J.M. Barrie and the Lost Boys

by Andrew Birkin

  I have by the bye often heard you & Coley [May's husband] say she might be forgiven if she did seek consolation. Well well.

  Yr loving

  Trixie

  George, at Eton, was seemingly unaware of his mother's illness:

  Thursday, November 18th [1909]

  Dearest Mother,

  …It was topping having Mr Barrie down here on Sunday. I have grown a lot, as now I simply tower above him. I'm reaching the goal of my ambition – six feet of height! We went for a walk and then had tea with my tutor [Hugh Macnaghten]. He [Barrie] was very sad, of course, but he seemed to buck up a bit at times. Mr Mason does seem to be kind to him, getting all his clothes at blood tailors and things. The flat seems rather jolly too. We shall have to go and see him a lot next holidays, and cheer him up. I'm hoping he'll be able to come down here on St Andrew's Day with Mr Mason.

  I suppose I'd better be getting some blue serge pattern to send you. … Pray remember that one has to be rather à la mode in London! My taste in socks is settling down from loudness to real good taste. My last pair is quite a dream! Such an exquisite blue, you know, a trifle dark and subdued. I always rather liked blue! I've also got a lovely dark green Jaeger pair, which I feel certain you'll adore. I think I'm rather a coming man!

  Your loving son,

  George

  Adelphi Terrace House in Robert Street, off the Strand. Barrie's flat was on the third floor; he later moved to the top-floor flat with the angled window

  At the end of November, Barrie moved into his new flat in Adelphi Terrace, decorated for him by Elizabeth Lucas and Lady Lewis, who had also found him an indispensable manservant in the shape of ‘the inimitable’ Harry Brown, as Peter called him, ‘who was to do so much for his comfort in the years that followed, and would soon be on intimate terms with all of us, calling Nico “Tuppence” and generally brightening the atmosphere’.

  George and Jack returned at Christmas to find their mother more or less permanently confined to her bedroom, attended by Nurse Loosemore. A consultation with a third specialist had produced further anxiety. Mary Hodgson told Peter later, ‘By this time your Mother was worried and restless. I had gone down stairs out of the way – returning – Dr R[endel] … shook his head sadly. At this moment your Mother's bell rang gently. The rest of the gathering were in the School Room. Your Mother said, “Shut the door, Mary. You are the only one I trust – what did Dr Rendel say?” I replied, “Nothing,” and she lay back bitterly disappointed.’ By early spring, Sylvia was obliged to use a Bath-chair, lifted by two carrier men. Barrie was in constant attendance, resuming the role he had performed only three years before at the bedside of the dying Arthur. Sylvia's illness was less intense – a gradual winding down of the body and spirit rather than a series of operations, but no less harrowing to witness. Some days she was able to go outside and watch Michael and Nico playing cricket with ‘Uncle Jim’ in Campden Hill Square, but for most of the time she remained in her room. Barrie paid for an ‘Electrophone’ to be installed by her bed – an ingenious device which enabled her to dial any theatre of her choice and listen to the performance on a pair of headphones. George wrote to her from Eton:

  ‘How are you? You never say anything about how you're getting on. What rot it is to think you've never even seen this room. … How soon shall you go out in your bath-chair? I do hope I'll be able to wheel you on leave. … How I envy you being able to listen on the electrophone at night. I feel just like it myself. “Ah! now listen.” “What is it?” “Um–um–um–la, la, la, la, etc.” “Divine!” Or again: “Let's have ‘The Arcadians' Electrophone?” “Yes.” “Put us on to the Shaftesbury, please.” “Oh yes, they're just finishing that decent song – ‘Oh, what very charming wea-ther.’” “Perfect!”’

  George may have been aware of Sylvia's condition, and have felt that frequent happy letters from Eton were the best possible tonic for her. Michael, although only nine, certainly had intuitive forebodings: Gerald du Maurier later told his daughter Daphne how, on one of his visits to see Sylvia, he noticed Michael sitting at a small desk in the corner of her bedroom, doing his homework, the tears rolling down his cheeks and splashing onto the paper.

