Pearls before Poppies

by Rachel Trethewey

  In the eleventh century, Queen Dagmar was the much-loved wife of the King of Denmark. When she died she was buried with a Byzantine cross on her breast and when her tomb was opened in 1690 the cross was removed and treated as a relic. It depicts Christ on one side and his crucifixion on the other. It became a tradition to give Danish princesses a copy of the cross when they were married. The replica, which was given to Alexandra, included within the pendant a piece of silk from the grave of King Canute and a sliver of wood which reputedly came from the True Cross. Weighted with history, the necklace was difficult to wear and Alexandra soon had it altered by Garrard. The jewellers made parts of the necklace detachable so that the cross could be worn separately, attached to a single strand of pearls, and the whole necklace could be worn as a stomacher.

  The Prince of Wales also gave his bride pearls, selecting a necklace, earrings and a brooch set with diamonds which she wore on her wedding day. However, Alexandra became best known for her pearl chokers. As Princess of Wales, she had first worn a choker to conceal a scar on her neck but, because she was a fashion icon, soon high society women across Europe were copying her. Alexandra’s signature style was sometimes taken to extremes, and at Edward VII’s coronation in 1902, Consuelo, Duchess of Marlborough wore a choker of nineteen rows, causing herself considerable discomfort.4 Perhaps she was trying to compete with the queen, who on that occasion seemed to don all the pearls in her collection, wearing the Dagmar necklace as well as the choker and swags of long pearls.

  Opting for a different style to her mother-in-law, Queen Mary favoured a fashion created by Cartier, known as a ‘draperie de decollete’ of forty-one strands of pearls worn around the neck and shoulders.5 Following the more practical fashions of the modern era, Queen Mary’s daughter, Princess Mary, chose a simpler style for her pearls. Until she was 18, the only jewellery her mother allowed the princess to wear was a single row of pearls or a small pendant of gold and pearls that was given to her by her brothers for her birthday. Even when she came of age Princess Mary kept ornamentation to a minimum, favouring a more severe style than her mother and grandmother.6

  The royal family’s different taste in pearls reflected the changing fashions. During the Edwardian era, elaborate jewellery and clothes were used to display a woman’s wealth and emphasise her decorative role. However, during the war, as people lived simpler lives ostentatious jewellery seemed inappropriate. A new simplicity in jewels and dress became the fashion and pearls perfectly suited this wartime austerity. A simple string of pearls, whether real or imitation, became an essential part of a patriotic woman’s wardrobe.7

  As the weeks went by, the Red Cross appeal developed a momentum of its own; dozens of pearls soon increased to several hundred. An added impetus was given to donations by events in France. During the spring and early summer of 1918 the Germans launched their most threatening offensive yet in a do-or-die final attempt to put Britain out of the war before the German economy collapsed and the number of American troops was massively increased to support the Allies. The German General Erich Ludendorff knew that it was now or never; his aim was to crush the British Army in the belief that once Britain was defeated the French would surrender. At 4.40 a.m. on 21 March, an artillery barrage of unprecedented ferocity was unleashed by the Germans along the Front between Arras and the River Somme. Out of the early morning mist came an inferno created by more than a million shells being fired in five hours. The British troops were outnumbered; they were blinded and dazed by the fumes and the gas which turned the mist into a suffocating fog. They suffered 38,500 casualties, of which 21,000 were taken prisoner and around 7,500 were killed.8 They were forced to retreat back across the old Somme Battlefield.9 It was one of the worst reverses for the British Army of the whole war.10 After the fighting, the Kaiser jubilantly shouted to his soldiers awaiting him at a station, ‘The battle is won! The English have been utterly defeated!’11

  However, neither the British soldiers at the Front nor their wives, mothers and daughters at home were willing to give up so easily. While the men fought doggedly on, the women needed a positive outlet for their anxiety; many found what they were looking for in helping the Red Cross Pearl Appeal. So rapidly did the enterprise grow that in March Lady Northcliffe set up an office at 10 Dover Street, Piccadilly, to run the campaign. It was an efficient operation; a committee of the top society jewellers including Cartier, Boucheron, Carrington & Co, Tiffany and Garrard agreed to be involved, and donors were told to send their pearls directly to them. As The Sketch wrote, ‘When Tiffany and Mrs George Keppel, Garrard and Lady Northcliffe, with all the other ladies and gentlemen concerned, put their heads together, something pretty should come of it.’12

  There was a frisson of excitement as, every day, small cardboard boxes arrived from across the country at the Bond Street jewellers. Inside were precious pearls and poignant messages about why they had been given. Each donor was treated the same. First she received a receipt from the jewellers and then a hand signed thank-you letter from Princess Victoria.

