Fanny Mason's journal.

He adopted my father and was very kind to him, but Aunt Jenefred, being of a most violent temper, made his young life a very sad one, and when, having met my dear mother during his college days, they were married without asking her consent, a breach was made which, as far as my dear mother was concerned, was never closed. Aunt’s jealousy of my mother being afterwards transferred to me.

Five years before my birth, my father then being a curate in Nottinghamshire was presented with a very handsome tea and coffee set in silver every house in the parish having contributed. At the time of my birth he was curate of St. John’s Kentish Town and must have been very popular both as a preacher and worker, as here he was presented with a small velvet bag worked with forget-me-nots in tiny beads which was filled with sovereigns.

When I was nearly 4 he was appointed rector of St. Nicholas Cole abbey in the city. A new rectory was built for him on Bread Street Hill. In digging the foundations a large number of skeletons were found, probably those of some of the victims of the plaque. A most vivid remembrance of mine was about this time when my father put into my little hands, a skull, probably of some young woman, for I still remember the white even teeth and he told me not to be afraid, and why. The remains were found buried in a small church-yard which formed one side of Bread Street Hill, the other being a large cigar and tobacco warehouse where lived some most genial Yorkshire people named Sykes, who were most kind to the solitary child. They found me a companion in a little Scotch boy called Donald MacIntyre with whom I played many merry games among the great barrels of tobacco leaves (The winter after I was married, Donald McIntyre, who was then 26 lost his life in a terrible ice accident in Regents Park.) (I presume he fell through the ice)

The windows of the Rectory house were kept bright with flowers, from the leaves of which my mother brushed the smuts with a feather. During the cholera in 1848 I remember the ground round the rectory being watered several times a day with disinfectant, and seeing my father come in and throw himself exhausted on a couch, worn out with his visits to the sick and dying. During this year a baby brother was born but only lived 3 days. How clear is my recollection of the little waxen figure in its dainty coffin, in his tiny right hand some heads of lavender like a wand, he was buried in the adjoining church yard by my father’s great friend the Rev. Thomas Weston, the author of 'Nozrani'. (I have no idea what this is). Soon after this I was very ill and remember my father kneeling beside my bed and saying in deep distress, 'If I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved indeed'.

He was appointed morning reader in St. Paul’s Cathedral and read prayers at 8 a.m. in the N.W. Chapel. I very often went with my mother, and there were some most regular attendants. A great delight was to go with him to St Bartholomew’s Hospital, (in the city of London) which he visited. I was provided with a parcel of barley sugar in convenient pieces which I distributed among the patients while he was engaged in some of his sacred duties.
His own church was built by Inigo Jones (This contradicts the information I found from the church web site which is that it was built by sir Christopher Wren) and contains some fine Grinling Gibbons wood carving. Delight of delights was the great school festival which was then held under the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. How proud I was to trot along beside my father at the head of his school. How strange his dress would look now. He wore a very full black silk gown, white collar bands and a top hat.

My 6th birthday was celebrated by a big children’s party, of which I can remember the games & my initials in greenery in the hall. About this time my extreme delicacy induced my father to approach his aunt Jenefred with a view to my going to Devonshire where she lived. I don’t know how it was arranged but my father took me to Devonport.
How well I remember the hard dark eyes and thin lips of this aunt and the sad face of a widowed niece who lived with her as companion and whose tears used to drop upon the handkerchief she taught me to hem.

This aunt plays so large a part in my life that I must say something more about her. After her uncle’s death she married Mr. William Billing the eldest son of a Mr. Billing who was a contractor in a very large way. He supplied stone for the Plymouth break-water, also for Waterloo Bridge, his two eldest sons were in the business, but the father could not be induced to make a will and died intestate leaving £l00,000. Instead of allowing the law to divide it as he intended the two Sons were induced to carry it on and not being supposed to do their best by some members of the Family, disputes arose. Through the roguery of a lawyer, the affair was thrown into Chancery (denounced by Dickens in 'Bleak house') and very little saved.

The 2 sons, who seem to have been very honourable men, died insane within a fortnight of each other.
Aunt Jenefred’s husband, who was a very fine man, and much respected, was the first Mayor of Devonport, and presented the address from that town on the birth of King Edward 7th. The court dress which he wore was sold after Aunt’s death. I paid several visits to Devonport.
Aunt’s house was large and furnished in the fashion of the time. The drawing room had 3 large windows curtained with very handsome material, with which also the chairs and two couches were covered. The carpet matched, but everything was closely covered up and never then or during the 10 years I lived there did I ever see it uncovered. There were no white curtains in the house. The dining room dark red, the breakfast room dark green, wire blinds being at the bedroom windows as well as downstairs. No toilet covers or flowers anywhere. The dining room furniture was covered with horsehair, the sofa with a sausage bolster at each end. In the centre of the mantle-piece, which was of black marble was a very handsome clock with a musical box underneath and on either side a very beautiful figure of a Mexican on horseback. These were under glass shades. There were no other ornaments of any sort.

In the June before I was 8, Aunt told me that I had a little brother, at which I was delighted. A few days after that my dear father was taken ill and we were going to London. My brother was born on the 26th June & on the 14th July my father died from brain fever caused by overwork. He was only 38.

My mother’s grief was terrible & I stayed with her. Eleven months after my father’s death she was presented with a house at Froxfield College, a quaint old foundation, in fact an almshouse for 30 clergy and 20 lay widows. Each had a little 3 or 4 roomed house, a piece of garden ground, medical attendance, and at that time £40 a year. The houses were built round an oblong quadrangle and a small chapel stood in the centre where prayers were read twice in Week & a service on Sundays. The rector of the village acted as chaplain. At the entrance were iron gates & at the 3 corners heavy doors.
The porter who lived opposite the entrance, locked these at 7 in the winter and 9 in the summer when all males except infants had to turn out. The gate bell was rung and the young folk came trooping out, as only 2 persons were allowed in each house at night.
When the young men, many of whom were curates or at college, came visiting they had to engage room in the village in which to sleep. Among these was the notorious Rev. F.G. Lee the writer of the Directorium Anglicanium whose mother lived next to mine. also the Rev. John Richardson afterwards an examiner of schools and several others. It was a charming little society, all being very much on an equality as to education and tastes. Many of the houses were dainty with the remains of brighter days.

