While Sir Reginald governed the Sudan, Lady Wingate behaved as if she was the queen, even employing a personal umbrella carrier. The couple introduced official rituals and a rigid social etiquette which were largely their own creation. There were guards of honour, levees, durbars and illuminations. A Victorian virago, at the many formal dinners held at their palace Lady Wingate ruled that high-necked dresses should be worn by the ladies.46 She also insisted that they wore white kid gloves when paying calls. Wielding her power with austere rectitude, she decided who should and should not be received, and as a strong Christian she gave a very cold reception to anyone who was having an affair. When her husband became High Commissioner of Egypt in 1917, a position which was second only to the Viceroy of India in responsibility and power, Lady Wingate became increasingly grand. She expected officials and their wives to pay court to her. After a visit to Egypt, Rudyard Kipling wrote to a friend that many army officers told him that she had governed the Sudan and that to get promotion in the Egyptian Army you had to conciliate her.47
During the war, Lady Wingate became president of the Cairo and Alexandria Red Cross Committee. Her collection of pearls and donation of the clasp was motivated by great personal loss. In March 1918, her adored youngest son Malcolm was killed on the Western Front. As a matter of conscience, he had left a safer staff post at General Headquarters because he thought a less able-bodied man should do his staff work and he ought to return to the firing line. After his death, Lady Wingate always blamed herself for not dissuading him. She never recovered from his death, making no secret of the fact that he had been her favourite child. In the corner of her drawing room a ‘shrine’ was made in his memory, but her pain remained so raw she would never allow his name to be mentioned. Every year after the war she visited Malcolm’s memorial in France and when she died her own ashes were buried there.48 The donation of the clasp to the Red Cross was her way of acknowledging a grief which was too deep for words.
However, like the pearls themselves, not every clasp represented loss. A historic diamond clasp from Lady Norbury symbolised transformation. The large rose diamond, surrounded by smaller diamonds, had belonged to the Duchess of Portland. Unlike some aristocrats, the Norburys openly embraced the wartime changes that were creating a more egalitarian society. During the war, Lord Norbury worked as a mechanic in a Surrey aircraft factory. The 53-year-old peer took on this role because he believed that every man should do what he could to help his country. He had a good knowledge of mechanics and internal combustion engines and hoped to be of use in accelerating the country’s war output.49 He told one newspaper:
I am not altogether strange to work. I have had a lathe of my own for the past 35 years, and have been used to turning my hand to all kinds of mechanical jobs that wanted doing. I had intended at first to offer myself for shell work but when an advertisement appeared asking for mechanics for an aeroplane factory, I applied for a job and was taken on.50
In a Pathé newsreel, Lord Norbury was shown standing at a machine wearing mechanics’ dungarees and a flat cap. He was then seen taking a break, standing by the door of the factory and wiping his hands on a rag. He was keen to be treated the same as other workers so he ate with them in the canteen and was paid 7d an hour for his labour. Unaffected and cheerful, he became very popular with his fellow workmen who nicknamed him ‘Nobby’.51 He found a new sense of purpose in his work, Lady Norbury explained:
Last week he was working until 3 o’clock in the morning and up again early and at his duty. He has no intention of giving up the work, which he thoroughly enjoys, and he is in excellent health notwithstanding that he is at the bench lathe or in the erecting sheds at 6am every day.52
While the Kitchener rubies commemorated a traditional hero suited to a different age, the Norbury diamonds were a donation that represented a modern man of the people. Lady Norbury was now the wife of a hardworking mechanic and, as the bishops and MPs had pointed out in the parliamentary debates about the pearls, what use had a working man’s wife with fine jewels?
Lady Norbury wanted her valuable clasp to serve a useful purpose and raise funds for the war wounded instead of lying redundant in her jewellery box. Her diamonds symbolised a new spirit of egalitarianism and utilitarianism in the country. The old class divisions were decreasing.
