26 April 1915

By one o’clock this morning all the remaining first-wave troops had been safely landed at V Beach, Helles. They began to dig themselves in and cut their way through the heavy barbed wire up the beach. The navy battered the Turkish positions again and fresh troops were brought ashore, with stores and water.

At about 7.00 a.m., however, the Turks launched an attack at Y Beach and nearly drove the KOSB over the cliff-top. A ferocious charge regained the position, but panic and confusion took hold and the navy began an evacuation, which was complete by mid-day.

Although the Royal Fusiliers at X Beach and the Lancashire Fusiliers at Y Beach had joined up yesterday and with other regiments managed to take Hill 138 in the middle of the Helles front, by nightfall they had not fought their way to behind V Beach.

Here today there was a desperate shortage of leadership because so many senior ranks had thrown their lives away the day before in ‘death or glory’ heroics. But Colonel Dick Doughty Wylie stepped forward and, armed with only a swagger stick, led a charge with other officers that occupied the Sedd el Bahr Fort by 8.00 a.m. He then commanded the clearance of the village and older fort behind it in the afternoon, but was killed at the fort by a sniper because he refused to crouch down.

‘Doughty Wylie was desperately needed in his role as a staff officer: to help arrange the disembarkation of troops, reorganise formations, and ensure that a logistical framework was in place for the next step of the battle by preparing and distributing coherent plans. But his act of foolish bravado in the moment of triumph […] as a prime example of British overconfidence in the face of dangerous Turkish opposition is hard to beat’ (Peter Hart, Gallipoli, p. 168).

Doughty Wylie was the Platonic lover of the Arabist, archaeologist and formidable administrator Gertrude Bell, with whom George Calderon had worked closely in the anti-suffrage movement in 1910. She was of inestimable help to Kittie after 4 June in trying to establish what had happened to George.

By about 3.00 p.m. today the Turkish defenders of Helles were in planned retreat towards Krithia. The scattered bridgeheads at Helles were joined together, the rest of the 29th Division was got ashore, and the French 1st Brigade began to arrive.

Next entry: George Calderon’s ‘magnum opus’

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25 April 1915: The bloodbath begins

At 4.30 this morning the first ANZAC troops began landing at Z Beach on the Gallipoli Peninsula. They were not strongly opposed, as von Sanders’s strategy was to keep a light screen around the coast until it was clear where the Allied landings actually were, then feed in his central reserves. Through the day, the landings and the advance at Z Beach became more and more chaotic and the Turkish defence ever fiercer. By nightfall the situation for the Anzacs was critical. Their commander, General Birdwood, even contemplated taking the force off again. Hamilton, however, told him there was ‘nothing for it but to dig yourselves right in and stick it out’. The landing had been a failure and the Anzacs were confined to an incredibly narrow bridgehead for the next eight months.

At Y Beach the 1st King’s Own Scottish Borderers (to whom George would eventually be attached) scaled sheer cliffs in the semi-dark and at first met no resistance. However, they did not dig in, nor did they advance until the afternoon. It was then a similar story to Z Beach. They became desperate for reinforcements, which did not arrive, and ‘all night the Turks pressed hard all along the overstretched line’ (Peter Hart).

At X Beach the naval support was highly effective, the Royal Fusiliers pushed on to their objective, which they had captured by noon, but they were forced almost back to the cliffs by a Turkish counter-attack in the afternoon.

At W Beach, the Turkish defences had not been effectively shelled by the navy and the Lancashire Fusiliers were mown down as they came ashore or lay by the wire waiting for it to be cut. The situation was saved by an outflanking attack, but even so Turkish reinforcements prevented the British troops from achieving their objective of joining up with the main landing force at V Beach.

It was at V Beach that the biggest disaster occurred. This was the most strongly defended point at Cape Helles. As the River Clyde, containing two thousand men, grounded to the left of Sedd el Bahr Fort just after 6.00 a.m., followed by open rowing boats containing the Dublin Fusiliers, a storm of fire broke out from the castle and Turkish trenches. The first assault force was practically shot to pieces or drowned before reaching land. The landings from the ‘Trojan Horse’ of the Clyde had not been thought out or rehearsed in detail and turned into fiasco and mass slaughter. The sea was red with blood. Two platoons were successfully landed to the right of the castle, advanced on the village, but were beaten back. The landing force suffered about 1000 casualties in the course of the morning and the attempt to disembark the rest was called off until nightfall.

The map tells a terrible story of failure. It had been thought a reasonable objective to join up the forces at Y, X, W, V and S Beaches and take the commanding height of Achi Baba, five and a half miles from Helles, on the first day. The Expeditionary Force never reached Achi Baba or Mal Tepe in the entire course of the campaign.

Gallipoli Landings 25 April Map

(Figure from the official history, Crown Copyright 1928)

As with my post yesterday, I feel the less I comment on the Gallipoli campaign the better. No-one, probably, has put it better than Nigel Steel, Principal Historian for the Imperial War Museums, in his interview ‘Gallipoli Dissected: What Did Britain Get Wrong?’ at http://www.historyanswers.co.uk, and Peter Hart in Gallipoli (Profile Books, 2013).

My biography of George Calderon has grown into an examination of the Edwardian ethos or mindset. I will merely say, then, that for me the Gallipoli campaign exemplifies the very worst about the Edwardians (naive over-confidence and arrogance) and something of the best (individualism and courage).

