The Twins wrote to each other almost daily, and when Francis went to the Boer War they settled to keep each other’s letters. A large collection was found after their death, and when examined it seemed to their family worthy of some form of publication. Mr. John Buchan, who was one of the Twins’ greatest friends, most kindly undertook to prepare a memoir. It is intended that any profits derived from the sale of the book should go to benefit the finances of the Invalid Children’s Aid Association, a branch of which was founded in Islington by Rivy in 1912, and in which both brothers were greatly interested.

On September 5, 1880, when quartered at Shorncliffe, I received a telegram from my brother announcing the birth of the Twins. Thus the family of seven sons and four daughters had increased to a total of thirteen. Of these, eight went to Eton, four of them being in the Eleven; one entered the Royal Navy, and five of them died in the service of their country—Pascoe, the eldest, killed in the Matabele rising; Robert, 12th Lancers, my A.D.C. in Cairo, in the charge of the 21st Lancers at Omdurman; Reginald, 17th Lancers, of illness caused by service in India; Francis and Rivy in the Great War. All the surviving brothers served in the war, one as Brigadier-General, and three as Lieutenant-Colonels.

My various military appointments and duties kept me out of England most of the time the Twins were children and boys at school; but on the death of their father, when they were sixteen, I became their guardian, and our friendly relations of uncle and nephew became much more intimate and more like those of father and son. I was known to them as “The Uncle,” and was accustomed frequently to hear the phrase, “Go it, Uncle.”

I remember arriving on a visit to them at Eton and finding their room strewn with answers to their appeal for help to build new kennels for the beagles, of which Francis was master. They were then at the zenith of their popularity and success: Francis in the Eleven and Master of the Beagles, Rivy Whip, and both members of Pop; and I felt my position as Sirdar of the Egyptian army to be a far inferior one to that of my nephews at Eton.

Later, at a review of a large number of Public School Cadets by the Queen, I, in my official capacity, was standing close to Her Majesty to announce the names of the various schools, when the leading company of Eton Cadets marched past, and I was alarmed to hear the usual signal whistle of the Twins to me, with the exclamation “Hullo, Uncle!”

Francis was my godson, and began his military career in my regiment. When staying with me as extra A.D.C. at Malta he received his commission in the King’s Royal Rifles in 1901.

The visit of the Twins to Malta had a decided effect on their future. They met interesting men of the army and navy, and began to realize the vast extent of the British Empire, and also their own ignorance of its history and geography. They had never even heard of Napoleon III. and the last French Empire! Our daily readings, especially the History of Our Own Times, enlarged their understandings and made them eager for further instruction and more knowledge. From that time dates the remarkable assiduity with which they pursued their studies, both in languages and history, especially military history, and laid themselves out to meet men of culture and distinction, whose acquaintanceship they felt would be useful in the future.

Each was invariably in the other’s mind, and they sometimes had premonitions of harm. When Francis fell ill at Inverness with what seemed at first only a chill, Rivy, who was staying with me, said he must go to Francis. Oddly enough he was quite right, as when he arrived in Scotland he found him very ill with typhoid fever, no telegram or warning having arrived.

Rivy settled down to a financial career, and when travelling in America he studied the management of railways and methods of business. While there he astonished a friend of his father’s by asking him if, as a favour, he might work in his office next to one of his clerks. “Why, certainly you may,” was Mr. Morton’s answer. “I am an old man, and have often been asked for a holiday, but this is the first time any man enjoying a holiday has asked me for leave to work.”

While taking their occupations seriously, as companions they were most cheerful and humorous, original and quaint in their points of view, and very amusing in the simplicity of their observations. Many were the instances of their sympathy and kindness to others. Francis on one occasion sat up all night with a porter at the Bath Club who had smashed his hand in an accident, and this was at a time when he was preparing for an important examination. Happy days were spent at Butler’s Court, which was open to them and their ponies whenever they cared to stay, and I was much struck by the efficient management of their stud. Their affection for my children, shown in so many ways, was a delight to me and to their mother, and the attention shown to the villagers and old employees of Wilton Park made them very popular.

