©Jan Toms

Searching through some parish archives, I noticed a slim volume bearing the name Cranstoun. It contained only a couple of letters and some amusing anecdotes. Local residents had been asked about their memories of ‘Polly Cranstoun’ and it was immediately clear that here was both an eccentric and unusual woman. I had to find out why.

The Hon Pauline Cranstoun was born on January 6 1855 in Brighton, England, her parents being James Edward, 10th Baron Cranstoun and Elizabeth Seale his wife.

At first glance, Pauline would seem to have all the advantages, coming from a rich, aristocratic family. She was the first child and as it turned out, the only one, although illegitimate half siblings may well have existed. Because of her gender, the title 11th Baroness Cranstoun would not be hers. In fact, as her Uncle Frederick the 11th Baron died childless, she was the last of a long Cranstoun line.

It quickly became clear that her parents did not share wedded bliss. When they married in 1843, he was 34 and she was 28. Twelve years elapsed before this solitary daughter came into being and there is little evidence that her parents spent much time together during the intervening years.

James was born on August 12 1809 on the family’s sugar plantation on the island of St Kitts. He inherited the Cranstoun estates when he was only 9 and he was twenty-five before slavery was abolished. During that time, he was away first at Harrow and then at Christ’s College Oxford. It seems that he felt more at home in Scotland, from where his hereditary title had been granted by King James VI. It is unlikely that he visited the Caribbean Islands again.

Over the years, the St Kitts plantation seems to have been frittered away and one gets the impression that the daily grind of responsibility for various estates in Scotland, the Caribbean and England bored him. Decisions were left to others while he was more pleasantly employed elsewhere. Sometimes the lives and even the existence of small peasant communities were put into jeopardy by decisions that did not take them into account. In effect, James does not seem to have been a very good landlord, or, one imagines a good husband. Whether he was a good father may or may not become clear.

Despite a marriage recorded as 1843, by the time the 1851 census was compiled, James was listed as unmarried. Whether this was because he had washed his hands of Elizabeth and considered himself to be free, or whether, arriving at his Landridge estate in Devon with no sign of a wife, he was assumed to be a bachelor, is unclear. On that occasion he was accompanied by a friend, James Marwood Elton who described himself as a Bachelor of Arts and Deputy Lieutenant. The pair were cared for by three male and four female servants. Landridge Park a beautiful Georgian mansion was built in the year of Trafalgar by John Nash. Elizabeth does not get a mention.

It is possible that James met Elizabeth in Devon, as she was born and raised on the estate at Mount Boone, not too far from James’s Landridge acres. Her father was John Harvey MP and she would appear to be very a good catch. Whatever romantic notions Elizabeth may have nursed, she was almost certainly doomed to disappointment.

During the 1850s and until his death in 1869, James seems to have made a career of attending every social function that was going. Concerts, assemblies, levees, entertainments, operas, dinner parties, balls. In the Fashionable Intelligence columns of the newspapers, his name regularly appeared. Of Elizabeth there was little sign. His hosts included Lord and Lady Palmerston, the Duchess of Somerset, the Honourable Mrs Cavendish and many more. In 1855, Queen Victoria hosted a grand ball, sending out 1,900 invitations. James was among the guests.

In 1852 Elizabeth does appear as a guest at a grand party hosted by the Palmerstons, but on this occasion, James does not. She occasionally looked in at fund raising charities.

To return to Pauline, her birth took place in Brighton, where her mother spent various periods of time. She was given the names Pauline Emily, Pauline, perhaps, for her maternal grandmother, Paulina nee Jodrell.

We have to assume that while growing up she had a governess and later, perhaps, spent time at a suitable school. An obituary (Isle of Wight County Press Aug 17 1929) recorded her as an accomplished musician, and a writer of several songs. In her youth she attended a school in Brussels where she became an excellent dancer. It seems that she might have taken up dancing professionally but declined to do so. There is also a mention of Elvaston Place in South Kensington, where Elizabeth was listed as a friend or relative of the pupils. It offered Morning Classes for the daughters of people of position.

