Morrice Lionel Man's Memoirs

Records Of The “Mans” Of Kent Dedicated To The MAN Family And To Every Family Man Who Loves His Home Insert Photo of Morrice Lionel Man By M L Man Verrall Cottage High Halden Kent Transcribed by Steve Man July 2000 – May 2001 1 Feb 1st 1944 A cold continuous rain today – a spare hour or two – no further possible excuse for putting off this task to which my children urge me. For their sakes then I take up my pen and start off. They want from me a record of family doings in general & my own life in particular. I think they should have it. There is a great gap between the lives we led in the last century v quarter of this v life as it will be for them. They want to know the family traditions so that they may understand us of the past and carry on what is worth preserving of those traditions in the future. Where then to begin? “Hans Man” of Rochester 1080 AD? “William Christopher Man” of Cant. 1680 AD Best to begin with one’s own life story and let the rest come in as one writes. My earliest recollection is the horrid taste of the top of a brass bedstead, which I was tempted by its glitter. I was apparently sucking! I was very sick. My next was being stripped by my mother who was putting stuff on my “spots”. I was standing naked on her bed & two elder sisters were in their beds watching & I resented their presence. The same feeling of shame (false modesty according to the brains trust) arose in me a few years later when I was expected to bathe naked from a machine at Herne Bay whilst others had dresses and drawers on. I was considered so small that it did not matter – perhaps not to my elders but it certainly mattered to me! Then I recollect going with my two brothers dressed in white sailor’s suits as a HMS Capt. to the baptism of a sister at Croydon church. There were tarred railings round the church & the hot sun had melted the tar in places into tempting soft black globules. We happily picked these off with our fingers and when called by nurse Julia (she was red headed, quick tempered, a trifle odious when she brushed our hair & she loved a policeman and sang about him to us) to assist at the ceremony we wiped our fingers on our white jumpers and knickers. When I entered the church for months after I had a guilty feeling when on Sundays we put on those same sailor clothes & noted the marks where the stains had not quite been eradicated. By the way at this ceremony Father called his girl child “HE” on every possible occasion. In my early days we lived in Royal Crescent, London, where our father had taken a house during one of the intervals of his furloughs from Burma, where most of us (nine in all) were born. He was a Barrister, had rooms in Temple Court but most of his time was spent at the Bar in Rangoon, Burma where he became Judge Advocate General and had a large practice. He was sent on a Govt. mission to Mandalay to induce King Theebaw to treat his subjects better and to release the Missionary Judson. The mission failed but father enjoyed the experience and returned with two large (Burmese) gold cups given to him by the King (Theebaw) – unfortunately my eldest brother sold them many years later (I can see them as I write). An unpleasant occurred in Mandalay, my father took my mother with him and their first child. A Burmese Royal Guard tries to kiss the Ayah and my father happened to see and knocked the man down! This became an “Incident” since to strike a blow in the Royal Precincts was a penalty punishable by death! But King 2 Theebaw, cruel villain though he was apparently saw the humour in the affair and passed it over and as the gold cups showed, bore no malice. I know now how father must have enjoyed the whole thing - he was a very humorous and courageous man, if impetuous and hot tempered. To return to Royal Crescent and my early childhood, looking back I realise what a wonderful woman Mother was, journeying round the cape backwards and forwards to Rangoon with us children – an ever increasing number – setting up house here and now there. At Royal Crescent she had brought home with her our Klitmutgar or native Butler – he was sometime with us and I well remember his white turban and dress. When any of us children was specially naughty he was sent for and would carry us down to the basement in his arms and son soothe us. It was no punishment, as we all liked him. When at last he got homesick and was sent back to Burma he took with him some snow in a bottle to show his wife! He must have been very sad when he arrived at Liverpool to join the ship and looked at the bottle! Then we moved to Croydon. How those Croydon days are impressed on my memory! Long tiring walks on pavements myself trotting by the pram pushed at great pace by Julia who hoped to meet her policeman, my two brothers (I was the youngest boy) running on ahead. On one occasion one of the boys gave Julia a push and they all fell on the top of me – the pram remained standing. Then when my two elder sisters were at the High School (where also was Lilian Braithwait) my two brothers attended a kindergarten and I used to meet them with a hop and a skip. On one occasion a dog appeared and chased a small girl towards me, screaming with fear - I too was terrified, but seizing the skid in my right hand – praying to my God I threw it at the dog and hit him square on the nose! He retired honking. A boy then came up and seizing my cap off my head threw it over the fence of a garden, whereupon the little girl opened the gate and retrieved it for me and I made a long nose at the boy. The great incident of our Croydon life was the Election when W.W. Grantham opposed in the Conservative interest Jabez Balfour (of Liberator fame). The constituency was a Liberal seat and the election hotly contested. My father who called himself a Tory Democrat threw himself into the fray on Grantham’s side. My father was an eloquent and popular speaker and entirely fearless. In those days Jabez Balfour was at the height of his popularity – people used to visit his house and admire even the chair he sat on. My father had grave, well-founded suspicions about him, and spoke his mind on the matter in his speeches, but being a lawyer he just evaded the law of libel. I recollect some remark he made about the “Two Theories on Calvary with an obvious application. The excitement was terrific and the night when the result was declared (a victory for Grantham) we children were, as a treat, allowed to be present at the Town Hall to hear the poll declared. I shall never forget the scene that night – the raging crowds. Our house was put under police protection as some of the Liberal mob considered my father mainly responsible for their defeat. We boys knew this and went to bed armed to the teeth (we slept three in a room) with sticks and toy pistols. The only incident that occurred that night was the temporary arrest of a great friend of fathers who came to congratulate him in a state of some inebriation. There was a kind of justice in J.B’s defeat because many years later my wife told me that her father, who was a staunch Liberal and a Quaker, was one of the victims of the Liberator frauds and lost a lot of money by them. We were always great churchgoers – mother had a great admiration for John Keble and his portrait hung over the bed, father was one of the old type of Calvinist Churchmen and a keen Protestant – we had a lot of fun round the family table about his views on the Pope. We were allowed to speak our minds and father always enjoyed a joke. 3 Once he was in bed with a chill and my brother Harry, the family wag, organised a popish procession to his room and around it. We children put on nightgowns and carried pokers and I am ashamed to say a hastily made up cross (we meant no harm) and waved imaginary Censers. The joke was thoroughly enjoyed by him and helped his recovery. But his religion was sincere – always with a touch of humour – when he grew old when one passed their bedroom door (often open) we could often see him in his red dressing gown and nightcap on his head kneeling on a stool saying his prayers. Harry asked him “Why the stool”? He replied, “To keep my legs out of the draught you fool! Family prayers were always held after breakfast with all the children and the servants. And we always went to church – I personally was not very comfortable on Sundays because being the youngest I inherited (when wearing their suits) the collars, which were too small for my brothers as they grew and the ends were frayed and cut my neck.

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