Orchid Chronicles - Part 8
Violet Goes on a Journey
The story starts back in 1873, when a little baby girl was christened Violet Mary, the daughter of John Hertslet Wainewright and Grace Marshall (née Bannerman) on 23 January that year.
She grew up to become a remarkable woman who read Zoology at Girton College, Cambridge, attended a fashionable Roseberry House Finishing School in Dresden, and became, with her brother, Arthur, a member of the Alpine Club, scaling the heights of Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn and other great mountains of that area. She played golf, was member of the Sesame Imperial Club, 49 Grosvenor Street, a known haunt of the Suffragettes at that period and, unusually, mixed gender, was awarded the Royal Red Cross Class 2 medal for her services as a nurse in the First World War in Flanders, and eventually joined Arthur as an active partner in the remote farm in Kenya, at Thompson’s Falls, where she co-founded the Thompson’s Falls Golf Club with Arthur in 1936, before dying in Nairobi on 4 September 1961, aged 88. She never married but judging by her Dance Cards in the 1890’s, she was not without her charms and suitors.
Violet’s writing album
Arthur Wainewright was a distinguished soldier in the Royal Artillery who fought in the Boer War, where he was awarded the Queen’s Medal, two clasps, and France from 1914-18, where he was mentioned three times in despatches, was awarded the DSO for his gallantry and became a CMG (Commander of the Order of St.Michael and St.George) or ‘Call Me God’, as it was known, in 1919.
Furthermore, he was awarded the Croix de Guerre by the French, as a ‘remarkable commander of a division of artillery’ and ‘thanks to his personal reconnaissances under enemy fire at Ypres and Escaut… contributing to the success and rapidity of the army’s advance at Mons’ – translated from the French of General Dégoutte, Commander of the French 6th Army, in a hand-written letter dated 23 November 1918.
He rose to the honorary rank of Brigadier-General despite a crisis in his military career in 1914 when he took a moral stand, while serving with the Royal Artillery at Fermoy in Ireland, and told his Commanding Officer that, to quote from his letter to his mother: ‘I am not prepared to fight against Ulster’, thus risking being ‘dismissed the service without a pension’ or worse ‘treated as a deserter’. Evidently all was forgiven at the outbreak of the First World War where he served throughout the hostilities before emigrating to Kenya and creating the farm at Thompson’s Falls.
Some five years after I returning from my adventures in 1974/75 in East Africa with my friend, Pad, having enjoyed the hospitality of Charles Winnington-Ingram at his ‘time-warp’ home in Langata, near Nairobi, either side of our travels with our botanist friend, Roger Polhill, from Kew Gardens, we were told of Charles’s death. What we didn’t know, or had forgotten, was that we were to receive a surprise in the form of a container-load of the contents of Charles’s house, which arrived at Gillingham Station in Dorset and awaited our inspection.
Apparently, the General had stipulated that the ‘things’, as opposed to the money, which went to Charles, should return to his mother’s family, she being a Bannerman and my great-great-aunt, born in 1849.
So one day in 1980, my father, my two brothers and I found ourselves in a shabby warehouse near the station in Gillingham, peering into the container that had come all the way from Kenya to Dorset a short while before.
It was a literal Aladdin’s Cave comprising Persian rugs, Old Master paintings, mahogany, walnut and rosewood furniture, a cast-iron Carolean fire-back, a chest of silver, brass, African carvings in ebony and ivory, beautiful, leather-bound books those First Edition Charles Dickens I’d read when I was there – treasures of all kinds everywhere one looked. Treasures that had travelled from their origins in England, out to East Africa and back again. There was even the Thompson’s Falls ‘A Challenge Cup’ for 1936 and 1937. It was like an episode of the Antiques Roadshow, without Fiona, or a stately home, in the dark.
As you looked more carefully, of course, you could see that many of the rugs were threadbare, the lovely, blackened Charles II fireback, complete with Royal Coat of Arms, was cracked down the middle, the paintings weren’t quite as ‘Old Master’ as you might hope, and so on. Nevertheless, it was a once-in-a-lifetime trove, all the more wonderful for being unexpected.
Stacked in boxes of all sizes, there were photograph albums going back from Maasai dances, farming and Big Game adventures in the bush in the 1920’s and ‘30’s, to country pursuits and country house living at the turn of the 20th century and before, to the early days of photography in the 1840’s and ‘50’s.
And letters and papers, endless letters, some of which were priceless in their descriptions of a world long gone, stretching back from a prescription from 1820, written almost indecipherably in Latin, an ornately scripted passport of 1870, signed by Lord Granville to enable Violet’s father and mother to ‘pass freely without let or hindrance’ through to Switzerland for their honeymoon, three years before Violet was born, through three wars or more, to the 1950’s and the realities of old age and illness.
Early golf practice - hope the lad was able to remove his in time….
Something which appealed to me and, subsequently, to my grand-daughter, Holly, was a series of letters, written by John Wainewright to his son, Johnny, Violet’s father to be, and in later years to Violet and Arthur and their elder brother John.
