Chapter XIV

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.