Auction Catalogue

23 June 2005

Starting at 10:00 AM

.

Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

Grand Connaught Rooms  61 - 65 Great Queen St  London  WC2B 5DA

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Lot

№ 832

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23 June 2005

Hammer Price:
£2,600

A most unusual group of thirteen awarded to Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Ronald Dockray Waterhouse, K.C.B., C.M.G., C.V.O., late Lincolnshire Regiment and 6th Dragoon Guards, whose remarkable career commenced with his participation in the famous “Jameson Raid”, during which he was slightly wounded, and ended with successive appointments as Principal Private Secretary to three Prime Ministers 1920-28: in between he collected several more wounds in the Boer War, served in the B.R.C.S’s “Searcher Unit” in France in 1914 and served as an Equerry to the Duke of York

British South Africa Company Medal 1890-97
, reverse Rhodesia 1896, no clasp, unnamed; Queen’s South Africa 1899-1902, 4 clasps, Cape Colony, Relief of Kimberley, Paardeberg, Transvaal (Lt. R. Dockray-Waterhouse, Lincoln Rgt.), all but the ‘Paardeberg’ clasp tailor’s copies; King’s South Africa 1901-02, 2 clasps, South Africa 1901, South Africa 1902 (Lieut. R. Dockray-Waterhouse, 6/Drgn. Gds.); 1914 Star (R. D. Waterhouse, B.R.C.S. & O. St. J.J.); British War and Victory Medals (R. D. Waterhouse, B.R.C. & St. J.J.); Jubilee 1897; Jubilee 1935, in its original card box of issue; Coronation 1937, in its original card box of issue; Belgian Order of Leopold I, Knight’s breast badge, with swords, silver, gilt and enamel, with damaged obverse centre-piece; Japanese Order of the Sacred Treasure, 3rd class neck badge, silver-gilt and enamel, cabochons slightly chipped; Persian Order of the Lion and Son, 2nd class set of insignia, comprising sash badge and breast star, in silver and enamels, loop suspension on the first defective and the second with one chipped green enamel ray; Serbian Order of the White Eagle, 5th class breast badge, silver-gilt and enamel, this last with slack suspension and centre-piece fitments, generally good very fine or better unless otherwise stated (14) £1800-2200

Much of the information contained in the following biographical footnote has been taken from Private and Official, the highly entertaining account of the recipient’s life and times up until 1928, written by his second wife, Nourah Waterhouse. However, his participation in the ‘Jameson Raid’ has not yet been verified by any other published source.

Ronald Dockray Waterhouse was born in December 1878 and was educated at ‘a preparatory school on the south coast’, where the physical conditions were savage, and at Marlborough, from where he was sent home in disgrace with a shocking report. After due consideration, his father put him on a boat bound for Cape Town with one gold sovereign, and on reaching his destination, young Waterhouse found work at a local barber’s shop.

Shortly afterwards he made the acquaintance of a Trooper in the Matabele Mounted Police, who promptly stole his gold sovereign, and, in an effort to track down his new found adversary, Waterhouse enlisted in the very same corps at Pietermaritzburg in late 1896. Just a few days later, having joined the Pitsani detachment of his new regiment, he witnessed the arrival of Dr. Jameson at the head of 120 Bechuanaland Border Police, and quickly found himself embroiled in the famous “Jameson Raid”. His part in that desperate enterprise was, however, short-lived, for on 2 January 1895, while advancing with the main force towards Vlakfontein, his knee was grazed by a bullet fired from a Boer farmstead. The same round also brought down his horse, pinning him in the mud of a
dango - a wide shallow water basin common to all such farmsteads - but, at great risk, a fellow Trooper rode up and pulled him clear, the same Trooper, it transpired, who had stolen his sovereign back in Cape Town. Having concluded that Jameson’s mission was doomed to failure, the pair of them made off in a southerly direction, but Waterhouse remained in great pain - ‘the wound was only skin deep, the bone fortunately remaining undamaged, but they did not know this at the time, for the knee-cap was terribly bruised.’ When, in due course, news reached them of Jameson’s surrender at Rietspruit, near Doornkop, they made their way to Durban and boarded a vessel of the Union Line, bound for England, and passed a miserable passage in ‘steerage accomodation of an almost forgotten period.’

