The six years I was in service of a Russian Princess is far too great
a human tragedy for me to write of in detail. Call her what you will,
exile, refugee, she was one of the most considerate, amiable ladies
that ever walked this earth, though misfortune after misfortune met
her at every turn. Her manner quickly showed that she had been used
to moving in Royal Courts. She had two sons and one daughter. In the
early days, after they had come over from Russia, they were, without
doubt, watched by Russian spies. Whenever the two sons, aged eighteen
and twenty-one, went to town, which they did nearly every day, I always
had to go with them as a sort of bodyguard. Their mother, the Princess,
was afraid they would be spirited away out of her charge, and she not
know which way they went. The porters and police got to know them at
Victoria Station. As soon as they saw us get out of the train they were
tumbling over one another to see who should get us a taxi: they were
sure of a tip of a few shillings.
These two sons had a fine talent for engineering. They were among the
very first to build an areoplane in this country, at Brooklands, with
the help of three mechanics. But, alas, they built it of such enormous
size that the engine power they had was not one third powerful enough
to make it take the air. Had they built two smaller ones instead they
might have made a good start. When the enormous thing was finished
a large company of Lords and Ladies came down, broke a bottle of
champayne over her nose. We then pushed it out in the open, set the
engine going full speed, but the thing would not move. There it stuck
till dark, when we pushed it back into the shed. Their energies
deserved a better fate.
When first they came to England they kept up a good establishment. But
after losing one estate after another in Russia, they had to do with
less and less servants. Eventually the eldest son married the daughter
of a large store owner in London, but the wife’s fortune was so tied up
that the husband had no control of it.
Whether it be in palace or castle, cottage or hut, the sudden stoppage
of all income is bound to produce some very unplesant happenings and
circumstances. The jewels were many and valuable. These were sold to
keep things going, but even the proceeds of the sale would not keep
things going for long. Servants’ wages were periodically becoming due,
and could not be paid. Consequently the footmen were the first to go
on strike, then the housemaids, then the kitchen and scullerymaids.
They would not go without their wages, but hung about the house without
working, nevertheless they had to be fed and lodged. As the days went
by the atmosphere became more humid, the servants began to quarrel
among themselves; they could not be turned out except by brute force.
The chauffeur had a fight with the butler, an ex-Life Guardsman, who
stood six feet four in his socks: the chauffeur hit the butler on the
head with a stone jug, and broke the jug. Of course the butler could
have crushed his neck with one hand had he wished, but as we all knew
the chauffeur always carried a revolver in his hip pocket, we rushed
between them and got the chauffeur away, for we did not want to see
murder done. The secretary went to town to see if he could raise enough
money to pay off the servants who were on strike, and let them depart.
But if one wants to know the value of money, let him try and borrow
some. Eventually they were partly paid, and promiced the remainder
later, but which they never got, so they departed. The butler had
advanced the Princess certain sums of money which, together with his
wages owing, was a considerable amount. He took the whole of the family
plate, as security, and then his departure. Thus there were only three
servants left. The cook, myself, valet, and an odd man. Want of money
and a splash of loyalty, made us stay on. Why is it that a lady with
such a kind angelic disposition is made to suffer the torments of the
damned? Whereas a bad-tempered, grasping, immoral cat of a woman can
have everything she desires, a kind of cat who no servants can live
with more than a month.
For years my wages were not fully paid. I had not the heart to leave
them, though there were little hopes of better times. In the end I came
away with one hundred and seventy pownds owing to me, and it is still
owing, with no chance of my ever getting it. For it is no use whipping
a dead horse.
I observed the other day that the married son’s comings and goings
were notified in the fashionable column in the daily papers. Thusly:
“The Prince and Princess Wontpopski left their town house in Portman
Square for Paris to-day.” I knew they were in town, so called on the
off-chance of seeing the Prince, but was told by the butler, “Not at
home,” and he did not know when he would be back. I said I would write.
I wrote, but got no reply. I called again. The butler said he had gone
to the country, he did not know when he would be back. Now this is a
thing “no fellah can understand”--notifying their movements in Society
papers, and yet goes about owing his late valet one hundred and seventy
pounds wages. What rotten Swank!
At the time of my leaving them my wife was gradually going blind. She
eventually went quite blind. All that could be done for her was done.
