Provided there were three or four of us, my Russian girl-friends I could go to the theatre by ourselves, so we went frequently, finding it very interesting to hear the same opera in three different versions. When there were special appearances of renowned singers or dancers, (like Karsavina or Kshesinskaya), we would club together and take a box at the Marinsky, crowding six or seven on to the usual five chairs in the box. The Marinsky was different from other theatres, in that it was all tiers of boxes except for the "parterre", or stalls, and a tiny gallery high up for "the gods". The grandest boxes were on the level of the Imperial box which opened on to the foyer, its doors guarded by two sentries, whether the box was occupied or not. Upper tiers of boxes were smaller and less expensive. Each box had an "avant-loge", or anteroom. The foyer was like a large ball-room with ornate mirrors and chandeliers, and parquet floor. The intervals were always long, lasting at least half an hour, during which, one went to promenade round and round the foyer, or to visit friends in other boxes. Even in war-time, one dressed to go to the theatre, though perhaps not in full evening dress like the year before.
Occasionally I had an escort, Gustave Grenier. When my brother went away with the Russian Commission to Canada and the States, the Canadian Commission remained in St. Petersburg, and Gus became a frequent visitor at our house. Father liked to talk to him about Canada, Maniusha welcomed him because he spoke French, and he enjoyed talking about his family and his fiancee, Mimi Beaudry. He was as keen on the opera as I was. The first time he invited me to go with him, there was some discussion, but I was allowed to accept his invitation. Maniusha thought this was being very emancipated.
For the summer of 1915, we took a dacha at Strelna, which was normally a short journey by train. Father and I travelled backwards and forwards to town every day. Gradually, however, the trains grew erratic, and were seldom punctual. Strelna was on the coast, the next station to Peterhof with its palace built by Peter the Great, and gardens in exact replica of the fountain gardens of Versailles. I remember once going to see the fountains play. There was no social activity at Strelna, and I had no circle of friends of my own, but visitors would come from town, and talk and talk as they always did. There was enough to talk about now, to be sure, because the Germans were advancing apace into the Baltic States. An ever-increasing number of refugees came to the Consulate for help. Riga was threatened; Uncle Clayton got grannie Mary-Rae away from there, and then agreed to join father`s staff at the Consulate. In August, the British Consul left Riga with his staff, and came to St. Petersburg, now called Petrograd. Some of the staff went to the Chancery, the others came to help us at the Consulate. We were now also dealing with refugees from Rumania, the British who needed our help, and the French, who required visas to travel through England. Their visas had first to be approved by the Passport Control office, which had now been set up, and then the passports themselves were stamped at the Consulate - for some of us at this time this was more like manual labour than clerical work, and as before, the routine clerical jobs had to be done after office hours. In the autumn, I went back to my art school, attending the late afternoon classes two or three times a week, and returning to the office to finish my routine jobs in the evening. I had to give up modelling wet clay when the weather turned cold and the art studio was not properly heated, because this affected my hands and brought on a sort of writer`s cramp. For a few weels I could scarecely grasp a pen.
Meanwhile our living conditions were deteroriating. Food shortages appeared; there were long queues for everything. Eventually we had to keep a maid, whose only job was to stand in queues for milk, for bread, or whatever else there was to be had. Besides the local bazaar, however, there had always been another market. Peddlers had always come to the door with wares from the country like our Tatarin, a native tartar, from the Volga region who brought native handicraft lace and embroderies from that district, and woollen shawls, fine as gossamer, from Penza. Housewives now encouraged their own purveyors from the country of butter and eggs, meat and fish. Those who could afford it, managed very well.
Theatres continued to flourish as in the year before, so we went to opera and ballet. Restaurants and cabarets flourished too, but I never went to either, That was not for young ladies ! People gave parties that winter, and the usual amateur theatricals and charity concerts, though nothing so outstanding as Maniusha`s concert with Glazounov. The English community put on a sort of Pierrot show under the patronage of Lady Georgina Buchanan, wife of our Ambassador, at which her daughter Meriel, danced in a tableau, supposed to represent a Wedgewood frieze, in which I was one of the background figures. The show was under-rehearsed and pretty poor on the whole, so that it was really enjoyed only by the performers, though we also relished the programme which our producers had placed with the printers, omitting to check the proofs. One special item was the caption for a tableau representing Britannia lifting her sword in defence of the fallen (after a rather fine cartoon in "Punch"), which read: "Jake up the sword of Gustice". There was little to laugh at that winter. At home, the endless anxious talk did not abate, though there was now a new topic. Some close friends of Maniusha owned a dacha at Kellomakki, just across the border in Finland. They persuaded father and Maniusha to buy a dacha not very far from theirs, and Maniusha began to talk about it as a suitable spot for retirement, when the war was over. The dacha was a wooden house in a pine forest, a mile or more from the sea. Various alterations by local carpenters made it suitable for occupation in any season, and the family moved there early in the summer. In theory, father and I could have travelled to and fro every day, but in fact the train journey now took anything up to 2 or 3 hours instead of the customary 45 - 50 minutes, so we stayed in town and went there at week-ends. The house was snug and warm; we even went there for the following Christmas.
The pressure of work at the Consulate did not relax. Father and I spent the hot and dusty days all summer looking forward to the week-ends. I had little understanding of the war situation. With the winter came more serious signs of trouble, shortage of bread, longer food queues, rumours that the shortages were deliberately engineered to provoke riots, which could then be quelled ruthlessly by the authorities; more and more talk of ineffeciency and corruption in high places. The Consular staff was not directly involved in any of the political or diplomatic aspects, I did not know what kind of a storm was brewing. The first realisation came to me in a very curious setting one evening in January 1917. Uncle Clayton was staying with us. The subject of table-turning came up; father suggested that we try it with Erica, Zina`s governess, to make a fourth, as Maniusha was out. We dimmed the lights, sat round the table, our fingers outspread in the approved manner, and in a short time the table began to rock. It was a small table on a pedestal with three feet. We asked it questions; it teetered and came down with one thump for yes, two for no. Had it a message ? Thump. We recited the alphabet, it spelt out the words (in Russian) : "Revolution will take place". Amazed, we turned on more lights, resumed our places and asked : When ? It spelt out : "In March". Then it began to rock about at all angles, quivering under our fingers until it finally over-balanced and fell over. To see, and feel this, was uncanny: We were all rather shaken, Erica nearly fainted. To the end of his days, father never forgot this seance. At the time, I think I was more startled by the behaviour of the table, than by the unbelievably shocking message. Yet in a few weeks the rumours and the message proved true.
March 1917.
Bread riots began. Troops were called out. Then mobs from the outskirts came marching into the centre of the city, the troops were drawn up to confront them and ordered to open fire. In the first encounter, the young officer who was told to give the order, did so, and then shot himself. His men went over to the mob. Elsewhere, discipline disappeared. Soldiers simply left their barracks and joined the crowds. Whilst the revolutionary leaders were taking over the administration offices, which they apparently did with ease, the mob attacked police headquarters. The main building housing the archives, was burnt down. Every local police station was sacked, many were also set alight. Policemen who were not caught and "liquidated", took refuge on the roofs of houses and churches, from where they fired at the crowds in attempts to clear the streets. The mob broke into the prisons, and released the inmates. Within a few hours, the glow of buildings on fire could be seen in all directions. Traffic vanished from the streets, trams stopped running, but as I remember, the electric light supply did not fail for a day or two, and the telephone continued to function throughout.
The next morning we heard on the phone that none of the staff could make their way to the Consulate. We lived quite near to the office, just a short walk of a few hundred yards to the bridge over a small canal, then past the side of the Marinsky theatre, which backed on to that canal, and along on the same side of the street to the far end of the Theatre Square. Father determined to go to the office to see what was happening there, and I went with him. As we neared the canal, father thought it would be better to cross it by another, less exposed bridge. We turned down a side street to make a detour and come up to the Consulate from the other end of the square. In the next street, there were some people about. Suddenly we heard shots. Everybody dived for the nearest doorway. It was impossible to tell where the shots were coming from. People said it was from the roof-tops, or from the church opposite. As we were to find out later, the revolutionaries seized every car they could find. Such a car now appeared in the street carrying several armed men , two of whom were lying in what was to become the favourite posture, stretched out on the mudguards and running-board on either side of the car, rifles at the ready. The car drove on past the church, then turned and came back. The sound of shots continued; we still did not know where from, or what they were aiming at. The car slowed to a stop in front of the doorway where we were sheltering. The driver slumped over the wheel. His companions dragged him out. He had been shot through the head. They bound him with a white woollen scarf, which did not staunch the wound. They lifted him into the back of the car and drove away. A small crowd collected at the church to break its way in and search the roof. Presently the firing ceased. Father and I went on to the Consulate. That was the only time I was actually under fire.