On making amends with his father back in London, it was decided that Waterhouse should “lie-low” in the Shetlands while the Jameson case blew over, but on learning of the outbreak of the second Matabele rebellion in March 1896, he hastened south to take the first available ship to Durban, and, before too long, had rejoined his old troop at Bulawayo, now titled Gifford’s Horse. He subsequently served as a Scout, and was once entrusted with carrying an important despatch back to Bulawayo, through very treacherous country, a journey, it is said, of 136 miles, and one which was completed in exactly 36 hours, but not without collecting ‘a nasty gash on his head from a spent bullet’. At a special parade called by Major-General Sir Frederick Carrington on the disbandment of the Bulawayo Field Force in July 1896, the General announced the pending issue of a ‘medal for the show’, which according to Waterhouse’s second wife, he ‘received from the Chartered Company seven years later in India on the occasion of the Coronation of King Edward VII’, a location that might just account for his B.S.A.C. Medal being unnamed - he does not, however, appear on the published roll under Gifford’s Horse. Meanwhile, he was among the selected representatives of the South African Contingent who took part in the Diamond Jubilee celebrations back in London, thereby qualifying him for the Jubilee 1897 Medal, on which occasion he also took the opportunity of visiting Dr. Jameson with his old C.O., Maurice Gifford.

It was about this time that Waterhouse ‘found himself with a Greek syntax in his hand instead of his cherished carbine’, for, following the sudden death of his father, the latter’s trustees had deemed it fit for him to complete his formal education at Oxford. That done, Waterhouse applied for a commission in the 3rd (Militia) Battalion of the Lincolnshires, and, in December 1899, soon after the outbreak of the Boer War, gained a regular commission in the 2nd Battalion - he subsequently applied for the Mounted Infantry Company and was duly selected for active service in South Africa. His subsequent adventures in that conflict, latterly as a Lieutenant in the 6th Dragoons, are described in detail in
Private and Official, and include accounts of the actions in which he was wounded. The first of these - a flesh wound in the thigh - arose from a sharp engagement fought at Waterval Drift in February 1900, while Waterhouse was serving in the 7th Mounted Infantry:

‘ ... Ronald found himself amongst the few still trying to catch a loose animal, but he succeeded at last and mounted. At that moment a man was hit close to him. He stopped, and helped him on to his own horse, saying, “Go steady, I will hang on to the stirrup leather,” but the horse bolted with its wounded rider, and left him. By this time he, and others in like case, were almost isolated. After considerable difficulty he managed to catch a second horse and started off again, but a bullet went through the fleshy part of his left thigh, and brought his horse down on to its nose. Then Ronald started running for cover nearly half a mile away. He was getting on admirably, and every yard brought him into less concentrated fire, but each running man was none the less a target. Presently - it seemed a very long time - he saw someone coming back to him with a led horse. The fire lifted from him to the pair galloping towards him, and he redoubled his efforts. Then he recognised his Sergeant, Murray, lying low on his horse’s neck, riding like a madman, with bullets spitting up the ground all round. Murphy never let go his leading rein, but wheeled and started back when Ronald was still climbing into the saddle. They made an excellent target, because there was now practically nothing else for De Wet’s entire commando to fire at. Then Murphy’s horse was shot, and after seven or eight strides turned complete somersault over him; Ronald fell off too, but fortunately kept hold of his rein and remounted; Murphy recovered, caught R’s stirrup leather, and at last they came out of range together behind the shelter of rising ground.’

