Chapter III

I now had to look for another place, and got one from an advertisement in the county newspaper, to go to Eastbourne, about sixty miles from my home, as footman.

I had the usual good advice from my mother, who came to the station to “see me off,” accompanied by the straining of heart strings on both sides, as it was my first time of leaving home. The train started, and as the poet sayeth:

Though I had to work hard I was fairly happy in this place, after my homesickness had worn off. They treated me fairly well. There were children in the family. I had twelve or fourteen pairs of boots to clean before breakfast. There were compensations. When I got out I would go down to the sea and hire a boat, for I could row; also, I found a friend, a footman who lived near. We would go boating and bathing together. One incident that happened there I have not forgotten. On the 5th of November, at Eastbourne, also at Lewes, they used to have a torchlight procession, bonfire, and burn the efigy of the most unpopular person of that time. I got permission to go out, the Master giving me some letters to post. I put on my buff livery overcoat as it was very cold, putting the letters in my pocket. The procession was approaching. Of course, I must join it. I got a torch and lighted it, and marched on with the others. The next time I wanted that overcoat, to go on the carriage as footman, I found it was covered with spots of tar that had fallen from the torch; but this was not all. I felt that there was something in a pocket. I felt: it was the letters I had been given to post, a fortnight before. Now, what was to be done? Burn them? No; that would not be right, as I did not know what they contained. So, with “my tail between my legs,” I went up to the study.

The Master did not say much, but the look he gave me, over the top of his spectacles, was enough. He said: “I have been wondering why I did not get these letters answered.” In the excitement of the procession I had forgotten to post those letters. At that place I learned to do crochet work, and could beat any girl at making lace and wool work. During my years in service I have made dozens of jackets for babies; in fact, I think the women used to have the babies in order to get the little wool jacket; also, no end of woolen crossovers for old women.

A servant has to stay within hearing of the bells and telephone, and when the other work was finished for the time being, I would crochet. I cannot bear to sit doing nothing but twiddle my thumbs, neither can I bear going for a “walk” without some object in view.

I have often smiled to myself, when I see a photograph taken at the time I was at Eastbourne. What a rig out? A very short frock coat, and a round, flat Scotch cap, perched on a mop of curly hair. I thought at the time I was absolutely “It.”

After about two years I thought it time I should make a move, and be getting on, as I was worthier a better place. So I left and went home. I was not there long. It is astonishing what a difference two years make to a town: all my school-mates had gone. Strangers everywhere. I went to see the house where the Doctor lived: strangers there too. I looked at the nick in the wall where I used to put the toe of my boot to climb over when I was late. I thought of the happy times I had spent there, and I think I dropped a tear. No; I did not want to stay at home long.

I soon got a place, as second footman to a Baronet, about forty miles from home, being a tall boy for my age. Now I began to find out what real gentleman’s service was. The butler was a decent, old-fashioned sort. Here the beer was drawn in leather jacks, and drank out of horns. We ate our food off pewter plates. It was a good, old-fashioned country place: hunting, shooting, fishing was indulged in. The first footman and I had sixty-three colza oil lamps to clean and trim, before breakfast, after collecting them from all parts of the house. Her Ladyship, a little old lady, had me in, and talked to me nicely. We were all happy and comfortable. About twenty servants were kept. There was no hurry and scurry like service is now-a-days. One felt at home. I was quick to learn. The butler taught me how to polish silver properly, and all my other duties, and such as running up and down stairs that one cannot see, for the stairs are out of sight when one has a butler’s tray full of silver and glass in front of one: it requires a bit of judgment, especially when one thinks they are at the bottom and there is another step to go. He soon saw he could trust me. After supper we had dancing in the servants’ hall. I had learnt to play the concertina (an instrument much in vogue in those days) but the sound of which I now detest. Old rules were kept up, we were not allowed to converse at the servants’ hall dinner, untill the “quality,” usually called “Pugs” had left the hall, consisting of housekeeper, cook, lady’s-maids, valets, butler, formed quite a procession to the steward’s room, where they had—well, we were not supposed to know what they had.

One bank holiday, Good Friday, I think it was, my father came to see me unexpectedly. The butler made him welcome. He sat down to dinner with us in the hall, and would keep on talking on general topics, much to the amusement of all the rest of us, and could not understand why no one answered him. I explained to him afterwards.

