Cary T. Grayson Diary

Cary T. Grayson Diary

Grayson, Cary T. (Cary Travers), 1878-1938

WWP17019

1918 December 29

Cary T. Grayson Papers, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library, Staunton, Virginia

English

The President woke up while the train was lying on a siding in the outskirts of Carlisle. It had been raining very hard through the night and it was a very dark, damp morning. The President’s trip to Carlisle was entirely unofficial—simply that of a son paying a visit to the girlhood home of his mother, and to the place where his grandfather, the Reverend Thomas Woodrow, had served as a minister of the gospel. Because of this fact the President had emphasized to the British authorities that he desired to make his visit as democratic as possible, although he had consented to the town authorities arranging a general program for him, which was designed to receive him entirely as a private citizen instead of as the chief of a great nation.

Following breakfast on the train, the journey into Carlisle City was resumed. At the Carlisle station the President was greeted by the Lord Mayor of Carlisle and all of the city officials. There were happy introductions and Mrs. Wilson was presented with a magnificent bouquet of flowers. Carriages were then entered and the party proceeded to the Crown and Mitre Hotel, where a public reception had been arranged. Here the President met and shook hands with all of the leading citizens of the town, the town councilmen and others, and he also met a number of distant relatives. The President was shown several old documents concerning his grandfather and his mother, and several letters written by the Reverend Thomas Woodrow himself.

One very interesting episode was his introduction to the oldest inhabitant, Thomas Watson, ninety years of age, who had been a member of the Sunday School class which the Reverend Thomas Woodrow taught in his lifetime. The President asked the old man whether he remembered his (the President’s) grandfather. The old gentleman said that he did very dimly, but did not take advantage of the opportunity offered to indulge in reminiscences of his boyhood. The President posed for a picture with the old man, which brought about a little amusing incident. The photographer set off a flash light, which startled him, and he turned and clutched the President by the arm. Then apparently realizing what it had meant, he whispered in the President’s ear and the President nodded, and then told the Photographers to take another flash. It developed later that the old man had said to the President: “Can’t we take another; I am sure I blinked that time, and the picture won’t be good, and I want a good picture in your honor.”

Despite the fact that it was pouring rain outside, the President and Mrs. Wilson, accompanied by myself and other members of the party, entered the carriages and drove through the city to the house in which the President’s mother was born. It was a little brick house, of solid construction, in the very heart of a solid block, and distinguishable from those on either side only because of the presence there of crossed American and British flags. The President alighted at the house and entered only to find that two or there of the people living there were ill with a touch of influenza. He passed into the room, however, in which his mother was born, and after stopping a few moments, and shaking hands with the occupants, returned to the carriage and proceeded to the church from the pulpit of which his grandfather had formerly preached. The entire church was crowded, and at the conclusion of the regular service, the President was invited to make a brief address, which he did, paying a wonderful tribute to his mother and to the mothers of men generally. ( SEE SPEECH) Insert A. The President was reminded that when he visited Carlisle before, he did so incognito on a bicycle. He walked into the church and being unknown and dressed in bicycle costume, he was regarded with some suspicion and notwithstanding the fact that he himself was a Presbyterian elder, he was given a seat in some far-off corner of the church. The President said the contrast between the two visits was “quite noticeable”.

