Chapter XIII

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.”