Churchill's Grandmama

by Margaret E. Forster

  She fulfilled her promise!

  She had formed the annual routine of spending the summer and early autumn at Garron Tower, and she would go to Wynyard for Christmas. With the exception of a short visit to London during the season, the rest of the year saw her installed at Seaham, where she had built an imposing office overlooking the harbour her husband had built. Disraeli, her faithful admirer, stayed with her there in 1861, leaving us a vivid account not only of Seaham but also of Frances Anne’s character and quality:

  This is a remarkable place, and our hostess is a remarkable woman. Twenty miles hence she has a palace (Wynyard) in a vast park, with forest rides and antlered deer, and all the splendid accessories of feudal life. But she prefers living in a hall on the shores of the German Ocean, surrounded by her collieries and her blast furnaces and her railroads and the unceasing telegraphs, with a port hewn out of the solid rock, screw steamers and four thousand pitmen under her control. One day she dined the whole four thousand in one of the factories. In the town of Seaham Harbour, a mile off, she has a regular office, a fine stone building with her name and arms on the front, and her flag flying above; and here she transacts, with innumerable agents, immense business – and I remember her five-and-twenty years ago a mere fine lady; nay, the finest in London! But one must find excitement if one has brains.6

  The dinner to which Disraeli referred took place in 1856 in a large factory at Chilton Moor and the numbers were indeed close to 4,000. The walls were decorated with the banners of the respective collieries, while at centre table stood a baron of beef weighing 130 pounds. Harry, Lord Vane, took the chair and grace was sung by the choristers of Durham Cathedral. Frances Anne knew her miners, and she spoke to them warmly and with commitment, urging them to educate their children in the schools she had provided and concentrate on good practice both inside and outside the pit. She was enthusiastically received by her audience, for she had continued her husband’s caring practices and the Londonderry reputation stood high.

  It was one of the last duties she carried out. She died peacefully at Seaham Hall in 1865, leaving five sons and daughters and 18 grandchildren, eight of whom were Spencer-Churchills. Her greatest gifts were a formidable intelligence and a feisty sense of humour, which carried her safely through an eventful and intensely public life. Brian Masters later pays her eloquent tribute, calling her a competent business woman who always spoke to the point and handled her workforce with respect and sympathy, a tall and elegant figure whose face communicated character and humour. She was more than this, however. She had also a strong will, confidence, a sense of purpose, social poise and accomplishment and, in particular, a compassion for and sensitivity to the needy and a true feeling of responsibility towards the vulnerable. There was much of her in her daughter.

  Even after her death she proved to have a very long arm, as was discovered in a copy of her will in the Churchill Archives in Cambridge. Through her daughter she reached out to her unborn great grandson, Winston Churchill. After a fairly predictable distribution of her fortune, she bequeathed Garron Tower and its estate, the spectacular building she had built on her mother’s property in Antrim, in such a way that the technicalities are worth repeating verbatim:

  … upon trust for her four grandsons Herbert Lionel Vane Tempest, Henry John Vane Tempest [the third and second sons of her son Earl Vane], Randolph Henry Spencer Churchill [Frances’ and John Winston’s second surviving son and Winston’s father] and Francis Adolphus Vane Tempest [son of her late son Lord Adolphus Vane Tempest] and their respective issue male, so that her said four grandsons respectively with their respective issue male should take in succession in the order named, and so that each grandson should take an estate for life with remainder to his first and other sons successively, according to seniority in tail male with certain remainders over.7

  Since Henry died in 1905 and Herbert in 1921, both without issue, and Randolph, Frances’ son, died in 1895, this bequest actually came through to Randolph’s son, Winston Churchill, in 1922. At a period of great sadness in his life, after his mother had died in 1921 and his three-year-old daughter Marigold just three months later, when he himself was in hospital with appendicitis during the General Election in which he subsequently lost his seat, this unexpected turn of fortune from the distant past brought him a generous income of £4,000 to £5,000 a year. The income from the Garron Tower Estate was his first taste of financial security and it enabled him to buy Chartwell, the home in Kent which he and Clementine loved and lived in for over 40 years. Surely, across the generations, his great-grandmother Frances Anne had heard him and had made her own substantial contribution to his future.

