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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Margaret's Last Letter - Chapter 24 Scoundrel or Saint
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| Margaret's Last Letter - Chapter 24 Scoundrel or Saint | |
| By jean.day | ||||||||||||||||||
| 22 January 2008 | ||||||||||||||||||
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This is the last real chapter of the book, although I will post soon the epilogue which contains the potted biographies of both Edward and Teddy, and also what I think happened to Margaret. I must say that when I read in Teddy's biography that he had in 1867 or so, written a book about his father, I felt that Margaret's influence had helped him to do it. This, of course, just shows how much I have come to believe that they really were all interwoven in some way, rather than it just being a figment of my imagination. It also confirms that which I expected - that Edward did not value his son very highly. December 23, 1864 I must quickly put in the last bits of information I collected about Edward Gibbon. In December of 1855, he attended a meeting of his constituents, spoke with great earnestness of vigour for five hours consecutively in a densely crowded room. He then drove home in an open chaise, nine miles in a cold gale at two in the morning. Although he began to feel ill, he accepted an invitation a day or two afterward to dine with members of an Odd-fellows lodge in town and sat in a hot room with an open window at his back. The next day he was attacked with rheumatic fever, and suffered acute pain. For a long time he would let no one know how ill he was, and would see no one. But then he wrote to his son, Teddy, at Canterbury asking him to come to him. Teddy wrote home to Catharine, “Father is frequently unwell, nervous and despondent, dwelling on the past and for long periods seeing no visitors, neither reading nor writing letters. It is very sad to see this transformation from the handsome wayward gifted father I knew.” For the next seven years he was a depressed recluse, although he had his brother’s widow and daughter living with him. Teddy writes, “My cousin Alice fell under Father’s spell too, and said he was the most charming man she had ever encountered.” Even in his much reduced state, he was able to charm young women, it seems. Here is Teddy’s report of the death of his father on 16 May, 1862. He wrote to Catharine about those last days, “Father was at my house at the time of his death. He struggled to speak when I entered the room (he knew he was dying), but could not.” The cause of death was registered as natural decay. He was buried beside his two brothers William and Daniel. In his obituary in the Daily Telegraph from October 1862 which Catharine had clipped and left for me to read it was written, “From criminal at home he extended his enquiries to the convict in our Australian settlements. He did his work more through others - his pen being merely auxiliary to his use of men. There is no part of the British Empire which does not feel the effect of Edward Gibbon Wakefield’s labours as a practical statesman: and perhaps the same tangible results in administrative and constructive reform can scarcely be traced to the single hand of any one other man during his own lifetime.” I must make an end of this, as my wedding day is soon upon us and I have so little time left to do what I have so enjoyed doing. St George’s Church and several tables at the Red Lion are booked, and I have sent out the invitations. There will only be about 14 of us in all, but I hope it will be a happy day. I have bought myself a new dark green winter suit, which I shall wear with a lacy white blouse. It is not very bride-like but should be practical. Here is the last letter that my father had from Edward Gibbon Wakefield. Once I have transcribed it into my notebook, I have decided that I will send all the originals to Teddy. He might be pleased to read the kind words that his father once wrote about him. He might have the time and energy to write up his father’s life in a more fitting way. I will not feel that I have failed in my task, as long as I know there is a chance that my father’s letters will in some form contribute to the knowledge of the man who was such a good friend to him. Was he the Saint as Teddy thought him, or the Scoundrel that so many labelled him over the years. Personally, I don’t think he was either, and yet a bit of both. And now the last letter we kept (although he wrote another that we sent back). France December 10, 1844 Dear Daniel, When I returned to England earlier this year I found the New Zealand Company under serious attack from the Colonial Office. mainly due to my brother's savage death in New Zealand. I threw myself into the campaign to save the project. Then in August, I had a stroke followed in the months since by several other minor strokes. I have come to France to hopefully recuperate. It is a very slow process, and I am very bad at being calm and relaxed. Hopefully you will have a good New Year, and if I am alive, I will write to you again at the end of it. Your friend Edward Gibbon
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