Itook this poem and other writings of my father to Ireland with me. He had a beautiful library. My mother gave most of it to her sons and kept very few books herself, with the exception of one hundred and fifty copies of ‘Life and Immortality which had been bought out by subscription. Eminent people had ordered so many copies. Lord Tennyson had twenty five copies and I have just one in which my father signed his name.

It had been arranged for my sister Rosie and myself to go from Brasted Chart to stay with our friends, the Chapmans.

Mrs Chapman was a lovely lady and always so kind. Her two daughters, Ethel - the eldest and my age - and Dora, were both fond of us and treated us with the utmost affection. In fact Mrs Chapman had a new black dress of the finest made for me. It was done by an expert dressmaker and fitted like a glove with a high collar and frills of crepe which was fashionable at the time and the skirt was finely bustled - but without ostentation.

My eldest sister did not come as she had a post at Lady Wright’s to teach her two children. My mother stayed with her sister Harriet at Croydon with a Mr Weaver. He was a widower and my sister Rosie had been looking after his motherless children of which there were twins - both four years old. Rosie had been there about six weeks trying to save enough money to buy her trousseau.

We all arrived at Euston station early and had a little to say to each other. Suddenly there was a stir amongst us as a hansom cab drew up to the platform where we had congregated.

My cousin, Nelly Curtis - now married four years to Frank Mellersh - sprang out and there were some leather bags and rugs which were quickly taken care of by a porter standing by. My cousin was tall and slim and wore a long black coat with an Ermine tie and a huge Ermine muff. Her face was shaded by a very pale violet veil which only came down to her eyes.

Her husband, Frank Mellersh, was taller and extraordinarily handsome. He wore his clothes to perfection. Over a double-  

breasted navy suit hung a beautifully cut overcoat - unbuttoned.

My tin box looked a terrible blackguard standing on the station platform - like the Queen standing next to a road sweeper.

Nelly walked over to our group and, waving her hand, she exclaimed in a high pitched voice: “Who are these people?”

I immediately introduced my mother and my sister of whom I was always so proud but of the rest, I was snob enough to feel their inconsequence. The box was a disgrace and my own attire second rate. The only thing I had which was of a redeeming point was a very well cut cape of Harris Tweed with lace and plain fawn outside which Ethel Chapman had kindly lent it to me for the journey.

Frank Mellersh could not have behaved better. He shook hands with all of us.

I have often wondered why my mother did not take more of an interest in my going away. She might have let me have her fine, black leather trunk which had ‘Bombay’ written in large white letters across it and many labels on the side which made it look important. She also had two leather bags and a case but I suppose having so little to pack in them, she just didn’t give it a thought. I know the shock of father’s death was very great to her - to be left without much money and her five sons travelling all over the world.

I looked so white when I arrived at Dublin. I had been sea-sick. I remember going up the gangway for air and a soldier - a private dressed in a scarlet jacket with red stripes down his trousers and a pill-box hat stuck on the side of his head with chin straps - came up to me and caught me up just as I was about to fall. I was in his arms.

“What shall I do with you?” he said.

“Throw me in the sea, please,” I replied, “I hate it all.”