Chapter V

As there was no suitable work round about there, near home, for me—as, after being in large places I would not go into a small one—I determined to go back to London, and try my fortunes there. On arrival I found lodgings, the same place I had before, near Belgrave Square, on the first occasion of my coming to London. To my consternation I found that I had stopped growing, at five feet nine inches: and had broadened out, not flabily, but firmly. My chest measure was forty inches, waist forty inches, arm muscles sixteen and a half, neck the same, calf of leg the same, and as strong and healthy as a young bull. So I thought, “It’s good bye to all thoughts of ever being the King’s butler.” I had heard that the King’s Household was governed by almost military control, so I did not have many regrets on that point: it sounded of red tape.

I also heard at the time, when King Edward was Prince of Wales, it was usual for him to go and see the servants’ Christmas dinner laid out. He met a boy with a Christmas pudding, the boy was carrying it up the corridor on his head, saying “God bless the Queen for this enormous Christmas pudding.” The Prince said, “That’s all right, my boy, but carry the dish in a proper manner.” I have waited on, and conversed with, both our present reigning Majesties, but more of that later on.

Now here were two young fellows, my brother and I, who could have done with a “leg up” in the world. Full of life, strength and energy, determined to get on; but money: we had very little of that comodity. As for a “leg up,” we might whistle for that till we were tired, or thirsty. My mother had got too old to go out to work. Still, the home had to be kept together somehow. Charity we would not accept, though none was offered from any quarter. I myself have lent friends money when they were down, saying, “If you make good pay me back, but if not don’t trouble about it.”

I looked round for a place on my arrival in town but to see the servants at the registry offices, waiting to be hired, all looking so meek and humble, filled me with a sence of nausea. I did not feel meek and humble by a long chalk, but more inclined to rebel against it all.

One day I was passing a large railway station in the West End, I wondered if they could offer me any suitable employment. Nothing in the clerk line without experience in railway matters was available, all they had to offer was a porter’s job, in corduroys. I thought the matter over, weighed this and that. I should certainly get more liberty in life than being a servant. But the rough, dirty work? The poor food. Well, I knew what that was when I was a boy. So I said, “All right, sir. I’ll take the job.”

I easily produced the references as to character, without troubling the Bold Bad Baron, and started work. The shifts were of eight hours each, from 6 A. M. to 2 P. M. from 2 P. M. to 10 P. M. from 10 P. M. to 6 A. M. When off duty I had a sense of freedom that did my heart good, when compared to gentleman’s service. Night duty consisted of sweeping out trains, the rest was platform duty, except once a month two of us were told off to couple the engines on to the trains as the engines came back; dirty work, and a bit dangerous. I was happy enough, though dirty and oily. One day the head porter called me to take a guard’s van off a train to the yard. I suppose for repairs or something, but that did not concern me. I stood ready to couple on the engine when it came back. I rested my left arm on the buffer, as the signal was against the engine coming back. The head porter shouted, “Look out.” I had not noticed the engine creeping back. I naturally dropped my arm off the buffer just in time for my elbow to be caught between the two buffers. It is usual if you shout for the engine driver to put on steam and back further, thinking I could not get the link over the hook. Had he done so my arm would have been crushed to a jelly. But the head porter saw what had happened, and signalled to the engine driver to go forward. He made no mistake. My arm dropped down. I managed to get the coupling on, and get up on to the platform. I jumped into the van, and then the pain began. Doubtless the reader has seen a worm squirm when trodden on in a garden path. Well, that’s how I squirmed in the guard’s van. I rolled in agony on the floor of the van. I took no heed as to where we were going. After a time I rolled up my sleeve. Two rivet holes pierced my elbow, half an inch deep, but as I could raise my arm I concluded no bones were broken, only crushed. Next day my arm was very stiff, but I said nothing, and managed to do my work. Probably it was noticed I was a cut above the common, as often I was sent on local trains as rear guard. I knew little of this work at first, and often the engine driver had to whistle for the brakes to be put on to prevent the train from running past the stations, but I soon got to learn and watch for a certain mark, such as a tall chimney, a particular house, before the train got into the stations. One day, when at a City station, I was speaking to a porter about some luggage or something, I looked round and saw my train going out of the station, it looked as though I was going to be left behind. I put on a spurt and just caught an iron rod as the train got to the end of the platform and on to the bridge crossing the Thames. There was not enough room between the train and the bridge for me to open the door of the guard’s van. I hung on, but had there been any projection on the bridge I was bound to be swept off; sometimes it was a very close shave, but I flattened myself against the van wondering if I should get caught or not. After we got over the bridge I worked my way along the footboard and into the van. My chums used to say, “Here’s the next one to get the guard’s clothes.” I thought I was getting on all right, when one day I was told to go to the station master’s office. He told me he had to send a porter to an out of the way station in the country, and as I was one of the last men taken on he was going to send me. “Well,” I thought, “this is rotten, to go to a place where there were perhaps two lots of luggage to handle in a day, miles away from anywhere. That won’t suit me.” So I immediately gave a week’s notice to leave. So, as it was not much use sending me there for one week, he sent some other porter. “This is a little bit of all right,” thinks I, “out on the stony rocks again.” Here endeth my railway experiences.

