Now I had to scout round and get another place. It was not long before
I got hooked on to a Noble Lord--in disposition quite different to
my previous Bos, Sir Cayenne. This one turned out to be of a surley
disposition. One seldom saw a smile on his face. He was director to
several companies, and the employees had cause to keep their eyes open
when he was about. Many a man he got sacked, for he was without mercy,
a hard-hearted man, and well hated by everyone.
Which reminds me of a little story. At a certain works or factory, two
of the men got round a corner to have a few draws of their pipes in
working hours. They were busy at it, when they saw a strange man come
along. They said: “Come round the corner, mate, or the foreman will see
you!” “Well,” he replied, “I happen to be the new foreman.”
Everybody seemed to hate the sight of this Noble Lord. In the villiage,
which belonged to him, the inhabitants never used to touch their hats
to him; in fact, never looked at him, or ever had a good word for him.
The houses were old and out of repair, the farms also; they could not
get repairs done. All the dirty work was done by the estate agent. One
thing he did not forget was to collect the rents punctually. The estate
agent was dressed smarter than the Noble Lord, and had more “Swank.”
In fact, one would take him to be Bos of the show, and as it may be
imagined no one liked him either. The servants in the house, or out of
it for that matter, did not like him. He remarked to the butler one
night, “If this lamp does not burn better there will be a vacancy for a
butler shortly.”
The Lord and I used to travel a great deal. The servants hated the
sight of our faces when we returned home; in fact they treated me like
an unwelcome lodger. If we happened to arrive from a long journey
between the times for meals, I could not get anything, but had to wait
till the next meal time came round, though I had missed my dinner. The
house was fourteen miles from the railway station.
His Lordship did not go in for fox hunting, but was keen on shooting
and salmon fishing. His Lordship’s god was his clothes, and himself.
He had about sixty suits of clothes. On Sundays he would make me carry
them all downstairs, and spread them out in a large bedroom on the
ground floor. When they were all down, I had to go and tell him they
were ready. When it pleased him he would come and begin to try them
all on, in front of a long glass, one suit after another, which took
hours. When he had finished there was a waggonload of clothes to brush,
fold up, and take back to his dressing room, and stack away in their
different classes and places. This was the Sunday clothes inspection.
But during the two years I was with him he never gave me a thing, not
so much as an old worn-out necktie. I have known him catch twenty-eight
salmon in a day, ranging from sixteen to thirty-four pounds. But he
never gave me one. But they were all packed in boxes and sent by rail
to the market, excepting a few to personal friends. Servants were
treated by him as though they were a lower order of beings simply sent
for his use and convenience.
An amusing incident happened at a shooting party. We were to lunch at
a farm house. The late Duke of Cambridge was one of the party. His
Highness was very fond of lark pudding. When we arrived at the farm
house the gentry went into the parlour, the valets and loaders went
into the kitchen, where a table was laid. We put our guns and cartridge
bags in the corner, and began to look round to see what there was for
lunch, for we were all hungry after being out in the fresh air all the
morning. One of the valets spied a large pudding in a basin, standing
on the fender in front of the fire. He put it on the table, and began
to help it round, observing, “By Jove, they do us very well here.” For
it is generally cold meat and bread for the loaders, sometimes Irish
stew. By the time we were all served, and were about to begin, the man
who was waiting on the gentry came out of the parlour, and went towards
the fireplace. He exclaimed, “Where’s the lark pudding?” He saw it, or
what remained of it, on our table. “Good God,” he said, “that pudding
was for the Duke of Cambridge.” He got a spoon and scraped it off our
plates back into the basin, and squared it up as best he could. Had he
been a few minutes later there would not have been any to put back.
Lark pudding for servants? What next?
The Duke of Cambridge was the only man who ever told me I was not
holding my gun properly. We were standing in a sort of ravine waiting.
I had my gun on my shoulder, when I heard a voice on the rocks above
and behind me, shouting, “Put your gun down, that man there.” I looked
up. I did not know any of the guns were stationed above us. I knew a
gun should always be either pointed to the sky or to the ground by the
loader. I have often thought what a risk some of the bullying sort of
gentry (who speak to their servants worse than they would to a dog,)
run when out shooting. When, for instance, a gun might easily go off
“accidently” when climbing through a hedge, or over a wall. For all
loaders do not take the cartridges out of the gun when doing so,
though it is the general rule. A gentleman was once shot in the back by
accident, but there is such a thing as “accidently on purpose.”
