There was not much choice of places at this time, just after the Great
War. Millions of men were out of work, so that after being at home for
a week or two, I had to take a single-handed butler’s place in the
North of London, or continue to be out of work. So I said “Good-bye”
to my blind wife, son, daughter-in-law, and boy, aged eight. I mention
them all because of what befel them later. On arrival at the place I
went into the pantry. On the wall facing me was a large card detailing
my work for every hour of the day. I thought to myself, “What would
the Trades Unions think of this little lot.” I did not know whether
to unpack my things, or bolt. This is a copy:--Commence work at 6.30
A.M. Open up the house. Sweep and dust the front hall. Clean dining
room grate and light the fire. Clean boots, and do valeting by 7.30.
Clean silver and lay breakfast by 8.15. Have own breakfast till 8.45.
Clear dining room breakfast, wash up, and clean silver till 10.0.
From 10.0 till 11.0 sweep dining room carpet, dust and polish the
furniture and oak panneling. 11.0 till 12.0 clean silver and brass.
Get dressed by 12.30. Serve lunch at 1.0. Every Wednesday, 11.0 till
12, clean morning room silver and brass (forty ornamental pieces)
besides other work above stated. Also wash out own glass and china
cloths every day. Every Friday scrub floor tiles in front hall, clean
brass candlabras and brass ornaments, and polish the furniture. Keep
all fires up, and hearths swept tidy. Ring gong five minutes before
each meal, and again five minutes later. Collect all dirty linen on
Fridays, and exchange it for clean. Every Saturday turn out dining
room thoroughly, polish oak pannelling and furniture every day. Every
afternoon, finish cleaning all the silver. Answer all bells quickly.
Be smart and clean in appearance. Every Sunday at 10.0 A.M. place tray
on fancy cloth in dining room with whiskey, wine, cakes, and mineral
waters, to remain there till lunch time. Keep all chairs on verandas
dusted, see to sun blinds as required. All breakages to be mentioned
at once. No visitors to servants, or smoking allowed. Not to remain in
dining room after serving each course, as butler pulls the lift up and
down for next course. Bring grog tray to smoking room at 9.30, with
cakes. Take letters to post. Close all shutters, lock all doors, turn
out all lights not required, do valeting, and go to bed by 10.30. Take
all notes and messages when required. Butler’s outings: Every Tuesday,
after washing up lunch till 10.15 P.M. Every other Sunday, 2.30 till
10.15. One day a month, after washing up breakfast and cleaning
silver. (Leave everything clean and ready for maid to carry on.) The
butler must be able to manage and keep all electric bells in order,
also electric lights, trace defects, and put in new fuze wires. The
butler must understand lavatory ball cocks, repair and glue furniture,
also a knowledge of carpentering and painting. Wind all clocks once a
week. Help take up, beat, and relay carpets. Keep own pantry clean,
scrubbing floor and tables once a week. Answer the telephone quickly.
* * * * *
Now, there’s a nice fifteen-hour day’s work. The butler must never be
out of hearing of the bells or telephone. If the telephone rang and
was not answered it would not be long ere the butler heard of it. For
perhaps the Mistress of the house would answer it afterwards, and one
of her friends would say, “I rang up before, but could not make anyone
hear.” Then is the time to look out for “sparks.” “Where were you that
you did not answer the ’phone?” Curious to relate I remained in that
place more than two years. One thing, there was no option, unless
I wanted to be one of the unemployed, as butlers were not wanted:
people could not afford to keep them. They are getting less and less,
in fact will soon be as extinct as the Dodo. It would not be amis if
the archiologists (or whatever they are called) were to get hold of
a fine specimen, stuff him, and put him in the British Museum, put a
label on him: “This was an English butler, fine specimen, warranted
not to answer back.” For I am sure he would be of more interest than
these Egyptian mumies they are making a fuss about, whom we have
never seen in life. Of course the place mentioned above was not the
kind of service I had always been used to. There was the usual old
and confidential servant. There is always one in every house who is
encouraged to carry the news, it takes a little time to find them out,
but when you have, “Beware.” The cook was a curious specimen. She
snuffled over her food. If there is anything I detest it is to sit
down to meals with a person who snuffles over their food. Her uncle’s
niece was, or had been, an actress. This cook fancied actresses ran
in the blood, for she thought she could sing (save the mark). On my
right the old confidential would rave “Abide with me,” as she professed
to be religious. On my left the cook was raving out the “Soldier’s
March” from some old opera. By the time both had got well mixed it was
difficult to tell what it was. But, taking this place on all points,
they were very good to me, as long as I made myself adaptable to the
conditions. Their bark was worse than their bite. The Bos told me I
knew nothing about packing a suit case. He said shirts (white starched
ones) should be placed at the bottom of the box. I had always beeen
taught to put the heavy things, such as boots, at the bottom, the
lighter things on top. When we had finished and fastened up the case, I
caught hold of the handle, and said, “Now, where are the shirts?” They
were neither top nor bottom, but at the side of the case.