  At Easter 1910, Nico went to stay with Mary Hodgson for a short holiday in Morecambe. Sylvia wrote to him from her sick-bed:

  Sylvia's sketch of Nico

  23 C.H.S.

  22nd [April, 1910]

  Darling,

  Today Peter & Michael & Nurse & I went twice to Kensington Gardens. Michael sometimes sits at the end of the bath chair & guides it while the man pushes it behind. Will you guide it sometimes when I get back? It is very hot & I must get you a thin coat. I wish I could sit on the sands with you & throw stones into the sea! Dear darling Nico, I have got to be carried to bed now. I wish I could run upstairs instead! What would nurse say!

  Goodnight my dear little boy.

  Loving & loving,

  Mother

  Captain Scott was now busily preparing for his second expedition to the Antarctic, but did not disdain to join Barrie, Michael and Nico in games of exploration in Kensington Gardens. In his Dedication to Peter Pan, Barrie described them as ‘our Antarctic exploits when we reached the Pole in advance of our friend Captain Scott and cut our initials on it for him to find, a strange foreshadowing of what was really to happen’. With Barrie acting as one of his financial sponsors, Scott left England in early June, setting out on his attempt to become the first man to reach the South Pole. There appears to have been some argument between the two men shortly before Scott sailed, but, whatever the cause, Barrie remained a fervent supporter of the expedition throughout the three years of its duration.

  George with his housemaster and tutor, Hugh Macnaghten

  By the end of June, Sylvia appeared to be making a slight recovery, but was still not strong enough to travel down to Eton. This was left to Barrie, who had grown particularly fond of Arthur's old colleague and George's housemaster and tutor, Hugh Macnaghten. ‘Hugh was a queer one,’ wrote Peter in his Morgue, ‘as queer in his own way as J.M.B. in his, and the two ways had something in common. Hugh was too good to be wise.’ Macnaghten's House was considered to be the best at Eton, and George was, at sixteen, a major asset to it in the realm of sport. His tremendous popularity among the other boys was evidenced by his early election to Pop – Eton's élitist social club, membership of which is normally restricted to boys in their final year. As a full-blown Eton blood, George was a known figure to every boy in the school, yet it never went to his head. ‘He had absolutely no vanity,’ recalled a contemporary, ‘no conceit whatsoever. It was quite extraordinary – almost unique in my experience – for someone quite so successful. He was a tremendous blood at Eton, but you'd never have known it. He wasn't a great talker, but he had great charm. He was rather shy, rather reserved, but his sense of humour was exquisite.’12 Barrie was, not unnaturally, overwhelmed with pride in this boy who was making such a graceful transition from the child in the red tam-o'-shanter to the gay young Etonian who still retained so much of the bright boy-knight about his looks and personality. Little wonder that he availed himself of every opportunity to visit him, taking him out for the day, or watching him play cricket from the side of the field. Many boys of George's age might have found the constant companionship of a strange little man something of an embarrassment among their peers; it would seem that George felt quite the reverse. On July 1st he wrote to Sylvia, ‘I've written to Uncle Jim to fulfil his telephone promise and come down tomorrow. I do hope he'll be able to do so. I'm feeling very keen to see his best silk socks! I hope it isn't going to rain to stop him coming or anything of that sort.’ Peter later commented on George's use of the term ‘Uncle Jim’, which Michael and Nico had been using for some time, ‘symbolizing the intimacy which had so rapidly increased since 1907, until he was closer by far to us, as well as directing our destinies, than any of our real uncles. … J.M.B. is now clearly seen in the role of leading uncle, if not step-father; perhaps
guardian angel best describes him.’ It was a role that Sylvia utilized with increasing frequency. Peter was in his last term at Wilkinson's, and was due to join George at Eton in the Christmas half. He had taken a scholarship exam, but since Barrie had already guaranteed all the boys' fees, there was no anxiety over the result. Sylvia wrote to Barrie on July 6th as he was about to set off for Eton and collect Peter after his exam:

  23 Campden Hill Square,

  Kensington.

