GRACE COULD HARDLY believe her good fortune. Mother and Father had finally agreed to let her apply to continue her art studies at the Slade School of Art in London and she had succeeded in securing a much-coveted interview there.
As she began to pack and organize for this great adventure, Mother informed her that she had decided that she herself would chaperone and oversee her journey to London and her enrolment at the Slade that September.
Despite Grace’s vehement protests that she was well able to cross the Irish Sea unaccompanied, Mother would not change her mind.
‘But I will be safe, and Ernest has promised he will meet me at the station,’ she pleaded, hoping that the fact that she would be in the care of her older brother, who was working in London as an engineer, would satisfy Mother.
‘We will share a cabin, so that will make the crossing easier,’ Mother insisted, determined to travel to London with her daughter and ensure that she found accommodation suitable for a young lady attending college.
‘Oh how I wish she would stay at home!’ Grace whispered to Muriel, who was due shortly to start her training as a nurse.
As they got ready to leave Dublin, Grace grew nervous. The Slade School of Art was known the world over, and William Orpen had no doubt had a hand in helping her be considered for a place.
‘Lucky you,’ said Sidney enviously as Grace said goodbye. Father hugged her, slipping her some pound notes to hide from her mother.
A cab collected them to take them to Kingstown, from where they would take the boat to Holyhead and then travel on by train directly to London.
The boat was crowded and Grace was relieved that they had a cabin as other people tried to find somewhere to sit on the main passenger deck. She watched as their fellow travellers clung to the rails outside, waving goodbye to sweethearts and family. Some would never return to Ireland – gangs of young Irish men in search of better-paid labouring work and pale-faced girls who would take up jobs as waitresses and maids in big households and hotels.
They had a light supper in the dining room and Grace took a turn around the deck before returning to the confines of their small cabin. Mother was feeling most unwell and lay silently on her bunk with her eyes closed, gripping a cologne-soaked handkerchief. Grace had to admit to feeling rather queasy too as they set off across the Irish Sea.
Arriving in London after the long journey, Grace and Mother both longed for their hotel and the chance to freshen up with a bath and a rest before Ernest arrived to join them for dinner. Later, when they met in the dining room of the Cumberland Hotel, her brother twirled Grace in his arms and told her she looked very striking and elegant and was already attracting the attention of their fellow diners.
He was well settled into London life and society and promised to introduce Grace to some of his circle of friends.
‘I will guard her as a big brother should,’ he promised Mother as she interrogated him about his work, friends and the kind of milieu in which he mixed.
She and Mother went shopping on Oxford Street and Regent Street. Grace had her own sense of style, knowing well what suited her tall, slender frame and her colouring. Mother nodded approvingly at the fine wool suit and the classic shirts with pin-tucked details she bought in Dickins & Jones. The next day they visited Harrods, a stunning department store on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge, where Mother bought a fitted oyster-coloured suit which showed off her slender frame, as well as a beautiful, pale-grey evening dress with a fine pattern of silk and pearls around the neckline – ideal for dinner parties and the opera.
‘Mother, you have a wonderful figure and it is perfect for you. Father will definitely approve.’
They went for lunch in The Savoy to celebrate buying two beautiful hats from the milliner near their hotel. Mother’s keen eye raked over their fellow guests and their style. Grace was already giddy with the heady pace of London life compared to Dublin.
The following day she took a cab from their hotel to Gower Street, to the Slade, part of University College London. Passing through the gates, she was immediately impressed by the large Greek-style building with its columns and ornate dome which overlooked a wide quadrangle flanked on either side by sweeping bow-centred buildings.
A student directed her to the left, where she found the entrance to the Slade School of Fine Art. Inside the door was a large stone staircase which fanned out in both directions at the top. As she walked in, she caught a glimpse through a doorway of an airy, high-ceilinged studio where students were busy sculpting.
A few minutes later she was shown into an office that overlooked the grounds, its walls adorned with the work of previous students and a photograph of some of them. She had brought a portfolio of her work and was nervous about her interview with Miss Morison, the lady superintendent who met all potential women students. Admittance to the Slade was based solely on her recommendation. A tall woman with bright eyes, wearing a crisp white shirt with a navy suit, she studied Grace’s exam results from Alexandra College and Dublin’s Metropolitan School of Art.
‘I see here that you won some prizes there and also that Mr William Orpen considers that you have a talent that should be developed here in our fine art department,’ she said, looking over her glasses.
Grace blushed as the other woman lightly turned the pages and studied some of her artwork, enquiring why she had chosen to apply to the Slade.
‘I want to come and study here because I need to learn more if I ever hope to become a fine artist,’ Grace explained truthfully, trying to hide her nervousness.
Miss Morison said very little and seemed to be far more interested in the samples of her work than in continuing the conversation. ‘For those who are accepted, the first term at the Slade begins in October and runs until Christmas week,’ she stated.
‘When will I hear?’ Grace pressed, her voice suddenly quivering.
‘I presume you are in London for the present? Where are you staying?’
Grace gave the address of their hotel.
‘Then you should hear in the next day or two,’ Miss Morison said, reaching to shake her hand.
Walking back out across the quad, Grace lingered in the early-autumn sunshine, hoping fervently that she would be accepted to study here.
Next day they visited London’s National Gallery and Mother talked about her uncle, Sir Frederick Burton, the director of the gallery who had enlarged it and purchased so many of the Old Masters that were on display. Grace was suddenly filled with a strange sense of belonging and of destiny, thinking of what her grand-uncle had achieved here in the heart of the British empire. Outside the gallery, which stood like a Greek colossus overlooking Trafalgar Square, Grace thought about how Sir Frederick had filled his life with painting and art and travel, and she felt immensely proud of all his achievements.
Two days later, much to her relief, she got a letter to say that she had been accepted to study at the Slade. Mother congratulated her warmly.
‘Grace, we must find accommodation for you immediately,’ she urged. ‘Somewhere close to the Slade.’
Grace was delighted when they discovered ladies’ accommodation in a building at 113 Gower Street, which was practically across the road from the art school. It passed muster with her mother, and a number of her fellow fine arts students would be living there too. Her room was basic but clean and comfortable, and meals were provided.
Ernest had booked tickets for them to attend Peter Pan, or the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up at the Duke of York’s Theatre – a big success for playwright J. M. Barrie. Mother had baulked when she first heard that the play was about children being spirited away to Neverland by a flying boy.
‘Oh what a marvellous play!’ she enthused afterwards as both the play and the actress Pauline Chase, who played Peter, got a huge ovation from the stunned audience.
‘I have never seen anything quite like it,’ Grace commented, her head filled with images and pictures from Mr Barrie’s wondrous drama.
A few days later she moved into 113 Gower Street and was looking forward to starting her first term at the Slade.
‘Grace, I do envy you,’ Mother admitted. ‘Studying at the Slade will be good for you. I always enjoyed my painting and art, but I never pursued it the way you have. I suppose marriage and family came first. Use this opportunity wisely, as you clearly have inherited the Burton talent and it is all so new and exciting for a young woman like you.’
‘I will, and I promise to write regularly to you and Father.’ She smiled as Mother kissed her cheek and got into a waiting cab which would take her to Euston station.
A frisson of excitement ran through Grace as Mother disappeared and she contemplated almost a year of freedom here in London without either a chaperone or her mother’s eagle eye watching her.