Pearls before Poppies

by Rachel Trethewey

  Newspapers claimed that Tony and Maxine had been secretly married in Nice, but they both declared the rumour was nonsense. Although they spent as much time as possible together, they also enjoyed their freedom, and loving the adrenaline rush of danger, Anthony drove fast cars and travelled around Europe to tennis championships on his motorcycle. Sometimes riding for 500 miles, he got to know France, Belgium, Holland, Germany, Austria–Hungary, Scandinavia and Switzerland well. In France, in 1910, he took his first trip in an aeroplane – although the engine misfired and the plane almost crashed as it hurtled at great speed towards the earth, he found the experience particularly exhilarating.

  When the call came for volunteers at the beginning of the war Anthony soon signed up. He hated the idea of war in the abstract and had no quarrel against the Germans, but he believed that it was his duty as a New Zealander to serve the motherland. He was also spurred on by a spirit of adventure. His friend, Winston Churchill, who was First Lord of the Admiralty, suggested that he should apply for a temporary commission in the Royal Marines.

  In early October 1914, Wilding was gazetted second lieutenant, however, he was only a marine for a few days because his detailed knowledge of Europe and his skill as a driver were needed at the headquarters of the Intelligence Corps. His job was to drive his chief, Major Baird, from one place to another along the Allied Front, often under shellfire. Although he told his parents that he abhorred the slaughter of war, he described his job as the most intensely interesting work he had ever done.30

  On leave from the Front in February 1915, the Duke of Westminster invited Wilding to stay at Grosvenor House where he saw his friends and played tennis. Back in France, on 16 March 1915 he was attached to the new squadron of Rolls-Royce armoured cars that was commanded by the duke. In May the squadron was moved near the Front. In his last letter, written on 8 May, he wrote:

  For really the first time in seven and a half months I have a job on hand which is likely to end in gun, I, and the whole outfit being blown to hell. However, it is a sporting chance, and if we succeed we will help our infantry no end.31

  He was killed the following day during the Battle of Aubers Ridge at Neuve Chapelle in France. Shortly after 4 a.m., he met up with a colleague, who described him as looking totally relaxed – as though he was about to pop down in his car to Wimbledon. Instead of putting on the regulation breeches and puttees, he strolled up in ‘slacks’ and low shoes.32 At 4.50 a.m. Anthony’s gun crew opened fire and continued firing for more than ten hours. Firing was occasionally interrupted because of shrapnel bursting over the gun, which ignited the sandbags. Anthony directed the fire from the gun platform and the trench. Although constantly under intense counter-shelling, throughout the action he was, as usual, very cool and his example influenced his men.

  At 4.30 p.m. several officers warned him not to go into the dugout as it was directly in the danger zone and more exposed to enemy fire, but Anthony, relying on his own judgement, crawled in. Shells came hurtling down in one of the greatest trench bombardments of the war. A quarter of an hour later there came a loud burst of laughter from the dugout, and immediately afterwards a heavy shell exploded on the roof. Digging through the debris of earth, iron and sandbags, his colleagues first removed the bodies of two privates then another soldier who was still breathing, finally they found the remains of Captain Wilding. Lying intact amidst the wreckage, blown out of his pocket, was a gold cigarette case, a souvenir of his Riviera lawn tennis triumphs in 1914.33

  Wilding was 31 years old when he died. He was one of more than 18,000 New Zealanders to lose their lives in the war. His acting commander wrote to his father that his loss would be greatly felt from a technical point of view as he was carrying out experiments of great importance. He added that, on every occasion, Anthony had displayed the greatest bravery in exposing himself to every risk.34 Voicing the attitude of so many parents, his father replied that it was better his son died in the ‘manful discharge of his clear duty’ than that he should have stayed safely in England.35 The Duke of Westminster’s mother, the Countess Grosvenor, reinforced this ethos, using the words which were to become the mantra of many grieving parents. She wrote to Anthony’s mother:

  You will find comfort in knowing that he was fighting so bravely, and giving all for his King and Country, and was so loved and had such happy days in England with his friends. I saw him not long before he left – and now he is among the band of heroes who have made the great sacrifice, and that will be your comfort dear Mrs Wilding.36

  In October 1915, Anthony’s mother gave two of his trophies, a smoker’s companion and scarf pin to the Red Cross Committee at Christchurch, New Zealand. They were put up for auction and made £300.37 It is possible that this scarf pin was the one donated to the Pearl Appeal, or perhaps it was a different one from Maxine, who was friends with many of the women involved in the collection. Alice Keppel, Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree’s actress wife, Helen, the Duchess of Rutland and Lady Sarah Wilson all served on the Pearl Committee, while Maxine’s fellow actress, Ellen Terry, was one of the patrons.

  Before Anthony died, Maxine had already shown her commitment to war work but it became an even more important raison d’être after her bereavement. From the outbreak of war, she was determined to take a hands-on role. She dedicated much of her time and fortune to Belgian war relief, supporting families who had been displaced by the fighting.

