|"Stillwaters" was a nickname for Paul's
father and Beatriz's step-father: William Henry Gleadell. This chapter is Paul's biography
of his father.
||William Henry was barely 24 when his father so
unexpectedly died and he found himself suddenly propelled into family responsibilities.
Eleanor, his eldest sister, had been married two months previously to Francis Johnston who
was working in Liverpool in his familys successful coastal shipping business of
Robert Gilchrist & Co. But there were still three younger sisters living at home and
his brother was only eleven.
Willie had been educated at Liverpool
college where he achieved satisfactory academic results, played a reasonable game of rugby
football and indulged in a fair amount of mischief with Richard Le Gallienne, who later
became a writer of some note.
At 17 he had written to ninety prominent political, legal, theatre,
Service and Church personalities including W.E. Gladstone, Lord Randolph Churchill,
the President of the USA, Henry Irving and Ellen Terry to request their autographs.
He received eighty-eight replies which he carefully filed in a small album.
Soon after leaving school he contracted an illness for which the doctors
revommended a long sea voyage. So his father arranged a voyage for him in the White Star
Line sailing ship, "Houghton Tower" to San Francisco and back, which involved
rounding the Horn each way.
He shipped as one of five apprentices, including one called Shackleton;
all five swore they would never go to sea again. Many years later my father took me, while
passing through New York, to hear a lecture by Sir Ernest Shackleton on his polar
explorations and it was a thrill for me to go back stage and meet the great man. During
the voyage my father wrote an essay on the controversial subject, even then, of the future
of the House of Lords and his reasoning for its retention would bear examination even
As a very young man, Willie developed a great interest in political
matters, especially foreign affairs. With the help of a friend, Ross-Brown, he started a
small debating society in Liverpool. Among those who attended were two law students called
Smith and Greer. One evening Greer arrived very depressed with prospects in England and
announced he was intending to apply for a post in the Straits Settlements in Malaya. The
others tried to dissuade him and Smith said, "Look, when I am Lord Chancellor, the
first Chief Justice I shall appoint will be you". This caused merriment; but in due
course F.E. Smith, as Lord Birkenhead, became Lord Chancellor and Sir Arthur Greer was an
early appointment that he made.
Willie had been articled as a junior clerk in the Head Office of the
Royal Insurance Co. in Liverpool. The salary was a modest one and when his father died he
contributed the greater part of it to the family budget. He decided to take evening
classes to study French which he mastered but spoke with an appalling accent. One day
there was an important Board meeting attended by the French agents of the Royal. But they
had little English and the Board no French, so the Secretary was sent post-haste to find a
French speaker in the office. It was the lunch hour and there was no one about
except for "that young Mr. Gleadell", eating his sandwiches at his desk.
Unabashed, Willie attended the meeting and unleashed his deplorable French accent on the
delegates with the result that, next day, he was sent for by the General Manager, promoted
and posted forthwith to the Paris office of the Royal.
Paris was all it promised to the young man and Willie wrote home
frequently and fulsomely. Races at Longchamps, receptions in the sâlons of the great, the
Opéra and the bal masqué, which he described in fascinated if restrained detail. But
there was unease back at Manor Lodge where his letters were being carefully scrutinised.
What was Willie up to? Anyway, his Mother duly wrote to say it would be a good thing if
Ellie came out to stay with him awhile. The change would do her so much good. Now this did
not suit Willies book at all and he guessed that Ellie, least of all, was in no need
of change. He loved her dearly and she was very pretty but she was the eldest, and had
never been backward in offering guidelines for his conduct. So, with tact, Willie replied
that he did not think that Ellie would benefit by a visit and suggested that Maggie might
come instead. I have no record of how this matter was resolved.
||Professionally, Willie had done well and
further promotions saw him posted to the West Indies and, in due course, to be General
Manager of the Royal in Mexico City. Outwardly, they were halcyon days in Mexico at the
turn of the century under the benevolent dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz. The vast mineral
resources were being developed, largely by American and British interests, the railways
were being extended and Yucatán enjoyed an almost world monopoly of sisal hemp, the
export of which fetched handsome prices. In much of this the Royal became involved and my
father had ample opportunity to show initiative and knowledge of local conditions.