One of the fads this Noble Lord had was when he went out for a walk he
would put on four or five overcoats. As his blood began to circulate,
and he got warmer, he would take one coat off and throw it down, on the
ground or anywhere, and so on further on, till he had only one left. I
had to go out afterwards, find out which way he went and collect the
coats. If a working man did this sort of thing, people would say he was
balmy. But with money in plenty one can do it with impunity. People
call it “genious” in an aristocrat, or “originality.”
It is not often that, when out shooting, you find a place under cover
to eat your lunch in. I remember once when out shooting in Scotland the
beer in the bottles froze to a solid mass of ice. They put the bottles
between their legs to try and thaw it, but was unable to get any out
before we had to begin shooting again. The beef was also so frozen that
we could not cut it. It was like a lump of stone.
When the day’s shooting is ended the valet takes the guns and
cartridges, coats, etc., and gets back to the house as quickly as he
can, before his Bos, if possible, in order to get a hot bath ready for
him before he arrives.
Once, in Scotland (I did not know the country but could see the house
in the distance), I took a bee line across country, thinking it was the
nearest way. When within a quarter of a mile I found a river between me
and the house, “Well,” thinks I, “I’m not going back, I’ll try to wade
it.” I strapped the guns, cartridge bags and coats together, and held
them over my head, and went in. Before I got to the middle of the river
the water was up under my arms, and still got deeper. I was afraid to
go any farther, as I could not attempt to swim under that load; so I
turned back and had to go over a bridge half a mile away.
An amusing thing happened where I was staying at a large house in the
Eastern Counties. I often used to take a walk round with the head
keeper. He told me that a herd of young pigs used to get into the
coverts, grubbing about, and disturbing the phesants sitting on their
eggs. He had driven them out time after time, but they always came
back. When they heard him coming they used to scutter off back to the
farm in a drove, down one of the drives in the woods. One day he gave
them a dose of sparrow shot out of his gun, at a good distance off. A
few days afterwards he was going over the same ground when the farmer
asked the keeper if he knew anything about pigs, as all his young ones
had developed a lot of pimples on their sterns, a sort of rash had come
out; he had never seen anything like it before. The keeper looked at
them, said it was very curious, but no doubt would be all right in a
day or two.
I had some fine trout fishing while there. I used a worm, which is not
considered sportsmanlike, as fly fishing is the correct way to catch
trout. When I had caught half a dozen I would take them and grill them
for tea. But there was one artful old fellow I could not catch. He used
to live among the roots of a tree that the water had washed bare. When
he saw me he would simply draw back and wink the other eye, and say,
“I don’t want your worm.” But I had him: he weighed four pounds and a
half. I got my worm and rod ready about twenty yards from the bank of
the river, then crawled along, laying low, and dropped the line gently
into the roots of the tree. He was at home. In an instant the rod was
pulled out of my hand; away he went with it. I after him, the end of
the rod was sticking out of the water. I waded in and grasped it, and
played him till he was tired. In an hour he was on his way to London by
parcel post.
This Noble Lord I was with had an idea that I never wanted to go out on
my own account. He expected me to be available at any moment of the
day or night. When staying at an hotel he would always expect to find
me waiting outside his door. I had to get his breakfast ready and wheel
it into his room by seven o’clock in the morning. Anyone that has tried
this at an hotel knows what that means. If anything was not right to
please him, he would send for the manager, and get some of the servants
the sack. Those that knew him scuttled out of his way, and spoke of him
with awe, in a subdued voice. After two years of this I thought I would
try my hand at a butler’s job, so I left him.
Nothing would please me at this time but that I should get married.
Though whistling, singing, and courting are not allowed in good places,
courting is carried on all the same, in a quiet way. Sometimes in the
housemaids’ cupboard, where they keep their brushes and pails; a few
words when passing on the stairs; ways and means can always be found
to dodge the housekeeper’s eagle eye. Though I must admit it is not
plesant or fair to the other servants in the house when courting is
going on. But “Love,” or Cupid, is such a funny little fellow, and will
not be denied. Try to stamp out the flame of love in one place, and it
pops up in another. The more one tries to smother it, the fiercer it
burns, yet it is said that “Love is blind,” if so then his feeling must
be exceptionally good, and “eye language” goes a long way with lovers.
