Chapter 5
It was with some regret that I left Mrs. Ray’s school and the kind Misses Ray. I remember they gave me some little presents and many kind words, both of which I treasured for a long time. But childlike I was happy in the thought of fresh scenes, and too I was anxious to return to my mother. It was not long before this time that she had told me what made a very great impression on me and became one of the deepest desires of my mind. She said that when I was born she had no desire for another baby and wondered why God had taken her sister Jane’s little one, a child much longed for, and left hers. “But,” she added, “after your father’s death I felt you had been given to comfort me, and you were the one thing that took my thoughts from myself and my great sorrow.” I pondered these words and felt that my work no doubt was to take care of my mother. It comforted me too, in what was to me a real trial, not going to school as my sister and brother did. I believed now that there was a reason for my having to remain at home, and on the whole felt more content.
I was now eleven years old. I think I was small for my age, though people had left off insulting me by saying I would be a dwarf. I daresay girls of eleven now would think I was a quaint little figure, in my straight dark frocks, always made the same, with a full skirt, well below my knees, and a waist with three box pleats in front. Over this I wore a straight pinafore of Holland in the mornings and diaper in the afternoons. My hair was very thin and always kept short and brushed back with a black velvet ribbon to keep it in place. At this particular time I had a red and black flannel dress, made out of Dora’s drilling dress, but not the less admired by me on that account, especially as it opened in front. If little girls looked quaint in those days, I think the boys were almost more peculiar, in their long trousers and tall stovepipe hats, but everything is in habit, and I can imagine a look of horror on my grandmother’s face if she could see the girls and boys of today.
I have wandered a long way from Broadstairs. I think my sister would unite with me in saying that some of the happiest days of our lives were spent there. There was quite a large meeting in Broadstairs when we lived there, and a very happy and united one. Most of the people were of the upper class; I think of the seventy odd in fellowship there was only one family of the working class. I suppose they were mostly elderly people who, with a small income, were glad to live in a quiet place where there was a happy meeting.
The meeting room was a particularly nice and suitable one, built by two sisters, Mrs. Curry and Mrs. Byfield, sisters of Dr. McKern, a well-known man in his time. Their house was next to the meeting room, the bedrooms extending over it. The town was so small that everyone lived close to the room, and there was a meeting every night except Saturday, at 7:30. On Saturday night a prayer meeting was held in the house of a brother, Mr. Taylor, for the Gospel.
One long straggling street led all through the town to the sea. On each side of the street there were banks, high enough to be well worth climbing I thought, and treasures in the shape of wallflowers and pink tipped daisies grew upon them. Some of these I transplanted with great pains to our back garden and planted them in what I called my flower-beds, but which Dora and Graham laughed at as “graves” when they returned from school later in the summer. The long street ended, as I have said, at the sea, and there was a walk all along the cliffs, with a fine view of the broad ocean. At one side a tall house towered above the rest, and there Charles Dickens was said to have written his well-known “Bleak House”. Walking for a mile or so along the cliffs you reached a famous cave, known as the “Smuggler’s Cave”, and past this again was Kingate Castle, an ivy covered ruin. Far out to sea lay the treacherous Goodwin Sands, so fatal to our ships and where so much splendid lifeboat work has been done. Our house stood at a good distance from the sea, on a short street off the main one, but as it was the first house on the street we were not far from the meeting, and going up the road away from the sea you speedily came to pretty country walks.
It must have been June when I first came to live in Broadstairs, and mother had our new home pretty well settled. It was not long before the holidays began and my sister and brother returned from school. My brother was at this time attending the school of a Mr. White in Reading. Fred Robinson had returned to his home in Canada, but his place was more than filled by two nephews of Dr. McKern’s, lads of fifteen and seventeen, and our house seemed very full. However, its limit was not yet reached, as the holidays had hardly begun when there came a letter from my mother’s aunt, Mrs. Tennant, announcing her intention of paying us a week’s visit. She would not bring a maid, she said, but Fleury, her white poodle dog, would accompany her. Then there was a hurrying to and fro, and changing of beds, but mother with her usual ingenuity made them go round, by putting me to sleep in a trunk.
My aunt was rather a fussy old lady, though very kind and always making us presents, taking us for drives, and so on. All would have gone well if the original plan of a week’s visit had been carried out, but before the week expired she received word that her maid was ill with typhoid fever and she refused to return until the woman had recovered, which was not for six weeks. The dog, I think, was the greatest trial in the eyes of my brother and me. He had to be taken out every day for exercise, and this fell to our lot. He was a large fat dog, with long white curly hair, very much attached to my aunt and not at all to us. We were forbidden to let him out of our sight, and the walk consisted in carrying him a certain distance by turns and then putting him down, when he raced home and we after him. He also would quarrel with my cat, which was then expelled, and my mother felt it was the last straw when she was requested to wash him, not forgetting to rinse him well and then blue him. The last operation was hardly a success, as his feet came out bright blue, much to my aunt’s chagrin. But the weeks passed by and our crowded house grew empty again, and I am sure my mother must have given many a sigh of relief when once more she and I and our faithful Susan were alone in our little home.
