{#npm16: other than alice}

Gertrude Chataway (1866–1951) was another of Lewis Carroll’s child friends. There really is nothing quite like having a the friendship of someone small — so this is a Carroll poem for everyone who has graciously accepted a gummy, half-chewed Oreo which was indeed offered with gravest kindness and sincerity by someone who doesn’t yet quite speak full words, but manages to convey they rather likes you in spite of this.

An Acrostic on Gertrude Chataway

by Mr. Lewis Carroll
Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task
Eager she wields her spade – yet loves as well
Rest on a friendly knee, the talk to ask
That he delights to tell

Rude spirits of the seething outer strife
Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright
Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,
Empty of all delight!

Chat on, sweet maid and rescue from annoy
Harts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled!
Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,
The heart-love of a child!

Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!
Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days;
Albeit bright memories of that sunlight shore
Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!

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Gertrude at 9, in 1876, the year she met Mr. Carroll on a beach holiday. Mr. Carroll is the photographer.

Christ Church, Oxford, October 28, 1876

My Dearest Gertrude,

—You will be sorry, and surprised, and puzzled, to hear what a queer illness I have had ever since you went. I sent for the doctor, and said, “Give me some medicine. for I’m tired.” He said, “Nonsense and stuff! You don’t want medicine: go to bed!” I said, “No; it isn’t the sort of tiredness that wants bed. I’m tired in the face.”

He looked a little grave, and said, “Oh, it’s your nose that’s tired: a person often talks too much when he thinks he knows a great deal.” I said, “No, it isn’t the nose. Perhaps it’s the hair.”

Then he looked rather grave, and said, “Now I understand: you’ve been playing too many hairs on the pianoforte.” “No, indeed I haven’t!” I said, “and it isn’t exactly the hair: it’s more about the nose and chin.”

Then he looked a good deal graver, and said, “Have you been walking much on your chin lately?” I said, “No.” “Well!” he said, “it puzzles me very much. Do you think it’s in the lips?” “Of course!” I said. “That’s exactly what it is!”

Then he looked very grave indeed, and said, “I think you must have been giving too many kisses.” “Well,” I said, “I did give one kiss to a baby child, a little friend of mine.” “Think again,” he said; “are you sure it was only one?” I thought again, and said, “Perhaps it was eleven times.” Then the doctor said, “You must not give her any more till your lips are quite rested again.” “But what am I to do?” I said, “because you see, I owe her a hundred and eighty-two more.”

Then he looked so grave that tears ran down his cheeks, and he said, “You may send them to her in a box.” Then I remembered a little box that I once bought at Dover, and thought I would some day give it to some little girl or other. So I have packed them all in it very carefully. Tell me if they come safe or if any are lost on the way.

Lewis Carroll

As I continue to read through Carroll’s correspondence and papers, seeking more of his acrostics, I find he had many little friends, including Gertrude, who was apparently quite a little chatterer, though not so young as I would have thought, though this was Victorian times. Mr. Carroll’s note to her is full of the nonsense adults in the 19th century (and some today) use to speak to children, but his friendship with Gertrude and several other of his little friends, male and female, lasted until his death when Gertrude was in her late twenties.

4 Replies to “{#npm16: other than alice}”

  1. You’re digging up some interesting stuff. The letter is funny and fascinating and a little creepy. One can’t help but wonder. I think it would give me pause if a grown man wrote about sending me a box of kisses. I did like the rest of the banter about doctor and diagnosis, though.

    I like how you’ve channeled the voice and sentiment of the period in your poem. Third stanza is my fave, with the “heart-love.” Don’t you wonder why the children in so many vintage photos look so serious? I guess the adults look serious too, come to think of it.

    1. Yes, admittedly the letter distressed me; Carroll described Gertrude as a baby when she was nearly… ten. Um. Not so much. Yet again, this was Victorian times and the 19th century, and so how people saw and related to children – privileged children, anyway – and what shaped their childhoods is so totally different from what we see, know, and experience in this the twenty-first century that we can maybe not make blanket statements about what we didn’t personally experience… still, though. I winced. If my daughter had gotten this note, it would have raised my personal flags, and I would have to think, with my spouse, what to do next, how to react, how to speak to our daughter about this person, how to speak to him about our daughter…

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