An Autobiography, vols 1,2 | Page 6

they
were quite clever enough to do most things well.
My brother Jack [Footnote: The Right Hon. H. J. Tennant] was petted
and mismanaged in his youth. He had a good figure, but his height was
arrested by his being allowed, when he was a little fellow, to walk
twelve to fifteen miles a day with the shooters; and, however tired he
would be, he was taken out of bed to play billiards after dinner. Leather
footstools were placed one on the top of the other by a proud papa and
the company made to watch this lovely little boy score big breaks;
excited and exhausted, he would go to bed long after midnight, with

praises singing in his ears.
"You are more like lions than sisters!" he said one day in the nursery
when we snubbed him.
In making him his Parliamentary Secretary, my husband gave him his
first chance; and in spite of his early training and teasing he turned his
life to good account.
In the terrible years 1914, 1915 and 1916, he was Under-Secretary for
War to the late Lord Kitchener and was finally made Secretary for
Scotland, with a seat in the Cabinet. Like every Tennant, he had
tenderness and powers of emotion and showed much affection and
generosity to his family. He was a fine sportsman with an exceptionally
good eye for games.
My brother Frank [Footnote: Francis Tennant, of Innes.] was the artist
among the boys. He had a perfect ear for music and eye for colour and
could distinguish what was beautiful in everything he saw. He had the
sweetest temper of any of us and the most humility.
In his youth he had a horrible tutor who showed him a great deal of
cruelty; and this retarded his development. One day at Glen, I saw this
man knock Frank down. Furious and indignant, I said, "You brute!"
and hit him over the head with both my fists. After he had boxed my
ears, Laura protested, saying she would tell my father, whereupon he
toppled her over on the floor and left the room.
When I think of our violent teachers--both tutors and governesses --and
what the brothers learnt at Eton, I am surprised that we knew as much
as we did and my parents' helplessness bewilders me.
My eldest brother, Eddy, [Footnote: Lord Glenconner, of Glen,
Innerleithen.] though very different from me in temperament and
outlook, was the one with whom I got on best. We were both devoured
by impatience and punctuality and loved being alone in the country. He
hated visiting, I enjoyed it; he detested society and I delighted in it. My
mother was not strong enough to take me to balls; and as she was

sixty-three the year I came out, Eddy was by way of chaperoning me,
but I can never remember him bringing me back from a single party.
We each had our latch-keys and I went home either by myself or with a
partner.
We shared a secret and passionate love for our home, Glen, and knew
every clump of heather and every birch and burn in the place. Herbert
Gladstone told me that, one day in India, when he and Eddy after a long
day's shooting were resting in silence on the ground, he said to him:
"What are you thinking about, Eddy?"
To which he answered:
"Oh, always the same ... Glen! ..."
In all the nine years during which he and I lived there together, in spite
of our mutual irascibility of temper and uneven spirits, we never had a
quarrel. Whether we joined each other on the moor at the far shepherd's
cottage or waited for grouse upon the hill; whether we lunched on the
Quair or fished on the Tweed, we have a thousand common memories
to keep our hearts together.
My father [Footnote: Sir Charles Tennant, 1823-1906.] was a man
whose vitality, irritability, energy and impressionability amounted to
genius.
When he died, June 2nd, 1906, I wrote this in my diary:
"I was sitting in Elizabeth's [Footnote: My daughter, Elizabeth Bibesco.]
schoolroom at Littlestone yesterday--Whit-Monday--after hearing her
recite Tartuffe at 7 p.m., when James gave me a telegram; it was from
my stepmother:
"'Your father passed away peacefully at five this afternoon.'
"I covered my face with my hands and went to find my husband. My
father had been ill for some time, but, having had a letter from him that

morning, the news gave me a shock.
"Poor little Elizabeth was terribly upset at my unhappiness; and I was
moved to the heart by her saying with tear-filled eyes and a white face:
"'Darling mother, he had a VERY happy life and is very happy now ...
he will ALWAYS be happy.'
"This was true. ... He had been and