The letters run from the late 1850’s up through to 1875, the last being from Grandpa to his grand-children, his son now grown up, married and a father of three.
The first starts like this:
‘My dearest Johnny’ (who was 11 years old by then and away at boarding school)
You would have heard from Mamma before this, but little darling Bobby (Johnny’s little brother)has been very ill.On Friday his throat and chest were so very bad, that Mamma and Dr. Morgan from Dover sat up with him all Friday night… Your dear Mamma has been very anxious about him, and very much occupied, or she would have written to you. (you’ll be glad to know he recovers somewhat over the next two days)
I will not send Spot away, if you do not like it. He may remain where he is. (Phew – lucky old Spot!)
We like your nice, affectionate letters very much and are glad that you tell us everything about yourself. We are sorry, however, that you eat 18 or 20 chesnuts (sic) with the skins on; we fear that you will be ill. Do you not mean walnuts? You ought not to have eaten more than two of either, and without the skins. And indeed, we do not like your eating any such trash, nor anything between your meals.
All of us, including dearest Mamma join in kindest love to you, my dear Johnny, your very affectionate father,
John Wainewright
The next we hear of little Bobby, and another brother, Benny, sadly later to come to grief falling off a mountain in the Alps, is in a letter from Johnny’s Grandmother, Ann, who must have been born in the previous century. Johnny’s ‘Mamma’ is recovering from a recurrent illness by the seaside, while Johnny himself has been unwell at school. Meanwhile…
‘….your Mamma is making nets for Benny and Bobby to catch Butter and Dragon flys (sic) which they find on the sands…. You did not tell me what you would like on your birthday. I think of sending you a seal for your watch, unless you would like any other thing. If you should prefer something else, you must send word in your next letter or I shall send it by your Papa.’
Believe me always, your affectionate Grandmama,
Ann Wainewright
Indeed, it was this very Grandmama and her Infant child, Johnny’s Papa-to-be, who were given the prescription in the photograph below by Mr. Batty, Physician, for a tincture to be taken ‘quoque hora’ (each hour) on 7th June, 1820.
Dr Batty’s prescription
The next letter from Papa to Johnny was written on Friday, 10th May, 1861.
My dearest Johnny
The bat, which I send you according to your wish, is very expensive. I have given £1–1s for it. You must take great care of it.
Examine it carefully, to see, that it will suit you; and send it back immediately if it will not do for you.
Believe me
Your very affectionate father
John Wainewright
On Sunday 15th June 1862 comes an urgent letter from Papa.
My dearest Johnny
Tomorrow be very careful how you get in & out of the railway carriage.
Be sure not to get out, until the train has quite stopped. It is very dangerous to get out, before the train has quite stopped.
I suppose, that it will take you 20 minutes, to go from Elm Grove to the Station, & to take your ticket. Edwards shall be at Elm Grove at the time you appoint, and shall deposit you at Queen’s Gardens.
Tell your Mamma, whether you have silver enough.
I am, my dear Johnny
Ever your very affectionate father
John Wainewright
Things are hotting up for Johnny, at the advanced age of 15, just before his 16th birthday, as two letters in quick succession reveal the level of expectation on the poor lad.
My dearest Johnny
I wrote to the bookseller to send you, Stephens on Greek Particles, Baldwin’s History of England, Ince’s Outlines of English History and the abridgement of Alison’s History of Europe. Have you got them all? These histories answer your desire for brevity (!).
I suppose, that you have now finished the Philoctetes. I trust that Mr. Allen will afterwards see, that you can now parse the words & explain their derivation… Does he teach you to scan the Iambic metre of the dialogue, & the Chorus metre!
I hope that you will be well up in the subjects of your examination. To do well whatever you take in hand, is a most important habit for you to form now. It leads to success, well-doing, & well-being.
Ever I am, my dear boy,
Your loving father
John Wainewright
No pressure then! And three days later, on 27th October 1864…
My dearest Johnny
Many happy returns of this day to you. Your Mamma & I, so far as our lives and power extend, will do what we can for this result; but ever bear in mind, that it mainly depends on yourself alone. Not in external friends (with whom I suspect young Johnny had a fine old time) & circumstances, however valuable they are, but on a strong determination & constant endeavor to do that, which at the time from time to time, you feel to be your duty. Above all, cultivate entire truth & honesty in word and act; and dare to say “no”, when you feel, that you ought so to do.
You have spent too much money (here it comes!). This I chiefly object to on account of the bad habit of expence, which you are forming. Endeavour to find out not what you want, but what you can do without. “Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit, a diis plura ferret”, “the more any one denies himself, the more he shall receive from the gods”, so said the heathen poet Horace; and it is and will be eternally true.
I wish, that you would occasionally write to me, to tell me, what you are doing in school, & reading out of school. (oh, poor Papa!)
You are 16, and you and we must soon be settling what is to be your path in life. (and now for the coup de grace!) At 19 or 20 the great Mr. Pitt was Prime Minister, & governed his country, and at some such age, the first Napoleon, at the head of the French Army, drove the Austrians out of Italy.
