Another good story of Ellen Terry is that she was to play in a Shakespearian play with him and she wanted £100 a week, not at all too much for her. She spoke rather shyly about this salary, and he turned round to her and said, “Oh, that’s all right. You re a cheap dear.”
His years with Henry Irving, who was a great and kind friend, were very successful.
Alec did not go out much to parties because of his work, but I did it all the time. I had no car in those days and the one bargain we had together was that no one was ever to see me home. I was very young at the time, and when I was dining out I had to dodge people in order to get away alone. Of course Alec had to keep late hours acting every night, and I made it a rule always to keep a servant up at night to have his supper ready and to put on his slippers. Alec had to dine at 6.30, so he was obliged to have supper after the theatre. I generally sat up for him, or if I was very tired I went to bed and then he had his supper in my room. He hated eating alone. Some people said I spoiled him, but I did not. He was much too good to spoil. I always tried to make his life perfect. Some actors’ wives make the mistake of letting their husbands share the domestic worries. I kept every worry away from Alec that I possibly could. I used to run the theatre, my Pont Street house and my country house, and people used to say to Alec, “How does she do it?”
He would reply, “Oh, quite easily. I never hear anything about it.” The actor-manager s life is a very difficult one. He hardly ever sees his friends, except at lunch time, for he is working when everybody else is dining.
In the early days we had a brougham, and I used to meet Alec after matinées. When I saw the charming girls crowding round the stage door to wish him good luck, I used to hide, for I had no wish to spoil sport.
At the theatre we had a wonderful staff. We had a housekeeper who was quite devoted to us. She was one of the old-fashioned servants who could make a brocade coat for The Prisoner of Zenda or cook a lunch equally well, and her great pride was that she opened the door for Alec to go on the stage every day for twenty-five years.
I would like to tell a story about a secretary we once had, for during the war we had a secretary. Alec sent all his people out to do war work, and ran the theatre with three or four people. He took the war very much to heart. This lady secretary was highly recommended to us. She used to come in to me each morning and say, “Sir George has given me a great deal of work to-day, and I shall have some difficulty in getting through it.” I of course recognised that his work was the more important, so I gave her only one or two letters to write and said that would do for that day. The secretary then went to Sir George and repeated her story, this time saying that I had given her a great deal of work. This went on for two or three weeks, and at last Sir George came in to me and was very angry. “Look here,” he said, “this must stop. This poor girl is being overworked and I never can get anything done. You really must give her less to do.” I was as much surprised as he was, and when I told him that I believed that he was overworking the girl we discovered that she had been going down to the theatre with only two or three letters to do and then going home, while we were both trying hard to keep pace with our correspondence.
I always attended the two last rehearsals before every play because my opinion was worth having just before the play was produced. My remarks were taken down in shorthand and I was always told I was wrong, but in the end my opinions were always taken and proved all right. When an actor has been rehearsing a play for weeks he becomes blind to its faults. I could say things to Alec about his work that nobody else could, and when I went in to the last rehearsals I was called the sledge-hammer.
I read a great many plays, and if one sent me to sleep and another woke me up I felt the latter was the play to produce. I had a great faculty for being able to tell Alec the plot of a play and to interest him enough to make him read it.
Alec always took off a play if the booking was not good ahead. But he could always run a play for a month because he had a large clientele who never missed a play that he did, and that kept him going until his new play was ready. His admirers never let him do a play without seeing it.
We had wonderful friends like Sir Alfred and Lady Fripp. The Duke and Duchess of Fife, Princess Arthur and Princess Maude were frequent visitors to our house at Chorley Wood, and they were most kind friends. They were very encouraging to Alec and came to our first nights at the St. James’ Theatre, proving most splendid judges of plays. Mr Percy Macquoid did a great deal of work for us, more particularly in Paolo and Francesca, which he made a most beautiful production.
Our only real quarrels were when Alec would overwork. I did my best to make him rest when he was playing long parts. Many times when we have been in hotels I have sat outside the door to prevent people from making a noise when he was resting, though he did not know it. But wives are the last people husbands will listen to about resting. I always remember that Lord Dawson of Penn saw him when he was not well and ordered him three months rest, which of course he would not take. During the war the Red Cross were very anxious to send Alec to settle some disputes in Salonika. I begged him to go, and I firmly believe that if he had gone and done one thing — for he hated acting during the war — instead of overworking as he did, he would have lived. But he was over-persuaded not to go. My own war work was selling programmes for every matinée and every charity for the war, and I got many thousands of pounds. Sometimes people would give me £20 for a programme. The public were most generous, and it was as easy to collect money then as it is difficult now. I used to send in large sums all the time, and I have obtained as much as £700 for programmes in one evening.
When we were in Berlin, two years before war broke out, we were being entertained by all the German theatres. We arrived very late one night in Berlin and the next morning the Kaiser sent a letter by hand asking Alec to go and act before him a fortnight later and bring his own company. Without any hesitation Alec refused as he had a play coming on and he could not spare the time. I was afraid all day long that we should he arrested. Of course we ought to have gone to the British Ambassador and consulted him; but all was well, and Alec was always delighted in after years that he had not complied with the Kaiser s request.