  Dear J,

  …Will you do something for me? I want 1½ doz. white collars (George wears the shape) for Peter & 2 doz. white ties (also like George), as they are best bought at Eton. The shop is called New & Lingwood. Ask for collars for tails & Peter will know what size & can try one on if wanted. He must bring them home with him.

  I so liked your letter about G & P! I have thought so much of Peter & am wondering how he has done. … I suppose George can't be let off camp for his delicate mother's sake.

  Affec:

  S.

  A few days later, Wilkinson interrupted Peter in a game of ‘corridor cricket’ to announce with some surprise that he had brought off his Eton scholarship, albeit twelfth on the list. In recording his ‘puny triumph’ in the family Morgue, Peter apologized for ‘dwelling a little on this, the solitary distinction, such as it was, that I ever attained in my mostly mis-spent life. That it gave pleasure to Sylvia in her last sad weeks has always been to me a source of secret satisfaction.’

  By July, Sylvia was convinced that she was seriously ill, despite the assurance of her family and doctors to the contrary. In an effort to elicit the truth, she proposed taking her five boys on holiday into the wilds of Devon – a scheme that met with Barrie's approval, but filled Emma du Maurier with horror. Mary Hodgson later explained to Peter, ‘Your mother insisted on going out of town with her family, thinking it would finally decide matters if they would not let her go. Dr R[endel] said, “If Sylvia wishes to go, she should have what she wishes.” Nurse L[oosemore] said Dr R and J.M.B. were quite mad & eventually told me to make myself & the boys scarce on the journey “as anything might happen”.’ The house selected for the holidays was Ashton Farm, a lonely farm-house in the valley of the River Oare, miles from the nearest doctor, but selected by Sylvia because it would provide excellent fishing for her boys.

  Dolly Ponsonby visited her shortly before she left London. ‘I think she was in a black gown, and lying on the sofa. I realized then that she was not going to live, and I remember going back and telling my husband, and weeping.’13

  The journey to Ashton made an exhausting day for Sylvia: five hours by rail to Minehead, then fifteen miles across Exmoor by car. ‘At Minehead there was a climax’, wrote Mary Hodgson to Peter. ‘Your Mother insisted that the two youngest and myself [instead of Nurse Loosemore] should travel in the car. … Nurse Loosemore barely spoke to me thereafter. At Ashton, I only saw your mother at odd times. I think the powers-that-be thought I was not to be trusted, and were probably wise in that view.’ Barrie was obliged to stay not at the farm-house but in rooms in the neighbouring village, since Emma du Maurier had announced her intention of coming down to be with her daughter and sleep in the only spare room. Nevertheless he was in daily attendance, sitting with Sylvia as he had sat with Arthur, revising his manuscript of Peter and Wendy, or recording his thoughts in his notebook:

  Emma du Maurier in 1910 – a widow for the past 14 years

  — Peter Pan. Revise. What time of year, summer winter autumn? Peter doesn't understand – ‘There's only spring.’

  — Michael saying ‘If good in heaven will God sometimes let me go down to Hell to play?’

  — The dying. Friends around talk of other things. Wonder about dying, when silent really making preparations for dying – for the journey.

  — Death. One thinks of the dead as a bird taking lonely flight. If saw we would realise it is always one of a great flock of birds.

  — Play. Man who brings up 4 girls as guardian (better than boys?).

  — The Second Chance: ‘Beware, or you may get what you want.’

  Emma du Maurier arrived at the farm-house at the beginning of August, and wrote regular accounts of Sylvia's condition to her daughter, May:

