John Hassall Draws W. Vincent Brooks

This piece, from the trunk of ephemera, is a menu for an occasion on January 12th 1937. It is illustrated with the unmistakable figure of Wilfred Vincent Brooks. The circumstances of the meal remain a mystery, although, like many of the conferences and celebrations documented before, the inclusion of cheese, biscuits and celery is comfortably replicated. The menu itself is in French and headed with the handshake logo of 'Entre Nous 1910'. The plot thickens. Who was or is 'Entre Nous'? A terribly difficult title to search for on the Internet and does the illustration give us any clues?

Entre Nous or 'between us' is captured in the illustrations of folk engaged intimately behind Wilfred. Wilfred clutches, with his partially drawn hand, what appears to be printed matter and written correspondence is in evidence but tantalisingly less than legible. Was he part of Entre Nous or working with this company?

The only positive connection I can make at this time is the signature on the bottom right.

'Hassall' refers to the illustrator John Hassall (and not the bassist with the Libertines). He designed a number of posters for the Underground Group 1908-1913 but might be most readily identified with the poster entitled 'Skegness is So Bracing'. He set up an Art school which later amalgamated with that founded by Frank Brangwyn, a name mentioned by Wilfred in one of his speeches. Vincent Brooks, Day & Son may have been associated with Hassall in the later years before the company's final demise when seemingly incorporated by the Baynard Press in 1960.

Some more investigation is needed to pin this one down.

The Duke of Wellington

The 'Iron Duke' believed in strong government and his opposition to parliamentary reform earned him his metallic title for reasons of a more domestic than constitutional nature; his unpopularity forced him to beef up security at Apsley House against the window-smashers. Despite this, his passing drew the crowds and the spectacle of a lavish state funeral had enormous repercussions on the arts, journalism and everyday consciousness of the general public. Although the irresponsible nature of Frederick's baby-sitting had arguably profounder impact on the boy who had not observed the procession himself, an account of the time would not be fitting without a mention of this occasion.

Frederick begins his autobiography with mention of his grandfather's return at the Waterloo celebrations and his subsequent agitation with regard to Arthur Wellesley. Scarcely had the Duke been 'stopped' in the 1820s, when, in the second chapter, his parents attend his funeral on Thursday November 18th 1852.

It is worth noting that the Duke had died on the 14th September. We can speculate on the reason for the delay in his interment. It may be that the preparation required for the ceremony, coupled with a macabre level of Victorian superstitious fear of burying a living icon meant that it was not until two months later, that Wellington was finally laid to rest.

For a taste of the experience Frederick's parents may have had, we can quote the New York Times, which followed the procession from Constitution Hill, Piccadilly, St. James's Street, Pall Mall, Cockspur Street, Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square to the Strand towards Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill and St. Paul's.

"Amid the rise, and perhaps the fall, of empires, amid “fear of change perplexing the nations,” amid earthquake and flood, a trembling earth and a weeping sky, Wellington was conveyed..."

"Most of the houses along the line of the route exhibited half-mast flags or other symptoms of mourning. Temple Bar was completely enveloped in drapery of black silken velvet, with fringe of silver, and turned aside at the top so as to display an under lining of cloth of gold."

Despite Frederick's fleeting reference to the funeral and his grandfather's apparent preference to rock cakes and drinking, we should not underestimate the occasion for a significant proportion of Londoners and those from further a field.

W. Liebknecht neatly illustrates the frenzy of the procession as observed and as joined from the opposite side of Temple Bar to that of Frederick's parents.

"I had made my plan. We had no money to hire seats at a window, or on a stand. The funeral procession was to pass along the Strand, parallel with the Thames. We must get into one of the streets entering the Strand from the north, and running towards the river.

