Charles Philip Yorke, Fourth Earl of Hardwicke, Vice-Admiral R.N. Part 21

Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort both took great interest in this important question, and the Prince in the following letter showed his practical knowledge of the subject by urging the importance of the training-s.h.i.+p as a source of an efficient personnel for the Navy.

'My DEAR LORD HARDWICKE,

'In your position as chairman of the Manning Committee I wish to draw your attention to a point, which I consider of the utmost importance.

'We have two brigs, the _Rollo_ and the _Nautilus_, at Portsmouth and Plymouth for apprenticing boys for the Navy. You are perfectly acquainted with their excellent system, and the fact that, after having completed their time of instruction, these boys form the best sailors in the Queen's service, having acquired a taste for the Man-of-War service early in life, and are free from any connection with the Merchandise. But these two s.h.i.+ps give the Navy only about 200 seamen a year. What are 200 annually to a fleet of 50,000? Why should not each of the Coast Guard s.h.i.+ps have a brig attached to them on their respective stations for receiving boys? The brigs are worth nothing to the service, and I am told that the applications for the entry of boys is always far beyond the present means of receiving, whilst men are frequently not to be had. If 2000 boys so trained were added every year to the Navy for ten years' service, it would be none too many. It would only give us 20,000 men at the end of ten years; but these would be permanently added to the stock of seamen of the country, which I am sorry to say appears to be gradually falling below our wants.

'Ever,

'Yours Truly,

'ALBERT.'

OSBORNE: July 24, 1856

The labours of Lord Hardwicke and his colleagues were received with general approbation on all sides, although his own declared opinion of the advisability of reviving the Press-gang in certain circ.u.mstances was not generally accepted.

I must here mention that although Lord Hardwicke was debarred by the regulation in force from accepting the decoration from King Victor Emmanuel of St. Maurice and St. Lazarus, his Majesty was still determined to mark his sense of my father's services to Italy at Genoa.

Six years after the revolution of Genoa he caused a medal to be struck bearing the national arms and inscribed with the words:

'Al Valore Militare. Lord Conte di Hardwicke, commandante il vascello _Vengeance_. Distinti servizii pel Ristabilmento del Ordine.

Genova, 1849.'

Queen Victoria's permission to wear this medal was accorded to Lord Hardwicke by the following letter from Lord Clarendon.

GROSVENOR CRESCENT: July 24, 1855.

'MY DEAR HARDWICKE,

'The Queen's permission has been duly received for you to wear the medal conferred upon you by the King of Sardinia and I have communicated the same officially to the Admiralty.

'Very truly yours,

'CLARENDON.'

The end of every life is the hardest to describe. The time of rest must come, and with it retirement from public work. The parent begins life again in his children, and in making place for them in the world. We have followed the career of an active and energetic man, who thoroughly lived his life, and enjoyed it. We have seen his first great disappointment in the profession that he loved, when an opportunity offered itself for service under Sir Charles Napier in the Baltic Fleet during the Crimean War. To die in action, fighting for England, was his ambition, and the failure of an opportunity for its fulfilment brought with it much depression.

Meanwhile, however, he lost no time in vain regrets, or ceased from active and useful work on his estate and in his county. We have read a letter describing old 'Wimple' in 1781; I shall now try to carry on the description in few words from 1855. It was a beloved home; we 'were seven,' and in the adjoining rectory lived my uncle the Hon. and Rev.

Archdeacon Yorke, Canon of Ely, with six cousins, a merry party in holiday time. The house was big and the furniture, books and pictures fine, but my father's life would have satisfied the severest of socialist critics by its simplicity. Our own dress was scrupulously simple. Our boots I well remember, they were all made by a little hump- back cobbler who lived at New Wimpole, and used to come by the avenue to the 'Big House,' as it was always called, to measure us. These substantial thick boots and leather gaiters from the village shop, with short linsey skirts, formed our walking attire. And in the Christmas holiday we all tore about the muddy fields in 'paper-chases.'

Later on I remember writing a paper for my friends on how to dress on eighty pounds a year, which was my allowance at eighteen.

