SERVANTS IN JAPAN
Their politeness--Frequency of their baths--Always ready for a nap--Mrs.
Peter Potts.
The Japanese make good servants--willing and obliging and quick to learn
English ways. They cost very little to feed, living chiefly on rice and
vegetables, although they are fond of European food when they can get
it. Their honesty depends chiefly on their masters and mistresses. Where
they attach themselves they are faithful and trustworthy. On the other
hand, an unpopular English house is often servantless, and many are the
stories I have been told, especially in the English settlements in
Yokohama and Kobé, of the extravagance and theft of the Japanese
‘boy’--a word always employed in the Far East for all male servants.
The head boy of our establishment in Tokio, where we had a house for
some time, was a Japanese who in more prosperous days had been a
_samuri_, or two-sworded man. He had a fair knowledge of English, was
responsible for the payment of the weekly bills, looked after the other
servants, and always accompanied us when travelling in the interior.
Yami was a little shrivelled-up-looking man who might have been any age
between thirty-five and sixty. He possessed a father and mother as well
as a wife and large family, all of whom lived together in two small
rooms in the Japanese quarter of our house. Except on the occasion of a
shock of earthquake, when the garden seemed full of small quaintly-robed
figures running in every direction, I saw little or nothing of some of
the members of our household; and on those unpleasant occasions I was
much too agitated to think of anything but my own safety.
[Illustration: JAPANESE SERVANTS.]
The only other time that our domestic staff appeared in force was on
Christmas Day, when my father summoned everyone to his study, beginning
with Yami and his family down to the rickshaw and water coolies, their
wives and children. There seemed an endless number of little bowing
figures as they appeared in a long line, all dressed in their best, and
apparently much impressed with the importance of the occasion.
Politeness in Japan is proverbial, and extends to the lowest classes of
the community. However much Japanese servants are scolded and abused,
they will listen with apparent submission and repentance, seemingly
never taking offence, although they really hide a good deal of feeling
under their humble demeanour. I have known a servant, after being
severely reprimanded by his master, attempt to commit suicide. On the
other hand, however, when once roused to hatred, a Japanese is very
vindictive and will stop short of nothing for revenge. They have, as a
nation, wonderful control over their feelings, and on no account would
they like to appear anything but happy and contented in public.
I remember one day asking Yami about the health of his old father, who
had not been well. With the broadest of grins and every sign of
pleasure, Yami told me that only that morning his honourable parent had
‘condescended to die’ and was about to be buried that afternoon. He then
apologized profusely for mentioning such a trivial matter. I believe, as
a matter of fact, the death of the old man was a great grief to his son,
as there is much filial affection existing between parents and children
in Japan.
Yami was very devoted to me, and when travelling always considered his
duties embraced those of maid. On arriving at our destination, his first
thought was to unpack my clothes and put out on my bed whatever he
considered suitable for me to wear--a somewhat strange selection
occasionally. Wherever we were staying, he always brought me my morning
cup of tea, saying as he entered the room: ‘Good-morning, everybody.’
Poor Yami died of pneumonia just before we left Japan. I went to see him
a few hours before his death. On the floor by his side were two little
wooden frames with photographs of my father and myself. He was too weak
to speak, but pointed to the photos, and then put his hand to his heart
to show us his affection, poor fellow!
Japanese servants, if left to themselves, are lazy little beings. Their
chief joy in life seems to be their bath. How often have I had to wait
to go for my drive until the betto returned from the bathhouse! Their
horror of a drop of rain seems strange, considering this; but not for
one minute will a coolie continue work in the garden if there is the
slightest indication of wet weather.
[Illustration: THAT DELIGHTFUL HOTEL IN THE HILLS.]
They are ready to sleep on all possible occasions. I remember we were
staying in a little Japanese house near Lake Chiunsenji, and having
started out for the day, we left orders that certain things were to be
done in the way of cleaning, during our absence. We had not left a
quarter of an hour, when we discovered our lunch-basket had been
forgotten, and my father hastened back to fetch it. On entering the
little hall, he heard a noise proceeding from a large cupboard in which
was a shelf kept for boots and fishing-tackle. Looking in, he discovered
our four servants--cook, maid, house-boy and water-coolie--all stretched
out on the shelf among the contents of the cupboard, evidently just
preparing for a pleasant siesta. They scurried away like rabbits on
seeing my father, and seemed overwhelmed with shame when we spoke to
them seriously the next morning on the sin of laziness.
Some of the nasans at the up-country hotels are charming little
creatures. How well I can still see the row of merry, laughing faces
that always greeted us when we arrived at the delightful hotel up at
Myanoshita, where we went sometimes for a change of air and rest after
the gaieties of Tokio. Before we knew it, our muddy boots would be taken
off, warm slippers given us, hot baths prepared; to say nothing of an
excellent meal always ready at whatever hour we arrived--and all without
any fuss or noise but the patter of small feet up and down the long
corridors, as the little maidens hastened to do our bidding.
Once or twice at Christmas time, when games were the order of the
evening, we would request the company of half a dozen of our little
handmaidens to join in a game of ‘hunt the slipper,’ How they laughed
and entered into the fun, and yet never forgot their polite manners, nor
failed to treat us with the greatest deference and respect!
