Picture to yourself a large room, furnished in the best style that
money can buy, couches and easy chairs that one sinks well down among
the cushions. On the wide open hearth burns a bright blazing fire of
large logs of wood on fire dogs. The lamps shaded so that the light
is neither too bright or too dull to read by if so inclined. On the
right stands a table on which is whisky, brandy, soda water, and other
drinks, and plenty of glasses. On the left stands a table, on which is
cigars and cigarettes of the choicest brands. If, after a good day’s
hunting or shooting, a cup of tea, a hot bath, and a change of clothes,
you know of a better “’Ole” to go to for a couple of hours, till the
gong goes, telling you it is time to dress for dinner, well, if you
know of a better “’Ole” go to it.
It was after a good day’s hunting, that eight or ten gentlemen were
lounging, in what they thought was the easiest positions to crouch
among the cushions, each feeling a sort of tired, restful sensation,
and feeling on good terms with all the world, in a room as described
above, relating some queer incidents and tales appertaining to the
world of sport. A whiskey and soda within reach, and a cigar or
cigarette between their lips. It was here that I heard the following
story told by a Prince of the Blood Royal. I think I had better give it
in his own words:--
“I was staying on a visit to my friend, the Duke of Northland, in
Ireland, for shooting and hunting, when, after returning from hunting,
I changed and went down to the smoking room. I was just about to make
myself comfortable when I suddenly thought of an important letter
that I should have answered that day, so I went to one of the writing
tables to do so.
“On completing it, I rang the bell. Jerkins, the butler, came. I asked
him, ‘Has the postbag gone yet, Jerkins?’ ‘I am sorry it has, Your
Highness, but I will send a boy with them on a bicycle to the Post
Office.’ ‘Oh, please don’t trouble, give me my coat, I will stroll
down with the letters myself. There is plenty of time before it is
time to dress for dinner.’
“It was a fine night, though dark, and the wind was a bit boisterous.
The villiage was a typical Irish one. The only street was unlighted,
except by a few parafin lamps in the windows of a shop or two, which
simply made darkness visible.
“The Post Office was a sort of general store, where one could buy
anything, from a halfpenny candle to a glass of whisky, or a bottle of
porter. It was about a mile to the Post Office from the house. As I
strolled along the wind seemed to be getting up and more boisterous.
(‘Hand me the matches, Claud, please; my cigar has gone out while I
have been talking. Thanks.’) I was just about to turn into the street,
when a fellow came running round the corner, with his head down
against the wind. His head met me full butt in my ‘breadbasket.’ I
said, ‘What the blazes--’ but before I could say any more, the fellow
had gone runing up the road I had just walked down. I thought no more
of it till I got to the Post Office window, when I thought I would
look at my watch to see if I was in time for the post, by the light of
of the parafin lamp. I put my hand where the watch ought to be, but
there was no watch there. I thought, ‘So that was why the fellow ran
into me rounding the corner. He must have taken my watch.’ However,
he could not have got far, so I set off after him at my best pace. No
wonder the fellow ran off in such a hurry, without speaking. I could
distinguish footsteps up the road in front, so hurried on and came up
to him. You know at College I could use the gloves a bit, so I at once
set about him. I said, ‘I’ll teach you to steal my watch.’ I knocked
him down and held on to him in the dark. I took the watch out of his
pocket and, giving him a parting punch, I put the watch in my pocket.
I hurried back to the house, as I thought it must be getting on for
‘dressing time.’ Thinking what a fine adventure I should have to
relate to the company at dinner, much to the amusement of the ladies.
As Jerkins let me in the front door, he told me everyone had gone to
dress for dinner, so I went straight up to my room. On turning on the
light I went across to the dressing table. There, in front of me, lay
my own watch, where I had left it when changing after coming in from
hunting. So I was a watch to the good.”
