Introductory

MANY people have thought the name of Hett an uncommon one, but on investigation it is found to be fairly widespread, not only in England but on the Continent as well. At times, indeed, members of our family have been disposed to seek their ancestors among those able Dutch engineers who, to the annoyance of the natives, were brought over by the Stuart Kings to drain the fens of Lincolnshire.

It is certainly true that there are German Hetts. For many years, one of them, Joseph Hett, played a prominent part in the famous Oberammergau Passion Play, and a Dr. Hett of German birth introduced himself to a member of our family when visiting this country from Berlin, Ontario. Probably there are Dutch Hetts also, but long before Dutchmen came over to drain the fens, English Hetts were very much at home in Durham, Lincolnshire, Middlesex and other counties also. Perhaps some Norse rover was the common ancestor of all these families, English and Continental alike.

This is a tempting surmise, though hardly in accordance with the opinion of an experienced genealogist (Mr. R. J. Beevor) who writes:

"I find that many of my correspondents look for an Adam of their family from whom they suppose that all bearers of their surname are descended. The search is always in vain. Hett appears to be a variant of Heth (or Heath, as we should spell it to day) and to be one of the many surnames descriptive of the place of residence. Atte Woode—the man living by the Wood—became 'Wood,' or 'Atwood'. 'Atte Hethe' became 'Hethe,' 'Heth' or 'Hett.'"

Four miles from Durham there is a spot from which it seems probable that several, at least, of the families of this name derive. This is the village of Hett. Its grey stone houses are built round an open green and it boasts an inn called "The Hett Arms". In times past it was held of the convent of Durham by a family of the same name, but these lords of the manor failed in direct male issue towards the end of the fourteenth century. Notwithstanding this there are still people of the name of Hett in the neighbourhood of the village and in other parts of County Durham.

Historical Figures of the Name

Before beginning the story of our immediate forbears it may be of interest to put on record the little we know concerning some of those who bore their name in the olden days. The first of whom we find mention is Richard de Hette, who lies buried in the chancel of the church of St. Andrew, at Harleston in Northamptonshire. The following inscription commemorates him:

ORATE PRO ANIMA RICHARDI DE HETTE QUI FECIT CANCELLUM CUIUS AUXILIO FUIT ECCLESIA FACTA ANNO DOMINI MCCCXX QUINTO (Pray for the Soul of Richard de Hette who made the Chancel By whose help the Church was built In the year of Our Lord Thirteen Hundred and Twenty Five)

Towards the end of the sixteenth century a John Heth or Heath of London and King's Lynn was Warden of the Fleet. In the reign of Henry VIII, Nicholas Heath or Hett rose to very high estate, becoming successively Bishop of Rochester, Worcester, and finally Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor. He was a man who knew how to stand by his convictions, for in the reign of Edward VI he was imprisoned and deprived of his See of Worcester because of his opposition to the King in religious matters.

When Queen Mary came to the throne and the old faith was restored, he was re-instated and shortly afterwards made Archbishop and Lord Chancellor. Upon the Queen's death, it fell to him to summon Parliament and give orders for the proclamation of Queen Elizabeth. Once more the reformed religion was in the ascendant, and on his refusal to take the Oath of Supremacy, the Archbishop was deprived of all his offices. He was allowed to retire in peace to his small estate near Cobham in Surrey, where he died in 1579.

Nicholas Hett might be taken as the grand exemplar, if not the patron saint, of the family. His portrait, showing a thoughtful, refined countenance, may be studied in the National Portrait Gallery. It is not to be supposed that he was a man of exalted birth; the Hetts, generation after generation, seem rather to have belonged to that substratum of steady-going, simple folk of moderate means who form the backbone of the nation.

The Lincolnshire Hetts

To turn now to Lincolnshire. In 1359, Edward the Black Prince granted the issues of his manor of Thoresby to his Mother's yeoman, Thomas del Heth. It seems possible that this Thomas was the ancestor of all the Lincolnshire Hetts.

It is not till the end of the seventeenth century that we come upon the first direct ancestor of whom we have any knowledge. At this time, the village of Nocton, six miles south-east of Lincoln, was owned by the Ellys family. When John and Tabitha Hett took their first-born, William, to be baptised in the old Nocton church, large tracts of land lay unfenced. Bandits abounded on the wild and desolate Nocton heath, and it was not till later that Dunston Pillar was erected as a landmark.

John Hett was a yeoman, a class that worked its own land and occupied a link between the landed gentry and the farmers. John Hett was buried at Nocton in 1710, and it was left to his widow to launch their younger sons on the world.

The London Apprentices

In October 1713, John was apprenticed in London to a loriner, or leather worker. The next boy, Richard, was apprenticed four years later to John Clarke, citizen and stationer. These brothers were close friends; John died unmarried, having lent his nephew Richard £300 without interest.

Richard entered into partnership with his employer, the firm being known as "Clark, R. Hett & Matthews". He became Treasurer of the Stationers' Company and had two sons. The elder, John, became a solicitor and was a Master in Chancery from 1775 to 1790. The younger, Richard, was apprenticed to the novelist Samuel Richardson and later carried on the family printing business in Wild Court.

Return to the Main Line

Returning to Lincolnshire and to William Hett, son of John and Tabitha. About 1716 he married Susanna, and they lived peacefully at Nocton for more than a decade, during which time seven children were born to them. In 1796, "Master Hett" (the Master in Chancery) left bequests to William's married daughters and to his youngest son, Michael Hett, described as of Heighington. Our story now concerns itself with Michael Hett of Heighington.

Michael Hett and His Children (1732–1816)

LINCOLNSHIRE abounds in pleasant villages, the houses of which are usually clustered round a fine and ancient church. It is a matter for speculation how these churches came to be built on so large a scale and at such short distances from one another in a district that is now one of the least thickly populated in England. The villages of Nocton, Potter Hanworth, Heighington and Washingborough all lie close together and within eight miles of Lincoln. It is in one or other of them that we may picture Michael Hett spending his long life.

There is but one house, however, to which we can point as having been most probably occupied by him. In Heighington, a group of grey stone buildings consisting of a chapel and class-rooms arrest attention by their dignity and appearance of age. These are the buildings of the Grammar School, founded and endowed in the reign of James I by Thomas Garrett, and repaired and enlarged in 1865. The chapel is now used as the parish church of Heighington.

Near the school is to be seen the schoolmaster's house, also built of grey stone but covered almost to the eaves with creeper. It is roofed with red tiles and, like most Lincolnshire houses, conforms to a simple pattern, having a front door in the centre, with a window on either side and a row of three above. There is now a neat wooden porch as well, but one surmises that it has been added since the day when Mr. Michael Hett, accompanied by his wife, Martha, came to reside there as master of the Endowed School. Michael had married at the early age of nineteen and his wife, whose maiden name is lost to us, was four years his senior. That he was a lover of learning is apparent, but we are completely in the dark as to how he obtained his education or was able to provide so well for that of his sons.

His early married life was spent at Potter Hanworth where his elder children were baptised. In 1769 the Matriculation Register of the University of Oxford describes his eldest, William, as the son of "Michael Hett of Potter Hanworth," but the will of "Master Hett" dated 1793 designates Michael as "of Heighington," so that he must have gone to live in that village some time between these dates. Was the Master in Chancery personally acquainted with Michael? We know that he visited Lincolnshire in 1780 and it is pleasant to conjecture that he stayed with his cousin at Heighington and also that he visited Nocton.

We cannot say whether, if so, he found any of the old Hetts still living at the latter place, but William, Michael's eldest son, who had taken Holy Orders, was curate there during that year. There was also a new lord of the manor, a cousin of Sir Francis Dashwood, the Honble. George Hobart, who later became third Earl of Buckinghamshire. Let us now imagine ourselves back in the spring of 1796 and picture Michael and Martha, an elderly couple, pacing the pleasant garden behind the schoolmaster's house at Heighington. They are talking of "Master Hett" of whose death at Clifton in the end of March they have recently heard. His will has just now been proved and husband and wife are discussing the disposal of his £50 legacy to Michael. What will they decide, we wonder? Has Martha put in a word for some long-desired piece of furniture, or some badly-needed household repair; will Michael use part of it to effect some improvement in his beloved garden, or is the whole sum simply to be added to his banking account?

Their children, too, are to have £50 each, and perhaps the father and mother, as they walk up and down, are allowing themselves to guess how each of these legacies will be spent. Their thoughts dwell proudly on William, who, from the day that he went to Oxford has done them nothing but credit. Settled, after a year at Nocton, in Lincoln, he is now a vicar-choral of the cathedral, in possession of a prebendal stall and of a satisfactory income from no fewer than six parishes. A sad pity that his wife, Mary Hamilton, died four years ago, leaving him a widower with two young children; though all is well now that he has married again.

John and Henry too, are both living in Lincoln. It is easy to surmise how the clever surgeon will spend his £50. A great part of it will find its way into someone else's pocket—for he is generous to a fault—and the rest will go to facilitate his favourite study of natural history. Michael recalls how, even as a boy, he used to spend long solitary hours in watching the habits of birds, while his mother sighs to herself because he is still unmarried, for what a kind and considerate husband he would make! It is not so easy to predict how Henry will dispose of his gift. He is a lawyer and has already had the honour of being Sheriff of Lincoln. The girls, of course, will find plenty to do with their money, especially Rhoda and Susan, who are married.

As we picture Michael and Martha strolling up and down their garden, and hazard a guess at their thoughts, it is tantalising to realise how much more might have been known about them had members of an older generation than our own been questioned in time and their recollections noted down; or had it been possible to discover amongst the school records any documents relating to Michael and his work. As it is, our knowledge of him is very scanty, while even of his children, other than William, we know very little, and of two of them, nothing at all.

William must have been the one to keep up the connection with the branch of the family settled in London, for we know that he visited that city, probably as the guest of "Master" Hett. Here, he was introduced by his relatives to a circle of friends which included Bengoughs, Crowders and Hamiltons. The Bengoughs, as we know, were connected with the Hetts by marriage; the Crowders were stationers and booksellers. The Hamiltons, originally of Edinburgh, were merchants, having business interests both in Kings Lynn and London. How pleasant it would be to go back into the past, and walking down Paternoster Row, be able to look into a room in the Crowders' house where the young people are making merry together! Here is Catherine Crowder, gaily fulfilling her duties as daughter of the house, with her brother and two cousins in attendance. These fatherless cousins, John and Stanley Crowder, are always welcome in their uncle's hospitable home. This is the time of the great portrait-painters, Gainsborough, Reynolds and Romney, and Catherine and her guests look just as though they had stepped out of one or other of their canvasses.

So does Marianne, Catherine's little sister, who, dressed in a long short-waisted frock, with her bright hair unpowdered and cut in a straight fringe across her forehead, as is the fashion for children, runs about from one to another of the company. Prominent amongst them all is handsome Mary Hamilton, who has come escorted by her brother, William. The material falls away in soft folds from the v-shaped neck of her tight-waisted bodice. She turns her head this way and that, as she laughs and talks, and her hair, powdered, and falling in curls behind, is piled high in front, allowing a glimpse, as she moves, of a bit of bright ribbon across the top of the head. It is easy to be seen that William Hett is much taken with her!

That the young cleric had enjoyed himself in the society pictured above there is little doubt, for, as we know, he did not rest content till he had persuaded Mary Hamilton to cast in her lot with his, nor after her death, did he long delay in returning to the same circle to secure her successor in the person of Catherine Crowder. When he did so, he must have found the Crowders' home in Paternoster Row sadly changed. The child, Marianne, had indeed grown up, but not to live beyond her eighteenth year, and now her bright brown hair was only to be seen framed in heavy gold and preserved in a large oval ring which Catherine wore in memory of her. This young sister had died in 1789 and two years later Catherine had lost both her mother and her brother.

When, as the wife of William Hett, she went to live in Lincoln, her old father must have been lonely indeed had not his nephew, Stanley, come to live with him. He did not long survive his daughter's marriage, for he died in the beginning of 1795 leaving all his estate to Catherine and nominating his "good friend William Hamilton" as one of his trustees. His elder nephew, John Crowder, a playing-card maker and stationer, became Lord Mayor of London and Master of the Stationers Company in 1829. He was also proprietor of a newspaper named The Public Ledger. Unfortunately he did not long live to enjoy his position, as he died in December of 1830. He left £300 to Catherine Hett "as a token of my grateful sense of the fatherly protection afforded by her late father, Mr. Stanley Crowder, to my brother and myself in our early years."

We know next to nothing of the Lincolnshire friends of Michael Hett and his family. Rhoda, his eldest daughter, married Thomas Farr, and, rather late in life, John, the surgeon, married Elizabeth Farr, who presumably belonged to the same family. Elizabeth came from the hamlet of Strubby, which lies within the parish of Langton-by-Wragby. At the present day this place consists of a manor house, a farm, and a few cottages. None of these houses are old enough to have been that in which the Farrs lived except, possibly, the manor itself, which is an attractive house of very modest dimensions, built of grey stone and retaining an old-time repose. It stands well away from the main road and is sheltered by a pleasant garden remarkable for its very fine old shrubs.

Martha Hett, Michael's second daughter, never married. Susan went to live at Mavis Enderby, where she became Mrs. Wilson. Her husband, or possibly her husband's father, seems to have been William Hett's principal tenant when he became absentee rector of this village in 1802. It was then a common practice for a clergyman to hold several livings at once and to draw the full income from more than one parish, where he installed curates at very small salaries. According to his accounts for 1809, William paid Mr. Brackenbury, his curate at Mavis Enderby, £30 a year, and received from his tenant, Mr. Wilson, £170 a year. We do not know when Susan lost her first husband, but on Nov. 20th, 1810, we find the record of her marriage at Enderby to Samuel Taylor, of Louth. Her sister Martha, Thomas Farr, her brother-in-law; and Samuel's sister, Rebecca; were present and signed the register as witnesses. The ceremony was performed by Mr. Fretwell, rector of Raithby, the adjoining parish.

Susan's parents were old folk by this time and could hardly have been expected to face the tedious journey into the wolds in winter-time but it seems strange that none of her brothers were present, especially as William was actually rector of the parish. The Taylors continued to live at Enderby till at least 1821. A bible which belonged to them, was given by Susan to her niece, Elizabeth Farr, and after passing through various hands eventually came into the possession of Mr. Graham Grundy, a descendant of the Taylor's and a connection of the Hett's by marriage in a later generation.

This digression on the subject of Mavis Enderby has perhaps been too long, but, as the present home of the writer is within a mile of this village it was tempting to linger over it. Further traces of the great-great aunt who once made it her home have often been sought, but with no success. Memory, even of the oldest inhabitant, does not go back so far, and the old farm-houses have disappeared and been replaced. The church itself has been much altered by restoration and a new red brick rectory now takes the place of the low, white building which once shewed its gables and thatched roof beyond the west end. It was in this rectory that in later years William's son lived for a short while as his curate.

Whatever may have been the custom of the rest of the family, William must have travelled a good deal, since he had livings in so many parts of the county. The long line of the wolds, the massive pile of the cathedral on the sky-line, the fields and hedges, churches and windmills, all of which are such familiar landmarks to many of his descendants, must have appeared very much the same as they do now, though in the actual road travelled, there was a great difference. No line of telegraph poles stretched away into the distance and no smooth macadam invited to speed. Instead, turnpikes held up the traveller and exacted toll, and a white, dusty surface, uneven with last winter's ruts, or mended with patches of stone, rattled under the horse's feet and rubberless wheels. One entry in William's account book reads: "Journey to Waltham, Marshchapel, etc., 12/-." These parishes are nearly forty miles from Lincoln and not far from Grimsby. Perhaps William went there to preach. In any event the cost of his journey seems to have been extremely moderate. Probably he rode his own horse and the 12/- was only for incidental expenses. When hiring was necessary travelling was far more costly, for we read that he had to pay 10/6 for a chaise to Heighington, only four miles distant from his home.

Doubtless this was for the purpose of visiting Michael and Martha, probably with his first wife and little girl. His eldest son was born not long afterwards and was named Robert Hobart, after the son and heir to the Earl of Buckinghamshire, who had perhaps befriended William when he was curate at Nocton.

The years passed on. Michael Hett and his wife began to grow old, and some time towards the beginning of the new century, Michael gave up his work and retired to Washingborough. In contrast to his quiet life in this village were the stirring events then taking place in the world. In 1793 the whole of Europe had been shocked by the news of the execution of King Louis XVI. England was soon full of refugees from the terror and ringing with horrible stories of the revolution. Soon came the menace of the rising power of Napoleon and the ever-present fear of invasion. All this notwithstanding, life in Lincolnshire proceeded much as usual. People's attention centred for the most part on the vagaries of the weather or the doings of their neighbours, as, indeed it seems to have done at the time of the civil war and as it does even now, despite the changes consequent upon the great war.

Doubtless the old couple at Washingborough found plenty of interest in their immediate surroundings and in following the fortunes of their various children and grand-children. Perhaps, indeed, the reality of the war was not fully brought home to them until Robert Hobart, now a young medical student, went out to the Peninsula as an army doctor in 1812. His letters must have been anxiously awaited by the family circle in Lincoln and by his grand-parents. In those days the need for an un-contaminated supply of water was not realised nor was there any knowledge of aseptic surgery. The wounds then inflicted in battle were probably less dreadful than those received during the great war but they were more often mortal. It was considered as unavoidable that nearly every wound should inflame and suppurate, causing fever and, very frequently, death. Often a soldier who lay out all night in the open after a battle fared better than one taken to hospital, for hospitals were hot-beds of infection, and sterilisation of instruments and dressings was unknown.

A few extracts from Robert's diary make a good commentary on these facts:

"June 12th, 1812—Went to Portugal. July and August—Very heavy work in the care of sick and wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca. Twice in hospital with fever. September 29th—Patients sent away from Salamanca Hospital. After long tedious journeys in conveying the sick to the rear, reached Olivaria on 19th of December. Many patients died there, the village very unhealthy. Detained there till 29th, when pain in the head began, fever and delirium, during which I was removed to the Francisco Hospital. In January not able to move. At the end of the month had Tertian Ague. Exceedingly anxious to hear from England. No letters since August. Able to get no money. Dr. Dickson behaved generously. Shall always consider him a true friend. Was then able to travel. Met with great kindness. Not, however, yet well."

By the summer of 1814 the French began to retreat, and at the end of the year Robert was moved to France and then to Belgium, where the final struggle took place in 1815. Those who take part in great events frequently fail, at the time, to realise their importance and so this is all Robert Hobart says about the battle of Waterloo!

"June 15th, 1815—Had a warm skirmish with the French in the neighbourhood of Namur. 17th—Retire to a position in front of Waterloo. 18th—Cannonading commences at 10 o'clock. French attack us furiously at 12. Fighting severe till sunset. The enemy gain some advantages but ultimately retire in great disorder. Loss was very great. 19th—Marched 24 leagues. Encamped near ———. 21st—Encamped near Malplaquet. 29th—Near Tournay. The Prussians plundered every house. July 23rd—Halt two miles from St. Denis. Hostilities cease."

During these events the whole of Britain had been waiting breathlessly for news, and Robert's grandparents must have joined in the general anxiety. We can picture Michael, hale and hearty in spite of his eighty-four years, working busily in his small garden till it should be time to walk down the village street and look out for the arrival of the latest war-news from Lincoln. At last came the great day when the flower-decked coaches carried the story of Waterloo from end to end of the country. It is pleasant to reflect that the old couple at Washingborough lived to share in the universal happiness, though they were not there to see the return of their soldier grandson. It was not till March 1817 that, as Robert tells in his diary, the troops began to come home and in December, 1816, Michael passed away after a short illness.

A scrap of paper in the handwriting of his son William and addressed to "Mrs. Hett" is still extant. It may have been copied from a magazine or newspaper, or else be the draft for an obituary notice in one or the other. It gives an attractive portrait of the late headmaster of Heighington.

"On Saturday night last, at Washingborough, near Lincoln, died Mr. Michael Hett, at the advanced age of 85 years. Being of an active disposition, he amused the latter part of his life in the cultivation of a small garden which he managed entirely by his own labour and it is at this time in complete order. It is supposed that he happened his death by taking cold about a fortnight ago while he was cleaning and digging his ground for the winter season. He was a man of the strictest integrity, his manners gentle and unassuming. A friend to all mankind, he lived valued and respected by his superiors, esteemed by those of the same rank, and beloved by the poor. Lincoln, December 10, 1816."

Martha Hett, her husband's constant companion for all but the first nineteen years of his long life, lingered for only six weeks after he was laid to rest in the quiet churchyard of Washingborough. In her ninetieth year she followed him to the grave.

William Hett, Priest Vicar of Lincoln (1786–1833)

"There is the reverend William Hett, who is a prebendary and a vicar-choral in Lincoln, a rector in three parishes, a vicar in two parishes, and a perpetual curate in two parishes."

THUS, in reforming zeal and wrath against the system of pluralities, wrote William Cobbett, the Radical, in his Legacy to Parsons (letter 5.) The pluralist he thus pilloried was, of course, Michael Hett's eldest son, who has already been introduced in Chapter II. William Hett doubtless received his earliest education at his father's school at Heighington and it is possible that he may have gone later to Lincoln Grammar School. In 1769 he matriculated at Brasenose College, Oxford, where, in due course, he took his degree. At the age of twenty-nine we find him in orders, and acting as curate at Nocton. He was only there for a short time, after which he went to live in Lincoln, probably as vicar of St. Nicholas, Newport, a parish on the outskirts of the city. On September 19th, 1782, he was instituted to the living of Mavis Enderby, but continued to live in Lincoln and in 1786 the Bishop conferred on him a canonry in the cathedral church and the prebend of Bedford Minor.

It may be of interest to attempt a very short explanation of the origin of these ecclesiastical dignities. In very early days, when England was but partially evangelised, a bishop and his clergy were accustomed to live together at some centre whence they conducted their missionary activities. Like a band of brothers they lived and laboured, bound by their common rule or "canon." As time went on, it became necessary that the majority of them should scatter and live amongst their converts, only a certain number remaining at headquarters with the bishop. Some of these who rendered special service in connection with the cathedral church and who formed the cathedral chapter, retained the name of "canonici." At Lincoln, their ancient and fundamental duty was to recite the psalter daily, the psalms being divided amongst them.

The endowment of each canonry was known as a "prebend," the income usually coming from a church or from land gifted for the purpose. William's prebendal stall in the cathedral choir may be identified by the name of Bedford Minor, which is inscribed above it, together with the titles of the two psalms for which he was responsible Beatus qui intelligit (Ps. 41) and Quemadmodum (Ps. 42.) Originally, each canon was bound to maintain a "vicar," skilled in music, to take his part in the services if he were absent, and this seems to have been the origin of the term "minor canon" or, as at Lincoln, "vicar-choral."

During and after the reformation many changes took place, some offices were abolished and the nature of others was considerably altered so that we find William, besides being a prebendary, holding the office of vicar-choral. The senior vicars-choral were always priests and the junior vicars-choral were laymen. Thus William is often alluded to as "senior-vicar" or "priest-vicar." According to his account-book his yearly income from this source amounted to about £150 and that from the prebend of Bedford Minor to about £2, though the latter was, no doubt, worth more to him than would thus appear, for the usual practice was to lease a prebend for a lump sum down and for a much smaller yearly payment during the term of the lease.

The fact that William held these two offices would probably not have roused the wrath of Cobbett had he not also been in possession of a number of livings. In 1809, for instance, he was actually rector of Mavis Enderby; rector of St. Paul's in the Bail, Lincoln; rector of Thorpe-on-the-Hill, vicar of Dunham, vicar of Newport, perpetual curate of Nettleham and perpetual curate of Greetwell. There was a rule that, if a man held a good living like Mavis Enderby, he could not be instituted to another benefice, but this was easily got round by the simple expedient of William's resigning Enderby in order to be appointed to one of the poorer livings, then, because that was a poor living, he was legally able to be re-instituted to Mavis Enderby. This happened several times in the course of his career.

It does not appear to have occurred to Canon Hett that his action in taking the emoluments from so many parishes at the same time could be in any way blameworthy. The public conscience had yet to be awakened to the evil of pluralities and those whose outlook was in advance of that of their time were rare. In justice, also, it must be pointed out that William's income did not amount to more than about £500 a year all told out of which he had to pay his curates, keep his parsonage houses in repair and support his wife and family of nine children. We must remember, however, on the other side of the account, that £500 was probably equal to about twice as much today.

Life in the Vicars' Court

We can picture the priest-vicars living in the four grey stone houses built round the green and shady enclosure known as "the vicars' court." This court lies near the Old Palace on the southern slope of the hill and is entered through an archway which opens just opposite the south-eastern door of the cathedral. The Hetts lived in the first house on the left-hand side whence it is but a few seconds' walk to the cathedral, where William and his colleagues performed their duties. A ribald contemporary couplet thus describes the four priest-vicars:

"Bawling Hett and mumbling Jephson / Gambling Grey and drinking Nelson."

Bawler though he may have been, William seems to have been sufficiently appreciated as a preacher to take the step of publishing some of his "discourses" together with various reflections and verses. This book provides us with many sidelights on his life and character. Amongst other things, it contains an "Address to Parishioners" which had originally been printed in pamphlet form seventeen years earlier and distributed gratis amongst the members of his village congregations, whom he describes as farmers, graziers, husbandmen, labourers and servants. One might suppose him to have lived so long in Lincoln as to have become out of touch with country life but the address discloses an intimate understanding of the surroundings and circumstances of those for whom he wrote. It is pleasant to note that, in admonishing the farmers, he made a special appeal to them to consider their animals and to teach their men to do the same.

The early years of the nineteenth century are regarded as a period of stagnation in church life. The squire came, because it was the proper thing to do, and shut himself and his family into their square high-backed pew. This erection often resembled a small room, being fitted with its own door and fire-place and provisioned with wine and biscuits. Here the occupants sat, and sometimes slept, till it was time to go home again. Most of the clergy accepted this state of affairs as a matter of course but William Hett's writings shew a real concern for the spiritual welfare of his people and for the more seemly conduct of public worship. He writes:

"What I am pleading for is that if they (i.e. the Rubrics) were complied with by the several worshippers, as far as they conveniently can be complied with; a Christian church would afford an appearance very different from what it now frequently does. The whole congregation would bear a part and seem to be interested in the service... In one word, the minister and the clerk are to all appearance the whole of the congregation... Respecting the words 'all kneeling,' I am afraid whoever takes a view of all the christians assembled in a church will scarcely ever find them in this humble and devout attitude—all kneeling."

A good deal of the theology in his Miscellanies (dedicated to the Dean and Chapter in 1823) would seem strange to a modern mind, yet it is obvious that the writer was well-read and thoughtful. A very small manuscript book of private prayers used by William from 1804 to 1817 shews him to have been a man of simple faith, sincere feeling and strong family affection.

Private Life and Family

It was dountless a happy family circle that gathered in the vicar's court. Robert Hobart, the eldest son, gives a pleasing picture of the celebration there of his twenty-first birthday:

Date: May 19th, 1811.
Celebration: Brothers and sisters glad on account of the plum pudding.
Toast: All who could talk drank my health and Fanny, the youngest, nodded my good health.

The family around the table included the canon, his second wife Catherine, the two children of Mary Hamilton (Mary and Robert), and then Catherine's brood: the schoolboys William Kaye and John; Catherine and Emma; and the three little ones, Elizabeth, Jane and Fanny. William Hett also wrote on the subject of family prayer, providing a humorous practical tip:

"It is the practice in many families to brew the tea which is made for breakfast... The usual quantity of tea is put into the pot to which a small quantity of water is added. This mixture... is left to brew till such time as the morning devotions are over. By this easy device, no time may be said to be occupied in praying and the tea is made better."

Sorrow also touched the family; Emma died in 1813, and the little daughter Jane passed away in 1816 at the age of eight. In 1818, Mary married the Reverend William Hildyard of Beverley, an alliance with a well-known Yorkshire family that pleased the senior vicar.