In November 1858, Pauline’s paternal grandmother died. One wonders in passing, whether she ever saw her small grandchild.

In 1861, the Census placed Pauline, now aged six, with her father at no 6, Mills Terrace, Hove. The Strangers’ Guide to Brighton… and it vicinity (1844), listed the address as a Ladies’ School. While James was in residence, number 6 had a large household, consisting of a visitor Elizabeth July, deemed to be a fund-holder, plus a staff that included a butler, housemaid, kitchen maid, cook-housekeeper, a page, nursemaid and a nurse. The nurse aged 73, sounds reminiscent of an “old retainer,” possibly once the nanny to James. James himself was recorded as a landed proprietor. Elizabeth was not at this address.

In 1865, James got into trouble with the Totness Election Committee for trying to influence the voters in the ensuing general election. As evidence, a letter was produced in which he had instructed his tenants where they were to put their crosses. He had earlier paid a passing interest in politics but in 1838, his attempt to be voted in as a Representative Peer of Scotland failed abysmally, with only three votes. The absence of “the classical taste and aristocratic bearing” of Cranstoun was however, regretted by the editor of the Spectator (1840).

Between the 1861 and 1871 censuses, very little is known about what Elizabeth and Pauline were up to. It seems that they led a nomadic existence, blighted by the illness that affected so many rich Victorian women – too much time and nothing constructive to do with it. Instead, they travelled to various up and coming, seaside resorts. In 1868, they were staying at Torquay, while their presence at Tunbridge Wells, St Leonard’s on Sea and Folkestone was also recorded in the society newspaper columns.

In 1869, James’s social whirl came to an end, when he passed away at his London home, Duncroft House. His obituary found little of interest, to impart about his life, other than that he left his estate equally between Elizabeth and Pauline. The Morning Post erroneously described him as a bachelor, for which they afterwards apologized.

In 1871, Pauline was sixteen. One wonders what adolescent thoughts filled her mind. For Elizabeth at least, there was a distinct interest in artistic pursuits and she and Pauline had moved to No 3, Grove End Road in St John’s Wood. Arrived from Paris, a visitor, Norah Roberts was staying with them, described as an annuitant.

Around this time the pair became friends with Marie Louise de Rame, an Anglo-French novelist better known as Ouida. Ouida was a flamboyant character, then in her early thirties and described by the diarist William Allingham as having a sinister, clever face and with a voice like a carving knife. Ouida took up residence in the Langham Hotel in London where she presided over soirees, attended by artists, poets, soldiers and politicians. At various times, Oscar Wilde, Algernon Swinburne, Robert Browning, John Everard Millais, Wilkie Collins - and possibly Elizabeth and Pauline were in attendance. Pauline became an admirer of Wilkie Collins to whom she dedicated her first book of poetry.

St John’s Wood was very much a haunt of architects, sculptors, writers and painters. Among their many neighbours, the artist James Tissot had a house nearby, so, did Lawrence Alma-Tadema, likewise, Frederick, Lord Leighton. Down the road from Elizabeth and Pauline, was Charles Landseer, brother of Edwin, whose animal paintings delighted Queen Victoria and whose lions, still stand majestic in Trafalgar Square. No doubt drawing and painting had been practised by mother and daughter in childhood while both would seem to have offered poetry as their contribution to the “St John’s Clique.” Elizabeth was now, of course, a widow of independent means. One wonders how she saw her future.

At some point after her 18th birthday Pauline may well have been presented at court. This had a two-fold purpose: marking her transition from childhood to adulthood and also introducing her to “Society.” The ensuing series of balls and dances would allow aspiring bachelors to inspect the latest crop of young heiresses in the search for a suitable bride.

The presentation itself, lasted only a few seconds during which time, the debutante, decked out in a gown with a long train, topped by a plumed head dress and an even longer veil, must glide effortlessly across the room towards the seated Queen. Here, she must bow very low, kiss the royal hand and back smoothly out of Her Majesty’s presence. It must have been a ceremony fraught with anxiety and the culmination of weeks of anguishing about finding a suitable dress, practising for hours and dreading the pitfalls of stumbling over the lengths of fabric, thus being humiliated in public. Fifty years later, Pauline was still single.

