
and just how Sir Henry Wood would conduct
it!
Of all the great old masters, Beethoven was
the one she loved and understood best, though
of Bach she once wrote : " I think the music
of Bach is the most completely soul-satisfying
of all church music."
In many ways my mother's head was curiously
like Beethoven's — only instead of being sad
and stern her expression was full of joy, and
merely calmly resolute. Her hair, at first dark
brown, and latterly a beautiful shining silver,
was so thick that she could not bear the weight
of it grown long. It stood up on her head
294 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xm
true musician-fashion. When she was in high
spirits it did so more than ever ; but in depression,
disappointment, or sickness it would fall back,
all its energy abated.
That great pageant-play, " The Miracle,"
performed at Olympia in 191 2, delighted my
mother. She went to see it many times,
especially enjoying the organ music and the
choruses sung by the realistic mediaeval crowd.
But it was not only the music she loved. The
old legend, the lesson it taught, the wonderful
acting of the " Madonna," the artistic con-
trasts of now a surging multitude, now a single
little figure on the floor of the vast cathedral —
all appealed to her. I have heard her describe
the whole play, going minutely through every
scene, acting again the various parts so that
you seemed to see them, and every now and then
sitting down to her piano and playing bits from
the score, until you seemed to hear the organ
itself.
She often played the " Miracle " music as
a voluntary in church.
She enjoyed all Barrie's plays immensely,
from " Peter Pan " to " Mary Rose." Especially
in " Mary Rose " and the other equally weird
xin] MUSIC 295
productions, she would find deep meanings and
inner significances. She would often say Barrie
was one of the few geniuses of our day. Her
enjoyment of his plays was of that absorbed,
keen sort that one seldom meets with except
in children. " Peter Pan " moved her to tears,
for to her it held a very pathetic meaning that
the children did not see.
It was in the last few years of her life that she
found in Miss Phyllis Lett a friend who could
fully understand and share in her musical
enthusiasm. This friendship was a very great
delight to her, and did more than words can say
to make bearable two years of almost continuous
and very terrible pain, rendered harder by the
impossibility of writing under these circum-
stances. Thus wrote Miss Lett after my mother's
death : " The more I dwell on the thought of
all she brought into my life in the last two
and a half years, the more utterly thankful I
am to God for the great gift of her special
friendship."
My mother went with her to many conceits
in various parts of the country, and it was in
her company that she learnt to know and love
Sir Edward Elgar's music.
296 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xm
Perhaps in all her life she enjoyed few
things as she enjoyed the Three Choirs Festival
at Worcester in 1920.
The setting of the beautiful cathedral which
she loved so much (both on account of its associa-
tions with her childhood and with her book)
enormously enhanced for her the beauty of the
music, which, in that atmosphere of worship,
in that setting of Gothic grandeur, expressed
the full religious depth and spiritual delicacy
put into it by the great Catholic composer.
She was moved beyond words by " The
Dream of Gerontius," and the tears ran down
her face at the great chorus :
" Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul."
Not long before her own brave soul went forth
upon its journey she went through all the score,
describing to me just how it had all been, on
that day at Worcester, and again the tears were
in her eyes at the memory.
Lover of music as she had been all her life,
playing the old composers with a wonderful
depth of understanding and expression, and
finding her keenest delight in orchestral concerts
and oratorios, she said that Elgar's music was a
revelation to her. After hearing a great per-
xm] MUSIC 297
formance of " The Apostles " at the Elgar
Festival in Leeds (1920), she said she did not
know there was such music on earth.
Much as she loved " The Dream of Gerontius,"
" The Apostles " meant even more to her, be-
cause of the words. " It is true? she would
say. " The one is a dream — the imaginary
dream of a mortal — the other is taken from the
inspired Word of God."