His second and third, more severe wounds, were picked up at Paardeberg just 48 hours later, when, with a small party of his men, he was ordered to dismount, cross the river and make his way to the firing line, ‘where he found Captain Arnold of the Canadians at his side, and Moneypenny of the Seaforths next but one along, but his own men were scattered, and he saw no more of them.’ Later in the day, Colonel Aldworth arrived with two companies of the D.C.L.I., and ordered those present to advance over fireswept open ground. The first to fall was the Colonel, some say with over thirty bullet wounds, and Moneypenny of the Seaforths went next, Waterhouse turning to throw him his flask as he ran on towards the Boers. At this juncture, ‘a shock like ten sledge-hammers, synchronised for a single mighty blow in the chest flung him to the ground. How he fell, how he was hit, or by what, remained a mystery. But there he was flat on his stomach with one arm bent under his face and a heart pumping wildly.’ Then a voice called out “Are you hit?” and Waterhouse noticed he had been joined on the ground by Hylton-Jolliffe, a young subaltern of the Coldstreams. Now real disaster struck:

‘Then a terrific shock like the swinging blow of a crowbar, and a bullet whizzed between the wrist-watch and his eyebrow, and went through Ronald’s shoulder. But there was no pain at all, simply an intense dullness and a feeling of relief. Jolliffe began moving uneasily, for the same bullet had struck his knee-joint, it expanded and severed the leg. He rolled into Ronald, then rolled back ... Jolliffe’s condition was serious and he was unavoidably creating a target. A bullet passed Ronald’s face, a sickening thud and Jolliffe’s body was raked. They were lying not more than fifty or sixty yards from Cronje’s laager, and, standing unconcernedly above their breastworks, the Boers were taking deliberate shots at anything that moved ...’

By the time rescue arrived in the form of two hefty stretcher bearers, a Seaforth and a Canadian, Jolliffe had been hit ten times and his remaining leg was barely attached - ‘He gave Ronald his keys and the contents of his pockets and asked him to explain the circumstances to his father - “Charles Street, Berkeley Square” - he whispered. And then he died.’ For his own part, having heard that the first bullet to hit him had ‘gone through the heart and left a clean wound’, Waterhouse underwent an immediate field operation - ‘All the nerves in the left shoulder were severed. They pulled them out with forceps and tied them together again with no anaesthetic, but Ronald felt nothing. Then they carried him back to his place in the line of stretcher cases.’ It was here that he watched the agonising deaths of Captain Arnold of the Canadians and Captain Dewar of the Rifle Brigade, before embarking on a terrible journey by cart to Orange River station.

Mercifully, however, on eventually reaching Wynberg Hospital, he received first class treatment from the celebrated surgeons Makins and MacCormac, and his left arm was saved. He was also presented with black brocade dressing gown by Rudyard Kipling, who visited the hospital on the same day as Waterhouse’s old C.O., Maurice Gifford. Invalided home, Waterhouse managed, at length, to persuade the medics to let him return to his unit in South Africa, where he commenced patrol work in the Magaliesberg mountains, and was recommended for a D.S.O. when he and his Sergeant captured 22 Boers, complete with their rifles and bandoliers. Latterly he joined the 6th Dragoon Guards, and at the War’s end was embarked for India.

Having been placed on half-pay, with a pension for wounds, a year or two after being sent to India, Waterhouse sought active re-employment on the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914, but, because of his old wounds, was turned down. He next enlisted the help of Lord Roberts, and was accordingly sent to the Lines of Communication out in France, where he led a “Searcher Unit” of the B.R.C.S. & O. St. J.J. and was awarded ‘the Mons Star for the retreat from Mons, and the Cross of an Equire of St. John of Jerusalem for discovering and identifying casualties during the uninterrupted rearguard action lasting for ten days.’ Waterhouse now applied to Lord Kitchener for re-consideration of a military post, and in 1915 he was appointed a Major and G.S.O. 3rd Grade with responsibility for running the Military Permit Offices situated on the south coast - ‘During the period of Ronald’s command this office passed over 100,000 civilians across the Channel without a single mistake as to
bona fide identity.’ Assorted appointments as an Intelligence Officer followed, including involvement on the espionage front, but in April 1918, Waterhouse was appointed Private Secretary to the first Chief of Staff of the Royal Air Force, Major-General Sykes, and remained so employed until the end of the War, and attended the Paris Peace Conference in the following year. He was awarded the C.M.G.