With our united kindest love, believe me, ever,
My dear boy
Your loving father
John Wainewright
By 1868, Johnny was about to take a gulp of well-earned Arctic air in Norway with a bunch of mates, all now aged 19 or 20, before enrolling at Lincoln’s Inn to begin the climb towards the Bar, which he achieved after graduating from Christchurch, Oxford, in 1872. But his anxious Dad is very worried about how he will manage for money. So he sends him ‘the halves of 10 £5 notes’, by the same post, sending ‘the remaining halves to Bannerman’ ( my Great-grandfather, I imagine) ‘to be given to you (which) you had better fasten together (and) for the remainder you will get sovereigns’ – gold being the universal currency of those days. He continues:
When Sidney Smith went to Norway many years ago (the renowned wit and Man of the Cloth who would have done his trip nearly 70 years before) everything was very wild. He could get nothing to eat, but milk and eggs; no meat; very little bread. He regretted, that he had not taken biscuits with him.
I trust, that you feel equal to so much sea voyage and rough driving in carrioles &c, and to milk and eggs alone. If you doubt about it, pray do not go.
And as a final plea after signing off in his usual way:
Be sure to write to us as often as you can.
The two final letters I found from Papa to Johnny follow the young man’s splendid wedding to Grace in 1870 in Monmouthshire, where the Bannermans lived at Wyastone Leys on the Wye, and the birth of their three children in quick succession after their happily consummated marriage.
It will not surprise you that Papa’s anxiety for his beloved Johnny has eased not one jot, particularly regarding their plans to travel to Zermatt in Switzerland – with the children. Interestingly, Papa, or Grandpapa, as he now, on 18th May 1875, has changed his tune on the subject of ‘expence’, and it sounds as if he has kindly lent his manservant, the wonderfully named ‘Faust’, to help them along the way.
As you have fixed to go to Zermatt, I think, that you and Grace can best decide, on which journey is safest and best for the children. Two things must have no place in your arrangements, viz the subject of expence, and the detaining of William Faust.
I will meet all expence beyond what you would wish to incur, & more too, if you wish it; and Faust can be spared for any length of time.
Be sure that the children travel by as short & easy stages, as possible.
You and Grace have had so much experience, that I need not enlarge upon the necessity of ordering rooms beforehand everywhere, & especially at Chur (?) and in the coach to Engadine.
Would not the interior (which holds 4) be the best for nurses and children, as they would have it all to themselves. William could go in the Coupé or in the Banquette.
Shew this letter to Grace, and give her our kindest love, and to yourself the same & kisses to the dear children.
Believe me ever
Your loving father
John Wainewright
Well, all must have gone well as the last letter is to Johnny and Grace’s children, John and Violet, written on 28th December 1875, in the letter in the photograph below.
My dearest little John and Violet
I send you three little picture cards, and you must ask dear Mudder to give one to each of you and one to baby brother (Arthur, who must have been a babe in arms on the trip to Zermatt). I should so much like to see you all again, and to hear what you could tell me about the snow & ice and going in sledges over the snow. I also want to know, how you liked your presents on Christmas Day and should so much like to be with you, so that you might shew them all to me.
I suppose, that now you know some German words, and could tell me the German word for a chair or a table or cup or saucer.
I hope, that your warm clothes keep you from feeling cold in the day, and that you are quite warm in your little beds at night.
I am now in a house by the sea, seeing boats and ships sailing about, and also some steamboats. There is a steamboat called a “Tug”, because it is used to pull boats (by a cord fastened to the Tug & the boat) into and out of the Harbour. Sometimes, when the sea is rough, it brings in boats, which could not get in by themselves, and so saves them from being lost, and the men in them from being drowned.
Granny, & I, and Aunt Annie, and Uncles Ben and Bob send their kindest love & kisses to you all. Ever I am
My dearest little ones,
Your most affectionate
Grandpapa
John Wainewright.
Violet grew up to be a strong, independent, adventurous woman, with staying power. What she was really like, I will never know. But there is a touching insight from her namesake, another Violet, surname Cochrane, who wrote in her ‘Writing Album’ that she kept for extracts from Goethe, Emerson, Shakespeare and others, inscribed by her friends in Dresden, together with snatches of music and drawings and pressed flowers and leaves that I suspect she must have pressed herself.
The pictures below show the inscription ‘From Violet to Violet’ and her pressed mementoes from the graves of the great composers, indicating that she had a love of music.
So, for all these reasons, not least the timing of the arrival of the treasure, we called the lovely old 1951 Austin A40 Devon I fell in love with outside the garage on the main road just beyond our one room bedsit where we lived in Bristol while I was a student at the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School – ‘Violet’.
And it was Violet who took us, Gill, my wife, Leo, our 6 year-old boy and our new arrival, Joshua, aged 6 months, across the sea to Ireland and up to The Burren in County Clare, in the Spring of 1981, to find orchids and flowers of all kinds in a profusion and breath-taking beauty we had never seen before – without missing a beat.