In Mexico City there was a continual round of social engagements and it was at
one of these that my father made the acquaintance of a Don Ernesto de Regil, the owner of
two large sisal plantations near Mérida, and of his attractive and intelligent young
English wife. However, it came as a surprise when, a year or so later, she recently
widowed called on him at his office. Suddenly left with the management of the
properties in Yucatán she had a still greater worry on her hands. Her two brothers were
in dire financial straits and she was diffident about discussing that problem with her
Yucatecan in-laws. Jeffrey, the possessor of considerable charm and a successful amateur
jockey, had been living in Mexico City at champagne standards on a beer-and-skittle
income; in fact, he had no fruitful employment. Bernard had emigrated to Canada to farm,
but had fallen on unfortunate times from the start. Appeals for help were increasing on
Mrs. de Regil; Jeffreys debts were assuming greater proportions and a form of
sclerosis was starting to take effect on him.
It appears that my father was able to give some effective and
sympathetic advices and Jeffrey an excellent linguist was found employment
at the British Legation. It was about that time that an acquaintance of my father, a
fellow member of the Jockey Club, approached him "Look," he said,
"there is a most attractive widow with a charming little daughter who is taking
passage to England next month. Now, if I could get on the same ship I think my future
happiness would be assured, so I wonder if you would be able to advance me a small
loan". "Of course" said my father, and promptly booked a passage in the
same ship for the home leave he was due. Hitherto, he had had no serious incursions in the
matrimonial stakes although his sisters regularly accused him of being a flirt, mainly
because he had a cleft in his jaw. He did establish a warm friendship with the attractive
Kathleen Clayton, but when she married Sir Arthur Grant-Duff there were no hard feelings
and they corresponded thereafter from time to time.
In due course, and after years of thought on the part of Mrs. de Regil,
she and my father were married in St. Patricks Cathedral, New York, on 7th
December 1907. He was then 43, she 38. News of the engagement had brought consternation to
the clans at Manor Lodge. What had Willie done? A widow, a small girl AND a Roman
Catholic! It was a measure of my mothers tact, sympathetic understanding and
intelligence that, coming unknown into a strongly entrenched low church and Presbyterian
family, she very soon became one of its best loved and respected members, especially among
the younger generations.
|Paul was born at Jalapa on February 23, 1910. He was
almost four years old at the time of the Christmas and New Year's visits by Admiral
Craddock. He was a little more than four when the U.S. siezed Vera Cruz in April 1914 and
his family fled to New Orleans. Jack Barber's diary talks about
the family in April 1914.
||Mexico City stands some 7,000 ft above sea
level and, as this affected my mothers health, she had bought a house on a hill
overlooking the typically Mexican town of Jalapa, midway on the rail route between the
City and the port of Vera Cruz and about 4,000-ft above sea level; it was here that I was
released upon an unsuspecting world.
My parents had made friends
with Admiral Sir Christopher Craddock, Flag Officer of the British 4th Cruiser
Squadron and I can remember my excitement when he and a number of his officers and
ratings, came up to Jalapa to spend their Christmas and New Year breaks with us in 1913.
Little did we think then that, soon after, they were to help us as refugees, to get away
from Mexico to New Orleans to await a ship for England.
My birth coincided with but was not the cause of the start
of the political upheaval and violence that plagued this beautiful land for more than two
decades. Porfirio Diaz had been ousted after his long presidency by the relatively
moderate and liberal land-owner, Francisco Madero. But his liberalising policies, and in
particular the re-distribution of land, had not gone fast enough to satisfy the new
popular agrarian mood and he was summarily tried and executed. There followed
a long trail of self-seeking contenders for the presidency Obregón, de la Huerta,
Carranza. Into these troubled waters too there rode the ruthless and charismatic bandits,
Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata.
To safeguard their interests, the United States landed a force of
Marines at Vera Cruz and we were warned that reprisals were likely to occur against all
foreigners. So my father arranged for my mother, half-sister Beatriz and I, together with
my devoted Yucatecan nurse Dominga, to travel in a specially escorted train to the coast.
It was an exciting journey by all accounts with frequent stoppages on account of
bandidos" but I remember it not as I believe I slept throughout. What I do
remember is the refugee camp on the Mississippi near New Orleans, a tented and hutted
erection on marina-like platforms over the river from where one could see crocodiles
frolicing in the water below. As a result of our stay here, I developed, back in England,
a severe attack of rheumatic fever which produced painful reminders in my late retirement
||War with Germany broke out in August 1914 and
an early sadness for my parents was to learn that Admiral Craddock and all but one of his
officers had been lost when their old cruiser, HMS "Good Hope", was sunk at the
battle of Coronel by the modern battle-cruisers Scharnhorst and Geneisenau.
