Hunting from Cork one day these two were riding close together when Captain Candy, in taking a fence, found to his dismay that he was jumping down a quarry, where he landed through the roof of an old woman’s cabin, causing some splutter and consternation among the inhabitants, who thought it must be the Fenians! One side of the cabin had to be pulled down by Lord William before horse and rider could be extricated. Strange to relate, no one was much the worse. I think it would be a toss up which broke most bones during their sporting careers. I myself saw Lord William break his collar-bone twice and dislocate his shoulder three times on separate occasions. Indeed, such small affairs became scarcely matters worthy of comment with him.
From Ireland the 9th Lancers went, in 1868, to Newbridge, then on in ’69—Hounslow; ’70—Aldershot; ’72—Woolwich; ’72—York; ’74—Colchester; ’75—out to India, and stationed at Sialkôte, after which a new leaf was turned over in Lord William’s life, and the writing on the page took another form.
He had a very uneventful time while the regiment was at Newbridge, but while at Hounslow he was a good deal in Town, where his clubs saw him fairly often. At Pratt’s one night he was talking to some friends about a pet badger he had that could hold its own against any dog. Someone, I think it was Captain “Chicken” Hartopp of the 10th Hussars, said they would like to see the animal, to which the owner replied, “So you shall. What do you bet I will not walk down to Hounslow and bring it back here by ——?” naming some incredibly short time in which to accomplish the mission. Considering it almost out of the question that this could be done in the time, a very respectable sum was bet, and off started the badger owner to fetch him, the bargain being that he must walk both ways. It was therefore necessary to do some smart heel and toe work, which he carried out faithfully, keeping a watch on the time as he went along. The badger, as far as history relates, does not seem to have shown the least surprise at his master turning up in the middle of the night in once immaculate, but now very dusty, evening dress, and hurrying off with him in his arms through the lamp-lit West End, to the amazement of policemen and a few belated wayfarers. They both arrived within the stated time, the bet being won, though the badger lost a beauty sleep.
The old Raleigh Club was a great institution in those days, much frequented by the frisky men of the time, and all young officers quartered within possible reach. It was quite the thing in night clubs. Its doors opened at dusk; when they closed, I do not know, probably shortly before business people in the suburbs were eating their early breakfasts. At any rate, nobody was anybody, who did not belong to this club, which was approached by a tunnel, adding mystery and charm. Within these portals huge sums of money changed hands, highly flavoured stories circulated, and cards figured largely; so did swearing, if I may believe what I am told. In fact it was considered a sign of military efficiency.
One of the great surprises of my life was finding out, after I married, that some of the most sedate-looking and highly proper people I had been brought up amongst, who looked as if they would faint if anyone said “Damn!” in their presence, were, in reality, constant visitors at this club, and other popular rendezvous of fame at that time, while their wives imagined they were seeing the boys off to school, or some other highly domestic duty. As it was put to me, some of these elderly friends of my early youth were among those who “kicked up the most row.”
There was that great fine Irishman, the late Colonel King-Harman, most majestic of men and model parent, who came to children’s parties and danced with poor awestricken me, my feet seldom touching the ground, but my heart full of admiration for so king-like a being. The Raleigh knew him as one of the merriest, always ready for a rag.
Lord Alfred Paget, equerry to Queen Victoria, whom I used to admire so much when I was a child, sat in front of us in church one winter in the Isle of Wight. His commanding carriage, handsome dark eyes, and beetroot complexion fascinated me; and he was so decorous and good in church, with a pew full of daughters all apparently reverencing him as I did, for he spent such a long time bending over the pew and gazing into his hat when he came into church. And the gallant way in which, without a smile, smallest hesitation, or fluster, he disentangled the bonnets of two ladies who got mixed up in front of him one Sunday. It came about through the lady in the front pew getting up from her knees before the lady in the seat behind her had completed her devotions. Consequently, when she did get up the spangled aigrette in her bonnet mixed itself up hopelessly in the veil and sweeping plume of the head-dress in front of her. Both tugged and pulled, growing redder in the face and angrier each moment. My eyes were riveted on the couple, appalled, wondering whose headgear would be pulled off first, when the gallant equerry, without moving a muscle of his face, reached over with his long arm and gave one healthy tweak which separated the two bonnets, while a shower of tinkling bugles fell from the aigrette to the floor, but still no sign of mirth on the deliverer’s face. While walking home after the service my father congratulated him on the speedy way he had freed the ladies, but Lord Alfred was not unduly mirthful even then, when out of church and all was over. Yet he too was no stranger at the Raleigh.
Oh, yes, and there were many more who took part in those festive evenings of long ago. Lord Hastings, a friend of Lord William’s, and like him most generous, in his case too generous to last, unfortunately; Colonel Valentine Baker, afterwards Baker Pasha, with his gentle voice and tragic history; Colonel Shaw of the London Fire Brigade and patron of the Gaiety Theatre: all of whom I had regarded with youthful awe and reverence.
It was in the Raleigh that Lord William and one of his brothers, Lord Marcus, I believe, or both of them, for some reason, or perhaps for no reason, put the hall porter into the refrigerator. The heat of the man’s body, or his language, caused the ice to melt, so one of them drew from the tap some water into a tumbler and sent it with his compliments to a friend in the smoking-room, describing it as “Garçon Glacé.” The porter was left in a little too long, and there was some trouble afterwards. This became known as the “Garçon Glacé” incident. Everyone thought it funny except the waiter, and he had to be pacified. Derby week was the time when the Raleigh excelled itself.
Cards never really fascinated Lord William as racing did, and in later years he seldom touched them, but in the ’sixties and early ’seventies there was an epidemic of high play which nothing seemed able to restrain. If cards were forbidden for high stakes at clubs the members used to hire houses and play, or go to hotels, even play in their bedrooms if nowhere else was available. Sharp practice, however, was not in vogue at that time; it followed later, many stately homes being broken up in consequence.