1933: The chemist Robert Chesebrough, who lived to the age of 96, attributed his longevity to a daily habit of eating a spoonful of his most famous invention – Vaseline.
1932: Filippo Marinetti provoked uproar in Italy by proposing, in The Futurist Cookbook, the abolition of pasta, which he condemned for inducing “lassitude, pessimism, nostalgic inactivity and neutralism” (“fiacchezza, pessimismo, inattività nostalgica e neutralismo”).
Source: F.T. Marinetti, The Futurist Cookbook (1989), p. 37
1931: There was much aristocratic tittle-tattle about William “Boom” Lygon, the 7th Earl Beauchamp: his weakness for handsome young menservants; the affection he displayed towards his butler; the parties he organised at Walmer Castle for local lads and fishermen.
When Beauchamp’s brother-in-law heard the rumours, he was determined to ruin the earl. Hugh “Bendor” Grosvenor, the 2nd Duke of Westminster, was a vindictive and homophobic individual. He was instrumental in the separation of Beauchamp from his wife, the instigation of divorce proceedings and Beauchamp’s hasty departure for the Continent.
After the earl’s fall from grace, Bendor sent him a nasty little letter:
You got what you deserved.
Source: Jane Mulvagh, Madresfield: One Home, One Family, One Thousand Years (2008), pp. 277–307
1930: Another extract from Bruce Lockhart’s diary. Lord Beaverbrook told him a tale of Lloyd George coming back late at night from Criccieth. “L.G.’s car broke down outside Horton Asylum. Knocked up porter. ‘Who are you?’ ‘Oh, I’m the Prime Minister.’ ‘Come inside. We’ve seven here already.’ ”
Source: Sir Robert Bruce Lockhart, The Diaries of Sir Robert Bruce Lockhart, I: 1915–1938, ed. Kenneth Young (1973), p. 133
1929: A story from the diplomat Bruce Lockhart’s diary, recounted by the Countess of Rosslyn:
“Lady Theo Acheson had wonderful hair of which she was very proud. In her passport form under the sub-heading ‘any peculiarities’ she put in ‘hair below the knees’. In the passport this was abbreviated by the passport officer to ‘hairy legs’!”
Source: Sir Robert Bruce Lockhart, The Diaries of Sir Robert Bruce Lockhart, I: 1915–1938, ed. Kenneth Young (1973), p. 91
1928: The writer Thomas Hardy died on 11 January. His heart was removed from his corpse, which was then cremated and the ashes interred at Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey. The heart was buried in the grave of Hardy’s first wife, Emma, in the Dorset village of Stinsford.
Or was it? Rumour had it that the doctor’s cat made off with the heart while it was unattended, though this sounds suspiciously like a tale invented over a few pints of cider in a Dorset pub.
Source: Claire Tomalin, Thomas Hardy: The Time-Torn Man (2006), pp. 371–2
1927: Brian Howard, a leading light among the Bright Young People, was appalled but fascinated to see a man snorting cocaine in a Berlin café. Howard had never seen a drug addict before, and thought at first that the man was performing “deep breathing exercises”.
Source: Brian Howard, Brian Howard: Portrait of a Failure, ed. Marie-Jaqueline Lancaster (1968), pp. 237–8
1926: Berthold Laufer’s monographs appealed to a minority readership: Ostrich Egg-Shell Cups of Mesopotamia and the Ostrich in Ancient and Modern Times, published in 1926, was followed the next year by Insect-Musicians and Cricket Champions of China.
1925: One night in July, feeling that he had reached “the end of the tether”, schoolteacher and struggling writer Evelyn Waugh made a half-hearted attempt to kill himself. He went to a deserted beach, undressed and swam slowly out to sea, but turned back when he was stung by jellyfish.
Source: Evelyn Waugh, A Little Learning: The First Volume of an Autobiography (1964), pp. 229–30
1924: In July, Pablo Picasso and his family rented a villa at Juan-les-Pins, on the Riviera. Picasso turned the villa’s empty garage into a studio and decorated its bare walls with murals. The owner was not appreciative, and Picasso had to fork out 800 francs to restore the walls to their original state.