My father was anxious to follow us home and enlist. This he achieved and, early
in 1915, he reported at the War Office to offer his services. But he was told he was too
old to go to the Front. After making enquiries he decided to try again at an office two
floors down and conveniently dropped several years in age in the process. In consequence,
he found himself commissioned in the Army Service Corps and posted to HQ Vth Army at
Ameins as Resquisitions Officer; he had been able to convince the recruiting authoirites
that he was a proficient French speaker. Requisitioning in the battle zone was an exacting
task but his endeavours were recognised and he was awarded the French decoration of
"Letoile Noire." Another duty my father was to perform was to be a
Conducting Officer to guide some of the statesmen and senior soldiers visiting the Front.
Among these there came Lloyd George, the Prime Minister; Winston Churchill when he was a
Government Minister, and Maréchal Foch, lately appointed the Supreme Commander of the
Allied Forces in France. My father described some of these occasions. Mr. Churchill was by
no means universally popular with the Army then, and he recalled their visit to an
Officers Club when, on their arrival, most of those present got up and walked out.
How very different from circumstances that were to obtain in World War II. During a visit
by the PM, senior commanders were at pains to explain the very critical state of the
ammunition supply, already severely rationed, and the PM undertook to stress this point in
the House of Commons next day. On reading his speech there was bitter disappointment that
there was no mention of the seriousness of the situation. Foch, it appears, was a very
devout man and the tour programme had to allow for him to hear Mass most days before
My father took an affectionate interest in his nephews and nieces, and
when he learnt that young Phil Johnston, aged 18, had just undergone his first baptism of
fire on the Western Front, it was typical that he should hasten over to visit him and take
him back for a meal. Phil always remembered the lift to his morale on his uncles
Unfortunately, my father fell a victim to the last German attack in
which mustard gas was used, and he was evacuated to recover at Watermouth Castle, a
wartime hospital in North Devon. It was from here that my parents went in search of a
house, as Manor Lodge had become the centre of a massive urban development and the West
Country offered many advantages for a home on retirement. They narrowed the choice to a
house near Weymouth, and "Commons" near Bideford, which was being sold by
Wilson-Hoare, Master of the Stevenstone Foxhounds. The choice fell on "Commons",
a large house standing in some twelve acres overlooking the estuaries of the Taw and
Torridge and away to Lunday Isl. There was a lodge with a double garage and good stabling
for four horses. I have sometimes pondered that, had it been Weymouth, I should not have
met my wife so that our children and grandchildren would, if they were existing today at
all, be circulating in a wholly different form!.
Captain Wiliam Henry Gleadell, 1918
One regrettable effect on a victim of exposure to the
wartime gas was that he would become exceedingly intolerant and critical of some person,
or persons, very close to him. In my fathers case it befell me and his younger
sister, Isabel, to be the recipients of his displeasures. At the end of the war my
half-sister and I accompanied my parents to Mexico. We sailed from Liverpool in the
"Celtic" in late December 1919 and spent Christmas at sea. The weather was
atrocious and the seas exceedingly angry. I shared a small cabin with my father and he was
determined that, notwithstanding my own impressions, I was just not seasick. For
Christmas dinner, dutifully bathed and changed into my best suit and clean collar, I was
led into the festively decorated Dining Saloon to find that Father and I (and a rather
plausible gent to whom he had taken an intense dislike) were the only passengers present.
It was rather a strained dinner. The plausible gent wore a paper hat, which made my father
dislike him the more and, being below, the smell of food nearly proved my gastronomic
"Stillwaters", as Father was called by his brothers-in-law,
was a strict disciplinarian; he himself was always exact and meticulous. But he never
spanked me. Swearing and blasphemous invocation of the deity were totally alien to him,
and he regarded these forms of speech as means by which the inarticulate tried to give
themselves the impression of eloquence. His admonitions would often rile me, but looking
back as a father and grandfather myself, I can see the relevance of many of his words.
"A place for everythng" he would say "and everything in its place". Oh
yes! He held that a fair indication of a persons characteristics was how he would
leave a newspaper after reading it. I have found that he was not far off the mark. He
could make a terse remark, not without humor. On the morning the telegram arrived from
Cambridge that Beatriz had not only achieved a Double First, but in two years, there
unhappily arrived my school report with disclosed that I was bottom but one of my class.
After an interval for nausea my father, who had steel blue eyes, just said "And what
was that other fellow like?".
Stillwaters kept his clothes jealously and tidily in his wardrobes or
trunks, protected by camphor balls, to a great age. They would, he averred, come back into
fashion one day. Indeed, I eventually wore one of his suits, still scented of camphor.