I took her to a Harley Street specialist several times, at a guinea a
visit, when he could do nothing more for her. I took her periodically
to King’s College Hospital. She became an in-patient, remaining there
three months. They took both her eyes out. After a time she could
distinguish shaddows, but eventually went quite blind again. It was at
this stage of affairs, that I thought I would try and get some other
employment than gentleman’s service, in order that I could at least
be home at night, to see to things. Though my wife could find her way
about the house by feeling the furniture, there was still the danger of
her setting herself alight. Some said: “Why not go as waiter?” Easier
said than done, as those who have tried it will tell you. I tried to
get temporary work, such as cleaning silver, and other daily work
about a house, but could not get enough of it to earn a living. After
consultation with my brother, who owned a taxi, he said, “Why not go
in for this game? I get a living at it.” But before I could do this
Scotland Yard has something to say to one about it. Firstly I had to
get proof of character from last employer, and two other householders.
After this one has to learn one’s way, and the nearest way, about eight
square miles of streets of London, must know all the clubs, hotels,
railway and tube stations, all the theatres, music halls and cinemas,
hospitals, police stations and morturies, cemetries, and prisons, and
the nearest way to get to them from any given point. All the docks and
wharves, and principal banks, museums, and principal buildings. There
is a school for learning all this, for which they charge seven pounds
for three months’ tuition, but one must be very clever, and have an
extraordinary good memory to pass the examinations in six months. When
one thinks he knows enough, he goes up to Scotland Yard, only to be
floored perhaps by the very first question. They then tell you to come
up again in a fortnight. Studying large maps helps one a great deal,
but that is not enough. The police inspectors will ask what colour
such a building is somewhere in the East End, whether the road is of
wood or asphalt. They can then tell if you have been there, or only
learnt by the maps. The same questions of every part of London. It has
been said that there is more study required to pass this examination
than that of taking a degree at Oxford or Cambridge. But I persevered.
Some days I would be absent from the school, and take a tour by ’bus
and tram to the East End, as far as Woolwich and Greenwich, and walk
back, searching the streets as I came. By the evening I was as tired
as a dog. On other days I would go South, North, or West, exploring
and taking notes. But the fact of my not being used to being out of
doors in all weathers, in the cold and wet, I was soon knocked up, not
getting proper food, and poor food at the best. I soon got pluerisy.
I was laid up for three months, the pain was so great that I wished
I could die. I got so weak and run down that a swelling came out,
similar to a large boil, at the back of my neck. Also I showed an
eruption on my side to the doctor. “Why, man,” he said, “You have got
the shingles!” I, who had never had so much as a pimple on my skin
before. “Good Lord,” I thought, “is there anything else that goes with
driving a taxi?” However, I pulled through, and gradually got stronger.
As Spring advanced I wanted to get out of doors, but first I thought
I would try getting out of bed, which I did, and fell on the floor:
there I remained. I was too weak to get into bed again, so remained
there till someone came and lifted me in bed again. So I was not so
strong as I thought I was. After another fortnight of bed I asked the
doctor if I could go out of doors for a little while, it being a fine
sunshiny day. He said I might try. I had been practising walking across
the room for some days. I got my clothes on, but as soon as I got out
in the fresh air everything went round and round, houses, street and
all, and I fell flat on the pavement. They took me back to bed. After
a bit I got strong enough to resume my studies. I was determined
to master it. I passed the Scotland Yard test in nine months after
I began, including the time I was ill. Then came the examination as
to knowledge of twenty-five miles round London, but this was not so
severe a test as the other. I soon passed. Now came the time to learn
to drive a taxi. They will not begin to learn one untill one has passed
the knowledge test, as only about ten per cent, got through. Four
learners get inside the taxi, one at the wheel, with an instructor
sitting beside him. Each one gets forty minutes’ drive. As we advance
in learning the instructor takes them gradually to the busiest parts
of London, putting one in tight corners. I used to like driving in
