Forever England (15 page)

The more enthusiastic embarked on a 32-mile round walk to Yes Tor, to the north-west of the camp, and organised a manhunt on the return journey, in which Bryn Olivier became the quarry and succeeded in gaining the camp without being caught. At night there were songs around the fire as Pauly Montague played his Elizabethan gittern, possibly inspiring Rupert in his dissertation on ‘John Webster and the Elizabethan Drama’ at which he was working by day. Brooke used an apt quote for one at that time living a rough and ready outdoor existence, from Webster’s
Appius and Virginia
: ‘I wake in the wet trench, loaded with more cold iron than a gaol would give a murderer, while the General sleeps in a field-bed, and to mock our hunger feeds us with the scent of the most curious fare. That makes his tables crack!’ His dissertation argued both for and against
Appius and Virginia
being the work of John Webster, eventually reaching the conclusion that it was, in his opinion, from the pen of Thomas Heywood. The work, partly written in the meadow by the Teign at Clifford Bridge, won him his fellowship at King’s College, Cambridge, and was published in book form in Britain and America in 1916.

Today the Clifford Bridge camp site plays host to far more than the handful of neo-pagan tents of 1911. The tranquil and idyllic area where Brooke read Webster, Keats’s letters to Fanny Browne, and crafted ‘Dining-Room Tea’ now bustles with holidaying families.

Rupert arrived back at the Old Vicarage to discover that Frank Sidgwick of Sidgwick and Jackson, who had agreed to publish his first book of poetry, was objecting to the title of one of the poems. ‘Lust’ wasn’t the first of the works intended for inclusion that had raised Sidgwick’s eyebrows. ‘The Seasick Lover’, which had originally been ‘A Shakespearean Love Sonnet’, he also found faintly objectionable. Against his better judgement, and having argued his points, Rupert conceded that if it were absolutely necessary the title ‘Libido’ could be substituted for ‘Lust’. ‘The Seasick Lover’ became ‘A Channel Passage’. He complained to friends of the enforced changes, but seemed to accept them with a degree of equanimity if any other course meant losing sales. The excitement of having his first volume of poetry published was tempered by Dudley Ward’s betrothal to his German girlfriend Anne Marie, as this meant, in his eyes, that yet another friend was shedding their skin of youth to become domesticated. Francis and Frances Cornford were an item; so were Jacques Raverat and Gwen Darwin. His thoughts turned to Ka, as he still imagined Noel to be out of his reach – at least physically – while Ka might just not be…

The increasingly domiciliary attitude of his friends seemed only to fuel his restlessness; he implored Ka to join him doing something romantically exciting and interesting: ‘I am getting excited. Lincolnshire? The Peaks? The Fens? East London? Lulworth, if you like, but
somewhere
.’ In another spirited outburst to Ka, he declared that ‘I’m determined to live like a motor car, or a needle, Mr Bennett [Arnold Bennett], or a planetary system, or whatever else is always at the keenest and wildest pitch of activity’. At the same time, he was still professing his love to an ostensibly ambivalent Noel.

In October 1911 he wrote to Ka Cox of a drama at the Old Vicarage, which happened in the middle of a letter he was writing to her:

During October, Rupert was becoming increasingly stressed, worrying about the lack of work he felt he had put into his dissertation on Webster, being in love in different ways with both Noel and Ka, and rushing backwards and forwards between Rugby, Grantchester, Cambridge and London. In the capital, he walked Hampstead Heath, stayed with James Strachey in Belsize Park, saw Wagner’s Ring Cycle, ate at the National Liberal Club, talked with Eddie Marsh and moved into the second floor of the studio of the Strachey’s cousin, the artist Duncan Grant, at 21 Fitzroy Square. He also took time to correct the proofs of his forthcoming poetry book.

Bizarrely, for someone not musically gifted, Rupert decided he would like to have singing lessons and asked Clive Carey, with whom he had worked on various Cambridge productions, if he would be available: ‘If I was taught singing by some sensible person who understood all the time that I couldn’t ever sing properly whatever happened, I might gain anyhow two things. 1. Be able to hear music … 2. Have a better and more manageable reading voice.’ As late as 1957, while adjudicating at Bournemouth at a Music Competition Festival, Carey spoke warmly of Brooke and again in the 1960s commented, ‘he was a very close friend of mine and a wonderful person in all respects’. He declined to comment on Rupert’s singing ability, but did once persuade him to air his voice among others and take the part of a slave in a Cambridge production of Mozart’s
The Magic Flute.