The village rector, Atwood by name, was a kind genial man very much of a farmer. He & his wife & family were dear friends of my mother & during my short holidays I spent many happy days in their rambling old house & garden. They were anything but well-off but were well connected & two of the daughters married rich men though they were simple jolly girls but very pretty.

Owing to the fall in the value of land, the widows income fell to £36 & I now hear that only a few of the houses are occupied. The college is two miles from Hungerford.

When I was between 10 & 11, I went into the clergy orphan school adjoining Lords Cricket Ground at St. John’s Wood. The girls occupied one side of the main building & the boys the other, the staff being in the centre.
I wonder what the girls of the present day (written in 1907) would say to the Spartan treatment we received.
The ages varied from 8-16 and, it must be supposed that, in their homes they had been accustomed to some degree of refinement, yet we had our meals at trestle tables covered with a course cloth.
At breakfast and tea, no plates but a hunch of bread about 2" thick with a scraping of butter on it, moistened with milk and water, served from large urns. A repast of this, served at 6pm, was called supper.
For dinner we had a helping of beef or mutton & two potatoes. I do not remember any pudding but rice!
On Saturdays we had a mysterious stew.
On Good Friday we had two buns but no bread for breakfast, boiled rice with pepper and salt for dinner & one bun for supper. Truly we did fast."
No wonder we were delighted when any friends called & brought us a big cake.

At the church close by we sat on either side of the organ forming the choir, the solo boys in a small pew in front of the organ.
About twice a week we went for a short walk in Regents Park, on other days we played in the big garden & in bad weather in the big hall where examinations were held. In winter, if fine, however cold we had to go into the garden & I well remember standing and freezing to the ground, the girls having to hammer the ice to release me.

We made all our own clothes & twice a year had new dresses which were very suitable as then worn. On one occasion at a Festival for sons of clergy, 40 of us selected to attend the grand service in St. Paul’s Cathedral. We went in omnibuses, the boys being outside. In those days the organ was over the entrance to the chancel & from it to the ground was a cloud of choirester. (I haven’t a clue what she meant to write here)
We were opposite and had been drilled to curtesy together when the Prince Consort passed & many admiring comments were made on our appearance. In the school we were taught thoroughly what would now be considered quite elementary subjects, though all were intended for governesses, teaching and fine needlework being the only occupations considered fitting for gentlewomen.
I venture to doubt if present day girls can read aloud, write or know their Bible as we did. Before I was 14, I was in the first class & therefore publicly examined by the Bishop of London & received special notice from him.

I had been at school nearly 4 years when it was decided to enlarge the girls school by removing the boys to Canterbury. We were given 12 wks. holiday while the alterations were made, which enabled me to spend my 14th birthday with my mother, & one of the homely picnics was arranged for the occasion. Each family provided something & all shared the expense of the tilted cart in which we drove to Savernake Forest. If we went to beautiful woods nearer home we hired a little donkey cart to carry the kettle & provisions. Our fun was very simple. We sang part-songs and danced to music played on combs on which we had practised, quadrilles lancers etc.

After returning to school, after the long holiday, only a few days elapsed before some of the children were taken ill. I volunteered as a nurse but the patients became so numerous & I was one. In the end 23 girls and 5 servants went down with Typhoid fever. No doubt in making the alterations to the building the drains had not been properly treated. The rest of the girls were sent home and every care taken of the sufferers.
A doctor came three times a day and a physician once. Wonderful to relate all the patients recovered although many were very seriously ill. It then being the end of October, my mother feared keeping me at Froxfield, which was cold & damp so wrote & asked Aunt Jenefred to have me recover.

Aunt, who had always bitterly resented my being in a 'charity' school, consented.
When I was well again, she wrote and offered to complete my education & provide handsomely for me, the only condition being that I should Live with her, visiting my mother for 3 weeks in Summer. The alternative being that I should return to the Clergy Orphan School.

At last after earnest consideration, my mother consented, for my sake & I was sent to the best & happiest school possible. This was at Tiverton in Devonshire & was kept by a Mrs. Chesney, the widow of an army officer & mother of General Chesney, who was the eldest of 4 soldier sons.
She was a wonderful woman, charming in appearance, essentially motherly & with such a force of character that she ruled the girls entirely by Love not Fear. She had many uncommon methods. We always did needle work in class and only put it down when it came to our turn to speak or read. We got up very early, breakfasted & went out for a walk before school taking our lesson books with us if we liked. The surrounding country was very beautiful.

We were really well fed, having 3 good meals & bread & butter at 11 a.m. & 8 p.m. We were often 40 to dinner including day borders. We had single beds, two in each room with pretty white curtains edged with fringe which Mrs. Chesney made on a little board in the dusk of the evening, when she would sit with us and tell us about her travels which had been in many parts of the world.
She was never idle, always keeping a bit of work in her pocket to do at odd times. The house was a very large one in the main street with a lovely garden in 3 terraces down to the river Exe. On the lowest was a splendid bed of lilies of the valley, which was conclusive property of the first class. We were not allowed to look out of the front windows under a 6d. fine. Late for prayers 3d.

I had been here a year & a half when Mrs. Chesney was persuaded to retire, by her sons for whose sake she started the school 20 years before. It was a sad day when having sent us all to our rooms she visited us & explained that she had sold the school to 2 maiden ladies to whom we were introduced. I with many others left. Mrs. Chesney died many years later at the age of 82. For the next 9 months I went to a small finishing school in Exeter kept by a maiden lady. Everything here was in the reverse of the other. Meanness & misunderstanding ruled & I was most unhappy except when taking French lessons from an elderly Garisienne, & when visiting the Cathedral.