traffic. Sometimes the language was a bit flowery. Such as, “Oh, yes,
you’d do to drive a b---- funeral,” when looking for a chance to pass
something in front in Regent Street or Piccadilly. When I saw a chance
I let it go and shot past. “That’s it, smash the damned thing up,” says
the instructor. All the old horse cab drivers got through with a minor
examination. All they had to do was to learn to drive a taxi. During
the time I was learning I used to go to a man I knew, who had a few
cars for private hire. He promiced to learn me a bit about motors. One
day I was attempting to start up a large six cylinder car. It was cold
and obstinate, but I put all my strength into it: got a backfire. It
felt as though my arm had gone over the roofs of the houses. It would
have been better if I had broken my arm. I had lacerated my arm and
shoulder muscles, and was painful for years: whenever I moved my arm
my shoulder went click, clack. In passing the driving test at Scotland
Yard one has to back the taxi round a corner, and through a narrow
archway. The first time I tried I just touched the post with one of the
wings. The next time, after being put back a month, I was worse. Yet
I could always do it when practicing round a street corner. Then the
boys all came back from the war. Thousands of taxis were put on the
streets, and the “game was not worth the candle.” If I had kept on with
it, this history would not have been written, for I should have been
dead long ago, for I could not stand the outdoor life in the winter,
the cold and the wet. It was like taking a hothouse plant and leaving
it outdoors on a frosty night. The spirit was willing but the flesh
was weak. I had got thin and ill. So I decided, if I wished to live,
I must give up this job, and go back into gentleman’s service, for I
knew no other trade or profession. I estimate that this taxi venture
cost me a hundred pounds as I earned no money while learning. Thus it
can be seen, that although a taximan may look greasy and oily, he must
have a head with something in it above his shoulders. It was scarcely
a fitting occupation for a man who had always been in the politest
society, but if my constitution would have stood it, I would have held
on, in order to attain my object. However, I suppose there are greater
disappointments in life than this. So it was “Nil Desperandum” with me.
After explaining my position to my last employer, his Lordship gave
me a reference. But just after the war very few people were engaging
men servants. On the contrary, they were getting rid of them as fast
as they could, and employing parlourmaids in their places, as they
were cheaper, and they still continue to employ them in place of men.
Consequently there were hundreds of men whose sole experience was
gained by valeting an officer, or waiting in the officers’ mess. They
then called themselves butlers and valets, all wanting situations.
Anyhow, I had to get some sort of employment, or go on the rocks. I
was “down,” but I was not “out.” I chanced to hear of a situation with
an Indian Prince, who was in England for a holiday of seven months,
with his suite, aidecamp, secretary, also a typewrighter or clerk, and
two valets. I scarcely liked the idea at first, but eventually went to
see him, and got the job as butler. He had a house in the West End of
London. He told me to get some English servants, cook and housemaids,
kitchenmaids. Money seemed to be plentiful, and no stint of anything
in reason. They came to enjoy themselves, and they did. Polo,
racehorses, theatres every night. Two cars were always outside the
front door. It was a busy place. A dozen Indian officers would call at
one time from Hampton Court. And I am not sure that some of the ladies
that came to supper after the theatre were not pretty actresses. There
were several old generals of the English army the Prince had met in
India, and they were a thirsty lot. The Prince must have been a big bug
in his own country. He did not speak to me at first, but always through
his Aide de Camp, but after he got used to me, we often had a chat. He
was of a splendid disposition, as sharp as a needle. His inteligence
far surpassed any Englishman I ever met. When the troops marched past
in front of Buckingham Palace after the War, the Prince stood by the
side of the King on the dias, in his Indian uniform.
I was more of a house steward there, as I had to see to all supplies
for the household. For the fancy dress balls at Covent Garden, and at
the Albert Hall, he always had a box for his party, with two of us to
wait on them. We enjoyed it quite as much as they did. It was very
difficult to maintain any sort of order or regularity in the house, as
the Indian servants had their meals at a different time than the other
servants had theirs, and the chauffeurs came in to meals at all times.