The winter following has much to make it remembered, not only in my small and insignificant life, but in the lives of hundreds and thousands in Germany and France, it was 1870/71, the years of the Franco-Prussian War. It seemed near to us, though our country did not participate, but excitement waxed high, the women made lint, and as I scraped an old linen sheet, I felt as if war was a very real thing. Books were written prophesying the invasion of England by the Germans. I do not remember how I got hold of them, but I know they made me shudder and feel as if the Germans were at our doors. One book I found not gruesome but amusing. It was called “Dame Europa’s School” and humorously likened the countries of Europe to plots of garden in a school ground. Louis and Fritz would quarrel over the boundaries of theirs, but John who had an island in the creek was able to keep clear of the fight. I think times must have been hard in England too, for I remember seeing the working men marching along the street of our quiet town singing:
“We want to work and we like to work,
But we’ve got no work to do-o-o-o.”
It was I think in the late autumn when we received word that my uncle Oliver was lying very ill, at a friend’s house near London. My mother was deeply distressed, as she feared he was not saved, and on hearing worse accounts she hastened to London, but was too late as he had already passed away. My grandfather was with him and told her that knowing he was dying he had asked what could he do to be saved, and my grandfather replied: “You have only to believe on Jesus”.
It was during her absence that I first got assurance of my salvation. I never remember the time when I did not long to be saved and at times I lay awake at night pondering the question, although I never spoke of it to anyone. When I went to a Gospel meeting, which was not often, as mother did not approve of my going out in the evening, I used to say to myself: “Perhaps tonight I shall find out how to be saved”. When in London, we all went to hear Mr. Darby one evening. His sermon was extremely simple but he did not clear away my difficulties at all. What always puzzled me was “What am I to believe?” There was a very stout, middle aged lady in the Broadstairs meeting named Miss Harrington. She was a kind, good soul, and always very kind to me. One afternoon while mother was away, she came to our house and was talking to a lady who happened to be there. This lady professed to be anxious about her soul, and their conversation turned on the way of salvation. I was sitting quietly in a corner, but listening intently to all that was said. Presently Mrs. Staunton asked the very question which I longed to ask: “But what am I to believe? You speak of believing in Jesus, but what does it mean?” “Why,” said Miss Harrington, “you are to believe that He died on the cross for your sins.” “Oh,” I said to myself, “I have believed that for a long time; then I must be saved.” But I said nothing about it at the time, though I thought about it a great deal. A couple of months after this my mother was obliged to go to London again and Miss Harrington came over to stay with me and my brother, who was home for the Christmas holidays. It was Sunday morning, and I was sitting in my favorite place on the hearthrug in front of the fire. Miss Harrington asked me suddenly, “Have you decided for Christ?” “Yes,” I said, “I have.” She asked me when and to tell her more. “It was what you said,” I replied, “when talking to Mrs. Staunton’ I think it was a great joy to her and she told me later that she had marked in her hymnbook the verse of a hymn:
“We’ll lay our trophies at Thy feet,
We’ll worship and adore Thee
Whose precious blood has made us meet
To live with Thee in glory.”
I never sing that hymn without remembering my kind old friend.
It was that same winter (1871) that I began to desire to remember the Lord in His death. I had but one reason for desiring this. I read in the Gospels the Lord’s request to His disciples, “Do this in remembrance of Me”. I greatly desired to do all He wished and felt that I was not carrying out His wishes while remaining away from His table. As to the question of where I should remember Him, I had no thought, but naturally went where my mother (in whose judgment I had implicit confidence) went. Some in the meeting, who believed in adult baptism, urged that I should be baptized although I had been christened in the Church of England, besides an emergency baptism performed when I was a few days old and thought to be dying. My sister and I and our servant Susan were all baptized in Margate, as there was a baptistry in the meeting room there. I now believe that this baptism was quite unnecessary, as we are received into the outward kingdom of God by baptism and we cannot be received more than once.
Major McCarthy, Mr. Taylor and Mr. Burbidge all questioned me before I was received, and Mr. Burbidge remarked on my great ignorance, which I am sure was true, but we can only “speak the things we do know” and one does not as a rule make much spiritual progress by eleven years of age. As a matter of fact it was years before I understood in any measure where I was and why.