Inevitably, when a young heiress remains unmarried, there are rumours that she has been crossed in love. Was she jilted at the altar? Did her beloved, perhaps, die before the wedding day, leaving her in permanent mourning for a lost soul-mate, or did the state of marriage simply not appeal to her? Her poetry overflows with death and regret, loss and longing - rather too much of it to digest easily. The following lines, from a poem entitled The Scent of Roses, are typical:

Once, once I thought that love professed

must e’er be warm and true,

but that poor weak credulity since then I’ve learnt to rue;

In 1879 Pauline offered her first book of poetry to the world. The Dundee Courier reviewed it thus: She writes much of her early days, love and friendship and there is perhaps too much of a mournful nature…but they convey the sentiments of a generous, loving and susceptible heart. The proceeds from the sale went for the benefit of adopted orphans. Other reviewers shared the Dundee Courier’s sentiments and both The Jewish World and the Bicycling and Athletic Journal added similar observations.

Pauline had paid for its publication herself but things started to go wrong. Of the 300 copies ordered, 40 were packed off to reviewers but 100 copies failed to appear. The following year Pauline sued the publisher Alfred Moxon of Covent Garden for loss of income and for failing to pay her royalties. It was also claimed that the lack of available copies damaged her chance of becoming well known as a poet. The upset left Pauline too ill to attend the court. Moxon pleaded financial difficulties and Pauline was granted £40 damages.

In 1880, something of significance occurred, although it might not have seemed so at the time. Pauline now aged 25, made the acquaintance of Charlotte Elizabeth Gunton. Charlotte was a few months older and born in the vicarage at Enfield, Middlesex. They were both only, unmarried daughters and both had a mutual interest in writing. Whatever drew them together for the next 49 years, Charlotte was the person that Pauline regarded as her best friend.

At the census of 1881, mother and daughter were living at 2, Bince Gardens, Kensington, with a parlour maid, cook, housemaid – and nursemaid. There was a surprise edition in the household, a one year-old baby, Eliza M B Gadle, listed as “adopted” and born at St George’s Hospital, Hyde Park. Perhaps having already written off the idea of marriage, Pauline had decided to become an adoptive mother. Eliza, perhaps, was one of the orphans to whom she had bequeathed her poetic profits?

In 1885, Pauline was swept along by a cause celebre that had London talking. Mrs Georgina Weldon, singer, music teacher and performer had been sentenced to 6 months hard labour on a charge of criminal libel. An unhappy marriage had seen her seeking solace elsewhere and her path crossed with composer Charles Gounod who encouraged her to further her dreams of being a singer. Their romance cooled however, Charles returned to his wife and Georgina sued him for libel. It was she who ultimately emerged as the guilty party, but the perceived harshness of the sentence saw many indignant ladies in high dudgeon and Pauline was in the vanguard. She campaigned to get the prisoner classified as a 1st class misdemeanant rather than a common criminal as this would guarantee her better treatment. To this end Pauline secured the agreement of the Common Sergeant and then contacted the Home Secretary.

In August of that year, a petition of ladies demanded Georgina’s immediate release and three to four thousand protesters joined the campaign. Georgina was finally released on September 28, quietly leaving prison while the demonstration took place in Hyde Park. According to the press, “the heroine of the hour,” was collected in a laundau drawn by four bay horses, accompanied by her friend Madame Menier and the Honourable Pauline Cranstoun. Georgina’s troubles were not over. Her husband then attempted to kidnap her, declaring her insane. She evaded the plotters and in turn instigated up to 100 lawsuits against all those who had tried to imprison her. She died in 1914.

Pauline’s second book of poetry appeared in 1885, published this time by Bickers and Son, of London. Like the first, it didn’t set the literary world aflame.