Now, for a butler to get married is simply suicidal. Firstly, his
employer has got him fairly by the neck. He has got what they call an
encumbrance. He cannot move so easily as he could when he was single.
They can insult his feelings right and left. He must not answer, or
say “Boo to a goose.” He has got to console himself with the saying:
“It’s better to please a fool than tease one.” Suppose he is married
and takes a place miles in the country; he has taken his wife and
furniture, perhaps to live on the estate in a cottage. That man will
put up with a great deal before he throws up his place, and has the
responsibility of taking his wife and furniture elsewhere, and it is
generally “God knows where.” On the other hand, should he prove to be
unsatisfactory, and he gets the sack, things are blacker still, for
he is told: “I have another man coming into the house you occupy on
Monday next. So you must get out of it.” Perhaps there are no rooms, or
a vacant house for miles, but he has to get out. They knew something
in the olden days when they only had Eunuchs in their houses to wait
on them. No trouble about the butlers’ wives and encumbrances then, or
courting either. That is why one sees so many advertisements in the
papers for “Man and wife.” They get them both for the wages of one,
and have a stranglehold on them into the bargain. Like the old lady
engaging a butler, said she expected him to fill up his spare time in
whitewashing, painting, cleaning out the drains, cleaning windows, and
feeding and cleaning out the chickens, and take the dogs out for a run.
He asked: “Do you keep pigs? Mam.” “No,” the old lady replied, “not
at present.” “Then I’m afraid your place won’t suit me,” replied the
butler, “for I am very fond of pigs.”
Some years ago I knew of a butler who wished to get married, and
asked his employer if he had any objection to his doing so. “No,”
said his employer, “I have no objection.” So accordingly the butler
got married, but to his surprise he got a month’s notice to leave
shortly afterwards. His employer explained that he wanted his butler
always within call; but that since he had got married he was often
out, as he went home to see his wife, and that his was not “a married
butler’s place.” Taking all things into consideration, a butler ought
not to be married. It is not fair to the wife, for she has to mope at
home, seeing very little of her husband, while he is at the big house,
surrounded with all sorts of womenfolk. The wife remembering that he
was somewhat of a “giddy kipper” before he was married, which does
not alleviate matters. Should he happen to beget several children, it
all goes against them, for the children must not be seen about the
place. Of course there are places where a servant is treated as though
he were human. There are also some real good places. But the butler
stays there, because he cannot better his position by going elsewhere.
Supposing by some means I could dislodge him from his position what
are the chances that I should get his job? Quite ten thousand to one.
But to one good place there are a hundred indifferent ones. Especially
since the War, for now the butler has to be the general utility man.
The real good places are nearly always filled, either by promoting the
next man that has served under the butler, or by his being known to a
branch of the family. An outsider has no chance.
A certain philosopher likens marriage to a man putting his hand into a
bag containing a lot of snakes, but only one eel. If he draws out the
eel he is lucky. Love is also said to be “blind.” It is in a way. For
a man does not know everything about a woman, nor the woman everything
about a man before they marry. But they find it out afterwards. In the
matter of incompability of temper: if they can’t find that out before
marriage they must fight it out afterwards. It is well known that “Man
wants all he can get, and woman wants all she can’t get.” A man may
find himself landed with a partial invalid for life, or “visa versa.”
This, in the case of a working man, is a great consideration and
drawback. Perhaps he finds he is landed on to a woman who can’t get up
in the morning because she has got a headache. Therefore if he wants
any breakfast before he goes to work he must get it ready himself,
whether he has a headache or not. A great many women, after marriage,
parade these ailments and disabilities to do this or that as an asset,
a sort of lawful excuse, so that a man finds instead of a helpmate he
has found a hinderance to his making his way through life. To a working
man this is serious, but to the gentry it does not matter if his wife
stays in bed all day, and every day. The servants will attend to his
wants.
I should agree to a law that all persons proposing to marry be
thoroughly medically examined, inside and out, and given a certificate.
This would prevent a great deal of misery in the world: not only in the
case of begetting children, but also in the battle of life.
Well, I got married, which I ought not to have done while my mother
was alive. I had saved up the amount of seventy pounds to buy the
furniture and launch our boat on the sea of life. Meanwhile things had
not gone on well at home. My youngest sister’s husband had been playing
old gooseberry with things in general. He was out at all hours of the
night, and worried my mother to death. In fact she did die shortly
after I married. I was able to go to her funeral. Thus ended a hard
life, when, with a woman of her education and refinement, her tender
disposition and lovable manner, it ought to have been easier for her.