Despite not being comfortable on stage, Rupert certainly worked hard on any role he had to take. There are two photographs of him reciting Faustus at the Old Vicarage to Jacques Raverat and Dudley Ward, who appear to be testing him on his lines. On another occasion he sat up in one of the chestnut trees reading aloud to Noel Olivier and Sybil Pye. Sybil remembered those moments with fondness.

The romance of the house itself was tempered by the presence of an army of woodlice, about which Rupert was once moved to comment:

Brooke’s volume of poems was published in November, although he was in no mood to be excited about the prospect, as the long hours put in revising his dissertation on Webster had worn him out, and left him feeling rundown. His book didn’t set the literary world on fire immediately, but from a humble start it went on to sell almost 100,000 copies in the next twenty years alone.

A reading party was being organised at Lulworth Cove to begin after Christmas 1911 and run into the new year. The circle included Lytton and James Strachey, Ka Cox, Justin Brooke, Maynard Keynes, Duncan Grant, Gwen Raverat and an old Bedalian and King’s man, Ferenc Bekassy, a Hungarian with more than a passing passion for Noel. Henry Lamb was to join the party, but he was staying locally in Corfe Castle.

Before Lulworth, Rupert slept a night at Ka’s flat at 76 Charlotte Street in London, before joining his mother in the Beachy Head Hotel high up on the cliffs looking down on Eastbourne, Sussex. It was here he completed his dissertation on Webster, but his restless mental state, workload and general ill-health were taking their toll. He was jaded and overwrought, and suffered from insomnia while staying at Beachy Head – a strangely wild, windy and remote setting for a December break.

Brooke’s literary mentor Eddie Marsh was now Private Secretary to the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, and as such was becoming increasingly influential. So it was good news that he was enamoured with Rupert’s volume of poems: ‘I had always in the trembling hope reposed that I should like the poems … but at my wildest I never looked forward to such magnificence … you have brought back into English poetry the rapturous beautiful grotesque of the seventeenth century.’ Rupert was delighted, writing to Marsh from his mother’s house in Rugby just before Christmas, ‘God! It’s so cheering to find someone who likes the
modern stuff, and appreciates what one’s at. You can’t think how your remarks and liking thrilled me.’

O
N
27
DECEMBER
1911, Rupert and the others descended on Lulworth. Brooke himself stayed with Mrs Carter at Churchfield House, a dwelling that began as a simple cottage and was converted in the early seventeenth century by Lawrence Randall, in whose family it stayed until 1870. In the 1750s it became the Red Lion – the name being taken from the coat of arms of the local Duberville family. George III dined there in 1802 and sang its praises. After 1870 it became Churchfield House.

This was to be Rupert’s most traumatic stay in Lulworth. Lytton
Strachey was there, too, while others were at Cove Cottage; Henry Lamb arriving later, from Corfe, allegedly at Lytton’s behest, as there seemed to be a potential dalliance in the air between Lamb and Ka Cox. Rupert was uncommunicative and reclusive, becoming increasingly paranoid as Ka revealed to him her feelings for Henry Lamb. Despite an understanding with Noel Olivier, Brooke’s relationship with her seemed to be standing still, if not becoming cooler. Even so, Ka’s revelations were not designed to provoke any latent jealousy in Rupert. They not only provoked but inflamed him swiftly, to the point of unreasonable paranoia; Brooke suddenly believed himself in love with Ka much in the same way that Lysander seemingly irrationally transferred his affections from Hermia to Helena in Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
But who was the mischievous Puck at Lulworth? Rupert for a long time, and in retrospect unfairly, blamed Lytton Strachey for plotting the whole Ka Cox/Henry Lamb saga. In reality it was Lamb’s weakness for women and overt flirtatiousness combined with Ka’s susceptibility.