  Notes

  1. Victoria County History vol.12, pp.257ff.

  2. Life and Times of F.M. Muller, ed. by his wife, 1859, cited in The Later Churchills by A.L. Rowse, p.217.

  3. Diary of Mrs Jeune, 1859, cited by A.L. Rowse, p.224.

  4. Undated newspaper cutting, Bodleian, G.A. Oxon. 73 (5,6).

  5. FA to people of Seaham 1854, cited by Edith Londonderry, pp.260-1.

  6. Disraeli’s letters to Frances Anne, cited by Edith Londonderry, p.268.

  7. Last Will and Testament of Frances Anne, 3rd Marchioness of Londonderry.

  Chapter Ten

  A BELOVED SON

  * * *

  Like most mothers, Frances was careful not to favour one child above another. What she could not avoid, and what was growing in her as the days went by, was an anxiety about Randolph which possessed her whenever he took a risk or ventured forth on some boyish expedition. In her more reflective moments she connected this with the early death of Frederick, which had left Randolph in the unenviable position of the second son of two. It was customary in titled families to speak of the ‘heir’ and the ‘spare’, the latter attracting nothing but sympathy. For the second son there was often no inheritance, and yet he had to be prepared to step into his brother’s shoes if it became necessary. In the mother observing this situation there was some appreciation of her lively, intelligent second son and a painful awareness of what lay ahead of him. In some ways his love for Blenheim, far more passionate than his elder brother George’s, marked him out as ducal material; nevertheless, he had a recklessness which was not his father’s and which possibly reflected the waywardness of previous members of the family, of which Frances must have been painfully aware. In her own position of marital and economic security, she had had plenty of time to study all this. She and John had recently had two more sons, Charles and Augustus, but both of them had died, and so Randolph carried the ‘spare’s’ responsibility alone.

  Randolph Henry Spencer-Churchill, second surviving son of John Winston and Frances, was born on 13 February 1849. Although he was not the heir to the title and dukedom, he was nevertheless to become a very significant figure, both in the family and in the country as a whole. Industrial England was beginning to assert itself: prosperity was spreading through the social system, and although the Chartist movement was still alive it was being submerged by the rising tide of universal comfort. The same conditions allowed the English aristocracy to survive unchallenged, although the Marlboroughs were facing the financial problems which had been created by the irresponsible behaviour of the 5th and, perhaps, the 6th Dukes.

  Randolph’s first years were spent with his elder brother George and his six sisters at Hensington House, east of the Palace and across the road from the Hensington Gate. They were a close and affectionate family, a luxury which does not always belong to that level of society, but reflected the stability and security of their parents’ marriage and philosophy of life, in particular the warmth and caring instinct in Frances.

  Randolph enjoyed a wonderfully happy childhood. For the rest of his life he loved Blenheim with passion and commitment; he was never happier than within the sturdy walls of that huge Palace and the old stone walls of that great estate. His enthusiasm for the open air extended to whatever he could find in the neighbourhood or, alternatively, at Wynyard Ha
ll, his mother’s family home in the north of England. Very much at home on horseback, he begged his parents to buy him a small pony called ‘Mousey’ from the local telegraph boy and on this he first rode to hounds with the nearby Heythrop hunt.

  In 1857, at eight years old, Randolph was sent to Mr Tabor’s school at Cheam, where he was happy and made steady progress; he was remembered by a fellow schoolboy as being rapid and vigorous in speech, ready to read and recite impressively. Lord Redesdale, writing later, described him as the most delightful of boys, bubbling over with fun and the ‘sweetest devilry’, devoted to his father and idolising his mother.