Political Storms and Later Years

Soon after Mary's marriage the political sky became very stormy. William Hett was a tory of the old school. By the end of 1820, radical discontent culminated in scenes of violence during the Coronation of George IV. Canon Hett describes his house being assailed by an "infuriated mob":

"...my doors and window-shutters harrassed to and fro as if my house were about to be pulled down about my ears; my windows broken and a flaming torch thrown through one of the apertures made by violence..."

John Hett, then aged eighteen, helped to throw out the burning straw. At this time, "Damn the Parsons" was chalked on the walls of Lincoln, and William was personally assailed by "a man with a horrid countenance" while walking down the hill.

In later years, William Kaye took holy orders and acted as curate at Mavis Enderby and Washingborough, bringing his bride Mary Whitworth to the latter in 1825. The canon's brother, John Hett the surgeon, also lived in Lincoln; he was a great naturalist who left behind two volumes of exquisite bird paintings and served as Mayor twice. Robert Hobart, after serving as an army doctor in the Peninsula and practicing in Lincoln, died in 1827.

On September 17th, 1833, John Hett married Louisa Nicholson, an auspicious union for the family's future. Shortly after, on November 21st, 1833, the old priest-vicar died at the age of 82. He was laid to rest in the cathedral cloisters, where a tablet commemorates him along with his first wife Mary (died 1792) and his second wife Catherine (died 1843).

The Nicholsons of Brigg

Lincolnshire Geography and Early Brigg

Anyone who looks at the map of Lincolnshire will see that a ridge of hills runs down both the eastern and western sides of the county. That nearer the sea, which is the higher and more picturesque, consists of the Wolds. That further inland is known as the Cliff. In the northern part of the county the river Ancholme makes its way slowly towards the Humber through the level land which lies between these two ridges. About ten miles from its mouth it has long been crossed, first, by an ancient causeway, and later, by a bridge, at a point known as Glanford Bridge or Brigg.

Not much is known of the early history of the settlement that grew up round this ford and bridge. The place did not become an ecclesiastical parish until 1871, so that there are no church records before that date, but in all likelihood the little town was a centre of some importance from early times. In the reign of William and Mary, about the time that the first John Hett died at Nocton, it must have been a place of some note, for the Yorkshire diarist and antiquary, Abraham de la Pryme, who was curate of Broughton from 1695 to 1697 mentions that he frequently went to Brigg "to hear the newes" and calls it "a pretty large town" with a good trade. An old coaching road from the south passed through Brigg on its way to Barton-on-Humber, whence a ferry conveyed travellers into Yorkshire.

The Nicholson Lineage

At Barton, had died one named John Nicholson, who is said to have come there from Hull. The following lines copied from his tombstone are a good example of the pagan inscription fashionable at that time:

In memory of John Nicholson who departed this life the 29th November 1763 aged 52 years.
"How loved, how valued once, avails thee not,
To whom related or by whom begot.
A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
Tis all thou art and all the proud shall be."

This John left twin sons, John and Richard, who became respectively a surgeon practising in Barton, and a solicitor and banker in Louth. The first of them married Frances Ostler, who could trace her descent in the female line back to John of Gaunt, the son of Edward III. Richard married Margaret Bennett, daughter of an old Lincolnshire family, the Bennetts of Keddington. The son of John and Frances became a solicitor and practised first at Louth and afterwards at Brigg. He married his first cousin, Susanna, the second daughter of Richard of Louth in 1806. These cousins were the parents of Louisa, who later became the wife of John Hett.

Captain Nicholson and the Volunteers

The first glimpse we get of the life of Louisa's father, John Nicholson of Brigg, is on July 16th, 1800—a red-letter day in the story of the little town. We can picture it agog with excitement and full of people, for the men of the Brigg Volunteer Association were that day drawn up on parade prior to their dismissal from public service during the harvest months. Their relatives and friends were doubtless present in force, and perhaps amongst them might have been found the fifteen-year-old Susanna. If she were there she must have been proud to watch her cousin and future husband at the head of his men and to hear him addressed by all as "Captain Nicholson".

It was probably in the Market Place that the Volunteers were drawn up to listen to an address given by their Chaplain, Mr. Walter, the headmaster of the Grammar School. A printed copy of this discourse has come down to the present day:

"Gentlemen," began Mr. Walter, "The station you have long honourably filled in this place cannot but impress every thinking mind with the highest respect for your patriotism and public spirit... When first the true worship of the Deity was threatened with an inundation of infidels to throw down our altars and pollute our homes, you boldly rose with one accord to check their daring enterprise. ...To the credit of the poor in this neighbourhood permit me to notice that they have borne the stress of the times like good men...

...Now let those who have hoarded up their corn (if such miscreants really exist) shrink with awe from that power which appears exerted to counteract their evil intentions...

...The liberality of our intended entertainers this day will excuse my recommending temperance to you, gentlemen... God gives us meat and drink to support our bodies, to exhilarate the mind, but not to be wasted in senseless profusion. ...let us rather regard it as their regulator; and we may hope to rise in the ensuing morning without any nausea upon the stomach, or corroding thoughts upon the mind from the transactions of the previous day."

The period from 1800 to 1815 was one of great unrest and distress. Short intervals of peace were succeeded by outbreaks of war, and during 1804 Napoleon kept a large army encamped on the French coast. Throughout the country volunteers were drilled and trained. Meantime, Susanna Nicholson had been married to her cousin and had gone to live at Brigg. Her brothers, Anthony, John, and Richard were on active service, the first two in the Army and the last in the Royal Navy. (Susanna's brother, John Nicholson, served at Waterloo in the 14th Foot and was later given the office of Governor of Lincoln Castle, which he held until his death in 1865).

A few years after her marriage, her father, Richard Nicholson, seems to have left Louth and also moved to Brigg accompanied by his unmarried daughters, Margaret and Elizabeth. Margaret was a sensitive and highly-strung woman who died long ago in Italy. Her sister Elizabeth married her father's clerk, John Henry Vane, in haste, and as "Aunt Vane" she was well-known to more than one generation of the family.

The Berridge Murder (1824)

A letter written in August 1824 by Mrs. Walter (wife of the Grammar School master) describes a horrible local event:

Aug. 3. 1824
"Yes, my dear Ann, you will scarcely believe it when I tell you that an honest, worthy and industrious wheelwright named Berridge was cruelly murdered between our close gate and the gate going to Woodbine Cottage. ...Tom Spring heard the report of the pistol and was near falling over the breathless body as it lay across the footpath. ...Ball was roused to print handbills which were issued by 8 o'clock the next morning.

...But mark the wonderful circumstances which led to discovery of the murderer. Weatherall the younger was at Wrawby on Thursday where they were threshing turnip-seed. Barnard, the shopkeeper was there also... and laying down on the ground to rest, Barnard saw a shot roll out of his pocket... and in a few hours after, going to see the poor victim, the shot was of the same size as that found in his hat. ...Kirby saw him digging [in his garden] and suggested the propriety of seeing what he had been doing it for and then they found the pistol buried.

...On Saturday morning the wretch cut his throat, but fortunately assistance was soon procured and it was sewn up. They are, however, obliged to keep a straight waistcoat on him. ...The poor creature is gone off to Lincoln this afternoon and probably will be hung before this time next week."

Mrs. Walter also mentions that her son Edward had a cricketing party that evening consisting of P. Holgate Esq., John Hayes, Charles Beatty, Charles Rudkin, Richard Nicholson, and Fred Goodwin.

Ellen Nicholson’s Diary of Harrogate (1829)

Miss Ellen Nicholson, writing an account of a trip to Harrogate in 1829, seems to have no particular affection for "such a dull town as Brigg".

Monday 14th: Resolved to take two tumblers of the "horried detestable Harrogate Water". Found Mr. Crozier, an Irishman, very pleasant at dinner.
Tuesday 15th: Mamma consulted Mr. Wormald, who sent her tonics. Had a pleasant dance and a waltz with Mr. Parker.
Wednesday 16th: I feel thankful that I am placed in such a dull town as Brigg, for I am fully aware that my disposition, feelings and inclinations could not be so easily restrained if in a constant round of gaiety.
Thursday 17th: Fanny was very much engaged in answering a crossed and re-crossed letter of Mr. Brown's.
Friday 18th: A rainy day ensued. Fanny chatted the whole evening with her old friend Mr. Marson—flattery from an old man's lips is detestable.
Monday 21st: We were tempted again to make a purchase at the shop, Fanny and I got each a new pink dress.
Wednesday 23rd: Party to Studley. Fountains Abbey was superb.
Friday 25th: Papa gave me a handsome Japan fan. Called upon the Frenchman we met, Mr. Staig, who gave Fanny a chain for her watch.
Sunday 27th: The Archbishop preached at Low Harrogate.
Tuesday 29th: My Sister is this day two and twenty. Miss Rodley drove us to Plumpton. The Lovers' Leap I thought might be easily taken. The Dropping Well at Knaresborough was very singular. Took a draught from Mother Shipton's crystal spring.
Wednesday 30th: Papa presented Fanny and I with a handsome winter cloak. I bought a beautiful little bird to put in my hair.
Friday Oct 2nd: Left at half past eleven and drove to York. We were much disappointed in York, the streets being very narrow and dirty.
Saturday 3rd: Arrived at Brigg at 8 o’clock.

Ellen would eventually find amusement in watching the growing attraction between her young sister Louisa and Mr. John Hett, who recently arrived from Lincoln and was shortly to enter into partnership with her father.

John Hett (1828–1833)

IT was to the small town and the sort of society described in the last chapter that John Hett came in the year 1828 or 1829, probably as managing clerk to Mr. Nicholson. He had previously been articled to Mr. Mason of Lincoln, so had already had some experience. We can imagine the slight flutter occasioned in the Nicholson family circle by the arrival of this eligible young man from the county town, who, with his pleasant, grave face and reliable character, soon won his way in the estimation of his employer, and in 1832 was taken into partnership.

It must have been, on the whole, an enjoyable life that John spent in Brigg during those bachelor years, at which we get a glimpse through the pages of a short diary kept during the autumn of 1829. He was by no means idle. Entries relating to his work constantly recur and the dates of business appointments and meetings of bodies such as the Ancholme Commissioners and Court of Sewers are always noted. Amongst other things we read that "Mr. Nicholson went to Harrogate on the 11th September and returned the 3rd. October". Doubtless this is the trip so fully described by Ellen and which her father made a point of terminating so as to be home in time for the Ancholme Drainage meeting on Monday, October 5th. John mentions that this meeting was attended by The Duke of St. Albans and Lord Amelius Beauclerc. The following day, he says that "Mr. Nicholson went to Grimsby to swear-in the Mayor".

Responsibility did not hang too heavily on the young man's shoulders and he found time for recreation and creature comforts as the ensuing extracts, culled at random under various dates, shew:

"Rec. a hare from J. Palethorpe."
"John White brewed for me four strikes at 8 galls."
"Went to Hull Fair, by Barton, returned next morning."
"Barrell of oysters from London, by Wright."
"Pilfoot sent me a brace of birds."
"Supped with Dixon and Carlin at Geo. Stringer's."
"Went to Lincoln Colour Ball."

Apparently John took a mild interest in racing, for on Sept. 24th he writes: "Fleur de Lis, the King's horse won the Falkoners' Cup at Lincoln. I won 6/-." On October the 9th he has an entry: "Calvinists Missionary Meeting" but does not say whether he attended it. On September 21st, the item "Begun Candles" reminds us with what poor light, once the day faded, our forbears had to be content. Candles were usually made at home and the wicks had constantly to be snuffed. It is a problem how women managed to do such exquisitely fine sewing as they did, with stitches so small that even by electric light it is hard for many of the present generation to see them. Out of doors the streets were barely illumined, and people carried lanterns when they wished to make their way from one house to another, while no lady dreamed of going unattended after dark. During the time that John wrote this diary the people of Brigg seem to have become dissatisfied with this state of affairs and to have wished for some system of public lighting for, on Oct. 22nd., he records: "Meeting of the inhabitants at the Town Hall to consult about the lamps".

BRIGG: A Poetical Sketch by J. Cooper

About this time it occurred to one of the citizens of Brigg to write a rhymed description of the town. It was Mr. Ball, Printer, Brigg, who struck off, on very excellent paper, a number of copies of this effusion.

On each side a river the Town of Brigg stands,
Surrounded with meads and with rich fertile lands;
The buildings quite neat through the streets as they rise,
As most to be met with beneath the blue skies:
The market on Thursdays, for goods of each sort,
Where Farmers and Graziers and Tradesmen resort;
The market-folks busy, all striving for gain,
Throughout the long day, until night's sable reign.
The shops are all spacious and pleasing to see,
Where sugar, tobacco and genuine tea
And all sorts of spices from each foreign land,
With all kinds of fruits, may be had at command.
Here fine polish'd hardware these shops also grace,
In which you may clearly distinguish your face;
And drapery goods for the young and the old,
To make them quite warm when the weather is cold,
Public Houses and Inns, where spirits and ale,
And porter and cider are offer'd for sale.
The Hosts and the Hostesses take special care,
Their guests to supply with the choicest of fare;
The richest of wines, too, are found on their boards,
The finest of flavours each vintage affords.
Here's Tailors, and Braziers, and Goldsmiths likewise,
Whose jewels and trinkets quite dazzle your eyes;
Here beautiful watches of silver and gold,
And bracelets, necklaces, and broaches are sold.
Here's a Bank, too, at which, if the truth it be told,
You may readily change all your paper for gold.
Two Printers there are, should you wish to hand down
To ages succeeding free thoughts of your own.
There's Dressmakers' shops to make ladies look gay,
With laces and silks for their wish'd bridal day;
And rings in great plenty are found in this place,
The bride's pretty fingers so richly to grace.
Large Warehouses too, to deposit the grain,
From whence it is shipped to cross the wide main.
Some Butchers, and Bakers, and Gingerbread-sellers,
Some Saddlers, and Sailors, and some Fortune-tellers,
Where lasses who wish not to lead single lives,
Are often enquiring when they shall be wives.
A noble Free School, where the Classics are taught,
From which to preferement, youths sometimes are brought;
The senate, the pulpit, the bar too to grace,
While some in the navy and army they place.
Here Furriers' shops, such no more could be found,
Were you to examine the whole island round.
Where young and old women are seen pulling down,
The heads of our nobles and rulers to crown,
And sometimes to cover those heads of our own.¹
There are Shoemakers' shops in every street,
Where shoes are on sale to suit ev'ry one's feet,
Of whate'er description the buyer may please,
For slav'ry or fashion, or comfort and ease.
Two grand Druggists' shops, where are offer'd for sale,
Such drugs and such med'cines as seldom do fail;
In th' windows fine transparent liquids are seen,
There's crimson and scarlet and sky-blue and green.
A News-room, where Gentlemen meet, to peruse
And think upon matters of State in the news;—
Weigh well the proceedings of Commons and Lords,
Then judge what dependence to place on their words;
Impartially marking the plans they pursue,
To find who's the good of their country in view;
The whole of his acts without prejudice scan,
Before they presume once to censure the man:
For more loyal subjects sure never were known,
To King, Constitution, the Laws and the Crown,
Than those who are found in this far-famed town.
A neat little Play-house is here also found
Where comic and tragic, and farcic abound;
The poor and the rich and the young and the old,
Here mingle together like sheep in a fold.
An office where Magistrates duly attend,
Our laws to enforce against those who offend;
Where justice impartial to all they award,
Without e'er receiving a fee or reward,
A Court too of Conscience, confin'd within bounds,
For recov'ring of debts not exceeding Five Pounds,
Where Claimants produce satisfaction to those
Who patiently sit to examine each cause.
Here, Doctors, should any be sick or complain,
Of gravel, or gout, or of other sore pain,
Who will use all their skill to restore such again.
Here, Barbers, who cut, curl, and powder your hair,
Or make you neat wigs, should your head become bare.
Next, Lawyers there are, who make Deeds and Wills,
But for which they oft make some very long bills,
And Hatters, who work ev'ry day for the crown,
By making fine hats of the choicest of down.
A beautiful shop, with a great many toys,
For sweet little girls, and for dear little boys;
Where the old and the young are lost in amaze,
And neighbours and strangers are stopping to gaze,
There are plenty of Mills the corn here to grind,
One works by steam, and the other by wind;
Where true, honest Millers, perhaps, may be found,
If any are left to exist above ground:
And one, which of line and of rape grinds the seed,
From which cakes are produced, the cattle to feed.
A spacious Town Hall in the Market Place stands,
Well built and raised high by ingenious hands;
Underneath which is kept a market for fowls,
For geese and for eggs and for butter in rolls,
Two streets from the market-place run to the east,
And another from thence descends to the west.
Independents an excellent chapel have here,
And likewise a Methodist Chapel stands near;
A Chapel of Ease too, where churchmen unite
To worship Jehovah as they think quite right.
A House, too, where Quakers do constantly meet,
To wait on their Maker and bow at his feet.
How happy are they by the Spirit thus mov'v,
To copy what Jesus in Mary approv'd!
And blest are those Pastors who faithfully teach,
Who fail not the glorious Gospel to preach!
A Fly-Boat they have, which swims down very fast,
Though furnish'd with neither a sail nor a mast;
Each morn in the week it is always in use,
Taking Ladies and Gentlemen down to the Sluice:
In Humber, a Steamer awaits near the side,
Wherein they embark, to sail through the rough tide;
At Hull now arriv'd—on that neighbouring shore
There they meet with strangers they ne'er saw before,
And friends and relations, some rich and some poor.
In the Eve of the day and with all the gay train,
The steamer returns o'er the Humber again:
The Fly-Boat they left at the Sluice in the morn,
Like some trusty servant, awaits their return;
By means of its swiftness their voyage soon ends,
And then they are greeted by neighbours and friends.

Life Insurance and Marriage

In January of the year in which he became a partner in the firm of Nicholson and Hett, John took out a life insurance policy. The proposal, dated 28th January 1832, is reproduced below:

Life to be insured: John Hett, of the Close of Lincoln, Attorney at Law, born on 31st January 1803, age next birthday 29.
Sum: £1,000.
Referees: Messrs. Hett & Snow (Surgeons), Rev. John Davies Kent jr., Mr. John Broadhurst (Surgeon).
Medical History: Not had small pox. Been vaccinated. Not had Gout. Not suffered spitting of blood, or insanity, convulsions, or complaint in the Liver, or been affected with asthma, rupture, or Vertigo, a Fit or Fits. Subject to no other disease. Of sober and temperate habits.

Perhaps, when he thus insured his life, the prudent John had already determined to win the lovely Louisa and was contemplating marriage in the near future. They were married on September 17th, 1833. Louisa and her sister Maria seem to have been devoted to their home in Brigg. A touching letter written by Louisa on the eve of her wedding beginning "My dearest Parents" expresses her affection and gratitude. She exclaims "May you never have cause to regret my union with Mr. Hett but have reason to consider our residing so near you as a comfort and joy". The newly-married couple then left Brigg for their honeymoon in Scotland.

Margaret Nicholson: An Interlude (1812–1823)

IN this chapter we turn from the story of Louisa and go backwards in time to that of her aunt, Margaret, the fragments of which we have pieced together as best we can from her note-book. Early in the year 1812 some serious misfortune seems to have befallen Margaret's father, Richard Nicholson, whose affairs became so involved that his daughter made up her mind to leave home in order to relieve him of expense. She wrote:

"I took the resolution of leaving home and engaging in some active avocation in life that might free my father from the burden of keeping me, or any expense whatever... The education of youth was the only employment I could fix on as suitable in any way and I had not long communicated my intention to my friends, before Lady Caroline Dundas came into Lincolnshire. She, on being made acquainted with my wishes kindly expressed a desire that I should become instructress to her children and everything was shortly arranged."

For the next two years Margaret seems to have lived happily with the Dundas family, for she tells us that "not to enter into the various feelings which attended the separation from my father, sisters and friends, I shall merely remark that, after I became reconciled to the change and in some degree accustomed to teaching, I was very happy, for I was not ignorant of the favourable impression I had made on Lady Caroline." The latter, on her part, seems to have endeared herself to her protegée, for Margaret, writing in another place of the indisposition of her employer, says:

"Until I saw her ill, I was not aware how much I loved and revered her, yet this very discovery gives pain for it shews me my desolation in the loss of my own dear mother whose every look was affection in return for my watching her on the bed of sickness. This contrasted with the restraint I have been obliged to exercise in the other case, when my heart has been big (I may justly say) with filial regard."

Margaret's was an introspective nature and she gave way to brooding over the past and fear of the future, for which she constantly took herself to task : "I cannot reflect upon my susceptibility to trifles without trembling for my happiness, in short, I am sorry to observe that I am becoming the slave of feelings which under my peculiar circumstances are highly necessary to be checked ." And again, "Whilst my mind assents, my feelings refuse acquiescence and hence I become very often a prey to regret for 'joys departed never to return,' and embitter the present by contrasting it with the past."

There was certainly one very real cause for grief and alarm on Margaret's part, as in 1815 she received a visit from her father whom she was horrified to find desperately ill, attacked by paralysis and altogether in a most unhappy state. She writes of:

"The sight of a kind parent, once the favourite of mankind in his sphere, energetic, and with a mind formed to direct and control others, now sunk into a state of weakness and insufficiency that is melancholy to contemplate and leaves him but the shadow of what he was. Nothing can be more gloomy than his future prospects... Thus circumstanced he left me to-day for Bath, and a more wretched one I scarcely ever remember to have passed."

Much painful writing follows, in which poor Margaret expresses her fears for the future and tries to bring herself to a valiant frame of mind. The worst of her apprehensions appear not to have been realised for, though Richard Nicholson was never strong again, he lived till 1818 and his financial difficulties seem to have been overcome. Possibly Margaret only had recourse to the emotional outlet provided by her journal when she was in low spirits, for there were long intervals when she wrote nothing and these probably coincided with the times when she was travelling with the Dundas family and mixing with their friends in the normal enjoyments of life. When in London, they lived at No. 5 Tenterden Street where, doubtless, Margaret heard plenty of gossip from the great world and was not above being amused by it as she made a note of various little tales and epigrams in her book of reflections. Here is one, On a Squinting Poetess:

To no one muse does she her gaze confine
But has an eye at once to all the nine.

Margaret tells very little about her pupils. She started her work hopefully for she writes "My exertions seemed ultimately, though not rapidly, to promise some hope of success ." Later, she must have had disappointments, for we find her accusing herself of want of patience with regard to "the duties of the schoolroom, because I find them difficult, from having stupidity and obstinacy to contend with ." She was a disciplinarian, and doubtless agreed with the sentiments expressed in the following passage from Scott's "Rokeby," which, together with several others, she carefully copied into her note-book.

"But rooted stood in manhood's hour
The weeds of vice without their flower.
And yet the soil in which they grew,
Had it been tamed when life was new,
Had depth and vigour to bring forth
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth."

Perhaps, as she penned these lines she reflected that "Miss Dundas" or "Master Dundas" might have been less difficult to manage had she sooner had the care of them. One trusts that she was not too hard on her charges. If we may take another quotation as an indication of what actually happened in her schoolroom, we may infer that the storms occasioned by correction were of short duration.

"The tear down childhood's cheek that flows
Is like the dew-drop on the rose.
When next the Summer's breeze comes by
And waves the bush, the flower is dry."

This verse may well have applied to her younger pupils, but the case of "Miss Dundas" was more serious. It is difficult, from Margaret's scanty allusions to the subject, to make out the actual story, but it seems as though this young lady had at last become so unmanageable as to have been sent to a convent near Baugé, where she embraced Roman Catholicism. This fact led to an interlude of considerable interest in Margaret's own life for she was deputed to visit her and to report on the advisability of her return home. She accordingly set out for France on the 15th May, 1816, under the escort of the Count and Countess de Lanberdière. As her account of this expedition gives a contemporary picture of the state of France less than a year after the battle of Waterloo and is therefore interesting from a historical as well as a personal point of view, it is transcribed in the following pages almost in extenso.

The original spelling and phrasing have been retained. It will be seen that, with characteristic enthusiasm and desire to improve herself, Margaret commenced the account of her journey in French, but this language was soon abandoned for the one in which she could more freely express her feelings. Characteristically too, the journal breaks off just when we most desire to know the sequel, leaving the writer "solitary, in a foreign country, and at the distance of 600 kilometres from England, exposed to the discomforts of a very bad inn and with the prospect of still greater in a public diligence ." Poor Margaret!

"15 Mai 1816 Avec Monsieur le Comte et Madame la Comtesse de Lanberdière j'ai quitté le Londres pour commencer mon voyage en France. Mille réflexions m'ont poursuit en me séparant de Ladi Caroline et ses enfans, mes élèves... Plut à Dieu que je la retrouve heureuse et en bonne santé s'il m'est permis d'échapper tous les dangers d'un si long voyage et de retourner chez elle!.

J'ai embarqué le lendemain avec mes amis dans un vaisseau francois à une heure après midi, et, au lieu d'arriver en France à quatre heures comme nous avions raison d'espérer au commencement du voyage, il étoit trois heures du matin. Le passage n'étoit pas dangereux parcequ'il n'y avait que très peu de vent, mais extrêmement ennuyeux et presque tout le tems le vent étoit contraire. ... The sensations I felt on arriving at Calais were something at once new and unpleasing, the idea of undergoing a scrutiny by men in office, to an English mind, never before having gone through it, is somewhat revolting, but owing to the fatigued and exhausted state of the Countess we happily escaped this ; therefore, after walking some distance on the quay, got into a carriage and drove to the inn, which was something in itself so totally different from anything I had ever seen before that I gave an involuntary sigh and wished myself again in England."

This prejudiced feeling in favour of my home and country pursued me with more or less force the greater part of the following day which we spent at Calais. General Lanberdière very kindly walked and shewed me anything worthy my notice. The town is very ancient and the inn on a more extensive scale than anything in England and in many respects quite as comfortable. The costume of the lower class of person is ridiculous to an English eye.

The following morning, the 18th, at 12 o'clock, I accompanied the Countess in her carriage, the Count on ye box, and we went as far as Montreuil, 19 leagues (a league is 3 miles) where the inn exceeded in discomfort what I had ever before experienced. A sigh escaped me, and comparison with English travelling did not lessen the misery of a dirty bed chamber, but fatigue, and clean, though coarse, sheets lulled me to sleep. The next day we travelled 20 leagues as far as Amiens where I was fully recompensed for the preceding night's annoyance by having everything of the best, in short as good, if not surpassing, any inn in England (the Hotel de la Poste).

From Amiens we went to Chantilly, 20 leagues further, where the Countess very kindly would stay all night in order that I might see the celebrated stables and the ruins of the palace destroyed during the Revolution. The former still exist, as formerly, on a most extensive scale. The facade is 600 feet long and the centre doom too high. There remains but little to convey an idea of what the magnificence of the Palais once was, except a very fine flight of steps which was formerly the grand entrance. A small royal residence is still adjoining, which was before called the little Palais, in fact, it does not exceed in size or appearance a private gentleman's house.

There is at some little distance from this another long building of two stories high, now intended for the reception of visitors to the Prince of Condé and the Duc de Bourbon who are going to occupy the petit Palais. The whole was formerly moted round. The country is rich and luxuriant beyond anything we know in England, for, long before our arrival at Chantilly we were regaled by the smell and beauty of the fruit trees which line the road on each side for miles. So it continues until you come within six miles of Paris, where is the town of St. Denis, celebrated for its church, where all the royal remains are interred.

But to return to Chantilly where I also went to view the Fabrique de Porcelaine which I thought very inferior to our English manufactories in point of extent. The lace, so much in fashion in England, of the name of Chantilly is chiefly made here and in the neighbourhood. I saw some very beautiful things but quite as dear as with us. We left Chantilly about 2 o'clock and arrived in Paris at 6—which is 10 Postes on Tuesday the 21st, the seventh day after leaving London. The coup d' oeil I had of this celebrated city in driving through it gave me an idea of its being both superior and inferior to our Metropolis c'est-à-dire that it possesses a magnificence in some respects that we don't know and a discomfort in others.

