Tragedy and ill-health drew the three closer. Shortly after the dinner party the man with whom Edith Plowden’s brother ‘chummed’ or shared house in Lahore died suddenly, leaving a widow and a small child, who had then to pack up and return to England: ‘This was my first experience of the tragic partings inseparable from Indian careers … The first shock was great & left me with a sense of general insecurity.’ Edith took to her bed with an ‘almost suicidal depression’, from which she was rescued by Alice Kipling, who coaxed her into joining her on her evening drives. From then on Edith spent every Thursday evening with the Kiplings, ‘John smoking and reading to us, [while] Alice & I worked embroidery from his designs with native silks – or Alice was at the piano … Within all was bright & artistic & bore the unmistakable stamp of that much abused word “culture”.’ Here she learned to share the Kiplings’ enthusiasm for Robert Browning and the Pre-Raphaelites as she received a foundation course in literature, art and modern ideas which frequently left her shocked, particularly when she discovered that both Alice and Lockwood Kipling had ‘fallen in and out of love’ before they had met and that the former owned a collection of engagement rings.
In November 1875 Lockwood began writing for the Pioneer as its Lahore correspondent, in his first article rejoicing at the commencement of the Cold Weather: ‘The mornings are delightful, the evenings, chill and murky with heavy dews; the air laden with the pungent mixture of raw mist and foul-smelling smoke which every right-thinking Punjabi considers the chief delight of this splendid climate.’28 The Prince of Wales had just embarked on a royal tour of India and as part of his duties Lockwood organised the decorations for a grand banquet and ball to be held in the Lawrence and Montgomery Halls to honour the Prince’s visit to Lahore at the start of the New Year. He worked long and hard on this extra task, only to collapse on the eve of the Prince’s arrival. His condition was diagnosed as typhoid and for six weeks he lay unconscious and on the brink, Alice nursing him on her own. Weeks passed before Lockwood was entirely lucid – ‘I sometimes sat and talked with him but it was all fragmentary,’ recorded Edith Plowden. ‘This devotee of Browning and Swinburne lay reading Alice’s Cookery book by the hour’ – and more weeks before he was strong enough to leave the bungalow.
Lockwood’s illness set its mark on both Kiplings. According to their daughter, it left him at the age of thirty-seven, ‘grey and bald and prematurely old-looking’29; and according to Edith Plowden, Alice, too, was ‘never quite the same again’.30 When the Hot Weather came round in May there was no question of their remaining in Lahore. Before the heat had grown intolerable they left for the hill-station of Mussoorie, but hardly had they settled in before Lockwood received a summons to proceed at once to Simla to report to the office of the Viceroy.
Barely six weeks earlier a new proconsul had arrived in India whose policies were to destroy much of the good work done by his predecessors: Robert Bulwer, first Earl of Lytton, diplomat and author of a number of volumes of second-rate verse and fiction under the nom de plume of ‘Owen Meredith’. It was said of Lord Lytton that he inherited ‘insanity from one parent and limitless conceit from the other’.31 Today he would be diagnosed as a manic depressive with wild mood swings, but at the time his behaviour was blamed on his nerves, which he calmed with heavy doses of laudanum. Lytton arrived in India ‘burning with anxiety to distinguish himself in a great war’32 but in almost every other respect he was aggressively Utilitarian. Eager to apply Disraeli’s policy of non-intervention and free-market capitalism to the letter, he summarily abolished Indian import duties on British-made cotton goods, opening India to a flood of cheap Lancashire piece-goods. This might not have mattered in a strong economy, but the fact was that India’s per capita income was falling dramatically as a direct consequence of a burgeoning market economy dominated by cash crops such as cotton, indigo, jute and tea grown for export. In the process it was not the peasant cultivator who benefited but the trader, so much so that British rule in India was becoming known in Native Indian circles as Banyakiraj, the rule of the money-lender.