I was perfectly happy while there. It was the sort of a place one could live at all their days, if contented with a country life—miles from anywhere—but we were a little comunity in ourselves.

Nothing pleased me better, when it was my turn off duty, to go and find the gamekeeper and get a shot at a rabbit. On Sundays a large brake came to the side door to take such of the servants who wished to go to church, a drive of three miles across the Downs. I took alternate Sundays with the first footman, always returning with a double-barreled appetite for the twenty-five pounds of roasted ribs of beef at one end of the table, and a boiled leg of mutton and trimmings at the other; followed by large black plum puddings, such as is usually served at Christmas.

While at this place I began the habit of having a cold bath (which I put ready overnight) on jumping out of bed every morning. Often I have had to break the ice on the water before I could begin, our bedrooms were so cold, but we fortified ourselves against it by making a jack of hot spiced ale before going to bed in winter.

Unfortunately, after I had been there nearly two years, her Ladyship died. There was an enormous funeral: the house was packed with guests. After all was over, and things had quieted down a bit, we were told that great alterations and reductions would take place, as the Baronet was now alone in the house. About half the servants got a month’s notice to leave, myself among them. So again I went home.

During my absence my youngest sister had gone away into service, also my brother had got a pageboy’s place. This is what gentleman’s service does. It scatters and seperates members of a family all over the country. One never knows where they will have to go next. Perhaps not seeing each other for years.

So I found my mother all alone, though she had the consolation of my father coming home from his work in the evening: that was all. I wandered round the town, but met scarcely anyone I knew. All my schoolmates had grown into young men and young women; some had left the town; some had got married; and several I knew had died. I saw the old schoolmaster at his gate. His hair had turned quite white. His son had turned out to be a rascal, which helped it a bit, no doubt. Which goes to show that though he had the best education, unless the good principle is there, it is of no avail; as witness the verger’s son who had, through influence, been educated in the Blue Coat School, where they were supposed to get a better commercial education than we had. On leaving school he got a post as clerk at the railway station. One day he delivered a parcel to my mother, saying there was tenpence to pay. She gave him the money. On opening the parcel she found nothing but a brick and some straws. My mother would always laugh at our boyish escapades, but this was dishonesty. She took no action but told his father what he had done. The meadow next the school was built over, which I looked on as a sacriledge, when I remembered the stolen games of cricket we used to play there. The cricket ground, where the County teams used to play, was all cut up with roads, and covered with villas. Everything about the place seemed so small. I went and hired a boat a few times, dug up the garden, but soon got tired of being about, where everything was so different to what it was when I left home.

I had kept up a desultory correspondence with the footman who I lived with at the Doctor’s, and who was now a butler in London. I wrote to him. He strongly advised me to come to London, where he would quickly get me a situation. We talked the matter over, and I decided to go. I shall never forget the morning I started. My father got half a day to see me off and came to the station. When the train was about to start, he actually kissed me. That was the last time I ever saw him in a state of consciousness, for the next time I saw him he was on his death-bed.

As the train neared London I began to wonder how I should find my way in such a maze of houses and streets. But one need never get lost, as long as one has a tongue: so by constant enquiry I found my way from Waterloo Station to Belgrave Square.

I arrived in London to seek my fortune. Not with the proverbial half-a-crown in my pocket, for I think I had a little more than that, but not much. I found my friend. He had found lodgings for me in some mews quite handy. I was no longer home sick, only a bit confused at the size of London. Still, I meant to push my way onward and upward. We scanned the advertisements for servants. I forget to mention that I arrived in London wearing a straw hat with a cerice ribbon round it, thinking it was quite smart, but my friend, the butler, told me that it was not the right thing at all for London wear; so I struck my colours, and put on a black ribbon.

It is curious how a single letter in the alphabet may alter the whole course of one’s life. In an advertisement it stated that a footman was wanted in Walton Street, whereas it was in Wilton Street that the footman was wanted; by the time I had been to Walton Street (someone suggested it meant “Wilton”) and back to Wilton Street, I was too late, the place had just been taken.

On occasions when scouring the West End of London in search of a situation often I could not afford to have a cookshop dinner, but would go to a baker’s shop and buy a twopenny loaf, also a quarter of a pound of cheese, take it to some isolated part of the Green Park, or Hyde Park, and eat it.