Next entry: 26 April 1915

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24 April 1915

The 23rd and 24th April were days of matchless beauty, and the glistening splendour of the sea and sky was a picture such as can only be found in the Aegean, and there only in days of early spring. To all who watched, amid those exquisite surroundings, the crowded ships of the covering force steam slowly out of Mudros, that unforgettable pageant of British manhood moving into battle is engraved on heart and mind as a proud and poignant memory. The task in front of the troops was one that no other army had ever been called upon to face; and they were facing it as a long-expected holiday. As each transport passed through the waiting fleet, cheer upon cheer broke out from her crowded decks and the watching blue jackets cheered and cheered again. The die was now cast. With the issue shrouded in uncertainty, one fact alone was clear. If the capture of the beaches was humanly possible, those gallant troops would do it.

                         Military Operations: Gallipoli (1929), vol. 1, p. 151

Next entry: 25 April 1915: The bloodbath begins

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St George’s Day 1915

This morning the weather in the Aegean was fine and clear. Admiral de Robeck therefore ordered the smaller craft in the harbour of Mudros to move to Tenedos — the first step towards assembling the fleet for landings at Gallipoli on 25th.  The French force and the Royal Naval Division were already at Skyros.

This afternoon, Sub Lieutenant Rupert Brooke of the RND died of sepsis in a French hospital ship off Skyros and was buried by his friends at 11.00 p.m. in an olive grove high on the island. The news soon spread at home. George Calderon had done his best to help Brooke get his curtain-raiser Lithuania performed, Brooke had written to him about it from Canada in 1913, and perhaps after Brooke’s return via Tahiti George and he had discussed their respective experiences of the island.

Today Francis, the twenty-two-year-old son of George’s close friend Sir Henry Newbolt, was wounded at Ypres and sent back to Britain with severe shell shock. He was with the 3rd Battalion Ox and Bucks and had written to George on 6 December 1914. Doubtless George soon heard the news on the regimental grapevine. He had known Francis and his sister Celia since they were children.

Next entry: 24 April 1915

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The note darkens

I did not notice it when I got to this point in writing the chapter in my biography, but the day-by-day ‘real time’ of the blog has brought it home to me: the note has definitely darkened by this date in George and Kittie’s lives.

It is not just the death of Jim Corbet, which certainly had a deeply depressing effect on them both, and which George even refers to obliquely in the last letter he ever wrote. Several people have emailed me about my posts concerning Corbet’s death. What I haven’t mentioned, but is well attested, is the number of sons of the Calderons’ other friends that were being killed at about the same age as him.

But the other source of depression for Kittie was, of course, the fact that her husband was now in the front line reserve and could leave for active service at any time. The situation regarding married men seems to have varied, but I believe that as a married man with no children and a wife who was totally dependent on him (she had no near relatives in this country), he could have successfully petitioned to remain in Britain. This is presumably why two of his superior officers in the Ox and Bucks said later that they should not have ‘let him go’ on active service.

Given George’s history of depression, the knowledge that he might be about to leave for active service and get killed must have had a psychological effect on him too, which he repressed. He looks by far the glummest and tensest soldier on the battalion photograph (see my post of 10 April), and one feels he is straining to appear humorous and unconcerned in his letter to his mother from Fort Brockhurst yesterday. His unique sense of the absurd and grotesque — which we saw plenty of in his letters from Ypres — seems almost entirely to disappear from his life now. His commitment to the cause was magnificent, of course, but he had left himself (and Kittie) ‘no way back’.

The Second Battle of Ypres opened today with the Germans releasing 168 tons of chlorine gas at dawn over a four-mile front held by French forces. About 5000 troops were killed in the first ten minutes.

At Mudros the final preparations for the Gallipoli landings had been made. The attack was planned for 23 April, but bad weather yesterday and today meant the departure of the invasion fleet had to be postponed.

Next entry: St George’s Day 1915

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21 April 1915

Fortis est veritas

9th Batt. Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire Light Infantry

Wednesday

My dear Mother,

          Haven’t I been writing regularly? Well, you know there’s plenty to do here, and once I’ve got off a sheet to K., my writing powers are pretty well at an end. We’re up and out with a cup of strong tea and a biscuit in us by 6.30; then there’s Swedish exercises on the lawn or the path; and a run round the roads and fields, from which I generally excuse myself (‘quite right’ says the Colonel). Breakfast, then musketry all day, the handling of the rifle, muscle exercises, studying aiming and trigger pressing etc.  The great feature of our infantry that makes it better than the German is its skill in musketry.

          You know that I command one of the ‘service platoons’. A battalion has 4 companies; a company has four platoons. Our battalion has been made a reserve battalion; and four platoons of the best men have been chosen for the first line of reserve, the first to be called to the front. Two officers to each service platoon.

           Well, the best 55 men of our company, some of the best men in the regiment, are under my command, specially preparing; so I’m pleased and proud of my warriors. However they’re mostly away on pass till Friday.

          We go about when we can and do attacks and defences on open ground and play the Boy Scout generally. Then there’s bayonet fighting, bayonet fixing and a heap of other things; besides lectures which we mug up and deliver to the men now and again.

          So we’ve a pretty full time; and that’s the programme.

          Love to all the ducklings.

                    Your affectionate son

                                George

This is the last letter from George to his mother Clara that is known. She was staying at her holiday cottage in Ringwood only thirty miles away close to the New Forest. ‘K.’, of course, is Kittie Calderon.

