And longed to kiss her hand and lie
A thousand summers at her feet.’
One day Katherine Bradshaw, driving with her mother and Alfred Tennyson, looked at her watch. ‘Don’t do that,’ said the Poet; ‘if it looks at you it will stop!’
She was as clever and delightful as she was beautiful, and those were happy days when we lounged in the summer evening in that beautiful garden, so near and seeming so far from the ‘fumum et opus strepitumque’ of the noisy Courts we had just left. Her children, who still live there, gathered round us while we read or recited poetry. I can remember Alfred Thesiger’s rendering of Tennyson’s ‘Gardener’s Daughter,’ all its vivid nature touches appealing the more to us because we were camped where ‘the cedar spread his dark-green layers of shade,’ ‘the voices of the well-contented doves’ forming a fit accompaniment to the musical lines. I think the presence of her brother Henry Bradshaw, the beloved Cambridge Librarian, who much resembled his sister, added a charm which those of his friends who are still living will recall with gratitude and affection. The tragedy which burst like a thunder-cloud upon this peaceful holiday group fell with its full weight upon Willie Anson. I shall never forget that day in August 1873 when a messenger of ill tidings broke in upon us with the news of the terrible accident at Wigan which wrecked the carriage in which Sir John Anson and his two daughters were travelling north, killing him instantly. The calamity touched me the more closely as the father and sisters were on their way to Poltalloch, where I was myself shortly due for one of those happy ‘Autumns in Argyllshire’ which had already begun.
Our friendship remained unbroken, and we had many happy meetings, although Anson drifted away from the Bar into other spheres of greater usefulness. I was more than once his guest at All Souls, where the two sisters who happily escaped from the accident which robbed him of a father made ideal hostesses. He was hardly ever absent from our Balliol dinner in the Match week, and was President in 1884 and 1907. Another bond of union arose between us when he became a fellow director of the old Law Life Assurance Society, where we had many happy weekly Wednesday gatherings until that ancient and successful institution allowed its existence to be absorbed by and renewed in the Phœnix. Balliol was strongly represented on the Board, which numbered among its eight Barrister Directors my brother-in-law, W. R. Malcolm, the doyen of Coutts’ Bank, Sir Henry Graham, Anson, and myself.
As the youngest member of the Club I formed a link with a somewhat junior generation of Balliol men who added a Lord Chancellor, a Lord Justice of Appeal, and a Judge of the High Court to this notable list. I remember how we welcomed ‘Bob’ Reid, prince of scholars, cricketers, and athletes, when, much to the disgust of the President of Magdalen, he flung up his demyship at that College to compete for the open scholarship at Balliol, which he gained with the greatest ease. He came up from Cheltenham with a high reputation for running, among his Crichton-like gifts, but never competed in the University or College sports. Once at least he kept wicket for the University at Lord’s, and his career as a scholar gave promise of the eminence he afterwards attained in the profession over which he presided on the woolsack as Lord Loreburn. He only once competed for a fellowship, and when he did not obtain the success to which he believed he was entitled on the merits, his strong and firm, some would say obstinate, character forbade him to become candidate for another College, though doubtless many Common Rooms would have welcomed such an addition to their numbers.
Bargrave Deane, the Judge of the Probate and Divorce Court, was then and is still one of my most valued friends. He was a fine cricketer, having played in the Winchester Eleven before he came up to the University, and although he never got his ‘blue’ he was a most useful member of the College team, and often played in University matches, though not at Lord’s. He also rowed in his College Eight, and was an officer of the Oxford Volunteers, as he was later in the Devil’s Own, of which I think he was for some time colonel. He was a magnificent rifle shot, and showed equal skill in the forest and at the competitions at Wimbledon—it was before the days of Bisley. His father, the Queen’s Advocate, Sir James Parker Deane, used to take a moor in Scotland, where I was privileged to share the sport; I remember seeing Bargrave bring down with a rifle a grand roebuck, running away from him at a long range, and how I envied and admired his skill. He was a fine fisherman, and not only cast a beautiful line, but made flies for salmon and sea-trout as well as he used them. Farwell, the late Lord Justice of Appeal, I did not know so well, but he was much looked up to and respected when at Balliol, and was very popular throughout his long and successful career at the Bar and on the Bench. Of Lansdowne, as Viceroy of India, Governor of Canada, statesman and politician, I need say nothing. Here I think rather of the boy who was with me at Eton. He was a great favourite with Jowett, who early recognised his outstanding ability and promise.
Since my time many Balliol undergraduates of intermediate generations have risen to high positions. To-day we boast of the Prime Minister, the Speaker, and Earl Curzon, Chancellor of the University, to name only three of the most important. But at this time of our national need I prefer to dwell upon that noble band who have willingly offered themselves in their country’s service. By October 1915 no less than fifty-four members of my old College had already given their lives in the War; two had gained the Victoria Cross, three the Distinguished Service Order, eight the Military Cross, one corporal (now a Captain) the Distinguished Conduct Medal, while twenty had been mentioned in despatches, and three had gained foreign Orders. To-day the empty halls and lecture rooms bear even more eloquent witness than they did when full to overflowing to the debt England owes to my beloved College.