Alec used to marvel that I could go and sit through a play night after night and still enjoy it. He said I was such an admirer of his. I always preferred seeing him act to anybody else. He was a very modest man, and always thought that everyone was more clever than he was. I had to buck him up. I once heard a very funny story. I liked to sit in the stalls and hear the remarks. A certain Duchess in London was so pleased with his acting that she took off her tiara and threw it in admiration at his feet! Of course I demanded the tiara when I saw him. But some of the stories one hears are very remarkable.
When we first married I used to make my own gowns, much to Alec s surprise as they were mostly pinned together, but the effect was quite good. I was rather “extreme” with clothes on the stage, for in those days people went to see the St. James plays before ordering a new gown.
Alec was always so very unselfish, and he really hastened his end by overwork. When he felt ill he never would give himself a chance, and he would not listen to me. He took very few holidays, as he kept the theatre open for eleven months of the year. He always said he could not afford to take longer holidays, and he kept his staff on while the theatre was closed. He loved Little Court. We built it for rest, but I am afraid he took very little rest there, for he used to bring his
County Council work and his plays to study on Sunday, which I resented very much.
When an author read a play to him I was always present, and the author used to try to flatter me by saying, “If Lady Alexander would play this part—”
Alec used to get up and say, “When she goes on the stage I go off.” I thought it much better for him to remain on the stage, so I did not accept these offers from authors.
Alec’s motto was
“Do thy duty, that is best,
Le
ave unto thy God the rest.”
It was written in all his little day-books.
FLORENCE ALEXANDER
The Life of Francis Drake (1941)
This biography was published in 1941 by Hodder and Stoughton in Britain and by Doubleday in America and was perfectly placed to take advantage of the success of the film adaptation of Fire over England and also the wartime context — feeding a readership keen for popular literature that would validate and reinforce national pride and encourage the war effort. In 1942 a review in the New York Times of 26 April praised the biography, declaring it a ‘Fine biography of the buccaneer who was England’s first Commando.’ It is also still regarded by the Drake Exploration Society as one of the few quality biographies of Drake to have been published.
As an ex-navy man himself, Mason no doubt had an abiding interest in past seagoing heroes and this would also have given him a greater empathy for Drake as a sailor. Mason dedicated the book to Admiral Sir Reginald Hall, his former naval commanding officer and, latterly, his friend. In order to reinforce his credentials as the right man to write the biography, Mason added his rank of R.M.L.I after his own name in the dedication. Mason was working on a non-fiction book about Admiral Robert Blake when he died in 1948.
Any reader who has dipped into Mason’s fiction will recognise the writing style immediately. The opening paragraphs conjure up a scene of a nostalgic England of past times, charting the birth and early life of Drake in rural Devon. Mason speculates that Drake was born later than the date of 1539, the one stated on the famous Hilliard miniature of him; he asserts the year of birth was more likely to be 1544. The usual picture of Drake in men’s minds is of a brave, bluff man of infinite audacity, a great patriot, a gifted sailor, a man to whom success came of its own accord. Despite publishing this book during a war and thus at a time when governments and readers alike were seeking propaganda that affirms their various causes, Mason manages to provide a balanced account of Drake’s life — even though he is clearly an admirer of his subject. As an example, he readily discusses the charge of desertion levelled against Drake in 1569 when he was a young man in the navy, asserting that it was a useful moment of learning for him as it made him resolve that he would never be found lacking again.
This book is not just about Drake the sailor, however. It is a close textured portrayal of the man, his achievements and his character, set against the panorama of his time. Mason discusses the abilities that allowed him to successfully circumnavigate the globe and contribute to the development of English naval strategy with the attack on Cadiz. We see Drake in the ascendant with the fight against the Spanish Armada, then the failure of the subsequent action against Spain and his declining importance. Even in his own day Drake was a controversial figure and Mason freely admits that his subject was a ‘very human, with his full share of man’s vanities and contradictions to counterbalance his greatness.’ Drake was not entitled to use the coat of arms he had emblazoned on his cabin furniture, as his branch of the Drake family was not the entitled one. Mason turns this round by suggesting that although it was an impertinent vanity on Drake’s part, it also had strategic value, as paying a ransom to a man of rank as Drake would be perceived by his enemies, was more likely to be accepted than if Drake was seen merely as a pirate. The realism continues when Mason discusses Drake’s education; we are told that it was somewhat rudimentary and that even in later life, his letter writing was infrequent and laborious. In keeping with his practical and active nature, we also learn that he was a much better speaker than scholar, both in giving orations to his men and as a Parliamentarian in later life. As a Protestant growing up in the largely Catholic county of Devon, he also had a sense of God being on his side, a belief that he took with him in his seafaring days.
It is clear that Mason has used sound available historical resources in his research, such as the relevant sixteenth century subsidy (tax) rolls. Such resources are still in the National Archives today and one could usefully speculate that Mason had been researching this biography for some time, as it would not have been easy to access archives once the war had begun in 1939. Then, it was known as the Public Record Office and was located in the centre of London on Chancery Lane.