‘Swedish exercises’ were callisthenics without apparatus. It is very tempting to think it significant that George is dropping out of the cross-country running and that the field days seem geared to open warfare rather than trench warfare (see my post of 15 April).

By implication, he is saying that his platoon is one of the best four in the battalion, which comprise a reserve company that will be the first to be called to the front. However, officers were in more demand than privates and therefore could be asked to volunteer for missions that separated them from the men they had been training, who would eventually become a ‘draft’ to a particular part of the front.

Clearly the situation was now extremely worrying for Kittie: George could be invited to volunteer for active service at any time, and she knew only too well that nothing would stop him going.

Next entry: The note darkens

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20 April 1915

Brinsop Court. Hereford. (Statn Credenhill. Tels Burghill.)

Tuesday

Darling Dina,

It’s absolutely unthinkable that you are not here, and I do know how you are feeling about it, but time and space are nothing, and your dear spirit just wraps me round and holds me close. I don’t feel much, except at intervals but just go on — eating a great deal — and last night I really slept quite a lot. The 2 nights before I had been mostly with Phyllis. You see mercifully there has been Phyllis, Mother and Lesbia, all needing one, so one has just been very busy, and much to write and think of. […]

I have had such beautiful letters from so many kind and real friends, and such a darling letter from George. Father Waggett buried Jim. So curious, don’t know him, but he is a very old friend of Huie’s and Con’s and Brookies — so it was nice to think of him doing the service. No more now but am always yr devoted

T.O.

This is an extract from a letter written today by Nina Astley (Corbet) to Kittie Calderon, enclosing Nina’s handwritten copy of the letter from Colonel Geoffrey Feilding at Givenchy explaining the circumstances of Jim Corbet’s death (see my post for 15 April). Feilding’s letter had reached Nina yesterday.

‘Phyllis’ appears to be a young relation of Nina’s daughter Lesbia, aged ten. ‘Mother’ is Nina’s mother, Eliza Stewart, then aged about seventy. Dick Sutton mentions in a letter of 13 March 1915 bumping into ‘Father Waggett’ at Boulogne; possibly he was a former Eton chaplain. ‘Huie’ is the former priest Hubert Delaval Astley, married to ‘Con’, Constance Sutton by her first marriage and née Corbet. ‘Brookie’ is Edward Brooke, possibly a former tutor of Jim Corbet’s and Dick Sutton’s. ‘T.O.’ means ‘T’Other’.

George Calderon’s letter to Nina Astley on the death of her son Jim has not survived. She replied to it on 2 May, however, and he received her letter at Fort Brockhurst on 4 May. It will be quoted in full on that day this year. The most likely reasons Kittie could not go to Herefordshire to comfort Nina are that George was at home on leave until today and she was probably still suffering from psychosomatic illness or pernicious anaemia.

Next entry: 21 April 1915

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‘The Lamp’ (Concluded)

Today, 18 April 1915, was a Sunday. Kittie doubtless went to church (we don’t yet know which one), with Nina, Jim Corbet and her god-daughter Lesbia very much on her mind. Perhaps George thought further about what he was going to write to Nina, and he probably tinkered further with his manuscripts…

A few weeks ago someone asked me why I thought his plays had disappeared from the British repertory. I should say immediately that they had a very good run: The Fountain staged 1909-12 in four major productions, one of which toured the country; a full-blown production of Revolt in 1912; a curtain-raiser, The Little Stone House, repeatedly performed in theatres and on radio through to the 1930s; and translations of two Chekhov plays that were used in eminent productions right up to 1950.

But, yes, it was the Look Back in Anger revolution, and the revilement of the Great War nation generally, that put George’s plays and much other Edwardian drama (Pinero, Sutro, Barker, Galsworthy, Hankin, but not Shaw) into mothballs. Even so, as I was walking past one tawdry West End theatre hoarding after another yesterday I found myself thinking that British theatre does not = West End + big subsidised houses (which these days are almost as commercial). British theatre also lives — perhaps is most alive — in regional productions, fringe productions, semi-professional productions, the myriad amateur productions. And in fact it is quite possible that George’s one-acters are still alive and kicking in the amateur world, just as I recently discovered The Maharani of Arakan is. The admirable One-act Play Companion of 2006, for instance, tells its readers that several of George’s short plays are ‘of considerable interest’.

The problem where theatrical realisation of George’s one-acters is concerned is not at all that they are written in ‘Edwardian’ language, it is that each one is written in a special, different language of its own; one that we, with our naturalistic notions, automatically reject as ‘artificial’, but which is actually a product of Calderonian art.

On the face of it, The Little Stone House is written in stiff, plonking English that, quite remarkably, hasn’t a single colloquial short form English verb in it, i.e. not one with an apostrophe on the page! This is actually the opposite of incompetence. What George has very carefully done is produce something that sounds like an Edwardian translation of a Russian play. It is part of getting the audience to suspend their disbelief that they are watching a slice of Russian life. In fact it is even possible that George ‘heard’ the dialogue in Russian first, then translated it as stiffly as he could, to stress the play’s exoticism, rather than bringing it too close to ‘real’, familiar English. The result, if you can hear the Edwardian translationese in the play’s language, is hilarious. I cannot agree that the play is just Grand Guignol, or melodrama, let alone a Chekhov imitation, when you have this outrageous parody/stylisation playing all over it.

