The beginning is Jessie's, the letter from Frank is authentic, the rest is my invention, although Mary and Tom did live in Guernsey. They were my husband's other grandparents.

1912

Again, I am recalling the year for Lansdowne Crescent by starting with my family.
Many of the happiest days of my life have been spent in Frank’s splendid company. He is one of the best sportsmen I know. In the Hockey Club he is a tremendous favourite with all. At tennis, golf, or indoors at bridge he is always delightful either as opponent or partner. He never loses his temper or his good spirits, and although full of cheery banter, never says an ungenerous or unpleasant thing. He seems to make friends with everybody he meet. His good-tempered, jolly face is a passport in itself to secure him at once people's goodwill and friendliness. I should say he has never felt miserable, he always seems, at all events, simply to exude a cheery optimism.

Although his good looks might well have repay attention to smartness of attire and appearances, I believe he absolutely despises anything in the shape of smart clothes or fashionableness, and is, I think, always happiest in his old Norfolk jacket, the solidity, picturesqueness, and unpretentiousness of which formed, I imagine, a kindred spirit to his own.

Wherever there is any healthy sport to be had Frank will always volunteer like a shot to take advantage of it. And he can play a losing game, better than anyone I know. It is always easy to win with a good grace, but to fight to the last against big odds and to lose gracefully is true sportsmanship.

We had our first family wedding this year. Our sister, Catharine Mary, whom we call Carrie, (but whom her husband calls Mary) married Tom Stinton. They had been friends since childhood. Tom is enjoying his teaching at Elizabeth College in Guernsey and Mary loves living there. He did so very well at Oxford and got a Classical degree with a first in Classical Moderations and a Second in Greats. He is another one who is also a great sportsman especially hockey, and very popular with his contemporaries.

Margaret and I all went to Guernsey to see them in their new home, which is a small bungalow, not far from the town of St. Peter Port centre. Guernsey is a very small island, 12 miles long by 9 miles wide and it is much closer to France than to England. Of course, it is an independent country, not officially a part of Britain, but it does have close ties with the mainland.

The boat sailed from Weymouth in Dorset and docked at St. Peter Port. There is a big castle just by the harbour called Castle Cornet, and pointing out to sea is a canon which booms out every day at midday, and it was going off just as we arrived. Mary was at the dockside to meet us and we took a cab to their house, passing en route Elizabeth College, where Tom was busy teaching. Elizabeth College is on a hill overlooking the town, and is by far the most prestigious building on the island. Since the bungalow is very small and has only two bedrooms, we shared one room. We unpacked, had a cup of tea, and then Mary took us on a tour of the town.

Mary is very enthused about her new home. She said that it has the most sheltered anchorage in the Channel Islands and has been occupied for over 2000 years. The shops in the village have retained their 17th century charm, and the High Street has its original cobbles. One of the most famous of its residents was Victor Hugo who came to live there in 1855 when he was exiled from France, and lived there for 15 years. He rented 20 Hauteville but then purchased it for his mistress Juliette Drouet and then acquired 38 Houteville and it was from here that he wrote Les Miserables. There are also several of Renoir’s paintings which were based on this area.

Mary told us that until the mid eighteenth century street markets were held from Berthelot Street, down High Street to Cow Lane (a small lane that runs from Church square to the harbour). These eventually became unpopular as the smell of fish, meat and rotting vegetables, noise of the assembly and packs of vermin attracted by the offal did not go down too well with worshippers in the church. The fruit market even used to shelter in the church during bad weather.

The next day, we went to the Candie Gardens which also includes the museum and a bandstand. It was established in 1894 and is on a hilltop overlooking the port, so we had spectacular view over the rooftops to the other Channel Islands. It has the oldest known heated glass house in the British Isles – late 18th Century.

Tom told us a bit about the history of Guernsey and why it belongs it has allegiance to Britain rather than its nearer neighbour, France. This is more or less what he told us. Guernsey is only 30 miles from the Normandy coast as against 60 miles from Weymouth. In 933 the Channel Islands became part of the Norman realms following the treaty of St. Clair-sur-Epte. Later in 1066, William, Duke of Normandy landed his conquering army in Sussex and became William the 1st of England. His Duchy of Normandy included the Channel Islands - Les Iles Normandes - and these became part of the combined realm of England and Normandy. 138 years later, King John lost most of the Duchy of Normandy, but Guernsey and the other Channel Islands remained loyal to the English Crown.

From that time, the Islands became a focal point for the strife that was to exist between England and France. The French made many raids on the Islands and at times established temporary footholds, only to be driven off by the sturdy islanders, supported by the forces of the English monarch.