  ‘[August 1st, 1910] … It is terrible to think dear Sylvia is so far from doctors . … It is a nice house but hill all round, even from the lawn to the garden is quite a hill. This ought never to have been taken. Today Sylvia is staying in bed, she seems quite to wish to. She seems glad I have come and hopes I can stay and of course I shall, but you can imagine what I feel. [August 5th] … Dr Spicer came this morning. … When Sylvia heard the doctor was to sleep here (for we all think it a great mistake if he didn't) she was angry and then began to cry, and said “I believe I am very ill”, so you can imagine how dreadful that was. … Dear Sylvia has such bad nights, even with trional, and she looks so wan and thin, it breaks my heart to look at her. … She doesn't wish the boys ever to be kept away from her; of course they are out all day until tea time, and when they are in the garden she can see them. [August 24th] … Dear Sylvia had a bad night and seems very languid and weak this morning. Yesterday afternoon she seemed more comfortable and wished to hear the gramophone and the boys came in. However too many of them soon tire her. Dear little Nicholas is very good but of course he is lively and wants to jump about and climb on the backs of the others and all that is too much in her room. After tea they play games in the garden and it amuses her to watch them.’

  Sylvia (JMB)

  Peter Davies recalled how George and Jack, both wearing new suits, went into the room where Sylvia lay on a sofa, and ‘how she greatly enjoyed their stylish appearance and exclaimed with delight: “What a pair of young rakes!” Crompton visited the farm-house for a few days, our only other visitor being Maude Adams, whom Barrie brought down for a night or two that she might see and be seen by Sylvia and “her boys (my boys)”. For the rest of the time we went our ways blithely enough, I seem to remember. The remote and beautiful Doone valley, a few miles from Ashton, was among our regular fishing-places … and we made almost daily expeditions, sandwiches in pocket, up the valleys of the Lynn and the Oare. … In the evenings we would take the day's catch of small trout in to show Sylvia, as she lay, so much frailer than we knew, on a sofa or in her bed. … From now onwards, while we fished and golfed and walked furiously, or made expeditions to Lynton and ate huge teas with bilberry jam and Devonshire cream, or on idle days watched the buzzards circling slowly, high above the valley of the Lynn – while, in fact, we went our boyish ways – Sylvia weakened rapidly, and I think she never again left her room.’

  Faced with the inevitable, Sylvia once again attempted to draft a Will, though it was not found until several months after her death:

  ‘Sylvia's Will.

  ‘I would like everything to go on as far as possible as it has been lately. Twenty-three [Campden Hill Square] to be kept up for the dear boys with Mary (whom I trust with my whole heart) looking after them.

  ‘At any time I know friends who love them will come & stay sometimes – one at a time – & see them & be with them for a little just as if I was there. What I wd like wd be if Jenny* wd come to Mary & that the two together would be looking after the boys & the house & helping each other. And it would be so nice for Mary.

  ‘I would like Mama & J.M.B. & Guy & Crompton to be trustees & guardians to the boys & that May & Margaret would give their dear advice & care. … I would also like the advice of dear Hugh Macnaghten. … J.M.B. I know will do everything in his power to help our boys – to advise, to comfort, to sympathise in all their joys & sorrows.

  ‘At present my Jack is going into the Navy – if he should grow to dislike it and if there was anything else, I know he (J.M.B.) would do all that was best. I want all the boys to treat him (& their uncles) with absolute confidence & straightforwardness & to talk to him about everything. I know he will understand always & be loving & patient. I hope from my soul that they will be happy & lead goo
d lives & be as much as possible like their most beloved father & I also hope that if they marry they will be good & tender husbands & fathers & be with their wives as happy as he & I were. … They have all been the most splendid & beloved & affectionate & open sons & I know they will go on being affectionate brothers & help each other all they can in the years to come. I do not want my Michael to be pressed at all at work – he is at present not very strong† but very keen & intelligent: great care must be taken not to overwork him. Mary understands & of course J.M.B. knows & will be careful & watch.

  ‘I do not wish any of my dear boys to look at me when I am dead – it is a great mistake I think – let them remember me at my best & when I could look at them – that must have been the best time always because I love them so utterly.

  ‘I will be cremated & buried with my Arthur at Hampstead next to beloved Papa. Perhaps Mama or May will keep my trinkets & give them to the wives of my five boys when the time comes. … I would like Mama to go over my letters in case anything has to be kept – otherwise I would like everything burnt.

  ‘I do not want any of my boys to go to my funeral, nor do I want it made into a long gloomy day for them.’