Similarly, the language of The Lamp is elevated, formal, intriguingly Biblical, with simple but very vivid images reminiscent of Oriental poetry. Remote though it is from today’s English, it has a strange beauty. It must have taken George ages to craft this effect. It partly explains, no doubt, why the whole play existed in draft but was not entirely ‘finished’: he may have felt he had more honing to do on its language. There are three main characters, and their dialogue has three distinct structures: Theophanes speaks overwhelmingly in single paragraphs, Kolónimos in two paragraphs, and Myrrhina’s speech tends to an elegant, diminishing triple structure. Today, of course, the very idea of presenting dramatic dialogue ‘structured’, in paragraphs, seems bizarre! We do not like the ‘literariness’ of George’s plays.

By the time George wrote The Lamp, Edwardians were used to the verse dramas of playwrights like Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, John Masefield, and they did not expect every play they watched to be written in the same ‘naturalistic’ language.

Well, I believe as firmly as Mikhail Bakhtin that ‘there is nothing absolutely dead: every utterance’s sense will have its festival of rebirth one day’.

Next entry: 20 April 1915

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17 April 1915

This morning, at Brinsop Court in Herefordshire, Nina Astley (Lady Corbet by her first marriage) received a telegram from the War Office informing her that her son Sir Roland James Corbet (Jim) had been killed at Givenchy (see my post of 15 April).

The effect on everyone in the house was devastating. Nina was with her ten-year-old daughter Lesbia, her mother, and a relation, and they were staying with Constance Astley (née Corbet) and Hubert Astley, who owned the house. Seventy years later, Lesbia told me that Jim was engaged to marry Elizabeth Hayes, she was to be a bridesmaid, and the bridesmaids’ dresses had already been bought. Crueller still, Jim Corbet was the last in an unbroken male line from Hugo le Corbet, a Norman knight who came to Britain with William the Conqueror. Jim had already inherited the baronetcy and his death eventually caused a dynastic crisis.

For hours everyone was prostrated with grief. In 1986, Lesbia recounted the events to me in almost a whisper, and trailed off. I remember there was a very long silence afterwards in the sunlit winter room where our interview took place.

In the afternoon, Nina sent many telegrams from Hereford, which was six miles away. At about 2.30 p.m. in London a telegram boy delivered the following:

To: Calderon 42 Well Walk Hampstead

The worst has happened Jim was killed in action 15th April Phyllis Mother and Lesbia here pray for us Dina Brinsop Court Hereford Telegrams Burghill

It was a good thing that George was home on leave. The telegram was really addressed to Kittie, as can be seen from Nina signing herself ‘Dina’ — they had called each other this ever since they were teenagers (it was perhaps from the popular music hall song ‘Villikins and His Dinah’). Kittie had known Jim Corbet as a baby, his sister Lesbia was her god-daughter, and his elder brother Vincent (d. 1903) had been a pageboy at her wedding to Archie Ripley in 1895. Kittie was ‘Auntie’ to Jim, and George ‘Uncle’. Nina knew Kittie would pray for them.

At first, perhaps, she prayed that it had not happened. There was no battle in progress on that part of the front and Jim was an experienced professional soldier. In a letter from Flanders to his mother, Constance Astley, Dick Sutton (q.v.) also ‘had a faint hope it wasn’t true, as I didn’t think there had been much fighting in that part of the line’, but added: ‘Really the Coldstream has come to mean certain death.’ On the back of Nina’s telegram, at some point, George drew for Kittie a series of diagrams of trenches, including one that showed there was only 3’6″ between the firing-step and the parapet.

Although George was slightly uneasy with Kittie’s high society friends, there can be no doubt that he was extremely fond of Jim Corbet. There was no ‘side’ to Jim; he took his dynastic responsibilities very seriously, but was loved for his humour, gentleness and courtesy. As a cadet, he had been an admirer of a popular London actress, but always took his sister with him when he visited her! His sister adored him.

Although, as Jim had explained at his coming of age celebrations in August 1913, he was unable to reside on his estate at Acton Reynald very often, he was deeply attached to it. In many ways he was a countryman. This would have appealed to George, who himself had walked much of Shropshire and detested cars. Also, Jim was a serious ornithologist, a subject that George was well versed in. For Jim’s coming of age, the Calderons had given him two books by the Edwardian naturalist W.H. Hudson, whom George knew. An entry in Jim Corbet’s war diary for 21 August 1914 reads:

Left ETREUX and marched to OISY. Still very hot and marching very fatiguing. […] I bought a whinchat I found in a tiny little cage, and which had been given a hard dog biscuit to eat! And then let it go. The owner thought I must be mad.

Kittie’s instinct was to go to Nina straightaway, as she had in emergencies before; but it is clear from Nina’s letter of 20 April that Kittie felt she could not. She instead wrote immediately. George needed longer to think about Jim’s death, and wrote the following day, Sunday 18 April, or possibly after returning to Fort Brockhurst on the Monday.

Next entry: ‘The Lamp’ (Concluded)

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15 April 1915

Jim Corbet, Spring 1915

April 15. 1915 [France]

Dear Mrs Astley — it is with the greatest grief that I write to you to tell you of your son’s death which took place at 8 a.m. this morning. It was very foggy, and your son went down a breastwork to visit some posts along it and I fear that perhaps he may have thought that he could not be seen and have over-exposed himself. He was shot by a sniper through the heart and death was instantaneous. I cannot tell you how very much we all sympathize with both you and his fiancée at his loss and how sad we all are. He was as gallant a soldier as I have ever come across, and absolutely did not know what fear was. On February 6th he led the party which assaulted the brickstacks and led them in the most gallant manner. He was very popular with us all, always cheerful and anxious to help and I feel that in his death I have lost a most excellent officer and a charming fellow. Please accept my heartfelt sympathy, and that of my Battalion. He will be buried tomorrow morning among other soldiers in a little cemetery at the Southern end of Le Plantin.