By now, Pauline had a new, unconventional pastime. She advertised that she could diagnose obscure diseases by casting horoscopes. Who she cured and how she went about it is unclear but in 1889 she was in correspondence with Mr James Maybrick. Maybrick was a pretty seedy character, known for his regular use of arsenic as a pick-me-up and also to excite the passions. James’s brother Michael had a house on the Isle of Wight at Ryde. He was celebrated in musical circles as a songwriter using the name Stephen Adams, his most applauded composition being The Holy City. Perhaps through some tenuous link, Pauline got to hear about James, whom his brother described as a bully and a brute. According to Pauline, Maybrick described to her a strange collection of ailments and he told her of his arsenic use. Over ten years he took huge doses in food as it aided his digestion and calmed his nerves. Her advice to him was to give it up. Maybrick’s marriage was anything but happy and on May 11 1899 he died. His wife Florence was accused of his murder, having recently bought flypapers treated with arsenic, although enough of the poison to kill 50 people was found in the house. Poor Florence was found guilty and served 14 years in jaill at hard labour.

Pauline gave an interview to the New York Herald and was quoted as saying: I wrote to him that he should stop using arsenic or it would certainly result in his fatal illness. He did not reply. To date, James Maybrick is still the favoured contender for having been Jack the Ripper.

In about April 1891, Elizabeth and Pauline made another move, this time to the Isle of Wight where they rented a fine property from the White Popham Estate. Known as Culver Lodge, it stood overlooking the sea along the cliffs at Shanklin’s Eastern Parade. They may have visited the Island before but this time, they came intending to stay. The widowed Elizabeth was now 64 and seems not yet to have found whatever she was searching for.

Pauline was 36 years but for some reason, she was listed in the 1901 census as being 32. Another widow, Charlotte Dillon, dressmaker, was living with them as was Mary Amey the cook, and Walter Coleman the coachman, aged 26 years. Since the last census, the baby, Eliza Gadle had mysteriously disappeared but in her place was another adopted child, May Livingstone, aged 7. What became of Eliza is not known.

So how did Elizabeth and Pauline settle into Island life? Did they join societies, take up good works? 1892 saw a general election and Elizabeth lent her support to the Conservative candidate Sir Richard Webster by providing her carriage to transport voters to the Shanklin polling station. Other than that, most of the information discovered comes from press reports - of several appearances in the Magistrate’s Court.

Elizabeth clearly kept up a standard of living as befitted her station. She possessed not one, but two carriages and it came to the notice of the Board of Excise, that she was only paying the annual licence of 1 guinea instead of the 2 guineas that would cover her two vehicles. After an official visit to her coach house, she received a notice reminding her of her omission that she ignored so in October 1892 she found herself charged at the magistrate’s court. Pauline acted as her spokesperson saying that all her mother’s papers were referred to her solicitor in London so that the delay arose from their failure to act. Elizabeth was however charged 1 guinea for the missing licence plus 18 shillings costs.

Two years later, Elizabeth was again in trouble for the same reason. The Portsmouth Evening News perhaps in an attempt to attract readers carried a rather salacious headline: Her Ladyship’s Men-Servants. Mr Griffiths the Inland Revenue officer gave evidence that on May 4 1894, he saw her ladyship’s carriage being driven into Culver Lodge with a liveried coachman. At the same time he espied the gardener working on the lawn who told him that he had been employed there for years. Declaration forms sent to her Ladyship were again ignored.

Mr Mould for the Defence said that her Ladyship was old and left these matters to her daughter, adding that: “it was simply an omission,” and “only a small matter. Out of consideration for her position, the Board did not like to proceed with the matter. ” This reluctance to bring Elizabeth to court was challenged. On the previous occasion a compromise had been reached and a fine paid, but on this occasion they declined to compromise and Elizabeth was fined £3 and 15 shillings costs. Failure to comply would result in two weeks in jail, Elizabeth paid up.

In the same year, Pauline found herself the potential victim of a fraud. Somewhere, she had made the acquaintance of Mrs Gordon Bailey, at that time calling herself Annie Frost. By 1894, Annie was 46 years old and had a stream of convictions for fraud, mostly against shopkeepers who found themselves robbed of huge sums. Succinctly described as exquisitely proportioned, with a beautifully formed neck, she was fascinating, with wicked winning ways.