<<<<>>>>> <<< >>>> Red Guards in Petrograd During the Russian Revolution (1917), the Red Guard assumed the responsibility of maintaining civil order in the city of Petrograd after mobs of angry workers looted and burned police stations. Red Guards, like these men posing on the bed of a freight truck, enforced the will of the Petrograd Soviet, or council of Workers' Deputies. Hulton-Deutsch Collection Women's Battalion in Petrograd Promising women an equal share of power in the new government, the Petrograd Soviet formed a women's battalion. As part of the military reforms introduced by Soviet military and political leaders, the battalion played an active role in the October Revolution. Hulton-Deutsch Collection <<<< >>>
We found the office in order; there was nothing we could do there, so we returned home. In a day or two, we were working as usual, traffic re-appeared on the streets, trams were running again. Since the police had been eliminated, a citizens` militia was formed, consisting mostly of schoolboys and students, wearing distinguishing armbands. One of the first moves of the new regime instituted the rule of the Soviet - the Council - led by a Commissar, for everything. An immediate step was to deprive officers of their rank. Insignia and epaulettes were torn off their uniforms. If the officers resisted, they were "accounted for". In the city, officers fled and went into hiding, therefore everybody was suspected of concealing officers or arms. House to house searches were carried out by the new militia.
A couple of nights later, they came to our apartment demanding admission to search. Father invited them into the dining room, where we were having tea by the light of one or two candles, the electricity was off. They all sat down. I do not remember whether they were actually offered tea, but I retain the picture of the tense circle, round the long table in the dark room, lit only by flickering candles, the boys sitting awkwardly as father began explaining very politely, that they were welcome to search the place, but that they would then be violating diplomatic immunity, which he was sure they must know was a serious offence in a civilized country. This approach led to a general discussion on the aims of the Great Revolution. Gradually they relaxed and all joined in. The discussion continued for quite a long time. Then, with expressions of mutual goodwill, they went away.
In the early days, everybody who had been so critical of the former administration, the court, the conduct of the war, the general ineffeciency, was ready to welcome the revolution. The popular mood was : "Doloi!" (away). Away with all that! Away with everything! But although some semblance of order was restored, the proletariat soon found out that everything had not changed overnight.
Animosity was now directed against remaining representatives of the ruling class, the bourgeoise. Anybody, well dressed was liable to be set upon and stripped. On one occasion I was wearing my ordinary coat and matching hat, and had boarded a crowded tram. The tram jolted, I was pushed against some strap-hanger, who turned on me angrily, and I heard another womam passenger say : "Doloi shlyapku !" (away with the hat - the insignia of a bourgeoise). Need I add that I got off at the next stop. After that, I went about in an old coat with a prominent button missing, and a shawl over my head. In his book " The secret city ", Hugh Walpole has given a far better descrition of conditions in Petrograd at that time, than anything I could now write from memory. Father said I must not keep a diary, it would be suspect and might be compromising. How were we to know that we would not be subjected to another search? There was always the chance that we might not talk our way out of the visit of the next lot of young thugs.
It was evident that it was not enough just to sweep everything away, and that the strength to set up a new order immediately, was lacking. So much time was given to proclamations and rabble-rousing speeches, that one doubted whether the new rulers, had foreseen the need to build up a replacement for the l administration they had abolished. Our life went on somehow ,whilst the disorganisation around us increased.
Food grew scarcer, whether one could afford it or not. The war continued, but Petrograd began to swarm with deserters from the front. Early that summer, it was estimated that there were at least 55,000 deserters in the city. They lounged about, sprawling on the side-walks, eating sunflower seeds and spitting the husks at passers-by. The pavements were crusted with these husks, they crunched under one`s feet. Nobody swept the streets any more; menial jobs like that, had formerly been supervised by the police, - now there were no more menials and no more police. Droshki (horse-cabs), plied for hire again, though they now demanded 10 times the old fare. One day in July I would have paid more very gladly.
On that particular day there had been reports of a rising among the sailors at Kronshtadt, and that they were coming to present their demands to the Government, but such reports were nothing new. I had an errand to do, and was walking along the Nevsky prospect, the famous wide main street of the capital, quite a long way from home. There were plenty of people strolling about, when shots were to be heard, and a file of lorries came along, full of sailors, blazing away at random. Like everybody else, I ran for cover. In the next street I found a droshky, who agreed to take me home for 3 roubles. Formerly I would have offered him 30 Kopeks. I did not stop to haggle!
Earlier in the summer, the family had moved to the dacha in Finland, while father and I, with the maid, who now spent more and more hours a day queuing for food, stayed in town and joined them when we could. It was still possible to travel, there was more food across the border, we used to bring back butter and eggs, but the general situation was growing worse, the Germans were advancing, the Russians did not want to go on fighting. There was a new slogan: "Peace without annexation or contribution". Agitators addressed the food queues, urging the people to demand peace. Our maid told me about this one day, all excited: "We want peace. We don`t need those two Rumanian towns, Annexia and Contributsiya. We are sick of war!"
The collapse of Russia seemed imminent. Father was urging all British subjects to go home. There was no sign yet of the Ambassador leaving and the Consul had to remain whilst there were still British subjects under his care, but if the Germans broke through, the Embassy would go to Moscow, or perhaps deeper into the interior, and the Consulate would have to go too. Then there might be no way out except through Siberia, and there would certainly be nothing for me to do. I would only be an embarrassment. Father insisted that I must go now, so did Maniusha, who declared that she herself would most certainly stay with father. Uncle Bertie Rogers (Mother`s brother), and auntie Mie were on their way to England because the business in Odessa was closed. It was decided that I should travel with them.
Autumn 1917.
So I set out on another journey, every detail of which is still clear from the time I left early one morning and took the train, passing a clearing near Kellomakki station where Maniusha and Zina waved good-bye, and then on through Finland, over the ferry to Haparanda, and across Sweden to Voss in Norway, where we waited 14 days, and then on to Bergen and the S.S "Vulture". The first thing as we stepped on board was to be issued with life-jackets and boat tickets, and to locate our life-boats. Mine was boat No.1, the Captain`s boat, I was told, because I had a Diplomatic passport. A somewhat doubtful honour. The Captain is not usually among the first to leave the ship.
Only after that were we allocated our cabins,. and here my passport did not help. All the 1st class was occupied by French officer s. Uncle Bertie was in the steerage with the men, auntie Mie and I in the 2nd class general cabin for women, which had about a dozen bunks. Three of these, held mothers with lusty babies, and in another a woman was already sea-sick, although the ship was still in port. We fled. Uncle Bertie joined us. For security reasons the passengers were not told the port of destination, consequently we had no idea how long we might be at sea. No matter - the deck was preferable to going below. Other passengers were settling themselves in sheltered corners. Uncle Bertie quickly found a place under a bit of awning covering the winches, just abaft the galley, overlooking the well-deck, with room for three folding chairs. Not deck chairs, but the kind in which you sit upright with one bar cutting under your knees and another ridge digging into your shoulder-blades. The chairs fitted in, one behind the other. Kind folks lent us a rug for auntie Mie in the middle, a long leather coat for me, on the weather side, and a hot-water bottle which we held in turn ,and uncle Bertie refilled from time to time at the galley. Our life-jackets served as footrests, but did not really keep our shoes dry when waves splashed inboard and swirled about the deck in the night. When day came, the seas subsided, the sun shone, we dried out, and took comfort watching our two escorting destroyers, G.96 and G. 97. The crossing lasted 36 hours, and brought us to Aberdeen. At Stockholm we had time only for a meal at a restaurant called the "Opera Cellar", but actually at the top of the building where the view, the people, and the food ,were all impressively rich. At Christiania (since renamed Oslo) our sightseeing tour had taken us to the top of Holmenkollen from where the magnificent panorama had dwarfed every other impression. At Bergen we had only seen the docks, and nothing of the town. At Aberdeen we walked about next day, a Sunday, through the quiet streets and thought it the cleanest town we had ever seen. The houses looked as if they had just been scrubbed. Everything seemed to sparkle, even before uncle Bertie ordered champagne to celebrate our safe arrival. On the Monday we went on to London.
In London, Aunt Amelia Edith Platts, my Godmother, offered me a home. The day I moved to her house and parted from uncle Bertie and auntie Mie, I saw my first Zeppelin overhead, and watched the smoke rising from it when it was shot down by the lone pilot of a small plane over Potters Bar. We had plenty more air raids after that, but I do not remember seeing any so clearly as that one, and later, they mostly came at night. We only heard them the n, and we always appreciated the comment in "Punch" : "If it had been as near as it sounded, it would have been louder".
I got a job in the War Office on the "Official Daily Review of the Foreign Press", where a staff of about 60 people, we boasted that we read 4,000 newspapers a week in 27 languages. Like a newspaper, the daily review was based on telegrams, but mostly from official sources, and therefore secret. Weekly supplements were also issued on various subjects, such as politics, food, blockade, agriculture. Being in the Russian section, I saw all the telegrams about Russian affairs, and in due course about the departure of the British Ambassador from Petrograd, and then all the official reports about what happened to my father.
Father in Petrograd.
Although I did not know it at the time, the event after the revolution which changed the course of all our lives occured in April 1917, when the German government granted Lenin, then exiled in Switzerland, transit facilities across Germany with 31 companions. They travelled across in a special train to Sweden, and then on through Finland to Russia. Quite obviously, the Germans hoped that by helping the Russian revolution, they would succeed in putting and end to the Russian front.
Until I left in August 1917, living conditions under the Kerensky government had been steadily deteriorating; lawlessness and chaos were gaining the upper hand. The government had not the power to keep order. The people were rallying to Lenin`s call for the proletariat of all countries to unite, which they interpreted as meaning ceasing to fight the war, and banding together to take away from the landowners and the bourgeoise the property which rightfully belonged to the workers and peasants. By the time I left, this feeling of hatred towards anybody not obviously belonging to the proletariat was almost tangible. One literally felt it, whenever one went out into the street. But we ourselves, had not actually been molested. Then Lenin and his Bolsheviks intensified their agitation.