Yours sincerely

G. Feilding

This letter describing the death of Sir Roland James Corbet at Givenchy today is reproduced from a handwritten copy sent to Kittie Calderon by his mother, her closest friend, Nina Astley (Corbet). Feilding’s letter did not reach Nina until 19 April. Between now and 20 April I will post documents that tell how the terrible news broke over Nina’s and Kittie’s families.

Jim Corbet had been in France with the Coldstream Guards since 13 August 1914. He was wounded at the Battle of the Marne (see my post of 8 September 2014), promoted lieutenant on 9 December 1914, and joined the 3rd Battalion Coldstream Guards at La Bassée, where he fought in the Battle of the Brickstacks January/February 1915 (see my post of 27 January).

He was twenty-two and Colonel Geoffrey Feilding was his Commanding Officer. The above photograph was taken a few weeks before he was killed. As I shall describe, he held a special place in Kittie and George’s affections.

Next entry: 17 April 1915

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‘The Maharani’: A postscript

Read The Maharani of Arakan yourself to decide whether it is (just) ‘A Romantic Comedy’, as George playfully subtitled it, or a ‘Symbolist Mystery Play’ (allegory)!  Having re-read it over the weekend, I increasingly feel it’s the latter.

If it is a ‘Romantic Comedy’, I can well understand why one reviewer called it ‘a pleasant little excursion’ and another ‘trite’. But The Times was correct to say of it in 1916 that it ‘has many meanings’, and the TLS awarded it those high Edwardian accolades ‘charming and significant’. The Stage, too, called it ‘full of interest and charm from start to finish’. Everyone seemed to agree that it was magical in performance, with its Indian music and its songs written by Tagore specially.

There is, I have noticed now, a very interesting parallel with The Lamp. Amina, the exiled Mogul princess whose father was killed by the father of Dalia, current King of Arakan, is incited by her sister to kill Dalia with her father’s own dagger because Dalia ‘inherits his father’s guilt’. But Amina objects: ‘His son is innocent. […] Does not the Koran also teach us to forgive? […] Allah did not send me here to die, but to live, to breathe — to love.’ Sentiments very reminiscent of Myrrhina’s in The Lamp (see quotation in post of 3 April).

George was sceptical about the political empowerment of women, as were most British women in his lifetime. But always he believed in their self-fulfilment, in equal opportunities, in women’s need for economic and personal independence. Rather like Chekhov in his later works (Lady with Little Dog, Three SistersBetrothed), George focussed in The FountainThe Maharani of Arakan, and The Lamp, on women’s own identity, vitality, and freedom from oppressive uncaring ideas.

Next entry: 15 April 1915

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What is ‘The Lamp’ about? (2)

Presumably George was home again at 42 Well Walk, Hampstead, for the long weekend of 9-12 April 1915, so he may have done more work on leaving various literary projects in a publishable state in case he did not come back from active service. These were most likely Tahiti (see posts of 27 February, 1 March, 14 March, 21 March), The Lamp (see 29 March, 3 April), or something called Demon Feasts (post to come). He may have read the copy of Hark to These Three Talk about Style given him by his next door neighbour, Tom Sturge Moore (see 6 April), and chatted about it with him over the back garden fence.

Taking The Lamp, I described what I feel is its primary meaning in my post of 3 April, but there is much more to be said.

The name of the ‘ascetic’ protagonist, Theophanes, may be influenced by George’s knowledge of the nineteenth-century Russian saint Feofan Zatvornik (‘Theophan the Recluse’), a monk who had a powerful spiritual effect on a young upper-class woman who eventually became a nun. The name of Theophanes’s young wife, Myrrhina, is the same as the heroine of Oscar Wilde’s fragment La Sainte Courtisane (published 1908), who is also a noblewoman converted by a hermit. But these facts are not strictly relevant to the meaning of the play: the vital point is that there were no real figures Theophanes the Hermit and Myrrhina the Courtesan in the early history of the Christian church, so this is not a ‘history’ play or docudrama. What kind of a play, then, is it?

To Edwardian afficionados of the New Drama, it would be instantly recognisable as a play of ideas. However, the fact that it is set in the distant past suggests that it belongs to a particular species of the play of ideas, namely what Rita Severi, writing of Wilde’s La Sainte Courtisane, calls the ‘Symbolist Mystery play: symbolic characters that embody ethical, philosophical, spiritual ideas’. We can emphathise to a certain degree with Theophanes, Myrrhina, Kolónimos and Yanoula as real people, but their ‘symbolic’ meanings subsume them. Or, I would prefer to say, The Lamp is an allegory.

This and other features mark it out from The Little Stone House (LSH), which I suggested on 29 March resembles The Lamp thematically and structurally. LSH is set as ‘naturalistically’ as possible in Russia as George knew it, and this was one of the things about it that fascinated Edwardian audiences. But the fact that it is set in ‘the real present’ means that it is about 95% un-allegorical: the issues being played out and argued over in front of you are straighforwardly ethical. The ethical issues of the play are apprehended as ‘real live ethical issues’. I should add, perhaps, that The Lamp is almost entirely without humour, whereas it is precisely the wobbly blend of melodrama, parody of Chekhov and Edwardian perceptions of Russia, caricature, and stereotype, that makes LSH difficult to take entirely seriously in the first place.