In depressed state he walked with James Strachey from Lulworth over the Purbeck Hills to Corfe Castle, where James caught a train to London and Brooke walked on further to Studland, before returning to Lulworth. His state of mind worsened to such an extent that he had a nervous breakdown of sorts and became temporarily obsessed by Ka. He wrote from Churchfield House to Noel on 6 January:

Only the week before he had written to Noel proclaiming, ‘I love you: any how. I love you. I love you. I wish you were here.’

In this run-down state, he was taken to Dr Craig, a Harley Street specialist, who recommended rest, a special diet and a holiday. Dr Craig confirmed his diagnosis to Mrs Brooke – ‘Your son was obviously in a state of severe breakdown when I saw him. He was hypersensitive and introspective.’ He was due to join his mother in Cannes anyway, but first he flew to Noel in Limpsfield, this time to counsel her about Ka. Breaking his journey to the south of France in Paris, he was looked after by his friend Elizabeth Van Rysselbergh, before heading to Cannes and the Hotel du Pavillion to join his mother. Rather than letting things lie, taking his time and regaining his mental equilibrium, he proceeded to bombard Ka with letters padded with declamatory overtures: ‘Love me! Love me! Love me! … I love you so much’; ‘I love you so … I kiss your lips’; ‘I’m all reaching out to you, body and mind.’ He described to her the view from his balcony overlooking the Mediterranean; ‘Outside there are large numbers of tropical palms, a fountain, laden orange trees and roses. There’s an opal sea and jagged hills with amazing sunsets behind.’ He was also very descriptive about a moment some eighteen months earlier when he’d first seen Ka in a different light:

Would he have had such a sudden physical fixation for her were it not for her interest in Henry Lamb? Probably not, but he convinced her to meet him in Munich where they could be together: sleep
together. In the meantime, he had to rub along with Mendelssohn, Ravel, Mozart and Saint-Saëns at Cannes concerts.

Suspicious of the increasing correspondence arriving for Rupert, Mrs Brooke soon realised something was afoot. She felt he should spend more time recuperating and that he was not yet fit to travel, but her protestations fell on stony ground. Despite some ‘awful scenes with the Ranee’, it was arranged that Ka would meet him off the train at Verona and they would return a few days later to where she was staying in Munich. In the event they also visited Salzburg and Starnberg. In his agitated condition, which erupted spasmodically during their time there, he was becoming more and more dependent upon her, growing stronger from her supportive presence, while she became increasingly strained. They were clearly not ‘in love’, he desiring her for release from physical pressures and as a cushion, while she was willing to be submissive. Because of Rupert’s delicate mental balance, she had to pick her moment to let him know that she had, in fact, been seeing Henry Lamb while Rupert was recuperating in Cannes.

He was unwittingly the cause of Rupert and Ka being forced together in a way that wasn’t right for either of them. He liked her as a friend, and ended up believing he was in love with her, his protestations of love while his mind was a little unbalanced eventually convincing her. He soon realised that he did not
really
want the security of Ka but it was too late for her – she now believed that Rupert was the man for her and it was only his mental state that would make it sometimes appear otherwise.

Although it wasn’t immediately apparent, Rupert began to cool by degrees towards Ka from the end of their time together in Germany. His manner towards her became more matter of fact and at times off-hand, and, although he wrote to her five times in one weekend during March, from the Mermaid Inn at Rye, Kent, the
letters had a different tone from those written in Cannes, and Noel’s name crept into them more than once.

His feelings of guilt towards Ka, that he had used her, were to be with him for the rest of his life, but in the short term he played along with the façade until he was forced to be honest about his feelings later in the year. In May he was to confide to Jacques:

Before Rye, Rupert repaired to Rugby. Ka came to stay with him and great plans were laid to avoid Mrs Brooke’s suspicions of a relationship or that they had met in Germany. Edward Marsh and Geoffrey Keynes also arrived, Rupert impressing on Keynes the importance of not letting his mother know too much about his personal life: ‘Relations between the Ranee and me are very peculiar.’ Then Rupert went to the Mermaid with James Strachey, a friend of Richard Aldington, the owner’s son, who was to become an eminent poet and writer.