She had always attended the Handel Festival,
but after the last one she suddenly exclaimed :
" Why do they have this great orchestra and
chorus, this great hall, and give a three days'
festival of the music of a dead German — great
though he was — when we have in our midst
a far greater composer, a living genius. Why
don't they give a great Elgar Festival ? '
She admired her friend's voice beyond that
of any singer she had ever heard, and took the
keenest interest in all her appearances in London,
going to these concerts whenever she possibly
could. Miss Lett's wonderfully successful recital
in the Queen's Hall, on December 2, 191 9, was,
though the public little knew it, arranged as
a " birthday treat ' for my mother. She had
talked of it for months with the greatest delight,
and when the time came entered into all the
298 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xm
arrangements with the greatest enthusiasm, and
was overjoyed at its success.
She was greatly moved by the Bristol Choral
Society's rendering of the " Elijah," in 1920, and
especially by the wonderful pianissimo effect
obtained on the words, " There came a still small
voice," which occur in the chorus, " Behold,
God the Lord passed by."
Altogether, these last years of her life were
truly a feast of music, and she herself began to
play Beethoven again, as of old, only now with
greater understanding and power than ever
before.
XIV: BACK TO LIMPSFIELD AT LAST
r pHE thought of Limpsfield had always been
■"■ enshrined in my mother's memory, and
when tlie time came for bidding farewell to
Hertford Heath, she determined if possible to
settle there. She felt it would be to her a true
going home'.
Strange to say, almost the first house she
visited was on the very border of her beloved
Limpsfield !
It was in spring that she saw it first, its
picturesque garden, with smooth lawns, thick
yew hedges and red brick walks looking very
beautiful in the first burst of spring flowers.
The little wood sloping down below the rhodo-
dendron hedge was, as she put it, " a mist of
bluebells," and she altogether set her heart on
buying the house and bringing her family to it.
After some difficulty the purchase was accom-
plished, and during the autumn and winter of
1920 she visited the spot very frequently,
delighting in its beauty, its wealth of roses,
299
300 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xiv
and the sense that it was so near the scenes of
her childhood.
In the autumn of 191 9 she had undergone
a very serious operation in hopes that it would
cure an internal trouble that had long caused
her some of the most acute pain that it is possible
to suffer. This trouble she believed to have
been brought on by her long hours of writing —
for it was a complaint said by medical men to be
found more commonly among writers than in
those more actively employed. The operation,
though apparently successful, only relieved her
for a time, and by the following summer her
old symptoms occurred again.
The brave way she bore this wearing pain
was very wonderful. She would seldom cancel
engagements or disappoint those who counted
on her, and would travel by car or train and
speak on platforms when she was suffering very
severely. At home she would keep about
constantly, always bright and gay, anxious to
help other sufferers, and arrange everything
for everybody's happiness and comfort, quite
regardless of her own condition ; hiding her
pain so successfully that few people realised
what she was going through or the real heroism
of her life, during those months.
3
Z
u
To face page ;oo.
xiv] BACK TO LIMPSFIELD 301
Not long before Christmas she had an attack
of bronchitis. The coughing made her pain
infinitely worse and also affected her heart,
so that during January she was very ill indeed,
and her doctor doubted whether it would be
possible for her to be moved from Hertford
Heath, in February, as had been planned. She
was, however, very anxious not to delay longer,
and on February 10th she and my father left the
place that had been their home for nearly forty
years, and took up life at Limpsficld Court,
Oxtcd.
My mother's extraordinary strength and old
recuperative power reasserted itself, and before
long she was about again, delighting in the
beauties of the new home ; of the house she
had had redecorated, planning every minutest
detail herself ; of the garden ; of walks over the
common, and visits to the well-remembered scenes
of her childhood.
She was full of plans and projects for the
future : all she was going to do to make the
place .i source of pleasure to others.
It was characteristic of her that she set aside the
\ ery best room in the house, with its big bay-
window overlooking the magnificent view, as
what she called " the guest room."
302 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xiv
" Our Lord once sent to a friend of His and
said, ' Where is My guest chamber ? ' and He
was given the large, upper room — the best in
the house. So I want the best room in my
house to be His guest chamber," she said. And
she determined to use this room in order to give
busy, tired workers a restful holiday.