* * * * *
We used to visit the above house when it was in its best days, and in
full swing. In the servants’ hall were two ushers. All one had to do
was to go and sit down. They would ask if you would have tea or coffee,
and what meat you would like. No trouble in asking people to pass this
or that: it was all brought to you. Now that is all over, unless it is
in the one or two first-class places that are left. No rules, as of
old, are kept. The servants all talk at dinner, mostly of what they
like and what they don’t like, or about dress, and when the butler is
serving out the dinner they say, “Oh, give me a piece off there” or
“I’ll have that piece there.” This is the sort of talk that goes on:
“When I’m married I shall not do any of the washing. Nor shall I get
up in the morning to get my husband’s breakfast. He will have to bring
my breakfast up to me in bed. I shall have a bicycle, and go to the
pictures every day, and to dances at night.” A nice sort of helpmate
for a working man! If the butler don’t “hold the candle” to the lot of
them, and try to please them, they will soon find means to oust him
out of his job, by fair means or foul. Sometimes they say, “Oh, our
last butler used to give us a drop of something short before we went
to bed.” So if the present one does not (even though he pays for it
out of his own pocket) to keep on the right side of them, they will
find means to proceed as above. A very few upper servants hold their
places by their own merit, but by what the other servants choose to say
about them. Neither does a butler get a good place on his merits. If he
happens to be known to some of the upper servants in the place, he will
get the position right enough, in preference to all others, in spite of
his disabilities, if he uses enough palm oil. What a wonderful thing
palm oil is! If you want rooms or a house, you have to use it, and the
one who uses most gets the house or rooms. If you want to bring out
an invention unlimited palm oil must be used, or the invention sticks
where it is. If a registry office knows of a really good situation
going it does not go to the first suitable man who applies to them for
it. Oh, no, it goes to the man who produces most palm oil. Independent
of this their charges are generally sixpence in the pound on wages to
be received. Thus, if a man is to get eighty pounds a year the registry
office gets two pounds, and the employer pays them as much or more. If
that is not buying and selling human beings for work, I should like to
know what is. Registry offices will often put in an advertisement in
the _Morning Post_, requiring a servant for a good post, good wages,
in fact make it look as tempting as possible. On a servant applying
to them for the place they say, “Oh, that place has just been taken,
but we are sure to have just such another in a day or so, if you will
put your name on our books; our booking fee is half-a-crown.” Now,
supposing forty servants from all parts of the country either by letter
or personally apply and pay their booking fee, there is a clear profit
of five pounds, less the cost of four shillings for the advertisement.
Not at all a bad business proposition. Possibly they will give or post
one a list of places, some of which one has allready refused without
their help. The others will probably be filled. A servant can easily
wear out several pairs of boots, wasting time and money, runing after
these will o’ the wisps.”
The registry offices are very persistant in their endeavours to collect
these booking fees, though nothing was said about booking fees in the
alluring advertisement. A bill for half-a-crown is posted to each
client. Even if they still persist and spend as much as two shillings
in postage they are still in pocket, that is if they eventually get
the half-crown. I have had this experience, but I replied, “I herewith
return you your account re booking fee, as I am not paying money
away to-day for nothing. When you get me a situation I will pay your
charges.”
Every endeavour is being made by printing articles in the newspapers
to persuade girls to go into service: even so far as to point out the
advantages of such a training would be to them when they marry and have
a home of their own. They may be able to find a man, though now at the
present time there is not enough men to go round. But having found the
man, where are they going to find a home, or even rooms? Of course they
must work or starve, but is there any reason why a girl should give up
her liberty in order to live? I once heard an old butler say, “If I had
a dozen daughters not one of them should go into gentleman’s service.”
I noticed in the paper the other day that an institution was started
to train seven thousand girls to be servants: but they won’t do it.
They may turn out seven thousand makeshifts, they may learn them the
mechanical side of the work, to clean a room, make a bed, wash out a
few “smalls,” clean silver, or a grate, make a cake, but they won’t
make a servant. The first thing they will have to do is to break their
will, for no servant may have a will of their own. She must learn to
take a torrent of ill temper and abuse, and look as though she likes
it that way, but on no account can she, or he, have a temper of their
own. Often, when things have gone wrong between Master and Mistress,
the servants are used as a safety valve. They “let out” at them right
and left, nothing is right, all wrong, the servant dare not answer, or
out you go, and when your character is applied for in your next place,
“Bad tempered and insolent” is the verdict. The poor servant can try
for a place till she is tired, but she won’t get one. She must then
either get married or go on the streets. A great deal will have to be
taken on trust, as to “character” of this flood of girls that are being
“trained” in masses. Servants, like birds, must be caught when young.