After I left school I had a French master for a time. I had to practice my music before 8 a.m. and Aunt showed total indifference to it except that she bought a good piano.
I was utterly without companionship & sympathy and carefully hid from my mother all that I suffered, always looking forward to the day when perhaps I might be able to live happily with her.

While I was at school, Aunt wrote to my mother offering to take my brother as she had taken me. At this time he was very delicate, being subject to attacks of croup. Froxfield was very damp in winter and the doctor 3 miles away so again my dear mother sacrificed her feelings and let him go, thereby probably saving his life. He was always a quiet studious boy and when quite a little chap was nicknamed 'Dominic Sampson' he went first to Devonport Grammar School then to Chudleigh but, owing to an outbreak of fever, left and went to Tavistock where he remained until going to Oxford.

Just after I left school Aunt slipped in getting out of bed and dislocated her wrist and broke her arm. The doctor who attended her Dr. William Swain was most kind to me and taught me how to bandage, an art I have since found most useful.
During the six weeks of Aunt’s helplessness I had more peace than during the whole ten years of my stay with her. My persecution began again when she recovered.

I was confirmed at St. Andrew’s, Plymouth by the Bishop of Oxford, Samuel Wilberforce. Emily James (afterwards Mrs. Bayne) and her brother Alfred, who was later drowned in Ceylon, being with me. There were also 200 sailor boys.
Soon after Aunt’s accident I was asked to be bridesmaid to the daughter of some people she had known for many years, but she refused and made the bride elect cry. They would not replace me but had five bridesmaids instead of six. She had previously allowed me to go to the house of these people, who were giving an evening party, but I had to leave at 9 o’clock and pay my own cab fare. When we called at the house a little time after someone present said how sorry they were I had to leave so early. No sooner were we out of the house than Aunt began a storm of abuse, saying I had been complaining about her to these people, and I was never allowed to go there again.

Aunt and I stayed at Tavistock and Oxford while my brother was there, but she treated me in a most extraordinary way. She would not allow me to make friends, or even to shake hands with a young clergyman to whom I was introduced, saying 'I don’t want my money to go into that family'.
Disinterested kindness, according to her ideas, did not exist. she kept three servants, a man and his wife as butler and cook, and a middle-aged housemaid. She had a carriage but hired horses, as she gave up the horses at her death.
One service she rendered me, I was taught how to do everything connected with a house, including cooking, but no one would believe what a trying life I led, or how often on entering my room at night I have exclaimed aloud 'Thank God' I had at least a few hours to myself.

I naturally hid from my dear mother what I suffered, always looking forward to some day being with her. The pleasure of going there in the summer was damped by the dread of parting.
In the March before I was 21 a letter came for me from some great friends of my mother’s, in which they expressed their grief at my mother’s death. This letter was to have been given to me after the dreadful tidings had been broken to me by my Aunt. I gave a cry and fell fainting against the tall marble mantle-piece bruising my head. When I recovered, Aunt had telegraphed for my brother to come, and next morning at 6 a.m. we set out on our sad journey.

The letter to Aunt was from my mother’s dearest friend Mrs. Jacob, who said She had sent to Sir James Chalk as being our oldest friend, and that his old trusted servant Lucy had arrived as soon as it was possible, and taken charge of everything for us. My dear mother had been spending the evening with Mrs. Jacob, and on leaving she shook out the beautiful piece of work she was doing saying 'I am in love with it' She was apparently in her normal health but knew she had an affliction of the heart. In the night she knocked on the wall of her neighbour Mrs. Clifford and never rallied. She was only 48.

At 6 p.m. we reached Hungerford, worn out, and found the friends who had written to me waiting with a trap. They drove me direct to their house, about a mile from Froxfield, called Rudge Manor, and showed me every kindness.
Then there came to me one of the most painful moments of my life, but to explain this I must go back. My mother had some cousins whose eldest son (James Mason) (who was nearly 5 years my senior) had been placed in the office of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners by Sir James Chalk, my godfather, who was then Secretary.
While spending my Christmas holidays at my godfather’s house I met him and, children though we were, we were drawn to one another. When I was 17 he came on a visit to my mother and we both fell deeply in love. Of course, girl-like, I guarded my secret most carefully. The next year he came again and after I had gone, told my mother of his feelings, he was devotedly fond of her and often, in years after, used to say it was because he loved my mother so, that he loved me.

She personally would have been quite satisfied, but she knew by most bitter experience what my aunt was, and begged him to give up all thought of it, having no idea how deeply my heart was concerned.
Had she known I do not think anything would have separated us, and in after years he many times told me that, had he realised that I too loved him, nothing would have induced him to marry as he afterwards did.
The summer I was 20 I went home as usual and after asking about everyone enquired for James Mason. My mother said 'I have just heard from him he is going to be married'. Then for the first time in my life I fainted. I shall never forget my mother’s distress when I recovered and she found how deeply I loved him. My only fear was lest I should meet him or that he should ever know.

How his marriage came about I cannot tell, he was only engaged three months and the lady was five years older than he and quite a contrast to me, being very pretty and lively but highly nervous. They were married the following September. In the meantime the son of some friends, whose name was Shiers, had done his utmost to win me but I would not listen. I have only loved once.
(Returning to the funeral arrangements) soon after that terrible journey I was trying to take some tea, when someone entered the room, and round the screen which hid the door came James Mason. After 40 years I can still vividly recall the agony of that moment and the feeling that I would gladly have died then. He was deadly pale. he crossed the room and kissed me on the forehead. I could not speak, only tremble.
After a few minutes he was called out of the room and I was asked to go and speak to him. how I went I do not know. I was terrified lest anyone should guess my secret. He had been asked to beg me not to see my dear mother who had greatly changed. At first I would not yield, but when he said 'You know how I loved her. If I do not see her will you also refrain' I consented.
His presence was accounted for in this way. Our oldest friend Sir James Chalk would himself have arranged all necessary business but he was unavoidably detained in Town. Knowing how fond James was of my mother, he asked if he would act on his behalf.