Before the war, only about 2 per cent of officers had served in the ranks, by 1918 it was estimated that nearly 40 per cent of the officer corps came from lower and middle-class backgrounds. In the new more meritocratic system, a taxi driver and a schoolmaster commanded brigades while a coal miner, a railway signalman and a market gardener commanded battalions.53 If the Red Cross Pearl Appeal was to be truly inclusive, it was right that it should represent both the old and the new cultures that vied for supremacy during the war.
Thirteen
PEARL MANIA
During the late summer and autumn, the Allies continued to press forward against the Germans. They were joined by more than half a million enthusiastic American troops who had arrived full of energy and eager to fight. From late September to early October, the Allies broke through the German Hindenburg or Siegfried Line in one of the most decisive victories of the war.
Ludendorff realised the seriousness of the situation: Germany had lost over 1 million men between March and July and a further three-quarters of a million in the following months, half of whom had been taken prisoner.1 On 28 September, he informed his government that they would have to seek an armistice to allow Germany to draw breath and consider peace negotiations. The German Government then approached American President Wilson asking for an armistice based on the ‘Fourteen Points’ he had proposed in January 1918. However, when Wilson now suggested that the Allies should draw up the peace terms with military advice, Ludendorff withdrew his offer and advised a continuation of the war.2
Soon the German general would have little choice about the outcome of events. At home there were fears of revolution; at the Front the German Army was collapsing. Germany was also losing her allies. By the end of October, Bulgaria had surrendered and Turkey had conceded defeat, and early the following month Austria–Hungary also left the war. Faced with failure, on 26 October Ludendorff resigned.3
Watching international events closely, Lady Northcliffe and her committee realised that it was time for the Pearl Appeal to come to a close. The collection had begun when Britain was threatened with defeat, it was fitting that it should end as the country was on the point of victory. By the end of October, the pearls were ready to be turned into necklaces by the top jewellers. The original idea of collecting a few pearls for a single necklace had escalated and at the final count there was a treasure trove of 3,712 pearls, fifty rubies and several diamond and sapphire clasps, from which many necklaces could be created as well as several pearl rings, drop pearls and tiepins.
It was decided that the closing date for the collection of jewels should be on 24 October 1918, which was ‘Our Day’, the most important fundraising date of the year for the Red Cross, when flag collections and events were held across the country to raise money. The idea was that some people would like to commemorate the charity’s special day by giving a final donation to the pearl necklaces.
Once the appeal officially closed, the jewels were handed over to the committee of jewellers who had been collecting the pearls. Mr Pearson from Garrard, Mr Ashwin from the Goldsmiths’ & Silversmiths’ Company and Mr Carrington Smith from Carrington & Company agreed to grade the pearls into necklaces. It was a time-consuming task. Before their work began, pearl stringers spent two days separating the jewels from the silk exhibition cords they had been suspended on at the Grafton Galleries. Then the three jewellers spent several weeks grading and re-grading nearly 4,000 pearls. They were first judged according to their natural beauty rather than size because it was intended that one as near perfect as possible necklace should be created. The necklaces were tentatively made up and then strung and restrung, as the connoisseurs’ skilled eyes selected from one neck
lace a pearl that would go better in another. The experts knew that the careful matching of pearls in colour, size and shape would make a difference to the necklace’s beauty and value. Eventually, after much painstaking work, forty-one necklaces were created.
Many of the jewellers who had been involved in the Pearl Appeal already had close links with the Red Cross, both in England and abroad. Since the time of Florence Nightingale, Garrard had made the medals awarded by the Red Cross to their members who had served with special distinction. From 1915 to 1918 the Royal Red Cross Medal was awarded to nurses who had gone beyond the call of duty. They were given a silver and enamel red cross on a bow ribbon, presented in the distinctive royal blue velvet and cream lining of the Garrard presentation box.
Tiffany was also closely connected to the Red Cross. The three favrile windows in the Board of Governors Hall of the American Red Cross National Headquarters building were commissioned from the Tiffany Studios in 1917. Reputed to be the largest suite of Tiffany windows created for a secular setting, they depict the theme of ministry to the sick and wounded through sacrifice. Although it was in memory of the heroic women of the American Civil War, its symbolism could equally be applied to the work of the Red Cross in the Great War.