While the President was in church I had a rather amusing adventure that for a time threatened to be more or less tragic. Before leaving home I had been asked by Gordon’s nurse—Margaret Martin—whether I would mail for her from Paris a package containing tobacco intended for her brother who was a prisoner of war in Germany. She had told me that her father lived at Carlisle, so I decided that I would deliver the tobacco in person, meet her father and tell him how much we appreciate his daughter’s attention and devotion to our boy. I took the package with me and asked Lieutenant Corcoran, who was acting as my aide, to find out just where the house was in which the girl’s father and mother lived. He reported that instead of being in Carlisle proper, it was some nine miles away. However, there were plenty of automobiles so I decided to adhere to my original program, inasmuch as the church services were destined to least for more than an hour, and I felt that I would have plenty of time. Accompanied by Corcoran, Swem and Nevin I got into an automobile and we started on the trip. We had an old Renault car that had seen its best days, but none of us realized just how rickety the old machine was. Our driver apparently was very anxious to get his trip over and return home, for he sped over the country roads at a dangerously high pace. The rain had ceased and the wet countryside was wonderfully picturesque. Along the way we commented on the intensive farm methods which the English adopt, and also on the remarkably large number of sheep that we saw in nearly every field. Arriving at our destination we knocked on the door and a young girl, Margaret’s half-sister, opened the door. She stared in blank amazement at me when I told her who I was and looked distinctly and decidedly incredulous. It was hard for her stolid British mind to realize that I would make a side trip of this kind just to deliver a package of tobacco. She told me that her father and mother were sick upstairs, with a touch of the grippe. I asked her whether I could not go up and see them in their room, but she shook her head and said: “No, I will tell feyther.” She went up, was gone a couple of moments, and came downstairs, and said that her father and mother would be down shortly. The room was cold and damp but there were coals and wood laid in the crate apparently ready for use. While we waited a voice from upstairs said: “Daughter, match the coals.” The girl set fire to the paper and soon a brisk fire was burning in the grate, adding somewhat to the cheerfulness of the room, although not much so as far as heat was concerned. In a short time Margaret’s father came downstairs and I sat and talked with him, telling him of his daughter, while he told of the hardships that the people of the north country were enduring because of the war, coal especially being very scarce, despite the fact that we were close to the mines. His wife came down and we sat and chatted rather too long when our program was considered. Finally, however, we left and started back for Carlisle. We had passed about the mid-way mark, but with 4-1/2 miles still left to go, when the motor in which we were riding coughed a long drawn-out cough, sighed a couple of times, and stopped. Our chauffeur, after looking under the car, calmly informed us that the gearing had been stripped and there was no chance of getting back in that car. We asked him what we could do but he was a typical English chauffeur and had no suggestions whatever to offer. The situation was really serious, as we had only about an hour left in which to make the Carlisle station before the President was scheduled to leave for Manchester. We separated, Swem and Corcoran started back down the road to a farm-house which we had just passed, to try and get a vehicle, while Nevin and myself walked in the other direction. The first farm-house told us they had nothing but a carriage; that they had no horse. But they were inclined to think we could get a vehicle at a small hamlet half a mile further down the road. We hurried down there and stopped at the first house to explain our predicament, and asked that something be done. The people, however, seemed very suspicious of us and evinced no desire to aid us in any way whatsoever. One place put up the excuse that they had a horse but that they had no conveyance, and there was nothing that they could do. We met the leading grocer, who also ran a very large mill, and told our story in as strong terms as possible, asking him to furnish us with a conveyance that would take us into Carlisle. He scratched his head and said: “Well, well, it is unfortunate, a bit unfortunate, isn’t it?” But insisted that there was nothing he could do for us. At the next house we found a man with a bicycle and tried to bribe him to ride into town to send a motor after us. He claimed that he couldn’t do this, and we then offered to buy his bicycle at his own figure if he would let us have it so that one of the party could ride in. He seemed to suspect some kind of a trap, however, and finally grabbed the bicycle and ran away, and we decided that there was nothing to do but to try to walk the remaining distance and get there before the train pulled out. Just when we had abandoned all hope a carriage with one horse attached hove in sight along the road. We held it up and explained to the occupant, a man of about 65, who we were and the situation we were in. He told Nevin and myself that he remembered seeing us in the Crown and Mitre Hotel earlier in the day with the President, and said that he wold gladly let us have his carriage and he would go the rest of the way on foot. He was Richard Sewell, one of the Carlisle councilmen. We expressed our sorrow at being compelled to take his carriage but did not urge him to withdraw his offer. We did ask, however, how far he would have to walk and he said “about 2-1/2 miles”, and added “but the walk will do me good."

We entered the carriage, the driver started pushing his horses as fast as he could. Some of us, however, were to have one more thrill before the journey ended. As we started down the first hill there was a sudden crash and a grinding as of iron against iron, exactly similar to that which had preceded the breaking down of our automobile. My heart sank as I saw visions of a broken axle or something of the sort, but, finally, I discovered that it was simply the brakes grinding on the rear wheels as we passed down the hill. We reached the Crown and Mitre Hotel fifteen minutes before the time set for the President to leave so that all was well that ended well. An account of our adventures proved very amusing to the President when I related it to him later in the day.

