9 October 1914

The 3rd Cavalry Division had arrived in Belgium with a crack infantry force, the 7th Division.  The latter’s orders were to go to Antwerp, sixty miles away, to assist in its defence.  Little did they know that on the night of 8 October Winston Churchill’s Royal Naval Division was already leaving the city, which had become an inferno.

Yesterday afternoon at 4.30 the 3rd Cavalry Division set off southwestwards from Zeebrugge to the ‘fashionable watering place’, as Calderon called it, of Blankenberge (about five miles).  Here, Dick Sutton wrote, ‘The inhabitants cheered us and could not do enough for us.  The men were plied with chocolates, cake and beer whenever we halted for a moment, which we did frequently, as the Colonels had not received orders where to go.’ At dusk they left Blankenberge on the Bruges road, but after a mile, George wrote Kittie,

[we] plunged aside into the sand dunes (just like St Andrews) and bivouacked there for the night.  Very cold and very beautiful.  Sea plashing, moonlight, long grass and red smoke of camp fires.  Many awake all night for the cold.  The sand too soft for picket pegs.  I lay half the night holding two horses that awoke me, plunging after tufts of feather grass whenever I nodded off.

Today, at eight in the morning, they set off for Bruges, ten miles away.  The weather was mild, autumnally fine.  As they entered the town, ‘news came whispered from officer to officer that [Antwerp] had fallen’, but even three days later George had ‘not met a native who knows about it’.  Nevertheless, Dick Sutton wrote in his diary for 9 October that on the Bruges road ‘a lot of refugees from Antwerp came through, also cyclists and artillery’.

‘So we passed on,’ George wrote Kittie, ‘trotting and walking.  It’s a pleasant monotonous business is war, as far as I have seen it, standing patiently at a horse’s head, not knowing what is happening.’  Tonight the Blues were billeted on the outskirts of a village ‘in the great iron buildings of a horticulturist (the great business here); the endless gardens around, nothing but rows of tubs of Portugal laurel trimmed like the trees in a Noah’s ark’. He spent ‘two hours or more telephoning the Colonel, to establish communication with our Brigade Headquarters’. This involved foreign-language work with the mayor, ‘a typical peasant with a cap, shy ironical eye and hands in pockets’.   Calderon got to bed ‘after everybody and slept on the bricks among the horses’.

About thirty miles away, Rupert Brooke, with the Royal Naval Division, was living through what he described as ‘one of the greatest crimes of history’.  As well as the carnage of the siege of Antwerp itself, he witnessed thousands of refugees fleeing for their lives.  ‘Three civilians’, he wrote, ‘have been killed to every one soldier […]  Has ever a nation been treated like that?  And how can such a stain be wiped out?’

A year before, Calderon and Brooke had been in civilised correspondence about finding a producer for Brooke’s one-act play Lithuania, which appears to be a flattering attempt to replicate George’s success with his Russian curtain-raiser The Little Stone House.

Next entry: 10 October 1914

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8 October 1914

The transport ship ‘Huanchaco’ arrived at Zeebrugge at 5.30 this morning.  Mid-morning George wrote to Kittie that the voyage had been ‘much like other sea voyages; meals, tobacco, chat and a little music’,

But down below something between a menagerie and a beehive; sad horses’  faces looking out in rows over plank partitions; men sleeping in invisibly dark corners everywhere.  All night the stamping of horses’ feet.

Natives of this country have gone to fetch newspapers; I must go out and meet them.  We have had a good talk with officers and soldiers of the foreign nation, and heard many interesting things of the battles they have been in.

It seems to me that the Belgians’ courage and initiative are greatly underplayed in accounts of the first year of the War, though the reasons for that may be understandable. Now the Belgian army was concentrating on defending Antwerp.

Next entry: 9 October 1914

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Darkness

By yesterday night the Blues had embarked at Southampton.  But the transport ships did not move, as there was suspected U-boat activity in the English Channel.  They may not have moved next day either, or they may have steamed eastwards hugging the coast.  They presumably spent most of tonight at anchor and with their lights out.

An element of darkness will now enter this blog as well, since Calderon was not supposed to say in his letters where he was, and when he did the words were blacked out by the censor.  I wrote to the Household Cavalry Museum Archive some months ago (and paid!), to find out where the Blues were from day to day between 8 and 29 October 1914, but the Archive is overwhelmed with requests at the moment, a situation that I can understand.