From 1920-21 Waterhouse was employed as a Private Secretary to the Lord Privy Seal and Leader of the House of Commons, and, in the latter year, in a similar capacity, to the Duke of York, being awarded the C.V.O. Thereafter, from 1922-28 he served successively as Principal Private Secretary to three Prime Ministers, namely Bonar Law, Stanley Baldwin and Ramsay McDonald, a fascinating period recorded in vivid detail by his second wife in
Private and Official. An early highlight was the resignation of Bonar Law, Waterhouse having to attend the King to help advise him about a successor, but he was well qualified in matters royal. Indeed he was largely responsible for forging a successful friendship between Stanley Baldwin and the Prince of Wales, afterwards Edward VIII, a friendship that proved invaluable in the worrying days of the General Strike in 1926 (and later, no doubt, contributed to the Prince’s famous decision to visit mining communities at the time of the Depression). Waterhouse’s duties also included involvement in a number of royal visits, both at home and abroad, and over the coming years he was awarded a large number of foreign orders and decorations (see below listed warrants). He was also created a K.C.B. in 1923, having originally been awarded the C.B. in 1921.

Long since having retired, but always keen to get back in harness, Waterhouse obtained a commission as a Flight Lieutenant in the R.A.F.V.R. in 1940, and served on staff duties until his death in November 1942.

Sold with a substantial quantity of original warrants and / or licence to wear documents, including those for the Order of the Bath (K.C.B.), Civil Division (dated 25 May 1923), and (C.B.), Civil Division (dated 4 June 1921); Royal Victorian Order (C.V.O.) (dated 27 December 1922); Belgian Order of Leopold I, Chevalier (dated 8 September 1917); Italian Order of St. Maurice and St. Lazarus, Grand Cross (dated 21 July 1924), and Cavalier (dated 30 September 1921); Japanese Sacred Treasure, 3rd class (
London Gazette 4 January 1921); Persian Order of the Lion and Sun, 2nd class (dated 24 June 1922); Roumanian Order of the Crown, Grand Cross (dated 23 October 1924), and Commander (dated 15 August 1919); and Serbian Order of the White Eagle, 2nd class (dated 12 January 1924).

Together with much other original documentation, including official programmes for the marriage of the Duke of York, 26 April 1923, the coronation of Queen Marie of Roumania in 1922, and the visit of the King and Queen of Italy to London, May 1924; three
Vandyk, Buckingham Palace Road formal portrait photographs of the Duke of York; two handwritten letters from Bonar Law to Waterhouse, regarding his resignation, dated 20 and 21 May 1921 and both sent from France, where he was attempting to recover his health (‘ ... I want to tell you in writing what I said to you personally, how much I value the unselfish and affectionate help which you have given me. I feel quite light-hearted, but you were right in advising me at once to give it up, for I am sure I could not have gone on long ...’), together with a signed formal portrait photograph of Bonar Law; and, unusually, the original illuminated address presented to Stanley Baldwin by the Premier of Saskatchewan during his visit there in August 1927, the year of the Prince of Wales’s visit to Canada, who, with Baldwin and Waterhouse, is depicted in an accompanying formal group photograph taken on the same occasion; Nourah Waterhouse’s own copy of Private and Official, which, because of legal wrangling regarding its content, not least in respect of Waterhouse’s audience with the King at the time of Bonar Law’s resignation, was not published until 1942; and the British War and Victory Medal pair, with related miniature dress medals, awarded to Captain J. A. Giles, Nourah Waterhouse’s second husband