During this winter I went with my mother to my grandfathers for a long visit. Everyone was very kind to me and I enjoyed my stay very much. Every morning I had breakfast alone with my grandfather. He sometimes—not often—spoke to me. But I was far too shy to venture to talk to him. After the later breakfast and prayers were over, my step-grandmother and her sister Miss Walker always walked in Kensington Gardens, taking the little white dog Minnie for a walk, and I went also. Sometimes in the afternoon Mrs. Tennant came and took us for a drive. One afternoon she took us to a large bazaar. On walking through it we came to one room altogether filled with birds. Suddenly she turned to me and said, “Did I not promise you a bird?” It was true, she had promised me a bird when my kitten was dismissed the previous summer. I had often thought of her promise, but supposed she had forgotten it, but now my hopes were raised. There were canaries in large numbers, and one cage of bullfinches. My aunt had spoken of a canary but my heart went out to the bullfinches, but of course I did not say anything. After a few minutes my aunt said these birds were very poor and we left the bazaar. I was bitterly disappointed, but on thinking it over, resolved to pray that the Lord would incline her heart to give me a bullfinch. On coming in from a walk a few days later, a large parcel was handed to me and on opening it I found a lovely little bullfinch in a handsome brass cage. I mention this as it was the first definite answer to prayer I ever had and made a great impression on me.
It was at the time of this visit that the Princess Louise and the Marquis of Lorne were married, and the city was wonderfully decorated, though I remember seeing at the same time a yellow flag hung at the entrance of some streets to show that smallpox was raging there. It was indeed a terrible epidemic, and thousands I believe died. Everyone was vaccinated. A very sad thing happened in this connection. Our dear aged friend Mr. Wigram had one daughter, the great comfort of his life. She was one of those—and there were many in those days amongst us—who was full of good works. A young wife had died some months before of scarlet fever, and while she and two little boys were lying ill, Miss Wigram took the little girl, about two years old, to her home. Just after the child went back to her father’s house she took scarlet fever and was very ill. Miss Wigram, hearing of it, hastened to the house to care for her, although she had just been vaccinated. She took the disease and both she and the child died and were buried on the same day. A week after the funeral, a very godly sister, who had long been an invalid, was buried in the same cemetery. My mother was at the funeral and told me how Mr. Wigram spoke beautifully at the grave. “We come here not unseldom,” he said as he looked across at the grave of his daughter. What but the Spirit of God could sustain a man and enable him to minister to the sorrow of others, with his own heart so lately torn and broken!
Mr. Darby was in London that winter and I went with my mother to various meetings held in private drawing rooms, in the mornings. They were very crowded. My place was on a footstool, and I am afraid the meetings were quite over my head. About this time we also paid a visit to Croydon, and stayed with our old friend Mrs. Taylor. Her daughter, Mrs. Schofield, with her three little girls, was there, and I greatly enjoyed my stay. I remember they said we will all make wreaths of flowers to wear in our hair for dinner, but I refused, saying it would not be right. Mrs. Schofield had two sons, as well as the girls. One of these was a very brilliant young doctor and went out to the China Inland Mission, where he soon after contracted some malignant disease and died. The other son is the Dr. Schofield whose books are now well known.
It was not long after these pleasant visits that my mother decided to give up the house and take lodgings in the country for the summer. She had made up her mind to return to Canada the following spring, as my sister and brother would by that time have finished their education. So we sold some of our furniture and packed various cases with household goods that we intended to take with us to Canada. These must have been stored somewhere, for we had a very small amount of “impedimenta” to take to the new dwelling, which only consisted of three small rooms in a laborer’s cottage on a farm between Broadstairs and Margate. We went in June and the house was surrounded with acres of broad beans, all in flower, and very sweet to smell. Walking through the fields you came to the farmyard and the straw stacks, a pleasant place where I sometimes took the baby of the house, who made a nice plaything for me. I remember sitting there and reading too, on sunny afternoons. I had made up my mind some months before to read everything in our bookcase. I have always believed in tackling the most difficult part of a task first, so I resolutely began at the largest books, which stood in a row in the bottom shelf. The first was the autobiography of Leigh Hunt. I found it extremely dull, but plodded through the two volumes. The next in order was a thick book “The Life of Admiral Coligne”. This was more interesting, though a great deal of it was far beyond the comprehension of an ignorant child of twelve. On finishing this book a formidable task awaited me: “Russel’s History of Modern Europe”, in six volumes. This kept me busy for a long time, and I suppose I must have learned something from it. I was reading the sixth volume that summer we were on the farm, but I am ashamed to have to own it was never finished. I have often thought, in these days of interesting books, how I would have reveled in many that children think dull now. We had Miss Strickland’s “Stories from History”, which I nearly knew by heart, and a number of Mrs. Charles’ books, “The Schonberg Cotta Family”, etc., and from these I picked up most of the general history I know, which is not much. I had practically no schooling that first year in Broadstairs, but I learned a good many other things and developed a great deal. I had a few music lessons from a Mrs. Ottley, but we had no piano, so I did not make much progress.
Of the life on the farm I have little to say. We lived out of doors a good deal, walking to the seashore to bathe or out in the beautiful country which was all around us. We were close to a very quaint old church, St. Peter’s, and we found the old inscriptions on the monuments very interesting. My sister had had a severe attack of measles just at the close of the school year, and was far from well, and during the summer I had a bad abscess in one of my ears which left me pretty deaf. Otherwise nothing of interest happened during those three months.