Source: John Richardson, A Life of Picasso: The Triumphant Years 1917–1932 (2007), p. 265
“I suffered more than upon any other [occasion] in my life – apart from an occasional incident or two connected with ‘painless dentistry.’ ”MUSIC CRITIC PERCY SCHOLES'S VERDICT ON BÉLA BARTÓK PERFORMING HIS OWN PIANO COMPOSITIONS
1922: James Joyce’s long-time companion and future wife, Nora Barnacle, read only 27 pages of Ulysses, and that, as Joyce dryly observed, included the cover.
Source: James Joyce, Letters of James Joyce, ed. Stuart Gilbert (1957), p. 193
1921: Staying at a hotel above the Swiss town of Montreux, Katherine Mansfield kept on her bed at night “a copy of Shakespeare, a copy of Chaucer, an automatic pistol & a black muslin fan”.
Source: Katherine Mansfield, The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield, IV: 1920–1921, ed. Vincent O’Sullivan and Margaret Scott (1996), pp. 244–5
1920: “Little doing,” 16-year-old Evelyn Waugh complained in his diary on 14 August. “In the afternoon I went to the baths but found the water dirty and full of the most dreadful greasy-haired cads.”
Source: Evelyn Waugh, The Diaries of Evelyn Waugh, ed. Michael Davie (1976), p. 96
1919: For the children of Stromness, in the Orkneys, conditions on 21 June were ideal for their school outing – a warm, windless day, a clear sky, a gentle swell on the sea. Once the children had embarked on the Flying Kestrel, the Admiralty tender cast off and steamed out into Scapa Flow, past the long lines of German warships interned there since the armistice.
“We came face to face with the German Fleet, some of them huge battleships that made our own vessel look ridiculous,” recalled James Taylor, one of the schoolchildren. He was 15 years old; 20 years later he wrote a vivid account of what happened next.
1918: As the First World War drew to a close, the German kaiser, Wilhelm II, abdicated and fled the country. On 11 November he arrived at Amerongen, in the Netherlands. For someone who had just lost a world war and an empire, and faced a long exile, he was in buoyant mood. He rubbed his hands together and said, “Now give me a cup of real, good English tea.”
Source: Norah Bentinck, The Ex-Kaiser in Exile (1921), p. 23
1917: George V’s decision to change the royal family’s name from the distinctly un-British Saxe-Coburg Gotha to Windsor raised a chuckle in Germany, where Kaiser Wilhelm II announced he was going to the theatre to watch The Merry Wives of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha.
Source: Elizabeth Longford, The Royal House of Windsor (1984), pp. 20–3
1916: Threatened by a severe water shortage, San Diego resorted to a rainmaker to fill its reservoirs. Charles Hatfield promised that for $10,000 he would fill the city’s Morena dam; if no rain fell, he wouldn’t get a cent.
Hatfield began work on New Year’s Day. Four days later, it began to rain – gently at first, and then heavier, and then in torrents. Too little rain became too much. Rivers broke their banks, bridges collapsed, roads and railway lines were cut, houses floated away.
When Hatfield demanded his $10,000, the city council refused to pay up and blamed him for the widespread damage. Hatfield filed a suit against the city, but never got his money.
1915: The marriage of Nicholas II and Alexandra was affectionate, though “Sunny” clearly dominated weak-willed “Nicky”. To stiffen the tsar’s resolve before meeting ministers, she nagged him to part his hair with Grigori Rasputin’s comb.
Source: Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra, The Complete Wartime Correspondence of Tsar Nicholas II and the Empress Alexandra: April 1914–March 1917, ed. Joseph T. Fuhrmann (1999), pp. 237, 239
1914: Lieutenant Erwin Rommel, in action for the first time, noticed the August sun glinting on the metal cooking pots on top of the tall packs of the French infantry as they tramped through fields of not-yet-harvested grain to where he waited in ambush.