My Father decided that he would retire at 60, in 1925, and he was
looking forward keenly to settling down at "Commons" with my mother. His
interest in political affairs had never waned and he had been approached to stand for the
North Devon constituency at a future election. His politics can best be described, in
current terminology, as Left of Centre Conservative, with a strong and critical
Independent flavour. It was embarrassing sometimes to accompany him to public meetings
when he was liable to question the speaker in disarmingly forthright terms. He was very
critical of Prime Minister Baldwin, whom he dubbed "Mr. Safety First" and he
wrote to him calling him to account for neglect of our defences in order to win votes,
taking as his text.. "The strong man armed keepeth his house..." But he
predicted a bright future for a young man in the Lords called Lord Dunglass, who
eventually, as Sr Alec Douglas-Home, became Prime Minister. "Stillwaters" would
surely have been a pain in the neck to any Front Bench.
But all this was not to be. My mothers health was not good and she
disliked being an absentee landlord of the estates in Yucatán. Moreover, Beatriz was to
be married in September 1925, to Ben Muse who was then in the U.S. Diplomatic Service, and
she would be unable to administer the plantations. So, my father decided to go out again
to Mexico himself at the end of 1924, and to arrange for the disposal of all the property,
although he of course would have no interest in the results. My mother and Beatriz would
go out in the following autumn to complete the formalities. It meant that he would miss
the wedding (which pained him as he was devoted to his step-daughter) and be unavilable to
nurse a constituency for an election.
His must have been an awesome undertaking: to organize the sale, against
a falling market, of substantial properties which, never the less, still retained their
histoic grandeur, was a challenge indeed. Also, Méridas land-owning society was
very much a clannish affair and a closed shop. There were then practically no foreign
residents, just one other Englishman (Cameron), the Hon. Vice-Consul who ran the
electricity company, together with the odd American and European. My mother was held in
great affection by the clans in Mérida and almost idolized by the servants and the
workers on the haciendas. But whereas she was "Tia Katie" or "La
niña" to them, my father was Gleadell. While they treated him with great
respect and full Yucatecan courtesy, the feeling was there that he it was who had come to
sever my mothers links with an inherited homeland. Moreover, my father, a
businessman with meticulous standards of efficiency, found the "mañana"
attitude of conducting affairs left much to be desired. Changes in procedures and
personnel were necessary, he thought, and these could not have been popular in certain
quarters. I was told that he had counseled some haciendados that they would be well
advised to anticipate the sequestering of plantations by the Government, by forming a sort
of co-operative in which the workers would be brought more into the running of the
estates. With timely action, he had said, it would be possible to do this from a position
of strength on favourable terms rather than have it imposed arbitrarily in an adverse
situation. This suggestion had proved unpopular to a patriarchal community that had been
well-entrenched for so long. In any case, it was argued, the "Indios" would be
neither willing nor competent to undertake such an arrangement.
All in all, it was a difficult and lonely year for
"Stillwarers"; by sea it took a letter some three weeks to reach England.
However, negotiations were at last completed; the haciendas Uayalceh (Land of the Running
Deer) and neighboring Sotuta to be sold to Don Augusto Peón, the octogenarian doyen of
haciendados, and "La Quinta", the country villa, to Don Avelino Montes,
reportedly the richest man in Yucatán. I was told that shortly before contracts were
signed, my father was approached about a better offer for the haciendas, but he and my
mother had already given their word so, for them, that was that.
Completion was to take place about March 1926. Accordingly, early in the
previous October, my mother and Beatriz were duly booked to sail to Yucatán via New York
in the Baltic. At the last minute my mother arranged with the Headmaster of
Downside School, the Olympian Father Trafford, for me to have six months sabbatical leave
of absence and so accompanied by Blighty, my mothers Aberdeen
terrier I joined them for the journey.
We arrived on 25th October at the anchorage off the shallow
waters of Progresso in Yucatán. My father, in jubilant mood, took my mother in an early
train for the one hour journey to Mérida, while Beatriz and I followed later with the
baggage. My mother was tired and emotionally moved by her reception, including that from
the Maya Indians from Ualyalceh who had walked the forty odd miles to Mérida to
"saludar la niña" (greet the young lady). At Mérida station she insisted on
first visiting an aged de Regil aunt, Tia Felipa, before being driven out to La Quinta.
All this was too much for her, and that night she died of a heart attack. She was 56.
To Beatriz and I the blow was naturally immense, but she had her married
life to which to look forward and I was young with my life ahead. For my father, after the
long months of waiting, all his expectations, hopes and plans vanished in an instant. In
his grief he had first to arrange for the funeral in a situation where persecution of the
Church was prevalent, and cables to the family in England. And then he had to plan how he
and I were going to live. It was for him a harrowing six months.