The left window panel was inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, ‘Santa Filomena’, which commemorated the work of Florence Nightingale, ‘A lady with a lamp shall stand in the great history of the land, a noble type of good heroic womanhood’.4 In the panel, St Filomena, who was noted for her healing powers, is surrounded by female attendants who provide compassion. One carries a shield bearing the Red Cross emblem. She is followed by Hope, carrying a banner with an anchor painted on it. Next to her is Mercy, bearing gifts. Beside her is Faith, who carries a torch, and Charity, who offers a healing drink. In the foreground, a mother holds her child, who has gathered flowers while, in the background, a young woman carries the Red Cross banner.
In the second window panel Tiffany drew on the imagery of chivalric knights representing modern soldiers. The central panel portrays an army of heroic knights on horseback as they set off for war. The central figure carries a large flag with a red cross in the centre. He rides a white horse with a jewelled saddle and bridle; these ‘Tiffany jewels’ are coloured glass stones. Near the feet of the horse lies a fallen soldier who is being fed by a loyal comrade. The window expresses the idea that even during the brutality of a battle, humanitarian behaviour still exists. The final panel portrays Una, wife of the red cross knight in Edmund Spenser’s epic, The Faerie Queen. The story represents proper human behaviour – Una symbolises Truth, several maidens accompany her carrying a cross and a lamp of wisdom and behind her is a banner with a heart symbolising love.5
The themes of the Tiffany window shared much of the symbolism associated with the pearl necklaces. They too were things of beauty that represented the continuation of humanitarian values in the most barbaric situations. As the pearl necklaces were made up by the jewellers, another layer of symbolism was added. It was decided that all the pearls should become anonymous. In the final necklaces, no one would know whether a string was made up from a jewel from a queen or a young widow. This decision emphasised that each pearl, no matter what its monetary value, was of equal sentimental worth. As The Times explained:
In this is a subtle justice to the generous donors, for a pearl from the necklace of a woman with few jewels, though it might not be as valuable, was often a greater sacrifice than a jewel that was intrinsically more valuable presented by a woman with many jewels.6
Like each soldier who had given his life in the war, it was not the rank that counted but the human sacrifice. During the war, class barriers had been broken down as the owners of great estates lived side by side with their men, sharing the camaraderie and the squalor of the trenches. Similarly, in the hospitals, titled nurses had become firm friends with other nurses from different classes. As the Pearl Auction catalogue wrote, ‘The pearls themselves have sunk their identity in the privilege of ministering to the sick and wounded, the prisoner, the disabled and the incurable.’7
Anonymity added an air of mystery to the pearl necklaces. It was hoped that the most perfect necklace, composed of sixty-three of the finest pearls and Lady Norbury’s diamond clasp, would attract the attention of the world’s major buyers. However, it was also emphasised that there were many others strings of great beauty. One was a necklace composed almost entirely from fine pearls sent from Lady Wingate’s collection in Egypt, the other was a ‘specially beautiful’ necklace of ‘straw-coloured’ pearls, which were much sought after by Continental buyers.8
The jewellers knew just how much money pearls of this quality could fetch. During the Edwardian era, pearl mania had swept across Europe and America. Since the reign of the French King Louis XIV, diamonds had commanded the highest prices among precious stones. However, around 1900 pearls became more popular and pearls of 100 grains became scarcer than diamonds of 100 carats. The largest pearls were worth four times as much as diamonds of equal weight. Until the middle of the nineteenth century there were very few diamonds weighing 100 carats or over, but once the African mines opened in 1870 the number of large diamonds had increased at a much greater rate than the number of large pearls, and consequently prices of pearls soared.9 After 1900, whenever a perfect pearl was found in the Persian Gulf the European pearl trade was put on a state of alert. The boom in pearls even affected financial markets. It altered rates of exchange and caused alarm in the banking world because these jewels introduced an unquantifiable element.10