She was so keen that we should all like the
new home, that it should be a place of rest
and peace for my father, after his long life of
hard work. She talked so gaily of all we would
do. And yet I believe that ever since Christmas
she knew she was going.
She said nothing directly which might have
distressed us, and yet, looking back, we cannot
but remember many significant little things.
One day as she walked on the common with my
sister she suddenly remarked :
" At least I can feel I'm leaving you all in this
beautiful home."
Neither of them alluded to this mysterious
remark, made almost unconsciously.
Writing to one of her choir members on
February 2, with regard to the farewell service
on the last Sunday at Hertford Heath, she said,
" The closing hymn will be ' Abide with Me,'
and the closing voluntary ' Shepherd of Souls. 5
xiv] BACK TO LIMPSFIELD 303
I want that to be the last thing I play on my
little organ — ' O lead us Home.' "
Leyton had had its farewell, though no one
realised it, in the splendid great gathering
for the twentieth anniversary, when a beautiful
presentation was made to my mother — a grand-
father clock, an exact copy of that at Hampton
Court, containing very beautiful Westminster
chimes. Since that time she had not been
well enough to hold more than a few Bible
Readings, and the last one she took, closing them
down for the time, had indeed had about it
the atmosphere of " good-bye " — though it had
been a particularly happy time. Although un-
able to be with them, her thoughts often turned
to her Leyton friends, and she wrote to several
of them. One of them, as she opened a letter
from my mother, remarked :
" I've had my farewell from Mrs. Barclay."
And yet no one entertained the thought that
she was going. It was quite impossible to
imagine life without her. And although she
was really so ill, her courage, her gaiety, her
sense of abounding life, seemed to keep at a
distance even the thought of death.
And then, quite suddenly, pain unimaginable
seized her, and she could no longer keep about.
3 o4 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xiv
Her bronchial trouble returned, and her heart
was also affected. For three days she lay in
agony. A specialist was sent for. He said an
operation must be performed without delay.
And still, somehow, no one thought she was
going. It was, I think, her sheer force of will
that would not let anyone admit the idea of
death, though to herself it must have been very
really present. She had never feared death : to
her it was a passing to a fuller life, and, best of
all, a passing into the presence of Christ her
Lord, into the fuller love and understanding
that would come with the fuller vision. Always
she had been quite ready to die, and so
there was no anxious preparation. Now her
thoughts were all for others — my father, her
children, her household.
The day before the operation she was kept
under morphia, and the pain was much less
severe. She was full of her usual pluck, cheer-
fully discussing the operation, and the question
of what kind of anaesthetic should be used on
account of her heart and the congestion of her
lung.
So, to the end, she was smilingly gay.
Always she had loved and often sung Tenny-
son's " Crossing the Bar " :
March i L921 Six Days before hie " Home Cali '
To face page 304.
*
V
xiv] BACK TO LIMPSFIELD 305
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me !
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
rwilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark !
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark.
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face,
When I have crossed the bar.
One day she suddenly exclaimed, as she struck
the last chord of the sung : " Oh, I do hope
there will be ' No sadness of farewell ' when
/ embark ! " And her hope was fulfilled : there
was no sadness, no farewell. She welcomed the
doctors with her brave, radiant smile, and then
she just went to sleep and never woke up again.
The last time she had heard the " Elijah "
sung, after " There came a fiery chariot," she
u
3 o6 LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY [xiv
said how it made her long for a chariot to come
and take her away. She was so young and strong
in spirit that she could not bear the thought of
growing old. And so, in a way, her wish was
granted, for those few brief days of intense agony,
ending in so swift and sudden a passing, seemed
indeed as if a fiery chariot had whirled her away
from our midst into the Presence of God.
Printed at THE Ballantyne fRKSS
Spottiswoode, Ballaniyne <S* Co. Ltd.
Cvl(.hetler, London & Etun, England
List of
Florence L. Barclay's
Novels
307
<By FLORENCE L. "BARCLAY
THE ROSARY
Over One Million Copies Sold
Translated into French, German, Norwegian, Swedish, Polish,
Finnish, Dutch.