Source: Erwin Rommel, Infantry Attacks (2006), p. 11
1913: Gamekeepers on shooting estates in England and Scotland destroyed all birds and animals that in any way posed a threat to pheasants and their chicks.
In Adventures Among Birds, W.H. Hudson recalled a head keeper who slaughtered woodpeckers, blackbirds and thrushes because “he was not going to have the place swarming with birds that were no good for anything, and were always eating the pheasants’ food”; another keeper “shot all the nightingales because their singing kept the pheasants awake at night”.
Source: W.H. Hudson, Adventures Among Birds (1913), pp. 88, 89
1912: George Lyttelton was dining with the headmaster of Eton when the provost’s wife came in with news that the Titanic had sunk. “Quivering slightly with age and dottiness”, she announced: “I am sorry to hear there has been a bad boating accident.”
Source: George Lyttelton and Rupert Hart-Davis, The Lyttelton Hart-Davis Letters: Correspondence of George Lyttelton and Rupert Hart-Davis, 1955–57, ed. Rupert Hart-Davis (1985), vols. 1 and 2, pp. 38–9
1911: D.H. Lawrence’s first novel, The White Peacock, was published at the beginning of the year. Lawrence showed it to his parents, hoping they would approve.
His father, a coalminer, “struggled through half a page, and it might as well have been Hottentot.
“ ‘And what dun they gi’e thee for that, lad?’
“ ‘Fifty pounds, father.’
“ ‘Fifty pounds!’ He was dumbfounded, and looked at me with shrewd eyes, as if I were a swindler. ‘Fifty pounds! An’ tha’s niver done a day’s hard work in thy life.’ ”
Source: D.H. Lawrence, Phoenix: The Posthumous Papers of D.H. Lawrence, ed. Edward D. McDonald (1936), p. 232
1910: “You don’t seem to take your work seriously, nor do you appear to be very keen about it. My dear boy this will not do.” The exasperated parent was George V; the underperforming son was Prince Albert, the future George VI, a cadet at Osborne naval college. The royal hand-wringing had no effect, and in final exams in December, Bertie came 68th out of 68.
Source: Sarah Bradford, King George VI (1989), p. 45
1909: Beginning at the age of 15, Nikita Khrushchev attended the local school for two winters. The education was rudimentary: reading, writing, arithmetic and religion. “After a year or two I had learnt to count up to thirty and my father decided that was enough of schooling. He said all I needed was to be able to count money and I could never have more than thirty roubles to count.”
Source: George Paloczi-Horvath, Khrushchev: The Road to Power (1960), pp. 12–13
Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev in 1962 – a politician rather than a mathematician
1908: On one occasion during his premiership, an illustrated newspaper carried a sketch of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman in conversation with Edward VII. The king was depicted speaking earnestly, the prime minister listening gravely. “Is it Peace or War?” the paper shrilled. In fact, as Campbell-Bannerman later revealed, “He wanted to have my opinion whether halibut was better baked or boiled!”
Source: John Wilson, CB: A Life of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman (1973), p. 145
1907: Arnold Schönberg’s String Quartet No. 1 was first performed at the Bösendorfersaal in Vienna on 5 February. The concert was marred by a member of the audience hissing at the composer. Schönberg’s friend Gustav Mahler remonstrated with the man and they almost came to blows. As the man was hustled away, he shouted, “I hiss at Mahler too!”
Source: Henry-Louis de la Grange, Gustav Mahler, 3 : Vienna : Triumph and Disillusion (1904–1907) (1999),
1906: Daisy Ellington sent her 7-year-old son, Edward, to begin piano lessons; “Duke” Ellington’s first teacher was the appropriately named Marietta Clinkscales.
Source: David Bradbury, Duke Ellington (2005), p. 3
1903: Renewable energy was a concept whose time had not yet come, but this was the year that the terms “solar heating” and “wind power” entered the English language.
Source: John Ayto, Twentieth Century Words (1999), pp. 49, 59