Presenting herself as an American authoress, in 1892 Annie made the acquaintance of Pauline who had her own dreams of literary success. Annie soon became a frequent visitor to Culver Lodge and started to use the address as her own, proceeded to order paintings books and jewellery. In 1894 she was arrested and charged with theft. Elizabeth was enraged when she learned what had taken place, saying that the visits had been much against her wishes.

In evidence she declared that “my daughter and Mrs Frost are both inclined to spiritualistic ideas and I cannot understand my daughter.” Before Mrs Frost could be carried off to Holloway, Pauline was allowed a last interview with her. Was this, perhaps, a case of trust betrayed?

By now it seems that Pauline and Elizabeth were getting on each other’s nerves. In 1896, Elizabeth advertised for a Useful Companion, the successful candidate to be good at needlework and music, to be domesticated and have good references.

As the very last day of the 19th century faded, Elizabeth died at the age of 84, or as the Isle of Wight Observer rather more poetically observed, she had been: removed from the sphere of her earthly pilgrimage. She had succumbed to pneumonia and the national press carried only perfunctory obituaries. For Pauline, this must have been a huge milestone. For the past 45 years she had been destined to follow Elizabeth around the country. Now, for the first time, she was beholden to no one. Some indication of the distance between them shows in the memorial that Pauline erected over her mother’s grave in Shanklin Cemetery. The short inscription reads:

Elizabeth, Baroness Cranstoun

Widow of

James Edmund 10rh Baron Cranstoun

Who Passed Away on the 31st Dec 1899

Aged 84

- No mournful words of love from a grieving daughter.

In her will, Elizabeth left her nearly everything. There was, however one unusual bequest. “The testatrix bequeathed in Trust for May Livingstone two-fifths of the reversionary interest in a sum of £15,000 under the will of her late husband. As James had died thirteen years before May was born, it is difficult to be certain of the connection, but it is possible he left the sum in hopeful expectation of having a grandchild. May, who was adopted was now sixteen, She perhaps had to wait until her 21st birthday before claiming her inheritance.

Already, Pauline had plans of her own. She paid the rent on Culver Lodge until the end of the quarter, sold both of Elizabeth’s carriages and gave the money for the education of orphan children. Then she purchased a house of her own.

Hurst Hill House was 21 miles away at Totland Bay on the western coast of the Isle of Wight. Approached by a carriage drive, it had three reception rooms, 11 bedrooms and offices, plus stabling for four horses, a coach-house, cow-stable, poultry-house and an enclosed yard. The grounds also had a large tennis lawn, excellent kitchen garden, conservatory, vinery plus an enclosure of meadowland, in whole covering six acres.

Totland itself had been a separate parish for only six years. It encompassed the Island’s coastal area from Alum Bay to Colwell Bay and its new marine villas were handsomely embellished with red tiles from Henry Dowty’s pottery. Two or three impressive hotels welcomed those who had not yet aspired to buying their own summer residences, while piers at both Totland and Alum Bay, welcomed day-trippers. The locals were not slow to see the opportunities. A plethora of shops sprang up, providing essential goods and fashion items while there was plenty of building and domestic work to be had. The population was under 1.000.

In 1901 Pauline appeared in the census as the head of the house. May was living with her as was 21 year old Rose Shears, a Shanklin girl employed as a servant and Pauline now persuaded her longstanding friend Charlotte Gunton to join her. Charlotte rented two rooms in Hurst Hill House, describing herself as a boarder. She listed her occupation as “writing articles.”

Until then Pauline had lived a peripatetic existence although it was now ten years since she and Elizabeth had upped sticks and arrived at Shanklin. Once more a stranger, making new friends wasn’t the first thing on her mind for she would be far too busy preparing the way for her long held dream – to open a Home of Rest for Horses.

Apart from her interest in the welfare of orphans, Pauline nursed a strong compassion for the well being of animals. In 1895 her old acquaintance, the novelist Ouida had caught her attention with a letter in the Animals Friend magazine. She reported the atrocious treatment of an injured horse on the Isle of Wight, made worse because bystanders watched as a man poked and stabbed the poor creature instead of shooting it. Ouida quoted the following: May the measure you mete out be meted to you. The perpetrator received 28 days hard labour.

