Of the Park habitués, Royalty must necessarily come first. Between nine and ten o’clock almost any morning of the week, when he is in town, the Prince of Wales, faultlessly mounted, and generally attended by Sir Arthur Bigge, may be seen entering the Park at Hyde Park Corner. To the most of the world he goes unnoticed. He rides as quietly as any other gentleman in the Row, and so as not to disturb his pleasure no one bows unless personally acquainted with his Royal Highness. Like his father, he has a happy knack of seeing people and beckoning to them, or, if necessary, sending Sir Arthur Bigge, or the groom who follows, to say he wishes to speak to them. The Prince is noted for his chaffing, merry way.
The Duke of Connaught, not even attended by a gentleman-in-waiting, the Duke of Fife, the Duke of Teck, and Prince Francis of Teck, and a host of others, ride at the same hour, and often join forces with the future King of England.
One of the best-known figures in the Row, and yet at the same time not a rider, is Lord Alverstone, the Lord Chief Justice, who walks through the Park on his way to the Law Courts. It is quite extraordinary the number of well-known people who may be seen riding every day. One may frequently espy the clear-cut face of Mr. Justice Grantham, sometimes chatting with his fellow-judge, Sir Charles Darling, who seems to have found the secret of perpetual youth; and also Mr. Justice Lawrence. In his time the late Lord Brampton, whose title of nobility can never obscure the sarcasm of Mr. Justice Hawkins, took his daily constitutional under the trees.
Among Members of both Houses of Parliament, riding or walking, are the Marquis of Lansdowne, beautifully mounted, Mr. Winston Churchill talking to himself, and Sir John Dickson-Poynder.
Dr. Fridtjof Nansen, the Arctic explorer, and till lately Norwegian Minister in London, often rode in the Park; and also Count Paul Wolff-Metternich. Count Albert Mensdorf, Herr Pouilly-Dietrichstein, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador, walk, and so do the Earl of Rosebery and Mr. Leopold de Rothschild. The Duke and Duchess of Somerset, the Duchess of Sutherland, the Countess of Warwick, Muriel Viscountess Helmsley, Mary Lady Inverclyde, Sir Alfred Turner, and hosts of others familiar in London society, ride among the throng, in which are frequently to be seen West End doctors—Sir Felix Semon, Mr. Butlin, Mr. Clinton Dent, Dr. Dakin, Dr. Cautly, Mr. Arbuthnot Lane, Dr. Kingston Fowler, Mr. Collins; and artists—Mr. Solomon J. Solomon, R.A., Mr. Shannon, A.R.A., and Mr. Linley Sambourne of Punch.
Actors are there too. Mr. Cyril Maud, Mr. George Alexander, Mr. Allan Ainsworth, Mr. Beerbohm Tree, Mr. Boucicault; to say nothing of Gibson girls, those mysterious folk who only earn a pound a week, and yet ride thoroughbreds and drive motor cars.
The only people who have the right to drive in a carriage down Rotten Row are His Majesty King Edward, who, unlike his mother, has never exercised that privilege, and the Duke of St. Albans, as Hereditary Grand Falconer.
An enormously wealthy and well-known financier used to ride every day in Hyde Park. He was never much of a horseman, and as he grew older the little nerve he had possessed gradually went. Nevertheless, he was determined not to give up the habit of years, and if, after all, his ride did not give him much pleasure, it employed a vast number of people, and so lessened the ranks of the unemployed. First of all, a groom had to exercise his horse for a couple of hours, that is to say, take all the pluck out of it, so that a handsome but jaded steed was left for a little gentle exercise.
Before, and beside him, two other grooms were in attendance, the idea being that while one was at his service, the other had a second horse in case he required it. More than that, an empty carriage, with a pair of horses and a couple of men-servants, wandered round the Park as long as he was riding, and as close within earshot as possible. They were to take the good gentleman home if he was tired. One would imagine that this was sufficient for one solitary man’s ride for an hour, but not at all. Two or three men in plain clothes, really grooms from this gentleman’s stables, were stationed at intervals down the Row, so that if anything went wrong they might rush to his service at once. I have often wondered if that good man’s morning ride did not cost him more pain than pleasure.
Beside the riders who are there for amusement, mounted police are the only people who gallop up and down Rotten Row, but there was an exception to this rule a few years back.