The girls of the present, having had a few years of liberty, if put
into service, would be constantly beating their wings against the bars
of their cage, so to speak, and would never settle down to it for long
together. Their dominant thought would always be, “When is it my turn
to go out?” And having got out, are worrying themselves about the time
they have to get back. What they will miss most is their freedom on
Sundays. Which reminds me of the following chorus to an old song, sung
by a modern “slavey.”
“Six days a week with all my might.
I keep the pots and kettles bright,
And keep the cobwebs out of sight;
But I must go out on Sunday.”
It is not often servants get any thrills during their life in service,
except a burglary, or the house catches alight. But a thrill of a
different sort occurred in a house in the country some time ago.
The household had assembled one morning for family prayers, all were
present except the ladies-maid. The Bos had two gentleman “friends” who
had called to see him that morning, and they consented to join in the
family supplications. Each of them sat near the door. The Bos enquired
where Miss Hadum was? One of the servants replied that she was not
attending prayers that morning, as she had a headache, and asked to
be excused. The Bos sent a servant to fetch her, saying he would not
begin prayers till she came. Eventually the ladies-maid came and took
her place. At the conclusion of prayers, the servants all went out in
single file. As the ladies-maid was about to go out of the door a hand
was placed on each of her shoulders. “She” proved to be a man convict
who had escaped from a prison some miles away, a year before. One
occasionally meets a man who has effamite manners and looks, even to
the voice. It only requires the clothes to complete the delusion.
A similar case occurred in Grosvenor Place, London, about thirty years
ago. This man acted as young ladies-maid. But I should fancy the ladies
were inclined to kick themselves after the deception was discovered.
Perhaps they felt like the old fellow who had wound up his clock every
night before going to bed, for fifty years, and then discovered it was
an eight-day clock, and only required winding once a week. Or something
like the gardener felt who used to court the cook. He was not allowed
in the house, but used to go behind the laurels under the larder
window, and give a peculiar whistle. The cook knew the signal. So they
used to have a game at “Romeo and Juliet.” But the Missus had noticed
the whistle often. She was determined to find out what it meant, so
went to the larder, and sent the cook away. The gardener could not
distinguish her, as the window was covered with wire gauze. The first
thing he asked was, “Where’s the old gal?” Then there was another
gardener’s post vacant.
I believe his Satanic Majesty plays tricks on us human beings
sometimes. He certainly did on me on an occasion of a large house party
for the Ascot Races, in the year that Clorane won the Hunt Cup.
Several other valets, who I had met at their own and other places were
there, and a corresponding number of ladies-maids. The house had been
taken for the race week. I also knew the butler previously. On the Hunt
Cup day the valets had hired a waggonette to take us up to the course,
each of us paying our part of the cost. We dare not start till the
gentry had driven away from the front door, in case we were wanted at
the last minute. My Bos was a bit fidgetty and peppery.
A few minutes before it was time to start the butler came into the
pantry and said he had lost a five pound note. He was a man who got
excited when in a tight corner--what is called “flustered.” This
incident was unplesant, as it put us all, more or less, under a certain
amount of suspicion. He said: “I had it here a short time ago.” He
searched his pockets again, but the note was not to be found. We all
set to work to look for it. I noticed when he came into the pantry
he was screwing some waste paper up in his hand, which he threw into
the empty fire-grate. We searched this, but there was no five pound
note there. In the meantime the butler had to go to the front door
to “see them off.” The valets then said, “Come on, we need not wait
any longer,” and away they went to the side door, and mounted the
waggonette. I waited in the pantry, as I dare not go till the gentry
had gone; besides, I did not like the idea of the five pound note being
lost.