  Soon the stories behind the gems were fascinating the public. Particularly memorable was the gift from Noël, Countess of Rothes. In April 1912, the 33-year-old set sail on the Titanic’s maiden voyage to meet her husband who was abroad on business. Her parents, Thomas and Clementina Dyer-Edwardes, her husband’s cousin, Gladys Cherry, and her maid, Roberta Maioni, boarded with her. Noël was looking forward to the trip and before leaving Southampton she gave an interview to the New York Herald saying that she was full of joyful expectation.

  Fortunately, her parents left the ship at Cherbourg on the evening of 10 April, because if her father had stayed on board it is likely he would have drowned with many of the other men. On the night of the disaster, Noël was in her cabin on C-deck when the Titanic collided with an iceberg just before midnight. Awakened by the crash she went up three decks to the boat deck to investigate. She was instructed to return to her cabin and be dressed and have a lifebelt on in ten minutes.

  After pouring out some brandy for Gladys, Roberta and herself, she put on one of her warmest fur coats, her pearl necklace and a lifejacket. There were only sixteen lifeboats and as women and children were first to be rescued she was assigned to lifeboat eight. Able Seaman Jones was in charge of her boat and, because her husband owned a yacht, Noël explained to him that she knew how to take a tiller and row. As the other two men on the boat were not seamen but one a steward, the other a cook, Able Seaman Jones valued her expertise.13 He later said, ‘When I saw the way she was carrying herself and heard the quiet, determined way she spoke to others, I knew she was more of a man than any we had on board.’14

  Taking charge of the tiller, Noël manoeuvred the lifeboat clear of the sinking liner. As the lights went out on the Titanic and the ship began to sink, a heated argument broke out on the lifeboat. As their boat was not full, Noël, Able Seaman Jones and several other passengers tried to persuade the others that they should go back and pick up people who would otherwise drown in the freezing sea. Unable to persuade her fellow passengers because they were afraid their lifeboat would be overturned as drowning people fought to get on board, Noël had no choice but to continue rowing away. During that traumatic night, not only did she display incredible physical courage, she also had a calming effect on her terrified fellow passengers. Particularly distraught was a young Spanish newlywed, 17-year-old, Josefa de Satode Peñasco, whose 18-year-old husband Victor had been lost in the sinking. Noël comforted her like a mother and encouraged her not to give up hope.

  For the rest of that freezing Atlantic night, Noël rowed the lifeboat and also taught other passengers to row. To keep morale up they sang hymns: first ‘Pull for the Shore’, later ‘Lead Kindly Light’. The familiar words were reassuring, ‘Lead Kindly light amid the encircling gloom/ Lead thou me on!/ The night is dark, and I’m far from home/ Lead me on!’ As the rescue ship RMS Carpathia came into sight they stopped singing and began to pray. Once on board the ship, Noël continued to help ot
hers, sewing children’s clothes from blankets, assisting the doctor and soothing the bereaved.

  As news spread of her courage, she became a heroine overnight and was soon known as ‘the plucky little countess’. Although she rarely talked about the tragedy, the experience was to affect her for the rest of her life. Haunted by what she had witnessed, she found it hard to get the screams of the drowning out of her head. While dining out with friends a year after the disaster, she suddenly experienced the intense feeling of cold and horror that she associated with that night. For a moment, she could not understand why, then she realised that the orchestra was playing ‘The Tales of Hoffmann’, the last piece of after-dinner music she remembered hearing aboard the ship.15

  In contrast to the negative effects, Noël was also left with a profound sense of gratitude for her survival. In 1915 she visited Fraserburgh to launch the motor lifeboat Lady Rothes, which had been given by her family as a thank-you offering for her escape.16

  Three years later, her donation of pearls served a similar purpose. As Noël escaped from the Titanic she had only managed to save one piece of jewellery – her 300-year-old pearl necklace. In April 1918, she gave a pair of pearls from the string she had worn on that fateful night to the Red Cross appeal. A pearl that had survived the Titanic was an apt gift, as the earlier tragedy was seen as a harbinger of the First World War. It shook the hubristic Edwardians out of their complacency and showed them that there were forces beyond their control that threatened even the most civilised society. It was also a typically generous donation from a woman who was one of the most popular figures in London society. Blonde, petite and energetic, Noël was often photographed in the London illustrated weeklies.

