Catholic hero

Charles A. Coulombe remembers Edward Lisle Strutt

Earlier in this space we were treated to an important figure of the Catholic Revival in England – Ambrose Phillipps de Lisle, Master of Grace-Dieu Manor, co-founder of the Cistercian Abbey of Mount St Bernard, and one of the leading lights of the early 19th century Cambridge converts, alongside his close friend Kenelm Digby (whom we have also met). In 1873, his daughter, Alice, married the Honourable Arthur Strutt, second son of Edward Strutt, the First Baron Belper, a cotton magnate and Liberal politician. A year later, their son, Edward Lisle Strutt – the subject of this article - was born. It must have been a love match, given that the two fathers-in-law were so completely different; de Lisle was one of the leading Catholics in the realm, while Lord Belper only consented to the match on the proviso that any issue be raised in the Church of England. So it was that young Edward was baptised Anglican. But his father died in an accident at the family’s mill when Edward was three, and thenceforth his mother brought him up as a Catholic. Despite his paternal origins, he would remain a devout Catholic his entire life, and for that reason become a key player in the life of one of the 20th century’s most saintly Catholic figures.

At age 13 the young man was sent to the then socially prominent Jesuit establishment, Beaumont College. During his time there the school hosted both British and European noble students, as well as exiled French and Spanish princes. Upon graduation at age 18 he was sent to the University of Innsbruck for a year, where he became fluent in French, German, and Italian; little did he know how well Providence was fitting him for his greatest hour! He also acquired mountaineering and skiing while in Tyrol – two activities that would also shape the rest of his life.

In 1893, the young Strutt entered Christ Church, Oxford, but he soon became impatient with university life, and with an independent income, he was in no need of employment. He left without a degree after a year and looked for something to engage his energy. In time he found it in the militia, joining in 1898 the Third Battalion (Militia) of the Royal Scots – “Pontius Pilate’s Bodyguard.” So called because it was the oldest regiment in the British army until its amalgamation in 2006; it had been founded in 1633 by Scots loyal to Charles I – and was the only regiment whose majority remained loyal to James II in 1688. This background tremendously appealed to the adventurous Strutt, in whom Romanticism, piety, and skill were already being seen in equal measure. Commissioned as a Lieutenant, in 1900 he was promoted to Captain when virtually the whole battalion volunteered to go to South Africa for the Boer War. For two long years, Strutt and his comrades fought a guerrilla campaign orchestrated by the wily Boer general de Wet. Strutt was mentioned in despatches; after their return to Great Britain in July of 1902, he led his regiment’s cricket team to the Netherlands to compete a month later. Winning one game and narrowly losing a second in the very pro-Boer nation, Strutt’s action was daring, but considered undiplomatic in the extreme.

Given the ample leisure time that his wealth and position gave him, after his return from South Africa he began spending his summers mountaineering and his winters skiing at St Moritz, Switzerland. It was there that he met the woman who would become his wife in 1905, Frances Hollond, daughter of a former MP for Brighton. It was also where he met members of the Austrian Imperial Family, including the ill-starred heir to the throne, Franz Ferdinand. Not too surprisingly, the pair, whose views in religion and politics were so similar, hit it off.

Two years after their last encounter in 1912, Franz Ferdinand was murdered, and Europe exploded. The Royal Scots were mobilized and sent to France. The now 40-year-old Captain was placed in temporary command of the 2nd Battalion, currently engaged around Neuve Chapelle. Making a routine report to his divisional commander, he was literally blown off his feet by a six round artillery barrage which threw him several yards, causing temporary paralysis. Six months later, he was back in the field. In October of 1916, however, he was sent to Salonika to act as liaison between the British and French commanders on the Southern Front, who were not getting on well. Strutt managed to bring them into a relatively close cooperation, which was in no small part responsible for the success of their final thrust to the borders of AustriaHungary in 1918. When the War was over, Strutt was decorated by the British, French, Belgian, Italian, and Romanian governments with various knighthoods and honours. Thinking he would relax, early 1919 found him in Venice, enjoying the hospitality of the Hotel Danieli.

But that victory brought with it the collapse of the Habsburg Empire and ensuing chaos. In the midst of the now fractured Central Europe, in January of 1919 Emperor Charles and his young family were living in their remote chateau of Eckartsau, under threat from roving Red Guards, the Socialist Chancellor Karl Renner, and various other factions. Given that the victorious allies had small numbers of troops deployed around their defeated former enemies, the Emperor appealed directly to George V for assistance. Guilt-ridden by the fate of his own cousin, Nicholas II, the previous year, the King resolved that the same would not happen to Charles and his family.

The King sent a British officer to look after their immediate welfare – he arrived on 16 February. Eleven days later, Strutt replaced him, having received a cryptic telegram at his Venetian hotel. Becoming very fond of the Imperial family, he arranged for British army supplies to be brought up from Vienna to feed the more than 100 hundred people now encamped at Eckartsau. He also organised the defense of the locale, played bridge with Charles and Zita, and in general set things to rights. Among other things in the Castle, Strutt found a picture of himself and Franz Ferdinand taken years before at St Moritz.