Nature has undoubtedly done much for this unhappy country, for unhappy it may truly be said to be when every year seems to bring with it new changes ; even now a revolt is very much dreaded and it appears that a slight one already has shewn itself the early part of this month in Paris. The poverty and importunity of the beggars is among one of the annoyances of travelling, for whether one changes horses in town or village the carriage is alike surrounded by them. In short, there is an air of poverty and want that reigns throughout the villages, the peasantry, and even the large towns that you pass through from Calais hither, which we know not in England, excepting in Amiens which certainly had not that gloomy neglected appearance. This town we had entered about 8 o'clock on the Sunday evening an hour when everybody seemed in motion, some returning from the pleasures and amusements and others still dancing and partaking of them.

One thing on visiting the Cathedral at Amiens I remarked with pleasure and a sort of reproach as well for myself as for my countrymen and women, which was the number of persons at Mass on the Monday morning of all ages and rank and apparently not through form for each person seemed devout, and impressed with awe and reverence for the object of his worship!. This we do not do in the week-day and I am afraid if we did it would be with coldness and lukewarmness.

The accounts all travellers have given of the maladresse of the posting-tackle does not at all exceed the truth ; yet the rapidity with which they drive is greater than that of England in the common course of travelling. The dress of the Postillions is a mixture of finery and awkwardness—some of them are dirty and shabby and others the reverse—yet the same inconsistency of dress pervades the whole set.

I remained at Paris from the 21st May to the 11th June, when, accompanied by the G. de Lanberdière, I pursued my journey into the country 200 miles south of the Metropolis. During the three weeks I spent there I saw much to call forth my highest admiration particularly in the Public Buildings which far exceed in extent and grandeur of architecture those of England. The internal decorations also greatly surpass in splendour anything I have ever seen before. This observation particularly applies to the Tuilleries and the Gallery of the Louvre which, though less worth seeing now than a year ago on account of the loss of many of the pictures, is nevertheless from its astonishing length and elegance a most beautiful thing.

There are still remaining many valuable Tableaux—the statuary is also very fine—but to attempt a minute description is what I cannot undertake. The theatres I think very deficient to the English ones, I thought this more particularly at the Opera where there was want of light and a disregard as to dress in the audience which gave it a sombre appearance very different to the English Opera House. The dancing was charming.

The streets of Paris are more annoying to walk in than I can describe, there one is in danger every moment from the want of trottoirs of being crushed against the wall by the Cabriolets and after the least rain possible the dirt is intolerable. But Paris as a city possesses one very great beauty, which is the number of trees that surround it, particularly on the Boulevards, and all the hotels almost that belong to the noblesse and persons of fortune have excellent gardens which contribute in no small degree to make their houses very enjoyable.

But much as this city has to boast of beauty, good taste and elegance, I think there is less consistency throughout than with us. On first being there I was forcibly impressed with this idea but my eye and feelings soon became familiarised to things which I at first thought uncomfortable. Versailles, two postes from Paris (that is 12 miles), is among the number of things most worth seeing.

We pursued our journey with as much quickness as possible, travelled all night, and arrived at the general's house, two miles from Baugé, in 34 hours after we left Paris. The grand feature of beauty in this part of France is its quantity of wood and fruit trees which grow in the greatest luxuriance without the fatigue of cultivation, that is pears, apples and cherries. The vines are also abundant, in short, it is rich in the gifts of nature and yet there is a poverty in its inhabitants, taken as a body, which we know not in England.

There is a great want of comfort in the appearance of the houses, even of some consequence, that is to say, those qui sont à leur aise in regard to fortune. Brick floors, without the smallest piece of carpet, offend my eye, yet there exists gaiety and everything contributing to cheerful amusement. In my evening walks I have talked much with the peasantry and I hope learnt a lesson of contentment from their thankfulness and gaiety in the midst of the greatest poverty. Generally speaking it is very visible tho' the greater part possess a little spot of ground which yields its produce for their support otherwise they could not exist when they have many children, the wages are so small....

Since my arrival at Lanberdière I have at times been very triste and until I am safe under Lady Caroline's roof once more, thus I must continue, so forcibly do I feel the great responsibility of the task I have undertaken. I was aware ere I left England of its importance, but not to the extent I now feel it before I was exposed to the importunity of Miss Dundas to take or at least to entreat her friends to remove from the Convent. God grant I may have grace given me to enable me to act with justice and discernment in this case and with disinterestedness as to myself that is as to the opinion I form and give of Miss Dundas' improvement, for I am aware that her return home will be an essential drawback to my happiness!. It is unjust to keep her in this country and yet I do not think her sufficiently changed ever to live in peace at home with her family; particularly as she had changed her religion, but something ought to be done relative to her removal as she really is better and I think feels the separation from her mama with heartfelt regret.

July 8th, left Lanberdière at 5 o'clock in the morning intending to be at Saumur in time to go by the diligence to Tours but on my arrival here found it had been gone an hour and a half. The situation in which I find myself here I cannot describe, solitary, in a foreign country, and at the distance of 600 miles from England, exposed to the discomforts of a very bad inn, with the prospect of still greater in a public diligence. When Hardy¹ left me I could not help shedding tears, but reflection tells me there is the same merciful God to protect me when alone as when surrounded by those I love."

So ends the journal of Margaret Nicholson's expedition to France. From a later entry in her book we infer that "Miss Dundas" did indeed return home and that that fact did not tend to increase Margaret's peace of mind, but seems to have led to a rift between Lady Caroline and herself. This estrangement cannot have lasted very long, for in 1823 we find Lady Caroline standing sponsor to Margaret's little niece, Susanna's daughter, Caroline, Margaret herself being the other god-mother.

We should like to know what further adventures befel Margaret Nicholson and whether her eager, sensitive spirit ever found contentment, but the curtain is lifted no more. Nothing is to be found save a brief pencil note written below her name on the pedigree—"died in Rome ." Even the date is missing. So, once more, she had left her beloved England to venture abroad, and this time, not to return.

John and Louisa in Scotland (1833)

Sir Walter Scott and the Romantic Highlands

Sir Walter Scott had been dead for a year when John and Louisa Hett were married. His influence was tremendous on both his generation and theirs, as he ushered in the age of romance. Mountain scenery, previously seen as forbidding, was now sought for its beauty and poetic charm. Highlanders were no longer viewed as rebellious neighbors, but as intensely attractive figures to southerners who read Waverley novels with devotion.

By 1833, tourists to Scottish beauty spots were fairly numerous, even though transport was uncertain and accommodation often comfortless. An air of romance hung about the highlands, where travelers wandered with copies of "The Lady of the Lake" or "Rob Roy".

The Journey to Roslin

While their trip lasted, the bride and bridegroom kept a diary, mostly in Louisa's handwriting. Though the beginning is missing, records show they spent the first week in Edinburgh before setting out in a gig from the Royal Hotel in Princes Street to visit Roslin.

"When we were a few miles from Edinburgh the sky lowered, the wind blew cold and we could not succeed with a small umbrella to shelter ourselves entirely from a heavy shower of rain, but we were amply repaid for this little discomfort by seeing a very brilliant rainbow".

They visited Roslin Chapel, a beautiful specimen of Gothic architecture, and the remains of the castle. Wandering through the glen, they felt a rapturous delight and whispered a mutual wish that their first child should be named Roslin or Louisa Roslin—a joy that we were both ready and anxious in affectionate haste to anticipate. They could not persuade ourselves to leave this enjoyable spot until quite evening. They carried away some seed of the yellow broom which we shall cultivate with great interest and care, and after some difficulty broke off a little bit of the rock, which we preserved also as a precious memorial. A moonlight drive home completed this day's joy.

Stirling and Callendar

September 25th: At half-past six, mounted at the top of a crazy coach rattling down to Leith harbour (where we embarked in the steam boat bound for Stirling), we looked our farewells to Edinburgh and soon the beauties of that wondrous river, the ever-winding Forth, absorbed all our attention.

Stirling: They found Stirling inns to be without comfort; dirty utensils rendered good food uninviting, and Louisa preferred sleeping on a hard, ragged sofa to eating. Good viands were rendered most uninviting from the dirty utensils in which they were served up. Under such circumstances, an hour's sleep, though it was on a hard sofa with ragged covering, was better than eating, it saved one from that uncomfortable squeamishness that one could not see the plates and dishes without feeling. We, of course, went to the castle where we again fell in with an agreeable fellow tourist whom we had before met at Roslin. Purchased a 'blue bonnet' for highland service, and then mounted upon the outside of a two-horse five-miles-an-hour coach to proceed to Callendar. About mid-way we passed 'The banks and braes of Bonny Doune'. We arrived at Callendar between 8 and 9, chilled by the cold night air, and drank tea in the travellers' room with some decent sort of people.

September 26th: The following morning, the 26th, we bent our steps towards Bracklinn Bridge, where there is a waterfall. We stood on the little oaken bridge thrown across it and then scrambled about the rocks. We heard the water for some time after we left the spot. It was a rough walk but we were in mischievous mood and every clear streamlet tempted us to the undignified frolicsome play of throwing water at each other.

Pass of the Leny: Before we proceeded to Ardcheanocrochan we drove to see the pass of the Leny which is esteemed one of the grandest entrances to the highlands. To this opinion we gave our cordial concurrence. Our little driver assured us there was nothing to be seen, but we jumped from our car and, after climbing over a low wall, we found a snug seat entirely enclosed and sheltered by the most luxuriant verdure, except where it overlooked a roaring fall of water superior in beauty to Bracklinn. We were in an elevated situation and after examining the place where we stood, full of trees and shrubs and with heather all in beautiful bloom, it had rather a tremendous effect to turn suddenly to look at the precipice and the rocks over which the water noisily dashed. We gathered here some heather-seed and some also of the foxglove and ate some blackberries, which were large, and of a much sweeter taste than the English ones.

Trossachs: On leaving this interesting scene we reached Colantogle Ford where Roderick Dhu was overcome by Fitz-James. Afterwards, Loch Vennachar, with its single islet, so engaged our attention that when we stopped at a primitive wild sort of looking village we were not aware that we were already at our place of destination. But we really were at Mrs. Stewart's inn at the head of Loch Achray. We roamed about while dinner was preparing. In the evening such a surge of people arrived by the packet that even our ingenious friend, John, the waiter, was at a loss how to accommodate them. We got from the crowd and had tea in our own bedroom, congratulating ourselves that we had secured one room as we heard of a four and a five-bedded room being in request.

Exploring Loch Katrine and Ellen's Island

September 27th-29th: The 27th. A dismal rain, but we looked from our little window and felt the having mountains before us was something, though they were enveloped in mist and fog. On Sunday, the roads were too bad to reach the kirk ten miles away, and the afternoon service in Callender was in Gaelic.

Ellen's Island: We spent the day in the open air and were soon bounding away on the swelling bosom of Loch Katrine. We examined Ellen's Island, on which is a curious grotto, built with minute exactness after the model of the imaginary one of Sir Walter Scott. The interior is hung with the skins of wild animals.

Tokens and Whiskey: Rob Roy’s dirk with some other trophies of renown are preserved here. The moss on the island is beautiful and a curious tree, called the wild Geen, grows there. It has thick branches which incline downwards, forcing themselves into the ground. It bears a red fruit, rather smaller than a cherry, which is often preserved. In some parts of Perthshire they are quite common. After procuring a good oaken stick, and some moss we rowed from the island in a slanting direction and landed on the opposite shore, walked about, gathered some nuts and some seed of the wild rose, and cut another oaken stick. When seated in the boat again the whiskey was in request. Mixing it with a little clear lake water we found it a most refreshing draught, our guides, of course, preferred drinking to our health in its pure undiluted state.

Note: Ardcheanocrochan is the name of an inn at the entrance to the wild bit of country lying between Loch Achray and Loch Katrine and known as the Trossachs. Its place is now taken by the well-known Trossachs Hotel. The combat mentioned at Colantogle Ford is an allusion to the single combat between the disguised King of Scotland and a highland chief, described in Sir Walter Scott's poem, "The Lady of the Lake".

Loch Lomond and the Ascent of Ben Lomond

The 30th was again a rainy day which gave us an opportunity to begin this journal. On the 1st of October we left our Ardcheanocrochan friends early and, under the genial influence of a soft air, crossed the lake, landing at a point where ponies are in readiness.

October 1st: We secured one, and went five miles on a tremendous rough and stony path, when we arrived at Inversnaid, on the coast of Loch Lomond. We entered there a regular highland cabin which had a hole in the roof for the exit of the smoke instead of a chimney. They gave us good illicit whiskey, and we learnt they had a private still, somewhere ingeniously concealed. Inversnaid has a picturesque fall that tumbles into the lake. Here we waited till the Loch Lomond packet passed.

Tarbet: We sailed on it up the lake, first conversing with the steersman, an intelligent man, who pointed out to us the triangular hole to Rob Roy’s cave ; and then with a most loquacious lady, who bore a fair portion of years with éclat, and certainly showed no desire that anything she retained of youth or beauty should be unobserved by those around her. She bestowed on us a great share of her attention and conversation and I discovered that, judging from our style of dress, she had really taken us for interesting natives. We were not displeased at the supposition. And now the packet was fast approaching Tarbet. They hoisted the signal for a boat, which soon appeared. We sprang into it and in a few minutes were handed out at the Tarbet landing-place by the master of the Tarbet Inn, who conducted us to a new looking but most comfortless house and regretted that there was no bedroom to spare that night, but he could offer us one in the old house. We were obliged to make the best of it, therefore ordered dinner, after which we took a walk, got some tea and then retired to the meanest of all mean little apartments that ever unhappy travellers were put into. The bed itself was small enough to require great contrivance if either of us wished to turn, and what remained of curtain dangled about in every direction.

We awoke not much refreshed and after breakfast hurried into the open air and bent our steps toward Arrochar. We sat awhile in the little inn to rest, and then, recruited by some whiskey, went on the beach to pick up some common shells. As we again walked towards Tarbet, we got into the midst of a large drove of pretty little beasts going to the annual tryst at Falkirk, and continued our way together, talking to the drover, who gave us various information respecting trysts. We arrived just in time to save the steam packet which was to take us to the southern point of Loch Lomond. On the banks of the lake are many romantically-situated gentlemen's seats. The owner of one of these sent forth a beautifully-fitted little sailing vessel to meet Callander of Craigforth, a distingué-looking person, who, despite the unhappy possession of a cork leg, gave a gallant spring into the bark, and with his victim, an almost-yet panting deer, sailed away from the admiring gaze of the passengers. We landed at Balloch and seated ourselves in the Dumbarton coach.

Dumbarton Castle: We were soon after this in the forlorn-looking streets of Dumbarton and established in a not less forlorn-looking inn. Notwithstanding all our wandering this day we felt no inclination to be quiet, we therefore walked towards the castle. It was more a summer's evening than any we had had for some time. The church bell was ringing too. We listened to it with pleasure for it seemed to us long since we had heard so gentle and civilised a sound. As we came nearer we perceived the church was lighted; on entering it we were told that Mr. Cameron was going to preach for the education of the poor in the highlands. He gave us a very good sermon which suffered, however, some interruption from one or two of the unruly inhabitants. Oct. 3rd. After a hasty toilet we hurried to the castle which is guarded by highland soldiers, whose gay, smart attire we admired much. Not having much time we made a quick descent and almost ran the rest of the way to the inn, where we beat up two raw eggs in milk, ate a piece of oat-cake and reached the place from which the coach started before the horses were put in. Five miles' drive, and again at Balloch on our favourite packet, we watched the scenes of yesterday reversed and now gradually receding from our view.

Ascending Ben Lomond: We determined to take up our quarters at Rowardennan as a clear day excited our ambition to ascend Ben Lomond. We arrived about 12 o'clock, ravenously hungry as might be supposed—eggs, meat, bread, honey, preserves, nothing came amiss. At one o'clock we began the ascent, with the assistance of a side-saddled pony, feeling all the pleasure attendant upon the idea of performing a feat. And another enjoyment was ours, the gradual mounting higher and higher and looking down upon fearful places where a false step would incur inevitable danger. When about half way up we made a halt, which was felt both by the pony and ourselves to be highly necessary. We followed our guide's example and lay down. We felt the air grow bleaker and bleaker as we proceeded higher and higher. The last and steepest point is only accessible on foot and when poor Louisa dismounted, she scarcely appeared to have strength for the necessary exertion. But she did accomplish it and we stood proudly on the summit of this mighty mountain. Descending, we had more leisure to look about us, and we were now enough of mountaineers to be ashamed to fear a precipice, so looked down the tremendous one on Ben Lomond without undue trepidation. We were not at the foot of the mountain till six o'clock, and then got a tub of warm water to wash our feet and attacked a quarter of lamb and some best illicit whiskey, heard for the first time a few notes of the bagpipes, spent a happy evening, and retired to a neat, clean, snug little room.

The Road Home

The next morning, the same brave, smart-looking sailor who had waited upon us, rowed us to Tarbet, where we ordered a vehicle to take us to Cairndow inn. Oh! that wild mountain road! We saw the inscription 'rest and be thankful'. The stone was erected by General Wade's soldiers who cut out this road. There is another bearing these facetious lines: 'If you'd seen this road before it was made / You'd bless and thank General Wade'. After dining at Cairndow we drove round the head of Loch Fyne and reached Inverary.

Oct. 5th: Before we left Inverary, which was at an early hour, we saw the interior of the castle, the residence of the Duke of Argyll. We were rather dismayed at finding the usual passage-boat quite full, however, six Cambridge men, who were studying with a tutor at Inverary, had procured one. We readily gained admittance and undertook the office of steering. With youthful but active rowers we were at St. Catherine's inn very shortly. Our next business was to secure places in a horrible sort of a little omnibus. Many were willing to walk, but what was to be done with the luggage? At last a cart was procured. The omnibus jogged on. To prevent suffocation I drew back the curtain and put my head close to the aperture. The ladies at the farther end kept getting out occasionally to avoid fainting. We passed some very pretty glens and wandered about at Loch Goyle with fear that the Glasgow packet would not wait till our luggage arrived. The joyful sound of cart wheels was heard just before the packet was ready to start, we were soon out of Loch Goyle and in Loch Long. With sorrowful and melancholy feelings we watched the blue hills we were now rapidly leaving behind, thought of the dear, delightful roving hours, and could not be sure that the eyes strained to catch the last glimpse were not bedimmed with tears of regret. The dinner crew was too motley for us to join, but the smell of the good cheer was very tantalising as we had not tasted food since half past eight. At six in the evening we were very glad to see the smoke of Glasgow.

Oct. 7th: A visit to the falls of the Clyde was this day's excursion. By the interest of a companion of the day we were shewn the whole of the large cotton manufactory at Lanark. There is a school belonging to the establishment where, amongst other things, the bare-footed pupils are taught to dance. They gave us a very good specimen of this accomplishment. It was evening when we returned to Glasgow.

Tuesday: Left Glasgow early. Passed through scenery that resembled in some degree our beloved highlands, but after a few hours travelling Gretna Green painfully reminded us we were really leaving Scotland and the wild frisky days of our tour were over. We felt we were in another land and that night at Carlisle were sober English people again.

The Return to Brigg

And so the bright days ended at last—the heather, the scenery, the rough inns, and lovely Roslin, bathed in "the light that never was on land or sea," were all left behind, and the young husband and wife came back to Lincolnshire and the stern realities of life. The diary breaks off when they reach Barnby Moor, after being obliged to post there, "Hull fair having filled all the coaches". We can imagine the welcome that awaited them at Brigg. How Susanna would smile over her happy-faced daughter and John Nicholson fetch up the best port in which to drink the healths of the young couple! How the two grown-up sisters, Ellen and Maria, would listen enviously to Louisa's glowing stories of the highlands, and what questions Henry, the school-boy brother, would ask! Lastly, we can picture Louisa running to the nursery, to be embraced by Charlotte and Caroline and the two little brothers, and to peep at the year-old Octavius, asleep in his cradle.

Next day, how important would be the nineteen-year-old housewife, settling in to her new home in Bridge Street! What an unpacking of souvenirs, what visits from relations and friends! And John? He would take his place in the familiar office behind the house in the Market Place, where his father-in-law would hasten to put him in touch with all the business that had transpired during his absence. There were the arrangements for the meeting of the Ancholme Commissioners still to be completed perhaps, or there had been a hitch with regard to that mortgage at Hibaldstow, or there was a letter, maybe, from Sir John Nelthorpe, that required attention. He would soon be immersed in it all. Nothing was changed—and yet everything was different, for was he not going back to his own house where Louisa awaited him and did not that colour all his day?

A Trip to London

The autumn which followed their wedding tour must have been a happy one for John and Louisa. There were doubtless many dinner parties to be enjoyed and friends to be visited before winter shut down on them. John Nicholson’s eldest daughter, Fanny, whom we have already met at Harrogate, struggling with her crossed and re-crossed letter to Mr. Browne, had married that gentleman in 1830 and now lived at Toft, near Market Rasen, where he was rector. Possibly the bride and bridegroom paid her a visit there and almost certainly they must have gone to Lincoln, where Louisa would make the acquaintance of many new relatives. Old Canon Hett was fast approaching the end of his days, and his death, which took place before the year was out, must have clouded their first Christmas.

It was to the future, however, that the eyes of all the young people turned, and that was bright. Though John was deep in his work and Louisa rapidly becoming absorbed in the interests of her new home, her spinster sisters were still ripe for adventure. Maria had already visited Scotland with the Brownes and had fallen into even greater raptures than Louisa over the highlanders and their mountains. Then, in 1837, both Maria and Ellen were taken for a trip to London by their father, and since Louisa is too much occupied with her increasing family for us to find much to say about her at present, we shall reproduce instead, Maria’s lively chronicle of this jaunt. It will be remarked that the two girls did not stay with their father. Probably he went to his club and arranged that "Aunt Vane" should chaperone them in their lodgings. These were at 133 Regent Street, a site at the corner of Heddon Street, at present occupied by a branch of the Midland Bank.

Maria’s Journal: May 25th, 1837

"On Monday at 4 in the afternoon we left home, and posting without delay we contrived to reach town somewhat late the following evening. Nothing occurred to mark our journey, my father, Ellen and myself arrived in Regent Street without even an adventure, which I was almost disposed to grumble at, and my Aunt Vane being ready to receive us at our lodgings, we had nothing to do but to lie quietly down to sleep, at least, if possible, after encountering the bustle and glare of entering the Metropolis. I rose at 7 the next morning, impatient to take a survey from the window, and according to appointment, at 11 o’clock, my father came to walk out with us. We first called on Henry Vane, and finding he was at Westminster, we bent our steps thither and had the satisfaction of going into all the Courts, the King’s Bench, Exchequer, the Common Pleas, the Chancellor’s and Vice-Chancellor’s. Leaving Westminster we went to see the Diorama in Regent’s Park. Much as I had heard of it, it doubly exceeded my expectations and most gladly did I accede to my father’s proposal to stay and see it a second time. We first saw St. Paul’s in its original state and then as it appeared after the fire, I was lost in admiration, but still more so by the Swiss scene which followed. It represents a peaceful village on the borders of a lake, with lights glimmering from the windows, these gradually disappear while the inhabitants retire to rest, when an avalanche buries them all. It is more than surprising that a mere picture can produce so powerful an effect on the feelings, but the sorrowful tolling of the church bell as soon as the danger was perceived was almost overpowering, and it was a relief to be again in the open air and to remember it was only a delusion. In the evening, it being the birthday of the Princess Victoria, we were tempted to walk out and see the illuminations. Those who have never been in a crowd can have little idea of the difficulties and dangers we encountered, and though well protected by my father and cousin we were thankful to be once more safe at home."

"Saturday. This is the first moment of leisure to resume my pen. Accompanied by my father and Fred Vane we went to the Adelaide Gallery. There may be seen every variety of new invention: steam engines, guns, models of railroads and bridges and electrical machines. It is certainly a place of great interest and improvement. We had a lecture on chemistry, and I, to the apparent amusement of the spectators, boldly received the electric shocks. Thence we went to the National Gallery and feasted our eyes on the beautiful pictures. In the evening we enjoyed a walk with my father in St. James’s Park."

"The following day began with some abominable shopping but between 12 and 1, in a coach with my father and Fred Vane, we were rattling away in high glee to the Zoological Gardens. I was positively enchanted. It appeared to me a scene of never-ending delight and most gladly did I escape from the restraint which is necessary in walking through the streets. We were much pleased with the giraffes, and my father’s 'Come, come' was repeated a good many times before we could be persuaded to leave the spot. Altogether I was so pleased that fatigue was a thing I could not imagine, and reaching home gladly acceded to my father’s proposal to have another walk. He shewed me Covent Garden and the Hungerford Market. We dined, and in the evening purchased some bonnets, drank tea and had music."

"On Saturday. We made ourselves somewhat spry and walked to Brompton to call on Mrs. Trelawney, a fashionable friend of Aunt Vane’s. I took a somewhat wicked delight in shewing how decidedly countrified all my notions are and even expressed my disapprobation of leghorn bonnets with the unnatural adornment of a bird of paradise. Early on Sunday we set off with my father to St. John’s chapel, Bedford Row, and were much pleased with the slow and impressive manner which characterised the excellent and extempore address of Baptist Noel."

"Tuesday. Yesterday we spent with my father in the city a scene which I enjoyed much at the time, but perhaps I should never again wish to be in such bustle, dirt, confusion and noise. The old town of Edinburgh prepared me for similar situations, or I verily believe my senses would have taken wing. We extended our walk as far as London Bridge, and the Monument fairly exhausted me. We availed ourselves of a coach part of the way. It took no little time to settle our ideas, and no little soap and water to make us tolerably comfortable, and I was the only one of the party who felt inclined for further exploits that never-to-be-forgotten day. It was the King’s birthday and the town was illuminated. As we had seen nothing worth seeing on the last similar occasion, I sallied out protected by Fred Vane. The club houses were splendidly lighted and, there being little crowd, I enjoyed the walk much."

"Wednesday. Setting off with my father yesterday we first went to the Lilliputian Warehouse and saw so many tempting, extravagant, little things that we were obliged to depart in haste to the Soho Bazaar. The assortment of things was exceedingly good and my father gave me a little work-basket, after laughing at me for stopping and admiring everything of that sort, which I am so fond of. We next went to see M. Tussaud’s Exhibition of Waxworks. I was struck, on entering, by the wonderful effect produced and could not at first determine which figures were real and which artificial. Having wandered from the rest of the party I stood staring at a figure of Burke till I shrank back with a feeling of horror, and again retreated on finding myself alone in the presence of three strange gentlemen. Then I felt not a little amused when O’Connell’s face retained its composure and none of the speaking countenances round smiled at my confusion. Perhaps I am romancing a little, but we all agreed it was a place where the imagination might take wonderful flights and that it would not be agreeable at nightfall to find ourselves in the presence of so many noble personages. We also went into another room, 6d. extra for admission, and saw Greenhowe, much too pleasant a face for a murderer."

"Thursday. My head aches and my hand trembles from the effect of a visit to Astley’s last evening. The glare of bright and brilliant colours is quite painful and though much pleased with some of the horse-riding and tight-rope dancing, yet altogether I should not be easily tempted to go again."

"Saturday. On Thursday morning, Mr. Coverdale, having obtained tickets of admission for us to see the Charity children at St. Paul’s, we went in a coach, accompanied by the two Vanes, at a somewhat early hour. To see so many thousand children cleanly attired in their pretty costumes and in exquisite order, all uniting in singing their Maker’s praise was sufficiently imposing. As to the sermon, the poor Bishop of Chichester was not even heard by those who were near the pulpit. So dense was the crowd we walked home and went to the National Gallery in Pall Mall and spent a short, fashionable, stupid evening at Mrs. Trelawney’s. Yesterday we put aside our countrified dresses and made ourselves somewhat spry for the purpose of making calls. This disagreeable business completed, Ellen and I, with Henry Vane, went to the exhibition."

"Monday, June 3. On Saturday my father took us to Westminster Abbey. I was much pleased with the beauty of some of the monuments and the antiquity of others and whilst standing at Edward the Confessor’s shrine and in Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, my childish days were forcibly recalled to my mind. I remembered how often in disgust I had thrown aside a lesson book where parrot-like I had been learning an account of scenes which it is now such exquisite pleasure to visit."