It is said a rolling stone gathers no moss; but it gets most devilishly well polished, and I don’t think there were any flies on me. I was down, but I was not out. The more I met adversity, the fiercer I was to overcome it. I hated the thought of gentleman’s service, but that was the only game I knew to play properly. Every day I cast round, studying advertisements, and walking miles, but found nothing suitable that I could do that would produce a living wage. So I said to myself, “Well, my man, it’s gentleman’s service or starve.” So I cut out the railway episode and asked the Bold Bad Baron for a reference. I felt that I would rather go as under butler in a first-class place, than as first footman in a second-class place; and I knew the trick of polishing and frosting silver, which is quite different from simply cleaning it. It was not long before I met with an under butler’s place to a Noble Earl, who had a house in London, in the country, and one in Scotland. It requires great strength to polish silver, also great care and endurance. An under butler is generally a strong man, and I was strong at that time. It does not matter about his being two or three inches shorter than the footmen, as he does not appear at the “front” till late dinner. Here our livery was very smart. Scarlet breeches and waistcoat, blue coat with scarlet collar and cuffs, trimmed with inch wide silver lace, and one epaulet on the left shoulder, white stockings, and buckles. There were twenty-five indoor servants at this place, besides housemaids at the other houses. The butler did no manual work, he only superintended the men, the work was all done for him. All he had to do was to walk into the dining room, the boy carrying his wine basket, at the last minute, cast his eye over the table, when all was ready to begin. But he was a rotter to his men under him. Very ignorant, one could scarcely read his writing, and as to arithmatic, he was hopless. He thought it lowering to his dignity to speak to an under servant, in fact he seldom did unless it was to give his orders. He was not good to his wife and children. He had a good house in the village. But he had his downfall. It was his height, being six feet, that kept him where he was. His downfall was caused by backing slow horses and fast women. This place was the best regulated situation that I have ever been in, and I have either lived in, or visited, when I was a valet, some dozens of the best houses in the kingdom.

When the bell rang to clear breakfast, the butler would answer it. Her Ladyship was the sister of a Duke. She would remain in the breakfast room, give the butler his orders for the day, how many visitors (if any) and which rooms they would occupy, the number that would be at meals, also orders for the carriages. Then he would come out, and the housekeeper would go in and get her orders, she would come out and the cook would go in. Then the butler would ring the bell twice for the footman to clear away breakfast. All this only took a few minutes to do. The butler would come to the pantry and give us our orders. Perhaps he would say to me, Eighteen, or twenty, for dinner, use the silver, or the gilt service, as the case may be. I had to see to the rest. To the footmen he gave orders as to the carriages: and when addressing him we had to say “Sir”—and don’t forget it. The housekeeper would give her orders to the head housemaid, and stillroom maids. The cook would do the same to her kitchen and scullerymaids. Everything went like clockwork, no confusion, no jealousies, no treading on each other’s toes; no occasion for saying I didn’t know this or that; for each department got their orders, and acted up to them. The Castle was a fine old place, with a wide moat, with water about five feet deep all round it; the depth of the water could be increased, by stopping the outlet, to ten feet. The place was beseiged by Oliver Cromwell, who left his marks on it, and some leaden bullets still remain in the front door; a portcullis; and three drawbridges, two of which were pulled up by the footmen when closing the house at dark. The bridge to the servants’ quarters was a fixture. Inside the front door were holes in the roof, or ceiling, where boiling pitch would be poured on the enemy, should he gain an entry. Suits of old armour, pikes, swords, muskets, pistols, were in profusion. The Earl was a fine specimen of an English gentleman; he was well over six feet in height, and broad shouldered. He kept his own pack of foxhounds, and we brewed our own beer in March and October. Everyone who knew the Earl liked and respected him, for he was fair and just in his dealings with everybody. One evening a footman forgot to put the chain across, before he drew up the bridge—he did not know his Lordship was out. His Lordship dropped into the moat in his hunting kit.