The frequency of these raids led to the building of fortresses around the coast, the remains of some of which can still be seen as reminders of Guernsey's stormy history. During this time the Island developed its own independent legal system and parliamentary institutions, and today it is to a large extent a self-governing territory, although all local legislation has to have Royal assent.

On Saturday, Tom took us to La Longue Rocque, Le Route de Paysans, which is an impressive menhir, measuring 4 feet – the tallest on Guernsey. Folklore says that the fairies used to use the stone as a cricket bat but it is also said to increase fertility if touched. Mary laughed at the story, but she also did quite a lot of touching of it.

He then took us to Les Creux-es Fales – the Fairy Grotto. This is an ancient burial site set on a hillock opposite the island of Lihou on the west coast. You can walk to Lihou at low tide, and the causeway is such that we didn’t even get our shoes wet. We had a picnic there and on the far side there is a natural swimming pool, filled by the sea, but it doesn’t all empty away. Tom tried to interest us in a swim, but we refused. Anyway, the tomb in that area dates to around 3000 BC and was used for successive burial until the late Bronze age around 1000 BC. Two original cap stones of the bottle shaped tomb survive. Folklore states that the tomb was the entrance to fairyland and that every week the night fairies would emerge to play near the Le Trepied passage tomb.

On Sunday we went to Church with Tom and the resident students of his school. Then afterwards, he took us on a tour of the public bits of the College. Just inside the entry we went into the assembly hall, which is very impressive with large windows and a high ceiling. There is a pipe organ on one side and a stage at the front. Then he took us up the stairs to the tower room, which is used as a staff room. With windows on all sides, we had a wonderful view over the harbour.

The school was established in 1563 by Queen Elizabeth in order to promote Protestantism in Guernsey. The first headmaster, who was called Hadrian a Saravia, was one of the translators for the King James version of the Bible. What we saw however, was not the original building, but one which was erected in 1826.
The students are all boys, and mostly fee paying, although the States of Guernsey award scholarships annually on the basis of the eleven plus results. Many of the residents are those whose parents work abroad.

The original object was to found, in the name of the Queen, a grammar school called ‘The School of Queen Elizabeth’. I think this part of the history is such fun. ‘The School was also assigned with corn rents to provide a supporting income. Eighty quarters of wheat were assigned to the Master and the School which were to be levied and held by the School Master in perpetuity –all of which were endowed by letters patent. It was stipulated at the time that the Master need not necessarily be a clergyman but should ‘be versed in Latin and in Greek, if it happen, and endued of good morals and with a grave aspect’. Further to this the main purpose of the school was to be the ‘teaching of grammar’ and it was at the Master’s discretion whether other instruction was to be undertaken. The school was to be divided into 6 classes. It was also made clear that if the Master was to persevere in doing wrong he was to be removed from his position by the Governor of Guernsey.

An Education review Committee in 1823 investigated the history of the School up until that time and found that there had been many ‘instances of complaint against the Masters of the School for neglect of duty and for incompetency; some admonitions and some removals, but no expulsions of scholars’. They also found ‘that the number of scholars at the School of Elizabeth had probably never exceeded 29, and had often been reduced to one or two and at times there had been none at all!’. It was surmised that during the 260 years since its creation the Masters had not exacted any fees from the students, but for as long as anyone could remember one guinea was ‘given’ to the Masters as a New Year’s gift every year, with one shilling for the Servant and two shillings and sixpence annually for coal.

We left on Monday morning, and were sad that we would not be seeing Mary for some time, but she hopes to able to come back to visit in Worcester next summer.

I wish to include here, a letter from Frank to Carrie written this last summer.

The Falcon Inn
Bude
Saturday Morning 7.15
August 7
 
My very dear Carrie,

When you have read this letter you will thank God that I am alive to write it. You said you hoped I should have an adventure and I have had one.

It was in this wise: Harry and I yesterday morning set out from Welcombe to come here and walked on the tops of the mountains along the seashore: of this we got tired and thought we would try a change so descended to the beach. At first it was easy walking but presently it got very difficult over great boulders and rough stones so that our progress was very slow. The tide was coming in fast: we got on as fast as possible so as if possible to get to some easy place to get up. As perhaps a haven or something of that sort.

Having gone some distance on rounding a rock imagine our dismay on seeing that the tide had come in! and our further progress was stopped! To go back would have been probably useless as the tide would very likely have come in behind us so that we were shut in – Imagine us: the vast ocean in front: standing on the beach which was being fast covered by the waves as they came rolling on aided by a high wind: shut in on the right hand and on the left: behind us a precipitous rock: apparently no means of escape. We held a short consultation and immediately determined to try to ascend though it looked almost impossible to succeed.