By a stroke of luck, however, we have the personal war diary of Sir Richard (Dick) Sutton, the twenty-three-year-old son of Kittie’s friend Constance.  Dick Sutton was in the 1st Life Guards, which like the Blues was part of the 7th Cavalry Brigade, and he embarked with them.  His diary names places, so this helps track some of Calderon’s movements.  It is published in Richard Vincent Sutton: A Record of his Life Together With Extracts from his Private Papers, ed. by Mildred Isemonger (London, George W. Jones, 1922).

Today is a hole in Calderon’s biography.

Next entry: 8 October 1914

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The ‘off’

‘So as not to crowd’ Ludgershall station, as Calderon wrote his mother yesterday, at six o’clock that evening the Blues set off on horseback from Windmill Hill Camp across Salisbury Plain to another station (presumably Amesbury).  The Life Guards had left earlier.  By 2.00 a.m. today, 6 October 1914, the whole 3rd Cavalry Division, comprising about 7000 men, had reached its ‘rest-camp’ at Southampton.  In the afternoon, they rode down to the docks.

He wrote to Kittie this evening from on board the H.M. Transport “Huanchaco”, ‘a little cargo and steerage ship of about 3000 tons, in which 2 regiments of cavalry and other details are all packed.’

No beds for officers; I don’t very well understand the object of that.  War has its hardships; no need for the War Office to invent new ones, such as spelling me ‘Cauldron’ in the Gazette 2 days ago.  You might drop them a line asking them, for your convenience, to spell the name rightly in dispatches and casualty lists.  (That […] is a joke; don’t pass it on to Whitehall.)

Rum thing me leading a big horse down into a hold, in darkness with lamps here and there, dragging him up gangways and down steep inclines and through narrow passages.

No-one, he wrote, knew what their destination was.

Next entry: Darkness

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5 October 1914

                                                                             Windmill Hill Camp

Monday

Beloved little Mrs Pete

I saw you on the platform long after you had lost sight of me.  I could see you blindly waving till the train turned and bent me away.  I met [Surgeon-Major] Pares at Basingstoke and arrived at almost eleven o’clock after a very slow journey.  Everybody else had been back 24 hrs before, or nearly; many roused in the night and flying on motor cars.

My nose is out of joint as an interpreter — 3 more have arrived in the regiment; and the Brigadier and everybody has them.  We have a band with a large white INT on it on the arm.

We put on all our fig [uniform and gear] this morning for inspection and to be ready: but here we are still at 2.20 p.m. still in the dark, liable to go off at any moment, all packed and saddled, playing cards, mooching about, reading papers.  A lot of ladies about; they were let in to lunch, which never happened before.

I am jolly glad I have got just in time into B squadron.  They gave me a fine black warhorse (almost the only black regular warhorse in the regiment — an officer’s charger) that rocks like a rocking horse, full of spirit, broad and strong and good natured, that nibbles and noggles when you stand at his head. He has a great big bold rocking action when you ride, and I had the infernal luck to jog my back again climbing up a bank with him and I’m as stiff as an ironing-board again.  Never mind; it’ll be well again in a day or two, and I’ll give it a good rest in my bunk, or get somebody to rub it right in Southampton.

Goodbye my little love; live like a dog and never think of me except at 9 of an evening.  Goodbye.

(Ever since their courtship, Calderon had been inclined to believe in the therapeutic power of thinking of each other at an agreed time.)

It was a packed day for him.  In addition to the military preparations and writing to Kittie, he wrote to his mother — who was back in St John’s Wood — and drafted a long letter to a newspaper.

He told his mother that he was very pleased to have been transferred, at his own request, to a ‘jolly’ squadron with an Irish captain and Scots NCO, and to have been given the Hussar Paterson as his permanent servant, who would groom his horse, which was a ‘genuine old black Blues’ charger’.  ‘It was capital and friendly of these fine fellows to find me such a good horse.’  He finished: ‘Goodbye to you, dear Mother, and to the family.  The Germans are nearly beaten now.’  Whether he believed this is doubtful.  He may have said it because he knew Clara was a compulsive worrier: as an Oxford undergraduate he had had to persuade her that rowing and hill-walking were not lethal activities.