Holding one little girl by each hand, our pockets filled with provender I steered towards the coign of vantage which I had chosen, just by Temple Bar – the old City gates that divided Westminister from the City. The streets from earliest morning had been unusually animated, and were thronged with people. The procession, however, having to pass through many quarters of the giant town the millions of sight-seers divided up, and without any crush, we reached the chosen places. It was just what we wanted. I stood on some steps, the two little ones clasping one another, and each holding me by the hand, stood on a higher step. Hush! A movement in the sea of people; a distant, growing roar, like the roaring of the ocean, drawing nearer and nearer! An “Ah!” from thousands upon thousands of throats! The procession is there, and, from our position, we can see it as beautifully as if we were at the theatre. The children are delighted. No crush. All my fears are gone.

A long, long time. The golden procession wends its way with the gorgeous catafalue that is taking the “Conqueror of Napoleon” to his tomb, One new sight after the other until nothing more came. The last gold-laced rider has gone.

And now suddenly a rush – a rush forward of the mass piled up behind us. Everyone wants to follow the “procession”. I struggle with all my might to protect the children so that the stream may pass without hurting them. In vain. Against the elemental force of the masses no single human force can stand. It was as easy for a small fragile boat, after a hard winter, to resist an icefloe. I must give way, and, pressing the children tightly to me, I try to get out of the main street. I seem to be succeeding, and I breathe again, when suddenly from the right a new and more mighty wave of people bears in upon us; we are thrown into the Strand, the thousands and hundreds of thousands who have gathered into this street-artery want to hurry after the procession in order to see the sight once again. I set my teeth, try to lift the children on to my shoulders, but am too hemmed in. I convulsively seize the children’s arms; the vortex carries us away, and I suddenly feel a force pressing between me and the children. I grasp their wrists in either hand, but the force that has pushed its way between me and the children still presses forward like a wedge – the children are torn from me, resistance is hopeless. I must let them, go, or I shall break their arms. It was a hideous moment."

"...the funeral procession, comprised of more than ten thousand marchers, encompassed central London, enjoying an audience numbering more than one and a half million people. Queen Victoria and virtually every major and minor national figure in politics or the arts viewed either the procession or the ceremony at St. Paul’s."

Sources:
Bloy, M Arthur Wellesley, first Duke of Wellington (1769-1852)
December 3, 1852 New York Times The Wellington Funeral
March 1895 W. Liebknecht A Bad Quarter of an Hour translated by Eleanor Marx Aveling
Illustrated London News November 20th 1852 The Duke's Funeral
Pearsall C.D.J (1999) Burying the duke: Victorian mourning and the funeral of the Duke of Wellington Victorian Literature and Culture 27: 365-393 Cambridge University Press

Come let us cut the cackle

Yet another speech written by W. Vincent Brooks has been transcribed addressing those in the company of a certain Douglas Cockerell of bookbinding fame. It can be found here.

The speech is clearly written in anticipation of great and somewhat unsettling changes within lithography, the print industry and the wider world. Despite this, Wilfred remains defiantly optimistic in this between war era of considerable uncertainty.

Nerves are the Devil

1889 saw the birth of Frederick's first child, a girl named Edith Mary Brooks. The photograph here dates from around the turn of the last century.

At the age of nineteen, on the 3rd June 1908, Edith married Edward W L Jarrett. We currently know little of their early time together other than they had soon produced both a son and a daughter.

By the mid 1920's Frederick's old school acquaintance Cecil Rhodes had moved up in the world and Edith's youngest brother Herbert Cecil Brooks was working as a Assistant Native Commissioner in what was then Northern Rhodesia. Although far removed from the luxuries of London, while the kids boarded at school, Edith and Edward Jarrett decided on a little holiday.

On Christmas day 1927 Edith wrote to her brother in Solwezi. She and Ted would be sailing on the Arundel Castle out of Southampton on Jan 27th bound for Cape Town. She had booked directly with Union Castle as, "I know someone there and got 10% back off the passage money". Ted had problems with depression but on this Christmas morning at 33 Wilbury Gardens he had managed to get himself out of bed.