  In the first weeks of the war about 4,000 Belgian civilians were killed by the Germans. Although the vast majority of them were men, and most were probably of military age, women and children were also murdered. On 8 August 1914, a German infantry regiment took the seventy-two villagers of Meten out into a meadow and executed them. Among the dead were eight women and four girls under the age of 13.38

  In response to the German advance, a large refugee movement began as thousands of Belgian refugees escaped the atrocities being carried out by Germans in their country and came to Britain. However, despite the wholesale burning of houses and shooting of any civilians suspected of being partisans, some Belgians refused to leave their homeland. Maxine was determined to help them. Using much of her own money, she converted a 300-ton, 150ft barge named Julia into a large storage unit with living quarters for herself and her helpers. Lord Northcliffe supported her mission using his newspapers to print an appeal for salt pork, bully beef, tinned butter, potatoes, rice, jam, chocolate, candles, matches, warm clothes and shoes for the Belgians.

  Since August 1914 Northcliffe’s Daily Mail had been commenting on the destruction of Belgian villages as monstrous crimes against the law of nations. He had been personally touched by the plight of the Belgians when he visited a hospital in the Belgian town of Furness. He was deeply moved by meeting a white-haired old lady of 80 who had been wounded by the splinter of a shell. Sitting on her bed he asked his companions, ‘What has she done that War should punish her?’39

  Maxine set off on her adventure with her maid, her butler, her sister’s chauffeur, a Belgian skipper and a barge dog called Dinah. She also invited her feisty friend, the ‘flying countess’, Lady Drogheda. The story intrigued the public, The Sketch published a photograph of Maxine standing beside a Red Cross ambulance and captioned it, ‘The Beauty of the Red Cross Barge: Miss Maxine Elliott, who is playing Lady Bountiful.’40 ‘Eve’ in Tatler suggested that going up canals in a barge seemed to be ‘the last word in war jobs for women’, although she feared that it would be ‘awful chilly work’ and exhausting. However, she reminded readers that Lady Drogheda and Maxine were used to plenty of exercise as they played lawn tennis all year on their own and other people’s courts and ‘one must keep fit, war or no war, mustn’t we’.41

  The ‘Queen of Harts’ now became ‘Lord High Admiral of the Barges’. After working hard during the day, Maxine made sure that her barge offered the degree of luxury to which she was accustomed. Julia was turned into a miniature Hartsbourne Manor. There were attractive cabins with baths and lavatories, and in the main sitting room
a card table was set up for baccarat or bridge while delicious meals were rustled up by a Belgian chef. The barge even smelt like Hartsbourne with the familiar combination of cigarette smoke and Maxine’s heady scent. It attracted many visitors, the Dukes of Sutherland and Westminster called in and Lady Sarah Wilson came to stay. Most importantly for Maxine, she was near enough for Anthony to visit her. He came for the last time the day before he died. For some reason, they quarrelled and this was to haunt Maxine for the rest of her life.

  She was on her barge when she heard of his death and, although she never spoke of her bereavement, her friends and family believed that the essential light went out of her after losing him.42 Needing to grieve away from the limelight, she stayed on the barge until the early months of 1916. During her time in Belgium she had fed and clothed about 350,000 people.

  On her return, her aim was to make up the money she had spent on her war work. In the following years, she made two films for Samuel Goldwyn: she was paid $100,000 for appearing in Fighting Odds and The Eternal Magdalene. When asked to discuss her wartime experiences for publicity purposes Maxine angrily refused, explaining, ‘I’m not going to make copy out of the most sacred thing in my life.’43

  Donors like Noël and Maxine were just what Lady Northcliffe and her committee needed; each personal story behind the donations increased the public interest and kept the pearls pouring in. By the end of March, as the total number of pearls reached 300, no limit was placed on the numbers needed nor was a deadline set for receiving pearls. The Daily Mail simply told its readers, ‘The sooner the string can be completed the sooner will the pearls be converted into the cars needed for the sick and wounded.’44 Responding to this appeal, in bedrooms across Britain women raided their jewel boxes. A feature of the gifts was the fine quality of pearls contributed. According to the organisers, early in March one lady had taken her pearls to a jeweller to choose the finest in her rope, and had given that one. Even the practicalities about how to fill the gap left in a necklace when a pearl was donated were discussed in the newspapers. One proposal was that every donor should be given a memento as a memorial of their generous gift. A tiny bead of white enamel decorated with a red cross could take the place of the missing pearl in the necklaces of the charitable.45

  However, the gossip columnists could not resist a little gentle mockery of the appeal. According to Bystander, no fashionable lady dared to turn down the call to donate a jewel. The columnist wrote, ‘To wear a perfect pearl-chain puts you under suspicion of having, if not profiteered, then failed to contribute to the Red Cross Necklace. And the otherwise much be-jewelled lady is immediately suspect, these days, of laying up treasure.’46 In another edition, it satirised the way vacuous society women vied with each other to appear self-sacrificing. With echoes of the self-indulgent Belinda in Alexander Pope’s poem The Rape of the Lock, Bystander described the owner of a well-matched rope of pearls toying with her necklace, lost in reverie. When her friend asked sympathetically whether she was making up her mind which one to part with she replied, ‘No, trying to decide whether to give the whole or only enough to spoil it for my own use.’ She explained her logic:

  If I give it as it is to be sold for charity I shall scarcely miss it. It won’t be in my jewel case that’s all and when I want to wear a long chain, which isn’t often, I can put on these white sapphires. They really suit me better. But if I break the rope and leave it too short for me to wear at all, I shall feel well, you know how one feels about a thing of beauty spoiled. The odd pearls will be a small pang to me every time I see them or think of them. You see, I want to give away something that I want to keep.