First page of Calderon's draft letter to the press, 5 October 1914

First page of Calderon’s draft letter to the press, 5 October 1914

The departure point of George’s letter to the press, date-stamped this day possibly by an army censor, was that the Tsar and the Kaiser were professed Hegelians who believed in ‘the imposition of the newest and highest [national civilisation] on the world at large’. This argument, which had echoes of George’s paper ‘Russian Ideals of Peace’ to the Anglo-Russian Literary Society in 1900, was widely believed in Europe.  The ideology, as we might put it, that the Tsar sought to impose on the world was thought of as Panslavism, Slavophilism, Russian Orthodoxy, or at least Russian nationalism.  ‘It would be a poor office for the Belgians, French and British if we were fighting merely to set up a Slav world-domination instead of a Teutonic’, wrote George from Windmill Hill Camp.

In fact there was already widespread opposition in Britain to the alliance with autocratic, anti-Semitic, repressive Russia.  But as Jonathan Haslam has written, ‘even at its most self-consciously Slavophile, [Tsarist] Russia never held itself up as a substitute model for capitalism and democracy in the very West itself’ (Russia’s Cold War, Yale University Press, 2011, p. 394).  That, of course, was to come after the next World War.  In a way, then, one could claim that George was prescient.  The letter was signed pseudonymously and does not appear to have been published anywhere.  Nevertheless, it is evidence that his thinking about the war, and hence his reasons for joining up, were geopolitical well before his recorded pronouncements of 1915.

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4 October 1914

It was Sunday.  Kittie probably went to church.  She fervently believed in the power of prayer, and one can imagine what she prayed for.

After lunch, they set out for Waterloo station.  As George was coming out of 42 Well Walk, their housekeeper, Elizabeth Ellis, burst into tears.  ‘It was always a surprise and touched him to find people cared for him’, Kittie wrote later.

‘I can see that train disappearing disappearing, I can feel the chill of the subway which seemed to strike right into my heart.’

Next entry: 5 October 1914

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3 October 1914

This morning, which was a Saturday,  Kittie suddenly received a telegram from George to say that, in her words, ‘after all a lot of them were getting 24 hours leave and he would be home in a few hours’.

When he arrived, it seems that the gardener was working in the small garden Kittie had designed at the back of 42 Well Walk.  This man, William Hogsden, had worked for them for years.  He now came to bid George farewell.  As Kittie described it, he said ‘in such a heartfelt voice, “I wish I were young enough to go as your servant, sir”’.

After dinner, George went with Kittie to say goodbye to the Hedleys (see my post ‘The Godfather in War’ for 26 August).  Coote Hedley must have had mixed feelings about this, as privately he believed George could be of more use to the war effort in a different role.

Next entry: 4 October 1914

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Language issues again

The version of Binyon’s ‘For the Fallen’ published in The Times (see my post of 21 September) seems to contain a misprint in line 11: ‘stanch’ instead of ‘staunch’ (‘to the end against odds uncounted’).  Last week I was in the Chapel of Trinity College, Oxford, to see the College’s manuscript of the poem, and this confirmed Binyon had written ‘staunch’. But, well, the idea of a misprint in The Times in 1914 seems incredible!

I now discover from The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Historical Principles that at that time there were not only two spellings for the adjective, but two pronunciations: ‘stawnsh’ and ‘starnsh’.  I would have said that ‘stanch’ is used today only for the verb, and, incidentally, that the consonant combination ‘ch’ is pronounced in both spellings as in ‘church’.  However, I see from The Chambers Dictionary (2009) that I would be wrong on both counts…

In his letter of 29 September 1914 George Calderon starts to tell Kittie that ‘the Ritz Hotel at Paris is somehow at our disposal and we can have things sent, which will reach us’, but then breaks off: ‘I am too bewildered with tabloids and cigarettes to go into the details.’

Tabloids?  Were the Northcliffe press onto him for impersonating a soldier?

It turns out that in Edwardian times Tabloid was a registered trademark for medicines manufactured in compressed/concentrated form by Wellcome and Co, but then (rather like ‘hoover’) it dropped the capital letter in order to be used of such drugs in general.  The idea of George having taken so many of these ‘tabloids’ (what were they for?) and smoking so much as to be ‘bewildered’ casts an interesting light on his state.