  Even before her lucky escape, Noël had shown a well-developed social conscience. Her husband inherited one of the oldest peerages in Britain and a large estate at Leslie in Fife, Scotland. Spending much of their time at Leslie House, the couple won the love and respect of the local community. Every Christmas, the countess celebrated her birthday on 25 December by treating all the children in the parish to an entertainment in Leslie town hall. After the performance, each child was presented with a Christmas gift.17

  In 1911, Noël began her work for the Red Cross, setting up a branch in Leslie and endowing it with three ambulances. This grew into a larger ambulance corps which served Fife and was known as the Countess of Rothes Voluntary Aid Detachment (VAD). During the war, she was keen to help the war effort in as many ways as possible. Leslie House was used to entertain Belgian refugees and in September 1915 a garden party was held in its grounds to raise money for the Serbians. It was reminiscent of gracious pre-war days, as visitors strolled on the lawn or enjoyed tea in the marquee, while listening to music provided by the new army recruiting band from Kirkcaldy. Local Red Cross ladies organised a miniature flower show, field sports and a flag day, while Lady Rothes ran a stall which raised £21 for wounded soldiers and sailors. Drawing on her acting and dancing skills, Noël also put on a series of variety shows in the Fife towns of Cupar, Anstruther, Lochgelly and Newport-on-Tay to raise money for local war funds. Her female friends, army officers and even the local doctor were persuaded by her to take part in the entertainment.18

  Noël had trained as a nurse before the war and so she ran nursing and first aid courses at Leslie. During the war, when not needed in Scotland, she worked at the Coulter Hospital in London. The 100-bed hospital had opened in September 1915, in a house in Grosvenor Square. The medical staff were mainly consultants from Guy’s Hospital and the Middlesex Hospital but there was also an Australian resident surgeon.

  A bizarre story lay behind the founding of the Coulter. Charlotte Herbine, an American psychic from Indianapolis, first established the hospital, naming it after Dr Coulter, the spirit of her family physician with whom she had communicated since she was a child. Apparently, Dr Coulter had told her to go to England and contact the Earl of Sandwich. Once at the earl’s Hinchingbrooke estate, Dr Coulter communicated with him using Mrs Herbine as a medium. On the dead physician’s instructions, the earl took up spiritual healing which he hoped to be able practise at the Coulter Hospital, but he was prevented by the objections of the medical staff.

  The Coulter Hospital attracted many society ladies who wanted to do their bit for the war effort. When Lord Rothes, who was in the Highland Cyclist Battalion, was wounded in the face and leg in action in France in 1916, he was sent to recover at the hospital. Once there he was nursed back to health by his wife before returning to the Front. Noël found the work fulfilling and stayed at the Coulter for two years. It seems the countess gave her pearls in thanksgiving that both she and her husband had survived against the odds.

  Another famous donation used to publicise the appeal was the gift of a pearl scarf pin which had belonged to the champion tennis player Anthony Wilding. Of the great sportsmen who lost their lives in the war, Anthony was arguably the greatest of them all. Born in New Zealand, before the war Anthony had been the ultimate sportsman. He won four successive men’s singles titles at Wimbledon between 1910 and 1913, and also triumphed in four men’s doubles titles there. He seemed unbeatable when, in 1913, he won the World Championships triple at Wimbledon, Paris and Stockholm.

  However, Wilding was more than just a sportsman, he personified the godlike young men who lived life to the full before going to war. As his friend and biographer, A. Wallis Myers wrote, he had that ‘rare, elusive quality called personal magnetism’.19 Tall and blond with matinee idol looks, crowds flocked to see him on the base line of the Centre Court at Wimbledon. At the peak of fitness, he seemed absolutely ready as he waited to serve, swinging his racket with just a hint of impatience. In 1913 Wilding mania hit the All England Tennis Club as his fans literally swooned at his feet. Overcome by seeing their heartthrob, many women in the crowd of 7,000 fainted and had to be laid out on the court beside the roller until they could be removed. He became the darling of Edwardian society, welcomed by the Marlboroughs at Blenheim, the Westminsters at Eaton Hall and the Desboroughs at Taplow Court. After becoming friends with Bendor, the Duke of Westminster, they spent three weeks together in Cannes playing tennis all day long. Anthony described the duke as an irresponsible schoolboy who was great fun.20 Following a meeting at a house party, a more unlikely friendship developed between the young athlete and the veteran politician, Arthur Balfour. They also played tennis together, staying in a villa while competing in a tennis tournament in Nice.