"Thursday. Yesterday we went alone to the British Museum. I am not scientific enough to enjoy it, but it was one of the sights I wished to see. The Vanes dined with us and we all went to Madame Tussaud’s. I was as much pleased as before but rather afraid our somewhat unsteady-looking party would attract attention."

"Thursday. I do not know how my memory will serve me after not writing for a whole week but I am sure I have been constantly and much occupied or I would have written before. Last Thursday the morning passed away with unexpected meeting of old friends, Mrs. Holgate, Humphrey and J. Sutton, and seeing a very beautiful exhibition of water-colours which was made still more interesting to me by discovering amongst them many familiar scenes in Scotland. The following morning, whilst Ellen went to a concert, Aunt Vane and I went to see the Beatys, hearing they had arrived. Next day we set off early to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, but finding the walk too long considering we were going to Hatfield in the afternoon, we returned to dine and prepare for our journey. We were most kindly received by the Faithfuls and it was with much regret we returned to London on Tuesday morning. To be in a home where religion is the ruling principle of everyone is unusual and delightful; and the beautiful, fertile country after London was almost enchanting. As we reached London early according to arrangement, we went to the Surrey Zoological Gardens where there were the usual attractions. There was a great crowd, good music, and the beautiful animals I much admired, but was rather disappointed in the gardens. It was a chapter of accidents. We lost our way in going, we lost our friends, the Beatys, there, and with difficulty found our way out. Before going to the gardens we visited the Deaf and Dumb Asylum. It was an overpowering and distressing sight. The children, in number 230, were at dinner but some of them accompanied us to the schoolroom to shew us their lessons and the small advance they had made in speaking. One, an intelligent-looking boy, who had been endeavouring to understand us, we gave sixpence to and as long as I live I shall remember the sparkling animation of his countenance as he received it and the violent effort he made to articulate the words 'thank you, ma’m'. It is one of the sights I would have everyone witness and if they have one spark of gratitude in their hearts, they will return improved by what they have seen."

"Yesterday we went to the Institution for the Indigent Blind. This was equally interesting and less painful than what we had seen the previous day. We walked home and, it being a sweet evening, my father and I took a five mile walk across Hyde Park and the Serpentine. It was most enjoyable to have something like a country walk and I forgot the fatigue I had undergone until I found how difficult it was to rouse up the following morning. Friday. At 12 yesterday we went up the Thames to Greenwich. The day was delightful, the scene still more so, and arriving at our destination, it would be a hard task to describe the pleasure I felt in seeing the pensioners at dinner. The beautiful pictures, the exquisite little chapel, the children in the schools, and lastly, our delightful walk in the Park where we amused ourselves by drinking lemonade under a tree, and a race between Harry and myself up the hill which caused some amusement to an old pensioner sitting on the grass, who observed as I passed 'I think the young gentleman has a better chance than a young lady in running up a hill'. We returned to dinner and spent a merry evening with the Vanes, the Beatys and Mrs. Hulton."

"Brigg. Monday, June 26. How difficult a matter it is to resume and conclude a journal at home which was begun in Regent Street and which requires a little excitement to give anything like life to the recital, but my old-fashioned notions require me to finish all I begin, so dead and dry as I feel it will prove, I will yet bring it to a close. Friday we wasted in shopping, walking about with the Beatys and taking care of ourselves before encountering the fatigue of a visit to Vauxhall. But all in vain, a rainy evening kept us all in an unsettled state. In vain we stepped out on the balcony and said that it no longer rained, and in vain donned out bonnets and cloaks. After all, I must say I felt some pleasure in finding I was preparing for bed instead of Vauxhall and ready to make up for some short nights. The following morning was beautifully fine and we agreed with the Beatys on an excursion to Richmond. My father promised to take charge of us all and began to look about for a suitable conveyance. He returned with 'Ladies, there is no alternative, you may go outside a coach to Richmond if you like, otherwise we cannot go to-day'. Many were the passing questions, looks and smiles, but, as no one seemed as if they could say 'yes' and urged on by F. Beaty, I ran up the steps of the ladder saying: 'Those who are afraid had better not come'. At last we were all packed, but how can I describe the ludicrous scene? F. Beaty looked rather bold, her sister rather timid. Mrs. Vane loudly asserted how little accustomed she was to such situations and how she hoped the Trelawneys would not see her, and how she felt too dizzy to look down. Ellen exclaimed 'How vulgar I feel', and I, shame upon me, was vulgar enough to declare myself happier outside than in, in such pretty country. Papa looked on, heard all, and smiled most facetiously. As we passed away from all our fashionable friends all the party joined in and admired the scene and the bridge at Hammersmith. The beautiful scenery at Richmond, the river, the walk and the park, were delightful to all, and we returned, oh, let it not be named in connection with sweet Richmond, in an Omnibus. Here was exhibited another scene worthy of an author’s pen. We four girls began and talked of feeling and sentiment. Papa with a shrewd look occasionally putting in a word, Mrs. Vane with a 'Je ne sais quoi' look on her face. If the other passengers were satirical they would have something to feed their humour on. Monday we enquired after his Majesty’s health at St. James’, walked comfortably round the park and went to the Soho Bazaar. A fine night inclined us to go to Vauxhall, and the fireworks astonished and delighted me. They were unusually splendid, it being the Commemoration of Waterloo. We returned home late and heard the report of the King’s death confirmed. Rose in the morning, walked through the streets, observing the melancholy changes which were produced, packed up, said farewell, travelled all night, and reached our much-loved home the following day."

A picture of the "much-loved home" which is almost contemporary with this journal of Maria’s is here reproduced. It shews Brigg market place as it then was (apparently the inhabitants had not yet got their lamps) with the old Angel Inn in a commanding position. A coach, from which the horses have just been taken, is standing at the entrance to the courtyard. The building on the extreme left is the Town Hall. As the poem quoted in a previous chapter says:

"A spacious Town Hall in the Market Place stands,
Well-built and raised high by ingenious hands;
Underneath which is kept a market for fowls,
For geese, and for eggs, and for butter in rolls."

The house on the opposite side, with the creeper climbing up it, is the house where the Nicholsons lived. A long range of offices at the back was reached by means of a side-alley. Beyond the offices, stretched a large but rather narrow garden, which ended in a paddock.

Returning to the picture, at the far end of the Market Place can be seen the bridge, and this leads to Bridge Street where John and Louisa at first lived. One more delightful trip with their indulgent father (this time to Scotland) remained to be chronicled by Maria’s vivacious pen. Then sorrow fell upon Susanna Nicholson and her large family, for, in the autumn of 1840, her husband died very suddenly. He was buried in the churchyard at Wrawby, the office in Brigg knew him no more, and John Hett, his partner, reigned in his stead.

Susanna Nicholson (1785–1871)

The earliest relic we possess of Susanna Nicholson is a worn, leather-bound album which was doubtless already shabby when it became hers[cite: 678]. [cite_start]The larger part of it is filled with songs and verses which have been copied into it by someone who wrote a rather unformed hand and had a penchant for the sentimental[cite: 679]. [cite_start]Such lines as: "To live in a cottage with him, I would chuse, / And crowns for his sake I would gladly refuse," were what appealed to this lady[cite: 680]. [cite_start]Perhaps the first owner of the book was Margaret Bennett, Susanna's mother, but if so, she did not write her name in it[cite: 681]. [cite_start]Susanna wrote hers, sideways, across the last page of all—"Susanna Nicholson, Brigg, March 20th 1803"—and she filled up the spare pages with cookery and still-room recipes, such as "To make Minced Pyes," "To make Mead," "To make Clary Wine"[cite: 682]. [cite_start]She also let the book lie about on the kitchen table and suffer various accidents—a prosaic fate for all its songs, elegies, epitaphs and verses[cite: 683].

Like her sister Margaret, Susanna possessed the gift of putting her thoughts on paper, and, also like Margaret, never seems to have felt the urge to do so save when deeply moved by grief or anxiety[cite: 684]. [cite_start]The shock of her husband's death was very great and, for a time, prostrated her[cite: 685]. [cite_start]She had doubts of her own recovery, and, as she lay on her sick-bed, she wrote down what she fully expected might be her last words to her children[cite: 686]. [cite_start]The note-book in which this valediction is preserved is marked "Private" and undoubtedly, when it was written it had need to be kept so, for Susanna was very outspoken; but, at this distance of time, there can be no harm in quoting from it, since it serves to shew what manner of woman she was[cite: 687, 688].

Susanna’s Valediction to Her Children

"My dearest Children Brigg, Nov. 14th, 1840 I begin to realise the awful certainity that I am bereft of a kind and affectionate husband and you of the fondest of fathers. The very responsible situation in which my dear husband has placed me is at times so overpowering that a great struggle is now taking place in my whole frame. I do feel very ill, but God Almighty grant I may be again restored to health, but should that request not be granted, I am anxious to commit to paper observations that may be useful to you all and what I cannot at present summon resolution to speak upon." [cite: 689, 690]

After recommending courage and patience to them all and calling upon the elder to support the younger brothers and sisters, she proceeded to discuss the character and prospects of each elder child and to express her wishes and offer her advice with regard to him or her[cite: 691]. [cite_start]It is remarkable, that, in spite of the fact that they were now grown-up, or nearly so, their mother went into the most intimate details—not excepting love affairs—concerning each of them, and this in a letter meant for all[cite: 692]! The fact speaks well for their mutual trust and affection, which Susanna ended by encouraging in these words:

"Be firmly united in yourselves. What can be more melancholy than a dis-united family. It tends to incalculable evils, and amidst the storms and waves of this uncertain world nothing can compensate for the loss of brotherly and sisterly love." [cite: 693]

Susanna's forebodings as regards some of her children and their choice of partners in life, were unfortunately only too well justified, but it would take far too long to recount them and to follow up the fortunes of all her flock[cite: 694]. [cite_start]We can only allude to the points that more immediately concern us[cite: 695].

Counsel Regarding Mr. Hett and Aunt Vane

Throughout her letter, in the stiff diction of the time, Susanna referred to her son-in-law as "Mr. Hett"[cite: 696]. [cite_start]Even at this early date there were indications that he was none too strong[cite: 697].

"In addressing you, my dear Louisa, I feel much. Pray take care of your health for the sake of your husband and children. He requires all the support and assistance you can give him in his all-important situation. God grant he may have strength of mind and body to perform faithfully the trust it has pleased providence to impose upon him. I ask no more than for him to act by my children as dear John uniformly acted by him. I think it is desirable Mr. Hett should have more assistance in the office, therefore pray urge him to have it without delay. His mind would be less pressed to have an efficient assistant aud advantages every way. I need not say if God gives him health I feel the greatest confidence in his performing the part of a second parent to my poor children." [cite: 698, 699]

Susanna made a point of entreating her children to be good to "Aunt Vane"[cite: 700]. [cite_start]Poor Elizabeth Nicholson[cite: 700]! [cite_start]She had had a stormy youth and was saddled with a worthless husband[cite: 701]. [cite_start]It is true that she was received by the Duchess of Cleveland, wife of the head of her husband's family; but she would have fared ill had it not been for her relations in Lincolnshire[cite: 702, 703]. [cite_start]She seems to have been a rather unhappy woman, restless and irritable, and anything but a favourite with her many nephews and nieces[cite: 704]. [cite_start]Her grandson, Henry de Vere Vane, ultimately became Lord Barnard, thus passing into the peerage and out of ken of his less exalted relatives[cite: 705]. Susanna wrote:

"I particularly wish you all to be kind and forbearing to your Aunt Vane. Her peculiarly unfortunate situation I am sure will prompt you to be so. When you cannot quite accord in feeling and sentiment, wave the subject... " [cite: 705]

While she wrote this letter Susanna had felt her hold on life to be precarious but gradually strength had returned to her[cite: 706]. [cite_start]She had wisely insisted on making a will almost immediately after her husband's death but the usual legal delays seem to have been encountered and her eager spirit had chafed at them[cite: 707]. [cite_start]Doubtless John Hett had continued to be "pressed" at the Brigg office and five months after Mr. Nicholson's death we find her writing again[cite: 708]:

"I should feel more comfortable were my affairs settled, the delay is extremely annoying and harassing to my mind but I trust Mr. Hett will see the necessity of having them accomplished." [cite: 708]

Maria's Marriage and Family Life

In 1841, her daughter Maria was married to Robert Haldane Paterson, a young Scotsman in practice at Brigg[cite: 709]. [cite_start]Maria was already warmly enthusiastic about all things Scottish, and when this young surgeon, with his northern voice, breezy manners and up-to-date views, came into her life she must have felt that here indeed was her fate[cite: 710]. [cite_start]Her mother had misgivings and wrote[cite: 711]:

"I have consented to Maria's taking the most important step in life. God grant I may have judged right in so doing, but misgiving sometimes comes across me as to Mr. Paterson's religious opinion and feelings, but Maria seems satisfied and she is not a child. I therefore try to be satisfied, be silent, and pray to God He will keep her His own in all the trials and tempestuous scenes of life." [cite: 711]

The marriage proved an exceedingly happy one and it was delightful to Louisa that she and this sister need not be separated[cite: 712]. [cite_start]The doctor's house stood in the Market Place, next door to Mr. Nicholson's[cite: 713]. [cite_start]After her husband's death the latter was vacated by Susanna, and John and Louisa moved into it[cite: 714]. [cite_start]Thus the sisters came to live within a stone's throw of one another, only a narrow lane dividing them[cite: 715]. [cite_start]They could be seen almost every day walking together in their gardens and the fields beyond—a custom well-remembered by their children[cite: 716].

Susanna’s Later Years

Susanna's foreboding of an early death was by no means fulfilled as she lived to a great age[cite: 717]. [cite_start]The widowed "Aunt Vane" found a home with her and acted as her companion in a small house in Bigby Street[cite: 718]. [cite_start]Towards the latter part of her life she became quite blind, but was able to write by dint of using a frame, with wires stretched across it, which served to guide her pen[cite: 719]. [cite_start]Quantities of letters written by this means to her son Octavius are still in existence[cite: 720].

Maria Paterson became the mother of seven children, one of whom, Annie (Mrs. Aubrey Johnstone) wrote in 1925 the following reminiscences of her grandmother[cite: 721]:

"You ask me for memories of my grandmother. These are somewhat dim as she died at a very advanced age when I was still but a child. My recollections of her are entirely of an old lady confined to her bed-room, sometimes sitting by the fire, at other times in bed, quite blind, and regarded by us children with a kind of admiring awe because of her power to read without eyes! Braille had not then, I believe, been invented but she always had by her side huge columns of raised printed matter (parts of the Bible, I think) and I would watch, with a thrill of excitement, her finger as it spelt out the texts on the open page. This was not her only mysterious gift. She made wool mats, and had all the colours at her side in rows from which she selected the one she wanted, with unerring accuracy, to my childish comprehension a sort of conjuring trick! Many years later, one of these mats was treasured in the family as an heirloom, but I fear it has long since passed into oblivion. [cite_start]I have no remembrance of her that is not kindly. [cite: 721, 722, 723, 724] We loved her, I think, but with a suitable reverence, and as somewhat unapproachable. She was someone to be addressed with proper deference, not with the hostility with which we regarded poor Great-Aunt Vane, and again, not with the unfettered love and freedom with which we gambolled round my little aunt, Helen Paterson. This last, came, I think, to be companion to Granny when Aunt Vane died. She was a most lovable mortal whom everyone called Auntie irrespective of kinship. In her reign, the twice-yearly tea-party at Granny's became an orgy of delight unrestricted by the severity which had before emanated from Aunt Vane. This tea-party took place once at Christmas, once at August Fair time. At Christmas we played a game called 'Squales'. I think Granny's memory must have been failing during Auntie's time, for well I remember a family joke occasioned by the disappearance of the box of 'Squales'. [cite_start]After much unavailing search someone went upstairs to ask Granny whether she knew where the game had been put and the awesome reply came down, 'I think, my dears, your poor Aunt Vane took it away with her!'. [cite: 725, 726, 727, 728, 729, 730, 731, 732] The other festive occasion took the form of an escorted visit to the fair-ground, but with limitations unknown to modern youth, that is, we were not allowed to ride on merry-go-rounds, or such-like, in fact, there was little to do beyond spending the sixpence given to each child by Granny. This was laid out with much careful deliberation on ginger snaps, or toys, in the booth bazaar. If any of the boys were there they got a 1/- each by virtue of their sex. I don't think this ever aroused any feminist spirit in us little girls. We took it lying down as the natural state of things. This exhausts all my memories of Grandmother Nicholson. In appearance I recall her exactly as she looks in the little old carte-de-visite photographs still to be found in family albums. [cite_start]I believe she was a woman of outstanding character and ability." [cite: 733, 734, 735, 736, 737, 738, 739]

Early Days of John and Louisa (1838–1857)

The previous sketch of Susanna Nicholson’s long life has moved past the early days of John and Louisa Hett. Returning to 1838, the young couple lived in a house in Bridge Street. After a day of business necessitating miles of riding on lonely roads, John would return home, stowing his brace of pistols in their accustomed place in the bedroom. While the nurse took the children to bed, Louisa sat with her husband during supper. John often worked in the evenings at his office in the Market Place, as afternoon was then the typical time for recreation. On particularly long days, Louisa would encourage him to rest, leading him to compromise by writing letters for the North Lincolnshire Agricultural Association, where he had served as Honorary Secretary since 1835.

The "Hull Advertiser" and 19th-Century Life

During his evenings, John would read the Hull Advertiser, which bore a one-penny tax stamp. The paper contained various news items and warnings: Economic Concerns: A leader warned of rising corn prices (67/- a quarter) and the quartern loaf reaching tenpence in London. Foreign Competition: The paper noted that German manufacturers were successfully rivalling English cutlery and hardware. Local Prices: In the Brigg Corn and Provision Market, mutton was 6½d. a lb., eggs were 20 for 1/-, and fowls were 2/6 to 2/8 a couple. Global News: The English Government purchased the Port of Aden for a perpetual annuity of £1,000 to the Sultan. Public Health: A shocking report mentioned that London milk was commonly diluted with four quarts of water for every twelve quarts of milk.

The Hett Children and Philanthropy

By 1840, John and Louisa had six children in their Bridge Street nursery: Roslin (born 1834), Louisa, Henry, Arthur, Frederick, and John Roland. A family painting from this era depicts the children in a style similar to Winterhalter’s famous portrait of Queen Victoria’s children. Louisa was deeply involved in local charity: She helped establish a "Ragged School" in Brigg. She founded the Brigg Clothing Club. She authored books to assist mothers in childcare. She supported the local Irish colony, who had originally come for the harvest. This community lived near "Close (Clothes) Hedge," so named because they dried laundry on the hedges.

The Lincoln Connection and Family Agreements

After Canon Hett’s death, his widow, Catherine, moved to Eastgate with her daughter Elizabeth. In 1839, Elizabeth married the Rev. John Kent. A formal memorandum, written by John Hett, detailed their living arrangements:

"It is agreed that so long as it shall be convenient to the said Catherine Hett to allow the said John Kent with his wife to reside with the said Catherine Hett... he shall pay her for his own board and lodging... at the rate of sixty pounds per annum... For the board of his wife no payment is to be made, the said Catherine Hett considering the expense of that amply compensated for by the attention which she will continue to receive from her daughter."

John was considered the reliable family member. His brother, William Kaye Hett, was a curate at Washingborough who preferred a quiet life. He once shared a verse with Louisa that came to him in a dream:

"I have found me a place far apart from the world, / Full of comfort and peace to my soul. / Oh, do not remove me, but there let me dwell / While ages continue to roll."

Professional Advancement and Public Service

In 1840, John Hett succeeded his father-in-law as head of the office in Brigg and moved his family to the former Nicholson house in the Market Place. He eventually took Thomas Freer into partnership. In 1842, John was presented with a silver tureen, waiter, and tea service valued at over £200 in recognition of his work for the North Lincolnshire Agricultural Association. The waiter was engraved with the motto: "The faithful discharge of duty is the true basis of honour". John also served as Clerk to the Poor Law Guardians. An 1843 advertisement for a Union Workhouse nurse required an "able-bodied, active, cleanly and healthy woman" who could read writing, offered at £15 per annum plus board.

Household and Social Life

With his increased income, John provided Louisa with a private carriage. In 1844, he hired George Beedham as a groom at 14/- a week, providing him with a suit of clothes including a coat, hat, breeches, and gaiters. In 1853, "young" Louisa (the daughter) began a diary. She recorded family events such as: Snapdragons on Twelfth Night. The death of Aunt Hildyard (Mary Hett) in January 1853. Brothers skating on the frozen Ancholme river. Constant visits with the Paterson and Nicholson cousins. Despite having fifteen children, John and Louisa managed to travel, obtaining a passport in 1857 for travel on the Continent.

The Family of John Hett and Louisa Nicholson

Roslin: b. 1834; m. Constance Meta Grundy 1884; d. 1893

Henry Nicholson: b. 1836; m. (1) Annie Metcalfe, (2) Winifred Warburton; d. 1877

Louisa: b. 1837; d. 1859

Arthur: b. 1839; m. Jennie Cotton; d. 1864

Frederick: b. 1840; d. 1860

John Roland: b. 1842; m. Letitia Sibbald 1875; d. 1891

Geoffrey: b. 1843; m. Mary Scott 1876; d. 1905

Charles Louis: b. 1845; m. Louise Foyster 1895; d. 1911

Francis Crowder: b. 1848; m. Janie Turnbull 1877; d. 1918

Fanny: b. 1850; d. 1930

William: b. 1851; d. 1870

Sophia: b. 1854; d. 1932

Katherine: b. 1855; d. 1926

Note: Two other children died as infants.

Captain John Nicholson

Of Susanna Nicholson's four sons who were alive at the time of their father's death, Henry, the eldest, had married in 1842 and, as we know, had settled down to farm at Broughton Vale. The following year saw the death of James, an event that drove his mother once more to pour out her feelings in writing. But a harder trial was to come. In her little diary of 1853 young Louisa had recorded one evening that "Lieutenant John (and others) dined with us." This handsome young soldier was Susanna's second son, and a great favourite with all the family. He had probably come that night to bid the Hetts farewell as a bachelor. An entry in young Louisa's diary a week later reads: "1st February, Uncle John's wedding day." He married Katherine Lindley, of Leamington, and on March 3rd he returned with his bride to the house in the Market Place, for Louisa writes again: "Uncle and Aunt John Nicholson dined with us."

The following year John Nicholson's regiment, the 77th, was quartered at Paisley, daily awaiting orders to embark for the Crimea. His young wife was expecting her first baby, and it can be imagined with what mingled feelings he looked forward to the call to active service. On Feb. 12th, 1854, he wrote to his mother as follows:

"My dearest Mother—No longer any uncertainty about our moving, our fate was sealed last night by the Colonel receiving orders to hold ourselves in readiness for the seat of war, and we are to sail for Constantinople about the 25th of this month. I have all along expected this, notwithstanding the different reports in the paper—we are to go prepared for war, no heavy baggage is allowed to go, each officer to be allowed only two portmanteaus. No wives allowed to go. Kate, as you may fancy, is most miserable and wretched,... She will have my servant's wife as her nurse, she is a most respectable woman, no family, and of course cannot go with her husband, and will be most thankful to stop with Kate just for her living. I know you will think much of us both in this trying time, I am full of confidence that all will be right and all is for the best."

A whole series of long and interesting letters written by John Nicholson to his mother from various stopping places, has been preserved, beginning with one from Malta, which he reached on March 10th. In those days there were no Boy-Scout Associations or Cadet Corps to accustom young men to camp life. John wrote that "the days are very hot and the nights very damp—everything gets wet through in your tent at night" and it is obvious that "this sort of gypsy life" did not appeal to him. He calls it "by no means a pleasant one" and remarks that "the whole system of living is so entirely strange to us, that I wish we had had a few lessons at Chobham last year, but I suppose we shall get used to it." He and his soldier-servant (whose wife was with Kate) got along as best they could, the man remarking, as he saw his young officer eating his dinner off his knee, "It's a good thing Missus is not here, Sir!" Meanwhile, troops were constantly arriving and we read that "a large man-of-war, loaded with French soldiers, came into harbour yesterday and it was curious to see them shaking hands, smoking, and drinking with our soldiers, when a few years since they were deadly enemies."

The following month they moved to the Dardanelles and occupied various camps near Constantinople. John wrote home constantly and it is easy to see how anxious he was for his wife. "I hope dear Kate's baby will be all right and live, as it will give her some employment and prevent her thinking about my absence, for you know she is not a very great reader." The discomforts of the troops still continued, but officers and men were getting hardened. "My servant is much improved, he is getting very handy and can cook tolerably well." "We often laugh, and say we wish our friends in England could see the various contrivances for stools and chairs. My present seat is a slop-pail with a piece of wood across it—it will teach us to know the value of home comforts."

On May 6th he wrote in high spirits, having received the news of the birth of a daughter, and he ended up with "I hope the dear baby will take after Kate, as my size and stature would not suit a girl." The long delay in coming into action and the absence of reliable information was very trying to the troops. John mentions more than once that the first ardour both of officers and men was fast evaporating. The idle life was very bad for the troops and he was horrified by their demoralisation. He writes of "the scamps and blackguards" in the army, and says "they are fearful grumblers, we have had work to manage them—when they came out here they seemed to expect they must everything in the same way they had at home... they have become quite a terror to the Turks anything they wanted they used to take it by force... So for all these crimes we have had a great deal of punishment, flogging parades are of daily occurrence." There was much excuse for the unhappy soldiers. Nothing at all seems to have been done to provide legitimate distraction for them. John himself says "There is no amusement whatever for the men."

Such a state of affairs seems almost unbelievable to us who are accustomed to regard the Y.M.C.A. Hut as a usual adjunct to any camp and to look upon sports, games and concerts as part of the normal activities of the army. The officers were but little better off, for John remarks "We have daily parades at six in the morning and from that time to sunset we have nothing to do (but occasional duty) but to spend the time as best we can." He filled in his spare time with writing and taking lessons in drawing from a fellow lieutenant who shrank, as he did, from the coarser distractions of the camp. He wrote very openly to his mother. No doubt he felt impelled to find some outlet. "I have written to Kate in a more cheery way than to you, because I do not think it right to depress her at this particular time, but I write to you as I really feel."

Apparently he did what he could to help those under him, and in one letter says "Would you be kind enough to put a stamp on the enclosed letter, it is from a Sergeant of the Grs. to his wife. I thought it would be doing him a kindness. Has any collection been made for the soldiers wives in Birkenhead (Mrs. Nicholson was staying there at the time) some places seem to have been most liberal?" The absence of news was very trying and John even expresses a hope that his mother may be able to give him more information about the war than he can obtain for himself. "Can you make out anything by the papers as to what we are going to do? Of course everything here is kept mysteriously confined to the Generals, so all we hear as to our future proceedings is from vague guesses and imaginings."

During June, July and August they were encamped, first near Varna, and then near Pravidia, in Bulgaria. He gives a picturesque account of the camp at night-fall:

"The Light Division, in which is the 77th, is composed of seven regiments, about 6,000 men, and each tent holds 14 men so you can fancy that even our small force covers a great space of ground. Viewing the encampment at a distance on a fine sunset evening, at intervals you see the camp fires, around which the men congregate in groups, smoking their pipes, singing and whistling some national air (with us I think the Irish predominate) and in the rear you see a line of horses, all tethered. When you first arrive at a place, it is bare and lonely looking, but in five minutes the place is covered with canvas, the horses unloaded, fires lighted in every direction and you would fancy we looked as much settled as if we had been there a month."

In a letter to his brother Henry, written about the same time, he touches on some of the humours of their life:

"We have often been inspected by various French Generals and the greatest friendship exists between the two armies. When our men get drunk they take a great fancy to exchanging uniforms with the Frenchmen. I saw a Highlander the other day arm in arm with a Frenchman, he retained his kilt but exchanged his jacket and bonnet for the Frenchman's cap and long blue coat. The Turks express no surprise at seeing their country full of a large English and French Army, they quietly look on and do not stir a muscle of their face. The women, whose faces are always covered, even do not think that a sufficient protection, but must turn their backs upon us also—rather annoying to our swell bachelors who are not accustomed to that sort of thing. I, with almost all the other officers are long pipe men, 2 yards at the least, the tobacco is delicious and so mild, you never feel it at all—I do not think Sarah (Henry's wife) could even tell there was any smoking going on... I hardly dare think of it, but hope I may still smoke another pipe with you over an English fire, when I can answer for it all the privations of the tented field will be quickly forgotten. One of Octavius' letters missed me, but a recent one from my mother says he will soon study for his ordination, so I suppose he has at last scraped through. I wish brother Ned could get a chaplaincy to some part of the forces here—he would be the very man for it, our Light Division parson is a regular broth of a boy, a most disgraceful rip, when you hear him preach on a Sunday you would fancy he was an archangel, but see him at night and you would take him for the archfiend."