The cottages were beautifully clean and the furniture solid, all the men wore smock-frocks and very thick boots with large nails that lasted a year: no such thing as a blue suit and yellow boots would have been tolerated then. The best dressed wife wore a red cloak and neat black bonnet. The family Bible was found in every cottage, and my uncle gave two cottage Bible-readings every week of his life. There was no attempt at Cathedral services in country churches. The Communion service was reverently given once a month, and on the great feast-days my uncle preached in a black gown. And such a fuss was made when the black waistcoat now commonly worn by the clergy was introduced: it was called the _M. B. Waistcoat_ (mark of the beast).

My uncle ultimately adopted it, when promoted to a canonry at Ely. What changes since those days, what luxury has crept in everywhere, and how often one sighs over the simplicity of the past, which certainly produced a stronger, if not a better race.

My father was very courteous, especially to ladies, cheery, full of life and spirits; liberal in heart though a strong Conservative in politics.

If anything pleasant or amusing was on hand, such as a dance or our 'private theatricals,' he would wave his hands and say, 'Clear the decks! Clear the decks!' We often used to 'clear the decks' for games of _Post_ and Magical Music!... Evenings at Wimpole were never dull.

We attempted to keep up old traditions, and intellect and vitality were not wanting. There was always a sprinkling of rising men in all the practical departments of life among the guests at Wimpole, statesmen, agriculturists, s.h.i.+pbuilders and owners, besides intimates and relations; dear old 'Schetky' with his guitar among the most popular, and the delight of the children after dinner when he would sing his favourite ballad 'When on his Baccy Box he viewed.' Amateur music was greatly encouraged, not that it came up to the requisitions of the present day, but it was very pleasant. My mother's ballad singing was exceptional, and without accompaniment very interesting.

'Annie Laurie' and all Lady John Scott's ballads, besides 'Caller Herrin''--the Scotch cry for fresh herring--were her favourites and brought tears to one's eyes. Nothing was spared where education was concerned, and music and languages were among the great advantages afforded to myself and my sisters. To the latter I attribute one of the greatest enjoyments of my life, especially when in later years I often lived in Paris. Histrionic art also was cultivated in the holidays under the able management of uncle Eliot Yorke, M.P. The 'Wimpole Theatre'

opened in 1796 with 'The Secret,' with Lady Anne, Lady Catherine and Lady Elizabeth Yorke and Viscount Royston as the caste. It was reopened in 1851 with the 'Court of Oberon: or The Three Wishes,' by the Dowager Countess of Hardwicke, with Viscount Royston, the Hon. Eliot Yorke, Mr.

Sydney Yorke, Lady Elizabeth Yorke, the Hon. John Manners Yorke, Lady Agneta Yorke, the Hon. Victor Yorke, and the Hon. Alexander Yorke in the caste, and the Hon. Eliot Yorke, M.P., as stage manager. This company in 1853 repeated the 'Court of Oberon' with 'The Day after the Wedding.' In 1854 'The Day after the Wedding' was again given with a comic interlude 'Personation' by Charles Kemble and a popular farce 'Turning the Tables.'

In 1855 'Personation' and 'Popping the Question' were given before their Royal Highnesses the d.u.c.h.ess of Cambridge and Princess Mary. A very smart party was invited to meet their Royal Highnesses, and a great deal of merriment was our reward.

The excellent training of 'Uncle Eliot' during the dull winter evenings made the winter holidays a real joy; we rehea.r.s.ed and acted in the Gallery, originally built to hold the Harleian Ma.n.u.scripts, and divided by columns into three parts, making an admirable theatre and a handsome proscenium. On one great occasion we had Frank Matthews as prompter, and we none of us forget seeing him initiate Lady Agneta in the art of making a stage kiss. Oh! how we laughed. He cried so much during the performance that he prompted badly; but perhaps the dear man was touched by the family talent! A letter from Tom Taylor recommending plays suitable for our company will be read with interest.

'There is a play called "Hearts are Trumps" which I think would suit your friends, from what you tell me of their troupe and requirements. We played a piece at Canterbury called "Palace and Prison" adapted by Simpson from "La Main gauche et la main droite" which, as far as I remember, is un.o.bjectionable. I think Palgrave Simpson had it printed, though I do not think it has been acted in London. My little comedietta "Nine Points of the Law" is free from all critical situations and language, but perhaps Mr. Sterling's part may be too old for your _jeune premier_.

'There is a piece called the "Secret Agent" well suited to drawing-room theatricals; you might look at it. "You can't marry your Grandmother" is a good one-act piece, free from objectionable situation and dialogue.