One didn’t have to look far to find other examples of animal neglect and cruelty nearby. In the November 3 edition of the Isle of Wight County Press 1900, three cases of animal abuse were reported in Totland and adjacent villages alone. At Stoats Farm, Henry Holden and Thomas Bull were charged with owning and working a horse with an inflamed leg and an ill-fitting shoe. Holden had been accused of ill treating horses before and was fined £1 with 16 shillings costs or 14 days in gaol. Bull was fined half a crown with the same costs or 7 days in jail. In nearby Yarmouth, a donkey had been pitifully neglected while a charge was brought against a Freshwater man for abusing a collie dog. Pauline had a new raison d’etre – to rescue as many old and ill-treated animals as she could.

The tennis courts were turned over to grazing, as was all other available land. Some of the rooms in the house were transformed into shelters for cats and dogs. A trickle of old, neglected and abandoned horses, donkeys, and other animals began to move in. Before long there were about a dozen horses and eight or nine donkeys grazing in the paddocks. The cat and dog populations multiplied.

Miss Una Abeille was appointed as Honourablr Secretary for the new venture and she wrote to inform the County Press about the number of donations they had received. Mostly they were for sums of £1, although Mrs Liddle gave a generous £3. They were now up and running.

In 1903, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle mentioned having received a letter from a lady living with the Honourable Pauline Cranstoun. This may well have been Charlotte. The great novelist’s interest in things spiritual could have prompted the correspondence.

Not everybody was pleased with the new non-human residents of Totland and Pauline now found herself visiting the magistrates’ court on her own behalf. It was mandatory that every dog over six months old should have a licence, for which a sum of 7 shillings and 6d was charged. Upon investigation, in 1906 it emerged that eight of the dogs in Pauline’s care were not licensed. In her defence, she explained that some of them had been puppies at the time she had paid the existing fees and it was an oversight, but she had to pay a further five pounds. (The price remained the same until 1987, when it was abolished).

Her larger animals also caused her grief. In March 1907, the Portsmouth Evening News carried an item entitled “Open-Mouthed Donkey.” Pauline was summoned for allowing two horses and three donkeys to stray onto the highway. P.C Toomer said that one of the donkeys came at him open-mouthed and he had a difficulty in driving it away. It had driven little children across a field in the same way. Pauline explained that having been made a pet, her little Jack donkey had always been accustomed to receive pieces of bread and sugar. Whenever he saw a stranger, he ran towards them with his mouth open in expectation of a treat, but he did not mean it in a vicious way. She also claimed that the owner of the neighbouring property had not kept the fence in repair. Further, the animals had been let out through a door “which was maliciously left open by someone out of spite.”

It wasn’t perhaps malice so much as high spirits that saw her tormented by the local children. Thanks to the foresight of somebody in the village the early memories of Pauline had been rwere written down. With permission from Totland Parish Council I record some of the extracts.

- As boys from school we used to let her donkeys out of the field and then go and tell her they’d escaped and she’d give us a penny each to bring ‘em back.’

- She used to complain to our head teacher at the school that we were always trespassing in her garden, annoying her animals and calling out after her.

- I remember her walking down into the village to buy bread for her geese and parrots.

Her nearest neighbours lived in a substantial house, Kendal Mount. The occupants were Henry and Edith Moorsom, Henry being in his 70's and listed as an honorary Lieutenant Colonel (retired) and Pensioned Chief Constable of Lancashire. From their windows they would have had a view of Hurst Hill House and its paddocks. Theirs may perhaps have been the fence that was neglected for twenty-five barking dogs and a herd of elderly donkeys and horses were probably not a part of their chosen vista. A small, gardener’s cottage stood nearby occupied by a young couple and their infants, while standing right across the road was the new Roman Catholic School of St Saviour. It is difficult to imagine that Miss Teresa O’Meara or Miss Mary Twomey, the head teacher and assistant would deliberately release the animals. It is also just possible that one of the four legged residents at Hurst Hill House was the horse with the inflamed leg that came from the same Stoats Farm that was just a stone’s throw away.