Provisions being so scarce and uncertain we are obliged to put in a stock of things. I have got a lamb tethered to my tent door and a couple of fowls under my bed. The country way of tethering the horses is very comical and quite eastern. A halter goes round the head and is tied to a stake, and the hind legs are tied to another stake by a rope about a yard long, and this allows them to move in a circle of about a yard and they are all placed in a row but not near enough to kick each other. Most of them are restive and we constantly have to get out in our night shirts and separate the brutes when they get loose. Last night I saw a most laughable sight. I heard a tremendous neighing and kicking. I knew what was up, jumped out of bed and peeped out of the door. There I saw an officer with nothing on but a short red shirt holding on to the tail of a horse that would persist in going up to another vicious brute. He was hollowing out to his servant 'Go up to his head, I have him by the tail.' Paterson would have made a splendid sketch, the day was just breaking.

In August, the promotion to which he had long aspired, at last came his way, but it was with mingled feelings that he announced the fact.

"My dearest Mother—It is with feelings of the greatest emotion and of a most mixed nature that I take up my pen to write to you. The fortune of war has at last befriended me and in a short time I succeed to a company without purchase, by a death vacancy. I have not time or inclination to say much on the subject to day as you can well imagine the feeling I have in reaping advantage by the loss of another man. Sickness is making havoc with us, it carried away a Captain yesterday and I, being the senior, of necessity must succeed to his vacancy."

Sickness was, indeed, "making havoc." The bad management, lack of stores, and utter disregard of the laws of hygiene have made the Crimean War a by-word in history. There is but one thing to be said for this vile state of affairs, which is that it roused the burning indignation and indomitable persistence of Florence Nightingale. To her ceaseless efforts in laying the foundation of a better state of things, countless thousands of men who were wounded in the last great war owe their preservation, though her fiery energy was, alas, unable to move the stubborn prejudices of the officials of her day, in time to save many hundreds of those who were then dying in the camps of Bulgaria and Turkey. John Nicholson gives a terrible account of it.

"18 fatal cases of cholera occurred in the 88th Regiment in one day and nine or ten cases in every regiment but our own and the Rifle Brigade. We fortunately have not had one case and they account for it by our position. The 77th and the Rifle Brigade were situated on the left of all the other regiments and were shaded by a high hill from the winds that blew over the flat and marshy lands to which all the other regiments were exposed, but I think the reason we had no cholera is that the Colonel would allow no unripe fruit to be bought or sold in our camp. All the other regiments were allowed to buy as much as they liked of the very worst kind of unripe apricots and plums. All the men who had the cholera were taken ill and died in three hours. I hope to God we shall have no more cases. We allow no wine to be sold until it has been medically inspected and pronounced sound and wholesome. Such great precaution is very praiseworthy of our Colonel but our soldiers who are so blind generally to their own interests put it down to harshness and domineering on the Colonel's part. Two fatal cases occurred last night in the 23rd since we marched to our new encampment but I trust the change of ground will be beneficial."

About a month after getting his promotion John wrote from the troop ship "Megæra":

"We have actually embarked for Sebastopol and sail this evening for the rendezvous at Baltsitik, where the whole expedition is to assemble and sail together for the Crimea. The magnitude and extent of the expedition baffles all description. The bay is a forest of masts with thousands of soldiers on board. I go into action with the full assurance that if I fall, all is well. In case of anything happening I must confide dear Kate and my baby to your protection, her position as far as money is concerned you know is most limited. It is a comfort to me to know that I die as a Captain, which will greatly increase dear Kate's pension, it will be, I think about £50 a year if I fall in action."

The young Captain wrote thus with a true foreboding of death, but the time was not yet. He lived to acquit himself gallantly in the fighting that followed during the next two months. Only one more letter, however, hastily scribbled on the battlefield and dated September 22nd, reached his mother.

"Thank God, he has so far protected me—we fought our first battle yesterday and gained the most brilliant victory over the Russians on the bank of a river called Alma—we go on to Sebastopol to-morrow. The horrors of war are past all description after the fight is over—it lasted 2 hours and all that time the balls were whizzing about our heads like hail-stones—our loss was very great—the excitement is the only thing that sustains a man. I have walked over the battlefield and it is strewed with dead and dying Russians. Our oldest Generals say they never saw in any action a heavier or more destructive firing. Good-bye."

And it was good-bye. On November 5, 1854, John Nicholson fell at the Battle of Inkerman. Two days afterwards Capt. Hackett, writing from headquarters, says: "I am the sender of woeful tidings. The Russians attacked our position in front of Sebastopol on the 5th inst. in overwhelming numbers, and in the action poor John Nicholson was killed. He was gallantly leading on his men when he received his death wound."

Q.M.S. Blissett of the 77th Regiment wrote:

"The Russian Army made a most desperate assault on our army on Sunday morning, the 5th of November, at daybreak. The morning was wet and hazy and the enemy made their appearance about 18,000 strong and we made all haste to get under arms and marched to the scene of action. The enemy opened fire on us from all sides and succeeded in taking a battery of our guns, but our men soon succeeded in retaking them again. By this time the engagement became general; the 77th made one desperate charge and routed about 15,000 of the enemy out of their position, they rallied and kept up a heavy fire on us from artillery, infantry and cavalry in powerful numbers. The engagement lasted from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., and then the enemy retreated into Sebastopol and all was quiet for the night. It was in the aforesaid charge that the poor Captain fell; he waved his sword over his head in front of his company and said 'Now, my lads, on, on, and rout them!' which they did, and gloriously. But alas, poor man, he did not see the end of it. He was struck by a ball, I think a canister or grape-shot for it seemed too large for a musket ball. It struck him between the eyes and he fell dead on the spot; his remains were taken to the camp. The regiment has lost a brave officer and a kind good man. His loss is lamented by the whole regiment, both officers and men."

Sergeant Connor, in a letter to his brother describing the battle, said: "Among those who were killed was Captain Nicholson, of my company, one of the nicest gentlemen in the British Army." So devoted to him, indeed, were his men that, after the action, and utterly worn out as they were, they implored permission to dig his grave and carry his body to it. The commanding officer, knowing their exhaustion, had sought to spare them by ordering the bandsmen to perform this last sad duty. A plain mound of earth with pieces of granite at either end, marked the spot where he was laid. His faithful servant, Mooney, did not long delay in following his master as he died of cholera soon afterwards at Balaclava. John's wife and little daughter died within a few years.

Captain John Nicholson

Of Susanna Nicholson's four sons who were alive at the time of their father's death, Henry, the eldest, had married in 1842 and, as we know, had settled down to farm at Broughton Vale. The following year saw the death of James, an event that drove his mother once more to pour out her feelings in writing. But a harder trial was to come. In her little diary of 1853 young Louisa had recorded one evening that "Lieutenant John (and others) dined with us." This handsome young soldier was Susanna's second son, and a great favourite with all the family. He had probably come that night to bid the Hetts farewell as a bachelor. An entry in young Louisa's diary a week later reads: "1st February, Uncle John's wedding day." He married Katherine Lindley, of Leamington, and on March 3rd he returned with his bride to the house in the Market Place, for Louisa writes again: "Uncle and Aunt John Nicholson dined with us."

The following year John Nicholson's regiment, the 77th, was quartered at Paisley, daily awaiting orders to embark for the Crimea. His young wife was expecting her first baby, and it can be imagined with what mingled feelings he looked forward to the call to active service. On Feb. 12th, 1854, he wrote to his mother as follows:

"My dearest Mother—No longer any uncertainty about our moving, our fate was sealed last night by the Colonel receiving orders to hold ourselves in readiness for the seat of war, and we are to sail for Constantinople about the 25th of this month. I have all along expected this, notwithstanding the different reports in the paper—we are to go prepared for war, no heavy baggage is allowed to go, each officer to be allowed only two portmanteaus. No wives allowed to go. Kate, as you may fancy, is most miserable and wretched,... She will have my servant's wife as her nurse, she is a most respectable woman, no family, and of course cannot go with her husband, and will be most thankful to stop with Kate just for her living. I know you will think much of us both in this trying time, I am full of confidence that all will be right and all is for the best."

A whole series of long and interesting letters written by John Nicholson to his mother from various stopping places, has been preserved, beginning with one from Malta, which he reached on March 10th. In those days there were no Boy-Scout Associations or Cadet Corps to accustom young men to camp life. John wrote that "the days are very hot and the nights very damp—everything gets wet through in your tent at night" and it is obvious that "this sort of gypsy life" did not appeal to him. He calls it "by no means a pleasant one" and remarks that "the whole system of living is so entirely strange to us, that I wish we had had a few lessons at Chobham last year, but I suppose we shall get used to it." He and his soldier-servant (whose wife was with Kate) got along as best they could, the man remarking, as he saw his young officer eating his dinner off his knee, "It's a good thing Missus is not here, Sir!" Meanwhile, troops were constantly arriving and we read that "a large man-of-war, loaded with French soldiers, came into harbour yesterday and it was curious to see them shaking hands, smoking, and drinking with our soldiers, when a few years since they were deadly enemies."

The following month they moved to the Dardanelles and occupied various camps near Constantinople. John wrote home constantly and it is easy to see how anxious he was for his wife. "I hope dear Kate's baby will be all right and live, as it will give her some employment and prevent her thinking about my absence, for you know she is not a very great reader." The discomforts of the troops still continued, but officers and men were getting hardened. "My servant is much improved, he is getting very handy and can cook tolerably well." "We often laugh, and say we wish our friends in England could see the various contrivances for stools and chairs. My present seat is a slop-pail with a piece of wood across it—it will teach us to know the value of home comforts."

On May 6th he wrote in high spirits, having received the news of the birth of a daughter, and he ended up with "I hope the dear baby will take after Kate, as my size and stature would not suit a girl." The long delay in coming into action and the absence of reliable information was very trying to the troops. John mentions more than once that the first ardour both of officers and men was fast evaporating. The idle life was very bad for the troops and he was horrified by their demoralisation. He writes of "the scamps and blackguards" in the army, and says "they are fearful grumblers, we have had work to manage them—when they came out here they seemed to expect they must everything in the same way they had at home... they have become quite a terror to the Turks anything they wanted they used to take it by force... So for all these crimes we have had a great deal of punishment, flogging parades are of daily occurrence." There was much excuse for the unhappy soldiers. Nothing at all seems to have been done to provide legitimate distraction for them. John himself says "There is no amusement whatever for the men."

Such a state of affairs seems almost unbelievable to us who are accustomed to regard the Y.M.C.A. Hut as a usual adjunct to any camp and to look upon sports, games and concerts as part of the normal activities of the army. The officers were but little better off, for John remarks "We have daily parades at six in the morning and from that time to sunset we have nothing to do (but occasional duty) but to spend the time as best we can." He filled in his spare time with writing and taking lessons in drawing from a fellow lieutenant who shrank, as he did, from the coarser distractions of the camp. He wrote very openly to his mother. No doubt he felt impelled to find some outlet. "I have written to Kate in a more cheery way than to you, because I do not think it right to depress her at this particular time, but I write to you as I really feel."

Apparently he did what he could to help those under him, and in one letter says "Would you be kind enough to put a stamp on the enclosed letter, it is from a Sergeant of the Grs. to his wife. I thought it would be doing him a kindness. Has any collection been made for the soldiers wives in Birkenhead (Mrs. Nicholson was staying there at the time) some places seem to have been most liberal?" The absence of news was very trying and John even expresses a hope that his mother may be able to give him more information about the war than he can obtain for himself. "Can you make out anything by the papers as to what we are going to do? Of course everything here is kept mysteriously confined to the Generals, so all we hear as to our future proceedings is from vague guesses and imaginings."

During June, July and August they were encamped, first near Varna, and then near Pravidia, in Bulgaria. He gives a picturesque account of the camp at night-fall:

"The Light Division, in which is the 77th, is composed of seven regiments, about 6,000 men, and each tent holds 14 men so you can fancy that even our small force covers a great space of ground. Viewing the encampment at a distance on a fine sunset evening, at intervals you see the camp fires, around which the men congregate in groups, smoking their pipes, singing and whistling some national air (with us I think the Irish predominate) and in the rear you see a line of horses, all tethered. When you first arrive at a place, it is bare and lonely looking, but in five minutes the place is covered with canvas, the horses unloaded, fires lighted in every direction and you would fancy we looked as much settled as if we had been there a month."

In a letter to his brother Henry, written about the same time, he touches on some of the humours of their life:

"We have often been inspected by various French Generals and the greatest friendship exists between the two armies. When our men get drunk they take a great fancy to exchanging uniforms with the Frenchmen. I saw a Highlander the other day arm in arm with a Frenchman, he retained his kilt but exchanged his jacket and bonnet for the Frenchman's cap and long blue coat. The Turks express no surprise at seeing their country full of a large English and French Army, they quietly look on and do not stir a muscle of their face. The women, whose faces are always covered, even do not think that a sufficient protection, but must turn their backs upon us also—rather annoying to our swell bachelors who are not accustomed to that sort of thing. I, with almost all the other officers are long pipe men, 2 yards at the least, the tobacco is delicious and so mild, you never feel it at all—I do not think Sarah (Henry's wife) could even tell there was any smoking going on... I hardly dare think of it, but hope I may still smoke another pipe with you over an English fire, when I can answer for it all the privations of the tented field will be quickly forgotten. One of Octavius' letters missed me, but a recent one from my mother says he will soon study for his ordination, so I suppose he has at last scraped through. I wish brother Ned could get a chaplaincy to some part of the forces here—he would be the very man for it, our Light Division parson is a regular broth of a boy, a most disgraceful rip, when you hear him preach on a Sunday you would fancy he was an archangel, but see him at night and you would take him for the archfiend."

"Provisions being so scarce and uncertain we are obliged to put in a stock of things. I have got a lamb tethered to my tent door and a couple of fowls under my bed. The country way of tethering the horses is very comical and quite eastern. A halter goes round the head and is tied to a stake, and the hind legs are tied to another stake by a rope about a yard long, and this allows them to move in a circle of about a yard and they are all placed in a row but not near enough to kick each other. Most of them are restive and we constantly have to get out in our night shirts and separate the brutes when they get loose. Last night I saw a most laughable sight. I heard a tremendous neighing and kicking. I knew what was up, jumped out of bed and peeped out of the door. There I saw an officer with nothing on but a short red shirt holding on to the tail of a horse that would persist in going up to another vicious brute. He was hollowing out to his servant 'Go up to his head, I have him by the tail.' Paterson would have made a splendid sketch, the day was just breaking."

In August, the promotion to which he had long aspired, at last came his way, but it was with mingled feelings that he announced the fact.

"My dearest Mother—It is with feelings of the greatest emotion and of a most mixed nature that I take up my pen to write to you. The fortune of war has at last befriended me and in a short time I succeed to a company without purchase, by a death vacancy. I have not time or inclination to say much on the subject to day as you can well imagine the feeling I have in reaping advantage by the loss of another man. Sickness is making havoc with us, it carried away a Captain yesterday and I, being the senior, of necessity must succeed to his vacancy."

Sickness was, indeed, "making havoc." The bad management, lack of stores, and utter disregard of the laws of hygiene have made the Crimean War a by-word in history. There is but one thing to be said for this vile state of affairs, which is that it roused the burning indignation and indomitable persistence of Florence Nightingale. To her ceaseless efforts in laying the foundation of a better state of things, countless thousands of men who were wounded in the last great war owe their preservation, though her fiery energy was, alas, unable to move the stubborn prejudices of the officials of her day, in time to save many hundreds of those who were then dying in the camps of Bulgaria and Turkey. John Nicholson gives a terrible account of it.

"18 fatal cases of cholera occurred in the 88th Regiment in one day and nine or ten cases in every regiment but our own and the Rifle Brigade. We fortunately have not had one case and they account for it by our position. The 77th and the Rifle Brigade were situated on the left of all the other regiments and were shaded by a high hill from the winds that blew over the flat and marshy lands to which all the other regiments were exposed, but I think the reason we had no cholera is that the Colonel would allow no unripe fruit to be bought or sold in our camp. All the other regiments were allowed to buy as much as they liked of the very worst kind of unripe apricots and plums. All the men who had the cholera were taken ill and died in three hours. I hope to God we shall have no more cases. We allow no wine to be sold until it has been medically inspected and pronounced sound and wholesome. Such great precaution is very praiseworthy of our Colonel but our soldiers who are so blind generally to their own interests put it down to harshness and domineering on the Colonel's part. Two fatal cases occurred last night in the 23rd since we marched to our new encampment but I trust the change of ground will be beneficial."

About a month after getting his promotion John wrote from the troop ship "Megæra":

"We have actually embarked for Sebastopol and sail this evening for the rendezvous at Baltsitik, where the whole expedition is to assemble and sail together for the Crimea. The magnitude and extent of the expedition baffles all description. The bay is a forest of masts with thousands of soldiers on board. I go into action with the full assurance that if I fall, all is well. In case of anything happening I must confide dear Kate and my baby to your protection, her position as far as money is concerned you know is most limited. It is a comfort to me to know that I die as a Captain, which will greatly increase dear Kate's pension, it will be, I think about £50 a year if I fall in action."

The young Captain wrote thus with a true foreboding of death, but the time was not yet. He lived to acquit himself gallantly in the fighting that followed during the next two months. Only one more letter, however, hastily scribbled on the battlefield and dated September 22nd, reached his mother.

"Thank God, he has so far protected me—we fought our first battle yesterday and gained the most brilliant victory over the Russians on the bank of a river called Alma—we go on to Sebastopol to-morrow. The horrors of war are past all description after the fight is over—it lasted 2 hours and all that time the balls were whizzing about our heads like hail-stones—our loss was very great—the excitement is the only thing that sustains a man. I have walked over the battlefield and it is strewed with dead and dying Russians. Our oldest Generals say they never saw in any action a heavier or more destructive firing. Good-bye."

And it was good-bye. On November 5, 1854, John Nicholson fell at the Battle of Inkerman. Two days afterwards Capt. Hackett, writing from headquarters, says: "I am the sender of woeful tidings. The Russians attacked our position in front of Sebastopol on the 5th inst. in overwhelming numbers, and in the action poor John Nicholson was killed. He was gallantly leading on his men when he received his death wound."

Q.M.S. Blissett of the 77th Regiment wrote:

"The Russian Army made a most desperate assault on our army on Sunday morning, the 5th of November, at daybreak. The morning was wet and hazy and the enemy made their appearance about 18,000 strong and we made all haste to get under arms and marched to the scene of action. The enemy opened fire on us from all sides and succeeded in taking a battery of our guns, but our men soon succeeded in retaking them again. By this time the engagement became general; the 77th made one desperate charge and routed about 15,000 of the enemy out of their position, they rallied and kept up a heavy fire on us from artillery, infantry and cavalry in powerful numbers. The engagement lasted from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., and then the enemy retreated into Sebastopol and all was quiet for the night. It was in the aforesaid charge that the poor Captain fell; he waved his sword over his head in front of his company and said 'Now, my lads, on, on, and rout them!' which they did, and gloriously. But alas, poor man, he did not see the end of it. He was struck by a ball, I think a canister or grape-shot for it seemed too large for a musket ball. It struck him between the eyes and he fell dead on the spot; his remains were taken to the camp. The regiment has lost a brave officer and a kind good man. His loss is lamented by the whole regiment, both officers and men."

Sergeant Connor, in a letter to his brother describing the battle, said: "Among those who were killed was Captain Nicholson, of my company, one of the nicest gentlemen in the British Army." So devoted to him, indeed, were his men that, after the action, and utterly worn out as they were, they implored permission to dig his grave and carry his body to it. The commanding officer, knowing their exhaustion, had sought to spare them by ordering the bandsmen to perform this last sad duty. A plain mound of earth with pieces of granite at either end, marked the spot where he was laid. His faithful servant, Mooney, did not long delay in following his master as he died of cholera soon afterwards at Balaclava. John's wife and little daughter died within a few years.

Louisa and Frederick (1859 and 1860)

THE Hetts, as we already know, were established in the house in the Market Place by 1840, and it was there that the rest of their children were born. The youngest, Katherine, arrived in 1855, and she was only four years old when the first gap was made in the happy family circle. In 1853, young Louisa had been sent to school in Tunbridge Wells. This was the year when, for a short time, she kept a diary, and one of the last entries reads, "Perhaps I am going home very shortly to take my holidays while unable to work." This is the first indication of that delicacy which was to be such a handicap to so many of John and Louisa's children. This eldest daughter was a general favourite, and she grew into a lovely girl, beautifully complexioned, and having masses of golden-brown hair with a deep, natural wave. She loved books, and, at seventeen, began to keep a yearly list of those she read. Their titles might well alarm a present-day girl. Who, for example, would now have courage to tackle "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained" in the same year if at all? She also copied out passages from some of her favourite writers, of whom Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, seems to have been first.

Young Louisa lived at the time of the Oxford Movement when the conflict between "high" and "low" church was at its height. A few years earlier, the old chapel-of-ease at Brigg had been pulled down and replaced by the present church, but the town still belonged ecclesiastically to the parish of Wrawby, where the Rev. John Roland West was vicar. Mr. West was one of the early tractarians and a man of forceful and saintly character, who exercised a remarkable influence over every individual in his parish. The Hetts named John Roland, their sixth child, after him but they did not like his innovations and still less did they approve of the ritualistic young men who succeeded one another as his curates at Brigg. Her parents' advocacy of the evangelical cause was sometimes characterised by a regrettable bitterness, but it is impossible to imagine bitterness in connection with young Louisa. It is only surprising that she should have concerned herself so much with these matters, but doubt less her tendency to thoughtfulness was increased by her enforced quietude and failing health, since, already, the deadly seeds of tuberculosis were at their work.

It is, indeed, heartrending to contemplate the havoc wrought in the early part of the nineteenth century, amongst otherwise healthy families, by this terrible scourge, which was then so little understood that the supposed remedial treatment actually hastened the course of the disease. Young Louisa was kept shut up in hot rooms and shielded from every inclement blast, being obliged to wear a respirator when she went out-of-doors. No wonder that the disease was known as "galloping consumption," that it spread like wild-fire from one member of a family to another, and that already it had marked out Arthur and Frederick—the brothers next in age to Louisa—as its victims.

There seems to have been a special bond of sympathy between Frederick and his eldest sister. Young Louisa kept an exercise-book in which she wrote out some of her private prayers and among them is one for "my dear brother Frederick previous to his confirmation on March 17th, 1857." In 1858 Frederick's name was entered at Trinity College, Oxford, with a view to his ultimately taking holy orders. A diary, which he kept from January to October of the year 1859 entering the short records of each day in a clear, boyish hand seems to bring this beloved brother of young Louisa very near to us. We can fancy him—tall and handsome, flushed with the outer air—coming into her warm room amongst the books and needlework, eager to tell of all his doings and to receive her ready sympathy. Here are a few extracts from the diary. It will be seen that football was apparently not quite the formal affair that it is now.

"Jan 5th. Had a stunning game of football. Spent the evening at Broughton Vale. Decidedly slow. Had a good gallop with Polly. Jan. 7th. Morning: Worked. Afternoon: Went out jumping with Geoff. Jan. 14th. Walked with Roland and Geoff to Elsham and round by Barnetby about 9 miles. Jan. 15. Had a capital game of football. Players: Granville, Twigge, Smith, Caud, Cotterill, the two Barons, seven Hetts, two Patersons. After tea played at celebrities. At a quarter-past eight all my guests left. Then went to the Cotterills. Had a stunning dance and supper. Jan. 18th. Rode over to spend the day at Redbourne. Went out shooting—shot a water-hen and badly wounded a crow. Got wet through. Moonlight ride home. Jan 19th. Poor Louisa has not been so well to day."

Shortly after this, Frederick went to Horncastle, where he worked at the Grammar School under Mr. Lodge. As he was now eighteen and a half, he can hardly have been a pupil; probably he went there for special coaching before going to Oxford. A fortnight after his arrival at Horncastle his diary has the sad entry: "Feb. 14th. Had a letter from mother to say Louisa died yesterday in perfect peace. Do Thou, O God grant that I may go to her, though she will not return to me, for Christ's sake." He went home for the funeral and wrote of his sister: "She looks perfectly calm and composed, as well as she did when alive." There was doubtless a large family gathering on this occasion, and the Rev. William Hildyard, of Beverley, wrote the following lines in memory of his niece by marriage:

In memory of Louisa Hett who died of a deep decline.
"Vain, O departed maid! the tears that flow For worth like thine, and idle all our woe; Though here thy pulse may cease, thy form decay, Yet roams thy spirit through the realms of day! If purer souls to purer pleasures rise, As stars with varied lustre gild the skies; Go, led by Angels, near thy Maker shine, A Cherub form, for Cherub love was thine."

Frederick was only at Horncastle for one term. He seems to have spent a great deal of his spare time on the river, for there are constant entries to the effect that he "went out boating," "had a good pull," "went in the boat and tried the sail," etc. He also records many games of football and cricket, and occasional expeditions to places in the neighbourhood.

"Thurs. 3 March. At a quarter to nine started for Bolingbroke, which is eight miles off. We, the first detachment, got there at a quarter to eleven. Saw the church and as much of the castle as was to be seen; then Al. Boulton and I had a gallop through the village on the two small ponies. Afterwards, we had luncheon, started back about twelve, and got home at twenty minutes past two. Went into school. Prizes given away. Jaw from Mr. Lodge and the Governors. Lots of shouting. Then broke up. Four-Dinner. Did not feel inclined to do much afterwards."

"Tues. 22nd March. Letters to Mother and Roland. Whole holiday. Walked to Somersby, saw the house in which Tennyson was born, the Church, and the ancient cross in the churchyard, one of the very few left by the Puritans. Went over Holywell, a splendid spot, and tasted the beautifully clear water. Next, we walked on to Hagg, lunched there, then found our way home to dinner. Altogether walked 16 or 17 miles."

Frederick seems to have been a very good correspondent, as he was always either receiving or sending letters. He wrote to friends, cousins, and various members of his own family, but far more frequently to his mother, and to Roland, who seems to have been his favourite brother. In his day, most people attended church more regularly than they do now. Every Sunday, as a matter of course, Frederick recorded where he had been to church and the name of the preacher both in the morning and the afternoon for evening church was not then the custom. One Sunday he "had a headache all day and two days later writes it still continues." Though nothing seemed to daunt his high-spirits, we can already detect, from these and similar entries, the signs of increasing ill-health. Perhaps on account of this delicacy he was peculiarly susceptible to weather, for almost every day he says something about it. His remarks on the subject at the end of March and beginning of April wake a responsive chord in the heart of anyone who has had experience of the climate of Lincolnshire at this time of year.

"March 31st. Bitterly cold day." "Ap. 1st. Colder than ever." "Ap. 2nd. A complete change in the weather." "Ap. 6th. Intensely hot day." "Ap. 7th. Hotter than ever." "Ap. 15th. Bitterly cold." "Ap. 16th. A good deal of snow has fallen." "Ap. 17th. Snow, hail and rain." On the 11th he mentions that his cough was "too bad to do anything." On the 19th he went home, and, on Good Friday, went for a walk with Roslin and saw a whirlwind, the dust being taken up to an immense height. On Easter Sunday "the service was just three hours long," and on April 28th comes the tell-tale entry "Too cold for me to get out. Cannot help wishing that I was well again."