Next entry: 3 October 1914

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1 October 1914

The first attempt at implementing the Schlieffen Plan for defeating France had failed and Moltke was replaced as chief of the German general staff by Falkenhayn.  The Germans now began a second attempt.  Their intention was to invade the rest of Belgium up to the coast, outflank the allies from the west, and break through to Paris having seized the Channel ports.  On 1 October 1914, therefore, the B.E.F. began a long redeployment from the Aisne, where they were relieved by French troops, to Flanders.  They would be fighting alongside Belgian and French forces, and the plan was for them to be met around Ypres by the 3rd Cavalry Division coming from the north.  The 3rd Cavalry Division, of course, contained an interpreter named George Calderon.

Although Kittie numbered all of George’s 1914 wartime letters, and there are no gaps in the extant series, she probably did this for Percy Lubbock in 1920 when he was writing his George Calderon: A Sketch from Memory, and kept some of them back because she felt they were too personal.  These letters are now lost.  It appears, therefore, as though George did not communicate with her between 1 and 5 October.  But her memoirs tell a different story:

[There were] rumours that at any moment they might be off and that there was no chance of any more leave and would I, or would I not, come to the camp? — of course, I must do exactly as I liked — wives were turning up — but his advice was not to, it would be so unsatisfactory — and then another letter saying I was to go to the port and to try and bring someone with me so that I should not feel I was left entirely alone.

Next entry: Language issues again

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The military situation

In his letter to Kittie yesterday, Calderon wrote: ‘We hear that cavalrymen on the Oise have put their horses by, and are standing in the trenches with the rest.’  This was true and highly revealing.  After 9 September the German First and Second Armies had withdrawn from the Marne to extremely well prepared positions on the Chemin des Dames ridge above the Aisne-Oise rivers.  They received reinforcements, dug in, and rained shells and machine-gun fire down on the French and British forces pursuing them. Cavalry deployment was almost impossible.  The allies themselves had to take to the trenches. Although the B.E.F. had been reinforced by a third corps, it was losing 2000 men a day.

On 30 September 1914 George wrote to Kittie: ‘We didn’t have the big field day today; it’s for tomorrow.  [We] go out at 8. a.m. and get in at 9 or so in the evening.’  This was an exercise drawing together all the 3rd Cavalry Division’s training and preparations since arriving on Salisbury Plain early in September.  Evidently it was to be the last before the ‘off’.  But no-one knew yet precisely when that was going to be.

Next entry: 1 October 1914

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29 September 1914

It is clear from something Calderon wrote to his wife at the end of October that he did suffer from bouts of depression whilst he was an interpreter with the Blues.   On this day, Tuesday 29 September, he wrote to her:

This morning after 3 hrs riding I left the Regiment to its Brigade drill and rode home alone. […] As I rode home alone I practised sword exercise all alone in a field under the hill on a row of dummies on poles, made of sacking and straw, as directed by the Colonel. However, the horse was very shy of them, and horribly alarmed when the sword went into them, and shied and galloped about; and it was rather lonely, poking dummies all alone in a big field, even when a battalion of Kitchener’s men began to drill in a distant corner.

His strategy for being accepted in the armed forces at the age of 45 had succeeded brilliantly.   But he wasn’t a ‘soldier’.  He was ‘the Interpreter’, always ‘on the outskirts’ of the Blues.  ‘Lone’ occurs five times in the passage just quoted.

On the other hand, he never ceased to think of Kittie’s predicament too.  He finished today’s letter:

Goodbye, dearest Mrs P.  I’m sorry for all your turmoils and troubles.  But have no anxieties about me; I feel sure that they are unnecessary.  Bless you.  And get among friends as soon as possible after Sunday.

Your loving P.

The last sentence suggests that he knew they were leaving for the Front after the weekend, and was unlikely to see her beforehand.

Next entry: The military situation

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‘Connected with the Hamiltons’

A hundred years ago today George V, Queen Mary, the Prime Minister, and their entourages, visited Windmill Hill Camp.  The Third Cavalry Division had now been officially formed and was being reviewed by the monarch.