Ted's health also prolonged their stay once they had reached Cape Town. Whilst staying at the Mount Nelson Hotel Edith took the time to finalise the details of the trip. The Walmer Castle would take them on the six day voyage to Durban. From the 11th to the 15th of April they would be staying at the Marine Hotel before heading for the Carlton in Johannesburg. After a further stay in Bulawayo they would be staying at Victoria Falls for a week before making the final leg of their journey to Elisabethville (modern day Lubumbashi) and Solwezi.We see from Edith's letters that she arranged with Thomas Cook to have supplies for their stay sent straight up to Solwezi. As well as extra food and camp kit, a collection of gramophone records was also dispatched. Unfortunately Thomas Cook had trouble with this request, the road between Elisabethville and Solwezi "is at present impassable the bridge having been carried away". Another request for a car to take Edith and Ted on the final leg of the journey from Sakania was also in doubt as the car due to collect them was, "apparently held up at Kasenga; we understand there are five lorries bogged on the Kasenga road and the position at present does not appear hopeful".

While still in Cape Town Ted visited a Doctor recommended by a friend. Whilst waiting Edith pencilled another letter to Solwezi. "Friday, Saturday and Sunday Ted seemed much better and took quite an interest in everything but hasn't been to grand since. Nerves are the devil. I'm only hoping it will be such an immense change with you it will make him forget there is such a person as E. Jarrett for a bit". They had some luck at the horse races and attended a dance at Sea Point but Edith ends her letter, "Ted hasn't brought a gun as he said he should shoot himself if he had one so I dropped the question quietly".

The next letter we have dates from 19th April 1928, two weeks after Edith and Ted arrived in Solwezi. Herbert wrote to Thomas Cook in Elisabethville asking for arrangements to be made for their return to Cape Town via Durban. It is only in a letter from the following day that a clearer picture starts to emerge. Herbert wrote to a friend in Elisabethville, "the visit of my sister and brother-in-law, Mr & Mrs Jarrett, has unfortunately been a failure and Jarrett is now suffering with a bad type of nervous breakdown. The Doctor has ordered him home and they will leave Elisabethville for Durban on the 28th April".
He goes on to ask if a travelling companion can be found for Edith for the journey as, "my sister is nervous of the journey down to Durban, without anyone on the train that she knows, as Jarrett is at times very difficult to handle".

On the 16th May Edith once again writes to Herbert's wife Hilda. Having arrived back in Cape Town she is now at the Cape of Good Hope. "Dear Hilda, Many thanks for forwarding letters and sending home address book. I got your letter the day of Ted's funeral. He died on board the Edinburgh Castle on May 12th and was buried at Maitland cemetery on Monday...I am now staying with Miss Fairbridge till Friday when I am going on on the Edinburgh. I am very sorry I created such a disturbance in your household. Lots of love to you & Bill, Edith [p.s] Ted especially wanted to be remembered to Kinross whom he said he felt liked & was sorry for him".

The events in Solwezi and the cause of Edward's death are not covered by any of our present documents. The story told by 'Bill', now in his eighties, is that Ted tried to attack his brother-in-law with a knife. The death on the Edinburgh Castle while officially being recorded as malaria, again according to Bill, was in fact suicide.

Back in the UK their son Jack Jarrett went on to marry Molly (maiden name unknown) who apparently was a pioneer in the flower business, being the first to grow carnations under glass and establishing a very early floral mail order service. Jack and Molly had two boys together, one of which being David Allan Robert Jarrett born at Puncharden, Willian, Hertfordshire on 6th December 1936. Edith's daughter Kathleen, or Kay as she is better know, married Alfred Wall. They had two children Judith and Robert.

Following the unexpected end to her first marriage, Edith later tied the knot with Herbert Edward Newsum. Herbert was nearly twenty years her senior and was the fourth child of Henry Newsum the famous timber merchant of Lincoln. In his younger days Herbert made an appearance for Lincoln City FC in an FA Cup match against Hull. Both him and his brother Clement scored in the 5-1 victory. Later, as a Captain, he headed the Lincolnshire Volunteer Company during the Boer war. Later still, in 1913, he followed in his brothers foot steps and became mayor of Lincoln.