It must have been about this time that his parents began to take fright, for, a week later, Frederick accompanied them to London where he "had a two hours' consultation with Dr. Clark. Two days later, they went on to Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, the mild climate of which was always recommended for consumptives. His parents remained for a week, during which time they did as much sightseeing as Frederick was able for. On May 17th he wrote "Father and Mother have left. Somewhat desolate being left alone, and not being able to get out on account of the rain does not mend matters. Forced to have a fire for company."

He passed a week by himself at Ventnor, and then went to board with a clergyman's family at Shanklin. Here, he remained for a month, and the diary becomes a chronicle of the constant struggle between his increasing weakness and his high-spirited desire to do and see all he could. One day he felt driven to consult Mr. Middleton, the Surgeon, who "sent me home again, telling me to keep in to day." There is irony in the subsequent entry "Went to Mr. Middleton. He pronounces me better." People seem to have been sorry for the tall handsome youth whose time hung so heavily on his hands. Mr. Middleton took him to "the parsonage garden, a lovely spot," and the parson's wife "kindly sent out to ask me to go there whenever I like. Saw the splendid myrtle, said to be one of the finest in England."

He often availed himself of this kind invitation, and, at other times, sauntered in the fields or went down to the beach. On June 11th he "went out for half an hour but it did me no good" and on the 12th "was not well enough to go to church." Despite sundry visits to Mr. Middleton, and at least two letters from Dr. Clark, he made no progress, and, since he no doubt reported this at home, his parents apparently decided that he had better return.

On the 22nd he had a letter from his brother Roslin "and he himself followed it, getting here at 5. Very glad to see him." The brothers remained in the south for another ten days, visiting Jersey before turning homewards. Then on July 1st they "started by steamer at 7. Calm passage. Got a capital view of Guernsey and the Needles. Got to Southampton about 6.30, to London about 10.30 and were safely settled at Wood's Hotel (in spite of the cab-horse falling down and breaking a shaft) about 11.30." The next day Frederick saw Dr. Clark again and journeyed home in the afternoon.

The rest of the diary gives a simple chronicle of every-day events in a large family. John Hett goes to Grimsby for the show—Roslin and Roland, both now articled to their father, go to the Assizes at Lincoln—Charlie and Frank go to school—Frederick's mother goes for a fortnight to Filey, with Fanny and "the bairns," escorted by Roslin and Geoff—while Frederick himself goes to Redbourne from Thursday to Saturday "when they fetched me home in the phæton—very cold driving."

Alas, how often he complains of "a wretchedly cold day" or else of heat by which he has been "quite overpowered." So rapidly is his weakness increasing that he can no longer indulge in his beloved games but only watch them. He mentions going to see a match in Scawby Park between Scawby National School and Brigg Grammar School, and later, one between Gainsboro' and Brigg—" Gainsboro' jolly well licked." He still rides, but though he sometimes got "as far as Sir John's Park" he says he "could not manage any pace quicker than a walk" and was always escorted by a brother, who walked by the pony's side. More often he went for a drive "in the gig" either with his father or one of the brothers, and at other times he walked, but the walks were grievously short now. It was only "down the river banks and home by our fields" or "with father to see the new school buildings" or "with mother a little in the garden" and often, he was not fit even to do so much. On Sept. 7th the entry reads "Did not get down till 12.30 and did not go to the Flower Show" and on Sept. 21st "Felt very ill all day. Lived in the drawing-room by myself." He still went to church, but seldom stayed for the whole service. One Sunday in September was an exception, for he specially says that he "stopped through the morning service." The following day he "slept till 12.45 except a short time for breakfast." On September the 29th he "bought a canary" and on Tuesday, October the 4th he wrote the last entry "Drove to Elsham Hill. Most hot, relaxing day." On the first day of the new year he followed young Louisa into the unknown.

The Family Grows Up (1860–1870)

FOR more than ten years after Frederick's death, John Hett continued to live at Brigg. During this time, the reputation of his firm was steadily maintained and its private business increased. Its partners held important public appointments in connection with the County Court, the Board of Guardians, the Union (now District) Assessment Committee, the Brigg Justices, the Winterton (now Scunthorpe) Justices, the Commissioners of Taxes, the Commissioners of Sewers, the Ancholme Drainage Commissioners, and many other smaller bodies. Roslin, who had been admitted a solicitor in 1857, first practised independently, but ultimately joined the firm and, in time, succeeded to most of his father's appointments. Two other sons, Roland and Frank, also became lawyers and were articled at Brigg. The late Mr. Thomas Tombleson, an ex-chairman of the Brigg Board of Guardians, of which he was a member for over half a century, writing his reminiscences in 1915, alludes thus to John Hett: "Mr. Hett's health failed before he was an old man so I had not much of his company. I think of him as an able lawyer, friendly to those who worked with him and not easily provoked". Of Roslin he says: "Mr. Roslin Hett, his eldest son, was a man of different type, who might almost be called a bit of a taskmaster... I dare-say things may have grown lax during his father's illness, but we all soon felt the influence of his reforming hand..... the whole aspect of things improved, legislation worked in the same direction, and the ratepayers profited. No one owes more to Mr. Hett than I do. He was a sound legal adviser, if inclined to be impatient with dull pupils......".

Scunthorpe was only a small village in 1860. The Police Court was at Winterton, where the firm had a small branch office with one resident clerk, and where one of the partners attended Petty Sessions once a fortnight. Between the years 1870 and 1880 this office was transferred to Scunthorpe.

Of John's other sons, Henry and Geoffrey went in for medicine; Henry was in practice at Worksop as early as the time of young Louisa's funeral, and, to the younger members of the family, must have seemed more like an uncle than an elder brother when he returned home on that occasion. It was his mother's practice to keep a note-book, in which, somewhat at random, she jotted down the dates of important family events, extracts from letters, etc. With what delight she must have noted the birth at Worksop in 1861 of her first grandchild! This little girl, who was only six years younger than her youngest aunt, was followed by no fewer than eight boys—a fact that must have rejoiced her grandmother, who, all her life could not help being more interested in boys than in girls. Arthur, meantime, had gone to study in Dublin, where he made an unhappy marriage. Fortunately he had no children. Before long he fell a victim to the disease which had carried off young Louisa and Frederick, and, in the autumn of 1864 his mother hurried to Ireland, whence, with Geoffrey's help, she brought him home, but only to die two months later.

Family Life and Habits

Perhaps it was owing to these troubles, as well as to his own indifferent health, that John Hett became somewhat austere. His wife's nature, unlike his, was so resilient that she was able to retain her sunny outlook to the very end. John clung to the conventions of the past and was unwilling to adapt himself even in small matters. For instance he never allowed smoking in the house, and when his sons fell victims to the habit, they were obliged to seek the seclusion of the garden, or, after the household had gone to bed, of the kitchen. They never dreamed of opposing his wishes, but away from home allowed themselves far more licence, and Frank, in one of his holiday journals, frequently entered his daily smokes as "innumerable".

Despite his unbending character, we never get a hint that John's children entertained any feelings but those of the deepest love and respect for their father, while, in his public life, he secured the esteem and trust of people of all ranks. In church matters, he was a pronounced Evangelical, which led, unfortunately, to a good deal of friction, since his vicar, Mr. West, was a keen High-Churchman, and both John and he were ready to do battle for their convictions. In politics, John was a Liberal, following the lead of the Earl of Yarborough of that day. It is curious to note the alternating views of the family, for his father, old Canon Hett, had been a high Tory, and, later on, most of his sons became Conservatives. In all his activities John found a ready helper in Louisa. We can picture her listening sympathetically as he rehearses a speech he has prepared in favour of the abolition of pew-rents in Brigg church, or another, advocating missions in India. Again, we can see her walking out with him to superintend the planting of the elms opposite the station road, whereby he started a fashion that did much to improve the town. It was in 1867 that the earliest group of trees was planted and for the next seven years Frank's diaries are our chief source of information. They shew us the home-life at Brigg pursuing its tranquil course with the three young daughters still in the nursery or schoolroom, while the sons, already launched on the world or preparing to be so, are constantly going and coming.

Reminiscences of Brigg

Louisa's niece, Mrs. Johnstone, who at that time was little Annie Paterson, gives a pleasant sketch of those days in the little town. She notes that life was never "dull," despite the secluded nature of the town. She recalls the close touch maintained between the two houses on each side of the lane and her bond with Katie Hett. She remembers games in the Hett fields, sometimes joined by cousins like Oscar Hett, Johnnie and Teddie Nicholson, or Harry and Gibbie Vane. She describes vigorous childhood games: "One was to race one after another into the crew-yard, climb the pig-sty, and hurl oneself from the high wall into the field... Another was to mount the grey pony barebacked... oneself clinging to the mane and keeping on by hook or by crook". She mentions various characters of the town: Dr. Abbott, who dined with them on Christmas; Mr. Brocklesby, who would hook his stick round her ankles; and the Plough Jacks and stilt-walkers who visited the town. She also recalls the Cotterill family and their son 'Packey,' a wag who posed as an idiot to annoy "Aunt Hett".

The Sons' Careers and Travels

Louisa kept in touch with her sons as they moved away: the doctor at Worksop, Roland in Worcester, Charlie in Lancashire, and Geoffrey studying for his M.B. in Edinburgh. In 1867, Geoff and Frank undertook a walking tour in the Isle of Man and the Lake District. In October 1867, Geoff sailed to the Cape as medical officer on the S.S. Celt. In 1868, Frank went to London to finish his time as an Articled Clerk with Messrs. Coverdales of Bedford Row. He enjoyed the hospitality of families like the Gibbs, Littles, and Perrys, recording a "red letter day" of skating and dancing 22 dances at a party in Aylesbury. He also recounts a humorous incident at a Perry dance where his sister Fanny mistook a partner's name for "Satan" (it was Satow). In February 1868, Geoff and Roslin sailed to the Cape, and Willie started a trip to Uruguay. By August, Frank returned to Brigg to find Geoff home and the family hosting Miss Scott (Mary Scott), whom Geoff later married. At this time, a business rivalry between Dr. Paterson and Dr. Titley caused a temporary break in the long friendship between the Hett and Paterson families. In September, Roland and Frank visited Burlington (Bridlington) and joined Roslin and Geoff at Scarborough, where they stayed at the Grand Hotel. Frank was impressed by the semi-circular dining hall and the "foreign style" of dinner service with nine or ten courses. Their sister Sophie was at school in Scarborough at the time. In early 1869, John Hett received another presentation of plate from the North Lincolnshire Agricultural Society upon his resignation as Secretary. That same year, Frank watched Oxford win the boat race from Barnes Bridge. Roland expressed a desire to emigrate to Australia but fell seriously ill in Worcester shortly after. After his recovery, the four brothers—Roslin, Roland, Geoff, and Frank—set forth in August 1869 for a tour of the north of Scotland and the Orkneys.

In Canada (1870–1871)

In the sketch of the family fortunes between the years 1860 and 1870 presented in the last chapter, only slight reference has been made to Willie, the youngest of the Hett brothers. When they started on the Orkney trip, Frank relates that he and Willie went by train with the luggage to Barnetby (the railway junction near Brigg) where they waited a long weary hour in which they whiled away the time by imbibing shandy-gaff. At last the other members of the party arrived in a dog-cart. It was presumably Willie's lot to drive this conveyance home again after seeing his hilarious brothers off for their holiday, since there is no further mention of him in the account of the trip. Like Roland, he seems to have been unsettled, and, early in 1870, the two brothers set forth, resolved to try their fortunes overseas. Their cousin, Harry Fraser, was already in Canada, at a small place called Lakefield in Ontario, and Willie joined him there, while Roland went to stay with a Mr. Barnard who had a farm near the village of Sutton, and to whom he bore an introduction.

In 1836 a Scottish family of the name of Sibbald had emigrated to Canada and established themselves on the southern shores of Lake Simcoe, near Sutton. Here they built a beautiful home which they named Eildon Hall after their old property near the Eildon Hills in Roxburghshire. They laid out the grounds in the style of an English country residence and erected a small and picturesque church close at hand.¹ Roland Hett was taken by Mr. Barnard to call on Capt. Sibbald, and soon became a welcome guest at the Hall. Here, walking about the shrubberies, boating on Lake Simcoe, or worshipping in the little church, he saw, and learned to love Lettie Sibbald, and doubtless it was to her and her family that he instinctively turned for sympathy when he received the grievous news of his brother's death by drowning. This occurred on the Good Friday of the year they arrived in Canada when Willie had gone out on the Otonabee River with his cousin, in a canoe which overturned at Douglas Point. Harry Fraser alone was saved. Willie was buried at Lakefield.

In October of the same year, Roland became engaged to Lettie Sibbald and stayed constantly at the Hall during the succeeding winter. Then work as a barrister was offered him in British Columbia and he went to Victoria in the spring of 1871. It was five long years before he returned. Tom, Capt. Sibbald's younger son, had been in England since 1866, first at the Royal Naval School at New Cross and then studying medicine at Kings College. He was invited to Brigg and it was probably during a visit he paid there in the summer of 1873 that a well-known photograph of the family was taken in the garden of the house in the Market Place. It was John Hett's last year in the old home, and, as we look at the faded yellow print and see him leaning back in his chair, his thin legs crossed, and his anxious eyes gazing out of the picture—it is obvious that he is a man whose days of activity are drawing to an end. Louisa sits placidly beside him, her garden hat is laid carelessly on her lap, and her air of restrained but ever-present energy is in characteristic contrast to her husband's mien. Beside her sits Roslin, immaculate as to dress, and caressing the inevitable dog. Sophie is at his feet. Behind his father, Geoffrey, with a foot on the end of the seat, makes a perch for Harry, Henry's eldest boy, who has his Aunt Fanny beside him. Tom Sibbald himself comes next and then "Mother Tattums," as Katie, the baby of the family, was called. Frank, a tall, thin young fellow, rests his arm affectionately on her shoulder. The figure at the end is possibly Charlie, but more probably Oscar Hett, a cousin. The lady next to Roslin is a guest. Doubtless this photograph was despatched both to Victoria and to Eildon Hall, where we can picture Lettie anxiously scanning the faces of her future relatives. She was soon to see one of them in the flesh.

In the spring of 1874 Tom Sibbald returned home, and Frank, who had been marking time since he passed his final and was still vague as to his future, went with him. He kept a special journal all the time he was away, and noted down some of his experiences, not always those we should most like to hear about, in considerable detail. The young men sailed in the S.S. Java, Cunard Line, from Liverpool, on April 28th, Frank paying £31 10s. od. for his return ticket, this being the cheapest possible fare short of going steerage. The Java carried only first class and steerage passengers and there was none of the luxury of a modern liner. There were about three hundred emigrants and but twenty saloon passengers who were expected to find their own amusements. Frank wrote, "It is bitterly cold, the consequence of which is that most of our time has been spent in the 'fiddler,' so called from the fact that when there was first great competition between the Atlantic Steamship lines, a fiddler was carried gratis and this was the room in which he performed."¹ This precursor of the ship's band was now no more, but the party of young men on board seem to have done very well without him. They made their own music by the help of Tom's penny whistle and "a man named Hall, who played the bones." On cold days they executed Frog Dances and Highland Flings, while on warm moonlight nights they sat on deck and sang a newly-invented ditty, "The good ship Java goes sailing on her way" to the tune of "Tom Brown's Body."² The Java, though a steamer, also carried sail. "There are three masts to the Java. The foremast carries a foresail, fore topsail, and fore top gallant sail also a trisail and gaff top sail. The main mast has no yards for a mainsail but carries a trisail and gaff top sail, also a topsail and top gallant sail. The Mizzen mast carries a trisail and gaff top sail. She has no yards for Royals but I understand they can be put on if necessary."

One smiles at the idea of the crew of a modern Cunarder attempting to ship Royal Yards and set their sails, but in the 70's the days of sail were not nearly over and Frank records the passing of numerous sailing vessels, chiefly barque-rigged, one of them seen by full moon being a specially beautiful sight. Few people can be wholly indifferent to the changing glories of sea and sky as seen on their first voyage, and Frank was very much the reverse. He wrote at length, describing the wonderful cloud-effects and the impressiveness of ice-bergs seen at close quarters, embellishing his diary with little sketches of a particularly magnificent one which they passed within half a mile. Tom, with true Sibbald affability, made great headway with the few lady passengers who ventured on deck, and, one day, Frank was particularly requested to put down that the Captain's niece had appeared for the first time and was "awfully jolly"—these two words being then the very latest and smartest of appreciative slang. Later on, there was great flirting between Mr. Sibbald and a Miss Ager. Two other lady passengers are sketched for us as "an American lady and her daughter, who, when they appear on deck, do so in the most ridiculous costumes—large ulsters of light colours being favourites." Another American passenger pleased Frank better as he had "none of what we English call yankeeism about him but is a quiet, sensible intelligent man."

Ten days after leaving Liverpool, the "Jumping Java," as she was nick-named, reached Sandy Hook, and the following day the travellers were in New York, where they put up at the Astor House. This hotel seems to have impressed them on account of its large dining-room which was set out with small tables—then quite a novelty. As is usual in a new country, it was the little things they saw which struck them most, such as small houses built in the trees for sparrows, the beauty of the children playing in Central Park and the extravagance but taste of their dresses. We are accustomed to think of cocktails as a post-war drink, but three of Frank's companions had "gin cocktails" before going to the theatre that evening, while he himself had a "claret punch." Frank and Tom stayed only two days in New York and then went via Syracuse and Rochester to Clifton, where Frank stayed in order to see the Falls of Niagara, while Tom went home. A whole day was given up to seeing the falls, of which he wrote a long description, and then Frank went on to Toronto and the Queen's Hotel. From here he made a special expedition to Lakefield of which it is best to tell in his own words.

"Left for Port Hope at 12.7 arriving there after a tedious but pleasant ride along the northern shore of Lake Ontario, at a few minutes after five, and just in time to see the train for Lakefield steam away. No hope for it but to stay in Port Hope for the night, so went to the Queen's and had what they call supper, but what I should call a meat tea, at 6 o'clock. Walked round Port Hope afterwards and down to the pier where the lake boat "Corinthian" came up and discharged some cargo and took other on board. A most unwieldly-looking boat and one that I should not like to trust myself in with much sea on—at the same time a very luxurious one in fine weather. Port Hope is very prettily situated on rising ground on the north shore of Lake Ontario and has a considerable lumbering trade. Went to bed in the dark about 10 o'clock. Friday 5th May 1874. Went to Lakefield at 9.45 arriving there about ½ past 12. Saw Mr. Clementi at a station a short distance off, who introduced himself as the former clergyman at Lakefield and the one who buried Willie. Travelled with a Mrs. Nicholls from there to Lakefield who also knew Willie well, and at whose house he was a few nights before the accident. Arriving at Lakefield, went up into the village, where I found Harry Fraser—a most extraordinary alteration since I saw him. He is now a big, broad, strong-looking fellow and dressed in high jack-boots with the trousers inside, they being supported by a strap round his waist, rather different from the neat little boy I recollect him when at Broughton in 1866 or 7—a pipe nearly always in his mouth. He shewed me the way to the Everests,¹ where I introduced myself and had a warm welcome, but they could not offer me a bed as they are at present living in a very small wooden house and literally have not a spare one . . . . . . Everest and I went to the old church-yard where he shewed me Will's grave and where I hung the wreath mother had sent from England. It was a very melancholy duty. The wreath looked very pretty when hung up. . . . . . . Lakefield is a curious place and surrounded by old stumps, a great number of them charred. This is quite a feature in the landscape. The river and lake are very pretty but it is too early in the year to really see the beauties of the place and I must go there again before my return. . . . . . . Tea with Harry. Gathered leaves and grass from the grave. Back to the Everests."

Frank naturally sent a long account of his visit to Lakefield to his mother, and, writing of Willie and his friends there, he said "He seems to have been an universal favourite and they spoke most feelingly about him." He also wrote to Mr. Fraser telling him about his son Harry. In his diary, he mentions having a long talk with Harry, doubtless about his future prospects, and from his account book we gather that he made him a gift of £5.² The following day Frank returned to Toronto and, after a few more days spent in sightseeing, went to stay with the Sibbalds. He started at 7 a.m. for Newmarket and went thence by stage to Sutton, where Tom met him with the buggy. He spent what he calls "a three weeks never to be forgotten" under the hospitable roof of Eildon Hall and, reading between the lines, one suspects that he temporarily lost his heart to Georgie Sibbald, the youngest daughter. "The family consists, he writes, of Captain and Mrs. Sibbald; Minnie, who is abroad, and, I believe, very clever; Susie, who is married to Everest; Lettie, who is engaged to Roland; Willie, travelling abroad with his uncle Frank; Fanny, engaged to Paget; Tom; and Georgie." Frank loved the simple colonial life, and wrote to Roslin—"The Canadians in the country have none of the luxuries of the English, and, although the Hall is a beautiful place, they live very plainly, breakfast—light, dinner—12, tea—at 6, and nothing but whisky and water, or cake and biscuits, afterwards. I fancy Master Tommy will begin to find it rather slow after a time and will want to hurry back to London sooner than I shall." To his mother he wrote, "I think Lettie a charming girl. Mrs. Sibbald is delightful, and the Captain a very shrewd man with a great deal of information, which he is always ready to impart. In white trousers, garibaldi blouse and Ashantee hat he spends the most of his time in gardening and in attending to the orchard, bees, etc."

Unfortunately for those of us who would like a detailed account of this visit Frank seems to have been so absorbed in enjoying himself that he gave next to no time to his journal, merely recording that their principal amusements were boating on the lake, chess, whist, music and singing. Tom and Georgie were the chief musicians, and "delightful Sunday evenings, singing hymns in the music-room" are fondly recalled. There was but one drawback to that otherwise blissful time—the discomfort occasioned by a bad sore throat and swollen hands and feet from "musquitoe" bites. On the final morning of his stay, he took Georgie out in the boat, and was disgusted when he found that the last evening had to be spent at Canon Ritchie's house. Frank was apparently anxious to learn something as to his brother Roland's position and prospects, of which his people in England knew very little. He hoped to hear news from the Sibbalds, but, in writing to Roslin, he remarks that they knew no more than he did. Lettie, he observed, seemed ready and eager to share Roland's fortunes at any time that he might choose and of whatever kind they were, but Roland—in Frank's view—was a little neglectful! This seeming carelessness was doubtless due to Roland's great reserve in expressing himself, so that, even when Lettie heard from him, she would throw the missive on the table in disgust, exclaiming—"anybody can read this!"

Frank was soon to have a better opportunity of satisfying himself as to how things fared with his brother, for he now set about the long journey to British Columbia. The Canadian Pacific Railway was not yet in being, and he was thus obliged to return to the States and cross the continent by the Union and Central Pacific Railroad. He started from Chicago and went via Omaha and Ogden, then across great stretches of desert, till at last the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada were seen in the distance. The watershed crossed, they dropped down to the fertile Californian plain "where corn goes by the mile, not acre, and where the first crop was in and in some places I saw a second voluntary crop being cut." This long overland journey, which lasted seven days, tired the traveller a good deal and he did not feel well during the whole of the passage from San Francisco to Victoria, which was undertaken in a top-heavy-looking relief boat. The regular boat had been wrecked the previous week, so it was no wonder that Frank and his companion, a man named Knox, looked somewhat askance at her substitute. However, they agreed to risk it and ultimately arrived though they took five instead of three-and-a half days to make the passage, owing to a strong head wind which obliged them to turn and run before it. No wonder that Frank ends his account of it with the words "Very glad when we landed in Victoria and saw old Rol."

Roland, of course, was on the wharf to meet him, and it must have been a disappointment to him to find his brother so far from well. Frank had poisoned his leg and for the first week was quite an invalid. As soon as he improved Roland drove him out to a public house six miles away in the country, familiarly known as "Steves," where he arranged to stay. Here he remained till nearly the end of July and soon completely recovered. He spent the time chiefly in boating and fishing, sometimes walking into Victoria, whence Roland would drive him back and stay to dinner, or, if it were Saturday, would remain to spend a happy Sunday with his brother. Roland's office was in Bastion Street, but it was possibly not the same spot as Frank described in a letter to his mother—"Rol lives in a small wooden cottage containing sitting room, bedroom and little kitchen. He does not live (i.e. feed) there. It costs 7 a month for rent and 5 to the nigger who makes his bed. You would be astonished to see the queer little wooden houses here and in Canada, but a man in the colonies does not appear to be judged by the sort of house he lives in." Roland's business was increasing. He was a Notary Public and Commissioner of Oaths besides being Clerk to the House of Provincial Legislature. He was also Secretary to the Cemetery Board and the Mechanics' Institute. Thus Frank found him with every prospect of a successful career, but naturally, he was fully occupied and unable to spend very much time with his brother. He therefore introduced him to various friends so that he had no lack of companionship.

Presently he set out on a six days' shooting and fishing trip on Vancouver Island with William Ward, the Manager of the Bank of British Columbia, and Bulkeley, the owner of the Harewood coal mine at Nanaimo. After a short stay at the last named place they started up the river in a canoe paddled by two Indians. Frank thus describes their first evening. "At 6.30 and after a very pleasant paddle, the evening being fine and warm, arrived at the camping ground, about 6 miles off, at dusk. Put up tent which Bulkeley had brought with him. Cooked beef-steak and boiled potatoes and had muck-a-muck and a pipe and turned in about 11. The first night I ever camped out and slept on the ground." Besides going up the Nanaimo River, they visited the Harewood and Wellington Mines, and explored bays and creeks on various small neighbouring islands. Returning to Victoria, there was a short trip to Seattle with Roland, and then Frank went on another camping-out expedition. Apparently the first trip had aroused a desire for a closer acquaintance with the wild, for they started again from Nanaimo and were away for ten days, this time without even a tent. The supply of fish and game seems to have been plentiful, Frank mentioning deer, ducks (mallard and teal), grouse, blue grouse, snipe, herons, sawbills, crane, salmon, trout and dory. Back in Victoria, he made an expedition to Ross Bay Cemetery and Mount Tolmie, whence, he says: "he had one of the finest views he had yet seen." "Victoria lay beneath us surrounded by farms, the harvest being in progress, and beyond Victoria, the harbour, the Straits and the Olympian Range. On another side, across the Straits of Georgia, loomed up Mount Baker in all its snow-capped magnificence and the Cascade Range running to the north and west for about a hundred miles, in many places snow-capped. On turning again, we faced Cedar Hill, the Sannich Arm and the mountains in the interior of the island."

He remained in Victoria till the middle of September with the exception of a short trip to New Westminster and up the Fraser River to Yale. Then, on the 17th he and Roland left for San Francisco, going via Tacoma and Portland, and enjoying lovely scenery on the way. About a week was spent in sightseeing in and around the city where Roland made Frank the parting gift of a revolver. Frank then set his face in a homeward direction and journeyed east once more, visiting Salt Lake City on his way to Chicago. Roland returned to Victoria. No doubt the brothers were full of plans for a happy re-union, Frank toying with the idea of a return to take up work in British Columbia and Roland promising himself a visit home so soon as he should have married Lettie and made his fortune. Alas, it was not to be. Frank returned to Eildon Hall, where he spent three more happy weeks, and then, on November 17th, embarked at New York, laden with curios and souvenirs.¹ On Friday, November 27th, 1874, the traveller landed at Liverpool.

Ladbroke Gardens I (1874–1878)

NOVEMBER 28th, 1874. "Arrived off the bar at Liverpool this morning, landing at the wharf at 2 p.m. Went to London, arriving at 27 Ladbroke Gardens, father's new house, at 11.30 p.m. Did not see Father and Mother but Fanny and Sophy were up. Roslin was also in town. After supper smoked a pipe at Geoff's. Slept at Geoff's." Thus Frank, after his Canadian trip, resumes his ordinary journal. This is the first mention of the new home to which, during Frank's absence, John Hett had removed, and where he was now permanently settled. For almost a quarter of a century this house was to be Louisa's home and a gathering place for all the scattered members of the family. It was built after the usual style of town houses of that period, having a basement surmounted by many storeys, each comprising no more than three rooms at most. On the first floor was the large dining-room, with its long table and massive furniture, and with a small morning-room adjoining. The second floor had only the drawing-room, a beautiful L-shaped apartment, which could, if necessary, be divided into two by folding doors. With the third floor, began the bedrooms, which continued upwards in decorous sequence, beginning with those appropriated to the heads of the household, proceeding to those allotted to their guests, their children and, finally, their servants. The whole was efficiently kept in order by an adequate staff of maid-servants, who seemed to take the many flights of stairs as a matter of course. The best rooms looked out on the gardens at the back of the house, into which relays of grandchildren were periodically turned to amuse themselves.

