Chapter Seven

SUCCESS AND SECRETARIES (1926–1929)

A friend of mine, a convert of only a month’s standing writes, ‘The Church is so gracious and so roomy.’ Just what I find.

Chesterton was in demand as a speaker, and audiences did not particularly care what he said—or did—as long as they could see and hear him. His popularity was tremendous, though he remained his humble and absent-minded self.

At home, changes were taking place in the housing staff. Kathleen Chesshire was leaving her secretarial service, and a new secretary had to be hired. One candidate was Dorothy Collins, who frequently visited friends living next door to the Chestertons at Top Meadow. She was known to the Chestertons and was considered immediately when the vacancy loomed—although it took months of negotiations before she finally started working.

In August 1926, Frances wrote Collins a note, indicating that she was interested in Dorothy coming to work for them, but wanted Dorothy to meet Gilbert and “see the working conditions”. She suggested that Dorothy begin working at the beginning of October, when she returned from a planned trip to Italy. Her plate would be full when she began: regular work for G.K.’s Weekly as well as assisting with organizing a trip to Poland.

Another letter follows. On October 12, Frances asked if Dorothy had yet returned. Frances had made inquiries about a room where Dorothy could stay, but there was a complicating factor—Dorothy had a dog. Frances was not sure the place she found would allow dogs. Further, she noted that they would travel to Cambridge and Bath in the beginning of November, and suggested a starting date of November 10. Frances suggested Dorothy come down to Beaconsfield and look for good accommodations for herself—some place that had room for the dog and a garage for her car. On October 19, Frances wrote that a starting date of November 15 would suit her excellently. The Chestertons would be in Bath the 11^th and 12^th. She invited Dorothy to stay at their home for a week or so while she was searching for lodgings. She let Dorothy know their cook had just left and wondered if Dorothy knew of another cook who was available.

On October 25, Frances wrote Dorothy yet again, imparting details as to the specific work outlined for her. She would start at 10:30 in the morning—they rose late in the Chesterton home and no work would be done before then. Gilbert worked until late in the night. She told Dorothy there was plenty of work to do, although it was irregular work. She then wrote that she was about to be received into the Catholic Church, that she was still looking for a cook, that she was finishing her children’s play and must supervise rehearsals, and she looked forward to relying on Dorothy’s support.¹

The household secretaries employed by Gilbert and Frances bear explanation, as there has been confusion in the past about them. It is safe to say that biographies of Gilbert Chesterton have focused, for the main part, on Dorothy Collins exclusively. However, Dorothy was only the last in a long line of personal secretaries Frances hired as delegates for her own self-appointed task of secretary and keeper of Gilbert’s schedule.

The secretaries prior to Dorothy Collins were many. Miss Nellie Allport, the first regular secretary, worked on and off from 1901 to 1910.² Marjorie Biggs—Mrs. Peter Ramsden—was secretary in Battersea.³ Rhoda Bastable, Frances’s cousin, occasionally helped. Mrs. Meredith worked from 1910 to 1913. Mrs. Grace “Daisy” Saxon-Mills typed Napoleon of Notting Hill. Frederica “Freda” Elizabeth Spencer—who became Mrs. Thomas Bayley—worked from 1914 to 1919. Mrs. Walpole, mother of Felicity, “who calls me Mary,” worked from 1917 to 1919—Gilbert, by the way, became Felicity’s legal guardian. From 1922 to 1926 they had Kathleen Chesshire. In 1922 when the secretary was away on a holiday, Frances had her niece Gertrude⁴ (“Woozle”) come over and type for Gilbert. Winfred Pierpoint, along with Grace Saxon-Mills and Mrs. Walpole, were neighbors who served as occasional secretaries.

In essence, Frances was Gilbert’s first, last, and best secretary. She was his sounding board, and so had input and made corrections where other secretaries would not. (She did playfully tell Gilbert that she would “charge” him for mistakes—, so many pennies for this kind of editing help, so many for that.) Besides writing up his words, however, Frances was doing everything else in the world for Gilbert, from tying his shoelaces to choosing his outfit for the day to keeping track of his numerous speaking engagements. In addition, Frances would have cared a great deal about whether or not Gilbert felt loved and cared for, whether or not he was feeling healthy or ill, whether he was feeling stressed or at ease, whether or not the newspapers were accurately quoting him, whether or not people like Robert Blatchford or George Coulton were criticizing him—in other words, all of the things a loving wife cares about in her husband’s interior and exterior state.