On one of these occasions I was lunching on one of the seats in Chelsea Churchyard, when a poor looking man came towards me. I thought to myself, “I suppose the poor fellow is hungry.” He did not ask for anything, but remarked, “It’s a very keen wind!” I said it was, and asked him if he had dined, if not, that he was welcome to some of mine. “No,” he said, “I have some cabbage on cooking now.” “Only cabbage?” I asked. “Just cabbage,” he replied. “But God is my other satisfying portion. He satisfieth me. And God expects the very best that is in us, nothing shoddy, half-hearted, but the very best.” He got up and went away. I fancy he must have been a tailor in a small way, living in one of the small cottages near the Churchyard.

At this time I found myself a strong, healthy young man. Height, 5 feet 8 inches. Quick to take offence, but quicker to forgive. I only hoped that I should continue to grow, so as to enable me to serve in some of the highest families in the land. For, in those days, footmen in good families had to be not less than six feet, and taller if possible, to show off the family livery, and look important. “Swank.”

There is a great difference in boys. Some are adaptable to be trained for service, some are too slow and dull, others are sharp. I have trained several in my time, to be, I believe, good servants, but as to whether they have lived to thank, or curse, me for doing so, is a question.

When I first came to London, in my spare time, when I was not actually looking for a place, I tried to learn my way about. I got a map and would sally forth; sometimes I got lost, but one can always ask the way. Thus I learnt most of the West End of London. One day I started to see the Tower—before I got the map—after I had followed the river Thames for an hour or so, thinking that would surely bring me to it, I found I had gone the wrong way altogether, and found myself at Hammersmith.

I soon got a place as second footman in a large place in ——shire, with a Nobleman, who I call “The Bold Bad Baron,” for he was the surliest, bad-tempered man I ever met. Here they kept twenty-five indoor servants. We had to powder, and wear breeches and white stockings. The livery was green, covered with yellow and black brading, the family crest being worked in the brade. The under butler previously had valeted his Lordship, but he gave notice to leave, so they offered him the post as under butler, if he would stay on. He took it, and the valeting of his Lordship fell to me, and well I knew it: a galley slave could not have been treated worse than I was. I soon understood why the under butler wanted to leave. The butler was a pompous sort of a man, though a very good sort. He had previously served the Rothschilds. As long as we did our work properly he would not trouble us, in fact he very seldom spoke to us liverymen.

The house was very large, an old Elizabethan mansion, partly modernised inside, but in the rooms upstairs Moderator colza oil lamps were used, and wax candles; gas was used in the basement, made on the estate; the passages were so wide a horse and cart could easily go up them. These passages all met in a large stone flagged square, so that it took some time to find the way about.

It was then the fashion for gentlemen to part their hair in the centre at the back of the head. I had to do this for the Baron, he would then take the handglass, and say that it was not a straight parting, or that I had put more hair one side than the other, and I had to do it all over again, he moving his head about, and using some very flowery language. But I was as full of life as an egg, and free from care. The Baron’s bad language was like water on a duck’s back: it did not soak in; but after a time came to be a bit monotinous. Being miles from anywhere what amusements we had we had to make ourselves.

There was a goodly company of us in the servants’ hall at night, as the grooms and the under-gardeners would come in, and wash up all the silver and glass in the pantries; more for company than anything else, for there was nowhere for them to go for miles, in the evenings. So that by the time we had finished waiting dinner, all the glass and silver would be washed up and put away: all we had to do was to adjourn to supper. There was the usual old-fashioned usages observed in the servants’ hall, such as drinking the “Health” every day, etc., also a certain amount of “Esprit de Corps” among us all, which at the present day is entirely absent. I shall never forget one day. The head laundry-maid took my face between her hands and kissed me before them all, said she could not resist it. She was a woman of forty, stout and buxom, and I a chubby boy of eighteen, though I went as aged twenty. I also went crimson. I think it was one day that I had got an extra whigging from the “Bold Bad Baron,” so she kissed it all away for me: for they all knew what sort of a man he was. But it would take more than that to make me blush now-a-days.