Often have I sat up all night with “Old Daddy” as we used to call him. He had brewed the beer for the Castle for over fifty years, and listen to his tales of olden times, of what they used to do in the previous lords time. Still, a great many of the old customs were kept up; we still ate our food off pewter plates and dishes, each with the coronet and crest engraved on them, we also drank our beer out of horns. We had the choice of small beer or tea for breakfast (as tea on its first introduction into England was a guinea a pound, and was used only by the gentry). Also, no conversation was allowed untill after the cloth had been removed, and the health drank. The under butler stands up at the bottom of the table, holds a horn of old ale up in his hands, taps the table twice, and says, “My Lord and Lady,” the others replied, “With all my heart.” This old custom was observed every day. At Christmas another old custom was observed. Hot spiced ale and toast was ready by six o’clock in the morning for anyone who chose to come to the Castle for it. They used to drink it out of soup plates with spoons, soaking the toast in the beer. We used to make a laundry clothes basket full of toast. His Lordship used to call Christmas day “Red face day,” for when we were all assembled in the little church, which was just across the moat, he could see us all, with faces like peoneys. I used to sing in the choir, and on Christmas morning everyone did “let out” when singing the well known hymns—they had to: the hot toast and ale made them do it.

A silver tankard of the same stuff was handed round in the dining room every Christmas at dinner. When the mummers came, they went away full up and quite merry. His Lordship used to tell the story that on going for a walk one Christmas morning, after the village band had been to the Castle to play, on going across the park he came across one fellow lying in the snow hugging a big brass bass, a little farther on another with a trombone, another farther on with a cornet, and the fellow with the big drum could not get over the stile at all. They were not used to having home brewed ale. They were all lying scattered about in the snow. I never knew his Lordship speak to an under servant. He spoke to me once when I was trying to ride an old-fashioned fifty-two inch bicycle in the stable yard. He was walking through: he said: “Funny horse to ride, isn’t it?” He was never known to speak in the House of Lords, but once, then he said to an attendent: “Will you please shut that window.” Servants seldom wanted to leave that place, unless they had been there some time and wanted promotion. I think what kept them together to a great extent was we were allowed a dance on the first Tuesday in every month. The mason, who worked on the estate, played the ’cello, his son played second fiddle, the tailor played first violin. I played sometimes as well. The tailor’s father had played at the Castle before him; in fact it had been an acknowledged institution as long as anyone could remember. The under gardeners, the grooms, the two whips from the kennels, and perhaps a friend or two would come in, so there was no lack of partners for the maids. Sometimes when visitors were staying in the Castle the ladiesmaids and valets would come in the servants’ hall. The tables were put on one side, which formed a band stand. Our programme consisted of lancers, quadrilles, waltzes, schottisches, polkas, Valse of Vienna, Polka Mazurka, and country dances. Fox-trots, jazz, bunnyhugs, and shimmy shakes, all those sort of dances had not been dreamt of in those days. Everything was conducted in a decent style, no rowdyism. Sometimes someone would sing a song between the dances. The young servants soon learnt to dance, and could dance the lancers with the best of them. I would play my violin after supper for them to practice when opportunity offered. I think this sort of thing keeps servants together, makes them just one great big happy family. Sometimes the younger sons of the Earl, when home from College, would come in, but not before knocking the door and asking if they may. There were several sons and daughters of the Earl still unmarried. In the winter, during the College vacations, they would get a licence from the Lord Chamberlain and play theatricals, in aid of her Ladyship’s hospital. Of course, I was in it. In one part I played the part of a woman. A dresser came from London, and rouged and painted our faces, also provided the costumes and wigs, also scenery. These plays lasted a week. The Curate was prompter. We rehersed in a large room in the Castle: it was very interesting fun. One of my faults in playing, of which, no doubt, I had many, was that I always “played to gallery.” I knew I should get very little applause from the gentry, they knowing I was a servant: their exertions in that direction being the exertion of tapping their thumb nails together, and perhaps not that, but when I saw a chance of a “gag,” I put it in.