As children they had adopted Lord Burnham, who lived close by at Hall Barn, as a most intimate friend. He was much amused on one occasion when they stayed with him during the holidays for a ball, and appeared wearing large pairs of white gloves borrowed from the footmen, whose billycock hats they also wore in church the next day. After Francis’s death Lord Burnham wrote a most beautiful and touching leading article in the Daily Telegraph. They were devoted to him and his family, and their affection was reciprocated.

The Twins sympathized with all in sickness or sorrow; and in the greatest affliction that can happen to any man, they arrived to stay with me and made themselves most useful and helpful.

In 1901 Francis began his military career in the King’s Royal Rifles. The strong wish to join the cavalry, which I think had always been in his mind (three of his brothers having been in cavalry regiments and two in the yeomanry), could not be carried out at that time for financial reasons; but this was an abiding desire, which the attractions of so good a regiment as the King’s Royal Rifles did not quite eradicate. He did well in the regiment, and on his death the colour-sergeant of his company wrote to me to say what an efficient company officer he had been, and what care he had taken in the instruction of the men. One reason why he desired to transfer from the infantry to the cavalry was that the effects of enteric still clung to him, and he found the long route marches of the infantry almost unbearable. But he always acknowledged that his short service in the King’s Royal Rifles had greatly assisted him in his career, and that he acquired there the soldier-like qualities of training and discipline.

On his return to England in 1907 we saw a good deal more of each other, and it was delightful to see his happiness in the cavalry, and his determination to master all obstacles which would prevent him from joining the Staff College. I had the opportunity then of reading his criticisms and notes on manœuvres, which were excellent and commended in the regiment. In my opinion he would have eventually taken a high place in the army as a cavalry leader. He loved his squadron and his regiment, and he left no stone unturned to fit himself for eventual promotion and command.

A course at the Cavalry School at Netheravon, and several visits to his friend Colonel Félines at the French Cavalry Establishment at Saumur, together with his attendance both at French and German manœuvres, show by his voluminous notebooks that he had taken the greatest trouble thoroughly to study cavalry training, tactics, and command.

He possessed the highest ideals of discipline in the conduct of war, tempered by a happy power of commanding the affection and obedience of men, especially of his own squadron. His desire for knowledge was insatiable, and he used every endeavour to achieve his objects. I remember, quite in the early days, finding Rivy and Francis in their small room at the Bath Club, notebooks in hand, and Dr. Miller Maguire lecturing to them on military history with all the care which he would have bestowed on an audience in the United Service Institution.

On the 30th August, after the first month of war, I found Francis at No. 17 Belgrave Square, the temporary and well-appointed hospital of Mr. Pandeli Ralli, where I told him that he had been recommended for the Victoria Cross. He received my news with surprise and said, “This honour is not for me—my squadron gained it”; but he was greatly pleased when Lord Roberts and Lord Grey came to congratulate him.

When able to move he came down to me at Overstone, and there I had the sad task of breaking to him the news of Rivy’s death. His brother Harold, whose brigade was being inspected by the King that morning, was taken aside by his Majesty and told that Rivy’s name was mentioned among the casualties, and he came right away to Overstone to tell me. Francis received the news quite calmly, but from that moment he was a changed man in everything but his enthusiasm for his regiment and his desire to get back to the fighting line.

His Majesty showed gracious and kindly interest in both, and gave Francis a special interview, the account of which I quote from his diary:—

“On Monday, February 22, 1915, I was ordered to go to Buckingham Palace to receive my Victoria Cross, driving there in khaki with my sister. Was shown into Clive Wigram’s room, who told me of the heavy loss of the 16th Lancers. A few minutes before eleven we went into the equerry’s room, and he took me upstairs to the King’s room, which I entered. He was alone in the room, which looked like a study, with many Indian ornaments about. The King came forward and shook hands with me. As my right hand was wounded, I was only able to use my left. Both remained standing and talked for some time about the war. He had heard of the heavy loss of the 16th Lancers, and that we had been sending out some 15-inch howitzer guns which would greatly strengthen us, and every day we were getting stronger. I asked the King if he had visited the prisoners who had come from Germany. He said he had, and described how badly some of them had been treated, and spoke strongly against the Germans. He then stepped back and took my Victoria Cross out of a small box and pinned it on to me, congratulating me on getting it. He said how sorry he was for the loss of my twin brother. I said I had not deserved the Victoria Cross, and hoped he would allow me to convey to the men who really deserved it his kind congratulations and good wishes. I said I hoped in the future the decoration would urge me to go forward and do a great deal more for him and for England, as the army thought only of him and loved both. My interview then ended.”

