‘Mrs Llewelyn Davies, modestly draped, and hardly attempting to act, smiled exquisitely at the onlookers with an air of bewildered apology. Mason put all his professional experience into the part of a comic sluggard. Barrie, the Bad Boy of the school, wearing a clubbed, corn-coloured wig—but retaining his moustache, so that some of the children found him almost as terrifying as the Dwarf—was of course unspeakably cowardly. His great scene was when he was challenged to fight, and delayed the proceedings by removing twelve waistcoats, one after another. … Addison Bright was completely encased in a mask and dark-brown plush. … And Mrs. Barrie, as the Good Little Girl, looked remarkably pretty … and was a fairy-tale heroine from beginning to end.’3
Peter in petticoats, used for the cover of ‘The Greedy Dwarf’
The afternoon's entertainment put Barrie to some considerable expense, but this was more than compensated by the pleasure he derived in terrifying his young audience; moreover, he had gained valuable experience in determining their reactions and criticisms. After the play was over, the children were treated to a banquet of cakes and ice-cream, while Barrie jotted down his observations in his notebook:
—Babies Pantomime
1. Really Peter was the hero (not his mother). He youngest by day but terrifies brothers by night with tales—we adapt his tales.
2. ‘That's my mother—she's 34.’ [Jack's exclamation]
4. Sea of faces—mouths open.
8. Rage of Peter ∵ portrait [on programme] shows him in petticoats.
11. Dog exhausted & lying on sofa—trembling when curtain abt to go up.
12. Children gazed intently—never smiled.
13. Their polite congratulations.
Ten days after the ‘Greedy Dwarf’ pantomime, Queen Victoria died – and George went back to Norland Place School for his last term. In May he would be starting at Wilkinson's preparatory school in Orme Square – presided over by the celebrated Mr Wilkinson. The school faced the northern stretch of Kensington Gardens, and Wilkinson was already a familiar sight to Barrie and George, marshalling his bevy of schoolboys into crocodile formation in the Broad Walk. He was an austere, imposing figure, with a long, pointed nose and a golden moustache; he was fond of referring to his pupils as blithering little fools, while they in turn dubbed him ‘Milky’. A number of George's older friends were already going to Wilkinson's, and he eagerly awaited the summer when he would be joining them. It was therefore inevitable that sooner or later the glamorous headmaster would find his way into the expanding narrative of The Little White Bird:
On attaining the age of eight, or thereabout, children fly away from the Gardens, and never come back. … Where the girls go to I know not, … but the boys have gone to Pilkington's. He is a man with a cane. You may not go to Pilkington's in knickerbockers made by your mother. … They must be real knickerbockers. It is his stern rule. Hence the fearful fascination of Pilkington's. …
Maimie (the forerunner of Wendy) and her brother in The Little White Bird, drawn by Arthur Rackham. The boy's clothes were copied from George
‘Abhorred shade! I know not what manner of man thou art in the flesh, sir, but figure thee bearded and blackavised, and of a lean, tortuous habit of body, that moves ever with a swish. … 'Tis fear of thee and thy gown and thy cane, which are part of thee, that makes the fairies to hide by day. … How much wiser they than the small boys who swim glamoured to thy crafty hook. Thou devastator of the Gardens, I know thee, Pilkington.
‘I first heard of Pilkington from David, who had it from Oliver Bailey.