Saddled with ever-mounting debts, India’s rural population no longer had the means to sustain itself in hard times – and those hard times began in 1874 when India suffered the first of a series of droughts of unprecedented severity, leading to famine in Bengal and Bihar, droughts since identified as part of a worldwide weather pattern shift known today as the El Niño Southern Oscillation. In the Hot Weather of 1875 – the same summer of heatwaves the Kiplings had experienced after moving up to Lahore – the Rains failed again, resulting in the loss of the kharif, the autumn harvest. The authorities responded by implementing famine-relief measures: Harry Rivett-Carnac’s former patron, Sir Richard Temple, was appointed famine commissioner and with the sanction of the then Viceroy, Lord Northbrook, imported rice from Burma and instituted relief measures which saved the day. But instead of being thanked, both Northbrook and Temple were castigated for profligacy by Disraeli’s Home Government. Further disagreements over Disraeli’s aggressive attitude towards Afghanistan and his plans to abolish Indian cotton tariffs led to Northbrook’s resignation – and his replacement by the Prime Minister’s fourth choice: Lord Lytton, arguably the worst Viceroy ever sent to govern India.
In the summer of 1876 the monsoon failed for a third year, leading to famine on a scale hitherto unknown in India. But when Lord Buckingham, Governor of Madras, instituted relief measures such as work camps where refugees were given food in return for their labour, he was sternly rebuked by Lytton, who ordered that no grain was to be bought by Government. So while hundreds of thousands died for lack of food in Madras and other famine-affected regions, surpluses of rice and wheat in other parts of India continued to be exported to England. In 1876 Indian wheat exports to Britain doubled, and doubled again in the following year.
To further curb the authorities in Madras Lord Lytton appointed Sir Richard Temple as special adviser to Lord Buckingham, with orders to ‘tighten the reins’. Having learned his lesson in Bengal, Temple now acted with extraordinary callousness, removing half a million workers from the relief camps’ rolls and reducing the rations of those who remained to the notorious ‘Temple wage’ of one pound of rice a day. Many thousands, if not millions, died as a consequence of these measures – for which Temple received a baronetcy and the Governorship of Bombay. Meanwhile the Great Famine rolled on. In 1877 it spread to the Deccan, Rajasthan and parts of the North-Western Provinces. Although heavy rains fell in the late summer, an unusually cold winter coupled with a cholera epidemic killed thousands worn down by hunger.
Throughout this period the Pioneer and other leading newspapers remained silent, persuaded by the authorities that to do otherwise would spread alarm and despondency. It was not until February 1878 that the Statesman newspaper in Calcutta broke ranks and published the facts. Unabashed, the Viceroy responded by setting up a Famine Commission packed with officials who shared his Malthusian view that famine was a natural phenomenon, and that attempts to mitigate its effects would only lead to overpopulation. The Commission duly reported that famine was indeed a natural phenomenon and had absolutely nothing to do with Government. Indeed, it praised the Government of India for the steps it had taken and recommended the establishment of a Famine Code, involving the setting up of work camps and other measures that were essentially punitive.
As a direct consequence of these and other Lyttonian policies many educated Indians who saw themselves as loyal citizens of the Crown became disillusioned with British rule and determined to work for the cause of greater Indian involvement in government. A number of British officials took the same view, among them the Civilian Allan Octavian Hume, who as Lord Lytton’s Secretary of Revenue and Agriculture had become convinced that ‘some definite action was called for’. Hume’s plans for the imposition of an income tax to create a famine insurance fund were denounced by Lytton as penalising the ‘higher income group’ and were rejected in favour of indirect tax schemes which hit hardes
t the poorer sections of the community. Hume was demoted and resigned, and the indirect taxation he had opposed was used not for famine insurance but to create a war chest.
In the summer of 1876, however, Lord Lytton’s main preoccupation was with a grand celebration which he and Disraeli had together devised: an ‘Imperial Assemblage’ to be held at Delhi on New Year’s Day 1877, at which Queen Victoria was to be proclaimed Kaiser-i-Hind or Empress of India. It was to be ‘gaudy enough to impress the orientals’ while at the same time concealing ‘the nakedness of the sword on which we really rely’,33 and one of its features was to be the presentation of armorial bearings to the maharajas, rajas and nawabs who together made up India’s ‘salute princes’ or local rulers entitled to gun salutes of thirteen and above. It was in this connection that Lockwood Kipling had been summoned to Simla.