Here, let me note a very curious incident. When Sir James said 'I have sad news for you' James (Mason) replied at once 'I know it, Mrs. Austin is dead. I have dreamed I was walking all night with her in Froxfield churchyard'. Sir James who was very distressed (for he and my mother had been almost children together) explained his request and after hurried preparation James Mason started at once. Hence our meeting.

The funeral was next day. James supporting me through the service, after which I returned to Rudge Manor. The next day being Sunday we all went to Church. It was all like a frightful dream to me. It was arranged that I should go the next day to my mother’s house & look through her belongings. My aunt had told me when I left to send down what I wanted to keep & to dispose of the rest.

I found dear old Lucy in charge & James and I commenced our painful task. Under the belief that her death would be sudden, I found that my dear mother had destroyed all her letters. We had been some time at work when Lucy came & begged us to try and eat. We sat down but could touch nothing. Happening to look up, our eyes met & James sprang up. Rushing upstairs he threw himself upon my mother’s bed & cried as I hope I shall never hear another cry. How I Lived through that day I do not know. In my mother’s dressing case I found a ring of pure gold without alloy which an African whom my father had baptized had given him. This I gave James, but he took it off asking me to keep it till he left.
He took me back to Rudge Manor & spent the next two days packing pictures etc. to go to Devonport. Among these was a half length portrait of my father framed and presented to my mother by the Church Wardens. This portrait was finished only a short time before his death. The rest of the furniture etc. was sold without auction to the ladies of the college, who were all anxious to have some souvenir of one so beloved. When all this was done James and I met at the Rectory the occupants of which were among my dearest friends.
When it came to saying Goodbye (I had already given him the ring) I put into his hand an envelope containing a long tress of my hair inscribed with the words 'With Sister Fanny’s grateful thanks' He kissed me suddenly and turned away, each still ignorant of the others feelings & neither expecting or hoping to ever meet again.

After he had left George Shiers renewed his entreaties that I would marry him, pointing out what my life with Aunt would be and how he and his would love and cherish me. This appealed very powerfully to me and against my conscience and my better judgement, I consented. I did not love him. It was an escape only. how many girls have made shipwreck of their lives in this way. Humbly I thank God I was saved such a sad fate.
I made a proviso that no-one should be told until my Aunt knew. My brother and I returned to Devonport. During the journey when near Swindon, the engine left the rails and we were delayed 2 hours arriving at 11 p.m. Aunt’s man was at the station with the carriage and, on our reaching home instead of welcoming us after such a trial as we had been through, Aunt did not even kiss me, but rated us for being late.

Next day she told me the packages had come and ordered the pictures and ornaments to be unpacked. The rest she had locked in the coach house where they were ruined by the damp and neglect. I put the few ornaments in my room but was commanded to put them out of sight at once. She would not have her house looking like a pawn-brokers.
I may mention here that nothing in the way of toilet covers, white curtains etc. was allowed. the front windows all had painted wire blinds.
I took an opportunity of telling her of my engagement. Her fury was dreadful to see. She insisted on my breaking it but I refused. She sent for the clergyman of the church we attended to argue with me but I held out. This went on for a month. I wrote and told my mother’s dearest friend, a Mrs. Jacob who had always been in her confidence. She begged me to give George up, urging that neither mentally or socially were we equals.
Finding her plea of no use. She wrote in desperation to James begging to use his influence. This brought a letter from him, saying he had heard from Mrs. Jacob and as I must feel, his must he totally disinterested advice, begged me to forego what could not be a happy marriage that I was a lady in the best sense of the word, while George was not a gentleman and nothing could make us equal. This under God’s guidance decided me. I wrote breaking off my engagement with George and returning his letters. Needless to say neither he nor his family ever forgave me, or spoke to me again. When my letters to George were returned, Aunt seized, opened and read them twitting me about them. They were found in her desk after her death and given to me. After this I fell into a state of hopeless melancholy and but for my brother’s sake who, being so much younger than I, seemed in a sense to need me, I should have done something desperate, run away and tried to earn my own living.

In August after my mother’s death I was 21. My aunt did not even wish me 'Many happy returns' but James sent me four beautiful texts. I still have them after 43 years. They were very appropriate and comforted me greatly. (in coming of age I had £150 which had been left me by my grandmother and Aunt Anne. Aunt immediately stopped my allowance of £20 a year and insisted on my buying a gold watch and chain together costing £22. I also paid for my mother’s memorial stone. Doubtless she thought when the money was gone I should he completely in her power.
There were money matters connected with my mother’s death that could not he settled for some months, during which time I had only an occasional business letter from James (all my Letters Aunt opened and read) until the end of November when he wrote in great distress, saying he had lost his wife who died ten days after giving birth to twin boys. I answered this as best I could, Aunt seeing the letter.

I heard no more for some months, when he wrote enclosing all the vouchers with apologies for the delay owing to his great trouble. It will show the utter crushing of my spirit that when Aunt proposed I should send him £5 for all he had done in my mother’s affairs I made no protest. As was the custom in those days I sent the first half of a £5 note by post. Back it came by return of post as I felt sure it would, with a letter saying that for what he had done my thanks was all the recompense he either expected or desired. Also that he had a likeness taken of his little boy (the surviving twin) and would be pleased to send me a copy if I cared to have it. This was the first intimation I had had that one of the twins had died.
Aunt forbad any further correspondence, remarking 'Chalk employed him, so no doubt Chalk paid him '. Her favourite taunt, which I considered the highest compliment was 'Your mother will never be dead while you are alive'.

