PROFESSOR FRED BROWN welcomed the large group of students to the Slade, many of whom, like Grace, were from the colonies and overseas.
‘Each and every one of you sitting here in front of me has the potential to leave your mark on the world of art,’ he said, staring down at them. ‘Many of our alumni have attained great success in their chosen field. Perhaps some of you in time will join that august list of Slade artists.’
Grace could see he held everyone rapt, each student determined that they would be the one on that list.
Glancing around at her fellow students, she couldn’t help but notice they were for the most part female, with only a handful of men in the large group of about ninety assembled together.
‘Where are all the men?’ wondered Alice Evans, the pretty Welsh girl beside her.
‘Studying law or medicine,’ whispered a dark-haired American girl on the other side, ‘but I promise there are plenty of them about.’
Alice introduced her sister, also called Grace, who had fair hair and looked nothing like Alice except for the same colour eyes.
‘Can you believe it, there are three of us with the same first name,’ she said, concerned. ‘I do hope the lecturers don’t get us all mixed up.’
‘Hopefully not,’ Grace reassured her, knowing full well that her red hair, height and colouring meant that people generally tended to recognize and remember her – besides which, she was Irish and there seemed to be only one other Irish student in her year, a thoughtful young woman with an elegant style who introduced herself as Mary Lane.
‘Are you any relation to Hugh and Ambrose and Eustace Lane?’ Grace enquired.
‘We are cousins actually,’ Mary confirmed. ‘Our families had houses practically beside each other in Cork. Do you know them?’
‘Ambrose and Eustace were friends of my late brother, Gerald. They used to come and stay in our house in Dublin.’
Mary was older than Grace and was staying in a hotel in Montague Street, near the British Museum.
‘It’s very quiet and not very fancy, but it will do for the present.’
The days were packed with lectures as well as with painting and drawing classes. Professor Brown took them for composition every month, choosing all kinds of subjects. Grace found the classes on perspective with Mr Thomson difficult.
‘Try to do exactly what he does,’ urged her friends Minnie and Alice. ‘Draw exactly what he tells you.’
Grace tried, but once again made a mess of it, crumpling up her work and beginning again.
Mr MacColl took them for art history. With his strong Scottish accent and passion for art, he seemed to have a rare ability to make every painting they studied and every artist of the past interesting.
‘I do adore his lectures,’ enthused Theodora as they all scribbled notes madly.
There were also lectures on architecture, archaeology and Egyptology, which Grace found fascinating.
Working in the large upstairs studio, she always found it hard to believe that thirty students could all paint, draw or sketch the same object or subject or landscape and yet every piece would be entirely different in its interpretation.
‘That’s style,’ Mr Steer encouraged them. ‘I never want to see two pieces the exact same in this studio.’
Grace was enjoying herself so much that the weeks flew by. True to his word, her brother kept in touch with her, treating her to lunch or dinner; he also brought her along to a meeting of some Gaelic League friends, where he introduced her to a pretty young woman named Sylvia Dryhurst, who had also attended the Slade and was a talented poet and writer.
‘You and Ernest share such a strong resemblance. I suppose you must get fed up with people mentioning it.’
‘It’s because most of our family are blessed or cursed with the same red hair!’ laughed Grace.
She discovered that Sylvia’s mother, Nora, was Irish too and was a well-known journalist. Sylvia was following in her footsteps, and she was engaged to a tall, serious young journalist, Robert Lynd, who hailed from Belfast. Along with Ernest, Sylvia kindly introduced her to many of her artist friends.
Grace’s friend Theodora told Grace and the others of a large meeting of ‘the Suffragettes’ that was to be held near their college. ‘Oh, do let’s all go and support them,’ she urged the group of friends.
Grace, Alice and many of their fellow students listened as the suffragettes passionately outlined their campaign for justice and for the right of women to be allowed to vote in elections. Undeterred by being arrested, they often attracted attention for their cause through what was considered violent and unladylike behaviour, which they believed was justified. Grace and her friends joined in the lively discussion and became determined to support the suffragette movement and their growing campaign.
As they left the building a crowd of men on the steps heckled and jeered at them, which only served to make Grace even more resolved to fight for the rights which men enjoyed but which had been denied to women.
With invitations to art exhibitions, supper parties, the theatre and concerts, there was little occasion for Grace ever to feel bored or homesick. She was relishing every minute of her time at the Slade and week by week she could see her work improving as she developed a style of her own.