All of the practical aspects of life were left to her; Gilbert was not a man who dealt in details, he was an ideas man. Frances not only prepared Gilbert for the public by dressing him, she coordinated his meals; shopped; negotiated with his agent and publishers; kept a kitchen and a flower garden; took care of the children and visitors constantly welcomed under their roof; hired the cooks, gardeners, secretaries, and housekeepers; cared for the pets; kept up the correspondence with everyone; paid bills and taxes. It is no wonder she was still up at midnight, finishing up the last of fifteen—or more—letters: “Since we came back from our holiday I have answered one hundred and seventeen letters for Gilbert,” Frances once said.⁵

Frances kept track of everything, constantly looking through her purse for letters, and sending telegrams to confirm engagements. She was more organized than Gilbert, but not completely organized, either; Frances could be called practical only in comparison to him. She kept confused masses of papers, from which she had to find important documents. Thus, she welcomed Dorothy, who was organized and created a neat filing system.

One reads other biographies that state that once Dorothy Collins was hired, Frances gave her the appointment book and, from then on, if anyone wanted to schedule Gilbert, they had to talk to Dorothy. However, this “handing over” of the appointment book happened at least one secretary back: “I think it would be safe to fix January 17,” Frances wrote to Fr. John O’Connor, on July 19, 1923, “unless we are abroad, which may be possible—Miss Chesshire is away on her holiday, but I cannot find any engagements for next year—though she may have a separate note of them somewhere.”

Chesshire and, following in her footsteps, Dorothy Collins, did represent a new degree of streamlined administration, as Ada Chesterton noted:

The typists did not stay long. One inefficient quickly gave way to another. Occasionally a capable variety would intervene, but that did not help Gilbert very much. Their time was divided between him and the dog, Quoodle the First, who had to be combed, bathed and taken for walks. Household errands had to be fetched, and there was always a stock of woolen garments to be mended. All this held up the ordinary secretarial routine, so that carbon copies of important articles were unmade or mislaid and top copies were lost, and very frequently had to be re-dictated all over again. A new regime was instituted by Miss Collins’ immediate predecessor [Chesshire], an experienced capable young woman who eased the strain.⁶

“Not only did [Dorothy] bring order out of chaos,” wrote Maisie Ward, “but she became first the very dear friend of both Frances and Gilbert and finally all that their own daughter could have been.” Biographers have followed Maisie in this, asserting a sort of unspoken adoption. Of course, the Chestertons adopted every secretary into the family;⁷ but was there something special about Dorothy? Or was she simply the last and the best known of a long line of secretaries?

In her published recollections⁸ Dorothy herself refers to Frances as “a very great friend of mine …” The friendship was reciprocal, though with an added touch of maternal satisfaction for Frances. In a poem dedicated to Dorothy Collins, Frances wrote:

There is an empty space that must be filled;

there is an empty room that needs a guest;

enter my daughter,

here you shall find rest.⁹

They exchanged poetry in this vein, with the recurring motif of a mother and daughter relationship. The twenty-plus-year difference in their ages could easily lend to a maternal attitude on one side, and a filial affection on the other. Nevertheless, although Frances poured out love on her, Dorothy retained autonomy as a worker—a beloved worker, certainly—in their home. Collins was paid to work; she was an employee—and after Gilbert died, she went to work for another man as his secretary. She never lived with the Chestertons. Dorothy was a very independent lady, who worked for her living, and traveled for recreation. And although Frances came to depend on her a great deal, it was not true that Dorothy depended on Frances. Collins believed they had an amiable working relationship.

She was not, as was mentioned above, the first efficient secretary they employed. Dorothy stands out for several other reasons: she owned a car; she was last; she was older; she was single, and stayed single; and she became Gilbert’s literary executrix.

Even Frances’s pronounced fondness of Dorothy must be in context. She was “like a daughter”, but blood relations were always first. (She considered her sister Ethel’s children “hers”—as when she says “my Peter” or “my Catherine.”) Her direct relatives would be considered family much more so than ever a secretary or housemaid would, no matter how fond she was of them.

When Dorothy came on board as secretary, as an independent, single, older woman with her own dog and her own car, the Chestertons did come to depend upon her. Frances handed over the appointment book. Dorothy took dictation from Gilbert, and typed it up efficiently. Dorothy had nine years’ experience and could take shorthand and type quickly.