Early in April, having recovered from his second wound, he returned to France. The last letter received from him was to his sister. It is dated the 18th of May:—

“On the 14th we remained in pouring rain in trenches, bitterly cold, and then reached the camp at 3 a.m. very tired, and my feet a little frost-bitten. On the 15th and 16th we rested, and are moving back again. I am writing to you from a trench. We are up to our knees in mud, and it has rained since yesterday when we came here, but we are all hale and hearty. My boots and puttees are soaked, but must remain so for three more nights. I never felt fitter, though tired of this sort of warfare. I hope I never get shelled again like the other day. It is a very high trial sitting still and enormous shells bursting, blowing all the ground up, able to do nothing, and just waiting for your turn.”

His turn came the day after this letter was received. On the 28th of May I received a letter from Lord Charles Beresford, who had just arrived from France. He announced the death of Francis, shot through the heart, dying in a quarter of an hour. He had come over with an officer who had attended his burial. It was better to have got the news in a sympathetic letter from an old friend, rather than a curt telegram from the War Office.

By his last letter to me, after the fifteen hours’ bombardment on the 13th, when the Ninth stuck it out, I gathered that whatever happened he would never retire, but meant to do or die. He had great charm, good looks, strength and purpose in important things; was utterly careless in the conventionalities of life, too much being crowded into the same day; but in greater questions he had a strong will, great determination, and would not be denied. No loss was more genuinely felt than Francis’s and Rivy’s death.

I received a large number of letters and telegrams.

“Royal Pavilion, Aldershot.

“To Field-Marshal Lord Grenfell,
“Overstone Park, Northampton.

“The Queen and I are grieved beyond words that your gallant nephew has fallen in battle. I was proud to give him his nobly-earned Victoria Cross, and trusted he might live to wear it for many years. Our heartfelt sympathy with you.

“George R.I.”

“May 1915.

“Deeply grieved by sad news. Please accept and convey to his sisters my heartfelt sympathy in your great sorrow.

“Alfonso R.”

“May 28th.

“G.H.Q.

“To Field-Marshal Lord Grenfell,
“Overstone Park, Northampton.

“Will you let me condole with you on the loss of your gallant and distinguished nephew in the 9th Lancers after having been twice wounded. His record of gallantry is unsurpassed.

“Field-Marshal Sir John French.”

From Colonel Hon. C. Willoughby, 9th Lancers.

“Francis joined the Ninth just about the time I got command when we were stationed at Rawal Pindi. I was very pleased to get him as a subaltern. He was one of the hardest working officers I ever knew, always doing his best whether at work or play, thereby setting a high example to others. His good horsemanship and quick eye soon made him a very valuable cavalry officer; this combination also brought him to the fore in the polo world, where he did such good work for the regiment in after years. The Ninth have lost a good officer, a high-principled gentleman, and a real good sportsman.

“As you probably know, Francis was a dear friend of ours; I was very, very fond of him.”

From Colonel Desmond Beale-Browne.

“Francis has left a memory and example that will never fail. A braver soul never stepped. His high ideals, and boundless enthusiasm for the regiment and the cause in which we are fighting, was an example we shall never forget, and the regiment is indeed proud to think that it had Francis Grenfell in its ranks. I only so regret he did not live to hear the praise bestowed on the regiment which he loved so dearly, and whose honour he had done so much to maintain.”

From Major-General Vesey Dawson.

“I must send you a line of sympathy in your great sorrow. I know how much you will feel the loss of your two nephews, and I do indeed feel for you. I feel that the loss is really the country’s, for we do not produce too many gallant, brilliant soldiers such as the one who is just gone. He would, I think, have gone far in the profession if he had lived, and it seems indeed sad that he should have been taken.”

From Major-General Hon. John Lindley.

“He was a right gallant soul, and the very embodiment of all the manly virtues that go to make a cavalry leader, and the cavalry have sustained a loss well-nigh irreparable. Modest, bold, and as cool as a cucumber, it will be many a day before the men of his squadron and the 9th Lancers get another leader like him.