‘This Oliver Bailey was one of the most dashing figures in the Gardens. … His not ignoble ambition seems always to have been to be wrecked upon an island … and it was perhaps inevitable that a boy with such an outlook should fascinate David. … The friendship of the two dated from this time; … he … walked hand in hand with him, and … it was already too late to break the spell of Oliver, David was top-heavy with pride in him; and, faith, I began to find myself very much in the cold, for Oliver was frankly bored by me, and even David seemed to think it would be convenient if I went and sat with Irene. Am I affecting to laugh? I was really distressed and lonely, and rather bitter; and how humble I became. … For years I had been fighting [his mother] for David, and had not wholly failed; … was I now to be knocked out so easily by a seven-year-old? I reconsidered my weapons, and I fought Oliver and beat him. …
George ‘dressed for the kill’ (JMB)
‘With wrecked islands I did it. I began in the most unpretentious way by telling them a story which might last an hour, and favoured by many an unexpected wind it lasted eighteen months. It started as the wreck of the simple Swiss family, … but soon a glorious inspiration of the night turned it into the wreck of David … and Oliver Bailey. At first it was what they were to do when they were wrecked, but imperceptibly it became what they had done. … As we walked in the Gardens I told them of the hut they had built; and they were inflated, but not surprised. …
‘David was now firmly convinced that he had once been wrecked on an island, … [and] as I unfolded the story Oliver listened with an open knife in his hand, and David … wore a pirate-string round his waist. …
‘Thus many months passed with no word of Pilkington, [but then] suddenly I heard the whir of his hated reel as he struck a fish. I remember that grim day with painful vividness; it was a wet day, indeed I think it has rained for me more or less ever since. As soon as they joined me I saw from the manner of the two boys that they had something to communicate. Oliver nudged David and retired a few paces, whereupon David said to me solemnly:
George aiming at Barrie's camera. An arrow later split Jack's lip (JMB)
‘“Oliver is going to Pilkington's. … He has two jackets and two shirts and two knickerbockers, all real ones.”
‘“Well done, Oliver!” said I, but it was the wrong thing, … and … they disappeared behind the tree. Evidently they decided that the time for plain speaking was come, for now David announced bluntly —
‘“He wants you not to call him Oliver any longer.”
‘“What shall I call him?”
‘“Bailey.”
‘“But why?”
‘“He's going to Pilkington's. And he can't play with us any more after next Saturday.”
‘“Why not?”
‘“He's going to Pilkington's.”
‘So now I knew the law about the thing, and we moved on together, Oliver stretching himself consciously, and methought that even David walked with a sedater air.
‘“David,” said I, with a sinking, “are you going to Pilkington's?”
‘“When I am eight,” he replied.
‘“And shan't I call you David then, and won't you play with me in the Gardens any more?”
‘He looked at Bailey, and Bailey signalled him to be firm.
‘“Oh no,” said David cheerily.
Barrie and George
‘Thus sharply did I learn how much longer I was to have him. Strange that a little boy can give so much pain. I dropped his hand and walked on in silence, and presently I did my most churlish to hurt him by ending the story abruptly in a very cruel way. “Ten years have elapsed,” said I, “since I last spoke, and our two heroes, now gay young men, are revisiting the wrecked island of their childhood. ‘Did we wreck ourselves,’ said one, ‘or was there someone to help us?’ And the other, who was the younger, replied, ‘I think there was someone to help us, a man with a dog. I think he used to tell me stories in the Kensington Gardens, but I forget all about him; I don't remember even his name.’”
‘This tame ending bored Bailey, and he drifted away from us, but David still walked by my side, and he was grown so quiet that I knew a storm was brewing. Suddenly he flashed lightning on me. “It's not true,” he cried, “it's a lie!” He gripped my hand. “I shan't never forget you, father.”
‘Strange that a little boy can give so much pleasure.
‘Yet I could go on. “You will forget, Davi
d, but there was once a boy who would have remembered.”
‘“Timothy?” said he at once. He thinks Timothy was a real boy, and he is very jealous of him. He turned his back to me, and stood alone and wept passionately, while I waited for him. You may be sure I begged his pardon, and made it all right with him, and had him laughing and happy again before I let him go. But nevertheless what I said was true. David is not my boy, and he will forget. But Timothy would have remembered.’
* * *
At Easter, Sylvia and Arthur took George, Jack and Peter down to the Isle of Wight for a short holiday, leaving Mary Hodgson in London to look after Michael, who had evidently been ill. Sylvia wrote to Mary every few days, anxious for news of him.
Hazlehurst,
Freshwater Bay.
(Please don't call me madam) Good Friday morning.