She had a true sense of religion. As she lay dieing, the curate called
to see her, but she told him that as she had lived in the same house
for forty years, and he had never called before he needn’t trouble now,
it was too late.
Now my sister’s husband had to turn too and work to pay the rent and
keep a roof over his head. They had one child, a girl. They wished to
stay in the house. So I came away and left them. In the end he got
work at Southampton, on one of the mail boats, through the influence
of a relative of my mother, who held a high position at the docks. He
cleared the house out, and took all the furniture with him. I did not
object as my sister wanted it for her home, they had no other. Thus
ended the home of my childhood, where I had spent many happy days. But
I myself could not afford to lose any time. I had little left, except
my first-class references, which all showed that I was a thorough,
reliable servant.
I had little trouble in obtaining my first butler’s place, having had
such a good schooling in livery. But it turned out to be more or less
a “rotter.” It was situated on the South Coast. I packed my furniture,
and took a cottage near the place, but not on the estate. I will call
the Bos Sir Grizle de Bluster, for he was always on the “nag.” The
house was an old Elizabethan mansion. The kitchen was like a great
barn. Sir Grizel was a typical Member of Parliament, with the brains
of a rabbit. It was his money that did it. He made his name famous
when he brought in a bill about adding more water to beer, or some
such idiotic notion. They had the usual old servant of the family, the
housekeeper, to be treated as one of themselves, a trustworthy spy. He
also had his old mother to live there with him; she was as deaf as a
block. On one occasion the footman ran up to her rooms to tell her the
house was falling down. She said, “What?” “The house is falling down,
mam.” “Goodness gracious, why didn’t you tell me before.” As the old
lady ran out of the room the whole of the five gables fell flat on to
the lawn, in one slab, leaving all the insides of the rooms exposed.
Which reminds me of an incident that happened at Manchester when I was
there. It had been a remarkably wet season. A commercial traveller was
occupying a bedroom in an hotel that had recently been built. He had
more than a couple of whiskies before retiring. When the side wall of
the room fell out, so that the people in the street had a full view of
the interior, there he lay in bed. He said he had paid for the room,
and he was not going to get up for anybody.
Sir Grizel and the family came to London for the season. The
confidential housekeeper dined in her own room, at the same time as the
family. When they had finished with the silver dishes in the dining
room, they were taken direct to her room, from there to the kitchen
when she had finished with them. All the other servants dined in the
servants’ hall, and got what they could. For the old confidential used
to go out every morning to either order or bring the things in for the
day. One day she brought some half-ripe plums in late, and told the
cook to make puddings, but as there was not time, the cook sent in the
half-ripe plums for us to eat as they were in the servants’ hall. “Oh,
ours was a nice house, ours was.”
When the family returned to the country the house had been repaired. I
thought the circumstances over in my mind. Everything was so different,
everything so second rate, that I thought I could be doing something
better. So I gave Sir Grizel a month’s notice. Talk about a whole box
of squibs going off at once! (Sir Grizel stuttered a bit, especially
when he was excited). “What do you mean? How dare you give me a month’s
notice? Come into the billiard room.” I followed him in. “Now, what do
you mean? How dare you give me a month’s notice?” I said, “I think I
am quite within my rights in doing so.” “Rights! What rights? Talk to
me about your rights, I will knock you down with this stick.” I said,
“I don’t think you will, for I am a younger and stronger man than you:
if you struck me I should give you such a hiding you would not readily
forget.” He spluttered, stuttered and foamed at the mouth, and said,
“I will send for the police.” I said, “I wish you would, for if he is
a truthful policeman he will state who struck the first blow. Send
for him before you begin knocking me about.” Here, then, is a fine
illustration of the employer’s point of view. This man (I can’t call
him a gentleman) because he had plenty of money, thought he could have
everything he wanted, and no one dare deny him. Everything was quite
all right as long as I would take his insults and snubbings without a
murmer; but as soon as I had a voice in the matter, he went raving mad,
and would like to smash me. But he could not compel me to stay in his
service. The old slave days have passed away long since. Yet he still
thought he had the whip hand of me. He was not compelled to give me a
reference, and could bring me to my knees in that way. But he didn’t,
for I never applied to him for a reference. My previous first-class
record would get me a place anywhere. So he found out that there
were other things besides “Love” that money would not buy. Had his
constituants known more of his inside life, he would not have got many
votes. It was simply the possession of money that did it.