For some weeks the Kiplings were left kicking their heels, with no idea of why Lockwood had been sent for. In her manuscript memoir Edith Plowden hints that they came up against the wall of snobbery for which Simla was notorious. She herself had been invited to Simla by her cousin Trevor Plowden, whose family owned a fine house with a magnificent garden in Chota Simla, below Simla Bazaar. Here she went down with a second bout of fever and depression and was again rescued by the Kiplings. Walking out together one day they met a ‘dreamy gentleman in a wide-brimmed soft hat walking, silent and thoughtful, accompanied by two young men respectful but alert. Something unusual about the quiet group and John’s sudden silence as he removed his hat, made me ask “Who was that?” when they had passed by.’ This was Lord Lytton, accompanied by his two aides-de-camp.
After weeks of waiting Lockwood was finally called to a meeting at the viceregal residence, Peterhof, to hear the Viceroy set out his plans for his Assemblage. Lord Lytton was in one of his better moods, and Lockwood was beguiled. ‘Such a charming, gentle little Viceroy,’ he wrote to Edith Plowden. ‘He has a gentle lingering way of doing business – especially the double-barrelled hug.’34 At last Lockwood learned why he had been summoned: coats of arms in the English style had been devised for each of the salute princes and it would be his task to depict these in Chinese silk embroidery on large satin banners, along with appropriate ‘mottoes, titles and family mottoes in Persian characters’. Sixty-three coats of arms were required for the princes, plus another seven for the Viceroy, the Commander-in-Chief and British India’s five Governors and Lieutenant-Governors – all to be delivered by Christmas.
The Kiplings left at once for Lahore, where a team of dirzies or tailors were hired and set to work. For the next nine weeks both Lockwood and Alice spent almost every waking hour on the project, he working up the designs and constructing the banners while she employed her skills as a needlewoman to supervise the embroidery. They and the seventy completed banners were then transported to Delhi to play their part in Lord Lytton’s imperial pageant.
The site for the Assemblage had been deliberately chosen, because it was here behind Delhi Ridge that the British forces had camped in the summer of 1857 before recapturing Delhi from the rebels. It had now been transformed into one vast tented city, with the Viceroy’s Camp at the centre alongside an amphitheatre with a raised dais at which the main ceremonies were to be held. As a guest of her cousin, Edith Plowden was comfortably ensconced at the camp of the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal. The Kiplings were invited but had to make do with a modest three-roomed tent on the outer fringes.
On 30 December Ruddy celebrated his eleventh birthday in London with the Burne-Joneses, by now deeply troubled by his behaviour and ‘puzzled what to do for him’.35 On the following day in Delhi his mother watched through a curtain as Lord Lytton presented the salute princes with their banners, her husband hovering ‘in the remote background producing the banners from some unseen quarter as they were wanted’. On 1 January 1877 the Imperial Assemblage reached its climax as Queen Victoria was proclaimed Empress of India with as much pomp and display as Lord Lytton’s imagination could conceive. The Kiplings’ reward for their efforts was a purse of 500 rupees and a silver medal for Lockwood, which Alice considered totally inadequate. Nevertheless, they were granted an audience with the Viceroy at which Lord Lytton, ever the ladies’ man, took Alice by both hands and declared her to be an angel: ‘As they talked together of the Art world in London Lord Lytton learnt that Alice was the sister of Georgie Burne-Jones. “Who would have thought of meeting Mrs Burne-Jones’ sister in India,” said Lord Lytton. “But who would have thought of meeting Owen Meredith as Viceroy,” replied Alice, who was never at a loss for a bright response.’ Not altogether surprisingly, the Kiplings regarded Lord Lytton thereafter as a ruler whose ‘brilliancy startled the English [community in India]’, despite those who found it ‘easier to criticize than to appreciate new ideas’.36
Friday was the day when the overseas mail came in, and one Friday shortly after the Kiplings’ return to Lahore Edith Plowden went over to their bungalow as usual, so that she and Alice could open and read their letters together. ‘Then the blow fell!’ Edith wrote somewhat melodramatically: Georgie Burne-Jones’s letter with news of Ruddy’s deterioration had arrived. She reported that she had found the boy ‘altered, silent, unhappy … One night she went upstairs to put out his light. She kissed him and said good night: he drew the bedclothes over his head and she could see he was shaking with sobs. She tried to comfort him and he appreciated it but would not say a word. She thought – had thought for some time that Alice should come home, for Rudyard was changing – more thoughtful and depressed; this break down was decisive.’37
Alice came to a decision within minutes: a friend was about to leave for England by P&O steamer and she would go with her.