  At Eton from 1863 he seems to have developed a rather different attitude, one which has been described as cheerful arrogance. By this time he was observed as having a degree of petulance and impetuousness which his parents no doubt expected the formality and discipline of the public school system to eradicate. There was no doubt about his ability to charm and he made friends very easily; he was ‘all things to all men’.1 The talent and charm which were such characteristics of Randolph’s adulthood were beginning to reveal themselves but so were two of his fatal flaws.

  He wrote to his mother on 11 March 1863 a letter in which he demonstrated how hugely self-oriented he was, as his neglect of his son Winston was later to show. He could not accept being in the wrong: why should he be punished just for cutting his name on a table or for sitting with his feet on the form? He was ready to find an excuse for his inadequacies, telling his mother that he wrote one letter to her ‘and I cannot find it anywhere’ and, of a set of lines which could not be found, ‘Somebody must have taken them.’ The letter contains two entertaining examples of the penetrating wit which was to be so much part of his power as a public speaker later (as it was to become, too, of Winston). The school was being vaccinated but he ‘declined’ to let them ‘perform’ on him. Queen Victoria came to Windsor from Osborne one night and rushed off to Balmoral the next morning, which struck him as being ‘rather eccentric’. Everybody had to re-enlist in the Corps, take an oath and sign their names ‘to a lot of nonsense’.

  His time at Eton was littered with escapades, not always to his credit. Mr Frewer, his housemaster, did not discipline him when he used his spoon to batter the table when his meal was late, but cherished the spoon as a memento instead; Randolph seems to have expressed his gratitude by locking Frewer’s son in the cellar. His ‘dandy’ period was marked by a hideously violet waistcoat. As a lofty senior he controlled a team of 15 ‘fags’ (junior pupils who ran errands for a senior), one of whom was ordered to fry an egg in marmalade when he reported there was no butter. Over his study mantelpiece was painted the Spencer coat of arms, and he was followed everywhere by his favourite bulldog, specially imported from home. A legend has been handed down about how one afternoon a fag came to him with a familiar problem: he faced a test on a piece of work he had not prepared and wanted to contract a sudden illness to avoid the consequences. Randolph sent him to lie at the foot of the stairs outside Matron’s room, and then jumped over him with a pile of text books. Her attention attracted by the fuss and noise, Matron found Randolph sprawled under a pile of books with his fag apparently senseless at the bottom of the stairs.

  It is difficult not to be entertained by all this. Every group can benefit from such independence by an individual with a flair for mischief. The Duke must have been weary of the serious complaints that were reported back to him, but he persevered with his son and threatened to take him away from Eton. The letter John Winston wrote to Randolph is as characteristic of him as it is of his errant son. His distress is moving, as he points out that Randolph was repaying all the kindness his mother and father had shown by giving them anxiety. He reveals his own innate decency, telling his son that there is nothing in the world ‘which is so low and contemptible’, and it makes a boy and ‘subsequently a man so justly detestable’.

  Randolph’s first tutor was Mr Warre, later to become headmaster of Eton; the two did not get on well together, but the Duke left his son in no doubt that he supported the master. His letter throws considerable light on both father and son: he reminds Randolph that he had begged not to be taken away from Eton and yet continued his bad behaviour, a kind of wilfulness which pursued the boy into his adult life. The Duke is fair to the school: he would not accept Randolph’s complaint that Warre discriminated against him and recognised his son’s weak self-justification, noting that he seemed inclined to justify himself and to think Mr Warre harsh. He listed aspects of his son’s undisciplined behaviour: impertinence to the staff, breaking of windows, bullying, and would not accept Randolph’s attempts to justify himself: ‘Why have there been only complaints about you?’

  The letter is direct and uncompromising but shows John Winston was a loving and caring father. He was willing to hope his son was genuinely sorry and would try to regain his teacher’s good opinion. He pointed out that if he were forced to take his son away from Eton, the only option would be to have a private tutor, ‘not nearly so agreeable’; he wanted his son to be happy. His letter ends on a note of genuine Christian fatherly love and concern: ‘My dearest boy, God bless you.’