To illustrate this I will set down what happened when I sang at a concert some years later; in one of the Eastern Counties. The lady got up the affair in aid of one of her charities. I was butler there. The house was full of company for the occasion, most of the performers were of the family, or visitors staying in the house. I was the only “commoner,” the others being all gentry. After an early dinner we all drove to the Town Hall. Previously I had practiced my songs in the front hall, one of the young ladies playing the piano. No remarks were made about the songs, except that one of the gents said, “That fellow can sing,” but they had never seen me in “character.” I slipped a hat box under the seat when starting, and I knew a little about “making up.” It was a crowded house. The concert began by one of the ladies showing them how well she could play the piano. Then one or two songs or duets, about the moon and love mixed. When it drew near my turn I began to “make up.” Of course I was simply ignored by the gentry behind the scenes. I thought to myself, after all that milk and water I will give you something stronger. I had a pair of large check trowsers, a white top hat with black band, a good false moustashe, black coat with buttonhole, white spats, and a cane, not forgetting the rouge. I sang my best. I never sang a song on a stage better; it was serio-comic, and I fancy rubbed the gentry up the wrong way in parts. With a few dance steps, and a trick or two I simply “brought down the house.” I seldom suffered from stage fright, the remedy for which is to keep moving about. Well, nothing but an “encore” would please them; so I gave them a lively solo on my violin, which did the trick again. The gallery wanted more, but the gentry would not let me go on again. Then came the interval. I noticed the rest of the performers go into a corner, and hold a conference. Then one of the gents came over to me and said, “We have decided that you shall not go on in the second part of the concert. Miss Soandso will sing in your place.” I nearly said “Damn,” but I didn’t. When my turn came round, and the lady began to sing, the whole back of the hall shouted, “Where’s Horne? We want Horne; bring him out.” They would not let her sing for some minutes. When they found it was no good she went on with her song. In any case I would not have gone on again: “See them hanged first.” There’s gentry; jealous because I got better encores than they did.

But let us get back to the moated Castle. These plays went off very well, and were a financial success, as no one but the dresser from London went to the treasury for wages. One night, though I was “word perfect,” I was on the stage talking my part to a man sitting on the opposite side of a table, when everything became a blank. I had lost my cue; my back being towards the promter I could not catch it for a bit. I had let my mind wander. But, altogether, those were jolly times.

One curious thing happened one summer evening. I had got a large tray loaded with dishes of desert from the stillroom: on one of the dishes was a round green melon, one of those with network all over them. To get to the dining room I had to open a green baize door, which would only open by pulling it towards me. I rested the tray on one knee, opening the door; on doing so the melon rolled off the tray, and being downhill, it went off down the passage “on its own.” All right, thinks I, I will come back for you directly. On going back no melon was to be seen. I asked the stillroom maid if she had seen it; she said no. No one else was about at the time. I looked everywhere, then I went out on the drawbridge. There I saw the melon bobbing about in the moat. I rushed to the front door, got the punt, poled round, and captured it. The stones in the passage had become worn through the years of use, that a channel had been made in the centre; just the place for a round melon to go carreering in, the farther it went, the faster it went, in its wild and giddy flight. As I always had three or four hours to myself every afternoon, which I devoted to studying photography, music, and the violin, for I could always lay the dinner cloth directly the footmen had cleared away the lunch, as none of the gentry went into the dining room except to meals. I found that the old ale was a detriment to study; so determined to give it up, as after a good dinner, and plenty of ale, I always felt inclined for a nap. It was a strain at first, but after the first month it was easy to go without it. I have kept it up for the last thirty years, and my intelect is clearer without it. Though by doing it I lost many friends. Even now I have no objection to going into a public-house with friends. They have what they like, I have ginger ale. But they soon get tired of that, and say: “Oh, he’s no good; he’s a blooming ‘Tote.’” But it is a curious thing that when servants meet the first question is, “Going to have a tonic?”

I got to know the aforesaid photographer, he was a nice fellow. He said if I came to his place he would soon put me in the way of it, and in three months would be able to take a decent photo. I should also be a help to him. So I used to bike over to the little town every afternoon and get to work. He taught me retouching, and how to shade off a photo. He said: yours is a very precarious profession; for the least fault, real or imaginary, out you go, with a reference that will be of little or no use to you. Now, I will put something in your hands that they cannot take away. In the end I invested in a ten pound camera, and have made it pay for itself over and over again.

It took me two years to get all the silver in good order, there was such a lot of it. When I first went there the silver plates and dishes were firstly taken to the stillroom to be washed, and then brought to the pantry to be washed again. They carried them in laundry clothes baskets, but that was knocking it about too much for me, so I stopped it, and they were taken straight from the dining room to the pantry. The stud groom, under gardener, and grooms came in and “washed up,” so that by the time I came out of the dining room silver and glass was all washed and put away; there was no lack of help. One piece of solid silver, a wine cooler, took four men to carry it to the dining room, there was also immense quantities of ornamental antique silver. I would never work so hard at silver again, to get it to perfection for others to benefit by it. Blistered hands were quite a common thing.