Nearly two years after the last incidents mentioned I had a most extraordinary haunting feeling about James and craving to set myself right with him about what might have seemed a great insult.
The Emily Bayne, of whom I have spoken, sometimes called to see me, especially if she knew Aunt was upstairs, even then Aunt would send a maid in after a short time to know if she had gone.
One evening Aunt had gone to bed feeling unwell. Emily Bayne came and told me of a love affair of her own. To her astonishment I told her my story, and how I was worrying myself. She offered to help me in any way she could, suggesting that Mrs. Jacob would he the best person to consult. She said if I wrote to her (Mrs. J.) and had the reply sent to Emily, she would get it to me somehow. I wrote at once and the following Sunday coming out of church, Emily slipped a letter into my hand. In it Mrs. Jacob wrote that she had such an affectionate regard for Mr. Mason that she had corresponded with him ever since my dear mother’s death. That she was sure he would understand the circumstances but as she was then writing she would mention the subject.
I had said in my letter how I should like the picture of the little boy. Two days later came the photo via. Emily with only these words 'With Papa’s best love'
I wrote an, answer saying I was doubly glad to get this as it proved I was forgiven for unwillingly wounding him. This brought another letter saying I was mistaken. He had not forgiven me and would not until assured that never would I in any circumstances misunderstand him, and so began the correspondence which revealed the real feelings of us both.
I then found that two years after his wife’s death, he had confessed to Mrs. Jacob that the old love for me had revived, stronger than ever. He asked her if she thought there was any way he could get in touch with me.
She then told him my side of the story which she had heard from my mother, he used to say it was that blessed five pound note which really brought us together. Thus in God’s good time we were brought together although the barriers between us had seemed impassable. I never dreamt at first of daring to leave Aunt, but James said I had suffered enough and begged to come down to see me at Christmas. Feeling sure Aunt would turn me out of the house if she knew, I took my brother and old Ann the house maid, who had known my father, into my confidence.

We arranged for James to come to the house at 7 a.m. he having arrived at the hotel the night before. That meeting is too sacred to write of. He brought a text for the Christmas decoration of the church, and as the Rector had asked Aunt to allow me to help.
I met him at the church and introduced him to both the clergy who were most kind, as they knew how difficult Aunt was, and I explained that she had not know of his coming.
I saw him each morning of his stay which was only a few days, and on Sunday, after Sunday school. Someone who saw me speak to him took him for an officer of the 84th, then just come! he was splendidly set up being an ardent member of the Queen’s Westminsters. On parting we agreed to wait awhile before asking Aunt’s consent but soon after that she tortured me beyond endurance, and for the first and last time I answered her, telling her I could not and would not endure it. Her lawyer’s wife was present and heard what I said, 'that she hated me as she had hated my dear mother and that even the grave had not satisfied her, also that she spoke to me as she would never speak to the dog'.
She knew this was true. For three days she did not speak to me, then asked Val if I was going to be married.
He said 'Yes'.
'To Mason ?'
'Yes'
'Then she shall never have a penny of my money'.

James then wrote a formal letter for her consent.
This she told her lawyer Mr. Gill to answer, saying she would in no way consent. James replied to this letter
'I am sorry Mrs. Billing will not consent to my marriage with Miss Austin, as this will now have to take place without it. I hope she will so far overcome her displeasure as to give us her good wishes.'
There was a dreadful scene when she said 'You have not seen this man since he was a widower.' and I told her of his visit. In the end she said 'You will give him up or give me up'. I said very quietly 'I will never give him up'.
Aunt was terribly angry and said
'All they want is my money, when they find they can’t get that they won’t want you. He shall never enter these doors again. If you insist on being married it shall not be from here.'
and a great deal more to the same effect.
On hearing this, James' father, dear 'Da' Mason wrote me a beautiful letter saying how welcome I should be, and Sir James Chalk wrote that I should be married from his house and he would give me away. No less than four families well known to Aunt offered me a home till I was married and to have our wedding at their house. But this would have been a public scandal.
Until then I did not know how much folk knew of my life or that so much sympathy was felt for me. Aunt continued to heap insults on me and James, whom she always spoke of as 'that man'.
As he only had £200 a year she predicted the direst poverty for us. I had to spend my own little store in buying the necessary things for my outfit. While making the garments I had to sit in a corner of the dining room with my back to Aunt as she said the movement of my hands fidgetted her.
She told me I had better make the things plain as no doubt I should have to do my own washing. She told me I need not divide the pictures with my brother as when he wanted anything he would have money to buy it. She claimed my mother’s watch for him and when I objected inferred that 'Mason has not got a watch' I gave it up.
It was found in a drawer after her death and returned to me.

At the beginning of May I told her I wished to leave on the 22nd, which I did, going first to James’ people and then to Sir James Chalk.
Aunt’s manservant, who with his wife, were most kind to me, saw me off. When I went in to say goodbye quite early in the morning, Aunt drew back in the bed and would not kiss me. I never saw her again until in her coffin.

I received the warmest welcome from James’ family and spent two happy months visiting old friends of my mother’s.
I was married from Sir James Chalk’s house in Warwick Square on July 24 1866. The wedding which was a very pretty one was at St. Mary the Less Lambeth and was fully choral, the present Dean Gregory officiating. The church was packed, many poor people running in from the surrounding district with their aprons full of peas to shell. Of this I knew nothing, being only conscious of an overwhelming nervousness. One woman remarked audibly 'Look, pore thing, ‘ow she do shake' but dear Sir James patted my arm reassuringly. I wore a simple dress of Brussels net with a Brussels lace veil. My four fair bridesmaids having very pretty white muslin dresses trimmed with pale green, wreaths of tiny white flowers with veils hanging from the back. We returned to Warwick Square and sat down 20 to a choice breakfast.

