Wilfrid Gabriel de Glehn has often been described as “one of England’s leading Impressionists” due to his ability to capture variations in sunlight and shadow as well as a painterly style and a feel for colour that perfectly captured his subject. He has been highlighted while researching for Creative Wiltshire, a Heritage Lottery Funded project and we discovered that we hold one of his pieces within the county; a portrait of Dr. Edwin Sloper Beaven dated 1939 and held at Dewey Museum in Warminster. (Ref. WAMDM:D4414)
However, while he was known for his portraits and received regular commissions, it is perhaps his landscapes that inform us of the man; often capturing a sense of place with huge accomplishment and care. He worked in oils or watercolours and travelled widely, so his subject matter is hugely varied and genuinely reflects his love of people and places.
In 1891 he was invited to assist in the murals for Boston library by Edwin Austin Abbey and so began his long association with America, leading to his marriage in 1904 to Jane Erin Emmet, cousin of the novelist Henry James. He also began a lifelong friendship with John Singer Sargent and the three often travelled together, painting side by side as they visited wonderful locations such as Venice, Rome, Corfu, Granada, St. Tropez and areas in the south of France along with locations closer to home, such as Hampshire, Wiltshire and Cornwall. Wilfrid and Jane settled in London, in Cheyne Walk, close to Sargent’s studio, and Wilfrid began to establish himself as a portrait painter, exhibiting at the Royal Academy and other private galleries in the early part of the 20th century.
His painting was interrupted by the First World War when he and his wife worked as orderlies in a French field hospital and this contrast with his earlier pre-war life had an impact on them both. He took time to return to painting after the war but had produced watercolour sketches during his experiences depicting patients resting in the landscape, playing cards and recuperating, and these demonstrate his eye for figures and a wonderful ability to capture a sense of place and nature.
Visits to France became part of the couple’s lifestyle; both had studied in Paris and they regularly returned to the city as well as favouring the area around Chartes, the Seine valley and Provence. Wilfrid’s portraiture work funded these summer trips to Europe and in turn fuelled his interest and love of landscape painting. Both he and Jane travelled with their artist’s tools and regularly set up their easels together to enjoy their painting. A love of the English countryside grew and Cornwall became a firm favourite, as well as Hampshire and the River Avon. A theme of castles brought de Glehn to Wardour Castle in the south of the county, and a visit to Downton led to them renting the rectory at Wilton during the 1920s and 1930s, introducing them both to the Wiltshire countryside. The rectory backed onto Wilton Park which provided de Glehn with more subject matter, and he became fascinated with the Palladian bridge spanning the River Nadder. He also painted Heale, a seventeenth century house owned by a friend and many of these paintings were shown at Wilfrid de Glehn’s exhibition at Knoedlers in 1935.
By 1941 the couple were searching for a new home, having lost Cheyne Walk, London in the Blitz and it was at this point that they bought the Manor House in Stratford Tony where they settled for the remainder of his life while still returning regularly to Provence.
"My own life has been rather like a kaleidoscope", writes Matilda Talbot in her autobiography. For somebody who experienced the two world wars at first hand, travelled in three continents, and went on to unexpectedly inherit Lacock Abbey, her life was truly kaleidoscopic; a constantly changing sequence of patterns punctuated by bursts of colour.
It was perhaps due to her natural flair for languages, combined with her kind and down-to-earth manner, that many of these colourful experiences came about. She readily accepted invitations to visit old friends and new acquaintances in far-off places, sometimes travelling with her family, but never fearful of travelling independently. When she did travel on her own, she was never alone, striking up friendships with passengers and crew, on-board boats as she tried out her language skills.
Language learning was to become an important element when preparing for a trip abroad and she often came up with enterprising ideas in order make progress. Before spending Christmas in 1908 with Lord and Lady Methuen in their new home in South Africa, she went to the “Dutch Church in Austin Friars” to find a teacher: "I found a verger and asked him if he knew any lady of the congregation might be willing to give me some lessons in Dutch”. From there, her studies continued on deck, which must have made for a curious sight, for she and a new lady acquaintance sat down to read from a "big Dutch Bible" that she had brought with her from Lacock: "We sat together on the deck and I tried to talk, and she read to me. The captain was highly amused, when he found us reading the Psalms, verse about, in Dutch, but she really was a good help".