We started: it was awfully steep and very slippery with noting but small tufts of grass and loose stones to cling to. I got on ahead of Harry and lost sight of him. I sat for about 7 minutes gazing down the rocks – still no sight of him. Suddenly I saw him down on the beach: he was walking rapidly away in order if possible to round a projecting rock before the tide reached it and then seek some easier mode of ascent. Harry looked like a little dwarf so great was the distance down. Suppose I had slipped: There was nothing on earth to seize hold of. To go down was madness: Harry was now out of sight: but one thing for it – ascend or be dashed to pieces: I preferred the former to the latter.

Hitherto I had carried my Macintosh but climbing became so difficult that I must either have slipped or lose the Mac. I was very sorry to have to leave it but had no alternative. Climbing now became humanly speaking impossible, because immediately above me the rocks were perpendicular and cut the very rock overhanging. I had to cling to a rock by one hand and make footsteps with the other – a slip or false step would have been certain death. I was then not many yards from the top but there seemed to means of getting there. I could not reach the top. I made a spring and caught some blackberry bushes and heather and pulled myself to the top – was not I thankful!!!. I never was in such peril in my life. If God had not helped me I must have perished – I owe my preservation entirely to him. When I looked down over the mountain I had climbed I could not imagine how on earth I had come up.

Providentially I never felt cooler in my life as when I was climbing though I fell several times that if I had lost my head or took a false step it would have been up with me for certain. I felt certain all the time that I should get to the top. As soon as I was at the top I went to meet Harry which was my joy when before going very far I saw him coming along. You can imagine the joyful meeting having just escaped such great peril. He had climbed up another way. The poor Mac looked so melancholy on the mountain side: but of course I could not have got up with it to the top. The thought makes me tremble now though at the time it did not.

We are going to walk now to Lanceston – 20 miles: That will complete 144. We have walked all the way from Minehead here. But I cannot stop to describe the places: Harry has finished breakfast: I must have mine then start.
Let me hear from you as soon as you can: we go to Plymouth tonight.
I hope everybody is well. We have had splendid weather. I remain your very loving brother Frank.

I like Clovelly best of the places we have seen and have some views for you.

As usual, I like to include my annual letter from Muriel.

Christmas 1912

Dear Jessie,

We are so much enjoying our new life here in Cape Town. We had a short holiday earlier this year and went to a town which you will never guess the name of – Worcester. Worcester is the ‘capital’ of the Breede River Valley, a fertile inland area referred to locally as ‘over the mountains’. It produces a fifth of South Africa’s wine.

In the village of Worcester’s village, is a Kleinplasie (little farm) with weavers, candle makers and all sorts of traditional activities going on.

We also visited the Karoo National Botanical Garden, about two miles north of Worcester. In this 144 hectare semi-desert nature reserve one can find a whole spectrum of Karoo plants.

The wine we prefer, which we think is just wonderful is called, is called Stellenbosch, and there is a town by that name too. It is the second-oldest permanent settlement in South Africa, and has the distinction of being the country’s oldest town. Bosch means forrest. It was founded in 1679 by the Dutch East Indian Company.

There is another tin producing mine not too far from here, in Namibia and Harold has got to know some of the managers from that area. It would be interesting to visit as Uis is near the Brandberg Mountains which are home to the world famous White Lady rock painting, said by some to be over 20 000 years old.

Namibia is well known as a mineral rich country and geologists come from all over the world to study in Namibia because much of the interesting geology and rare rocks are situated at ground level rather than on top of mountains or deep underground.

There is a story of desert tragedy associated with the Uis area. At the beginning of this century, so the story goes, a group of travellers from the north were making their way thought the desert to the ocean. They were following game tracks for most of the way, but came to the main road to Swakopmund nearby where Uis is now located.

The travellers decided to stop for the night and being short of fuel on which to cook their evening meal, they collected the branches of dead euphorbia bushes in order to make their campfire. Euphorbia bushes are a very common in Damaraland and their spiky branches help make the scenery so unusual. However, most species of euphorbia are also highly toxic.

After cooking their meat over their makeshift campfire, they went to bed, early one would suppose in order to be ready for the long journey the next day but they never woke up. The toxic smoke from their campfire was so strong and the food so impregnated with poison, the whole group of 16 people died in their sleep. They were buried where they lay.

Jan is now quite a little boy and learning as fast as I can teach him. He speaks well and is curious about everything. Harold quite dotes on him, and he rushes home now to have some time with him before he needs to go to sleep.

We are expecting another baby in the new year and are very pleased about it.

Much love to all your family,

Muriel

George Day has got a new job. He was at Northampton School, but is now at Bedford.