The Bench fined Pauline ten shillings with four shillings cost. She replied “Thank you very much for making the fine so light.”

Local difficulties aside, in 1911 Pauline paid out approximately £600 for the erection of 12 new horse-boxes at the Home of Rest for Horses at Westcroft Farm, Cricklewood. This charity was within three miles of Marble Arch and set up to provide rest and skilled treatment for the animals of the working poor. Every year a celebratory dinner was given for the horses, largely consisting of carrots. The oldest resident, in this case a chestnut horse called Max, rang a bell to announce the start of the feast. On this occasion, Lady Edward Spencer Churchill opened the proceedings.

By now Pauline employed only one live in servant, a cook general called Elizabeth Taylor aged 25, born in Freshwater.

In July 1913, she received a pleasing donation from Queen Alexandra, a great animal lover, who sent her £100 towards her work. Years of feeding and providing veterinary care for her animals were beginning to take its toll on her purse. In 1914 she sent out an appeal to the readers of the Portsmouth Evening News. It read thus: May I appeal to any friends of animals to assist me in keeping going my little home for horses, which I have been maintaining for the past few years. I have practically come to the end of my resources, but perhaps some of your readers… may be inclined to help me out. If not, it will have to be closed down. She reminded the readers that “considering what the horses are doing for us in the war and how much they are suffering, we cannot do too much for their kind.”

As the war commenced, the Rest Home for Horses at Cricklewood was supplying horse ambulances for the equine war wounded.

Unhappily, Pauline’s appearances at the magistrate’s court continued and in November 1915, she was again charged with not having sufficient dog licences. She explained that having bought thirteen, she could not afford the outstanding two. In total, in the years before her death she made ten appearances before the Bench.

Despite her full time work with her animals, Pauline continued to be “inclined to spiritualistic ideas,” and in June 1916, something written in the Pall Mall Gazette prompted her to reply. Under the heading “A Telegram and a Dog,” she wrote to say how one morning she was awoken by a loud masculine voice saying to her Telegram tomorrow, telegram tomorrow. Not being used to receiving telegrams, on the following morning one indeed arrived to say that her adopted daughter had been taken ill and was in hospital. The following day a second one arrived with the news that the girl had died. This was clearly May Livingstone. By 1904, May would have come into her inheritance and sometime soon after, she left home. At the time of her death, her whereabouts is unknown. How Pauline felt about the news, one can only guess.

In her letter to the Gazette Pauline wrote of another occasion in 1906, when her pet dog was dying. He started to speak in a human voice saying. “Write Ouida, write Ouida. Pay them back, pay them back, I am helpless, I am helpless.” (Seemingly, he said everything twice). Pauline and Ouida had not been in touch for years and Pauline had not been aware of her “trouble and poverty” but clearly this was the case. In 1906 Ouida was indeed in trouble, with debts and failing health. She was homesick for England but held prisoner in Italy because she would not leave her beloved dogs behind. By the end of that year she partially lost her sight. She died two years later. Pauline closed her letter with the words: These examples proved that there are forces outside what we understand of a very strong and wonderful nature, both of good and evil.

In 1926 the Home had a boost when Mrs Sarah Grove Grady, a very wealthy widow died, leaving her huge fortune to animal charities. £50,000 went to the PDSA alone and Pauline received a £400 bequest that must have come in very handy but time was taking its toll on both Pauline and Caroline her stalwart friend and soul-mate.

As some of the non-human residents died, they were not replaced because the physical energy of looking after them became too much for the two elderly women. A local couple was employed to help them, Mr and Mrs Whitewood and among Mr Whitewood’s duties was that of burying the donkeys as they died.

Towards the summer of 1929, Caroline was so crippled with arthritis that the heart breaking decision was taken that she should go into a home. She chose to return to London and while a suitable “home for incurables” was found, she waited in hospital in Newport. Pauline struggled on until in August she became so ill that she was ordered into hospital. It must have been terrible moment. The nurses who arrived found their way into her bedroom barred by her constant companion, an elderly black dog. In order to reach her, he had to be removed from her room when he was then “mercifully” destroyed. If Pauline was aware that this was happening it must have been a distressing experience. She was transported in an ambulance supplied by the Voluntary Aid Detachment to Ryde County Hospital. Here, a week later she died.