  A performer himself, Anthony also enjoyed mixing in theatrical circles. In 1910, he fell in love with the American Broadway star Maxine Elliott. A statuesque beauty with ivory skin, waist-length black hair and enormous eyes that changed from blue to brown to purple, she was in the crowd watching him win at Wimbledon. Always keen to know the man of the moment, Maxine could not resist going to Centre Court to meet him. With her usual directness, she asked him if he would come to her country estate and give her some advice on her tennis courts. He readily agreed, recognising that Maxine was a force to be reckoned with. She was an independent woman who had fought her way to the top, leaving two ex-husbands and a string of lovers in her wake. Her first husband was an alcoholic, her second, the much-married American actor and comedian Nat Goodwin, also had a drink problem. However, Maxine was never a victim and although it was not a romantic success her second marriage served its purpose by advancing her career. Nat claimed that she used him as a ladder to reach her goal of having her name in lights over New York theatres. He added that she had ‘the ambition of Cleopatra […] She was one of the cleverest women I ever met, her dignity that of Joan of Arc, her demeanour Nero-like in its assertive qualities, and yet with channels of emotion that manifested womanhood in the truest sense of the word.’21 By the age of 35, she was a star in her own right, but that was not enough for her, she was also determined to make her own money and use her formidable financial brain. In 1908, she opened her own theatre in New York called Maxine Elliott’s Theatre, that same year she was divorced by Nat on the
grounds of desertion.

  Although an American by birth, Maxine preferred life in England. Introduced into society by Mrs Keppel’s husband, George, she was an immediate hit. As George had suspected, his wife liked Maxine as much as he did and welcomed her into her circle. Needing her own base, Maxine bought Hartsbourne Manor in Hertfordshire where she became known for giving the most relaxed house parties. She brought with her a level of American comfort rare in many of the more spartan English country houses, she insisted on plenty of bathrooms and central heating for her guests. Called ‘the Queen of Harts’ by her friends, the actor and theatre manager Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree said that she was ‘one of those rare women who make everybody they come in contact with happy. A blessed thing in woman!’22

  Maxine inspired myths and her name was linked with many famous men. By her early forties, she was totally sure of herself and she amused her admirers with her frank comments. According to gossip, both the Duke of Rutland and Edward VII tried to seduce her; it seems the duke succeeded and for several years Maxine was his mistress.23 His wife, Violet, turned a blind eye to the affair and became friends with Maxine, often inviting her to Belvoir Castle because she found the actress a useful ally in managing her sometimes difficult husband. Once the affair was over, Maxine remained close friends with both husband and wife.24 Apparently both the former prime minister, Lord Rosebery, and the former Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon, wanted to marry her but Maxine wanted to remain independent. When her sister Gertrude asked if the Curzon rumour was true, Maxine replied, ‘I would not marry God,’ while she told a journalist who enquired, ‘I have honourable intentions towards no man.’25

  Fifteen years younger than her, Tony Wilding was very different from the other men Maxine had known. The actor and theatre manager Gerald du Maurier described him as one of the most attractive men he had ever met because he was so healthy, clean-minded and unconventional.26 This unconventionality suited Maxine; it gave her the freedom she needed to be herself. Although they did not formalise their relationship, her niece believed that Anthony was the love of Maxine’s life.27 He was good for her physical and psychological health. As he was so often at her house parties, he had his own room at Hartsbourne Manor near to a secret staircase leading to Maxine’s bedroom and boudoir. Always health conscious himself, he discouraged her from smoking and encouraged her to stay slim by playing tennis. On the court he would say, ‘Max, you must run.’28 They also supported each other in their careers. When in 1913 Maxine returned to acting in Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree’s production of Joseph and His Brethren, Tony rushed back from playing tennis in Sweden to be there for her opening night. Dressed in a sensuous shimmering costume, her portrayal of the vengeful Zuleika was a huge success. Maxine was equally proud of Tony’s achievements. She was more upset than he was when he was beaten in the men’s singles at Wimbledon in 1914. She sat throughout the match clutching the hand of her friend, Lady Drogheda, and burst into tears when Tony lost to Norman Brookes. Apparently the only calm person on the court was Tony. He walked back with his arm round his opponent’s shoulder, laughing with him before meeting the tear-stained Maxine and his friend Arthur Balfour for tea in the pavilion.29