My dear Mary,
We are here safe and sound and, considering the long journey, none the worse. … I am thinking of my little Michael all the time and longing to kiss him. … I can see him so well in his nursery. Mama wrote that she hadn't been very well, so I don't suppose she has been round. I hope she won't do too much. …
The boys are all well (G. and P. coughing slightly) and very happy, and get out in spite of the rain—you can imagine their shoes and all the changing! … I miss you very often, but we manage as well as we can. … I am longing to see my little Michael; it seems months since I had him in my arms. Kiss my little boy for me and whisper in his ear that I want him so much.
Sincerely yours,
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies.
George, Peter and Jack (JMB)
Mary Hodgson took a holiday herself in June, staying with her parents in Morecambe. Sylvia kept her informed of Michael's progress and of life at 31 Kensington Park Gardens:
‘Little Michael is very well and has another tooth through at last—the other will be through soon I think. He has been wonderfully good. He had a few bad cries at first and clung to me and looked about for you which was pathetic, but considering everything he has been easy to soothe. He refuses to take any broth so I suppose I must cope with meat juice.
Michael, the age of the century in 1901
‘Mr Davies and George came back on Wednesday and George thoroughly enjoyed himself. Jack was seedy for two days and afterwards Mr Barrie took him to spend an afternoon at Earl's Court. Peter wished to go too but I thought it would be wiser to let only one, so Peter is to go alone one day later on. … The weather here is very warm and they all have their thin combinations on, and Michael has his little drawers on and no petticoat at present.’
Sylvia wrote to Mary again on June 16th, Michael's first birthday, to make arrangements for the summer holidays: ‘We have taken a charming cottage at Tilford, near Mr Barrie's, instead of Burpham. When you come back I will go down and settle about rooms. … Of course I shouldn't take more than 4 maids away to a cottage.’ Peter Davies later commented in his family Morgue:*
‘“4 maids to Tilford”! It's uncanny. … One has no notion of what Arthur's average income from the Bar may have been at this stage, but it certainly can't have been large. What made this enormous gang of servants possible was, I think, not only the almost non-existent taxation and the cheapness of servants themselves and of things in general, but also the simplicity of the way the family lived: hardly any drink (an occasional bottle of claret … and a glass of beer or so for Arthur), no car or carriage, practically no restaurants to eat and drink expensively in, … and no serious school bills. I think Arthur always had lunch at an A.B.C. for about 6d., and I take it Sylvia made most of her own lovely clothes.’
Sylvia, with Peter, Jack and George (standing), outside Tilford Cottage (JMB)
The cottage at Tilford was less than a five-minute walk along the dusty, winding road to Black Lake Cottage, where the Barries had taken up residence for the summer. Apart from the Allahakbarries' annual cricket match, Barrie had spent most of June and July writing Maude Adams's next vehicle, Quality Street, and by the time the Davieses arrived at Tilford at the end of July, he was posting off the finished manuscript to Frohman in New York. He was now able to devote all his energies to introducing the Davies boys to a world of pirates, Indians and ‘wrecked islands’: bloodthirsty sagas not merely described but enacted to the full in the ‘haunted groves’ of Black Lake forest. The lake itself became a South Seas lagoon, the setting for numerous adventures in which an old punt was variously utilized as a long boat, a rakish pirate ship, and ‘the ill-fated brig, Anna Pink’. Their escapades followed the approximate storyline of Barrie's favourite book as a boy, The Coral Island, in which Jack, Ralph and Peterkin are wrecked on a desert island. Porthos obliged his master by representing a whole host of characters, from the pirates' dog to a ferocious tiger in a papier-mâché mask, while Barrie created a role for himself as the pirate Captain Swarthy, a dark and sinister figure who displayed despicable cowardice in the face of his young antagonists, frequently forcing the four-year-old Peter to walk the plank into the murky waters of Black Lake. Fortunately the lake was only a few feet at its deepest, but on more than one occasion Sylvia and Arthur had to restrain the high degree of realism in the acting by disallowing the use of real arrows and long-bladed knives. Occasionally Barrie would step aside from the adventures and view them objectively, photographing the boys in action, or jotting down observations for use in The Little White Bird or his new play, The Admirable Crichton.