Many of the most valuable pearls were sold at auction at Christie’s in London. In 1902, Earl Dudley’s rose-coloured drop pearl sold for $67,500 while his pearl necklace of forty-seven pearls reached $111,000. In 1907, Mrs Lewis Hill’s strand of 229 pearls was auctioned for $83,500, while Mrs Gordon-Lennox’s five strands of 287 pearls realised $127,500. To put the results of these sales in perspective, pearls were commanding similar prices to the most expensive paintings. In 1910, J.M.W. Turner’s painting ‘Rockets and Blue Lights’ was auctioned in New York for $129,000.11
Cartier, Tiffany and Chaumet were the most important firms in the international pearl market. In 1910 Cartier New York made newspaper headlines by selling a necklace made up of thirty-nine pearls with diamond roundels for a record price of $570,000. The buyer was the urbane American Nancy Leeds, one of Cartier’s most regular customers, who was a great collector of pearls. When Edward VII was shown a perfect black pearl by Pierre Cartier in Paris, the king could not make up his mind whether he wanted to buy it, only to learn that in the meantime it had been sold to Mrs Leeds. When he discovered that he was staying at the same Paris hotel as her, he sent a message through Cartier that he would like to see her pearls. Evidently, the meeting went well because afterwards the king asked Cartier to present Mrs Leeds with his dog Caesar’s silver collar, which was inscribed, ‘I belong to the King’.12
The turbulence of war did not deter pearl collectors. In the spring of 1918, a necklace of forty-nine pearls sold at Christie’s for more than £17,000. A notable feature of Christie’s sales during the Great War was the immense sums spent on jewels. Many of the finest diamonds found their way into the hands of German and Austrian financiers, who invested in jewellery to avoid the fluctuation in their fortunes caused by the falling exchanges. There was also a ready market in smaller, less valuable jewels which were bought by businessmen who had turned their factories into munitions works and preferred to buy jewellery rather than putting their profits into War Loan Stock.13
Pearls were aspirational jewels not just for the rich. As society became less hierarchical during the war, it was not only the elite who bought pearl necklaces. In 1918 editions of The Queen there were adverts for ‘Sessel pearls’, ‘the finest reproductions existing’, made by ‘a secret and scientific process which imparts to them the same delicacy of tone, texture and durability as Genuine Oriental Pearls’.14 Intruding on the territory of the old established
jewellers, the Sessel shop in New Bond St, London, offered ‘beautiful’ necklaces with a gold clasp for £4 4s, or a string with a diamond, ruby, sapphire or emerald clasp from £3 3s. In The Queen’s ‘Dress and Fashion’ section, an article promoted the merits of this new type of jewellery:
Few of us can afford to give the enormous amount of money demanded for real pearls. But there is no reason why we should deny ourselves the very charming addition to our personal jewellery, for there is one kind of imitation pearl which is so perfect as to baffle even experts until the gems are actually handled.15
Lady Northcliffe’s fundraising efforts had tapped into the aspirational appeal of pearls. The public fascination with every stage of the Red Cross Pearl Necklace Appeal showed no sign of waning as the gems were transformed into necklaces.
This exceptional level of interest was captured in a novel written by the Australian mystery writer, Arthur J. Rees, who had moved to Britain in his twenties. He became a journalist on The Times during the war and, judging by his detailed knowledge of the Pearl Appeal, it seems likely that he wrote many of the detailed articles on the jewels which promoted Lady Northcliffe’s fundraising. In The Hand in the Dark, published in 1920, there is a scene where an international pearl expert, Vincent Musard, held his listeners spellbound at a country house party while he discussed the Pearl Appeal. ‘If you admire pearls you should see the collection which is being made for the British Red Cross,’ he told his fellow guests, adding, ‘I had a private view the other day. It is a truly magnificent collection.’ The ladies then eagerly asked him questions, even Miss Garton, a lady journalist and an ‘advanced woman’, who had campaigned for sex equality was as interested in the pearls as ‘the most frivolous members of her sex’. Musard explained that under ordinary circumstances it could take years to match pearls to make a faultless necklace, but because the experts making them up for the Red Cross had such a variety to choose from their task had been comparatively easy. He claimed that although all the pearls were supposed to be anonymous, it would be a simple matter for a trained eye to identify a number of the most distinctive individual pearls. He finished by explaining the enduring allure of historic jewellery like the Red Cross Pearls:
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