Earlier on she had turned her attention to Scandinavia after delivering some illustrated papers at the Scandinavian Sailors' Home, near the West India Dock, where she met a young Norwegian girl, Fredrike Betzmann. A friendship developed between the two young women and they met regularly in London, later holidaying together, first in Scotland and then in Norway. While Fredrike perfected her in English, Matilda and her sister Mary made good progress in Norwegian. "For nearly a month we stayed with Fredrike's family and were soon able to talk Norwegian quite fluently. […] Some of our pleasantest expeditions were in rowing boats up the little inlets of the fjord, going ashore and picnicking where we liked. Looking back, it seems to me that every afternoon was fine".
Besides Dutch and Norwegian, she understood French from an early age which she continued at a day school in London: "We always talked French to our French nursemaid, Emilie, and also to my mother, who spoke French as readily as English". During World War I she put these skills into practice when working for L'Œuvre de la goutte de café which ran a canteen for convalescent soldiers near Paris, and then later at Bussang in the Vosges where troops went to the trenches or returned from them.
A natural talent for languages was helped greatly by her indomitable spirit. While staying in Scotland in February 1925, she writes a letter in Italian despite of her deficiencies in the language: "Today Miss A asked me to help her write a letter in Italian: She recently received a letter from an Italian but still hasn't replied. I tried but it was awful. It's hard: Now everything I think is in Russian" . Undeterred and determined to help her friend, she goes on to explain that with the help of an Italian book and some difficulties, she was able to finish the letter in half an hour and give it to a "quite contented Miss A", who could copy it out in her own hand.
Out of all the languages she learned it was certainly Russian which required her to draw the most on that indomitable spirit. "[Learning Russian] was like paying court to a beautiful woman and capricious woman: she is maddeningly unreasonable and one is furious with her but all the same one cannot cease making love to her".
Although she never visited Russia or the Soviet Union, she learned the language to a high level. She describes the Estonian town of Pechory on the Russian border which she visited twice during the 1930s: "One day we went by train to the extreme south-east of Estonia, to a place called Pechora. There was a monastery there with a wonderful church. […] Everyone in Pechora spoke Russian and very few people spoke Estonian, but the notices were printed in both languages. […] We had a look round the monastery and went into the church for part of the service, but I could not understand a word for the Orthodox Service is always said in old Slavonic".
Also, while in Estonia she experienced a real steam bath where she is beaten with birch twigs to stimulate the skin. On leaving the bathhouse she notes "We had lots of little birch leaves clinging to us which had to be rinsed off. The Russians have a saying about the kind of person one cannot shake off: 'She clings to me like bath foilage'".
This year is one of commemorations, significant anniversaries and celebrations. Many people will have celebrated the Queen’s 90th birthday but last month it was the monarch who was leading the birthday celebrations for another long-lived institution – the Royal Artillery which marked its 300th anniversary on 26 May with a royal visit, parade and displays at Larkhill.
A rather more sombre commemoration this year will be the 100th anniversary of the Battle of the Somme – a battle that dominates Britain’s collective memory of the First World War in the same way the Battle of Verdun occupies French history or Gallipoli tends to define Australian and New Zealand participation in the Great War. All these landmark events have come together as I work my way through a single archive – a treasure-trove of sketchbooks, diaries, letters and photographs that belonged to Hetman Jack Parham.
Jack Parham was born on 27 July, 1895 at Norrington near Alvediston in Wiltshire. He was raised on the family farm, educated at Sherborne School, and pursued a long and successful career in the Army. He retired a Major General and went to live in Suffolk – at Hintlesham near Ipswich – where he died in 1974. He lived the Royal Artillery’s Latin motto – Ubique – Everywhere.
I never knew the man. I was eight when he died and it would be another 22 years before I found myself living and working in Ipswich and sailing the River Orwell just as Jack, a keen sailor, had done.
But that is the beauty of archives – I have been able to get to know something of Jack’s remarkable story. This collection of drawings, photos and letters has taken me on an amazing journey through the early years of manned flight and Jack’s passion for aeroplanes; transported me to the battlefields of the First World War; and given me a brief insight into the thoughts of a senior military commander on D-Day 1944.