But if The Lamp is an allegory, it could be an allegory not just of established, fetishistic and totemised religion. It could, for instance, be seen as an allegory of fixation with ideas, of their totemisation and homicidal power, generally. Theophanes has seized on two aspects of the Christian message — its ‘light unto the nations’ and its ‘eternity’ — and objectified them in the lamp which he must collect alms to keep burning forever. He has thereby become an image-worshipper; as Myrrhina realises, the true meaning of Christianity has fossilised in his life and brain. One could compare him with Russian communists mummifying their ideas in Lenin, or with Utopians, fundamentalists, totalitarians, dogmatists, per se. Incidentally, it is the death-dealing consequences of Theophanes’s obsession with an idea that approximates The Lamp to the allegorical 5% of LSH: the last line of LSH is ‘What’s a man [person] compared to an idea?’ and the protagonist is seen as a ‘white raven’ for her rare ‘fidelity to an idea’. It is a fair guess that George was brought face to face with this theme in the years he lived in Russia, whose intelligentsia and underground politics were obsessed with ‘ideas’.

A purely abstract way of looking at The Lamp would be to focus on the respective ‘vows’ that Theophanes and Kolónimos have taken. Many of George’s plays (LSHGeminaeThe Two Talismans, even the full-length Fountain) turn on two sets of circumstances, ideas, or beliefs, that play out as paradox. The circumstances of The Lamp are immediately paradoxical, of course: Theophanes is an ‘ascetic’ in his forties living in a forest hermitage, but married to ‘a beautiful woman of about twenty-eight or thirty’ and they have a child! He has renounced the world, yet he is obsessed with money and sainthood… Particularly characteristic of George, however, is what one might term the ‘antinomial set’ of Theophanes’s and Kolónimos’s vows. Theophanes has vowed to keep the lamp always burning as a duty to God, and Kolónimos has vowed to dedicate his earnings to God by paying for the lamp to burn in perpetuity. They are both members of the set of those who vow/dedicate themselves to God; who want to ‘keep the lamp of God burning’. But it turns out that their vows have sub-clauses that are mutually exclusive: Theophanes cannot accept the money unless Kolónimos renounces his occupation as a slave-trader, and Kolónimos will only part with his money if he retains his occupation. In practice, then, they are both members of the aforementioned set and not members of it.

Usually in George’s plays these paradoxes produce an abstract, noetic deadlock; and this is one of the sources of the disturbing sense of void that his works leave, and are doubtless intended to leave. In The Lamp, however, first Kolónimos breaks the deadlock by stepping outside the terms of the set and appealing to Theophanes’s deluded sense of sacrifice, then Myrrhina shatters it completely by choosing to escape physically with her son from the world of Theophanes and Kolónimos into the ‘true and simple happiness of life’.

I think it is relevant that George was the top mathematician of his year at Rugby and would probably have gone on to read Mathematics and Natural Sciences at Oxford if there had been a comparable scholarship (‘exhibition’) available to the one he won in Classics. It seems to me possible that underlying his dramatic plot-paradoxes is a fascination with Cantorian and Zermelian set theory as it developed in the first decade of the twentieth century, or at least with wagers, games and probability. Unfortunately, though, my own mathematics is not developed enough to pursue this!

The Lamp was premiered at St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, on 28 February 1926 — surely an enlightened demonstration that the play is not anti-Christian as such.

Next entry: ‘The Maharani’: A postscript

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10 April 1915: A professional soldier

Today the 9th Battalion Ox and Bucks at Fort Brockhurst near Portsmouth was converted from a Service Battalion to a Reserve Battalion. It comes as a shock: George Calderon’s training as a lieutenant was over, and he could volunteer or be drafted to the front at any moment. But this was what he had always wanted. It seems the photograph below was taken around this time. When George sent it on to Kittie, judging from his key stuck on the back, some of the higher officers had already left for active service.

Officers of the 9th Battalion Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry, April 1915.

Officers of the 9th Battalion Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry, 1915.

Reverse of the above photo: George Calderon's key.

Reverse of the above photo: George Calderon’s key.

So George is the man seated extreme right in the second row.

It is quite remarkable (significant? why?) how different Calderon looks in photographs taken at different times in his short life (people have said the same of Chekhov). Particularly striking, I think, is the contrast between him in this photograph and in the middle of the portrait-banner to this blog: there he is an interpreter in a floppy uniform (it was taken just before he left for Flanders in October 1914), here he is very much the smart professional soldier.

You might even say he is ‘unrecognisable’ here. To me he looks a bit drawn. There is a strange gap at the back of his collar that doesn’t appear on any of the other officers. Frankly, he does not look in the peak of health. What at first appears to be the regulation British Army officer’s walking-stick, which so amused French troops, is probably a sword hung at his left side, as with the three young officers in the front row.

He would now be concentrating on training and exercising his own platoon of about fifty men; one of four making up a company, and there were four companies to the battalion.

Also on this day, Sir Ian Hamilton arrived back at Mudros with his General Headquarters from Egypt. Units of the expeditionary force to capture the Gallipoli Peninsula under his command had begun leaving Alexandria for Mudros on 4th.