Mason also has a knack of describing already familiar historical characters in a succinct and apt way – he describes Philip of Spain as having an ‘odd, dull, slow, priest-ridden mind’ with ‘hardly a corner free for humanity’ (a modern historian may now offer a more nuanced view of the Spanish King). The political background to Drake’s life and career is meticulously told in an accessible way and where it directly touched Drake, we are given fascinating insights into a more private form of politics. For example, Drake and Burghley, the Queen’s great statesmen, never really had a rapport. Burghley had a ‘true foreign office spirit’ with an ‘over finical respect for the letter’, who thought that Drake was petty, abrasive and indiscreet.
The well known and often documented details of Drake’s career can be found in any book of sixteenth century English history. Mason does relate them here, but the real value of this biography is the author’s assessment of Drake the man. It is an empathetic, yet honest portrait, which in a time of war when the public was hungry to have their patriotic sentiments reinforced was a considerable achievement.
Sir Francis Drake by Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger, c. 1590
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
The book’s dedicatee, Admiral Reginald Hall (1870-1943), known as Blinker Hall, was the British Director of Naval Intelligence (DNI) from 1914 to 1919. Together with Sir Alfred Ewing he was responsible for the establishment of the Royal Navy's code breaking operation, Room 40, which decoded the Zimmermann telegram, a major factor in the entry of the United States in World War I.
DEDICATION
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED, TO
ADMIRAL SIR REGINALD HALL, K.C.M.G., C.B.,
HIS CHIEF FOR FOUR YEARS
AND FRIEND FOR THE REST OF LIFE,
BY
A. E. W. MASON
(LATE MAJOR, R.M.L.I.)
CHAPTER I
EARLY DAYS
FRANCIS DRAKE WAS born in a cottage on Crowndale farm near Tavistock; but in what month of what year is not known. A miniature of him, painted by Hilliard on the back of a playing-card, the Ace of Hearts, now at Knowsley, puts his birth in the year 1539. The portrait which, in the years of his greatness, hung in his dining-room at Buckland Abbey, gave it to the credit of 1541. Nuño da Silva, the Portuguese pilot, swore before the Tribunal of the Inquisition of Mexico in 1579 that Francis Drake was then a man of thirty-eight years, or within two years of that age. The portraits, indeed, are no more reliable than the statement of the pilot, for they only record the age which he was said to have reached at the time when they were painted. The most likely date of his birth can be inferred from the circumstances of his family.
The farm Crowndale was held on a lease granted by Sir John Russell to John Drake, the uncle. Edmund, John’s brother and a sailor, made his home in a cottage on the farm in the year 1544. He was entered as a householder upon the subsidy rolls of Tavistock in that year. Up to then he was a man without a history. But after settling at Crowndale he had twelve children, of whom Francis was the eldest. A man so prolific was likely to have had children before this date if he had been married before it; and Francis Drake was certainly born in wedlock at Crowndale. It is therefore a fair inference
that Edmund left the sea in order to marry, settled on his brother’s farm, did marry and became the father of Francis in some month of the year 1545.
Of the social condition of the family there would be no doubt, if Francis Drake had not himself raised it. Camden, the historian, relates in his Annals that Francis, after he had returned from his voyage round the world, told him that he was not of mean parentage; and a good many people have been at the pains to argue that by mean he meant middle-class. There is no reason why we should think that he meant anything of the kind. He had made his name great; he was honoured by the friendship of the Queen; he was wealthy; he had lifted himself, the first of all Englishmen, into that small bright constellation where Cabot shone and Magellan and Columbus and Balboa; and he was very human, with his full share of man’s vanities and contradictions to counterbalance his greatness. He was not the first man who tried to lengthen the ladder of his achievement by pushing his family down a rung or two lower than the one it ought to occupy. But before he had written his name in English history he lapsed into the opposite infirmity. What we should call nowadays a County family of the name of Drake had been settled near to Tavistock ever since the reign of Edward III; between it and the farmers at Crowndale there was the most infinitesimal connection, if indeed there was any at all. Yet Francis Drake had the arms of that family stamped upon his cabin furniture in the Golden Hind, and engraved upon his cannon a motto of his own devising, sic parvis magna. A trifling vanity, surprising in the character of a man with such wide aims, but it will be seen in a host of instances that Francis liked to live magnificently, like some great noble of Florence. And there was sagacity in that particular foible. For a Spanish Don would pay a fine ransom to a gentleman with less displeasure than he would pay it to a vulgarian buccaneer. The days of magnificence were still far off. Francis Drake was of neither the gentry nor the serfs. The son of Sir John Russell, Henry VIII’s friend and Lord High Admiral, young Francis Russell, who was to become the second Earl of Bedford, was his godfather at his christening; and he had a really valuable relationship to the great Plymouth family of Hawkins, merchant-adventurers and shipbuilders whose name is for all time associated with the rise of the English Navy. Francis Drake came of yeoman stock.
Complete Works of a E W Mason Page 856