“Well, he has gone to join his twin soul, and a more gallant pair never entered this world together.”

From Lieut.-Colonel Edgar Brassey.

“I feel I must write to you to express my deepest sympathy in the sad news about poor Francis. Whatever else this war may bring about, the absence of the Twins can never fail to be noticed and lamented. I have known them for over twenty years, have played cricket with them, hunted with them, and played polo with them; and for myself, I can say that there is nobody, even in the long list of friends who have gone in this last nine months, who will be missed more than Francis and Rivy. We may be sure that neither would have wished to be separated or to die a more glorious death, and the example of the Grenfell family, not forgetting poor Robert, who was also a friend of mine, will stand for ever in the annals of the British army.”

From Mr. Charles Murray of Loch Carron.

“I must send one word to say with what sorrow I read of dear Francis’s death. He is almost the last of Alasdair’s close friends who has remained to us, and he always kept up his friendship. Only the other day he came in to cheer me up when I was ill in London, and, as with Rivy, it is a great break with the past. I ever hoped that Francis and Rivy would live to distinguish themselves, and that Francis, a keen and good soldier, would follow in your footsteps and some day lead British forces in the field. It could not be, and, with others of the best, the boys have gone from us, and I know how deeply you will feel the blow.”

From Waldorf Astor.

“The deaths of Francis and Rivy mean an irreplaceable loss to their friends, and bring grief to all who knew them intimately. We are all forced to bear trouble, anxiety, and bereavement, but apart from this there is perhaps the greatest tragedy in the real loss inflicted on the country. Never will two persons like them be found.

“Kipling asks in a poem, ‘Who dies if England lives?’ One feels inclined to say, ‘How can England live as one has known her if such as these die one after the other?’

“None of the blows caused by the war have been so hard, and have even by comparison tended to diminish this one, or to lessen the grief I and many others feel.”

From the Duke of Teck (Marquess of Cambridge).

“I have just heard the sad news about the death of poor Francis. I am so deeply sorry for you in the loss of your other nephew. What a blank the death of the ‘Grenfell Twins’ will cause to a good many people, my wife and I amongst them; but to you it means much more, and I ask you to accept my deep and heartfelt sympathy in your great sorrow.”

From Sir Hereward Wake, King’s Royal Rifles.

“I am so grieved about Francis. I would like to send you a word of sympathy. Francis compelled the love of every one who knew him, and there are hundreds of people who will mourn his death. I think there never was a more gallant pair of soldiers or Englishmen than those two.”

From Dr. Miller Maguire.

“I esteem it an honour to testify to the great merits of your brave nephews, Francis and Rivy Grenfell. I had intimate knowledge of their zeal for their noble profession, and all connected with its study, almost to the date of their death. They excelled in cavalry exercises and in the ardent devotion to that particular branch.

“Francis was making himself well versed in European and American campaigns, and no doubt would have been placed high in any Staff College tests had he been spared; but almost from the desk of study

‘He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.’”

It was on April 14, 1915, that I said good-bye to Francis. He walked home with me round Portman Square, after dining with his sister. He was cheerful at the idea of rejoining his squadron, but no doubt the knowledge that Rivy would not be with him was in his mind. He spoke with enthusiasm of his squadron and regiment, and the chances of war, and was very hopeful as to the future. He was happy in the belief that the most distinguished regiment in the army was the 9th Lancers, and that he commanded the best squadron in the best regiment of the best fighting army in the world. He mentioned that he had refused a Staff appointment after being twice wounded, being so greatly impressed by the unanimous response which was made for his call for volunteers to save the guns at Audregnies. This touched him deeply, and he said that no offer of Staff service would ever induce him to leave his squadron.

We said good-bye, and I think both felt that we should not meet again. Of that, personally, I had a strong presentiment.

The Twins, so happy in their generation, are now together; freed from the feverish anxieties they suffered ere they went to war, they are linked in a new and better life, surely for them one full of activity and high service.

“Time takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous,

To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death;

But the flower of their souls he shall not take away to shame us,

Nor the lips lack song for ever that now lack breath.

For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell,

Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we farewell.”