The famous inn, which probably dates from 1156, certainly ‘stood on this present site, built of wattle, daub, lath and plaster’ in 1300, when the Mermaid brewed its own ale and charged a penny a night for lodging. It was rebuilt in 1920 using ships’ timbers and baulks of Sussex oak, the fireplaces being carved from French stone ballast rescued from the harbour. Long associated with smugglers, it would now be referred to as a ‘no-go’ area, especially during the eighteenth century, when the 600-strong Hawkhurst gang openly flaunted their illicit activities without fear of reprisals, with consummate ease. By 1912, however, life at the Mermaid was a little more civilised, as Brooke revealed in one of his letters to Ka.

The following day (Sunday) he wrote again to Ka. ‘I’m just out a walk to Winchelsea’, obviously so mentally overwrought that he omitted the ‘for’. He ends the letter, ‘You’d better marry me before we leave England, you know. I’ll accept the responsibility. And the fineness to come.’ In yet another epistle written on Mermaid notepaper to Ka on the Sunday evening he complained: ‘Oh God, we’ve been searching for rooms in Winchelsea. No luck,’ but extolled the virtues of Rye’s neighbour: ‘Oh, and Winchelsea’s so lovely. On the road back we met a small lady who was lost, and I was (nervously) kind to her and restored her, practically to her Mother. Ha! I read
The Way of All Flesh,
and talk to James and think of you.’ Brooke’s walk to Winchelsea, 2 miles of marshland away from Rye, ran between the road and the railway. Elsie M. Jacobs described it in 1947:

Brooke also described to Ka an evening foray to Lamb House, just around the corner from the Mermaid in West Street.

Despite Brooke’s intriguing description of the mysterious scenario, the American author Henry James was actually in London at the time – at the Reform Club – so his life was never in danger from the chain-rattling whistler!

The arrival of Henry James at Lamb House in 1896 had seemed to herald the birth of a literary era for Rye, as his visitors included distinguished English contemporary writers Rudyard Kipling, Joseph Conrad, Ford Madox Ford and G. K. Chesterton, as well as French anglophile Hilaire Belloc and American literary luminaries Edith Wharton and Stephen Crane. The younger literati, not of his peer group, came too in the shape of Vanessa Bell, Virginia Woolf (Virginia Stephen had by this time married Leonard Woolf), E. M. Forster and E. F. Benson – the latter eventually taking the property on three years after James’s death in 1916.

Albert Edward Aldington, the owner of the Mermaid, wasn’t actually a colonel; Anabel was Arabella – a nickname only, her real name was Dorothy Yorke – an American girlfriend of Dick’s who lived until her eightieth year. He called her Dolikins. Even Dick was an adopted name, Edward Godfrey Aldington calling himself that from an early age. The mother, Jessie May, to whom Brooke refers, wrote five novels and two books of poems between 1905 and 1917, while the youngest daughter Patricia was only four years old at the time and spent her days in the garden, where the car park is now, climbing the big old tree that used to stand there. Patricia Aldington still lives in Rye, where she used to take an active role in the running of the museum, and still remembers Brooke’s visit.

In 1919 Dick Aldington wrote to a friend:

The disparaging attitude that he had about Brooke’s war poems was not entirely fair, as Aldington was to see the war out and therefore be in a position to write a more balanced view – a chance not afforded to Rupert.

On 31 March, Rupert wrote to Jacques Raverat; ‘I leave here tomorrow evening. I go to Noel’s then to Ka Wednesday evening? Till Friday? Then I don’t know where: Winchelsea or the New Forest.’

He determined to call at Limpsfield Chart to see Noel, before going on to Ka at Woking. Still uncertain of his feelings, he also wrote to Noel from the Mermaid. ‘There is no doubt you’re the finest person in the world. How dare I see you.’ But Rupert wasn’t Noel’s only suitor. As well as Ferenc Bekassy, Adrian Stephen, Virginia Woolf ’s brother, was now making overtures to Noel and appeared at The Champions. From Ka’s house Rupert wrote to Jacques Raverat: ‘I’m going tomorrow to c/o Mrs Primmer, Beech Shade, Bank, Lyndhurst. I’m going to leave Ka alone till she’s rested and ready for Germany. I found her (I came yesterday) pretty bad.’