Under most pantry washing up sinks a pail is kept to receive the
scrapings of breakfast and desert plates, also for emptying the tea
leaves out of the tea pots.
I stood there alone wondering, when the thought struck me to look into
this pail, which was nearly full of rubbish. At first I could see
nothing but tea leaves, and pieces of paper, but on turning these over
I discovered the five pound note. It was all wet and stained by the
tea leaves. “Now, Mr Butler,” thinks I, “I have a surprise for you.”
At this juncture great shoutings came from the side door, “Come on,
Nabob” (that’s what they used to call me) “We are off, not going to
wait any longer for you. We shall miss the first race.” I heard the
waggonette drive off. I was in a bit of a dialemma. I wanted to be off.
The butler had not returned. I did not like to leave the note on the
table, with no one about, in case it got stolen in reality. So I dried
the note with a cloth, put it in my pocket, and decided to give it to
him on my return from the races. I darted off after the waggonette, and
caught them up as they were going out at the lodge gates. I never had
much money for betting, as I had to consider those at home, and send
most of my wages there. But something within me told me that Clorane
would win the race, that I was almost tempted to put more on it than
I could afford, but I only had five shillings “each way,” and Clorane
won at ten to one. It is said that fortune knocks at every man’s door
once. I suppose that was my chance, for I have never seen anything
before, or since, sticking out like Clorane, but I had not the money
to invest. Even if I had to any great amount, perhaps ten pounds, the
probability is that the bookie would have “hopped it,” rather than
pay out a hundred and ten pounds, as I did not go into any ring to
bet. However, I ended up by being two pounds to the good on the day’s
racing. On our arrival back at the house, I thought how pleased the
butler would be. I handed him the note, which had got dry in my pocket.
He immediately flew into a terrible temper, said I had stolen the note
in the morning, had taken it, and used it on the course, that I had
won money with it, and if I had lost instead of wining I should have
kept it quiet and said nothing. I tried to explain the circumstances in
which I found it, pointed out the stains of the tea leaves on the note,
and why I had left in the morning without giving it to him, but all to
no purpose. Everyone believed as he did. I was well derided in front
of everybody at supper that night, and jeered at. It nearly led to a
fight, but I managed to restrain myself. I was cut out of their circle
of friendship, and no doubt looked upon with suspicion to this day. I,
on the contrary, thought how thankful everyone should have been, for
if the note had been thrown away with the rubbish every servant in the
house would always been under suspicion. I argued, supposing I had used
and changed the note, what were the odds that I should have the same
note, stained with tea leaves, handed back to me on the racecourse? But
as I was alone and had no witnesses when I found the note in the pail,
my statement was not believed. If this was not a trick of the devil,
I don’t know what is. I thereupon made a vow (which I have not kept)
that should I ever find anything else of value I would keep it dark and
say nothing. If ever I see servants leaving their money or jewellery
about I tell them it is not fair to the other servants, for should it
be lost, or stolen, every servant in the house is suspected, and under
suspicion.
A case of this sort occurred in my younger days, when I was under
butler. The footmen had missed money out of a drawer in their bedroom.
A char-woman came in from the villiage once a week to scrub out the
men servants’ bedrooms. The butler and the clerk of the works marked
some coins, and put them in the drawer. The char-woman did not come
into the servants’ hall to dinner. After dinner the footmen went to
their rooms, and found some money missing. The woman was called to the
butler’s room, and searched; she had the money, and confessed she was
the culprit.
* * * * *
After a brief stay at home with my wife and son, my late employer
being dead, and my purse not being a very long one, it behoved me to
find another situation. In this I had no difficulty, as my references
were of the best. Perhaps it would have been better for me through
life had I taken smaller places, but my aim was always upward and
onward, though I could never hope to attain the very top of the tree,
being three inches short of six feet. I was still full of energy,
and could never bear to be idle. I could not stand or sit about and
do nothing but talk: my aim was to “Do.” In my spare time I would do
photographing, music practice on my violin, needlework or woolwork.
It is curious what a “funny fish” a man developes into who is shut up
inside a house all his life.