Officially, Russia was still fighting against Germany. Various allied missions were trying to keep her from making a separate peace, a peace loudly and urgently demanded by Lenin and his followers. In the army, the officers had been removed. On the land, which was now to belong to the people, village councils were formed, landowners were chased from their homes and "accounted for". In the factories, the workers " councils " replaced the managers, who fled, or were also " accounted for ". Import-export business, as indeed all ordinary trade and commerce, ceased. All our Russian friends who had been in business, or belonged to the usual "Bourgeois " professions were out of work. They made haste to get away from the capital.
On 8th October 1917, father wrote to me confirming a previous letter, which I never received, that Maniusha had gone away with Zina, travelling with some friends. They would remain in Norway, if allowed to do so by the Norweigan authorities, until he could join them and bring them to England. Later he wrote that they were staying at Holmenkollen near Christiania. Some very close friends had gone to the Caucasus, and Maniusha wanted to follow them, but just at that time there was a fresh outbreak of disorders on the railway, so that plan was impossible. He says:-
"Things got so bad after you left, and the rabble got so threatening, that Maniusha at last decided that it was not good enough to risk staying on any longer, and possibly witnessing all sorts of excesses, especially on account of Zina. She used to have visions, in which the child was torn out of her arms and cruelly treated, and so forth. Maniusha was getting into a state of nervousness which rendered it imperative for her to go away from here".
As for himself, he says:
"I have to remain on. Nothing for it. Matters are not much worse than when you were here, but rumours are, if anything, a bit wilder".
On 24 th October he tells about his Consular staff, which now numbers nine, and includes Erica, Zina`s former governess, who was doing clerical work. With regard to the dates he mentions, it must be remembered that Russia was still on the old style calendar, and did not come into line with other countries until later. I quote:
"Things are coming to a pretty pass here. It is pitch dark at nights and dangerous to go out alone. Some 200 robberies in the streets, and burglaries, are commited every night. Also daylight "annexations" are becoming more frequent. Anarchy is developing apace. Motor bandits are increasing, owing to the impunity with which the "pioneers" have succeeded in the new industry. Private and official cars are continually being pinched and no one can recover them, as the "brave bold militia" are either powerless, or partners in the business. The food problem promises to become worse than ever. We are not starving yet, but it looks as though the time for actual want, were approaching rapidly. No order, no protection. That is the theme of every article in the press. When you were here, such articles were rare, or else they were only hints. But now the sad state of affairs is openly discussed in the papers. Erica told me today that on the 20th (today is the 11th) "they" will start "surpressing" the bourgeois. So it looks as though "the day" were coming. We shall see. I dare say that there is a lot of exaggeration in all this, but at the same time there is no doubt that trouble is brewing. I see no necessity for hiding it from you, as you knew before you left that we were expecting anarchy, riots, bloodshed, etc. I confess I should like to be out of it, but this is not the time to show the white feather. I could not ask for leave now, no matter how imminent the danger. There are over 1,000 Britishers here still, and I and my staff may be of use and assistance to them in an emergency. Certain it is, judging by the numbers that still come to the Consulate , we are required here now".
The Bolshevik Revolution took place on 25 October (old style), 7 November 1917 (new style).
Erica`s rumour was not far wrong.
On 4 December father wrote that the Consulate was going on much as usual, except that provisions were becoming scarcer daily.
"I dare say, before everything gets too impossible ,we shall get orders to quit, or else we shall get some stores sent out. Of course, we can`t stay on if we have to starve. Britishers, at present, are virtually prisoners in Russia, as you may have gathered from the newspapers. I myself went to Smolny to interview the Commisar for Foreign Affairs, as he and his party have not yet been recognised by our Gov`t and therefore the Embassy have had no direct dealings with them. How long this will last, I can`t say. Meanwhile we are having a lively time at this office. Frenzied H.H.H.`s still come along as usual, and refuse to be comforted. I am thankful to say that the bulk of the Britishers has left. Those who are still here would like to do so, of course, but either, cannot for lack of means, or, under present conditions, are not permitted to quit. We are in for an anxious time, I expect, owing to the number of people who are sure to get into difficulties owing to the new "decrees", that Smolny keeps issuing, about searching flats for firearms, warm clothing, etc, for the "army". Also we have to stand sentry at nights now in our yards, as the "dvorniks" refuse, and there are neither police nor militia. Not very cheerful at this time of the year to stand about a draughty yard between 12. and 2. or any hour (2 at a stretch), up to 8. a.m. I have volunteered at our house, as there are so few men there. It is cold and snowing now, 8 deg R - (Reaumur, below zero)."
Smolny, it will be remembered, was the famous school for girls where Maniusha had been a pupil. It became the Party Headquarters.
The "Dvornik" was the porter, or man in charge of the yard or courtyard, which was a feature of every apartment house. The yard gave access to the back stairs and rear entrance of the apartments, and the dvornik was responsible for their safety, as he was expected to keep the gates, supervising all who came and went during the day, and acting as night-watchman when the gates were locked at night. In a big house, the dvornik usually had two or three assistants, and he was quite an important functionary in our daily lives. For one thing, we depended on him to see that there were no prowlers. For another, he brought up our supplies of firewood every day. In the nicer houses, like the one where we lived, there was also a hall porter, or keeper of the front entrance leading to the front doors of the apartments. The entrance was always kept locked, and one could not go in or out, at any time of day or night, without ringing for the porter. Since it was customary to give him a tip for opening the door, he did not seem to mind being disturbed, at all hours.
The next letter from father begins on 13 December. It is too dark to see to write with a pen, and he manages a few lines on the typewriter:
"We get the electric light on at odd times, between 5 and 6 p.m. It goes out at midnight. That has been going on now for a month....It is a nuisance, of course, both in the office and at home, especially as we are not provided against anything of that sort. However, that is not as bad as being without bread, which is often the case at present. Polia (the maid), manages to feed me, I must say, so that I am not yet starving, though at times I do feel hungry. The position is not a cheerful one just now , as the different parties refuse to amalgamate, or form a coalition Gov`t. The famous Constituent Assembly is due to be convened now, but hangs fire.... We British are practically prisoners at present, as the Smolny people have demanded the release of two of their friends, Checherin and Petrov, who have been arrested in England. They refuse to grant permits to British subjects and will not allow any of us to leave Russia until their demands are satisfied".
The letter breaks off, and continues the next day, which had been a day of great activity. The embargo on British subjects had been lifted, and it had been arranged that the Consul should issue special certificates to would-be travellers. Moreover, the banks were closed, and he had to advance money to a number of people "who had eaten up all they had, waiting to clear out". He had been taking his turn at nights guarding the house
"At one time it was quite the fashion. Everybody was doing it. But enthusiam evaporated, slowly at first and then with a rush. You know the local character:- fine speeches, immediate decisions to act, and then - half-hearted attempts to carry out their proposals, which fizzle out like damp squibs. So now nobody goes on duty at nights".
He thinks laziness is at the bottom of all the trouble.
"If people weren`t too lazy to act, instead of doing nothing but grumble, we should not have got into this state".
The present state of affairs was really curious:
"In the midst of a reign of terror, as far as politicians and former ministers are concerned, of all manner of strikes in Gov`t departments, we still go about unmolested".
We had been to the opera several times, though it was uncanny to be out after dark, and everybody tried to get home before 11. p.m. Maniusha was writing despairing letters, begging him to go over for a few days, but he could not venture to ask for leave unless matters improved.
"But, at present, it looks as though the situation were bound to get worse, and that quickly".
In January 1918 the Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, left Petrograd. The Embassy staff remained, headed by the Counsellor, Mr. Francis Lindley, as Charge d` Affaires. The political prisoners, Chicherin and his companions had been released by the British, and Mr. R. Bruce Lockhart, formerly Vice-Consul at Moscow, had been sent to Russia as a British Agent, to protect British interest and to assist the Bolsheviks in the war against Germany. This was a strange appointment, because he was not officially accredited as Ambassador. He conducted negotiations, but he had, in fact no authority except to try and persuade the Bolsheviks not to make a separate peace. He had semi-diplomatic status and communicated direct with London. He was thus, in a way, senior to the Consul.
Father`s letter of 19 January does not mention the Ambassadors departure, and gives only a few details of the difficulties of carrying on at the Consulate. It is dark by 4. p.m. but the electric light does not come on until about 7, and stops at 11 o`clock. Luckily they still have a few candles; lamp oil is almost unobtainable. Prices of provisions have risen by 2500%; butter, sugar, and meat scarce, milk unobtainable, firewood supplies failing, he had only one liveable room at home. The night watches had been suspended; nobody turned out and he followed suit. What was the use of going on duty to find nobody there and no one to relieve him? The houses took care of themselves, result: burglaries galore. Banks were still closed; the Soviet authorities were opening private safes at the banks, and confiscating all gold and silver. His health and spitits were steadily declining " in this inferno". There was no longer a regular courier; he would be telegraphing a weekly report to the Foreign Office and I could enquire there "re welfare of us all".