Even in the same house it may not be every department that gets
“roasted.” The housemaids may have a very good time of it; the kitchen
people a rotten time; the pantry people have a very good time, and the
ladies-maids get it hot, or visa-versa; or they may all get an outburst
of temper from their employers all in their turn; just to let them know
they are only servants, and very bad servants at that, and only a very
inferior class of beings at the best.
About this time a dreadful calamity happened at home. My son’s Bos
made it a rule to send all his servants to the pantomime, by way of a
treat. My son took his wife and boy with him. It was a cold and snowy
night. On their coming out of the theatre they found it was still
snowing. They were unable to get seats inside a ’bus, but eventually
got seats outside. The next day they found they had all got influenza,
or something worse. They were all in bed with it. My wife caught it,
so that the whole household lay helpless in bed. The doctor was sent
for. He did not say exactly what it was, but ordered in a day and night
nurse, also a woman to wait on them. My son’s wife went unconscious,
and remained so. My wife died of it. My son pulled through after a
fortnight, also his son got better, but a few days after caught the
measles; yet he had never been out of the house. He had to be isolated.
My son’s wife went near to death’s door; in fact, on two occasions, I
thought she was really dead. She went to a mere skeleton, just skin and
bone. The crisis came. The doctor said if she lived that night there
would be hopes. What with the cylinders of hydrogen, the nurses, my
wife’s funeral, and one thing and another, I thought to myself, “Was
there ever such a house?” Luckily, I had drawn a hundred pounds, my
insurance in the Prudential, or I don’t know where we should have been.
All this through going to see a pantomime. My son’s wife turned the
danger point, and from that time, though still unconscious, began to
mend. It took months before she got on her feet again, and the nurses
out of the house. The doctor said it was the most miraculous cure he
ever knew. The boy got over the measles and got strong again, but he
terribly misses his old granny.
It is remarkable how some servants put on “side,” and swank after they
have got on a bit, and got a show of decent clothes together. One such
case occurred in a place that I lived in. This swanky housemaid gave
out that her father was a farm baliff in Blankshire. Happening to be
visiting at a place near I thought I would walk over to the farm, and
see her father.
Seeing some men standing in the farmyard, I enquired if Mr. Soandso,
calling him by name, the farm baliff was about. “There is no farm
baliff by that name; you mean old Joe, the carter.” Some servants
suffer badly from swelled head, and are ashamed of their humble origin.
At another farm the supply of eggs had reduced considerably. The estate
agent called on the farm hand who had charge of the chicken, at his
cottage to explain the shortage. The farm hand happened to be at his
breakfast. The agent called him out, and asked if he could give any
reason. “I dunno why it is, sir,” said Giles. “I hope you don’t think I
have been taking them, sir, for it’s months since I have even tasted an
egg.” “Then it is a devil of a long time since you washed your face,”
replied the agent, “for your mouth is covered with egg now.” Moral:
Always use a serviette.