Not surprisingly, for the protection of her animals she had put her affairs in order. She left property to the gross value of £7,343 and like Mrs Grove Grady, it all went to animal charities. The National Canine Defence League and the National Equine Defence League each received £20 while £200 went to the PDSA. The properties or the proceeds from the sale of Hurst Hill House and Hill Lodge at Norton Green, Freshwater went to the Horses’ Home at Westcroft Farm at Cricklewood. Her cabinet of stones and shells and all the pictures at Hurst Hill House were to be retained as “mascots,” at the same farm. She desired that her horses, donkeys and cattle should remain at Hurst Hill House as long as they lived, that her cats and dogs should be put to sleep – and not shot. None of her animals “shall ever be sold or given away on any condition whatsoever.”

In its obituary of August 17 1929, the Isle of Wight County Press recorded details of her aristocratic heritage and also some impressions. “The Hon Pauline Cranstoun carried her love of animals to the point of eccentricity and self-sacrifice.” Pauline “could be seen at all hours and in all weathers going about feeding and otherwise attending to her large family of dumb friends. Everything appeared to be sacrificed to the animals. Her dress was both peculiar and old and even the house was rapidly falling into ruin through lack of repairs. Visitors were few and far between. She seemed content to lead her lonely life in the company of her pets.”

The paper also described her last departure from Hurst Hill House. “Several of the donkeys and old horses followed [the ambulance] to the gate as if paying a last tribute to their beloved mistress.”

Pauline was buried at Christ Church Totland on Thursday August 23 1929. The church was far from full, but a few friends and neighbours did attend, Mrs N Chetwood Ram, Mrs Waring, Mrs Cullunan, Mrs Gloyne, Mrs Jones and Mr and Mrs Whitewood. Mr Hardman, her executor from Milford on Sea was also present. The service was conducted by the Rev M H Walthen. She merited 12 wreaths, mostly from those who were attending, but another, poignant one came from Charlotte, inscribed “With tender love to my dear friend. Until we meet again beyond the river.”

Those later memories, so thoughtfully captured present another view, mostly seen through the eyes of schoolboys, locally born and seeing Pauline as somebody strange and different.

A li’l ol’ bent over woman with a stick, not very big, grey-haired and always dressed in dirty ol’ clothes with a coat on, summer’n winter.

She ‘ad a dirty ol’ ‘ouskeepr who ’ad an elephant leg and was always drunk [and] shooed us kids away from the gat

Tubby, litt’l ’ ol’ humped woman, always dressed in old black clothes. Lived alone with her housekeeper and animals.

Queer litt’l body she were, look. Mucky litt’l ‘ol gel she was too, look. [Look often ended local conversations in the same way that ‘see?’ is used, to make sure the listener understands]. ‘Ands all crusty,’n black. [ Having obtained some books from her, the same person continued]…Them books was all ‘about rilijun ‘n dyin’ – dirty they wuz, too,’n all furjjy (mildewed). No carpits in th’ ‘ouse, jes floorboards. Never know’d where she slept – with her dogs I ‘specs. Ponies she ‘ad and lit’l ol’ brown donkeys. Chivvy Whitewood use to live there’n feed the ‘orses. She was always terr’bl thurtover ‘n titchy (irritable and easily angered). ‘Er o;’ ‘ousekeeper Nellie was always drunk…”

Was Nellie, always drunk and with the ”elephant leg,” really Charlotte Gunton? With her arthritis she may well have walked badly and tended to stumble as she walked, who knows?

Biography is an inexact science. It intrudes into another person’s life. Its accuracy depends on how much information you find and for that which you don’t, the questions who, what, where, and perhaps most importantly, why, need to be asked. Whether you come up with the right answer of course, may never be known.

For memory, cruel Memory!

Calls up many a vanished scene,

And with mocking jeers doth taunt them

With what is and what might have been.

Cranstoun Clan History