4
‘One school of many’
UNITED SERVICES COLLEGE, WESTWARD HO!, AND BIKANER HOUSE, LAHORE, 1877–82
One school of many, made to make
Men who shall hold it dearest right
To battle for their ruler’s sake,
And stake their being in the fight.
Rudyard Kipling, ‘Ave Imperatrix’, March 1882
On her return to England Alice Kipling lost no time in descending on Lorne Lodge, Southsea. She found Ruddy ‘shy & reserved’ and Trix’s affections transferred to Mrs Holloway. She spent several nights at Lorne Lodge and, according to Edith Plowden, finally broke through her son’s shyness after several evenings seated at his bedside: ‘“Let me look at you,” he said one evening & fixed his spectacled eyes steadily on her. “Your face is one grand smile,” he said & put his arms round her neck & kissed her lovingly.’1
Alice was still unaware of the cruelty inflicted on her children by Mrs Holloway and either failed to see the warning signs or misread them. ‘She told me afterwards,’ wrote Rudyard in his autobiography, ‘that when she first came up to my room to kiss me goodnight, I flung up my arm to guard off the cuff that I had been trained to expect.’ In ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’ Kipling’s alter ego Punch does the same, but here forcing his mother to comprehend at last what she has done: ‘“Oh, my son – my little, little son! … It was my fault – my fault, darling – and yet how could we help it? Forgive me.”’ But this was wishful thinking on the author’s part, for at the time neither child gave an inkling of what they had been through. Not until Ruddy’s parents read ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’ after its publication in 1888 did they fully grasp what their children had suffered. Until that moment both children had kept their feelings entirely suppressed.
A carefree holiday on a farm in Epping Forest followed, during which the two children were given as much licence as they wished: ‘I don’t know how mother survived it,’ wrote Trix of this time, ‘we were so absolutely lawless and unchecked. Our cousin Stanley Baldwin came for a six weeks’ visit and we infected him with our lawlessness too, even to donkey riding. He brought a bat and tried to teach us cricket, but we had no time for it – it entailed too much law and order.’2 Cousin Stanley was then aged ten, his Kipling cousins eleven and eight going on
nine. Desperate to make up for her absence, Alice overdid it, and went down with shingles, having to be rescued by her unmarried sister Edith. Nevertheless, the liberating effect of his mother’s return helped restore Ruddy’s self-confidence: ‘By the end of that long holiday I understood that … books and pictures were among the most important affairs in the world; that I could read as much as I chose and ask the meaning of things from anyone I met. I had found out, too, that one could take pen and set down what one thought, and that nobody accused one of “showing off” by so doing.’3
The education Ruddy had so far received had been rudimentary. The best that the Kiplings’ finances had been able to run to had been a day school in Southsea which prepared boys for entry into the Royal Navy. However, in 1874 an advertisement had appeared in the Pioneer which must have read like an answer to their prayers. It gave notice of the opening of a private school on the west coast of England set up by a consortium of retired Indian Army officers with the specific aim of providing an inexpensive, no-frills education for boys intending to go on to the officer-training academies but unable to afford the fees of military-oriented public schools such as Wellington College. But what made United Services Proprietary College doubly attractive was that the headmaster was an old family friend, Cormell Price, who had been at King Edward VI Grammar School in Birmingham with Ned Burne-Jones and Alice’s brother Harry – and who may even have been among Alice’s early admirers. ‘Crom’ as he was known to his friends, and ‘Uncle Crom’ as he became known to Ruddy, had been a master at Haileybury College, a school long associated with India through its original role as the East India Company’s training school for its administrators.
Kipling Sahib Page 11
