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Sir,

Possibly some personal recollection of John Drinkwater’s early days may be of some interest to your readers.

It was in late October, 1903 that I first met him—just a week after we had returned from our honeymoon. My husband, who was Surveyor to an Insurance Company in Birmingham was sent to the Potteries to do a joint survey with the representative of another Company. Their Surveyor was John Drinkwater. For years afterwards they recollected that journey with amusement, as they remembered little of the premises they had gone to see, because they had soon discovered that they were kindred spirits in their love of the Arts and of Literature.  

The future poet was invited to visit us—our first visitor. He came; a tall, dark, aloof and somewhat arrogant young man, then about 22 years of age. That visit was the precursor of many, for there were few evenings afterwards that didn’t find him in our home.  

At that time, of course, he had never published a line of either poetry or prose, but I often heard him say to my husband, “Johnny, what I want is recognition.”  

Long into the night, and often into the early hours of the morning the two talked, discussed, argued and then commenced to collaborate in writing. One of the first plays they wrote, I remembered, was called The Eve of Austerlitz, but it was not destined to be seen by the public. The closing line alone remains in my memory, it was “My sword, Monsieur, I would it were at your service yonder.” “Dee” as we called him always acted each part as it was written with great dramatic effect.  

This was followed by a comedy, The Pursuit of the Polyborus, which suffered the same fate.  

About this time the late Harry Tate was acting in his sketch Motoring and Fishing. This gave the two enthusiasts the idea for a sketch, the leading character being Holmlock Shears. After submitting it they were summoned to an interview with Mr. Tate’s Manager. Through inexperience, when they were asked their price, they placed too high a value on their work, so it was handed back with thanks—a bitter disappointment to both of them.  

Upon the first anniversary of our wedding day Drinkwater gave us a copy of Carlyle’s On Heroes and Hero Worship—I have it now. On the flyleaf this verse is written:

“Gleam in a sky that is oft-times grey
Symbol of higher things to be,
Stir of the dawn of eternal day
Whisper of immortality.”

Two years afterwards when he published a slim little book, The Death of Leander and Other Poems, he dedicated it to H.S.M. and J.E.N. The J.E.N. was my husband.  

A short time after his marriage Drinkwater left Birmingham and although the friendship continued for a time we gradually drifted apart.  

Besides various autographed copies of his books, I still have in my possession a photograph of a very callow youth taken in 1904, an unpublished verse in manuscript and a letter written in 1921, to remind me of some very happy days.

In conclusion I should like to quote one of his very early verses.

“A turn of the wheel and we see a face
We never have seen before.
A turn again and away through the race
Perchance we shall see it no more.
But when heart strikes heart
And the tone beats true
Though the sound but a moment may last,
The echo remains for a whole life through
To remind us of days that are past.”

I am, etc.,                            

IDA F. NEWARK