George Calderon described it as ‘rather a dull day’…

He wrote to Kittie that this ‘suited’ him, as he had a crick in his back ‘from jumping badly’. ‘I let the Division ride past the King without me (as I am not a member of it) and trotted about with a Transport officer in something of the same position, on the outskirts.’ Amongst the King’s entourage was Lady Constance Sutton, née Corbet, who was a very close friend of Kittie’s.  Her son, Sir Richard Sutton, was present in the 1st Life Guards. George ‘chatted a bit with her’, then returned to his position ‘on the outskirts’.

This enabled him to observe the proceedings with a writerly eye.  For the first time since he arrived at Windmill Camp, it seems, his usually irrepressible sense of the grotesque and ridiculous was awoken.

His stories, satirical novels, and plays, had always featured impostors, or at least people whose identity was transgradient and disconcertingly difficult to put your finger on.  His attention now was drawn to such a person in the crowd at Windmill Hill:

A wretched little crazy fellow, or else a spy, dressed up in what he said was an Indian uniform, was the only point of interest. He came early into our mess and was given ginger ale and a cigarette, offered meals, and lavishly promised a job with the Blues ‘if anything turned up’.  (They are very kind and polite to everyone.)  He gave himself out variously as an Indian Hussar and Transport officer, but wore a warrant officer’s badges (so somebody said).  At the Review he was everywhere in the crowd, chatting with everybody, ladies, soldiers, chauffeurs and policemen.  Nobody bothered about him and he went off across the Plain on foot (he looked like a sort of Das Gupta [the Bengali K.N. Das Gupta, who founded the Indian Art and Dramatic Society that staged George’s Tagore adaptation The Maharani of Arakan in 1912 at the Albert Hall]) amid general unresentful suspicion.  One of the Military Police (having his attention directed to him) said Oh, he was all right; they knew all about him; he was the Interpreter.  A nice compliment for me!

However, this was not the only thing that suggested a sort of doppelgänger or distressed parody of George himself: the man said he was ‘connected with the Hamiltons’.  The Hamiltons were one of the great families of the realm, and George was himself ‘connected’ with them through his marriage to Kittie, whose father was not just an Irish landowner, but related to the Wellesleys, Stewarts, Pakenhams…

When Kittie received this letter, she jumped to the conclusion that George himself had mentioned to the ‘pseudo-Das Gupta’ that he was ‘connected with the Hamiltons’! Two days later, therefore, he had to explain:  ‘Das Gupta did not associate me with his connexion with the Hamiltons.  It was a general remark to endear him with the Colonel. The poor creature was a harmless drink-demented person.’

There was evidently something slightly unsettling about the whole incident.

Next entry: 29 September 1914

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A lacuna

When I wrote in my posting for 16 September 1914 that George Calderon went off to say goodbye to his ‘only visitable relation’ in London, the word ‘visitable’ was carefully chosen. George’s widowed mother was in the New Forest at the time, one of his sisters was probably with her, another was at a convent, two of his brothers were in Canada, a third lived in the north of England, and the animal painter Frank Calderon had lived in London all his life.  But where was George’s remaining sibling, Henry?

Henry is the mystery man of the Calderon family.   He was born in 1862, which makes him six years older than George, and George’s second-eldest brother.  He was baptised ‘Philip Henry’.  This gave him the same famous initials as his father, the Victorian R.A. Philip Hermogenes Calderon.  He was the only Calderon child with this distinction.  However, his baptismal entry does not give his parents’ names or his father’s occupation.  This is highly unusual!  Could there be a problem here?

No.  His birth was announced in The Times (‘to the wife of Philip H. Calderon Esq.’), his birth certificate is completely normal, but he is named there ‘Henry Philip’, as he is in all the relevant censuses (he died in 1915).  He is always registered as living in London.  The censuses for 1901 and 1911 show him living in digs and his profession as ‘actuary’, apparently specialising in insurance.  The problem is, he is the only child of Clara and Philip Hermogenes Calderon who is never mentioned in any of George and Kittie’s extant papers.   Nor does he feature in person on this family photograph of 1894:

Calderon family photograph, 1 January 1894. Clockwise: seated on floor George Calderon, Jack Calderon, Marge Calderon, Fred Calderon, Alfred Merigon Calderon, Evelyn Calderon, seated next to table Clara Calderon.