Leaving Carlisle we proceeded to Manchester, which we reached after dark that afternoon. The President was given a great reception in Manchester, which at that time was the biggest textile center in the world. More American cotton is consumed in Manchester in normal times than in any city in the United States. Large crowds had gathered along the sides of the streets but were held back behind ropes by troops that had been sent into Manchester for that purpose from a big British camp nearby. The President was driven directly to the Manchester Town Hall, where he was the guest over-night of the Mayor. This building was a typical old English structure. There were no elevators and the Lord Mayor’s living quarters were on the top floor, which was reached after a rather trying climb up various flights of stairs.

Mrs. Wilson said to the Lady Mayoress: “I did not catch your name.” The Lady Mayoress replied: “Me name is McTeague, but now they call me the Lady Mayoress.” And then she said: “We came into office just three weeks ago.”

The first caller to see the President was Mr. Scott, Editor of the Manchester GUARDIAN. He had a conference with the President which lasted nearly an hour. Mr. Scott was the successor of Gladstone as the leader of British Liberalism, and his editorials were considered the most trenchant of any printed in a British publication. He was very proud of the fact that his individuality marked his paper, and although the Liberal Party has been exterminated in the recent Parliament elections, Scott showed no sign of downheartedness; in fact, he declared that Liberalism would be re-born before very long. Mr. Scott and the President measured each other up, and both enjoyed the meeting very much. As Scott, who is a very elderly man and had been associated with all of the great British leaders for many years, was leaving the room he turned to me and said: “This has been a particularly pleasing meeting for me; I think the President is the greatest man in the world; he is the greatest man I have ever met.”

Mr. Peacock, the Chief Constable of Manchester, arrived after Mr. Scott to confer with me regarding the arrangements for the morrow. Mr. Peacock, although his title was only that of Chief Constable, was fearfully and wonderfully attired. He wore black trousers, with a two-inch wide stripe of silver braid down each leg, a blue coat trimmed with gold and silver lace, and carried a Napoleonic cocked hat, adorned with a long white ostrich plume. Mr. Peacock apparently loved to dine well, being extremely rotund, with a very red face and nose. His clothes apparently had been made when he first assumed office, before he commenced his round of wining and dining, and it looked as though a lively sneeze from him might have resulted in tragedy. Incidentally, however, Peacock proved one of the most efficient officials that we met anywhere in our tour. He had charge of the arrangements for the parade and in the halls, and he carried out all of these arrangements in a systematic manner, which saved us any inconvenience whatever.

After Mr. Scott and Mr. Peacock left we were entertained at dinner in the family apartments of the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress. The dinner was rather a unique affair. It was held in what in normal times is the state dining-room of Manchester City. The large table had room for more than sixty guests. At the head of the table the Lord Mayor sat in his state chair. The President was on his right; then came the lady Mayoress, with her gold chain of office hanging around her neck; I sat to the right of the Lady Mayoress; to the left of the Lord Mayor, Mrs. Wilson was placed, and adjoining her was the Town Clerk of Manchester—another picturesque character—and then came Miss Benham and Sir Charles Cust. The Town Clerk was the real Major Domo of the Manchester government. He had held office for many years and was familiar with all customs, while Lord Mayors came and went annually. The result was that whenever the President addressed a question to the Lord Mayor the latter would turn to the Town Clerk, repeat it, and then say: “How about that, Mr. Town Clerk?” And the response would always be immediate and illuminating. The Town Clerk was an undersized man, rather thin, but his robes of state were elaborate in the extreme, while he wore a closely curled gray wig, with a long cue tied with ribbon—the whole well-powdered. He had a short cropped gray beard, which he would pull whenever a question was directly addressed to him. Although much smaller in stature than Chief Constable Peacock, it was apparent that the Clerk, like the Constable, enjoyed good living.