When motors were first used a lot of men learnt to drive that knew
nothing of the working of a gentleman’s house, and in most cases the
old coachman either had to learn to drive, or get the sack. These new
class of men would come into the house, smoke cigarettes, throws ends
of cigarettes and burnt matches all over the place. Sometimes these
two chauffeurs had to wait an hour or two: by that time the servants’
hall would be like a tap room. One of these chauffeurs was a curious
character. Suffice to say he was not an Englishman. He used to brag
of the way he outwitted the officers in bringing his revolver across
from a country where carrying arms was prohibited. He was a terrible
swanker and bully. He had never been in a gentleman’s house before,
and always carried his loaded revolver. I had great trouble in getting
a footman. Of course all the young fellows had been to the war, and
were just returning. If the poor fellows knew anything of gentleman’s
service before they went, those that did not get killed seemed to have
forgotten what they did know. I tried several young fellows, but beyond
smoking cigarettes, they knew very little. Nothing of silver cleaning,
waiting, or the general duties of a house. Eventually I got a tall
young fellow, who looked like a servant, but I soon found he would
rather be in the servants’ hall smoking cigarettes with the chauffeurs
than work. I did manage to get him up in the dining room at meal times,
but he did not know how to wait at table. He must have seen how the
servants stood at a dinner party at the pictures, for all he did was to
stand behind a chair and listen to the conversation. When the gentry
laughed, he laughed, but he could not see a plate that wanted changing,
or to hand the vegetables. In fact he was simply in the way. So as he
would not take any interest, or take the trouble to learn, I had to get
rid of him. My son had just been demobbed. In his early days he had
been a footman, though now a chauffeur. I asked him if he would come
up and give me a hand. He came, having not then got a job, though he
hated indoor service. From that time I got on better. The chauffeur who
carried the revolver made it a practice of coming to the front door,
ringing the bell, when not with the car. I told him the area door was
open and that he must go in that way. He began to bluster, said he
would knock my b----y head off. I said I was not afraid of him, though
he did carry a revolver. I watched his hand. If he had got his revolver
out I should have smashed something in his face, a chair, vase,
anything, and followed it up quickly. He did put his hand to his hip
pocket, but he would never have fired that shot. (I did not know this
till afterwards.) My son had been making up the fire in the smoking
room. On hearing the row he came out to see what the trouble was,
bringing a short steel poker, with a round knob at the end. He said
that if the chauffeur had drawn his revolver he would have broken his
arm with it. The chauffeur did not know he was standing close behind
him. It is not often that affairs come to such extremes as this: but it
would not do to let such people do as they like, or they would soon be
“cock of the walk.”
The Indian Prince took a three months’ lease of a large Castle in
Scotland for the grouse shooting, the property of a Noble Earl who
wished to let it, together with some of his servants. So early in
August we went to Scotland. I had the greatest difficulty in keeping
up supplies, as, not only was whiskey and everything very scarce, but
the railway strike was on, but a merchant in the nearest town came to
my rescue. He managed to get me almost everything I wanted, whether
it was in his line of business or not. There were two brothers in
the business, and very nice fellows they were. The Prince managed to
fill the Castle with his friends, the old Generals, and a Raja and
his suite. There were plenty of servants, also plenty to do. A chef
and four maids in the kitchen, myself, and three waiters, two ushers,
and an odd man, besides the necessary housemaids. We did not want any
ladies-maids, as there were no ladies. There were seventeen gardeners.
On two occasions the Prince sent his Aide de Camp to tell me to keep a
tighter hand over the drink. I could not understand this, as none of
the servants were ever the worse for it. They had the usual allowance
and no more, for I could not get an unlimited supply. When shooting on
the moors the Prince took his head Indian valet with him. He had to
carry a leather case, containing square bottles, each holding rather
more than a bottle of whiskey and port. These bottles always came back
to me empty, to be filled again the next morning. I enquired of the
Aide de Camp if the Prince generally used all the whiskey and port each
day. He said, “No, only perhaps one glass, sometimes not at all.” Now
“the cat was out of the bag.” It was the valet the Prince had noticed
to be the worse for drink. After that he was not allowed to take the
case up to his room after returning from shooting. The Prince and Aide
de Camp were very abstemious, but the rest of the company could put
away any amount of champayne, whiskey, and port. A car was kept solely
to meet every train to bring up everything. They kept us well supplied
from Edinborough, though it took a bit of manouvouring at that time.
The Prince was always anxious to try all the Scotch dishes, such as
haggis, and other things. Oysters were served every night at dinner.