Frank gives a pleasant picture of the winter that followed his return from Canada. We see John and Louisa, with their three daughters, comfortably settled in the new home, Geoff in practice near at hand, Roslin constantly making flying visits to town, and Henry and Charlie occasional ones, while Frank himself makes his home at Ladbroke Gardens and begins to work in London. The holidays are enlivened by the presence of three of the children from Worksop—Louie, Harry and Roly, and Frank is in his element taking them to see the Zoo, the Crystal Palace, the British Museum and Maskelyne and Cooks, frequently accompanied by the three young aunts and sometimes by two schoolboy cousins, Ramsay and Austen Gibb. One day there is an evening party, and Janie Turnbull, a school friend of Fanny's is there. An extract from her reminiscences will explain how she came to be invited:

"I was a little girl of ten when Fanny Hett went to a school in Upper Norwood. She was kind to me, a junior pupil, and I fell in love with her and was allowed to call her Frank—which she said was the name of a favourite brother. She told me about her home in Lincolnshire, and about her many brothers, and said I must some day visit them. The thought of meeting so many young men and of being teased by them filled me with dread. After all, I was never really invited to Brigg, but after she left school Fanny came to stay with my mother in Scarborough—and I adored her more than ever and even now have a vision of her lithe figure and springing step on the Spa promenade. Sophie, whom her brothers affectionately called 'Tubby,' also came to Scarborough, but I never adored her, and do not think she took much notice of me. I remember hearing of Willie Hett's death from drowning, and being greatly affected on account of Fanny—and struggling hard to write her an appropriate letter. In the year 1875 I was visiting friends in London. By that time the Hetts had left Brigg and were living at 27 Ladbroke Gardens. They kindly invited me and the friend I was staying with to a dance. It was a blissful evening for me—I was just grown up and loved dancing and all sorts of gaiety. Fanny introduced the three brothers who were there, Roslin, Geoff and Frank, and we had plenty of dancing and great fun over supper. I think it was on this occasion that Roslin said to Frank 'If I were young like you I would go in for the little girl with the moustache' (meaning me). An entry in an old pocket-book of Frank's mentions this dance and records 'Janie Turnbull there. Determined to think no more about her.'"

That same night a sad thing happened—John Hett had a serious fainting fit which proved to be the first of many others. Luckily Geoff and his life-long friend, Dr. Seccombe, were there, and able to go to his assistance. The summer of that year brought the news of Roland's marriage to Lettie Sibbald and this seemed to set a fashion amongst the brothers, for Geoff followed suit with Mary Scott in 1876 and Frank with Janie Turnbull in 1877. Janie says:

"I can't recall that Fanny's handsome brothers made any special individual impression on me at their dance, but the following winter I was invited to stay with the Hetts, and I got to know them much better, for Frank was at home, Geoffrey lived quite near and came almost every day to see his invalid father, and Roslin came up from Brigg on a visit. Roslin, who was short, but very good looking, and exceedingly well-groomed, was very much the elder brother. Geoffrey was tall and also very good looking. Later on, Frank used to allege I had been much impressed by Geoff at the dance and had eyes for no one else. I can't myself remember this, but in any case, Geoff had no thought, I am sure, for anyone but Mary Scott. Frank, too, was tall, but thin and delicate looking, very given to clearing his throat and addicted to a muffler! He had just returned from a trip to Canada and the States and was acting as managing clerk to Mr. Harwood, a solicitor. In the evenings he used to amuse me by shewing his book of photos and telling me about his various experiences. I have no clear recollection of Katie at this time. She was the baby of the family, very gentle and self-effacing and the pet of her brothers and sisters. I never saw Mr. Hett, who was entirely confined to his room, and Mrs. Hett spent almost all her time with him, so I scarcely knew her. Charlie remained in Brigg so was then an unknown quantity. My next meeting with any of the Hett family was in September 1876—when Fanny, Sophie and Frank came to Scarborough—and after one or two excursions together Frank utterly took me by surprise by asking me to marry him. It was a Sunday and I can see him so distinctly dressed in the fashion of the day, in a beautifully-fitting London-made frock coat, with top hat and lavender kid gloves, all complete. I was so taken aback that nothing was settled, but, in this matter, as in many others, Frank stuck to the family motto 'Persevere' and married me in September 1877. Roslin took the place of his father at our wedding, Fanny and Sophie were bridesmaids, and Charlie was one of the four groomsmen. From that day I became one of the family."

A year before this, the welcome news of the birth of Roland's first child, Sibbald, had reached Ladbroke Gardens, and the arrival of this young Canadian seemed to usher in a new generation of grand-children, Henry's family (with the exception of Freda) being all so much older than their cousins that they seemed almost to belong to the previous one. A grievous blow was now to fall upon this family, for while Frank and Janie were on their wedding trip, Henry died suddenly. The honeymoon couple hurried home from Paris and Frank left Janie at Ladbroke Gardens while he and his brothers attended the funeral at Worksop. Henry's second wife, Winnie, was left with small means to bring up her five step-children and her own small daughter. She faced the task bravely and after a short time moved to Brigg where she lived first in a small house in Albert Street, and later in Grammar School Road. This was in order that the children might be near their Uncle Charles who was one of their guardians.

Shortly before his marriage, Frank had been taken into partnership at Brigg, and it was to a house named St. Helens on the Wrawby Road, about a mile from the town, that he brought his bride. We find Louisa writing to Janie and saying how glad she is that the first sight of her "little domain" had been so favourable and that the domestics promised well. Meanwhile Janie, fresh from fashionable Scarborough, and full of energy and joie-de-vivre was being introduced to the unaccustomed and rather stiff society of a small country town. Describing her brothers-in-law she says:

"Roslin was living in the old family house in Brigg Market Place and Charlie lived with him. In those days, after formal calls had been exchanged, everyone used to give dinner parties in honour of a bride and bridegroom. We went to many, and I fear I must have sometimes transgressed as regards etiquette for I can remember Roslin saying to Frank 'Janie should have made the first move to leave.' He used to lend us his smart dogcart in which to return distant calls. He also took great interest in my dress, noticing if it were becoming or new with far more discrimination than Frank who only had a general idea as to whether I looked my best or not. Roslin's house was always very well-run under the auspices of his old housekeeper, Mrs. Briggs. Many were the cheery little dinner parties and dances he gave, to which we, and any visitors we had, were usually invited. Charlie always took the end of the table. He was a very silent man—quite different from the others—when he spoke it was usually emphatically to the point, sometimes embarrassingly so!"

While Frank and Janie were thus settling into their new home, Louisa, assisted, by her eldest daughter, was in constant attendance on her husband, who, though he rallied from time to time, was steadily growing weaker. Writing to Frank five months after Henry's death on paper with a quarter of an inch of mourning border, Louisa says: "Father has rallied so considerably that my immediate apprehension about him is removed" and she even goes on to discuss the possibility of her paying a visit to Brigg and mentions playfully that "a literary fever has seized your sisters and they have joined some new classes for the higher education of women. Sophy has gone in for Latin, Fanny for French." Towards the end of 1878 however, it became apparent to all that Louisa must brace herself to meet another bereavement. She wrote very calmly to her sons in Lincolnshire telling them of their father's condition and warning them of the near approach of the end, but she did not summon them. Geoffrey was at hand and was of invaluable assistance to his mother and, as she said in a letter to Frank after the funeral was over, "Your dear Father's state had often been so precarious that I thought it best not to send for any of you, particularly as he was so often unconscious." She went on to give her son details of his Father's peaceful passing: "Yet there were bright intervals . . . . towards the last there was a murmured blessing with fond look at me, and the name of his Saviour with 'God, grant me thy salvation.'"

The mortal remains of John Hett were taken to Brigg and laid beside those of his children in the family vault. Four of his sons and many Nicholson cousins followed in the funeral procession as well as friends and acquaintances and representatives of public bodies. His widow, daughters and daughters-in-law were not present, for it was then an almost unheard-of thing for women to attend funerals. Become now head of the family in name as she had long been in fact, Louisa, with her usual vigour and courage, very soon took up the threads of life again and encouraged her girls to do the same. Though her notepaper now bore a black edge half-an-inch in thickness, she was far from being prostrated in the manner so customary in Victorian times. Almost as though in apology for this she wrote to Janie on Dec. 1st:

"My dear Janie. Thanks for your loving words and affectionate sympathy. The girls send best love and Fanny will write to you when she recovers a little her composure and spirits, she was a diligent and attentive nurse and has not quick rallying powers. I sometimes think I have been trained in the school of many a terrible and heartfelt bereavement to bear God's will with resignation and the care and thought for others helps to divert and soothe my present loneliness in losing the much-loved companion of nearly half a century. Excuse more. It will be so nice to have you and dear Frank here (she was expecting them for Christmas). With maternal solicitude for you all, believe me, Your ever-affectionate Mother, Louisa Hett.

So Frank and Janie went to Ladbroke Gardens for Christmas. Ordinary life was beginning again, and the house which from the very first had been the rallying-point of the family was to become so more than ever, was, in fact, to be the London hotel of each and every member.

Ladbroke Gardens II (1879–1898)

In the history of the British Empire, the end of the nineteenth century was a time of expansion and growth, as well as of unexampled prosperity. Against the brilliant background of its last two decades we are now to watch the Hett family as it, too, grew and expanded, though it cannot be said always to have prospered. This may have been due to the premature deaths of so many of the sons of John and Louisa, whereby their children were early left to face life on small means, and consequently to be the cause of much care and anxiety to their grandmother and her remaining children.

For the years immediately preceding the move to London, Frank's diary has been our principal source of information, but, after his marriage, his journals ceased, and he confined himself to small pocket-books in which he jotted down his business engagements with rare allusions to family events. How laconic these were may be gauged from the fact that he alluded to an event presumably of interest to him in two words only—"Marjorie born." It is to his sisters Fanny and Katie, and especially the former, that we must now turn for exact information.

Fanny Hett's diary, which she kept from 1882 till her death in the spring of 1930 is a wonderful summary of events in the family. Scattered as its members were, it was no mean feat to focus their activities and to leave such a clear picture of the doings of so many different people. Probably the writer had no definite plan, rather she wrote spontaneously of the things and people she cared most about and of whom, owing to her position at the family centre, she had the best opportunity of knowledge. Very rarely do her own feelings appear in the short, simple entries. When occasionally allowed to do so they reveal a deep love of family and country.

We shall now attempt to give a sketch of the family as it was while the last twenty years of the nineteenth century went vividly by. The picture will be a varied and changeable one, given in the merest outline, often, indeed, with whole contours left out, and devoid of the light and shade that really played across it; the time is still too close for details, the passing of many of its figures too recent to allow of intimacy. During the whole of this time the hospitable doors of 27 Ladbroke Gardens never ceased to open and close on the arriving and departing forms of Hetts, Nicholsons, Patersons, Gibbs, Frasers, Titleys and many other connections and friends.

One of the first figures to flit across the stage, and on whom we see the door close, is Roland, Henry Hett's second son, an affectionate, highly strung lad, going out to seek his fortune in Australia. It has been arranged that the Flowers brothers, scions of a well known Lincolnshire family, and now "squatting" in Queensland, shall receive him. Katie Hett writes: "Pan, Harry and I saw dear old Rolf off from the docks. He sailed for Australia 7th June (1881) in the 'Western Monarch.'" Soon afterwards, his sister Louie departs for Germany. This is the first of several trips abroad, where she develops her proficiency in languages, coming back later to exercise her great gifts of teaching, first on her small cousins, Geoffrey's children, and later still on many others. Her two younger brothers, Oscar and Reggie, we find still at school at Epsom College and constantly spending their holidays at Ladbroke Gardens, but soon they too go out into the world, Oscar following Roland to Australia, and Reggie beginning work as a clerk at Messrs. Holt, Lawrie & Co's Bank, where he was to remain in positions of increasing responsibility until his retirement in 1932.

We see the connection with Hetts of the older generation faithfully kept up. "Aunt Lizzie" with whom, as the pretty youngest child of old Canon Hett, we are already acquainted, and whose marriage to the Rev. John Kent was so carefully arranged, now lives in London as a widow. First she keeps house for her bachelor nephew, Geoffrey, and later, lives in Ledbury Road with him and his young wife, till on Oct. 29th, 1888, "dear Aunt Lizzie passed away, aged 82." Communication is also maintained with the Beatty-Pownalls, children of her elder sister, Catherine. There is an occasional glimpse of a "Kitty Hett," doubtless the second daughter of John's older brother William Kaye, the curate of Washingborough, long since dead. On one of her visits she and Katie watch from seats in St. James St. the wedding procession of the Duke and Duchess of York (now King George V and Queen Mary). Her elder sister, Marion, pays the first of many visits when she comes to stay "after being in New Zealand and California for twenty years." Nellie and Annie Paterson also, two of "the old four" are frequent guests; but there are no more Patersons in Brigg. All are scattered, and a stained-glass window in the north wall of the church there commemorates the beloved "old doctor" and his wife.

Roslin is, of course, a constant visitor to his mother's house, often coming on his way to or from the continent, where his increasing delicacy obliges him to winter. One year, the doctors send him to Egypt—another to the Riviera. Thence in 1884 comes news that he has met and is engaged to Constance Grundy. His sisters go out to join him there and that summer the wedding takes place at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate. Frank and Janie, Charlie and Harry are all at the ceremony. Harry, indeed, is now living at No. 27 and studying for his final law examination which he passes in November. As one reads the entries, many of them constantly recurring, such as "Charlie came up." "Frank came up on business," "Gertie Titley came from school for her exeat," "Tom Sibbald came to stay with us," "May came to stay," "Aunt Sarah came back to us," "Walter went home," "Robin came to stay"; one is amazed at the frequency and ease with which in those days people of moderate means must have entertained. Nowadays, in London especially, guests are invited to stay for a day or two at most. More often they are expected to put up at an hotel and, if entertained to a meal, it is often in a restaurant, but, as we have seen, the door of Louisa Hett's quiet house was ever on the swing to admit visitors, and we read that on one June day in the year of Roslin's marriage, no fewer than eighty guests passed through it for an "At home."

Busy as all this must have made Louisa and her lieutenants, we yet see them leaving home constantly. The three sisters are to be found paying visits of long duration both to relatives and friends, especially in summer. There are also occasional trips abroad, while Fanny, and sometimes Katie, join Frank and Janie for adventurous walking and climbing tours in Yorkshire, Wales and the Lake District. Mrs. Hett also, accompanied by one or sometimes two of her daughters, goes to stay with relatives, or else takes rooms at some health resort, or noted beauty spot. She rarely goes to an hotel, that being left to the younger and gayer members of the family, such as Fanny, who, before Roslin's marriage, goes with him to the Exeter Park at Bournemouth till, finding it too quiet, they move to the Royal Bath!

Then there are plays and concerts to attend, and many of the celebrities of the time to see and listen to. Once, in Buxton, Fanny hears "Mark Hambourg, Russian child pianist of ten, play. He was startled by a great noise of scenery falling and could not recover the shock. Broke down three times, but is a wonderful boy, playing with great taste and delicacy of touch. Beethoven, Chopin, Schumann, etc., in programme."

All through these years there is no slackening of ties with the brother who had chosen to make his home in Canada. Year by year comes news of the arrival of a new grandson or granddaughter, while 1882, in particular, is marked by the proud tidings that Roland has been made Attorney-General of British Columbia. From time to time visitors from overseas, bearing news of the little family are made welcome at Ladbroke Gardens. In 1883, "Mrs. Richards, wife of the ex-governor of Victoria, friends of Roland and Lettie, came to luncheon." In 1886 the Everests arrive, Mr. Everest having left Canada and accepted a charge at Teynham in Kent. Later the same year there is a visit from "Miss Sibbald" who is doubtless the "Minnie, who is abroad, and, I believe, very clever" of Frank's Canadian journal.

But it is not on the English side alone that travellers are welcome. On July 23rd of the same year Harry Hett sails from Liverpool in the Peruvian and, on arrival in Canada, goes to stay at Eldon Hall before going on to British Columbia, where he remains with his uncle till 1889. In the course of these three years Lettie herself actually finds time and opportunity to leave her husband and young family and come to England. She arrives in June 1887 and, naturally, goes straight to Ladbroke Gardens. What a June that is! It is the year of the first Jubilee. The conscientious Frank feels it incumbent on him to be at Wrawby for the local celebrations, but Janie has persuaded him to spend the previous week in London. They arrive at No. 27 on the 2nd, Roslin comes up on the 3rd, and the following day the gentlemen attend the Incorporated Law Societies' dinner. On the 7th is a grand ball, at which Frank and Janie, Katie and Reggie, make four out of the two thousand enthusiastic guests. Scarcely is this excitement over and the house settled into its accustomed ways again, than there is Lettie to meet at Euston, and two days later the Jubilee Procession takes place and is watched from two-guinea seats in Piccadilly by a large party of Hetts and Gibbs. In the evening, the Hett sisters, unlike their Nicholson Aunts in 1837, unhesitatingly mount an omnibus and sally forth with nephew and cousins to enjoy the illuminations. Lettie does not take part in this dissipation. Far from well when she arrived in England, she is now supposed to rest and renew her strength. Her relatives vie with one another in trying to induce her to recline on sofas and lead a quiet life, but her vivacious Sibbald temperament rebels. She is interested in everyone and everything and is always found laughing and talking, the centre of an eager group, so that she becomes known as "Mrs. Irrepressible." Her time is divided between Ladbroke Gardens, Teynham and St. Helens, till she returns home in the spring of '88.

So the family continue to come and go, and gradually the younger members come more to the fore. In '89 Harry returns from British Columbia and goes as managing clerk to the office at Brigg. Geoffrey's children are growing fast and are constantly in and out of their grandmother's house. If their parents go away for a holiday, they are willingly welcomed at No. 27, or, if one of them develops the mumps, the others find ready asylum there, while it is not only in their own home that there is rejoicing when Robin passes the London Matric., or when Walter wins a scholarship to St. Paul's. Meantime, we see their father working in Bayswater, a keen and able doctor, adored by his patients, especially those of the poorer sort. Public opinion is waking up and beginning to desire that medical facilities shall be within the reach of all and Geoffrey is one of the pioneers. For a time he does good service as honorary secretary to the Royal Medical Benevolent College, while for very many years he is an officer of the Westbourne Provident Dispensary. Full of activity, he rows and swims, walks long distances, and plays games, with the same eager interest that he brings to bear on his work. Even in winter he seldom misses his morning dip in the Serpentine!

In January of 1890 appears a sinister entry—the first mention of influenza. There are no details and the diary soon passes to more interesting matters including a mention of the opening of the Forth Bridge by the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) on March 4th. The winter of 1891 is exceptional. Fanny writes: "The severest winter since 1813-14. Skating on the Serpentine by day and torch-light. Large blocks of ice on the Thames at Westminster. Steamboats not running for three weeks."

Then, in the spring, begins a dreadful time. The scourge has come back, and Katie soon falls a victim. As soon as she is well enough, Mrs. Hett and her daughters go to Bath, and there they receive the news that Roland, after five days' illness, has died in Victoria from pneumonia following influenza. The very day that this news is confirmed comes word from London that Geoff has fallen ill with the same complaint, and a day or two later that his wife has followed suit. So serious is Geoff's state that his mother and sisters return home, and a nurse is engaged. This is on May 15th. On the 16th they get news that Frank, too, is ill. The 17th is Whitsunday and is marked by hail, rain and snow. Not till the 22nd is Geoff said to be showing improvement and Mary so much better that the nurse leaves after a fortnight's anxious nursing.

Meantime, the harrowing details of Roland's death have been arriving from Canada and those in England have read of his funeral procession as it set forth from Christ Church Cathedral, headed by the Bishop, with the two eldest lads walking as chief mourners behind the wreath-laden coffin, followed by members of the Legislative Assembly and the Law Society. They have hardly dared to let their thoughts dwell on the distraught and desolate Lettie. In June, they hear that her brother, William Sibbald, has fetched her and her seven children to Eildon, and in July, Frank, now their guardian, makes a hurried journey to Ladbroke Gardens in order to meet Mrs. Everest, who stays there for one night on her way to her sister in Canada. The motherly heart of Louisa goes out in sympathy with her daughter-in-law, and perhaps she herself composed the simple verses found in her note-book under the date of June 21st, 1891, and which doubtless refer to Lettie.

In deep sorrow and loneliness I must suffer and bear my pain,
No father my baby to bless No husband to cheer me again.

Though joy has gone out of my life, May our heavenly Father above
Guard the orphan and widowed wife With His pitying, tender love.

On October 19th, 1891, Lettie's youngest child is born at Eildon Hall and receives the names of John Roland. The winter of 1891-2 sees yet a worse visitation of influenza. The young Duke of Clarence dies of it, and special prayers are offered in the churches because of it. In February the epidemic dies away as suddenly as it has come. Francis, Roland's second son, comes to England and is sent to school by his grandmother. He makes his home with her and with his uncle at St. Helens.

It is in this year that the restless spirit of "Aunt Vane" returns (surely for the last time) to disturb and aggravate her family. Her grandson, Lord Barnard, is forced to defend his right to the Barony, since doubt has been cast on the legitimacy of Henry Morgan Vane, "Aunt Vane's" son and his father. Louisa Hett and Mr. Freer are the only ones living who remember those long-ago days when "Aunt Vane" was young and reckless, and, since Louisa is now too old to attend the law-courts in person, she is visited by a commission from the House of Lords. Nine gentlemen in all, including Geoffrey and Frank, are present to hear her evidence. Master Robin, peeping into the dining-room, gets a glimpse of the solemn conclave round the table with "Granny" in her lace cap at its head. There is a stir about the case throughout the country and The Times, in its leader of Tuesday, May 31st, 1892, makes a weighty pronouncement on the matter. Lord Barnard, after his victory, writes a courteous letter of thanks to Mrs. Hett and then the ladies are free to leave town for a country holiday.

But while she lives there cannot long be rest for Louisa. A grievous blow impends. For some time Roslin's life has been increasingly difficult and anxious. At last, he is unable to support the burden of indifferent health, and, on Christmas eve 1894, he dies suddenly of pneumonia at Torquay. Two marriages which are to prove very happy ones take place the following year—that of Charlie to his cousin, Louise Foyster, in April, and that of Harry to Zelma Tiden in June.

In '96 we seem to catch a warning of the advancing age of speed. Katie and Louie have bicycling lessons. Motor cars are allowed in the streets for the first time and Fanny records that there is a gathering of them in London whence they go in procession to Brighton. In 1897 comes the blazing glory of the Diamond Jubilee—"Queen's weather"—the exultant crowds—the colourful gatherings of thousands from every corner of the Empire and—Kipling's "Recessional." Frank and Janie come up to Ladbroke Gardens for the occasion, bringing Marjorie. They have seats to view the Jubilee procession on a stand at St. Clement Danes church. The Hett sisters, with the Gibbs, are to watch it from a house in Westminster Bridge Road. Foolish Marjorie catches a chill, or perhaps sends up her temperature through sheer excitement, and has to stay behind in the spare room. As she sits up in the big bed, an old lady with a sweet face comes into the room and sits close beside her bending down so that the childish hands can hang a red, white and blue ribbon round her neck. At last, the sightseers come back and someone says—"At least Marjorie, you will always remember to-day, because Granny climbed up all those long stairs to come and keep you company."

1898, and there is a concourse of black-garbed people having tea in the drawing-room at St. Helens. A little girl is playing in the garden, glad to escape from the grown-ups, for "Granny" has had a stroke and is dead, and one does not know how to behave on the solemn occasion of a funeral. One only knows that Cousin Reggie has travelled all the way from London with the coffin and that all these solemn people have just come back from the cemetery where they have laid it. Presently "Frankie," the young Canadian cousin, who has just left school and now works in the office, comes out to her. What a relief. They find an ash pole and call it Napoleon and have a great game taking it prisoner and sending it to St. Helena.

A New Era (1898–1914)

THE children of Louisa Hett mourned her with deep and genuine grief. Almost to the last she had remained gay, attractive and interested in all her family, especially in the young people, with whom she loved to play quiet games, such as chess. On the 13th January, 1898, her daughter had written: "We had a young people's party; mother so bright and well." Five days later Louisa had kept her eighty-fifth birthday and received very many letters, but, a fortnight afterwards, she had had a stroke and, after lying inert and silent for several weeks, had passed away without regaining consciousness. Thus, with the death of the second partner to the happy marriage of 1833 came the end of a family epoch. Perhaps the extent of the unifying power exercised by John and Louisa and the lasting character of their influence may be gauged by the fact that even now, a hundred years after their marriage, the unity of their family is still a fact and that all their descendants are, with varying degrees of intimacy, in touch with one another. A year after the death of his old mistress, Beedham, the faithful servitor, whom, it may be remembered, John Hett had engaged as groom in 1844 at the modest wage of 14/- a week, died in retirement at his daughter's house in Lincoln. Thus was severed another link with the old days.

The house in Ladbroke Gardens was soon disposed of, and the furniture that fell to Louisa's sons was distributed amongst them, the rest being stored pending her daughters' decision to make another home. These three, who had, for so long, been her lieutenants and devoted attendants, could not but find it hard to reconstruct their lives, and for no less than ten years had no settled home. They spent long months on the continent, returning at intervals to live quietly in rooms, usually in London, or to travel about visiting friends and relatives. Sophie even went as far afield as Canada, visiting Eildon Hall both in 1899 and 1902. The meeting-place in Ladbroke Gardens being a thing of the past, it was natural that the family centre should shift back to Brigg, where two sons and a nephew were now settled and where the children of other sons were constantly coming and going. The old house in the Market Place had long ceased to belong to any of the family. Some time in the 'eighties Roslin had moved to a new home in Bigby Street and had built offices next door to it. On his marriage he had bought Castlethorpe, a house half-a-mile from Brigg on the way to Broughton, and, after enlarging it, had gone to live there with his family. The house in Bigby Street—known as the Old House—passed into other hands and is now the Constitutional Club, but the offices were not interfered with. Here, the work of the firm went on as usual and, though the passing years saw many changes in clients, clerks and methods, there were never wanting employees of long standing to carry on the old traditions. In 1894, for example, there had died in Brigg, Mr. Wilson, who had been with the firm for no less than fifty-six years, but even this record was to be surpassed later.¹

Known once as "Nicholson and Hett" then as "Nicholson, Hett and Freer," then as "Hett, Freer and Hett" the firm was now carrying on its business in the names of "Freer, Hett and Hett" though actually Mr. Freer had been dead since 1893. There were now, in reality, only the two partners, Frank Hett, and his nephew, Henry Metcalfe Hett. The office hours were from 9 a.m. till 6 p.m. with an hour's break for dinner. On Saturday, work ended at 1 o'clock.² Frank occupied the large room facing the top of the staircase and was almost invariably to be found there, seated at his massive desk, except at such times as one of his many public appointments or some matter of private business called him away. Work always came first with him, so much so, indeed, that his solicitude for his clients and his anxiety that everything should be done in the best and fairest manner led at times to an almost morbid uneasiness and to many a sleepless night. While he was a young man he usually walked the mile to and from his work, returning home to lunch except on market days. Later on, he cycled or drove. He was a great smoker but he never dreamed of indulging while at work and the idea that anyone should do so would have much astonished him. His cigar was a pleasure to be kept till later, when he might have been seen lighting up with satisfaction as he stood in the lobby preparatory to walking home. Sometimes this was long after the clerks had left, for both he and Harry Hett frequently stayed late. Often also they took papers home with them to work at in the evenings.