During the dinner the Lady Mayoress confided in me that she was having a hard time living up to the dignity of her new office. As a matter of fact, the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress had not been in any way prominent either in social or political affairs in the city. He had made a substantial fortune during the war, and was chosen as a compromise candidate between the factions. His good wife had devoted a great deal of her time to charity work generally, but the responsibilities of her new office wore heavily upon her. She was short and chunky, with a highly developed bust. Her insignia of office was a very heavy gold-linked chain, which she was compelled to wear around her neck. At the ends directly in front was a very heavily chased gold key—a duplicate of a smaller one which the Lord Mayor wore. The golden harness rested very heavily on the Mayoress. As she confidentially confided to me, it was not long enough so that she could drop it below her bosom, and when it reposed on the top of her chest it interfered with her breathing! She told me that just as soon as she could get away from the table, and to the privacy of her own room, she would get the “thing” off. She explained that it was essential for her to wear this at all times when she appeared in public because if she did not do so, “the man” objected. To my inquiry it developed that “the man” was the custodian of robes and decorations of office. He occupied a position in the nature of a chief butler, but his custom was second only to that of Chief Constable Peacock in its feudal magnficence. He had a cocked hat, but instead of an ostrich feather like Peacock’s, it was decorated with an ornate rosette. He also wore a fancy city livery. The Lady Mayoress told me that one of her greatest tribulations was the fact that wherever she went in public “the man” was obliged to follow her. This held good even when she went shopping. As a result when she entered a store and asked for something she had to take what was offered her regardless of the price, because as she explained, “the man” did not like to have her indicate an economical spirit by seeming to want something reasonable in price. She was expected to uphold the dignity of the municipality as well as of her newly acquired office. She told me of one occasion when she had “slipped out” without his knowledge and without the chain, only to find when she returned that he was highly indignant over her action. As a constrast to the Lady Mayoress’ opinion, “the man” confidentially confided in me that he thought it was a pity we had not visited Manchester during the term of the previous Lord Mayor, who, he said, “knew how to entertain.” He referred rather disrespectfully to our host, the Lord Mayor, as a “cheap Irishman.”

During the dinner and afterward conversation was general and the President related a number of good stories, which were appreciated by the company. When the conversation veered to the general policies of the governments at war, the President said that he had been much impressed by what Marshal Foch had told him regarding conditions in Germany, and especially the manner in which the German Government had kept the German people from any knowledge as to the barbarous acts of the Army. The German people, Foch told the President, as a whole, knew practically nothing of the general atrocities. This was due to the fact that the German control of the press was absolute. The President said that Foch told him when he got into Germany he had found that there was no real feeling of enmity or bitterness on the part of the German people toward the French soldiers. The conversation then veered over to Mexico and the situation that had been encountered by the United States there. The President explained his Mexican policy as a general policy of allowing nations to be the judges of their own internal affairs, and to settle their internal affairs in a way that would be satisfactory to the great majority. We then left the dining room, and as we passed out the Lord Mayor, who had proven a most attentive listener, said to me: “This is a great man. The people of England and of France are for him. But the politicians—No! No!”—and he shook his head—“but they are afraid of him.”

It was rather remarkable that while the President was in Carlisle Premier Clemenceau addressing the Chamber of Deputies in Paris had spoken in favor of the old system of the balance of power by alliances, taking issue against President Wilson’s plan for the League of Nations. This action was a complete surprise to the President, because Clemenceau had previously assured him that he was in entire sympathy with the League of Nations project and was the first revelation of what afterwards turned out to be more or less the rule of a vacillating policy on the part of the French Premier. Incidentally, the President’s speech of the next day, in which he made it plain that he stood unalterably for his League of Nations program, was a complete reply to Clemenceau, although the President had had no word whatever regarding the positions taken by the French Premier.

DIARY ENTRY: Sunday. Arrived Carlisle, England 9,30 am Party—President & Mrs Wilson—Miss Benham—Sir Charles Cust, (RN) Lord Herschell?—Lord in waiting to the King—magnificent train & service. Escorted to hotel—President talked to the citizens by individual introduction—Birth place of his mother—Rev. Thomas Woodrow—

Diary