Next entry: What is ‘The Lamp’ about? (2)

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The Arakan ‘mystery’

The other evening, I met a friend at a party who told me she had recently taken part in a reading of George’s ‘Romantic Comedy in One Act’, The Maharani of Arakan. I was amazed, as I had not heard of any presentation of the play since 1916. However, my friend thought it may often be performed by Indian cultural societies — and this appears to be borne out by the number of different print on demand editions available through Amazon, AbeBooks etc. She herself has long been involved with Indian culture and religion, and the reason she recommended the play to her reading group was that it is based on a story by Rabindranath Tagore (I don’t think she had previously heard of George).

Her news gave me an uncomfortable jolt: I had completed chapter 14 (1914-15) in February without mentioning the publication of The Maharani of Arakan in 1915! Admittedly I had discussed the play in chapter 13, ‘Wilder Shores of Translation’, in the context of George’s less conventional ‘translations’ (he did not know Bengali, Tagore’s original story was written in English, yet Tagore himself referred to George’s adaptation as a ‘translation in the form of  a drama’); also in the context of the Edwardians’ reaching out to eastern cultures, and the visit by Tagore to London in 1912 organised by William Rothenstein and others, for which George had made his dramatisation (it was performed at the Albert Hall in Tagore’s presence on 30 July). But on the face of it, The Maharani was George’s only publication in 1915 and the last within his lifetime, so surely I should have mentioned it?

Not only that, if it came out in 1915 George might have been working on it during his ‘Friday-to-Monday’ leave, along with Tahiti and The Lamp, so it ought to have featured on this blog long ago?

The only trouble with that line of reasoning is that there is no mention in the whole of George and Kittie’s correspondence of 1914-15 that he is working on the text for this publication, reading proofs, expecting its appearance in print, and so on. Of course, we don’t, mysteriously, have any letters from George at Fort Brockhurst to Kittie between his arrival there in mid-January and his embarkation for Gallipoli on 10 May, so there could have been mentions of The Maharani in the missing letters. Even so, one might have expected passing mentions in his letters from 10 May onwards, or in Kittie’s memoirs. Could The Maharani have been published after his death?

The encounter with my friend sent me back to the ‘Tagore file’. The deeper I went into it, and the more I searched the Web, the more mysterious the whole business of this play’s performances and publication became.

I have a rare copy of the first edition, bought through AbeBooks some years ago, and I discover that it belonged to Ronald Colman, the future Hollywood heart-throb, who played Rahmat Sheikh in the 1916 production at the Coliseum and dated his copy ‘June 1916’. In this edition, there are numerous photographs and sketches by Clarissa Miles (no relation). The photographs show K.N. Das Gupta and Margaret Mitchell in the lead parts of King Dalia and Princess Amina:

K.N. Das Gupta and Margaret Mitchell in an Indian Dramatic Society production of The Maharani of Arakan, 1913?

K.N. Das Gupta and Margaret Mitchell in an Indian Art and Dramatic Society production of The Maharani of Arakan, 1913/14?

One might assume these photographs were of the 1912 premiere at the Albert Hall, but no — reviews reveal the cast was entirely different! Obviously they could not be of the 1916 production, as the book, we are told on the title page, was published in 1915, and in any case the cast at the Coliseum, where it ran for a week from 19 June 1916, was different again. We know from a letter to George written by the composer Albert Cazabon on 29 October 1913, regarding the Bengali music for a production, that for that production Cazabon’s own wife, Gladys Curtin, was to play Amina, so presumably the photographs in the published playtext were not of that production, either. What is going on?

It seems a reasonable hypothesis that for the public performances at such grand theatrical venues the producers would want the strongest actors they could get and these would have to be professionals. There were professional British actors, e.g. Sybil Thorndike, associated with the Indian Art and Dramatic Society, but it seems likely that the Society’s own in-house productions would have had amateur actors. K.N. Das Gupta, for example, who looks splendidly authentic in the published photographs, was not a professional actor. Margaret Mitchell looks as though she could have been, but the others do not. Suggestions in various Web articles that K.N. Das Gupta and Sybil Thorndike acted in the 1912/1916 productions are demonstrably untrue.

The simple hypothesis from all this is that there was an original Indian Art and Dramatic Society production before the 1912 Albert Hall performance, and another in 1913/14 before the 1916 Coliseum one (i.e. the one referred to by Cazabon in his letter to George). Presumably Das Gupta and Mitchell played the leads in one or both of these, from which the photographs for the 1915 publication were taken.

I incline to the idea that the photographs were taken nearer to the publication, i.e. in 1913/14, than before the Albert Hall performance. The Society had been in existence only seven months before the latter. Isn’t it more likely that as soon as they knew Tagore was visiting London, George made his dramatisation and the professional theatre people in the society went straight into preparing a production for the Albert Hall?

I also think that the key to the photographs in the published version (which stresses at the front that the play was ‘Staged by the INDIAN ART AND DRAMATIC SOCIETY’) is the ‘irrepressible Das Gupta’, as Rothenstein described him to Tagore in a letter of 1913. Das Gupta was a seamless blend of cultural and commercial entrepreneur. He had founded the Society (later to become the Union of the East and West), was its driving force, and the 1915 publication was evidently his project (Clarissa Miles was the Society’s secretary). Despite its cover and spine declaring it was The Maharani of Arakan by George Calderon, it was more of a celebration of Tagore and Das Gupta. It opened with a twenty-two page ‘Character Sketch of Sir Rabindranath Tagore, Compiled by K.N. Das Gupta’ but actually written by other people including W.B. Yeats. Then followed the play, covering thirty-two pages, then three pages of music to the songs and one of reviews of the Albert Hall production. The play was preceded by a note referring to the publisher for performance rights, and three out of the five photographs featured K.N. Das Gupta.