On 16 March he sends a letter by a special messenger who will attempt to get through the lines. There is fighting in Finland. The whole of the Embassy staff left on 28 February and despite diplomatic status, had been subjected to a search at Helsinki. Searching was now the order of the day, ostensibly for arms, but really for loot. Very few have escaped. He had, so far.
He had moved the office and himself into the Embassy building, and it was eerie at night, when he was all alone upstairs in the dark and silent house, with the servants hidden away somewhere below.
Meanwhile, the Preliminary Peace of Brest-Litovsk had been signed on 3 March 1918 and was to be ratified in Moscow on 12 March. The Government had been transferred to Moscow, and Lenin had gone there on 10 March; Lockhart, the British Agent, had followed on 15 March. Father was left in charge at Petrograd, with members of various British Missions, all working at the Embassy trying to prevent quantities of British Naval and military stores from falling into the hands of the Germans, and his own Consular staff trying to help their countrymen to get away, yet Father was not given the right to independent action.
On 22 March he was sending his letter by a courier going to Murmansk, hoping it would reach me safely. He was still able to wire some sort of news once a week. He could only hope that this tension would not go on much longer.
"We are everlasting expecting the advent of the Germans. There is no doubt that they are coming and, moreover, are partly here already. A Commission is arriving in driblets and I expect that one fine day we shall find them in charge of the city".
On 9 May, he is still expecting, and some of the local people are even hoping that the place will be occupied. There is only a mixture of rumours, and nothing is certain except the scarcity of provisions and soaring prices. The only meat people can buy now is horseflesh. The city is in a state of panic. It is dangerous to go out of an evening and though he has not yet been attacked, he has heard of people being knocked on the head near the time and place where he had recently been walking.
There are still some 500 British subjects left, and the majority look to him for protection. All day long, there is somebody asking to see him. And no wonder, because:
" The people in power have done their utmost to make life as irksome as possible, what with shutting down banks, annuling loans, requisitioning properties, nationalising works and factories, confiscating property and so forth. The Red blackguards go in for all manner of " Obysks " (searches), on the plea of searching for arms, and then annexing such obviously bourgeois articles as ready cash, gold watches, jewellery, etc".
On 2 July he sends a few lines, care of Mr. Bruce, formerly 1st Secretary at the Embassy, who was on a return visit to Petrograd to get married to Mme. Karsavina, the Prima Ballerina, and would be starting back in a day or two. Conditions were anything but quiet as a British and Allied force had landed at Murmansk and " the local authorities kick strenously against the " Imperialist intervention of the Allies", and may make it hot for all of us before long".
On 1 August August, Father sent a brief note, which he hoped would reach me via Stockholm. All his staff had just been innoculated against Cholera, which was now pretty bad. They were now cut off completely from the outside world:
"As no telegrams are accepted from us by the teleg. office nor do we receive any. We can still wire to Moscow, Vologda, and Archangel, that`s all. How long that is going to last - we cannot tell. What is going to happen we also do not know. We hear all sorts of rumours, but nothing definite".
Food was now so scarce, people were actually starving.
After that, there was no more news direct from Petrograd.
On 17 July, the Emperor and all his family were murdered at Ekaterinburg. On 4 August, an Allied Force landed at Archangel. The British Consul at Moscow was arrested next day. Father anticipated a similar fate. It would then still have been possible to get away, but Father could not leave without orders from London. Believing that Lockhart, the British agent, was in touch with London from Moscow, Father wired to him for instructions and received the reply: "Cannot give you any instructions, only don`t get arrested". And Father was arrested in the street following day.
In the course of my work at the War Office, I saw the daily news reports and official telegrams about Petrograd, and from now on, every few days there were reports that some, or all, of the British prisoners had been, or were going to be shot, with lists of names, and the list was always headed by Consul Woodhouse. These reports were confidential, that is, not for publication, and unconfirmed. I was bound not to divulge such information, I had to conceal what I knew. I was living with my Godmother at Queens Park, and grannie Mary-Rae was staying with us for a visit. One day the message from Stockholm had seemed pretty definite, although subject to confirmation. That evening, when I reached the house, I could not go in. I walked round and round the park for over an hour trying to summon enough courage to face grannie without letting her know that I thought her son, my father, had been shot.
Imprisonment and Release.
The British officials in Petrograd and Moscow were liberated for repatriation in exchange for M. Litvinoff and a party of his compatriots from England. This exchange was effected through the intervention of the Netherlands Minister in Petrograd, M. Oudendijk, who, with Mrs. Oudendijk, an Englishwoman by birth, had worked untiringly and given every possible help to those who had been arrested by the Bolsheviks.
A full account of what happened was published in "The Times", of London on 24 and 31 October 1918, "from our Petrograd correspondent". This was written by Mr. George Dobson who had been their correspondent abroad for many years, but had, in fact, been replaced by a younger man some years earlier, whereupon he had joined the Consulate staff, and since 1913, had served as Pro-Consul. The first article is headlined : "The Russian Terror. Evil days in Petrograd". It begins by describing how all the members of the British colony, except invalids, were now hastily preparing to leave Russia. They were all strongly advised to leave the country more than a year ago, but as long as British Consuls remained at their posts to offer what protection they could, a good many Englishmen elected to stay on to try and tide over Russia`s agony of dissolution and re-birth. When, however, it turned out that the Consuls, as well as the semi-diplomatic agent, Mr. Bruce Lockhart, were quite unable to protect themselves, much less safeguard the persons and interests of their fellow-countrymen, the latter considered it high time to seek safety in flight. Unfortunately, all the men of military age (those under 48), were debarred, as well as those still under arrest.
The first party of 120 British refugees left Petrograd for Christiania on 8 October. Mr. Dobson left the next day with the Petrograd Consular officials and others in British Government service, altogether 21 persons, constituting about half of the number arrested at the British Embassy and incarcerated in the Peter and Paul Fortress, where they were lodged in the Trubetskoi bastion for 36 days. As far as the Finnish frontier they were accompanied by the Secretary of the Dutch Legation. Special train accomodation was provided for them through Finland, Sweden, and Norway. Their last experience of the Bolshevists was at the Russian frontier, Bielo-Ostrov, where their persons and luggage were strictly searched. Many things were confiscated, including the black bread and provisions they had been advised to take because of the great scarcity of food in Finland, but in reality, with the exception of one or two items, there was no great lack of simple food at the principal Finnish railway stations.
They arrived in Stockholm on the fifth day after leaving Petrograd and found that Mr. Lockhart`s Moscow party had just passed through ahead of them. Mr. Dobson also found that " a letter written in my fortress cell and smuggled out in the lining of another man`s coat never reached your Stockholm correspondent for transmission to London". He must therefore recapitulate the story, and as he was one of the victims, needless to say, the facts are quite authentic.
The culminating point of the Bolshevist terror for the British communities in Petrograd and Moscow was attained when General Poole`s forces began to advance down the lines from Murmansk and Archangel, and a large number of Russian officers were no longer able to disguise their eagerness to join their Anglo-French Allies rather than serve the Bolshevists. Irrespective of this , the British representatives were all the time placed in a most equivocal, in fact false, position by the necessity of transacting current business with a set of Russian authorities unrecognised by our Government, and when the headlong maniacs of the Petrograd Commune and the Moscow Soviet, openly denounced us as enemies and invaders, deliberately distorting the aim and purpose of our occupation of the northern ports, there was no way of averting the tragedy which followed. We were already prisoners at large. Had we received permission to depart, most of us would have been unable to avail ourselves of it, being mostly without money, which had been confiscated or stolen. All the banks were forbidden to return our deposits. The expenses of this long journey.... run into many thousands of roubles, whilst British Government money could only be obtained through the Consulate on a written undertaking to repay. Many.... declared that they would never be able to refund it. For many of us long resident in Russia, who had staked our all on that country, the diffulties.... seemed insuperable. Some were arrested and re-arrested several times in a most inconsequent and futile manner. They were kept for days together, under examination, without any specific charge being brought against them. The only advantage to the Bolshevists in such cases was the plunder which they thereby acquired. A certain English mill-owner and manager, purchased his liberty by signing an undertaking to pay 10,000 roubles for the benefit of the Petrograd Commune within 24 hours. But.......I am now concerned only to describe what took place at the British Embassy in Petrograd and in the fortress of the Neva.
The British Embassy was raided by the Bolshevists on Saturday evening, August 31, shortly before 5 o`clock.
Had the raiders arrived a few minutes later, we should all have been out of it, on the way to our respective homes. It was quite a unique violation of international law and custom. It cannot be compared with the attack on the German Embassy in Petrograd at the outset of the war, when an excited street mob infuriated against the modern Huns and encouraged by the passivity of the Russian police, ransacked that building from roof to cellar...... The Bolshevists have power far beyond that of their predecessors in office to prevent street disorders, and no such disorders now occur except those created by themselves, so that there cannot be any question of irresponsible action in this case.