Weddings had to take place before noon. After the breakfast there was music and at 4 p.m. we left for Brighton en route for Paris.
As Sir James said goodbye he put a little purse in my hand containing ten new sovereigns. This was only one of the many kindnesses I received from him.

We had a glorious fortnight in Paris, as my husband knew the city so well and was able to shew me its beauties to the best advantage.
We had a very rough passage back. We had taken rooms in Kennington Park Road, and here I had a severe attack of pleurisy, much aggravated, the doctor thought, by all I had gone through before my marriage.

From the time I left Aunt, my letters to her were unanswered, but my wedding cards and letter were returned unopened. My brother was forbidden to mention my name to her.
About a week before my first child was born I received a letter from a music warehouse telling me they had been commissioned to forward me a piano by water and that it was to be acknowledged direct to them. It was delayed and I prepared a letter of thanks to Aunt, to be sent if I were laid up.
One morning a letter in Aunt’s handwriting came, which was most peculiar. It was overweight and I had to pay 2d. I was overjoyed but when I opened it I found an unopened letter across which Aunt had written 'In the belief that this is your handwriting I return it unopened. If I am mistaken send it back'.
No name at all. Underneath this I wrote 'This is not mine' and as I had to pay 2d on the receipt of her letter I put two stamps on mine to her.
I remarked to my nurse 'I have told you about my old aunt. She will think I have enclosed something and may send it back'. Sure enough she did There was nothing else to be done than to return it to her lawyer. I heard afterwards that it was a begging letter from someone.

The piano came a few hours after the birth of my boy so I did not see it for a fortnight.
The announcement of the birth was in the Devonport papers, and Sir James Chalk expressed a wish to be one of the godfathers, the other being Father Bagshaw, then a curate at St. Mary the Less.

It was in this parish that I came face to face with London poverty. Here we started the first Penny Readings in South London, and were acknowledged to have reached a class of folk never before touched.
The evenings were so very successful that they brought us in contact with a number of clever readers and musicians.

After my fourth child was born we moved across Princes Square into a larger house. Soon after I lost my second I heard from a friend in Devonport that Aunt had met with a serious accident.
I wrote to my brother and said that if Aunt would see me I would go at once. The rector of whom I have spoken, the Rev. H. Everett wrote to me in much distress saying that Aunt had taken the sacrament under the proviso that she had not an angry thought against anyone.
Next morning he called to ask her permission to send for me at once but she shouted 'No' each time he mentioned it, and he left the house in disgust.
Her last fortnight must have been very awful. She seemed to have lost her reason, yet seemed to be craving something she could not express. At last I had a telegram from my brother to go at once as she was dying.
I caught the next train down, being met by my brother and the manservant at 1 a.m. only to find that she died while they were sending the message, but without regaining consciousness.
My husband wired for a room at a nearby hotel but my brother insisted on my staying in the house, and the next day the executors, both well known to me, also insisted on my remaining in the house during my stay.
I went to look at Aunt in her splendid oak coffin. Her face was very stern, and I could not help feeling the deepest pity for her who had not one soul to regret her.
Had she lived, it is quite possible my brother would have given her offence in some way and then all my mother’s sacrifice would have been in vain.
As it was she had on one occasion accused him of appropriating money with which he had paid a bill, but for a time lost the receipt. He then ran away, but fortunately went to the house of her then doctor who was an executor and his friend and coaxed him back.

The funeral was a very grand one and took place at Plynton where Aunt’s husband was buried. The principle residents were invited but I was the only woman.
I was in the first carriage with my brother and Captain Pope, a cousin of Mr. Billing. It really was an ordeal as Captain Pope, who was a jolly old sailor, told us all sorts of queer yarns about Aunt, whom he had known for a number of years.
On our return there was a grand lunch, at which I did not appear. Then the will was read, and as I knew my name was not in it, I kept to my room.
Several members of the family whom I had never seen were there, to whom legacies were left. Also £100 to the master of Val’s school, £100 to the Rector, £100 to the manservant and his wife.
In all £5,000 but not a penny to me. My brother was to have £5,000 when he was 24 and £10,000 when he was 30. He was residuary legatee and had all the silver, which was considerable. Everything else was to be sold.

The greatest indignation was expressed at Aunt’s treatment of me. She even had my initials removed from the silver mug and table silver I had used at school.
She left instructions that her notebooks and diaries should be put into her coffin unopened. Could these have been examined it doubtless could have explained much. That she was unhappy I knew, as she used to pace her room at night exclaiming at intervals 'Ah me!' which to say the least of it was depressing to hear in the stillness of the night.
The executors gave me a broach she always wore, some good lace and her body linen, and fitted me out in the handsomest possible black, it could not be called mourning.
I could not of course wait for the sale, or would have been able to buy many things as no one would have bid against me.
Two quaint old chairs and some valuable Worcester china was bought in by my brother and sent to me.
Two old Sheffield plate candlesticks and a pair of silver entree dishes were bought by the butler, White, and his wife Jane, who sent them as a present to me.
Mr. Everett sent me a tea Set of valuable china after trying to find out what I would like.
To show my Aunt’s terrible vindictiveness, when the plate chest was opened it was discovered that she had had my initials removed from the silver forks and spoons I used at school, and the inscription from the silver christening mug she had given me.
It formerly read “From J.C.B. to F.C.A” This mug was returned to me and I had my first child’s initials put on it. My brother was entirely in the hands of the trustees until he reached 24, and was not allowed to live in London.