Calderon family photograph, 1 January 1894.
Clockwise: seated on floor George Calderon, Jack Calderon, Marguerite Calderon, Fred Calderon, Alfred Merigon Calderon, Evelyn Calderon, seated next to table Clara Calderon

Mind you, nor does his father!  Philip Hermogenes Calderon was usually so busy that he did not have time to attend family occasions, which were impeccably managed by his wife Clara.  On this photograph the absent Calderon males appear to be ‘present’ in the three photographs on the table.  The one to the left is of Calderon père, and as far as I can tell from published images the one at the front is of Frank, which means the one on the right must be of Henry.  His head-shape certainly looks different from the others’.

When I was about to write in this blog that on 16 September 1914 George Calderon went off to say goodbye to ‘his brother’, I suddenly remembered that he most likely had another brother in London, Henry.  So why wasn’t he saying goodbye to him too?  Why does his name never feature in Calderon letters or memoirs?  Was he the black sheep of the family? I decided to sidestep the issue by saying that Frank Calderon was George’s only ‘visitable relation’ in London…

The question nagged at me, though, and a few days ago I decided I must have another go at it (my research assistant and I first looked into it a year ago).  It is made more interesting by the fact that when I was searching online newspapers a year or two ago, I came across a tattered and blurred announcement of the birth of a child to, I thought, the wife of a Henry Calderon, but since I was actually searching for reviews of George’s plays at the time, I did not print it out or make more than a mental note of it.  When I subsequently searched for it, I couldn’t find it (which is not unheard of with these newspaper search engines).  Yet — obviously — if one is going to establish why Henry Calderon was ‘unvisitable’ in London, this glimpsed announcement could be relevant.

In his census records Henry is always down as ‘single’.  On the 1911 return there is only one other boarder at the address he is living at, and that is a woman schoolteacher aged 26.  There is one birth of a Calderon child registered in the decade 1900-10, but that was in 1901, so there is hardly cause for speculating in that direction.  This child died in just over a year.  I ought at least to see who its parents were, however, so I have ordered both the birth and death certificates.

Probably nothing will come of this, in the sense of suggesting that Henry Calderon was anything other than a son who went off to do something completely different from his siblings and had very little contact with them.  But you never know.  The question would never have raised its head again if it had not been for George bidding farewell to only one relation in London.

Time-consuming, but par for the course for any biographer!

Next entry: ‘Connected with the Hamiltons’

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26 September 1914

Today Kittie left Hampstead to stay with the Pyms at Foxwold, near Sevenoaks in Kent.

It was a sign of her desperation, or of her need for comfort, or at least of her desire to be with people she loved and who loved her.  Violet Pym, aged 32, was one of the group of ‘young people’ to whom George and Kittie were particularly close.  Her husband, ‘Evey’, was probably away with his regiment (see my posts at the end of July and beginning of August).  Kittie could help amuse and keep an eye on Violet’s two young children, and support Violet, who was almost full-term in her third pregnancy.  Violet’s mother, Catherine Lubbock, was presumably in residence close by at Emmetts.  Catherine was a half-sister of Kittie’s first husband, Archie Ripley, who had died in 1898.

Kittie Calderon 'keeping an eye on' Pym and Lubbock children at Foxwold, c.1912

Kittie Calderon ‘keeping an eye on’ Pym and Lubbock children at Foxwold, c.1912

The weather was much as it is at the moment, the setting idyllic.  Foxwold and its grounds feature in the 1985 Merchant-Ivory film Room with a View.

George did not write to Kittie today or tomorrow, probably because he was preoccupied with the exercise at Southampton that he referred to in his letter of 22nd.  However, he never mentioned this in his subsequent letters; possibly the exercise was a rehearsal for embarkation and therefore a military secret.

Next entry: A lacuna

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25 September 1914

[From Windmill Hill Camp, Salisbury Plain]

Friday

Mrs P., So you didn’t have too much of your sleepy mole?  Well, I don’t know about any more upcomings.  Next Sunday, that’s the day after tomorrow, I certainly can’t; it’s too soon; and I’ve arranged with a Corporal to take me out riding and over some jumps.  I was very glad I came home when I did.  At 5.30 I found everybody was going out for an outpost affair; Corporal Farrer (who’s taking me out on Sunday) lent me his beautiful horse.  We were out till after nine, in a loveliest starriest night, bits champing in dewy field corners.  I had the luck to be sent with a message to the next squadron; steered by the moon, trotting along on my splendid horse, up far aloft from the ground; pursued the required Captain from village to village in the dark, tracked him down, gave the countersign to smiley realistic challenging sentries, and found my way back a new way to the spot I had left.  Today, we went out at an easy walk across the downs; and I volunteered for some semaphoring, in which I did so so.  A corporal holds out the hope that with a little luck, I might find myself a troop-leader after a bit out at the war. Don’t tell anyone.