* * * * *
Thinking, after two years, that I could be doing better than in a
single-handed place, I gave in a month’s notice to leave. There, in
that, I soon found I had made a mistake. I soon found there was a
glut of unemployed butlers, and no places to be had, and as “Half a
loaf is better than no bread,” I found I had better have staid where I
was. I advertised every week in the _Morning Post_, searched all the
clubs in the West End of London, and all places where butler’s places
are likely to be heard of, but to no effect. Excepting for a month’s
temporary work, I have had no employment for months. Everywhere it
is parlourmaids, and married couples that are wanted. The married
couples having to do the work of perhaps four servants that were kept
previously. If they have given up their house or rooms, and don’t like
the place, they are bound to stop, for there are no rooms or houses to
be had. So that their employers have got them fairly by the neck. The
married couple can’t turn out and sleep by the roadside, especially so
in winter time.
Before the Great War gentry did not think it the fashion to wear
old and shabby clothes. Now they make them last as long as they
possibly can. A man called at a certain tailor’s shop in the West End,
mentioning a gentleman’s name. The tailor’s man, thinking he was the
valet, said, “We have not had Mr Whatsisname’s on our books lately.
Does he get his clothes anywhere else?” “No,” replied the man, “I don’t
think so.” “Well, here’s half a sovereign, and a wire brush; slip that
into his clothes briskly, and we shall soon have him here for some new
ones!” The man was Mr Whatsisname himself.
* * * * *
I have been thinking a ladies daily life might be called playing at
a game of “Flop.” Firstly, she flops out of bed, and flops into a
bath, flops into a chair fronting a mirror, flops into a chair at the
breakfast table, after breakfast flops into a chair and bullies the
servants, flops into her car, flops into a chair at her dressmakers, or
a shop counter, again flops into her car, flops into a chair for lunch,
then flops into a chair or sofa in the drawing room, flops into her
car, flops into an easy chair in someone’s drawing room, again flops
into her car, goes to matinee, flops into a stall, afterwards flops
into her car, goes home, flops into a chair for tea, flops into a chair
fronting a mirror, flops into a chair for dinner, flops on a sofa in
the drawing room, when she gets tired of that flops into a bath, and
flops into bed.
A great many of the gentry take very little interest in their children;
in fact, in some cases they are looked upon as an infernal nusiance.
They are brought to the drawing room for the mother to see if the nurse
keeps them clean and tidy once a day. And when they are old enough, are
bundled off to some school, to Harrow and Eton if they are rich enough.
The mother, with all her flopping to do, has no time to bother about
her children. If they think so little of their children how much less
do they think of their servants? I will give an instance. In the early
part of this year, I interviewed a certain titled lady, living not a
dozen miles from Buckingham Palace.
It was for a six weeks’ job, as the family were going to the sea-side.
Everything being satisfactory, she engaged me, and told me she would
let me know what day to come and take the plate and things down,
and get ready for them at the sea-side house. I waited till the day
they were to leave London, but got no word from her. So early in the
morning I called at the house. The servant said that her Ladyship had
gone to the sea-side the day previous, taking a butler--I suppose, a
cheaper man--with her. His Lordship, who was at home, refused to see
me, but sent to say he left all household affairs to her Ladyship.
I obtained their sea-side address, wrote her a letter, asking for
at least a week’s pay, as she had prevented me from applying for
another situation. I waited a week, but got no reply. I then again
wrote, pointing out that my claim would be upheld in a Court of Law.
Still I got no reply. She knew I had no written agreement, and at
the interview I foolishly handed her letter to me back to her, which
she kept. It would simply mean my word against hers, and the weakest
always goes to the wall. Even if I had brought an action my name would
have become known in the case, and I should never have got another
place. The gentry are so clanish. Still, she has my wish, which is:
“May they perish,” for treating a working man in such a fashion. The
inconvenience she had caused me, the cost of my railway fares, were of
no more consideration to her than a piece of dirt sticking to the heel
of her boot. It is this sort of treatment to servants that makes them
take such a dislike to the game. If the employers only knew the value
of a kind word, they would be more liberal with them. They would get a
great deal more work done, and willing work too.