During the time we lived at 11, Princes Square, we started each Winter a poor children’s dinner.
Having a room built on the garden we let them come there, the only qualification being poverty and hunger. We made out 20 tickets on which was written 'A dinner for a child' and the address.
My dear husband took these with him and gave them to any poor little waifs that he saw. I had a boiler which held 3 gallons, and this was enough to supply good soup for 20 children who were also given a thick slice of bread.
It was sometimes very hard to have to refuse applicants who had heard about this meal but we could not exceed the number. At this time we were attending St. James’ church, Kennington which was nearer for me with my three children.
We worked hard in this parish and introduced Penny readings which were so popular that a nearby publican started an opposition sing-song on the same night (Thursday). So great indeed was the popularity of our show that men would come early and keep seats for their friends.
Unfortunately we had the painful experience of finding the incumbent the Rev. Dr. Carden, to he an impostor, who I believe died eventually in prison. His successor was most incapable.
Many of the congregation went to St. Mary Kennington, the Rector then Dr. Maclagan afterwards became Archbishop of York.
Here we were truly happy. There were 4 curates and the congregation averaged 1200. My dear James was secretary to the church building fund, which brought him into intimate contact with the Rector. So great was the pressure of work on Dr. Maclagan that some of the meetings took place between 12 midnight and 2 a.m. It was here we met our dear friends the Cavills, he being master of the church schools.

One Christmas, 24 of us went carol-singing and I received a letter of thanks from Dr. Maclagan. My dear James presented him with a beautiful model to scale of St. Gabriel’s church, which was built in the churchyard.
Here we ran entertainments and socials. At one of these affairs we had £3,000 worth of paintings lent to us; James and a policeman remaining all night on guard. Dean Stanley kindly lent us 200 chairs from the Abbey for this exhibition.

When my daughter Gertrude was 2½ another daughter was born, whom we called Theodora. While I was laid up dear Gertie was allowed to take cold and soon developed congestion of the lungs, and in spite of every care she died in my arms the day the baby was six weeks old.
We had sent to the church for prayers for her recovery. One of the Curates, the Rev. F. Blatch (afterwards rector of St. Barnabas, Homerton) came before the service and prayed with us. He was much overcome, having known the sweet pet, and realising her condition he prayed that she might see the glory to which she was going.
I am certain she did see, as for a moment or two before she died she opened her lovely eyes and the whole of her face was transfigured, then with one sigh she was gone. She looked so beautiful with a wreath of snowdrops round her head, 12 bunches of violets as a robe, and her hands folded over a head of white hyacinth and a small ivory cross which James gave me before we were married.
This cross was laid in the hands of each one we lost, and for many years dear James carried it in his waistcoat pocket. Unfortunately it was lost some months before his death, we supposed in the garden.
When I returned from seeing dear Gertrude laid to rest, I was horrified to find the baby with convulsions, and she died exactly a week after her sister. This double blow was most terrible and it was found that this baby’s death was caused by a fall which I had before she was born. I slipped in getting out of a trap and struck my head on the curb, and in exactly the same place she had a deep dint.

(I think it is desperately sad the way ill informed people would lay the blame on the mother for such a tragedy, like the way the mother of John Merrick was said to have been frightened by an elephant which turned him into the 'elephant man'. To have such sadness worsened by blame seems sick to me but it was common in those days I believe.)

Before her birth we had had, for two summers, a delightful holiday at an old farmhouse near Leighton Buzzard. The tenants held it from the Ecclesiastical Commissioners with which James was indirectly connected.
A new house having been built, the old one was offered to us free of rent. We loaded up a Pickford van with necessary equipment and makeshift furniture and spent seven delightful weeks each year.
We were three miles from the station but as the milk of 75 cows was sent there en route for London, we were allowed to go to the town in the milk van. This we often did, to the disgust of the farmer’s wife & daughter, whose great idea was to be 'genteel', and we were dubbed 'Mad Londoners'.
We met with much kindness from everyone. James’ sister Fanny stayed with us and together we decorated the windows of the Union Chapel.. This was a great success and lasted many years.
At the farm we had a fire on the hearth at which I learned to cook well. Food and potatoes were boiled in a pot hung over the fire on a hook. We aired our clothes on a hurdle and led a glorified kind of gypsy life.
Our pets were two baby piglets which we fed with a bottle. We were here to the coming of age of one of the sons, and had great fun, Annie Hamilton being with us.
Though his family were well educated and refined, the farmer himself was one of the roughest, with one idea in life - money.

After the loss of the two children, the doctor suggested a complete change for me, and as James was going to Paris it was arranged that I should accompany him.
It was March and bitterly cold, and we had a truly wretched journey. We reached Calais at 2 a.m. after a very rough crossing and stayed in the waiting room until 5, when we went out to get some breakfast as the train would not leave until 7. Snow was falling, but when we reached Paris it was quite mild.
Since our honeymoon visit much had happened. The Franco-Prussian war and the Commune. We stayed at the same hotel in the Avenue Victoria, the Bretagne. Mme Peret the proprietress was still there but her husband had died during the siege.
She had the most terrible tales to tell of the horrors of that time but said the Commune was by far the worst. (one of Mme Peret’s Christmas dinners during that time consisted of a donkey’s ear and the outside leaf of a cabbage). Strangely enough the room 17 was vacant, the room we had occupied before.

In the following January another little daughter came. She was a healthy merry little thing but when eight months old she suddenly developed a mysterious illness and simply faded away in a week.
As there was no apparent cause I begged our doctor to make a private examination, which with his son Dr. James Stowers he did, finding ulcers on the mucous membrane. They thought she must have either had a poisonous coloured sweet or sucked a painted toy, but certainly not at home. We never traced it.
This blow was almost more than I could bear and we resolved to leave this house of sad memories and took one in Atlantic Road, Brixton, then a very nice place with a railway embankment in front, over which we looked into a nice garden. Now it is a market place of quite a low type and very much changed in character.