7s. 6d. net ; 6s. net ; and 3s. 6d. net.
" The sentiment is never mawkish ; it rings true,
and throughout the whole story there is a vein of
elevating emotion which should attract lovers of
wholesome fiction." — Times.
THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE
7s. 6d. net and 3s. 6d. net.
" A youthful sentiment, fiesh and romantic, flows
through Mrs. Barclay's new book, and gives to the
story some of the delicate odour of lavender and
jessamine, and old-fashioned flowers." — Daily Graphic.
THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR
With a Coloured Frontispiece by the late F. H. Townsend.
7s. 6d. net and 3s. 6d. net.
" A worthy successor to ' The Rosary.' It has the
same charm and grip, whilst the plot is again unusual
and clever. . . ." — Evening Standard.
THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE
With 9 Illustrations in Colour by the late F. H. Townsend.
7s. 6d. net and 3s. 6d. net.
" It is a book to turn over in a sunny garden,
under shady trees, when one might look up from the
clear print and see a happy prince coming in through
the green gate to lead one's own self to fairyland." —
Manchester Guardian.
THE BROKEN HALO
7s. 6d. net and 3s. 6d. net.
" It is the record of the saving of a soul by charity.
The end represents the triumph of mortal kindness."
— Standard.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, LTD.
24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 2
308
By FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
THE WALL OF PARTITION
7s. 6d. net and 3s. 6d. net.
" A brisk, readable story with a strong plot, full
of incident and sure of a wide appreciation." — Globe.
THE UPAS TREE
With a Coloured Frontispiece by the late F. II.Townsend.
7s. 6d. net and 3s. 6d. net.
" The book is full of that mixture of humour,
feeling, and religion that gain for Mrs. Barclay so
wide a popularity." — Church Family Newspaper.
RETURNED EMPTY
5s. net.
" This is certainly the most arresting talc that the
authoress has produced since her first huge success."
— Daily M
THE WHEELS OF TIME
Is. 6d. net.
" One of the most charmingly touching and truly
pathetic stories we have met with for some time." —
Belfast Northern Whig.
MY HEART'S RIGHT THERE
Is. 6d. ii'
A lender and pathetic little story of the war and
the cottage f England, with a touching tribute
to I ; 9oldier of our time.
IN HOG VINCE
The Story of a Red Cross Flag. Is. 3d.
THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER
7s. 6d. Di
Mrs. Hnrclu>'s I.nst Lond Novel.
Not to be issued in a cheap edition.
" It has t it has a Story which n>
■ .ill it has humanity." — Obse>
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, LTD.
2 4 BEDFORD ST RE FT, STRAND, W.C. 2
SOME PRESS OPINIONS ON THE LATE
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
" A writer who appealed to and won the affection
of so many of her fellow countrymen and women is
no negligible quantity. Indeed there is reason to
think that Mrs. Barclay understood the tendency of
her age better than many contemporary novelists
whose technical skill exceeded hers." — Times.
" Mrs. Barclay's death will be regretted by many
thousands of readers." — Morning Post.
" ' The Rosary ' and nearly all her other books
were inspired by true religious feeling, which she
always managed to infuse into the imagination of
her readers." — Sphere.
" From the highest to the lowest she commanded an
attentive public." — Liverpool Daily Courier.
' There was a purpose behind all she wrote that
lifted her books above the common, and enabled her
to reach readers who would turn away from the
' typical best-seller ' in disgust." — Sunday Times.
" Mrs. Barclay was not merely a popular authoress.
The ideals she preached were high and noble and
tended to elevate her readers." — Church Family
Newspaper.
' The underlying quality of Mrs. Barclay's literary
art was her wonderful gift of depicting home life,
and it was this characteristic which made her name
loved in countless homes all over the land." — Lady.
" She gave wholesale enjoyment to countless thou-
sands, while she was also one of the comparatively
few popular authoresses who are in themselves as
good as the very best of their books." — Glasgow Herald.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, LTD.
24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 2
310
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