That journey began 13 months ago with a single sketchbook that had been identified by a researcher back in 2013/14 among a whole host of First World War resources. When I joined the History Centre in May 2015 I embarked on a number of centenary projects and was directed to the ‘Parham sketchbook’ from 1915-17 as a great resource. And what a resource.
Young people involved in the Dancing Back to 1914 project visited the History Centre to gain an understanding of Wiltshire 100 years ago. They were captivated by the detailed sketches that somehow closed the yawning chasm of the century separating them from the young men and women who experienced the Great War.
I was just as fascinated. Each sketch had been annotated at the time of drawing, while further notes were added (by Jack) at a later date to clarify a location or situation. I wanted to know more and periodically have been able to dip back into the Parham archive. Opening up each box has offered up something new and amazing.
Studio portrait of the Hon, B.P. Bouverie, vicar of Pewsey, seated and reading a magazine, late 19th or early 20th century (P551)
With foreign affairs much in the news lately, readers might be interested in taking the long view and discover what Wiltshire people were reading about the world this week 200 years ago. If you lived in Wiltshire in March 1816, this was a time where semaphore was the nearest thing to Twitter and mail travelled by boat and stage coach, and took a bit longer to end up in the junk folder. Although news travelled slow, it was not hard as you might think to follow international news. Your provincial newspaper, such as the Salisbury Journal (The Salisbury and Wiltshire Journal and General Advertiser for Wilts, Hants, Dorset and Somerset), mainly contained adverts, national (parliament) and international news, more adverts, and just a little bit of local news from surrounding counties. The main function of the newspaper was to bring you foreign and national news, rather than fill the papers with local stories. Given the relatively small population size, you probably knew most what has going on in your local area and all the local gossip, so you didn’t need to read about it. Your newspaper would have been weekly and unlikely to extend beyond four pages. Of course, there were two other essential conditions for your enjoyment, money – the newspaper cost seven pence (the average wage for a labourer was about four shillings and sixpence a week), and you had to be able to read. So unless you were in the minority of the educated and relatively wealthy, well you will just have to wait until someone passes the news on to you and who knows how accurate it will be by the time you hear it – just the sort of misinformation to cause a riot.
Unrest seemed to be the order of the day around the world in 1816. The Salisbury Journal reported on a “serious misunderstanding” between Spain and the United States, the Spanish demanding all of the American citizens who were concerned in the revolution in “South America.” They also insisted on some cessation of territory from the US to Spain. This is most likely a reference to the war of independence in Mexico (New Spain) which lasted until 1821. The Journal also reported that the leader of the “Mexican insurgents,” a man named Morellos, had been arrested. Happily there were no presidential primaries to report on in the US, but it was business as usual, strengthening the navy, creating a national bank and making peace treaties with Native American tribes on the North-West Frontier. Oh, and there was an increase in taxes to pay for previous wars. A bit further away the French were falling out with the Portuguese, who had taken the opportunity to seize Cayenne and French Guiana during insurrection along that part of the Atlantic coast of South America.
In North America the British government were clearly not worried about the sustainability of fish and other sea life, encouraging an increase in the fishery of cod and whales on the banks of Newfoundland. But it was not so good if you wanted to start a new life there, as the government also announced that it was no longer funding emigration passages to America.
This was all very interesting, but of course the news you most wanted to read about was in Europe and in particular, the French...
on Thursday, 19 September 2013.
Posted in Archives
Letters from soldiers, sailors and airmen of the First World War are often quite formal in their style and the things they say. But of all the hundreds of letters I have read from the archive over the past few weeks, most of the writers are united by one subject – the importance of socks.
To help you do your job, no matter how unpleasant, basic comforts are the priority. For the servicemen of the First World War, freezing a lot of the time in a trench, at sea or in the air, having warm dry feet was a daily challenge.
No unfairness intended, it just so happens that all of these letters are from the chaps. So far I have only found letters from service men.
Some readers will be aware of the new series on BBC Radio 4 called Disability: A New History. It is a ten-part series where “Across the country, historians are discovering the voices of disabled people from the past.” You can hear recordings of the series, which are posted for only limited time, and view an image gallery on the BBC website: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/
This opens up a hidden history. As the programme’s presenter Peter White said, it is as if people with disabilities didn’t exist in the past or what they did was worth recording, yet for thousands of years disabled people have been getting on with their lives.