This pogrom at the British Embassy was perpretated under constituted authority by armed ruffians sent from the Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution and Speculation, assisted by the Commissioner for Moscow. I must here, premise, that our Embassy mansion became the residence of His Majesty`s Consul, Mr. A.W. Woodhouse, and the office of the British Consulate, after the retreat of the Councillor, Mr. Francis Lindley, when it was feared that the Germans intended to occupy Petrograd. Captain Cromie and his assistants, after destroying their submarine at Helsingfors, and the members of our Military Mission and Military Control, also established their offices in different parts of the building, in order to liquidate their outstanding affairs. There was a time in the early part of this year, when the Consul and Consular staff might perhaps have left Russia and thus followed the example of the Embassy staff, but Consul Woodhouse and his colleagues, thought it their bounden duty not to desert the remaining members of the British colony in their dire distress, unless absolutely compelled to do so, especially as the fear of the German occupation turned out to be an exaggerated scare with little or no foundation. And later, when the Consul recommended the general evacuation of all British subjects, and himself intended to leave, the Bolshevists put every obstacle in the way, and several times shut the frontier against us. Everybody in the Consulate, therefore, continued down to the last moment, to advise and assist hundreds of English people, as far as it lay in their power, to be of any practical use. In such circumstances there was a constant stream of callers, and at the hour and date above mentioned, there were several Englishmen present, besides the British officials.
I was standing at a table in the Chancery, about to leave with a portfolio full of documents. Four or five members of the Consular staff were receiving their salaries from the cashier, and one of the two iron safes containing large sums of money, was open. The Vice-Consul, Mr. Mackie, was in an adjoining room. Consul Woodhouse had been arrested the night before in the street, together with the Assistant Naval Attache`, Le Page, while returning to the Embassy after visiting a friend.
Quite suddenly, without the least warning, the Chancery door was flung open, and in rushed an excited man in an overcoat and a soft hat, with Browning pistols pointing towards us, in each hand, while he shouted at the top of his voice: "Rooki vverkh!" ("Hands up!"). He was followed by two or three other Russians, who like himself, were evidently of Jewish race, all levelling pistols at us, as we stood round the room struck dumb with surprise.
At first we thought it was a practical joke, but we were soon disillusioned of that idea, by sounds of firing in the vestibule outside.
The first shot rang out a minute or two after the dramatic appearance of the first Bolshevist, who was the Commander in charge. Several other shots followed in quick succession. Then a badly wounded Russian staggered into the Chancery, feebly flourishing his revolver in our direction and shouting that he was dying. He called loudly for help, but little notice was taken of him by the Commissioner, who simply remarked that he could not understand how "English gentlemen could put bullets into the insides of poor Russians who were only doing their duty".
This wounded man fell down close to my feet, and was soon carried out by his comrades. Two other Russians fell wounded somewhere outside near the staircase, at one side of which, on the first floor, was situated the Consular office, and on the other side the rooms used by members of the Naval and Military Missions. Who fired the shots, we in the Chancery did not know.
A few minutes later, we were told that Captain Cromie had been killed and as we were being led out into the street, we saw his dead body in civilian dress stretched out at the foot of the staircase. There was blood on the stair on which he had struck his head in falling, having been shot in the back of the head by two Russians coming down after him.
According to one witness, he was striding rapidly down the stairs without any pistol in his hand. The door porter said he saw the Russians take out a pistol out of the Captain`s waistcoat pocket after he had expired. A Bolshevist was seen to kick the body and take the gold St. George`s Cross off Captain Cromie`s breast and pin it on his own with a sneering remark.
The fusillade between the Russians and Captain Cromie must have taken place somewhere outside his room on the right hand of the staircase from below, as there are bullet holes through the closed half of an intervening door. He was always on the alert. On a previous occasion he had escaped capture in his private apartments, by jumping out of the window and taking refuge in the Embassy. Nobody in the Embassy saw him actually fire, but the preponderating evidence indicates, that it must have been he alone, who shot at the Russians, for he ran out of his room as soon as he heard the noise outside. It is stated that there is surgical proof, that two bullets extracted from the two wounded Russians, correspond with the chamber calibre of Captain Cromie`s weapon. The bullet found in the third Russian who died, must have been discharged from a larger pistol, probably by another of the Russians.
When Captain Cromie fell, two ladies out of the Military Control office on the street level tried to make him speak, but he was dying fast. One of them, the wife of an English officer, ran up to the Chancery and begged the Commissioner to let her fetch water, as Captain Cromie was dying. The reply was: "Let him die".
The Chief Commissioner quickly composed himself and set about registering our names, emptying our pockets of all their contents in a most businesslike style, while several of his men stood around, pistols in hand. We were then ordered to lower our hands from off our heads.
Everybody found in the other rooms of the Embassy, including the male and female servants, were rounded up and brought into the Chancery. There was not a single firearm amongst all of us in the Chancery, and in the circumstances, any attempt at resistance would have been foolish. Moreover, outside, not more than a dozen yards from the entrance, two torpedo destroyers, moored close alongside the river quay, had their artillery and machine-guns trained on the Embassy, and their decks cleared for action. Some of the seamen came to the assistance of the Commissioner, and when we were marshalled on the quay, one of them shouted to the soldiers of our convoy:
"Why not shoot them all here on the spot, rather than take the trouble of marching them off to prison?"
That was an anxious moment, as we well knew what horrors have been committed in that off hand way, by the callous brutes and terrorists amongst the Bolshevist soldiery. We were made to form fours, and a strong guard with rifles, escorted us to the headquarters of the Extraordinary Commission, No. 2, Gorohovaya-Street, which is next door to the Petrograd office of "The Times". Before leaving, one of the Bolshevists put the muzzle of his revolver to the breast of the Vice-Consul, Mr. Mackie, and demanded the names and business of the Russians who had been at the Embassy. This question was prompted by the absurd idea that we had held a meeting of Russian traitors. The Vice-Consul could, of course, give no information.
Amongst the visitors to the Embassy at the time, who were captured with the rest, were the Rev. B. Lombard, of the English church; Mr. V Marsden, correspondent of the "Morning Post"; Prince Shakhovskoi, a youth of about 15, who was taken in the street as he was leaving his relative, the Princess Soltikova, (who lived in a wing at the back of the Embassy); and two Swedish Red Cross officers, who were set free, there and then, after explanation. Several other persons were seized and brought in from the neighbouring streets. One of them was Captain Cromie`s secretary, Mr. R. Andrews. On the same day that Captain Cromie avoided arrest, as described above, Mr. Andrews was sought after by the Bolshevists, and managed to evade their grasp by disguising himself, and passing through an empty lodging by the back door.
From the Bolshevist point of view this pogrom at the British Embassy, is the result of the murder of M. Uritsky, the late head of the terrible Extraordinary Commission, which is the supreme judicial and police executive of the Soviet Republic. Every effort has been made to prove that the assassin of M. Uritsky was instigated, and paid by the English, because when he escaped on a bicycle, and tried to elude his pursurers by dismounting and running into the entrance of the so-called English Club in Millionnaya-street, close to our Embassy and almost opposite the lodgings occupied by the British Military Mission. All these quite fortuitous circumstances were fully utilised by the Bolshevists, to trump up a case of conspiracy against us, whereas, as a matter of fact, the English Club in question, is merely the name the Russians apply to their best clubs organised on British principles. As in the present instance, there is generally not a single English member. We have our own "New English Club", now deserted, in another part of the city.
As already described, we were marched in column of fours, 45, in number, including two lady typists and the wife of Lt. Bucknall, to No. 2. Gorohovaya-street, and there we underwent a further examination collectively, and separately, and several of us were photographed. We were put in a vaulted chamber about 45 ft by 25 ft., with a solitary window in one corner, looking out into the yard, where there was a constant coming and going of motor-cars, with prisoners arriving and leaving under armed escorts. This movement was especially lively all night, for if there can be any comparison between the evil-doers in their love for darkness instead of the light, the Bolshevists certainly love it most of any. The late Uritsky, the Russian Marat, a small crooked, unkempt, hoarse-voiced little man, was noted for working furiously all night long, devouring his food like a savage, whilst interrogating his victims.
Our common vaulted cell, which was quite like old pictures of dens from which condemned men and women were taken out to be guillotined in the French Revolution, was crammed with criminals and innocents of all classes. There were 26 filthy beds ranged against the walls, and from 90 to 150 inmates, according as fresh prisoners were brought in and others sent away to different prisons or evacuated for execution. Under the autocratic rule, it accomodated only a dozen constables attached to the Prefecture of Police. The place was swarming with insects of all kinds, and they quickly found us out...... The Consul and three or four other Englishmen, arrested before us, were confined in a separate room on the upper storey. Our position was so critical that Chaplain Lombard conducted a short service soon after our arrival, and sent a request to the Commissioners asking for permission to do the same for the Consul and his companions upstairs. The message was conveyed by a certain Professor Pisareff, who was also a prisoner, but was allowed to approach the Commissioners on behalf of his brother captives. He soon returned with a curt refusal, and said that the Bolshevist authorities were so incensed against us ,that he would not make any further applications on our account. The actual words of the Commissioners were : "This is not time for praying, but for shooting". At that very moment they were debating the question of how many of us would be shot. Afterwards I ascertained that five of our number were on the list for capital punishment. The lady typists and Mrs. Bucknall were kept separately until the second day, and then set free.
The prison diet consisted of a small bit of black bread once a day, with watery fish soup. The prisoners were divided into groups, and each group of five men ate out of one bowl with a wooden spoon. Luckily for us English, parcels of food were delivered on the third day, thanks to acting Vice-Consul Kimens, of the British Red Cross, assisted by Consul Bosanquet, from Riga. These two gentlemen were fortunate in being out of doors when everybody else in the Embassy was arrested. They saw us being taken to the Gorohovaya, and although they were held up and questioned, they succeeded in arriving safely at the Dutch Legation, which for safety`s sake, they never afterwards left ,until our final liberation from the fortress. They nevertheless worked very hard, all the time in conjunction with the Netherlands Minister and Mrs. Oudendijk to alleviate our sufferings.