One day the Prince told me to get fifty dozen oysters. They were to
have a competition to see who could eat the most. I got them, and they
set to work, with champayne. The old Generals kept steadily on. I
think one of them won the wager, and scooped the pool. The Paymaster
(a Captain in the Indian Army) made himself terribly ill. I got him
to his bedroom, gave him some hot mustard and water, made him sick,
and put him to bed. None of them could face oysters for dinner that
night. The Prince was very considerate to his servants. One day he
wished to give everyone who had served him in any way a luncheon. They
were all going to Edinborough by car that day. At such short notice I
could only muster fifty to sit down to luncheon. We thoroughly enjoyed
ourselves. There was plenty of beer, whiskey, and pipes, tobacco, and
cigarettes. After lunch the tables were cleared away. I got my violin
to work. The Scotch are passionately fond of dancing. We danced and
sang songs till six o’clock. The cost per head I worked out at a little
over ten shillings. The Prince was very popular, and was liked by all
who knew him. People came with their autograph books, asking if I could
get him to sign his name, which he did for several. As the time drew
near for us to return to London, we began to get our things together
for departure. The day was on a Saturday. On the Thursday previous a
’phone message came through from Balmorel, saying their Majesties
the King and Queen would come to the Castle to lunch, on their way by
car to London on Friday. It was “all hands to the pump.” A sumptous
luncheon was prepared, also for the Equerries, and servants. The news
got abroad and people from miles around came and lined the coachroad,
which was more than a mile long. They waited till five o’clock, when it
was thought that their Majesties had gone past without calling, so it
was a frost. Yet we had no further news from Balmorel. On the Saturday
morning the Prince and the gentry departed to Edinborough. I was to
follow on as soon as I could with the servants. The motor lorry I had
hired for our luggage had broken down in the coachroad. I was enquiring
where I could get another, as I wanted to get to Edinborough before
dark, when someone shouted: “The King is coming.” And shortly after,
sure enough, their cars drove up to the front door. I had to explain
matters. It appears there had been a mistake as to date in the ’phone
message. Luckily the fire had not gone out in the dining room. We put
more logs on. They had luncheon baskets with them, so with that, and
other things (I sent up to the gardens for some grapes), ending up
with coffee. Their Majesties chatted to me about the shooting, looked
over the principal rooms of the Castle, which was very historical,
got into their cars and away. The Queen shook hands with me, and
His Majesty left his photograph on several pieces of paper for the
servants. Had our lorry not broken down we should all have been on the
road to Edinborough long before their Majesties got to the Castle. One
can imagine the Prince’s disappointment on hearing the news, when I
arrived at the hotel where we were all to stay that night, and on to
London in the morning. The rest of their visit to England was spent
in London. The Prince did the shopkeepers a good turn, especially the
jewellers. When, just before they left for India, the Prince asked me
to go with him, I said I would have considered the proposition if I had
been twenty years younger. He said, “Why do you get old?” I replied,
“Your Highness, my life has not been such a bed of roses that I should
want to live it all over again.” Independent of his Highness being very
generous to me, and all the English servants, he appreciated all that
I did for him, and what was more acceptable, he treated me as though
I was a human being. It was a pleasure to serve him. I only wish they
were coming to England again. He could teach English gentry a wrinkle
or two as to the way servants should be treated. Everyone was ever
anxious to do something for him. What a contrast to some of the English
employers of servants. When they begin calling them rude names, such
as, “You damned fool! You damned idiot!” Why can’t a servant reply in
the same terms, or something to this effect: “Thanks, same to you with
a piece of parsley on it.” Oh, no, one must not do that. If you only
look as though you don’t like it, they will put in your “character”
that you are sulky and ill-tempered. Probably you would never find
out why, or what prevented a servant from getting any given situation
he applied for. A servant’s “character” is supposed to be a matter of
courtesy, a letter of confidence from the servant’s last employer. They
can say just what they think fit, perhaps what is told them by an upper
servant, a confidential, treated as one of the family sort of person,
who has been watching, and probably has had her “knife in,” to use a
common phrase, and has only been waiting her chance to “rub one in” to
the servant’s injury. Or, take the matter this way: A servant gives
every satisfaction in her or his duties, but gives notice to leave;
circumstances may vary, but when her would be employer applies for
her “character” gets a reply stating they do not wish to say anything
about the servant either way. They are so annoyed and vindictive at
her leaving them, they say to themselves, if she or he will not work
for us she shall not work for anyone else. By doing this they do not
lay themselves open to any sort of claim, as gentry are not bound in
any way to give a servant a “character,” good, bad, or indifferent.
And you have no remedy, as you remain ignorant as to why. So that you
cannot bring an action for defamation of character.
It reminds me of two children sitting on a doorstep. One said, “Lend me
your doll.” Margy replied, “No, I want it myself.” Then the first said,
“If you won’t lend me your doll I’ll smash it.”