  Demonstrating her resolve, she fetched a silk bag and a pair of scissors and:

  … cut the Gordian knot she had just manufactured for herself. As the lovely oyster’s tears dropped one by one into the brocade sack, until there remained only nineteen orphans on the string, her colour rose and her eyes shimmered. ‘There!’ She said with happy regret, ‘I do mind. Oh my beautiful pearl.’47

  Three

  PEARLS FOR SOULS

  One donor who represented the ambiguities of the Pearl Appeal was Violet, Duchess of Rutland. As always with Violet, it was difficult to disentangle her motives; was she simply driven by a desire to be at the centre of the most fashionable charity campaign of the moment, or was her intervention inspired by genuine sympathy for the suffering of others? Whatever her reasons, on 1 April, Violet wrote to The Times encouraging her friends to donate their finest jewels. Wearing her cream flannel kimono, sitting cross-legged in bed in Belvoir Castle, she took up her quill pen. Balancing a green morocco folding letter case, with blotting paper and a pot of ink on her knee, she wrote:

  In case those eagerly anxious to give pearls from their heirloom necklaces should be deterred by what they imagine an insurmountable difficulty, may I tell your readers that in view of the present Red Cross necessity permission has been given me by those concerned with the entail of this family to take from their necklace the pearl I have sent in their names? I know that the present wearer, and I hope that the future wearers, will see in their necklace an added lustre by reason of the pearl that has been given from it. It makes the necklace for ever more interesting.

  To make certain that ‘the wonderful reason’ for its shortening should never be forgotten by future owners, the duchess had written a memorandum to be kept in the family as an interesting historical record. She added, ‘Surely necklaces from which pearls have been taken, and given to such a cause, will possess a better glamour than ever they had before.’1

  Pearls from the Duchess of Rutland inevitably oozed glamour. In her youth, as Lady Granby, Violet had been a prominent member of the ‘Souls’, an aristocratic social circle that favoured intellectual pursuits and avant-garde artistic tastes. The leading lights of the group were Ettie Grenfell (later known as Lady Desborough), Mary, Lady Elcho (later the Countess of Wemyss), and Violet. These intelligent women enjoyed stimulating conversations with the most promising young politicians of the era. The Conservative Prime Minister Arthur Balfour was the acknowledged philosopher king of the circle, but politicians from both sides of the political spectrum enjoyed the stimulating atmosphere around the Souls’ dining tables. George Curzon, George Wyndham and Herbert Henry Asquith were equally welcome. Although they called themselves ‘the Gang’ rather than the Souls, they were given the title by Lord Charles Beresford because they were always so intently examining each other’s souls.

  Circulating between Mary’s Jacobean Cotswold manor house, Stanway, Ettie’s Thameside mansion, Taplow Court, and Violet’s Belvoir Castle, the Souls turned flirtation into an art form. Each married woman had her admirers, who wooed her with a heady combination of philosophical discussions and courtly love.2 These relationships were ‘a little more than friendship, a little less than love’. More about romance than sex, the idea was that ‘every woman shall have her man, but no man shall have his woman’.3

  Although Mary had a brief affair with the womaniser and adventurer Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, who was the father of one of her daughters, the enduring love of her life was Arthur Balfour. Whether they were lovers in the conventional sense is uncertain, but their amitié amoureuse lasted for over thirty years and was the most important relationship in their lives.4

  Reflecting the interwoven relationships that developed within the group, Ettie Grenfell bewitched countless admirers, including Mary’s brother, George Wyndham, and her brother-in-law, Evan Charteris. The Duchess of Rutland also collected her own circle of adoring men. Disappointed in her philistine husband, after bearing him three children, Haddon, John and Marjorie, Violet felt free to take lovers. While the Duke of Rutland seduced actresses, his duchess had an affair first with Montagu Corry, Disraeli’s former secretary, and then with the philanderer Harry Cust. It was rumoured that Corry fathered her daughter Letty and Cust her youngest child, Diana.5

  Arguably the most beautiful Soul, the Duchess of Rutland’s Pre-Raphaelite beauty had
an ethereal quality.6 Bohemian and unconventional, her auburn hair, pale complexion and slender figure were set off by her Aesthetic-style clothes in faded colours and soft drapings. Creating her own style, Violet rarely used her jewels for their true purpose. At balls and dinners, the family tiara was worn back to front to hold up her hair, the diamond 18in waist belt was divided into two pieces and formed her shoulder straps, while Nell Gwyn’s pearl necklace, immortalised in a portrait by Sir Peter Lely, hung in festoons between two sensational diamond drop earrings.7 Her spontaneous decision to give one of her historic pearls to the Red Cross Necklace was characteristic of her cavalier attitude to family heirlooms.