I remember at a big function at Simla, when Colonel Chesney was being made a K.C.S.I. by Lord Ripon. Lord William had arranged for a number of us to be allowed into the holy of holies to watch the ceremony. We stood round the wall like well-behaved school children. His Excellency was announced, small, rotund and dignified in flowing robes of state, and walked up a strip of the inevitable red baize to his seat at the far end of the room. There was a good deal of ceremony about the proceedings. First one official walked a few steps and bowed to the occupant on the seat at the end of the red baize, then, after apparently counting something to himself, advanced a few more steps and bowed again, continuing this slow mode of progress until within a certain distance of His Excellency, when more characters took part, and my attention was diverted to one of the bowing individuals who was related to me, which made me more sensitive to the fact that one of his silk stockings was on wrong side out, and with every waft of air caused by his humble obeisances, little fluttering ends of silk streamed out behind the happily unconscious man, who, buttoned tightly into much gold lace, was fancying himself not a little. Those little flags fascinated me, and I was certain not one of them escaped Lord William’s eagle eye. I looked across the room to where he was carrying out his duties, but he was as grave as a judge, and so was I, indeed I flattered myself I was behaving very nicely, until I heard one of the daughters of the Commander-in-Chief, who was standing just behind me, whisper: “Look, he has got his stockings on wrong side out.” I then felt, with someone sharing my amusement, I must laugh and disgrace myself for ever. Fortunately more important developments taking place we forgot to watch the fluffy bits of silk.
While being most punctilious about all things concerning his work, and the popularity of those he served, and in spite of his hard work, Lord William found time to amuse himself fairly well. I was at Government House one day when preparations were being made for a dance. Seeing the native servants deeply engrossed arranging a cosy dark corner, amongst some palms and curtains, I enquired what they were trying to do. They replied with many salaams that they were arranging a “Kissi Ka waste for Lord Brasspot-Sahib,” in English I suppose you would call it a quiet corner for two. All the natives were fond of Lord William, hence doubtless their anxiety to minister to his moods and emotions, arranging a little corner where a little kissing could be done in peace and quietness.
Speaking of dances reminds me of one at the Commander-in-Chief’s (Sir Donald Stewart); the floor was very slippery, and Lord William, while dancing in a set of Lancers, pointing his toes and doing pretty steps first to the right and then to the left, fell on to his knees in front of a huge old lady with several chins and tied in the middle with a string or what had possibly once been a sash, but it was hard to tell, being out of sight in folds of figure. Lord William, not the least disconcerted, crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head, saying, “Madam, I am at your feet,” and was up dancing again for all he was worth without a pause, as if it was all part of the game, much to the amusement of everybody present, especially the lady at whose feet he fell, for she was a jolly cheery soul.
Among the enterprising things Lord William did in India was the overhauling and setting on its feet the Amateur Dramatic Club, which was on the verge of bankruptcy when he applied himself to re-establishing it on a firmer basis; now it is one of the soundest undertakings in India, with a stock of excellent scenery, library, and large wardrobe. Always anxious to provide amusement for the folk at Simla, he considered it would be a pity to allow such a useful institution to fall on evil days, so with his usual generosity he advanced the money to pay off the most pressing of the club’s debts, and from that day to the present time the club has never looked behind it and has now become the fashion. Every season theatricals take place there, all the rank and fashion taking part or scrambling for seats to watch the performances. Having firmly placed the club on its feet Lord William retired from the management, only keeping a first claim on one of the boxes. Invitations to the little suppers he instituted in the theatre after the performances were much sought after, their fame had spread far and wide, both for the good things he provided and for their cheeriness.
One year some tableaux were got up in the theatre, the money collected for seats being given to some charity connected with sick children. Lord William loved small bairns and they loved him. I remember at these particular tableaux I represented Charlotte Corday going to execution for the murder of Marat; my executioners were Lord William Beresford and Captain Donald Stewart, a brother officer of my husband’s in the 92nd Gordon Highlanders; we had many rehearsals both for this tableau and others, but the despair of the stage manager was great over the Corday scene, as the executioners always ended in romping. Well do I remember their both rolling about the floor trying to execute one another instead of Charlotte Corday. The manager would become almost tearful in his entreaties to them to “behave themselves.” They would then get up, shake themselves, saying to one another, “Now no more nonsense, Donny, we must behave ourselves”; and Captain Stewart would reply, “Now do shut up, Bill, and let us get to business,” but their good resolutions did not last long, they were soon stabbing, wrestling and tickling one another again and rolling about on the floor. I began to wonder what would really happen when the day arrived to appear before the public, but in spite of having had no proper rehearsals when the fateful moment came they behaved splendidly, but directly they were off the stage and behind the scenes began again.
When the whole performance was over, the staff gave a supper in the theatre to those they wished to invite who had taken part in the tableaux. A merry evening followed. As soon as all had refreshed themselves, someone suggested a steeplechase over the tables and chairs; forms were quickly turned upside-down, and chairs built up into fences. There was some fun while the would-be riders chose their mounts. At last all was settled, and we women packed ourselves away in one corner of the room to act as audience. I am afraid if the Jockey Club had witnessed that race none of the riders would ever again have been granted licences, for they out-jockeyed each other, crossing and trying to pull the riders off their mounts. There were some resounding and shocking spills, but nobody cared, and the race waxed fast and furious, being won eventually by Captain Donald Stewart, a great big fine mount, ridden, if my memory may be relied upon, by Captain Des Voeux of the Carabineers or Captain Roddy Owen. The appearance of these sportsmen at the end of the race baffles description, their hair, which in some cases had answered for reins, was hanging in disordered wisps, collars reclining on shoulders, clothes dusty, dirty shiny faces, and all weak with laughter.
This was the lighter side of what was taking place during the early part of Lord Ripon’s reign. He, meanwhile, was giving anxious thought to the conclusion of the second Afghan campaign, having been sent out with instructions to reverse Lord Lytton’s policy and terminate the war as speedily as possible. Kandahar, which the latter had intended to hold, was given up, and the whole of Afghanistan secured to the Amir Abdul Rahman.
The following, poem shall I call it, appeared about this time in one of the Indian papers signed “Bala.” A cutting of it was given to me, but I do not know from what paper, so cannot ask for permission to reproduce it, and can only trust I may be forgiven.
THE VICEROY’S MESSAGE AND THE AMIR’S REPLY
George Samuel, Marquis of Ripon, to the Afghan Chief wrote he,