The housekeepers in those days wore a black silk dress, a little silk apron trimmed with beads, a lace collar, and a large gold brooch, a small apology for a cap, made of white lace, and a black velvet bow on top. The under-maids were more afraid of her than they were of her Ladyship.

On Sundays the maids had all to troop off to church, which was in the grounds, and had to wear small black bonnets, with ribbons tied in a bow under the chin, similar to bonnets worn by nurses. The pews for the servants were opposite to those of the gentry, so that we were under observation all the time. One Sunday the Bold Bad Baron sent for the butler after church and asked him if we had been drinking too much beer as he noticed several of the men servants were asleep during the sermon. The parson was brother to the Baron, the living was in his gift, so of course he preached a sermon to please him; generally about the lower orders being submissive to their betters. Servants to be obedient to their masters, and satisfied to be jumped on and trodden down generally. No wonder we went to sleep. Still, we managed to be fairly happy amongst ourselves, though there was plenty of work for everybody. At this time I discarded the concertina, and started to learn to play the violin. Some people say I play well, and could get my living at it; at any rate, I know I play with expression.

The first footman was a dare-devil, in disposition similar to the footman I lived with at the Doctor’s in my first place. He would glory in any sort of mischief, especially in tormenting the under butler. All the men slept in the basement. The under butler let his bed down in the pantry, across the front of the plate room door, so as to guard the plate at night. To get at it, burglars would have to move his bed: if that did not waken him nothing would. I was supposed to sleep at the porter’s lodge, down two hundred yards of passage, where two grooms and the usher slept, but I could not hear his Lordship’s bell so far away, so by arrangement with the first footman we changed bedrooms. One night we arranged to have a game with the under butler, so we got a reel of cotton, put it on top of his let-down bed, taking the end of the cotton down the passage round the next corner with us. When we saw him put out his light we gently began to pull the cotton. We heard him get out of bed, strike a light to see what it was rattling on the top of his bed. Then we thought it prudent to disappear to our own rooms in stockinged feet. Another night we tied a string to the corner of his bedclothes, waited till we thought he had gone to sleep, then we began gently to pull his bedclothes off. But he had not gone to sleep, but had discovered the plot, and was waiting for us with the wooden bar that kept his bed up in the day time. He shot out after us, and laid on with the bar. We all being in our nightshirts, the bar fitted pretty close to the part we generally sit on, but it was all taken in good part; but as we had to pass the butler’s door we dare not cry out, or make a noise. After “Lights Out,” the secretary, who slept in his quarters near the porter’s lodge, would go into the butler’s room, about midway down the passage, to have a chat, and doubtless tap a bottle of the best.

One night, after “Lights Out,” we arranged to go to the porter’s lodge to have a game of cards, generally brag or nap. We did not notice the flight of time. Suddenly we heard the butler and secretary coming down the passage, the butler to see that the back entrance was bolted, the secretary to go to bed.

Immediately the gas was turned out, as a window looked out on the passage. The under butler got under one of the beds. He was rather a stout chap, and inclined to “embompoint,” the first footman and I got into the bed and pulled the clothes up over our heads. The under butler groaned out, “Get off, get off, you’re squeezing me to death.” Our weight had made the bed go down and so pinched him; the others had hid themselves as best they could, in cupboards, anywhere, and were as quiet as mice. There was only one door: that led out to where the butler stood. He stood there a second or two, apparently listening, then went on. What would have happened if he had opened the door, goodness knows. A pretty picture he would have seen. Two footmen in bed with their livery and powdered hair, and the under butler’s white stockinged legs sticking out from under the bed. For in those days butlers were butlers. We had to say, “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,” when he spoke to us, which was not very often; and when he told us to do anything we had to jump to it quick. When all was quiet, we all crept up the passage, a little light came through the lights in the roof (which was a garden terrace outside). When we had got fifty yards up, and nearly opposite the butler’s door, he locked it: we thought he was opening it, so all turned tail; in the retreat I caught my forehead against a projecting part of the wall and had a lovely big bump there next day. I also dropped one of my pumps I was carrying. After a time we tried again, and got through successfully. All this fun helped to neutralise the bullyings and jawings I got from the Bold Bad Baron when valeting him. He seemed to meet everything “edge on,” all his money and power did not make him happy; his wife and family were afraid of him whenever he appeared on the scene; the scowl on his face never left him: no doubt it was there when he died.