While I was undergoing examination before one of the Commissioners in another part of the building, I noticed piles of British government stores in cases, such as ration biscuits and corned beef, reaching almost the ceiling. These were the loot brought from the British Embassy after our capture. There were also a few rifles which had belonged to our Embassy guard and war trophies of my own which I had gathered during my work for "The Times", at the siege of Plevna..... All these articles hung for years on my walls, and were deposited at the Embassy for safety. They called these antiquated weapons proof of a dangerous English conspiracy.
The next afternoon, Sunday, I was looking out of the small cell window and saw a motor-car bring in things from " The Times" office next door. There were typewriters, sacks of papers, clothes and other things, including German war trophies of your corresponden,t Mr. Wilton. Your office was thoroughly ransacked and sealed up. The Embassy was also treated in the same manner, and the outer door sealed in spite of the printed certificate on the front door ,notifying that the building was under the protection of the Dutch Legation. At the same time searches were being made in all our private lodgings. My own flat was entered at 2 0`clock in the morning by a dozen soldiers headed by a Commissioner.
Our stay in the Gorokhovaya lasted three days, and on the evening of September 3, we were suddenly informed..... That we had to get ready to go out...... All we knew was that a strong escort of soldiers was waiting for us in thae yard below. As it turned out, we were taken to the fortress.....
As far as concerns the British Diplomatic and Consular officials, who composed the great majority of the captives, they were internationally entitled to some consideration and courtesy, even in circumstances requiring their expulsion from the country.
Besides personal insult, the violation of ex-territoriality enjoyed by foreign Embassies was another feature in the outrage committed on this occasion by the Bolshevists. There was no necessity whatever for the violent aggressiveness with which they effected our arrest. A warrant for taking us into custody might have been quietly produced, and there would have been no resistance, as none of our party, except Captain Cromie, carried firearms. Even supposing that we had all been armed to the teeth, it would have been fatal folly to offer opposition to the overwhelming force at the disposal of our captors. Besides the 10 or a dozen men comprising the Commissioners and their assistants, there was a strong company of Red Army soldiers for our escort, the crew and marines of the two torpedo-boat destroyers with their machine guns, and any number of reckless Bolshevist troops in two large barracks, not a stone`s throw from the Embassy. The two destroyers in question had been moored in front of the Embassy windows for many weeks previously, and their presence in such close proximity was looked upon as a kind of menace, or at least, a sign of evil intent.
Hundreds of gas-projecting apparatus on wheels and other implements of war..... were also placed for a long time in the roadway in front of the Embassy, before they were lightered up the river to Lake Ladoga. There was no need to ship them from just that particular part of the river quay, where nothing of the kind had even been done before, and I cannot help thinking that a purpose connected with the dead set against us ,was lurking behind this operation, for the "nakhalstvo" or contemptuous bravado, of these abolitionists of all government and private rights of property, barring the right to property, which they steal for their own use and benefit, is simply unbounded. Such an assault on the Embassy was not prepared and delivered on the spur of the moment, and it was finally carried out under the pretence of our complicity, which was, of course, purely imaginary, in the murder of Commissioner Uritsky. When I was questioned by one of the Commissioners at the "Tchrezvit chaika", which is the popular abbreviation for the long title of the Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution, I inquired the reason of our arrest, and received the reply that it was because we had made the Embassy a nest of conspirators.
There is no doubt that the firing, (by), Captain Cromie greatly imperilled our lives, and if the raiders had not threatened him with their revolvers, he would in all probability not have shot at them.... He often said that he would never be taken alive by the Bolshevists, and the pointing of their revolvers at him was a provocation which he naturally resented. It was a lucky accident, perhaps, for the rest of us, that Cromie`s assistant, Commander le Page, had been arrested the night before with Consul Woodhouse, having left his loaded revolver in his room, where it was found and brought into the Chancery by one of the raiders. Had he been present during the attack ,he would undoubtedly have come to the assistance of Captain Cromie, and the shooting would have been far more serious.....
Incidentally, Mr. Dobson does not mention that Consul Woodhouse also kept a loaded revolver, pushed down at the side of the armchair by his desk in his office, which was not found by the raiders. He too, would certainly have used it, had he been in the Embassy when it was raided. Mr. Dobson continues:
The proper course to pursue in accordance with the established usage of all civilised governments, in cases in which accusations of this kind are made against members of foreign diplomatic missions, is to demand their recall by the Government which they represent.......
The Bolshevist authorities accused us of distributing large sums of money for the betrayal and defeat of the Revolutionary Republic, and denounced us as their very worst enemies; but they did not follow the course usually adopted by other governments in similar circumstances, which is to get rid of such dangerous foreign representatives as soon as possible. On the contrary, they continued to refuse the request of Consul Woodhouse for passports to leave Russia, and kept back all the members of the Consulate and different missions in Petrograd in order to treat them as common criminals.
We were taken from the Embassy to the "Tchrezvitchaika" on August 31, and thence transferred to the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul on Tuesday evening September 3, at 5 o`clock. When we went downstairs between lines of soldiers into the yard, where I had seen a prisoner shot down from behind, without condemnation, or warning, by the soldiers of his escort, as they were bringing him out in the same way for some unknown destination, I felt serious misgivings as to our being destined for any other place than the next world. The gruesome incident here referred to, took place a month or two before, when I was passing the entrance to this yard to go into "The Times" office next door. The man fell flat on his face, and his body was promptly thrown into the bottom of a droshky and taken away, with two young Red Guardsmen sitting on it and cracking jokes.
It occured to me, however, that there was some safety in our numbers, which had grown from 45 to 60, by the addition of other Englishmen arrested later, and brought in while we were in the "Tchrezvitchaika". We thus formed a pretty large body of prisoners, and attracted considerable attention as we were marched through the streets of Petrograd to the fortress on the opposite side of the Neva.... On arriving, we were paraded before the Commandant in front of his house. Like all the subordinates and office holders of the Soviet Commissioners, he was a very young man, who seemed very well satisfied with himself..... We then passed through an iron gate in charge of the Captain of the Guard to the first floor of the renowned Trubetskoi Bastion, the long, and often last resting place, of so many state prisoners, Decembrists, Nilhilists, and others for many generations past, and latterly of well-known Ministers and members of the Duma...... The first impression was horrible as we filed along the long, narrow, and gloomy passage, and saw the eyes of prisoners eagerly scanning us through the small holes in the doors of their cells. These cells were already crammed with prisoners of all classes, from princes, generals, and bourgeois citizens, down to proloterian vagabonds, including thieves and murderers. All the prisons of Petrograd were in the same state of congestion, and I believe men were taken out and shot simply to make room for others. During our incarceration, the Bolshevik newspapers announced that 500 counter-revolutionists had been shot after the assassination of Uritsky. Our party was divided into small groups, and we were thrust into these over-crowded cells, and the doors slammed and noisily locked behind us. I, and half-a-dozen other British subjects found ourselves herded together with a number of Russian anti-Bolshevist officers, who received us with a shout of delight when they discovered we were English. They were still more pleased when we disclosed the remnants of food received from our friends and the Dutch Legation....for no victuals of any kind had been given them for three days.
We were altogether 20 men in a vaulted lime-washed cell about 20 ft. long by 11 ft. broad and 12 ft. in height, with hard cemented flooring. In one corner, near the door ,was a modern latrine, also a small sink with a tap of running water, one bare iron bedstead fixed to the floor, and a small shelf fastened to the wall, close to the bedstead and serving as a table. At one end of the cell was the door with a small square peep-hole, which was sometimes shut up, and at the opposite end, very high up, an iron-barred double window looking out against one of the fortress ramparts. Two panes of this window were left open for ventilation, and the space between, was used as a larder for keeping our food as fresh as was possible. We had to stand on each other`s backs to reach up to it. From 7 in the evening until midnight the cell was lighted by an electric lamp and reflector in the wall close to the bedstead. There were from 75 to 80 of these cells along our corridor, all of the same size and type.
With so many human beings huddled together in a space intended only for one, the atmosphere was awful. There was only about a foot of standing room for each of us, and it was difficult to move arms and legs, when we lay packed together on the bare cold floor......We were kept in this state of extreme discomfort for two or three nights, and then there was a redistribution of the English prisoners, who were separated from the remaining Russians and locked up in half-a-dozen cells, 10 men in each. This time my lot in cell No. 72 was cast with very entertaining company.... (whose) wide knowledge...was a never-failing source of information in the daily discussions and debates which helped so much to divert our minds from the horrors of the situation.
The monotony of our existence was otherwise relieved by the washing out of our cell once a week, for which purpose we used some of our dirty underclothing; by attempts to cleanse the rest of our linen when we got soap enough, by conversing with one another through the doorholes, by listening to popular songs by the younger members of our prison party; and on Sundays we caught snatches of prayers and singing from the next cell, where "padre" Lombard and Consul Woodhouse were confined. There was no general downheartedness, in spite of frequent speculation as to our ultimate fate, and the uncertainity of existence while we were at the mercy of soldiers subject to no restraint.