Leading out of Brigg in a north-easterly direction is the Wrawby Road, which reaches the village of that name after about a mile and a half. It was then very quiet and even lonely. After the "Union" was passed there was but one house in the first mile—the lodge at the cemetery gates. Some considerable way beyond this, and standing well back, raised on a spur of the wolds, stood two houses, first, St. Helens, and then Springfield, the homes respectively of Frank and Charles. Wrawby children who had been sent to Brigg on errands and were afraid of walking home alone would hang about, waiting until "Mr. 'Ett" should start upon his way and then fall in at a respectful distance happy in the comforting sense of his protection. That fears were not entirely confined to the children is a fact, for the memory of the murder long ago committed on that road still lingered amongst the grown-up folk and in the foot-path a round hole used to be pointed out, which was said to mark the spot where the victim's head had rested, and which no amount of filling up by road-menders ever served for long to obliterate. Then, nearer to St. Helens, and close to the path, stood two solitary trees some distance apart, the one an elm and the other an ash. They were real landmarks and were known respectively as "the first tree" and "the second tree." The elm had a deep ditch and a culvert beside it, and from the latter was supposed to issue the ghost of "the causey calf" a strange animal with three legs, which lay in wait to chase lonely pedestrians. A long, straight drive led up to St. Helens. It was bordered by flowering chestnuts, which, in the course of time, grew into a fine avenue, and which even now, twenty-five years after the Hetts have left, figures in the list of 'bus stopping places, as "Hett's Drive."

From the top field behind St. Helens, a stile led to a narrow field-path by which members of the family might reach a little gate leading to the large garden of Springfield. This house, which had formerly belonged to Mr. Freer, had been bought on her marriage by Mrs. Charles Hett. Before then, her husband had lived in Brigg where he had had a foundry in the lane now called by that name. He was a keen engineer and was known as the inventor of a type of turbine pump long used by drainage authorities. He and his wife lived a retired but very happy life in their pleasant home, where they occupied themselves by installing many improvements and curious inventions, the fruits of Charles' mechanical mind. He had a work-shop which was a place of wonder and mystery to the younger generation and here, amongst other things, he practised amateur photography. Like his great-uncle, the Lincoln surgeon, he was devoted to the study of birds and did everything possible to turn his garden into a sanctuary for them. Any day he might be seen, slowly walking about with his hands behind his back, usually smoking a short pipe, intent on watching them and listening to their notes. He was in correspondence with naturalists all over the country and his observations resulted in the publication of a small hand-book on "Bird Calls." Once when staying at St. Helens, one of his nephews shot an owl. Great was the consternation of the St. Helens party, who knew him to be specially interested in the study of these birds. They decided to bury the corpse and say nothing, but next morning there appeared "Uncle Charlie" with the ominous question "Who shot an owl?" The culprit confessed and the command came "Dig it up." Relief was great when the bird was found not to be a Springfield owl at all. On summer evenings the sound of Mrs. Hett's piano used to float across the garden. Being an accomplished musician she played almost every night and it was alleged by his nephews and nieces that "Uncle Charlie" would slumber peacefully during the performance till it was time to go to his own quarters to read and smoke. This is not unlikely if the dictum of Mr. Cray, for many years organist at Brigg Parish Church, is to be believed that "no Hett ever had a note of music in him!"

Henry Metcalfe, better known as Harry Hett, was living, at the time of his grandmother's death, in a small house in Brigg, but soon afterwards he and his wife built a large new one of red brick in the midst of Wrawby village, with a fine view over the Ancholme levels. It was here that his four children grew up. About these three houses, Redholme, Springfield and St. Helens the family were centered during the years that lay between the Boer War and the Great War. There were visits to all of them from the three sisters, Fanny, Sophie, Katie; as well as from representatives of the old connection, Patersons, Titleys, Nicholsons and others. Roslin's children came frequently, and Louie, who had won for herself a position of great responsibility in the scholastic world, spent many of her holidays at her brother's house. Even to the Canadian branch of the family these three houses were not unknown. Lettie herself visited England again the year after Louisa's death, leaving her daughter Georgie to be brought up with Frank's only child. Her second son, Francis, had for long made St. Helens his home, and, from time to time, others of Roland's children came on visits, two of them, Queenie and Adelaide, spending a long period with their aunt, Mrs. Everest, in Kent.

Geoffrey's children, after their early years, were so fully engaged in winning laurels in their several walks of life that they did not often come to Lincolnshire, though there were occasional visits from one or another of them, when they would astonish their country cousins by their uncanny knowledge of the ways of birds, insects and pond-dwellers. From time to time came news of their successes—in 1899 of Robin's gaining the gold medal in Histology at University College Hospital; in the following year, of Walter's winning a scholarship to Wadham; and, in 1902, of Harold's saving a boy's life in the telephone works where he was learning electrical engineering. Geoffrey himself, lived to see his eldest son's feet set on the ladder of success in their common profession and to be present at his marriage to Muriel Donnithorne, an event which greatly pleased him. A year later, one morning as he was dressing, without warning or previous illness, he slipped quietly out of life. Frank's small daughter seated on his knee after he had received the news learned for the first time that it was possible for grown-up people to weep.

The Boer War had not touched the family closely, but in the Boxer Campaign which followed it, was quenched the sunny life of Tom Sibbald, for so long a favourite with all the Hetts. Two years later a greater loss befel, for Lettie, the warm-hearted "Mrs. Irrepressible" of former days, died after long suffering, in the midst of a Canadian winter. Her two eldest daughters nursed her devotedly. To her children and friends in England came her tender letters of farewell and later, the sorrowful accounts of the last rites in the little church at Eildon, for which her eldest son, Sibbald, arrived just in time, hastening on snow-shoes over a distance of nearly a hundred miles. In 1909 the three Hett sisters, now known to the majority of their relations as "the Aunts," brought their wanderings to an end and settled down in a pleasant house on Campden Hill, close to Kensington Gardens. Nephews and nieces were made welcome to this spotless, well-regulated home by their handsome aunts, nor did most of them hesitate to avail themselves of the kindness and hospitality there dispensed, in spite of the fact that a visit entailed a high level of behaviour and was never quite divested of a sense of awe. Fanny Hett, loyal always to the memory of the past, including even its smaller and less important customs, found it hard to adjust herself to changing manners and was sometimes, as it seemed to her brothers, unreasoning and prejudiced in her views. Yet in illness or any matter of real urgency they knew that she could be depended upon for practical and unswerving support which was given with entire disregard of self. Her rather cold, dignified manner found a foil in that of her sister, Sophie, who was constantly bubbling over with happiness and affectionate interest in everybody's doings. Both of them were devoted to their sister Katharine, always the delicate pet of the family. She had early fallen a victim to the scourge of influenza and, in the course of years, had repeated attacks which more and more affected her heart. Her sisters loved to take care of her and to shelter her in every way and she was never known to be impatient or to complain. The labours of the kitchen, the anxieties connected with servants and catering—all so painfully real to the modern woman, were a sealed book to her. She lived in a world far removed from the rush and tumble of practical life, but her gentleness was a sweetening influence in the household.

In 1911 died "Uncle Charlie"—as suddenly and unexpectedly as his brother Geoffrey. Thus Frank was left as the only remaining representative of all the sons of whom Louisa had been so proud. He had always been devoted to his family and would have liked to help his nephews and nieces more than was possible during his early years at the office. He had begun his career as a junior partner with an income of rather less than £400 and for a considerable time lived with great care, since he was adamant on the subject of never exceeding his income, and was determined to save. Gradually, his circumstances became easier. The small pony-trap in which Janie had been wont to jog up and down to Brigg was superseded by two carriages—a dog-cart and a phaeton; and later, a Humber car—the first private motor to be owned in the district—was introduced. Later still, Frank moved, on the death of his mother-in-law, to her house in Brigg which he considerably enlarged. The last horse was then sold and two cars housed in the new garage, which occupied the site of the old stables at "The Limes." Naturally, as time went on, it was to Frank that his many relatives and connections turned more and more for advice or financial help, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to hear of their successes or distressed him more than their difficulties. Despite an exceedingly busy life he managed to keep in touch with them all, and one of his greatest treats was to gather together as many of them as possible at a family dinner party which usually took place at some hotel or restaurant, when, with wife and daughter, he had gone for a short jaunt to London.

It was with consternation, though with outward calm, that he heard from his nephew Jack, that he had "chucked the law." Jack had been with a firm of solicitors in London and it had long been Frank's hope to see him occupy as honourable a position in the legal world as had his father, Roslin. Some years later, it was with great relief that he welcomed him back to the profession and to work in the Brigg office. One of the things that gave him great satisfaction was the rise in his profession of his nephew, Geoffrey Seccombe-Hett. "Robin," as he was known to the family, had begun by obtaining a leaving scholarship from St. Pauls which had paid for his entire medical education at University College Hospital—M.R.C.S. in 1903, M.B. Lond. in 1904, and F.R.C.S. in 1908, he began to specialise in diseases of the ear, nose and throat. He studied in London, Vienna and Freiburg and was subsequently appointed Assistant Surgeon to the London Throat Hospital, and the Throat Hospital, Golden Square. He also held the posts of Curator of the Anatomical Museum and Assistant in the Department of Anatomy at University College, London. His sister, May, had much the same interests as her brother, and after having received her training in Zoology at University College, she took the B.Sc (Hons.) degree of the University of London, being placed in the First Class (Gold Medalist). After her graduation she was appointed Lecturer and Demonstrator in the Zoological Department of Bedford College for Women, University of London. Walter, their brother, whose tastes inclined to classical, rather than scientific studies, had won a scholarship to Wadham College, Oxford, where he took his degree. In 1906 he became a master at the King's School, Grantham, and in 1907 went to Brighton College, where, in 1909, he became a house master.

During these years, the scattering of members of the family to distant parts of the Empire had continued. Francis was the first to go, as, after passing his final law examination, he went into partnership in 1902 with a firm of solicitors in Hong Kong. Some years later his sister, Georgie, went out to visit him and his wife. She married, and remained there for many years. Roslin's eldest daughter went to South Africa in 1909, and, after her marriage, settled in Uganda, where in 1913, she was joined by her brother, Cedric, after he had been for some time in Malaya. In 1910, Harold, Geoffrey's youngest son, went to Canada. Meanwhile two of Lettie's sons were making their way in the more distant parts of that Dominion, Sibbald as a prospector, and Roslin as a rancher. During this period too, there were many marriages, and a whole new generation was beginning to grow up when, in 1914, fell the thunderbolt of war.

The War Years (1914–1918.)

WHEN Harry Hett's eldest son was born in 1896 he received from Ladbroke Gardens a coin, wrapped in a sheet of paper which bore the following inscription : "From his great-grandmother, Louisa Hett, to Roland Thorsten Hett, the first of a new generation—may God bless him and make him a worthy descendant." August, 1914, found this Roland and his younger brothers in camp with the O.T.C. On the declaration of war the camp was at once broken up and the boys sent home. Roland, still under military age, gave in his name for war service as he passed through London on his way home to Lincolnshire, and, a fortnight later, received a commission as first lieutenant in the Army Service Corps. He was the youngest of the family to spring forward at the call to service, and his great-uncle, working harder than ever at the office, must have been proud to know that all Louisa's male descendants, save those too old, were thus coming forward. Robin had immediately signed his commission in the R.A.M.C. Walter was already in the Territorial Army when war broke out and soon Roslin's two sons were gazetted as lieutenants in the Lincolnshire Regiment, while week by week came news from many parts of the world that the others were taking up arms.

As it would be impossible to give a complete and detailed account of the several and varied war experiences of each member of the family, it has seemed best to give no more than a short sketch of the news concerning them which, from time to time, reached their uncle during those four years. This will, it is hoped, serve to give a correct, albeit a very impressionist picture of the life of a typical family during that time. Where so many were concerned, it would take another book to make it more complete.

November, 1914—and Frank, as his custom is at this time of year, pays a short visit to London. The occasion is a far more eventful one than usual, for London is humming with excitement and already there are wounded friends, back from the front, to be visited, Red Cross offices and hospitals to be inspected, and information to be gleaned as to how best to organise voluntary help in the country districts. There are also many relatives to be met with, each one equipped with his or her particular spy-story, the latest authentic news from the trenches, or details of chosen war-work. One day there is a sudden appearance of Roland Thorsten, who says, "I have heard to-day that I am to go to France to-morrow." He is over-flowing with enthusiasm and has come up from his camp at Deptford to make final purchases. He lunches at his uncle's hotel and then his aunt and cousin go out and buy him a muffler, a body-belt, meat lozenges, and a French phrase-book. He too goes out, and returns to tea, bringing a brother officer. They remain talking excitedly till 6.30 when they return to camp.

Frank goes back to Brigg and 1915 begins. Gertrude Titley, the distant cousin who is governess to the children of Prince Lobkowitz, writes home saying: "Poor England, I fear she is done for!" and asking why we treat our prisoners so badly. In June, Ronald comes on a recruiting march with a contingent of the 2/5 Lincolns. He is quartered at the Limes, and, in the evening, makes a splendid speech in the Market-place. In July, comes news that Rossie and Roland and Ker Thomson, Adelaide's husband, have landed in England with a Canadian contingent, and the following month, Frank and his family, and Francis and Alice, go to Folkestone—swarming with Canadian troops—and for two days there is a family centre at one of the hotels, where Ker, as an officer, and Rossie, as a trooper, in the Canadian Mounted Rifles, and Roland, as Galloper to the Colonel Commanding the Divisional Artillery, are constantly turning up. Sibbald, and Benjamin Seale (Olive's husband) are to come over with later contingents.

On October 8th Frank is again in town and goes to see his nephew Robin. The outbreak of war had found Geoffrey Seccombe-Hett approaching the height of his career. He and his family were now occupying a fine house in Wimpole Street and he was engaged in building up for himself a great reputation as a nose, ear and throat specialist. Several learned books and pamphlets on this particular branch of study already stood to his credit.¹ To-day, his wife dispenses tea; and later, he himself rushes in, attired in the smart uniform of the French Red Cross, too busy to do more than spend a few moments with his uncle. For months he and Muriel have been in France—working at a French Red Cross Hospital located in an old chateau. Muriel has driven his ambulance—under fire—right up to the front-line trenches and he has done any and every sort of work. In his first forty-eight hours he thinks he must have performed at least a dozen amputations. There are amusing tales of the unaccustomed ways of the French and of adventures on the sea marshes when Robin has slipped out for a little duck-shooting—thereby helping to supplement the scanty provisions of the establishment. Now, the chateau has been so badly shelled that it is closed and Robin is working in England once more.

Frank goes home again, and soon all Lincolnshire is ringing with the dreadful news of the fighting at the Hohenzollern Redoubt on October 13th, in which the territorial regiment has suffered severely. A woman in Brigg receives a letter from her son "Whippet" Hocknell of the 5th Lincolns, in which he describes the battle, and tells how he rescued one of his officers—Ronald Hett. The letter is brought to Frank to read:

"No doubt you will have read about the charge we made on the 13th inst. My word, you should have seen the division go over the top. We took three lines and were going strong for the village, but, as our artillery had not bombarded the place enough, practically all the houses were filled with machine guns, and, my word, talk about them giving us 'humpy'! We had to retire to the second line, and we held it till relieved. I got a slight dose of gas but was only in hospital a day, and am now A.I. The reason of it was I had to pass through a certain amount of gas to get to one of our officers, who was wounded. I bound him up and then pulled him quite 200 yards under shell-fire that was murderous. Anyhow, I got him safely back and they attended to him at the dressing station; it was Mr. Hett. He was a fine officer, and no mistake. We relieved a crack regiment to make the charge, and they relieved us again. I thank God I am safe again to write this letter. It was a battle and no mistake."

Later on, Hocknell comes home on leave and Frank sends his car, decorated with flags and laurel leaves, to meet him at the station. He also presents him with a watch in recognition of his act. Meantime, Ronald, very seriously wounded, is brought to Millbank Hospital and Frank goes up to town for the week-end to see him. In December, Canadian Roland obtains a commission in the Royal Field Artillery and is stationed at Grimsby, whence he comes over to Brigg as often as he can get leave.

1916.—Rossie and Ker Thomson, and Harold, Geoffrey's youngest son, are all in the trenches with the Canadian contingent. May Hett, who from the first has worked hard as a member of a Red Cross Voluntary Aid Detachment is now also serving in France, and when her brother, Harold, falls a victim to trench feet, he finds himself, strangely enough, in the very hospital at Rouen where she is nursing. At home, Ronald, his wound healed at last, comes to the Limes for a week before rejoining his regiment, and a letter is received from his brother Jack who is for the time being in Egypt. Bad zeppelin raids begin, and Fanny Hett, staying at quiet Springfield, walks down to Brigg and tells of how the house shook as bombs fell on Scunthorpe, and of how the startled birds woke up and twittered. In March comes an invitation to an At Home at Robin's house in Wimpole Street. It is for some war charity and Princess Louise is present and very gracious, but Frank and Janie are too busy to go up for it. In May another of Harry's sons leaves school and comes to say good bye before going into training with the Royal Flying Corps. Francis, who some years earlier had returned from Hong Kong to settle at Esher, is now in the R.N.V.R. and turns up one day from Grimsby, where he is in command of a patrol boat—H.M. drifter "Violet." Not much can be got out of him as to the alarms and excursions in the Humber, but he is in excellent spirits and leaves Brigg in a first-class carriage, incongruously laden with a sack of vegetables for his ship's company, who, in private life, are Eyemouth fishermen. Alice, his wife, is at home, getting up every morning very early to work as a V.A.D. at Esher Convalescent Hospital.

One morning there is consternation at the Limes, for a telephone message announces that Harry and Zelma have been summoned to Alan's training-camp, where he has suffered a terrible smash while flying with an instructor. There is great anxiety, but, despite concussion, a broken jaw, and the loss of several teeth, the victim of the accident rallies, and, after three months' leave, is able to return to duty. But a far more grievous blow awaits his parents, for, in October, Roland Thorsten falls on the Somme. In the course of the past two years he had once or twice been home on leave, seemingly full of spirits and confidence in himself and his cause. Nevertheless, he had become restless in the Army Service Corps, considering that it gave him too easy a time. Early in the year he had watched the Lincolns pass through Havre on their way to the front, and had longed to be with them; and later, the news of their heavy losses had increased his desire to effect an exchange into their ranks. At the end of September, he had been sent with a draft of men to work near the front, and, while there, he had managed to obtain his wish. On October the 25th he went into action for the first time and, while helping to get his men together after the fighting, was severely wounded in the thigh by a piece of shell. From the confusion of battle no clear account of his end emerges though it is certain that he never reached the rear, dying either from his wounds or, with his two bearers, from the effects of another shell. His cousin Francis writes thus of him:

"Really, Roland's life has been a beautiful epic, hasn't it? His wonderful goodness, deep religious conviction, his chivalry in insisting on being in the forefront of the battle with his friends, and finally, his glorious death, before he had been in any way besmirched or sullied by the world's sordid troubles, make a beautiful story, particularly as he accomplished everything (for surely no one can accomplish more however long he may live) and now he is safe and will never know disillusionment."

1917—The war is still going on. The use of petrol is restricted; his chauffeur has joined up—and Frank is reduced to hiring a shaky old carriage-and-pair or an ancient dog-cart if he wishes to go anywhere not strictly on business. Work at the office constantly increases, as the firm is called upon to do more and more for the government, and, at the same time, the number of clerks grows steadily less as, one after another, they disappear from their desks to take active part in the struggle. The burden and responsibility weigh heavily on a man of Frank's age, while his partner, heart-broken at the loss of his eldest son, works on in constant anxiety for the other two—since the third and youngest is now in the Royal Air Force as well as Alan. Of Roslin's children, Jack has been mentioned in despatches, and is now invalided home. Before he is well again, Ronald is back in England seriously wounded once more. In September, Frank and Janie are again in London and go to see him in Lady Ridley's Hospital in Carlton House Terrace. At the same time, though they do not know it, his youngest brother, Cedric, is struggling against increasing weakness as he faces the gruelling conditions of the East African campaign. He had tried to join up in Uganda at the very beginning of the war, but owing to doubtful health—the result of the bad climate in Malaya—had been refused. He had therefore gone to Kenya, where he had managed to get into the Labour Corps. As his sister wrote later—"He did nothing spectacular, but was extremely popular, as he was awfully cheery, and was always working even though he was never fit. He weighed 15 stone when he went to the front and was under 7 stone when he died."

During this stay in London, Francis, Alice and Canadian Roland dine with Frank and Janie one night, and Jack comes in later. The next day, Jack returns to the front and Roland leaves a week afterwards on long sick-leave to Canada.¹ On almost the same day, in Africa, Cedric is admitted to hospital with blackwater fever, gets up to his work again too soon, has a second attack, and dies on September 19th. The news, of course, does not reach his uncle till long afterwards.¹ On this, as on every visit to London, Frank goes to see his sisters, who, undeterred by constant air-raids²—which indeed the intrepid Fanny seems almost to enjoy, though dreading their effect upon Katie—are living very much their ordinary life. They work regularly, as does Geoffrey's widow, Mary, at a Red Cross Depot in Kensington, where Fanny is the efficient head of a department. At the end of the war a presentation from her fellow-workers was to mark their appreciation of this leadership. Frank has been told by his doctor that he must take some rest, so, accompanied by his wife, he goes on from London to Bath for a short holiday.

Air raids persist, and Marjorie, left behind in town to pursue her work at an office in Carlton House Terrace,³ walking there one morning, sees a great hole in the Green Park, and Devonshire House with every window blown in. But that is nothing! Phyllis Slater, a young Canadian, who has come over to take her share in the great doings, and is nursing in a hospital at Walmer, is caught in the open as bombs are dropped, and as she shelters in a doorway sees terrible casualties. War weddings are the order of the day, and soon comes news that Rossie, over from France on short leave, has married Phyllis at Walmer.

1918—and the office is busier than ever. What would old Mr. Nicholson or John Hett have said could they have seen the women clerks who are now at work there? At least, they would have heartily approved the employment of a returned soldier, who has left both his legs in France, and is cheerfully engaged in helping Marjorie with the National Registration. Janie is Vice-President of the Brigg Division of the Lincolnshire Branch of the British Red Cross Society and thousands of pounds—poured out unstintingly by high and low—besides countless gifts in kind, pass through her hands. In February, Roslin, whose uncle some time before had arranged for her training at a Horticultural College, comes for a holiday from the Royal Gardens at Windsor, where she and two other girls have taken the place of men on active service. She is full of stories of Her Majesty's gracious interest in them and of the strict old Scottish head-gardener who directs their work. Serious rationing now begins, and food, food, food is the stable subject of conversation. Everyone is weary, there is no longer excitement, no longer enthusiasm—but there is boundless determination.

On March 19th appears an announcement that Harold has won the Military Medal for coolness and daring whilst in command of a listening post. The official account runs thus: "His advanced post was attacked by an enemy patrol of ten, who approached in the darkness, camouflaged in white suits. Although outnumbered two to one, he realised his duty and allowed them to approach to a very short range with a view to making sure of obtaining identification. He beat them off, inflicting casualties, and succeeded in capturing one of the patrol. His disregard for his own safety, his coolness and the manner in which he handled his men, probably prevented the enemy from obtaining the information they were after, and his conduct is considered to be of the very highest type."

On March 21st comes a desperate enemy offensive. The shadow of defeat and of invasion threatens once more. Terrific lists of prisoners and of missing come in and Jack's name is amongst the latter. His wife's desperate anxiety is not relieved till eight weeks later when news comes that he is a prisoner at Kastatt in Bavaria. Robin has now been appointed Plastic Surgeon to the Queen's Hospital at Sidcup. This is a war hospital for facial injuries, and wonderful stories reach his uncle of operations by means of which his nephew has succeeded in building up new features for men who have had the misfortune to be terribly and—as it seemed at first—hopelessly disfigured.¹ Meanwhile, Ronald is discharged from hospital and comes to say good-bye before rejoining the reserve battalion. The family at the Limes sit round the dinner table, basking in his cheery conversation, till they realize with some concern that, as he chats, he is unwittingly helping himself to almost their entire week's ration of butter! There is a stroke of luck, however, in July, when Sibbald—a lieutenant in the Royal Canadian Engineers—comes on a few days' leave, since, with accustomed thoughtfulness, he brings with him a portion of the generous allowance of sugar that is dealt out to Canadian officers. Francis, Alice and Adelaide are with him on this visit.

Francis is now in H.M.S. Redoubtable. Adelaide and Alice are both in mourning, for Adelaide has been a widow since 1916 and Alice has lost two of her brothers in France. This visit from three of the children of his brother Roland is one of the last pleasures that Frank is to have. After a short holiday in August, he settles down to work again in full expectation of another winter of war. But it is not to be; though the Armistice is in sight, the scourge of pestilence is nearer still. One Thursday evening in October, Frank returns home from the office as usual, and, two days later, on Saturday the 26th, he dies from heart-failure, following influenza. On the afternoon of October 30th, 1918, every blind in Brigg was lowered and every flag at half-mast as the long funeral cortège followed the last of John Hett's sons to the grave. Even at a time of such universal loss and mourning, while the country was being swept by sickness, and the war was still taking its huge toll of life and energy, there were few amongst those who knew him who did not pause to grieve for one who had been so unreservedly respected and beloved.

Letters of sympathy poured in, and were of every type, from the courtly epistles of the Lord Lieutenant and of the Bishop of the Diocese down to illiterate and hastily-written notes from the trenches. Condolences came from every conceivable public committee or local society, ranging from those of such time-honoured position as the Justices or the Court of Sewers to newly-fledged bodies such as the local Food-Control committees, or Red Cross working-parties. "I feel I cannot proceed to the business of the Court without making some reference to the sudden passing away of Mr. Frank Hett" said the Chairman of the Scunthorpe Bench. "It has been my privilege to be associated with him in various public affairs nearly half my life. I always found him wise in counsel, kind and courteous in every act and deed, and a faithful friend. I should like to say his upright, kindly life and conduct has left an impression upon my own life which will not pass away . . ."

"The strain of the war fell heavily on him, as on many older men, but he shouldered the burden cheerfully and bore it bravely and in silence" wrote the Rev. Canon Claye. "His public life is known to all, and has been commented on elsewhere. His conscientious discharge of duty and absolute honesty and integrity made him respected by all who knew him. He was a loyal and faithful Churchman and Christian and in family and church life set an example which in these days is somewhat rare. His humble-mindedness and generosity were well-known to those who knew him best." "I cannot adequately express what I feel" wrote a nephew, "but I need not tell you that my own personal sense of sorrow and irreparable loss is very deep. I am only one of hundreds who will hold his memory very dear as long as we live. But I have my own special memories of his unfailing kindness and goodness of heart." Yet another wrote: "You must look straight ahead, knowing that Uncle Frank did his job on earth far better than most men, and has now been called to his Maker to rest in peace, and all that I have said can be summed up in the one word—faith—which is the greatest asset if you like to grasp it."

On the very day that Frank was laid to rest, his great-nephew was engaged in fighting for his life. Flight-lieutenant Geoffrey Hett was returning from his fiftieth bombing raid when his formation was attacked by thirty enemy scouts. "Flying in the rear" (says the official report) "he bore the brunt of this heavy attack. With skill and cool judgement he so manœuvred his machine that his observer was able to destroy two of the hostile aircraft before he was seriously wounded. Facing the enemy scouts, Lt. Hett maintained a successful combat until they were driven off by the arrival of some of our scouts." Geoffrey's own account of the affair is less formal:

"Suddenly I saw three Huns! They set to work on me. I fairly twisted about and my observer managed to shoot two of them down, but had got a nasty wound in the leg so that he could not continue to fire but had to sit down out of weakness. Well, the third Hun realised this and came along to finish me off and I thought he would get me and I put the old 'bus into a steep turn and we went round and round. . . . . Then I saw one of our scouts coming along, so I kept on, and the scout did one dive and shot the Hun down. I was so thankful you can imagine . . . . My machine was frightfully shot about, the planes were ripped and I had three wires shot. Petrol was streaming out and also oil so I was very glad when I spotted the aerodrome . . . . . I daresay you will see this straf put in the paper . . . . . We are very comfortable here and I think we shall see the end of the war here . . . . . I think it will end this year."

For his conduct in this engagement Geoffrey received the Distinguished Flying Cross. The prophecy he had made was fulfilled exactly ten days later when the armistice was signed on November 11th.