The mess corporal told me that he had 2 parcels for me for two days; Heaven knows why he hadn’t sent them to my tent — I suppose he expected my servant to come and ask for parcels; but Paterson’s always in the canteen, I fancy.

[…]

The parcels had the smart hankies and the jerseys which look lovely.  I’ll take them as first line of supplies.  Pyjamas, A1.  But what a supply of things!  I’m thinking of a rummage sale.

Before you’re tied up: there’s a thing or so.  1. Riding whip hasn’t come.  2. Dixie hasn’t sent the eyeglasses; but I don’t care a damn; they would only be another parcel.  3. The lens is lovely, but too strong; I can see only a letter at a time.  If they can change it, I’ll keep it till I know.  But it doesn’t matter anyway. 4. I want two 4d compressed lead HB pencils.

Another great Brigade Field Day tomorrow; I expect I shall have Corporal Farrer’s beautiful horse.

Monday, the King comes.

I did not lose my stick.

The [equestrian] pants rode beautifully.

I don’t see why John Cook [a relative of Kittie’s] needs an introduction to the Inns of Court [Regiment].  But I’ll try to scratch a line when I’m handy for a sheet of paper.  I’m in my tent and I’m damned if I’m going to unroll my basebag.  I want to read German.

P.

One more want: 5. Liebmann’s rotten German-English military vocabulary, which I left in my kneehole.

Percy Lubbock, who knew the Calderons well, described George as having a ‘rich gift of anger’; but it was rarely seen.

Next entry: 26 September 1914

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Status

There are no letters from George to Kittie on 23 or 24 September 1914.  At first this seems odd, since he had been writing to her every day.  They were a Wednesday and a Thursday, and you would expect him to get leave only at the weekend.  However, in his letter of 22nd he had said that there was a rumour the ‘Blues’ were going on a weekend exercise near Southampton.  The beginning of his letter of 25 September, which I shall give almost in full tomorrow, confirms that he had indeed returned to Hampstead for the 23rd to 24th.

But since he was at home, he did not write any letters.  So what happened?  One can be fairly sure that he visited Coote Hedley (see blog for 16 August) to relate his recent experiences and promotion to Second Lieutenant.  That, however, would inevitably raise the question of when he was going to become ‘combatant’…  At what point would he be regarded as a fighter rather than an interpreter?

The status of interpreters was indeed ill-defined.  Preparations had been made years before in British-French military agreements, for the French to supply the interpreters to liaise between the armies once the B.E.F. arrived on French soil, and thousands had been recruited in France.  As Franziska Heimburger has described in a fascinating article (‘Fighting Together: Language Issues in the Military Coordination of First World War Allied Coalition Warfare’, in Languages and the Military, eds Hilary Footitt and Michael Kelly, 2012), these French military interpreters were put into ‘the position which the British Army had reserved for its orderlies’, who were used for carrying messages when communication by signal was not possible.

This probably explains why in his letter to Kittie of 22 September George wrote that during ‘two fancy battles’ on Salisbury Plain, ‘trotting and galloping all over the shop’,

The Colonel sent me with a message to a Squadron; but I disgraced myself by never finding them; scooted at full gallop for miles and missed them.  I told him [!] to do it again other times: I might be quite useful in the field.  I find I can ride further than my horse, which makes me happy about myself, but less proud of the horse.  I’m sure the whip [which Kittie had bought for him] is lovely; the Colonel recommended me to have one today.

According to Heimburger, in the field the interpreters’ duties were mainly liaising with civilians over billeting, food, and compensating damages.  At this point in time George was still the only interpreter the Blues had.  As he mentions elsewhere, Colonel Wilson was also ‘always impressing the study of billeting on me’.

All this did not augur well for George’s ‘status’ on the field and his plans to fight in the front line.  It must have been a subject of discussion, therefore, with Hedley, if not with Kittie too.  His next letter home suggests he was preoccupied with it, and perhaps it explains the sense of irritation near the surface.

Next entry: 25 September 1914

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