  Although the Duke was the voice of parental disapproval, the bad behaviour of their son clearly worried both parents. The fact that Frances was concerned about Randolph’s misconduct, and had reproached her son about it, and that her husband was expressing her concern as well as his own, is revealed in a later letter in which the Duke speaks for the Duchess as well as himself, reminding Randolph of the promises he made so solemnly before he left home.

  The Duke was under no illusions about his son Randolph and was quite firm in his support of the master who had disciplined him, but there is in both letters a patience and affection which warms his stern attitude and gives the lie to those biographers who have judged him as harsh and unfeeling. Furthermore, Randolph’s undoubted charm could sometimes carry the day and the few friends he made at school were devoted to him. Chief among these was Lord Dalmeny, later Lord Rosebery, who became a lifelong friend. Randolph’s natural cleverness and a remarkable memory, which his son Winston inherited, served him well academically, and the outstanding quality which his peers remember is his generosity.

  A letter written by the Duke some time later, after a particularly poor report, is perhaps the most significant of all. By this time the lack of self-control was a noticeable feature of Randolph’s personality and both parents were thoroughly worried. Randolph’s greatest weakness was, despite his talent and charm, in time to bring him from the heights of success to the total ruin of his ambition and achievement. The Duke points it out to him uncompromisingly, bringing home to his son his impatience and resentment of any control, his inclination to stand on any imagined slight, his inability to see his duty, and his tendency to be uncontrolled in bad language and manner. He points out that if his temper causes him to quarrel with every tutor, as he has with his current one, Mr Pugh, even though Pugh had tried hard to be friendly, then he has no chance of succeeding at Balliol, or even of getting into Oxford. Despairingly he asks Randolph if in fact his temper can be controlled by anybody or under any circumstances.

  Winston Churchill, writing his father’s biography in 1906, confirmed that the letters written to Randolph by the Duke were affectionate and tolerant and intended to influence his son’s education and attitudes. There was local news, varied and interesting, and he was encouraged to confide in his father, who always reasoned with him patiently and sensibly. John Winston appealed to his son’s high principles and common sense. Both Blandford and Lord Randolph sustained respect for their father throughout their lives, although both of them challenged authority and convention in other ways. His parents neglected nothing that would stimulate Randolph’s ambition, for they foresaw a promising career ahead: Oxford, a degree in History and Law, and finally politics, with Woodstock the obvious borough, traditionally the province of the Marlboroughs.

  The family side of Randolph was more attractive. The mo
st moving insight into his positive and endearing aspect, although it admits his weaknesses, was written by his mother after his early death. Over a hundred years later, one can feel a mother’s anguish and distress as she expresses her grief and speaks of her memories of him, referring to ‘one who was so dear to me that he is never out of my thoughts and for whom I go mourning to the grave’.2 She painfully acknowledges the destructive side of his character, shown early in his life, and concedes that he was not particularly clever as a boy, with no interest in study, although he had an excellent memory and was very fond of reading, especially history, biography or adventure. She gives a vivid account of how Randolph loved sport and animals, recounting the story of ‘Mousey’ and Randolph aged just ten. Mousey was a ragged, skinny and tough little pony which belonged to a boy in the village. Randolph desperately wanted to have the pony and pestered his parents relentlessly until eventually they yielded and let him have it. He then trained it, apparently, called it his hunter and actually managed to follow the hounds with it. When he outgrew it, Mousey was passed on to his sisters and became quite famous in the locality.

  A similar situation occurred when Randolph was 14, and Frances recalls the episode with love and affection. He managed to collect some beagles, which he trained into harriers, and was allowed to keep the dogs at the back of the Gardens, cared for by Jim, a disreputable little boy whom Randolph nevertheless called his whipper-in. He began with a few dogs, which he trained and walked out himself, but finally had enough for a pack, which Frances said ‘will never be forgotten in the memory of this generation’.3