The last night of the year before we moved James’ father 'dear Da' Mason, was not well enough to go as usual to the midnight service, but on the return of the family sat up and wished us all a “Happy New Year”.
In the early morning, about 6 a.m., he had a stroke and only lived until the following night, but was able to take the sacrament with us, James having called in the Rev. Blatch. It was an awful frost and James had the greatest difficulty in fetching Mr. Blatch who came to administer the sacrament.
Dear 'Da' though quite helpless was perfectly conscious and we sat and sang his favourite hymns until he passed peacefully away. We did all last offices ourselves and his wife’s two brothers lifted him into his coffin.

While we were living in 26 Princes Square my brother came of age, and on the very day he was 24 sent me a cheque for £1, 000, and later made it up to half the £5,000 he had inherited, even giving me in a small purse the difference it had cost to realise.

With the £1,000 James became a partner with Thomas Short in Short & Mason Scientific Instrument makers of 40 Hatton Garden. On one of my birthdays my brother gave me the silver Tea Service which had been presented to my father, and which now belongs to my son.

After our twins were born we began a very warm friendship with our next door neighbour Dr. Burn. His sister was godmother to Ruby my youngest daughter, whom Dr. Burn described as 'a gem of a baby'. Hence the name.
Naturally there was great excitement over the twins who were as distinctly unlike as they are now. Edith had a Long brown face which made her father exclaim 'Why she is like a little Joss!' (again I have no idea what this means) and he never called her by any other name. Ethel was little and round and was always called 'Dolly'
The doctor insisted I should have a wet nurse or should jot be able to rear both. A young woman was found who had an abundance of milk, but gave me a good deal of anxiety. On two occasions she went for a walk in the evening and did not return until 12 p.m. James and I each with a baby in our arms walking the room and praying for the nurse to return.
At the end of four worrying months I decided to take all risks, dismissed the nurse and to my great joy the twins throve well.

The first time I was able to carry Ruby out there was great excitement. The twins were dressed and ready, but someone had left the side garden gate open, and when I was ready to start they had disappeared.
half a dozen neighbours joined in the search, Amy running towards the Brighton Road, to meet them being brought home by the gas man, who recognised them.
They were escorted by a small crowd who had supplied them with sweets and ld. each. Naturally the fright did not improve my nerves. The next excitement they gave me was when Ruby was about 10 months old.
As we were going to spend the day at Barnet I sent for my nurse to come and mind the baby. I had at this time a big woman servant whom we called Whitechapel Jane, a splendid worker but rough.
Next morning while we were reading quietly in bed - nurse having fetched the baby - we heard a scream of 'Fire' from upstairs where all the other children were.
We both jumped out of bed. I caught up my water jug and followed James up, to meet Val and Amy running down. The smoke was pouring from the door of the spare room.
At first we could not see the twins, but found them crouching in the corner, too frightened to cry. The spare room bed was alight, the floor being scorched in several places, and a flame was licking up the door of the adjoining room.
Being in his nightshirt and bare-footed, it was a great risk, but James tore the bedclothes off the bed, crushing out the fire. We had poured the contents of the water jug over the bed, and the servant had carried up a bath of water into which we pressed the bed clothes.
After a time it seemed safe, but while we went down to get some breakfast the girl found that the fire was running in the straw of the palliasse and another excitement followed.
On investigating the cause of the fire it turned out that the twins, on mischief bent, had climbed on a chair, got a box of matches and lighted a spirit lamp, putting it on the bed to do it.
Needless to say the fright they had Lasted them for months. The insurance company paid all claims and thanked us very much for our efforts in extinguishing the fire.
When Ruby was about a year old I took the sister of an old friend as mother’s help, Maggie Wyatt. Soon after the three little ones developed whooping cough and had it so severely that they were upstairs nine weeks. We adapted the room next to the large one they were in as a sitting room so that we were at hand when the dreadful fits of coughing came on, which for a time was every twenty minutes.
The doctor said he had never known three children have it so badly and all recover, but of course, they had ceaseless attentions.

When they were about seven Joss had inflammation of the lungs and had just recovered when one evening after they had gone to bed, Joss, feeling the soles of her feet hot, put them against the window glass which was protected by upright wooden bars.
Somehow she slipped and the right foot went through the glass. In drawing it back a very ugly wound was made. Amy was in the garden, and seeing the falling glass rushed indoors screaming 'The children'.
Knowing that something was wrong, I rushed upstairs followed by James to find Ethel and Ruby yelling with fright and Joss was holding her nightgown over the wound, which was bleeding freely.
She said 'I’m so sorry Mummy dear, I broke the window'. I got her on my lap, closed the wound and tied a handkerchief round.
James had run for the doctor who asked if I could carry Joss down to my room, which I did. Then James held her foot, Mary the lamp, while I put my arm round her to hold her still.

The stitches were most difficult to put in as the flesh had been cut down by the shin bone. She bore it wonderfully, the doctor saying afterwards that he had never heard anything so pathetic, for as each stitch was put in she gave a sharp cry, and as my tears dropped on her she said 'Don’t cry dear Mamma, I won’t cry out more than I can help'.
Even when sewn, the wound was a very ugly one, and for some time needed frequent dressing and seemed to refuse to heal. She became very weak, with total loss of appetite.
The doctor said that unless she could have a change nothing could save her. By this time an abscess had formed in her neck from weakness and it was decided to take her to Southend where I had several times stayed with the same people.
I wrote asking if I could have a room on the ground floor, and I took her. It was a most trying journey in spite of doing all for her comfort and she looked so ill when I carried her to a fly that several people looked after me with compassion and the Whurs told me after that they thought I had brought her there to die.
However, she was able next morning to eat two or three little oysters and used to have some every day for about a week. I had just sent to the telegraph office to summon my own doctor when the abscess burst, and after a few hours she began to rally, the wound in her leg gradually healing.
I can never too highly esteem my good friends the Whurs for their ceaseless kindness to me at this time.

Joss rapidly recovered.

Joss (Edith) lived to be 83 and died suddenly after not needing a doctor for 17 years.

Fanny did not finish her journal since her son asked what she was doing and said that no-one would be interested!