One day, five Russians were taken out to go to the "Tchrezvitchaika". Amongst them was a very decrepit old man.... who was unable to keep pace with the other prisoners. A soldier of the convoy progged him on for some little time, and at last shot him down and threw his body into the river. On reaching the "Tchrezvitchaika" the list of prisoners, of course, did not tally with the number actually produced. "Where`s the fifth prisoner?" asked the Commissioner. "Oh", said the soldier, "I could not get him to come along. He was too old and feeble, so I thought it best to shoot him down and get rid of him in that way". This murderer was locked up in a cell not far from ours, and that was probably the only punishment he would ever get. A similar fate might have overtaken many of us whose age and infirmities offered a suitable pretext.
Two elderly Englishmen were liberated a week or two before our release...... They were very ill and the doctor, who was allowed to visit us at the insistence of the Dutch Legation, managed to persuade the Commissioners to send them home. On the whole, we did not suffer much in health... The doctor brought us medicines and insect powder, for we were overrun by vermin. A good deal of our time was at first occupied in lice hunting.
The prison diet was a mockery of feeding, and without assistance from outside, we should have been half-starved, like so many of the Russian prisoners. It consisted of hot water with a very few small bits of white cabbage leaf, and tiny, stinking, fishlike sticklebacks, put into it to make what they called soup. This was served out only once a day ,at any hour, sometimes late at night, with great irregularity, together, or without a couple of ounces of nasty black bread for each prisoner. On some days, neither soup nor bread was provided. On the other hand, plenty of hot water was given three times a day, and this was very welcome to those who had any tea.
Thanks to Mrs. Oudendijk, wife of the Netherlands Minister, assisted by Mr. Kimens and Mr. Bosanquet and the wives and other female relatives of many of us, we were soon able to do without the meagre prison fare, and so plentifully were we often supplied , that we had enough and to spare for the hungering sentries and famishing Russian prisoners, who sent us little notes by stealth, imploring us to save them from starvation. It was difficult to keep food long in the bad air of the cells... Food parcels arrived twice a week, and the day was looked forward to as a great treat. Mrs. Oudendijk generally accompanied them in a motor-car, and the Consul was often allowed to go outside and speak with her for a few minutes. Two or three of the English prisoners were also sometimes let out to help in carrying and distributing the parcels.
On such occasions great efforts were made to open up secret communication with the outer world. Scraps of paper and postcards were surreptitiously passed from hand to hand, or dropped promiscously into the car while the parcels were being taken out. Answers, were now and then received, concealed inside loaves of bread and so forth. Some of these missives were intercepted.
We were never once allowed walking exercise in the open air. Only very rarely they let us out for 10 minutes or quarter of an hour into the dull and evil-smelling corridor, and some of the younger men improved the opportunity by trying a little boxing and leap frog. Their spirits rose high at these brief meetings with comrades from the other cells, and the guards and sentries were much disconcerted by behaviour so unlike that of the Russians.
There were moments, however, of depression, and that was only natural. Vice-Consul Mackie was, for a time, very much weighed down by the thought of his sister`s misfortune. She is married to a Russian, and Mackie lodged with his sister and brother-in-law after sending his wife and daughter to England. This was enough to involve the arrest of the sister and her husband immediately after the attack on the British Embassy. They were separated and taken to different prisons, and for a long time their whereabouts was totally unknown. When we came out of the fortress the Dutch Legation asked permission for Mr. Mackie to have a farewell interview with his sister before starting for England, and it was refused.
As we complained of the want of exercise and our goalers concluded that we had no intention of escaping, they sometimes let one or two of us out to help in the preparation of their so-called soup, and to assist a woman cook in doling it out to the prisoners. Lieutenant Bucknall was one day on duty for this work, and had to take a bowl of soup into cell No 49, the peep-hole of which was closed. When the turnkey unlocked the door, the inmates of the cell were quite obscured by a thick vapour, combined probably with tobacco smoke. Presently several human figures crawled out of the mist towards Bucknall, and begged and prayed him to have the door left open for a while, as they were nearly suffocated.
Not only was the aperture in the door closed, but the ventilating panes of the window were also shut and sealed up, and the walls were streaming with moisture. Bucknall tried in vain to induce the sentry to allow these unfortunate men to get a little air through the open door, but he was obdurate and they were quickly locked in again. There were 12 men in that cell; one of them was a general and ex-commander of an army corps, and another a school director. They were unaware of any special reason for this extra punishment of being hermetically sealed up in their cell.
One afternoon we were startled by an order to dress and line up in the corridor with many of the Russian prisoners, and we got cold shivers when we heard that we were all to be sent to Kronstadt. The Kronstadt sailors have such a notoriety for bloodthirtstiness and cruelty, that the prospect of being placed in their power was by no means agreeable. A short time before our arrest, several dead bodies tied together with barbed wire, were washed ashore beyond the Kronstadt forts... There was, fortunately, some mistake about this order, for the British prisoners were sent back to their cells and only the Russians went on to Kronstadt.
Kronstadt, it will be remembered, was the naval base, scene of the festival reception of Admiral Beatty in 1914. Mr Dobson described the Peter and Paul fortress on the Neva, across the river, and almost opposite the British Embassy, which was located in the former private palace of the Saltykov family. The fortress has always been a State prison from the time of its foundation by Peter the Great, and never a citadel of any military value, but it "has never contained such a crowd of prisoners", or been used so entirely and exclusively as a prison. It is no longer a place to be visited by sightseers and tourists, but to be shunned and avoided. The Bolshevists have divested it of all historical interest. They have shut up the fine old cathedral and mausoleum of the Tsars, with its handsome Gothic needle-pointed spire.... Our only regret in quitting this dismal place, was on account of our comrades ,whom we were obliged to leave behind; about a dozen of them were not included in the order for our release. On receiving that order, the Commandant of the fortress made them all sign papers, undertaking to leave Russia by the first diplomatic train. They had been imprisoned there for 36 days.
The Netherlands Minister had arranged the details of their release.
When Father returned to the Embassy to collect a few personal belongings, he was warned that the local authorities were waiting to re-arrest him. He managed to avoid capture, by staying with different friends until he, and his party ,safely boarded the diplomatic train which took them across Finland to Torneo, from where they crossed over the water to Haparanda, and went on through Sweden and Norway, and on to England.
By present day standards of journalese Mr. Dobson`s account seems verbose and written in the language of a more leisured age, it is quoted at some length, because it gives a vivid picture of the ordeal endured by my father and his brother (uncle Clayton), and the British officials in a country supposedly an ally in the war against Germany. As a resident in Russia for a great many years, (like so many members of my family), who had chosen to remain there when he ceased to be actively engaged as a newspaper correspondent, and who looked forward to retirement among friends and relatives in Petrograd, (again like my father; the dacha at Kellomakki was bought with that aim in view!), Mr. Bobson felt very keenly the brutalities, insults, indignities, he observed at first hand.
Like my father, he had loved and admired his Russian friends and was appalled at the ineptitude which had allowed the intelligentsia to go on arguing amongst themselves, whilst the mob around them was producing agitators who appealed to the rabble, and brought the people to the boiling point at which the scum always rises to the surface. Was it not the same in the French Revolution? Today the Western World talks with fear of the "Communist Menace". There are many who still remember the horrors, and the ruthlessness which laid its foundations.
Mr. Dobson was then over 60 years of age. He did not long survive his return to England, having lost all his belongings and savings in Russia. But to those of us now living in London, it may be of interest to know that he gave his name to a firm started by a friend of his, for the manufacture of chocolates and confectionery, though he did not live long enough to enjoy the success of "Barker and Dobson" sweets.
There are other sequels to Mr. Dobson`s account. Two young men of the Embassy staff died as a result of their incarceration, which affected their lungs. Both had been doing clerical work because they were not fit for active service. One of them barely reached England in time to see his widowed mother, the other died shortly afterwards. Father appealed to the Foreign Office for some recognition of their services, since they had chosen to remain with his staff, and they could have fled the country when the rest of the Embassy left. Father pointed out that these young men had served their country as heroically as anyone in the trenches, and ought to be compensated, not just dismissed without even a medal. The answer he got from the Establishment official was : " We are sick of heroes! "
Lt. Bucknall, mentioned by Mr. Dobson, is the son of the Bucknall whose name appears on the silver salver, now an heirloom in the possession of Arthur Woodhouse in Montreal, namesake and grandson of my father. The salver was presented by a group of Petrograd businessmen as a token of their gratitude to my father for his help and advice to them and their families in Russia.
Vice-Consul Mackie`s sister, Mrs. Ethel Belsky, was released and later enabled to leave Russia, but she never saw her husband again.
My Mother`s Russian Husband.
Among the hundreds of victims in the wave of arrests which followed the assassination of Uritsky was my mother`s Russian husband, Mikhail Sergeievich Plaoutine. The assassin, as |Mr. Dobson described, was a young man who fled from the scene on his bicycle and then took refuge in the nearest doorway, which happened to be that of the " English Club ". Incidentally, his name was Kannegiesser. When we lived at the Vice-Consulate in Nicolaiev, it was on the corner of the Bolshaya Morskaya and the Navarinskaya; on the corner diagonally opposite us was the house of the Kannegiesser family.