See also "Time tries all," "A Match in the Dark," and "Kill or Cure."

'Ever yours truly,

'TOM TAYLOR.'

In 1857 the Wimpole Theatre reopened with the same company and gave 'Suns.h.i.+ne through the Clouds' and 'Only a Halfpenny'; and in 1860 for the last time with 'The Jacobite' by Planche; a scene from 'King John'; and 'Helping Hands' by Tom Taylor. The last was a beautiful play, but too refined for the ordinary theatre, and consequently did not have the run it deserved.

All these performances were strictly confined to the family, including the painting of the scenery and the composition of Prologues, Epilogues, &c. As we said in one of those compositions, 'We are no London stars; we're all of Yorke.'

While we were play-acting, my father would continue persistently the work of his estate and county. It was his habit to hire his own labourers for the estate and home farm, and these, well and carefully chosen, were secure in their posts from year to year, and loved him. He also made a rule every Sat.u.r.day of pa.s.sing elaborate accounts at the estate office with his steward. He dined at Cambridge once a year with all his tenants; never was a landlord more beloved. The old-fas.h.i.+oned harvest home was celebrated in the s.p.a.cious coachhouse cleared for the occasion; my mother and 'all of us' went down to welcome the labourers and hear my father address them. He settled things in his own way, sometimes differing considerably from ordinary routine, but he was scrupulously just, liberal and kind, with a most attractive sense of humour.

My father had seen and felt acutely the harm raw spirits had done in the Navy. This made him very careful when at Wimpole. According to old custom, beer was brewed twice a year, and he kept the key of the cellar and punctually opened it every morning before breakfast to give out the 'measure' for daily consumption. I remember so well a new butler arriving with a pompous manner and _very red nose_. Shortly after arrival he was taken ill and retired to his bed for several days, the family doctor from Royston attending him. On his recovery, going into luncheon with us all, my father with his usual courtesy said, 'I hope you are better.' Answer: 'Oh yes, thank you, my Lord, it was only _the Change of Beer!'_

I remember the average doctor's bill for domestic servants at Wimpole was 100 a year. May I be allowed for once to speak of self? Mine, with a more or less teetotal home, comes on an average to 1; I give extra wages and no strong drink, and this system works admirably, except for the _poor Doctors_, whom I fear sometimes find their incomes sadly diminished by the Temperance movement!

My father made great additions and improvements at Wimpole House. He found it needing repair, and after releading the extensive roof, he built offices on the left side, and later restored the large conservatory on the right, besides entirely rebuilding the stables, and placing the handsome iron gates at the Arrington entrance. A group of sculpture by Foley in the pediment of the stone porch over the front door greatly improved the centre of the house, which was very flat. In round numbers he spent 100,000 in these improvements. There were twelve reception rooms _en suite_, including the beautiful chapel painted by Sir James Thornhill, and no sooner had No. 12 been done up than No. 1 began to call out! It was always beginning, never ending.

In 1867 came the first home bereavement, the first heart-breaking loss, from which my father never recovered; he kept to his daily work, but gaiety forsook him, and the trouble no doubt told upon his const.i.tution, which was threatened with a serious form of rheumatic gout, and with gradual heart failure. His beloved third son, Victor Alexander, Queen Victoria's G.o.dson, died suddenly whilst a.s.sisting at a penny reading at Aston Clinton, the residence of Sir Anthony and Lady de Rothschild, to whom he was devoted. Victor was a lad of great promise; he was in the Horse Artillery, and a bad accident in Canada is supposed to have left some injury to the back of the head and spine. He had been suffering from pains in the head, but was in the highest of spirits the day before he died. An accomplished fellow, fond of music and poetry, he was reading 'The Grandmother' by Tennyson, and at verse three--

w.i.l.l.y my beauty, my eldest born, the flower of the flock, Never a man could fling him, for w.i.l.l.y stood like a rock'--

he fell forward on his face and never spoke again.

The tenderness and sympathy shown by Sir Anthony and Lady de Rothschild on this occasion made a deep impression on our bereaved hearts. It was quite beyond words, and from it sprang that happy marriage between my brother Eliot Yorke, Equerry to H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh, and Annie de Rothschild, their daughter. It was founded on the truest love, and admiration of great qualities which have stood the test of many years.