I submit that the publication was a commercial venture of Das Gupta’s in anticipation of a full professional production. In such circumstances — as today — the play text was published to just precede or coincide with the production. The TLS reviewed it on 16 March 1916. Usually, the TLS reviewed books within a week or two of their publication. A gift copy of the book that I have seen is dated ‘Easter 1916’, which was 23 April. A review of the 1916 production dated 20 June speaks of George’s play having been ‘lately published in book form’, which could hardly refer to the year before.

My presumption is that K.N. Das Gupta had the book printed in 1915, but only brought it onto the market when the Coliseum production was assured in early spring 1916. It was great publicity for the production, the Society, and himself as entrepreneur, impresario and actor. He used the final acting text of 1912, so George had no need to work on it in 1914 or 1915 and therefore never mentions it in those years. If this scenario is correct, George never saw the published result.

Next entry: 10 April 1915: A professional soldier

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Two separate biographies

As I have explained on several occasions, apart from his machine gun course on Hayling Island we know nothing specific about George’s training as a lieutenant with the 9th Battalion Ox and Bucks at Fort Brockhurst from the middle of January 1915. I have tried various lines of inquiry without finding anything that could be described as a ‘course’.

This is an example of how the difference between my full-scale biography and the blog keeps kicking in. For chapter 14 of the biography I did not have space to elaborate on George’s training and that level of detail didn’t fit the scale of the last chapter of his life (which one reader has already said is too long). But the day-by-day biography, aka Calderonia, calls for more detail and above all it makes me speculate in more depth.

It niggles me that we don’t know if George had any realistic training in trench warfare as it was by now practised on the Western Front. The way he refers later to military exercises he was involved in suggests that Kitchener’s Army were still rehearsing ‘open file’ warfare, such as George had experienced himself at Ypres. Attack from established, continuous trench lines (‘going over the top’) was totally different, often suicidal, and the British Expeditionary Force had only recently carried out its first offensive of this kind, at the Battle of Neuve Chapelle (see my post of 12 March).

The reason I would like to know if George realised how hopeless trench warfare proper was, is that all writers agree the Third Battle of Krithia was the first battle on the Gallipoli Peninsula to be fought under those conditions. Within days of arriving at Helles, George must have seen what was coming. Was he shocked, or was he prepared for trench warfare of this kind? If he wasn’t trained for it, did he feel he had been deceived and had walked into a trap set by the British generals? Was he angry? Was he afraid?

I increasingly feel I am not suffering from bifurcation and chronotopia (see 30 March), I am simply writing two biographies — one on paper spanning 1867 to 1950, and one on the Web spanning a single year of George Calderon’s life, 1914-15.

Next entry: The Arakan ‘mystery’

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Biography and the limits of non-fiction

I keep dipping into Ruth Scurr’s John Aubrey: My Own Life. It’s very compulsive reading, but I don’t have time at the moment to let it run away with me as I would wish. Nevertheless, I’ve read enough both of the ‘diary’ Scurr has produced and her Introduction to be able to say that they certainly challenge received ideas about biography. I shall try to get to grips with her innovativeness before long, but in the meantime any follower who has read Scurr’s book is very welcome to get the ball rolling by leaving a Comment to this post.

In my post of 6 March I touched on several issues that Ruth Scurr raised in an essay in The Guardian, but underlying them all was my wariness, unease, about bringing biography closer and closer to fiction, in fact novelising it. I fret equally, though, over the opposite question: whether a biography can be one hundred per cent non-fiction — whether it is possible to keep elements of fiction out!

Take my last two posts. They are predicated on the ‘fact’ that George Calderon was home on leave from the 9th Battalion Ox and Bucks at Fort Brockhurst from Good Friday to Easter Monday 1915. My reasons for believing this are:

1. Kittie in her memoirs says he regularly came home ‘for Friday-to-Monday leave’.

2. I would expect him to want to be home with her at Easter.

3. The very last of George and Kittie’s 247 books to be found (2013) is Thomas Sturge Moore’s Hark to These Three Talk about Style (London, Elkin Matthews, 1915), and in the front is the inscription: To Mr & Mrs Calderon a token of a neighbourly Easter from the author. 1915. For the Calderons’ close relations with their neighbours the Sturge Moore family at 40 Well Walk, see my post of 20 November 2014 and others. It seems unlikely that Sturge Moore could have written this inscription if both George and Kittie were not there to give the book to.

Yet it takes, perhaps, a conscious effort to remind oneself that it is still not a FACT that George was at home at Easter. For that one would need a dated letter or document to say so. Thus non-fiction has here effortlessly drifted into fiction…or fiction effortlessly crept into non-fiction. And it is all too easy for the biographer to let this happen.

Sturge Moore’s book, incidentally, is a veritable repository of Edwardian aesthetics. There is no evidence that George read it, but I would dearly have liked to know what he thought of it. There is evidence that he found the whole notion of ‘style’ dubious. He seems to have felt that the man was the style and the man had to have something to say. In January 1899, when Kittie and he were sharing their critical views in correspondence, he wrote:

I don’t know what beautiful writing means, except that it is a very offensive thing used by affected essay-writers.

Next entry: Two separate biographies

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