CHAPTER X
HAPPY DAYS IN INDIA
My children led a simple life, and they look back upon it now with happy memories. They used to go out early in the morning for their walk, come back and have their baths, then their simple breakfast, then lessons, after which they dressed and went out for a drive. When they returned, they had a sing-song, supper, and bed. They were most cheerful children, and beautifully unselfish. I hope my readers won’t think I say this because I am their mother, for one and all of my friends used to say, “What perfect manners these children have!” They were taught riding by an Australian, named Oakley, who was in charge of my husband’s stables; he was very proud of their efforts.
Rajey was a beautiful boy, always a little reserved. He was very fond of horses, and was taught to drive when quite small. He learned high jumping and steeplechasing, and never minded the falls. He was so brave, and perhaps for that reason he was most admired. He thought a doctor could do so much good to poor people. Once he got a little homæopathic medicine case, and used to give the servants medicine when they needed it. He loved his eldest sister and was very proud of Jit. These three were very good friends, and Rajey used to take great care of Girlie. Nurse used to say that Rajey often asked such questions about heaven and the stars, such very strange questions, that she once said to me: “I wonder if that boy will live long?”
Jit was a loving little boy. He was the most spoilt of them all because he had such winning ways. He used to play conjuring tricks when a very small boy. The drawing-room full of people had to look very solemn while he performed these tricks. He would tell his audience to shut their eyes, and he would go and hide something. He would come back, saying: “Open your eyes and see, I have nothing in my hands.” We had to close our eyes again while he fetched back the hidden toy, exclaiming: “Now open your eyes and see, I have something in my hands.” These were his childish games, and now he is quite clever at conjuring tricks.
Jit used to call me “Dearest.” Once in Darjeeling, while I was in the nursery with the children before they went to bed and we had been talking of people sleeping under trees before houses were built, one of the children asked: “Who built the first house in the world?” and Jit answered: “Of course, God built the first house.” One of the younger ones objected: “But He has no hands.” Jit answered: “But the idea of building came from God.”
Vic was patient and good. I remember his once sitting in my room in a corner; I was talking to nurse, when suddenly it struck me that Vic was there, and nurse went and brought him to me. He was cutting his fingers instead of his nails, which he must have seen some of us doing, and the fingers looked so sore; the nurse had not the heart to scold him, and how good he was—not a tear, and they must have pained him much. Victor is the biggest of my four handsome sons.
Mrs. Eldridge ruled our nursery for sixteen years, and she was of more importance there than myself. The children loved her.
The boys and girls were all musical, and it was customary for our friends to drop in at bedtime and listen to the children singing. Very pretty they looked in their sleeping suits. I always dressed them in English clothes.
On the 1st July, 1890, my little darling Hitty was born. Just before his arrival I was very ill; it was a severe kind of influenza, and Dr. McConnell was asked to come down from Darjeeling; my dear husband thought I was seriously ill and wanted special medical advice. Hitty was a fine boy with most glorious eyes; he was the only one born in Cooch Behar. When I brought him to Calcutta we travelled almost the whole way by boat, as it was during the rains, and most of the country was under water. We arrived in Calcutta rather late in the day, and I foolishly gave my baby a bath, and it was this I am sure which gave him a severe cold that turned to double pneumonia. The doctor said he had never seen so young an infant with this severe kind of pneumonia. But he got over it, and I told my husband I would follow him to Simla after I had taken the baby to Darjeeling, where the other children were, as I could not trust him with any one but our dear old nurse. I sent everything on to Simla, but when I got up to Darjeeling, I found it too difficult to tear myself away, and in the end I did not go to Simla at all, which put my dear husband to great inconvenience. For the first time I broke a promise, and for this I shall ever feel regret.