The car was a significant new asset to their lives because, up until then, the Chestertons had relied on trains, cabs, or hired drivers to get them where they needed to go; and often, especially if Gilbert traveled on his own, this meant he was late or missed appointments. With the car, Dorothy now became, effectively and in addition to being secretary—a chauffeur, and Gilbert became a much more reliable speaker.

A great deal of Dorothy Collins’ perspective has come down to us through Judith Lea, Collins’ assistant for almost forty years, starting in 1952. Judith had some knowledge of the Chesterton’s circle as well; she had met Frances in 1937, and was acquainted with Hilaire Belloc. She came to live at Top Meadow Cottage—Dorothy’s home on the Chesterton property, which was built after Frances died (the property was willed to her).¹⁰

During all our time together, (Judith wrote) I never doubted Dorothy’s total devotion to both Mr. and Mrs. Chesterton…. Chesterton was very dependent on Dorothy and Frances for everything. They put on his tie, did up his shoelaces, that sort of thing…. Dorothy’s one fear was that Mrs. Chesterton would die before Gilbert. She said she didn’t know what she might do after that. She knew after Frances was gone, he would likely have depended totally on her. Dorothy never married, but not for lack of opportunities. Her work was everything.

Her work was everything. There was love, there was affection, there was devotion, but Dorothy claimed Frances was a “great friend,” and considered what she did at the Chesterton home “work.” Further, it was her choice not to marry, according to Judith, but to dedicate her life to her work. She didn’t know what she might do after that. Dorothy was worried that Gilbert’s daily care would be left to her, and she was not sure about taking on that responsibility.

Dorothy died in 1988 at the age of ninety-four. Judith Lea is, to the best of our knowledge, still alive and in her nineties.

Dorothy was, indeed, a new point of contact and a go-between. This is illustrated in two letters from Fr. Ronald Knox:

July 1

Dear Chesterton,

Is there really no chance of getting you down to the Newman next term? Here have I been in Oxford five years, and trying to get you all the time; and then Charles Wegg-Presser reported that he had a really firm promise at last. And now it seems your secretary refuses to let you lecture for the next few months, because you’ve gotten so bored with it in America. Well, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be November, even the first Sunday in December if you like. But it’s too maddening, after five years of being told you wouldn’t come because you were lecturing so much, to be told now that you won’t come because you’re lecturing so little. I shall begin to believe you have a down on me, or Newman, or something.

Yours v. sincerely,

RA Knox.

To Dorothy, Knox wrote:

Dear Miss Collins,

Thank you for your letter. … We should very much like to get Mr. Chesterton even if it were late in the term. … I need hardly say that “reading a paper” is only a manner of speaking; most of our guests simply speak extempore, and we should be delighted to get Mr. Chesterton if he were prepared to come and catch buns in his mouth.

Yours sincerely,

RA Knox¹¹

Father Knox’s suffering notwithstanding, the efficiency and reliability of Dorothy Collins did free Frances for her innumerable other responsibilities.

Late in 1926, Ada published her most important work, In Darkest London, and Frances reviewed the work glowingly in G.K.’s Weekly. Ada was surprised at how sympathetic Frances was to the social cause of homeless women on the streets of London. Further, Frances supported Ada’s “Cecil House” project, which Ada started after the book was published. Cecil Houses were homes where women could stay when they had nowhere else to go. Frances not only supported the work then, but she and Gilbert left money to the homes after they died.

On January 4, 1927, Frances told O’Connor that her mother, Blanche Blogg, had come to live with them and needed much care—she was healthy, but very nearly blind and depended on Frances for everything. Dorothy Collins was an asset at such a time, indeed.

The Chestertons remained busy, with frequent travel. Early that year, Gilbert received an invitation to visit Poland, to give speeches and see the country. Dorothy was a great help to Gilbert and Frances on this trip—her first with the couple. When Frances tired from traveling, Dorothy accompanied Gilbert in the evenings so his wife could rest. The Polish people, Frances observed, knew Gilbert’s work better than any Englishman.

That summer, Frances returned to Bath for another highlight: the production of her play, Faith and Fable: A Masque.¹² The public received it enthusiastically and publicity photos abounded. Frances was asked to give a speech at the Bath Festival of Drama on August 9, 1927.¹³ Frances spoke on the subject of the children’s play, and expressed the opinion that children should act in their own plays, not simply watch movies or listen to radio. Movies and radio, she believed, were for older people who could no longer entertain themselves.

