When he gave it to me, he dropped on his knees on the floor before a whole roomful of people, kissed my hand like a courtier of the Middle Ages in humble obeisance, and handed me the little poem.
About this time also dates my first essay in journalism. Chance so often steps in to foreshadow the important events of our lives. Everyone gets his chance; but many do not recognise it when it comes. If we only accept small beginnings they often lead to big endings. My chance notebook on Iceland and some sporting articles in the Queen were the beginning of an income a few years later.
I was going to Scotland to pay a round of shooting and golfing visits with my husband, who was fond of all kinds of sport. It occurred to me it would be an interesting thing to write some sporting articles, for I invariably followed the guns. I therefore went down to the office of the Queen and boldly sent my card in to the editor. Miss Lowe received me. I explained my idea to her, but as it would be an innovation for a lady’s paper to attempt to print anything in the nature of sport she did not know how it would be received, so she sent for a worthy captain, who was at that time the art editor of the paper, and asked for his opinion. “Absurd!” he exclaimed, without a moment’s hesitation; “perfectly absurd! A woman can’t write articles on sport.”
As really I did not care very much about doing the articles except for an amusement, I was turning to go away, when I noticed the editor holding the lapels of the old gentleman’s coat and trying to bawl into his ear.
“Women don’t know anything about sport and don’t want to,” he continued, still determined not to listen.
Those were the early days of women in journalism, and men—or rather most men—had a strong prejudice against us and a distinct disbelief in our abilities. After this ultimatum there was nothing left for me to do but to say good-bye and leave Miss Lowe’s room. I was going out a little crestfallen that my plan had so completely fallen through, when, as the captain opened the door for me, he suddenly noticed my gloves, and said:
“Why do you wear those white gauntlet gloves? They look like the Horse Guards.”
“They are my driving gloves,” I replied.