Soon after our arrival in Tokio we had a difficulty in getting servants,
and it was suggested that we should obtain the services of Mrs. Peter
Potts, whose duties as ‘charwoman’ at the English Legation only occupied
her one day a week. When I first made the old lady’s acquaintance she
was about sixty-five years old, still hale and hearty, in spite of a
somewhat strong predilection, I grieve to say, for ‘old Tom.’ Her face
always reminded me of a dried russet apple, furrowed and lined by years
of toil and constant exposure. Her complexion was fresh and ruddy, and
shone from a lavish application of soap-suds and much polishing. Her
scanty gray locks were generally hidden in the house by a red cotton
handkerchief, tied under the chin, out of doors by an appalling erection
which was once a bonnet, but which the ravages of time and weather had
reduced to a confused jumble of faded blue velvet, jellow flowers, and
souvenirs from a deceased rooster’s tail.
Her clothes, though shabby through much wear and faded from many
introductions to the wash-tub, were always scrupulously clean and neat.
A rusty black silk dress and mantle, relics of former mistresses, only
appeared at weddings and funerals; and the wonderful violet silk garment
kept expressly for Royal functions--for the old lady was nothing if not
loyal--was the above-mentioned garment turned inside out!
From many years’ employment at the Legation, Mrs. Peter Potts had come
to consider herself one of the ‘staff,’ and expected to be treated as
such. Her respect for the authorities, from the English Minister
downwards, was immense, and she had a scale of reverence with which she
greeted them--the Court curtsey to His Excellency was a sight to be
remembered and wondered at. It could hardly be properly accomplished in
an ordinary-sized room, although I have seen the old woman, interrupted
in the midst of cleaning a grate, her face and hands black with soot,
rise to her feet, catch a piece of rough holland apron in either hand,
and sweep backwards across the room in a style a Duchess of the
eighteenth century could not have surpassed.
History, however, relates that a former Minister many years previously
had come under ban of Mrs. Peter Potts’ displeasure, and, in a moment of
indignation too strong to be suppressed, she grasped His
‘Excurrency’--as she called His Excellency--by the beard and shook it
violently, much to the great man’s surprise and alarm. Since then,
either the Corps Diplomatique became more cautious as to their dealings
with their ‘colleague,’ or our friend learnt prudence with age. In any
case, of late years the Legation has had no firmer ally than Mrs. Potts.
‘I allus makes my h’inclinations to them of the Corps ’cause I knows my
dooty, Miss,’ she said to me one day.
The late lamented Mr. Peter Potts had departed this life some years
before our arrival in Japan. He was a pensioner, having been sent out as
gate-keeper to the Legation, then in Yokohama, early in the sixties.
Mrs. Potts surrounded the memory of her ‘poor Peter’ with such a halo of
romance, and attributed his death to such a marvellous number of mortal
diseases, that the ex-sergeant of Marines became a glorified figure in
her imagination. As a matter of fact, I believe he was a weak sort of
creature, very hen-pecked, who died from too great an affection to the
gin bottle.
Mrs. Potts has no family living, and seems to rejoice in the fact.
‘I did once ’ave a little bit of a thing not worth mentioning, but,
thank the Lord, it was took arter three days. My mother, she ’ad eleven
of us, pore soul! all told, and I was the only one as lived to grow up.
I was a twin, too, and born with three teeth, and they do say as ’ow
they allus are vixens--I know I was when a gal.’
She treated our little Japanese maid-servants with condescension and
secret contempt. How could anyone under sixty know how to do things in
the proper way?
‘It’s comfort, not style, as you wants, my good young lidy,’ she would
say as she bustled about. ‘Them slips of Jap things can’t know your ways
as I does.’
Once a week she used to have her mid-day meal with us, and a glass of
stout. Then how her tongue would wag! I asked her one day how she had
enjoyed her dinner.
‘Why, miss, I fancied as ’ow I was at the Gilt ’All (Guild Hall). Them
young gals was that pressing I thought as ’ow I should never ’ave done.’
The memories of her early courtship and marriage always brought a blush
to her withered cheek, as she would tell us how she met her ‘pore
Peter,’ for the first time, on the Thames Embankment--‘Jist by one of
them little trees in cages, you know, my good young lidy.’ (This, you
will remember, was forty years ago; the trees have grown since then.)
‘He did look a proper dook, did Peter, in ’is red uniform--the dead
split of the Colonel ’e were.’
They were married at the Tower, and soon afterwards came out to Japan,
Mrs. Potts as temporary maid to the wife of the English Minister.
‘Law, miss,’ she said to me one day, ‘His Excurrency used to get real
Victoria Cross sometimes, and stamp, ’e did, fit to scare you into next
week, but ’e was a kind master, ’e was. He’d say, “Come along, Mrs.
Potts, and choose a drink for yourself,” and when I said I kind o’
fancied a glass o’ beer, he’d go and draw it with ’is own ’ands, ’e
would.’
The old lady had a great admiration for my father. I overheard her
saying to Yami one day: ‘I think as ’ow the master represents the one
from above. He’s no respecter of persons, ’e isn’t, but treats us all
alike--so perlite and consid’rate, ’e is. He says, “Thank you, Mrs.
Potts,” as if I was a Duchess, he do.‘
She was a perfect walking _Court Circular_. Every event connected with
Royalties was of the greatest personal interest to her, and she
invariably took a holiday to celebrate any Royal birthday, and hung a
little Union Jack out of her cottage window. Just before the Coronation
of the King we were all busy preparing for the festivities, but for some
reason best known to herself Mrs. Potts refused to share in the general
rejoicings, although as a rule she was the gayest of the gay on these
occasions.
‘I don’t somehow feel like jubilating, my dears,’ was all she would say.
When the news of the King’s illness reached Tokio, she said to my
father, ‘You see, sir, I ’ad a “presentimum” that there was something
wrong, and I thank the Lord that I wasn’t thinking of merry-making with
His Blessed Majesty ill-a-bed and like to die.’
Whether this was a strange coincidence, or second sight I know not, but
it was a fact.