George, Jack and Peter at Black Lake in August 1901, setting off on their Boy Castaway adventures (JMB)
George, Jack and Peter in the Black Lake: ‘It was a coral island glistening in the sun’ (JMB)
‘What is genius? It is the power to be a boy again at will …’ Denis Mackail observed that ‘if Barrie is besotted with these boys and his games, if sometimes his single-minded concentration on them is really a little excessive and alarming, no one again can stop him, and he is obviously so gloriously happy, too. And so kind. So funny. And only juggling with his own age.’ Certainly Mary Barrie had no wish to stop him; on his own he habitually sank into black depression, but the boys brought him alive again, transforming him into a warm and witty companion, both for themselves and for Mary. Nor did Arthur attempt to break the spell; he had precious little in common with the man, but he no longer looked upon him as a rival. Just as Barrie commanded an area of affection entirely to himself, Arthur was equally confident of his family's need for the particular love and devotion that only he could provide. It was, perhaps, this mutual recognition of each other's territory that allowed the curious ménage to continue without serious disruption. A sign in the garden at Black Lake seemed to sum up the situation: PERSONS WHO COME TO STEAL THE FRUIT ARE REQUESTED NOT TO WALK ON THE FLOWER BEDS.
Jack pointing out a vulture to George in the woods of Black Lake (JMB)
Although the world of fairies had been largely replaced by pirates and desert islands for George and Jack, there remained one who had faith in them, while the youngest still awaited initiation. The two elder boys therefore had to tolerate a certain amount of fairy nonsense for Peter's benefit, or stand idly by and watch Barrie hypnotize Michael with his ‘famous manipulation of the eyebrows: … when the one was climbing my forehead the other descended it, like the two buckets in the well’.4
George and Jack outside their marooner's hut (JMB)
Throughout the long summer days of August, Barrie and the Davies boys were inseparable, and he decided to honour them by turning the photographs of their exploits into a book, as he had done for Bevil Quiller-Couch seven years before. However, this time he resolved to produce the book in an altogether grander fashion, commissioning Constable's to print the text and bind the photographs in the style of The Coral Island. He would have had little difficulty in finding a publisher for the finished product had he wished to do so, thereby recouping the cost of the enterprise, but he wanted it to be a private tribute. He therefore restricted the edition to two copies, one for the boys' father and one for himself, calling
it The Boy Castaways of Black Lake Island:
Peter, aged four, ‘wrote’ in the Preface: ‘I have still … a vivid recollection of that strange and terrible summer, when we suffered experiences such as have probably never before been experienced by three brothers … I should say that the work was in the first instance compiled as a record simply, at which we could whet our memories, and that it is now published for Michael's benefit. If it teaches him by example lessons in fortitude and manly endurance, we shall consider that we were not wrecked in vain.’ The Boy Castaways was dedicated ‘To Our Mother, in Cordial Recognition of her Efforts to Elevate us above the Brutes’.
In his Dedication* to Peter Pan, written over a quarter of a century later, Barrie described The Boy Castaways as ‘a now melancholy volume, … the literary record of that summer … which is so much the best and the rarest of this author's works’:
‘It contains thirty-five illustrations and is bound in cloth with a picture stamped on the cover of the three eldest of you “setting out to be wrecked”. This record is supposed to be edited by the youngest of the three, and I must have granted him that honour to make up for his being so often lifted bodily out of our adventures by his nurse, who kept breaking into them for the fell purpose of giving him a midday rest. Michael rested so much at this period that he was merely an honorary member of the band, waving his foot to you for luck when you set off with bow and arrow to shoot his dinner for him. … The illustrations (full-paged) in The Boy Castaways are all photographs taken by myself; some of them indeed of phenomena that had to be invented afterwards, for you were always off doing the wrong things when I pressed the button. …
J.M. Barrie and the Lost Boys Page 12