Then came the “Last Family” (so dubbed by Maisie Ward). While visiting Lyme Regis in 1927, Gilbert and Frances found accommodations and were quietly walking down the street when they noticed some girls staring in at a toy shop window. The girls noticed the couple looking at them, and one of them immediately recognized Gilbert. She grabbed her sisters and dashed home to fetch their sister Clare—a devout G.K. Chesterton fan.

Clare immediately set out, telling her mother she was inviting the Chestertons to tea. She saw Gilbert and Frances at the Three Cups, and her courage momentarily failed her. She then wrote a note issuing her invitation. Gilbert and Frances delightedly accepted. This was the beginning of yet another wonderful friendship, one that lasted through the final nine years of Gilbert’s life. After a few years, the Nicholl family actually moved to Beaconsfield, and lived in Christmas Cottage, on the same Grove Road as Top Meadow. Frequent visits, the exchange of poetry, plays, and toy theater productions all followed.

“Chesterton achieved so much,” remarked one biographer, “that it is sometimes forgotten how much more he might have done.¹⁴ In 1928, it was announced that Chesterton was to work on two biographies—of Savonarola and Napoleon. Neither was ever written.

Like her husband, Frances’s work never ceased, but the nature of her labors rarely could be quantified simply in terms of completed books. On February 6, 1928, she commenced her tender care of her cousin Rhoda Bastable, afflicted with influenza. Frances initially had a hard time hiring a nurse and so stayed with the patient day and night.¹⁵ Meanwhile, Gilbert sprained his ankle so Frances now had two patients—in addition to her mother.

Soon after she nursed Rhoda and Gilbert back to health, Frances began having pain in her lower back. The doctor diagnosed disease of the left sacro-iliac joint. She had gained weight, and the doctor suggested another course of pituitary and thyroid medicine.

This year as well, Frances collected together some of her Christmas card poetry, poems that had been or could be put to song, and Sheed & Ward published the collection as How Far Is It To Bethlehem and Other Carols by Frances Chesterton.¹⁶ Frances gave copies of this book away as gifts.

She continued to be the primary support to Gilbert’s personal (and much of his professional) correspondence. She even inherited a share in his lively exchanges with Fr. Knox, including an exchange regarding the possibility of a romance for one of her nieces:

July 29, 1928

Dear Mrs. Chesterton,

You have the habit of the Immortals—not dating your letters—so I don’t know whether this is too late to be of any use. I did rather scent a romance about Gerald and your niece—I don’t know why; perhaps because she seemed a fallinginlovablewith [sic] person.

I don’t really know Gerald awfully well, thought he’s v[ery] kind to me. I think he ought to marry a Catholic, or someone who will keep him up to the mark. He comes to Mass on Sundays, mostly, but I’ve never seen him at Communion … I gathered he had definitely decided to go down. I think it’s a mistake, because obviously he must have enough brains to take a pass degree, and a pass degree is better than nothing. I don’t see him farming in Canada—hasn’t he any relations who can shove him into a business job? He strikes me as the kind of person who could sell water. I hope to goodness she won’t marry him out of pity—a martyrdom, I always think. Anyhow, he ought to earn her, by doing some work. But I believe an extra year at Oxford wouldn’t be wasted. Use my name if you like: it will have influence with him. People ought to leave Downside at 16, to avoid weltsdryerz.¹⁷ (Is that the right word?) I do hope you’ll be able to do something with him: I believe you can.

Yours sincerely,

RA Knox.¹⁸

These sorts of letters pepper the various collections of Chestertonian correspondence, combining to illustrate the breadth and depth and influence of Frances. She truly did serve Gilbert in every way—even, at times, issuing his apologies for him, as in the following letter:

August 26, 1928

Homestead

Dear Mr. Heseltine,

My husband asks me to send a note of apology with the enclosed letter which seems to have been in his pocket for some time!

He had a[n] appalling rush of work and was so knocked out when we got here that we had to send for the doctor who said he must take a complete rest immediately or he would be seriously ill. So we cut the communications cord and only today has he been able to attend to things a little.

He asks you to forgive him.