He and I sailed back to England in April 1926, in the "Celtic"
from new York; Beatriz and Blighty in the Berengaria to Paris to rejoin Ben
Muse, from whom she had been parted for six months, at the American Embassy. I of course
returned to school, but he was left to his solitude at "Commons". For a while
life was managable as my charming and gregarious cousin, Averil Johnston, came to keep
house for us efficiently if expensively. He loved Averil with her joyful nature
but, as he said "Averil found she could not manage me or my establishment". In
the main, he was deeply concerned as to how, in the longer term, he was going to provide a
home for me.
And so it was that, one year later, after what for him must have
involved traumatic deliberations, he married Kitty Masters at St. Martins Church,
Trafalgar Square. My Fathers morale received a great filip by the unannounced
arrival, from the USA, of Beatriz, who said to him "I bring you my Mothers
blessing". Kitty was 36 and well known to the family and liked by them, as she had
been Secretary for many years to my late uncle, Willie Guild, a Director of Mather &
Platt in London. After some early reservations even resentments (which was
understandable) - I grew to like Kitty immensely and we became good friends. The world, I
had found, was divided in two: those who laughed at my jokes and those who didnt.
The former of course were the minority, but she was one. She cared for my father with
great tact, understanding and good humour and she often smoothed over prickly moments
between him and me.
When I was commissioned from Sandhurst and posted to India there seemed
no purpose for my father to keep on "Commons" with the heavy expenses entailed.
So he sold the house to the Ursuline nuns and there was a sale which I tearfully
attended of nearly all the beautiful antique contents which my mother had
collected. This was a pragmatic thing to do in the circumstances, but for him even
more than for me it was a sad event.
"Stillwaters" never became a Roman Catholic, but he was
determined that I should live up to the tenets of the Faith which my mother had so wisely
instilled in me. He kept a little book in which he had entered the dates of various holy
days and practices which required my reverences. This became unnecessary. Aside for those
phases when it is fashionable to question beliefs, and practice becomes a little
inconvenient, I found by experience that this was an area more than others which stood the
test of time. Financial cosiness, occupational stability, physical health, even friends
and parents, could disappear overnight, but faith was constant and always available. Of
course there was much the good monks at school taught me which remained unexplained and
mysterious. But this I thought to be perfectly reasonable; after all, why was I put on
trial in this world if all the questions had a clearcut explanation rather like
sitting an exam with all the answers before me. I believed that Goëthe had got it about
right when he said that the greatest happiness of the thinking man was to fathom all that
was fathomable and humbly to reverence what was not. I was grateful I had been
brought up with religious authority; being only of mediocre intellect, to have been left
to "discover" for myself, in a plural society, with no buoys to steer by would
have brought the reefs too close for comfort.
Sadly, my father and Kitty never planted any roots after
"Commons" was sold and for ten years they traveled, six months abroad and six in
England, occasionally writing vitriolic letters to The Times. He was by then suffering
from pernicious anaemia and the search for winter sunshine became compelling. I suspect,
too, that his became a handy weapon in a life-long confrontation with HM Inspector of
Taxes, whom he delighted to tease. He died, at the age of 76, in London during an air raid
and was buried at Gunnersbury. Beatriz, alas, was in Washington and I in India.
"Stillwaters", like his father, was a Victorian, a generation
which in my day of permissive and liberal societies, I have heard criticized as being
straightlaced and hypocritical. It is sometimes suggested that, unlike the open living of
the modern day, the Victorian was just as naughty but tried to conceal his indiscretions
beneath a veil of virtue. Well, I am not all that sure they did. If and when they did, I
believe it was because they recognized wrong they may frequently have lost the way,
but hey did not lose the map which I think, is one reason of the malaise in the age
When I was about to leave school, my father wished to leave some momento
to Downside where my mother had spent happy hours, particularly at the services in the
Abbey Church. Moreover, the reason for Downside being my school and that of my sons, was
due very much to the friendship and high regard for Dom Stephen Rawlinson which my father
experienced during World War I when this tall and striking Benedictine monk was Senior
Chapain at HQ Vth Army. He therefore proposed to the Downside Community the endowment of a
small scholarship in memory of my mother. In their reply, the Headmaster said that such a
scholarship risked bringing a boy to a school where he might find amenities in contrast to
what he could reasonably hope to enjoy at home. The Community, therefore, advised a very
small endowment to enable a boy, already at school, to take some appropriate extra
subject, and that the rest should go towards the building of part of a sports pavilion for
the benefit of all boys, the other half of which was being donated by an Australian
benefactor, Sir Mark Sheldon. To this my father agreed and the pavilion stands today,
named according to his wishes:
"Second Eleven and Coets Pavilion
The gift of Major W.H. Gleadell
To the Memory of Mrs. Katherine Gleadell, 1930."
This page was last updated on Sunday, April 11, 2004.