So I put my furniture on the rail, and off we went back to London town.
I found two nice rooms at Hampstead, and soon got straight. Here my
son was born, on exactly to the day twelve months after I was married.
My wife said she should not do any more travelling about, the first
time sickened her of it. She said I could get a place where I liked,
but she was going to stay where she was. So I scouted round, and got
a situation with a certain Duchess, as butler, but what a place it
turned out to be! The Duchess had made herself very unpopular. There
had been some sort of shady business going on about the Duke’s (her
first husband) property. Eventually she married again, a man beneath
her in rank. The place had got demoralised. Butlers staid only a month,
some not that. So I thought I would see what I could do with it. The
under butler was an older man than myself, and had served the old Duke.
The footmen did just what they liked, they would not take their turn
on duty, but went out just when they liked. I tried to lick them into
shape, but they said: “Don’t worry yourself, old chap, you won’t be
here longer than the other butlers, about a month.” The husband had
his own valet: he was the spy in the house, in this case. The Duchess
told me he acted as groom of the chambers as well, but when I asked him
to take a turn on duty, he said: “Duty be damned. I have got plenty
of other work to do beside going on duty.” I had to answer all bells,
the footmen would only show up when the Duchess was about. They knew
her ways. After a short time in London the family went to the country
house for a week or so, an enormous place. I went down the day previous
to get ready all the writing tables and other things, as the house was
to be full of visitors. I went in every bedroom, putting up candles,
ink, pens, pencils, notepaper--got lost, and could not find my way
back, there was no one about. I ought to have put an envelope on the
mat of the door I came in by, as I had to go through a room which was
a passage room, before I got to the landing where the staircase was,
and the rooms were all alike. The family and guests arrived next day,
about twenty of them. In the butler’s room was a telephone: all the
telegrams were ’phoned from the town, which was ten miles away. That
telephone was continuously ringing. I had to copy the message on to an
ordinary telegraph form, put it in a buff envelope, address it, then
diliver it. By the time I got back three or four other messages were
waiting to be taken off. There was quite enough telephone work for one
person. However, I struggled through somehow. The gentry played cards
until two and three in the morning, and they were a thirsty lot. The
Duchess would hold a sort of levee in her boudoir every morning. First
I got my whigging, then the head gardener, coachman, keeper--she had
them all in. She always said I never washed out her fountain pens every
morning. It was useless my saying I had done them. One morning she came
into her boudior dressed in a white muslin dress, trimmed with blue
bows and ribbons. She began about the pens, took hold of one, tugged
it open: the ink went all over the front of her dress. I was glad to
beat a retreat, as she ran into her bedroom. Not being popular with the
families in the highest circles, the Duchess and her beloved spouse had
to put up with the second-raters, comprising theatrical people, and
such like, a lot of people on the look out for something for nothing.
The servants were constantly changing. Those leaving they sent away by
a different line and station from those new ones arriving, so that they
should not meet. One day they did meet, at the Junction, all the jolly
lot went back to London together, the new ones and the old. Eventually
we returned to the London house, where they gave a large dinner party.
They were a thirsty lot. On these occasions the valet had to help wait
at table. As soon as I filled their glasses with champayne, they picked
them up and emptied them at one gulp. The Bos, seeing the glasses
empty, told me to hand the wine, with the same result as before. The
next morning the Bos asked me how many bottles of champayne were used
for the dinner party. I told him. He said, “Impossible.” Then he said
he had been told that the men who carried up the dinner was seen to be
drinking champayne in the serving room. That was not true, for they did
not get the chance. What the valet did see was the men sucking at the
empty bottles, for I left nothing in them: there may have been a few
drops left in the bottom of the bottles. He stormed and fumed. I told
him I did not want his champayne or him either. I asked him to give me
my wages, and I would clear out at once. The footmen were right. I was
only there about a month, and that was a month too long. After that
they told the under butler if he did not accept the butler’s place,
he would have to leave. He had been offered the place on previous
occasions, but knew better than accept it. Anyhow, he took the place.
Shortly after he could not be found. Eventually they found he was in
his room, locked in, and as drunk as a lord. The Duchess was frightened
to death he would set the house alight.