Karl Renner, the Socialist Chancellor (who having betrayed his Emperor already, would live to collaborate first with Hitler, then with Stalin, and die as president) was determined to deal with the Habsburgs once and for all. The following day, Strutt received a telegram from his government, declaring that it was “highly advisable to get the Emperor out of Austria and into Switzerland at once,” adding helpfully that “the British Government can in no way guarantee your journey.”

Strutt went to Vienna and found that Renner had given Charles three choices: if he abdicated all his family’s rights, they could live in Austria as private citizens; if he refused to abdicate, he must go into exile; if he refused to either to abdicate or leave, he would be imprisoned. Strutt then arranged for a special train to leave from the Westbahnhof at his signal and called the Swiss to get their approval (without British Foreign Office assistance). He then convinced Charles and Zita of the necessity for departure.

But it was Renner’s turn to be difficult. Strutt had visited him on 20 March; knowing Renner, Strutt knew he had to overawe him. When he stepped into the Chancellor’s office, Renner was sitting behind his desk. Strutt yelled at him “Please stand up in future when I enter your room!” Renner leapt to attention, exhibiting what Strutt called “nervous twitching” – more in anger than fear, Strutt believed.

On the 21st, Strutt ordered the Austrian railway authorities to reassemble the Imperial Train as it had been, and to bring it up to Kopfstetten, the nearest station to Eckartsau. He then arranged for a small seven-man British Military Police escort. He returned to Renner’s office, to find him already standing up. Renner had demands. He said that the Emperor and Empress would have to be searched before they could leave. Strutt said that would not do, swearing “in the name of the British Government” that they would take nothing that was not their own property. The Chancellor then declared that he would send a “High Commissioner” to oversee their departure. Strutt saw this as an attempt by Renner to exert his authority over his erstwhile Sovereign. The Colonel calmly replied that he could send his representative if he like, but at the first sign of difficulty, he would personally shoot him! That was the end of that.

The next day, Strutt returned to make various final arrangements. He was called to see Renner once more. But Strutt had taken Renner’s measure; composing a telegram to London, he put it in his pocket. When Strutt arrived, Renner declared that Charles must abdicate at once or be thrown into prison. Strutt said nothing but pulled out the draft and laid it in front of the Chancellor, who read: “Austrian Government refuses permission for departure of Emperor unless he abdicates. Consequently, give orders to re-establish blockade and stop all food trains entering Austria.” It was a complete bluff, of course; the British would never have done such a thing, and if they would have, Strutt was hardly in a position to order such a measure. Renner shrieked “Grosser Gott!” Then the Chancellor said, “All right, he can go!” “Without any conditions?” “Yes,” Renner said sulkily. Charles was leaving as Emperor. The last dinner the Imperial family enjoyed at Eckartsau – and indeed, in Austria – featured an official menu, as every dinner there had. Despite the elegance thereof, the listed main dish bore witness to the catch-as-catch can diet the family had lived on there: Filets de gibier variées – “filets of assorted game.” The train started up, and as Strutt reported in his diary, “…as we steamed off a sort of low moan went up from the crowd.” The three went to the middle saloon car, and Charles said sadly, “After 700 years,” followed by “Sacred Heart of Jesus, I trust in you!” Later, Zita said, “My family has been exiled from France, Italy, and Portugal. When I married, I became an Austrian subject, and am now an exile from Austria. Colonel Strutt, tell me, to what country do I now belong?” To that the usually unflappable officer had no response, and the couple retired for the night.

The next morning, the Court chaplain offered Mass on the train. At Innsbruck they stopped briefly. At Imst they stopped once more to get a mountain train attached, and a small squad of British soldiers (Honorable Artillery Company) presented arms on the platform. The Emperor changed into civilian clothes, they crossed the Rhine into Switzerland, and at 3:45 steamed into Buchs. Strutt bade the Imperial Family farewell at the Swiss border. But he was not yet finished with them.

After serving a few months as Allied High Commissioner for the Free City of Danzig in 1920, Strutt was summoned by the Emperor the following year to his Swiss exile to help plan Charles’ first solo attempt to retake the Hungarian. Strutt scouted out various pathways, acquired forged documents, and accomplished various other tasks. After the Emperor’s abortive second attempt on restoration the following autumn with Zita, Strutt stayed with their children in Switzerland to ensure their safety, and kept parents and children informed of each other’s doings until the clan reunited in their Madeiran exile, where Bl Charles would die the following year.

Strutt’s exertions on their behalf led to his resigning his commission. Despite his age, in 1922 he organised the second Mount Everest expedition, and spent the rest of his life devoted to his wife, the Church, and the Alpine Club, for whom he was a long-term president and editor, resigning in 1938. He would die a decade later in Edinburgh; his widow survived him. Years later, Charles’ eldest son, the Archduke Otto, was asked if he hated the British, given the role they had played in his father’s downfall. Smiling, he responded, “Well, I could – but then, there was Strutt!”

Strutt: ‘decorated by the British, French, Belgian, Italian, and Romanian governments’