The " English Club ", as already said, had no English members. It was in the Millionnaya, and drew its members from the upper ranks of Russian society. Mikhaill Sergeievich was a member, and he certainly belonged to that category. He was an officer in a guards cavalry regiment, and was aide-de-camp to one of the Grand Dukes. His family was one of those who considered themselves too grand to need a title. They owned large estates somewhere in central Russia, where they bred race-horses. They were related to the family of Prince Oginsky in Poland, and had inherited estates and forests in Southern Poland, a palace in Krakow, houses in Riga and other properties in Kurland. Their house in Petrograd was also in the Millionnaya, the street parallel to the Palace Quay, leading out of the great square in front of the Winter Palace, alongside which, was the famous " Hermitage " art gallery; next to that was a military establishment, and a few doors along, the Plaoutine`s.
It was built in the French style, and had a great porte-cochere leading into a courtyard which contained the stables and coach-houses. It had three storeys; Mikhail Sergeivich lived on the top floor. The apartment was not large by local standards - it did not have a ball-room, but it was lavishly furnished; the study, drawing-room, dining-room, and Mother`s boudoir were filled with pictures and objets d`art. A long corridor led past the main bedroom to the kitchen and servants quarters, a long series of rooms overlooking the courtyard, housing four or five servants. These would include the coachman, grooms, and stable-boys who looked after the carriages and horses. Mother never minded that it took them over an hour to harness up, and get the coachman dressed in his livery of traditional Russian style, the long-skirted coat reaching the soles of his boots, worn over a thickly padded lining to make the figure more imposing, with a gold-embroided belt or sash, and fur-trimmed hat.
Such a very elegant turnout was worth waiting for and Mother loved it. She was especially fond of the two former race-horses "Mirage" and "Molodchik"; she always had lumps of sugar for them. Needless to say, she herself was always splendidly dressed. The whole outfit presented a beautiful picture.
Yet, in the midst of such splendour, she had never been really happy. Whenever I saw her she was either ailing or complaining about something, or finding fault, not only with me. No doubt she enjoyed the beautiful setting, but I never overcame the feeling that it was like a gilded cage, in which everything was luxurious and expensive, but kindness was lacking. I thought Mikhail Sergeievich was detestable, not only because he obviously disliked me, but because he failed to make her well and happy. Perhaps it was only in front of me and my brother that he was supercilious, sneering and unfriendly. At any rate, after she lost him, she always spoke of him as her " Mishenka ", using the affectionate diminutive of Mikhail, and recalling the good times with him. But to me, of course, it seems natural to refer to him by his patronymic, the normal Russian form of address for anyone, of any rank. And he was very Russian, even like the Tsar, Nicholas II, in appearance; slight, of medium height, and a similar beard. His mother was English, and he spoke English perfectly, as well as other languages, like all well educated Russians. His father was a retired General, and in the fashion of millionaire Russian absentee landowners, lived near Nice in the South of France, with stewards managing the estates. His mother`s name was Serena, and she came of a titled family, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten. She was the daughter of a diplomat serving in the British Embassy at St. Petersburg, some time about 1870. Her silver and damasks marked with her monogram " S.P.", and a coronet suited mother. On taking up residence in France, the General adopted the " de " prefix to his name, which mother adopted too.
Mikhail Sergeievich was not actively concerned in the administration, or management of the family estates. The stewards did that. He had his regimental duties, his attendance on the Grand Duke as aide-de-camp, but he was not on active service during the war. He was seconded to the censorship and, as already said, he was a member of the " English Club ". Therefore it was only a short time before he was rounded up with all the other members and taken to the " Tchrezvitchaika ". Mother went there with food for him for two or three days ,and then she was told he had been taken away. She was never able to find out where. She went to every possible authority to try and discover which prison he was in, whether he had been exiled to Siberia, or what had happened to him. She persisted and persisted in her enquiries, until finally she got to the head of the "Tchrezvitchaika" organisation at Smolny, Mme. Killontay herself, and received the reply I have already quoted - "Surely, citiziness, you cannot think that such as your husband could be allowed to stay alive".
The Smolny Institute was some way out of town. There was no transport now; she had to walk. Returning from one of her visits there, she was really afraid of the long way back, the road was almost deserted and the few people about, looked sinister. Going her way, she saw two Red Army soldiers, unkempt, and looking even more villainous. She longed to run. Instead, she caught up with them and said, "Will you walk with me into town, little brothers?" (she was not going to call them comrades!"). "One never knows whom one might meet on such a lonely road. I feel nervous, but I am sure such fine strong fellows like you will protect me".
She linked arms with them, kept them talking and got back safely.
She was still living in her own apartment, and she kept a maid who nearly always managed to buy enough foods, but the other servants had all left. She managed not to have her apartment requisitioned by filling it with families of former retainers. She worked in a hospital and obtained the right to wear the Red Cross apron and head-scarf. She made friends with the local Kommissar, entertained him, gave him English lessons, and he got her a job as an English teacher to a group of students: with no lesson books, no other equipment than English newspapers, she taught them phrase by phrase, and they were soon beginning to talk and write.
In the early days she was once arrested and taken into a vaulted cellar room, dirty and overhung with cobwebs. She was far more afraid of the cobwebs than of her captors, who were sailors from Kronstadt. She began to talk to them telling them she was English and what a proud tradition there was in the Navy. She persuaded them that their navy was splendid, too, and this was all a mistake - the Navy did not make war on wives and mothers like herself.
There was some argument, but she never over-ruled their leader, a young civilian barely out of his teens, (doubtless chosen because he could read and write), and they let her go.
She thus managed to avoid conscription like the other women of the bourgeoise, who were set to scrub barrack floors and sweep the streets. After many months the Bolshevists issued a decree allowing foreign-born women , who had been married to Russians, to reclaim their nationality and return to their own countries. With the help of her Kommissar friend, she obtained the necessary permit to join an echelon of refugees. The paper was made out in her maiden name, which she spelt in the French way, as Celine Rogers. She persuaded the authorities that she was really the actress Celine Rogers, who had played with much outstanding success in the French Company at the Theatre Michel, at the beginning of the war. Her costumes, she said, were essential to her career. They allowed her to take two enormous wardrobe trunks in which dresses could hang full length, her silver-fitted dressing case, and various hat boxes and suitcases. She wore her most striking costume for the journey. On reaching Belo-Ostrov, the frontier to Finland, when everybody was turned out of the train to have luggage examined, and people were usually stripped and searched, she made a scene, demanded a chair, sent an official for a glass of water, and generally played up, as if she were on the stage - and they let her through with all her luggage.
On reaching Terijoki, the next station in Finland, the echelon was detrained and the refugees were herded into a transit camp, which was so like a prison, that her nerves gave way, and she almost collapsed after the strain she had undergone. She had always suffered to some extent from claustrophobia. That was why she always wanted to be in the front - she could not bear to sit in a theatre, for instance, anywhere, but in the front row. In this situation ahe felt desperate and hysterical. She tried to run away. The camp doctor calmed her, two of her fellow refugees tended her, she recovered and finally arrived in England, luggage and all.
And all ? Shortly before the echelon she was to join, was due to leave Petrograd, another echelon passed through on its way to England. It included a party of British sailors being evacuated from Vladivostock, and travelling with them all the way across Siberia, was an old friend, Mr Watts, formerly head of the Indo-European Telegraphs office in Odessa. He called to see mother and she enlisted his help. She explained that she thought she would be able to take her wardrobe, when she was repatriated, but that it was too risky, even for her, to try and take her jewels. Would he, she asked, take them and distribute them among the British sailors, telling them that these were the only valuables belonging to an Englishwoman, who had lost everything else, and would otherwise be destitute on arrival in England. The items were done up in little twists of paper, the sailors stowed them in their kit and when she found Mr. Watts again in England, not one single piece was missing. The total value of the jewellery, saved in this way, amounted to several thousand pounds.
On reaching England, there was one more obstacle to face: the Immigration Authority. She had no passport, no English documents, only the exit permit from the Soviet, made out in her maiden name. How to prove that she was English? She could not admit that her birthplace was Odessa.
Where was she born, asked the official,
She replied promptly: "In Chettle".
"Which one ?", The official was surprised.
"There is only one", she said, "In Dorset, near Blandford".
And it turned out that the official was from Dorset himself and knew the places she described as her family home.
On reaching London she at once set about regaining a British passport. She started work. For a while she took a job in the city, canvassing for technical books, but the income from commissions was very poor. Then she took a flat and started dressmaking. She got in touch with Mikhail Sergeievich`s father and mother in Nice. She obtained her passport, saved enough money for the journey, and still hoarding her jewels, went off to join them, taking all her luggage. She found them living almost in penury, having come near the end of their resources. The old gentleman had no idea of business, he did not know how to go about recovering anything from all the properties inherited by the Plaoutines in Poland and Latvia. By now these countries had become independent states.
She engaged lawyers, obtained powers of attorney and began to travel about establishing claims to the various properties, and selling them off in Warsaw and Riga to raise money. Currency restrictions were being applied at the different countries, but she travelled in style, at one time accompanied by a secretary, backwards and forwards across Europe, and she brought out enough money, usually by concealing it on her person - to keep the old folks to the end of their days. It was on such a journey, that she was staying at Lemberg (or Lwow, as it is now called), as will be told later. Sadly, no more can be told. as Mrs. Ella Woodhouse Cordasco died peacefully in her home in Chelmsford, Essex, seated in her armchair on the 28th December 1968. and was found by her son Jack the following morning.
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