Yours sincerely,

Frances Chesterton

In September 1928, Gilbert had a swollen gland that needed to be opened, additionally requiring extensive dental work. Their planned trip to Rome was delayed. Frances wrote to O’Connor that Gilbert was slowly having his teeth removed and dentures were to be made. The process took months. Frances nursed Gilbert throughout the ordeal.¹⁹

The Church was a special source of consolation to Gilbert and now to his wife. She wrote to Maisie Ward in late October 1928, noting her anniversary:

It is two years tomorrow ‘All Saint’s Day’ I was received into the Church. A friend of mine, a convert of only a month’s standing writes ‘The Church is so gracious and so roomy.’ Just what I find.²⁰

She added this enthusiastic report, regarding the completion of the first phase of construction of St. Teresa’s in Beaconsfield:

Great rejoicing here because at last we are able to have the little Church open—and the Blessed Sacrament reserved—but we have no resident priest.²¹

The union in faith was indeed a blessing. The removal of that burden from the couple liberated them to focus on all of the things that brought them joy—things that they did exceptionally well—such as bringing together a host of talented people for mutual edification and entertainment.

This is clearly shown in the Christmas of 1928. Frances long had labored at a clever scheme for the Oakdene students—a mixed revue of short skits, songs, dances and poetry readings. She called it A Christmas Garland. Gilbert contributed a poem; Hilaire Belloc contributed a skit (“Mrs. Markham on Christmas”, in which the titular character explains to her children various Christmas traditions); Frances contributed a Christmas carol entitled “The Three Brothers,” and a skit about twelve passengers (named for the months of the year) who arrive in a coach. The character named “December” remains to help create the Christmas Garland.

Each story is woven into the others—beautiful, delightful, and imaginative. Here we can see the Chestertons in a scene worthy of Dickens: a nestling community of enthusiastic life and love, reveling in the glorious Christmas season, with all of its festivity. The collaboration of minds begets this wondrous, happy place where family and friends come together to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child, so well beloved by Frances Chesterton. And it is this place where we see the quiet triumph of Frances, for it is her hospitable love and gracious guidance that makes such a gathering possible. How Far is it to Bethlehem? Verily, Bethlehem is right here.

_______________

¹ Courtesy of John M. Kelly Library Rare Books, Archival & Manuscript Collection’s G.K. Chesterton Microfiche Collection.

² British Library Folder 112; Return to Chesterton, 156.

³ The Collected Works Vol. 10-B, 409.

⁴ Gertrude, called “Woozle” all her life, was the eldest daughter of Ethel and Lucian Oldershaw.

⁵ Braybrooke, 21.

⁶ The Chestertons, 77-78.

⁷ See the collected poems, and how many poems Gilbert wrote to Freda Spencer. Freda called Gilbert “Uncle Humphrey” and Frances was “Aunt Harriet.”

⁸ G.K. Chesterton: A Centenary Appraisal, 160.

⁹ How Far Is It To Bethlehem, 250.

¹⁰ Lea was interviewed in Gilbert Vol. 3, no. 6 (2000).

¹¹ Wade Center folder 185.

¹² Listed as Legends of the Gods and Saints in How Far Is It To Bethlehem.

¹³ “Kinema and Wireless Not For Children: Mrs. G.K. Chesterton’s View,” The Manchester Guardian (1927). Kinema is a British variant of cinema.

¹⁴ Braybrooke, 22.

¹⁵ Rhoda and Gilbert carried on a long-standing joke about Rhoda being the president of the “Society for the Encouragement of Rain,” of which Gilbert was the secretary, and to which Frances Blogg was an eternal enemy. These clubs Chesterton was constantly making up with the help of young friends. With Patrick Braybrooke, he carried on the Mustard Club, in which all members had to put mustard on all food items. Very few members survived. He started a Toy Theater Club, which fizzled out, as the only toy theater in continual use was his own. These are just a few of the many other examples of these clubs which Chesterton encouraged.

¹⁶ There are very few copies of this book to be found in the world. Most of the poems are directly from the Christmas card collection, but one was new and unknown, and is the Christmas card poem for a missing year in the Wade collection: 1924. The poem is entitled “Audiamus”:

In the hush of the night
Did you hear a bird call?
His note rang clear
In the bitter air
From an ox’s stall.

In the burst of the sun
An ecstasy wild
From a shelter of hay
At breaking of day
The cry of a Child.

¹⁷ Perhaps Knox meant “weltschmertz.”

¹⁸ Wade Center folder 185.

¹⁹ Gilbert had all his teeth pulled, and was “toothless until new ones are made.” Frances Chesterton to Ward, “All Saint’s Eve” letter in the Notre Dame Chesterton Collection.

²⁰ Frances Chesterton to Maisie Ward, Oct. 31, 1928, Notre Dame Chesterton Collection.

²¹ Ibid.