Chapter VIII

Now I had to scout round and get another place. It was not long before I got hooked on to a Noble Lord—in disposition quite different to my previous Bos, Sir Cayenne. This one turned out to be of a surley disposition. One seldom saw a smile on his face. He was director to several companies, and the employees had cause to keep their eyes open when he was about. Many a man he got sacked, for he was without mercy, a hard-hearted man, and well hated by everyone.

Which reminds me of a little story. At a certain works or factory, two of the men got round a corner to have a few draws of their pipes in working hours. They were busy at it, when they saw a strange man come along. They said: “Come round the corner, mate, or the foreman will see you!” “Well,” he replied, “I happen to be the new foreman.”

Everybody seemed to hate the sight of this Noble Lord. In the villiage, which belonged to him, the inhabitants never used to touch their hats to him; in fact, never looked at him, or ever had a good word for him. The houses were old and out of repair, the farms also; they could not get repairs done. All the dirty work was done by the estate agent. One thing he did not forget was to collect the rents punctually. The estate agent was dressed smarter than the Noble Lord, and had more “Swank.” In fact, one would take him to be Bos of the show, and as it may be imagined no one liked him either. The servants in the house, or out of it for that matter, did not like him. He remarked to the butler one night, “If this lamp does not burn better there will be a vacancy for a butler shortly.”

The Lord and I used to travel a great deal. The servants hated the sight of our faces when we returned home; in fact they treated me like an unwelcome lodger. If we happened to arrive from a long journey between the times for meals, I could not get anything, but had to wait till the next meal time came round, though I had missed my dinner. The house was fourteen miles from the railway station.

His Lordship did not go in for fox hunting, but was keen on shooting and salmon fishing. His Lordship’s god was his clothes, and himself. He had about sixty suits of clothes. On Sundays he would make me carry them all downstairs, and spread them out in a large bedroom on the ground floor. When they were all down, I had to go and tell him they were ready. When it pleased him he would come and begin to try them all on, in front of a long glass, one suit after another, which took hours. When he had finished there was a waggonload of clothes to brush, fold up, and take back to his dressing room, and stack away in their different classes and places. This was the Sunday clothes inspection. But during the two years I was with him he never gave me a thing, not so much as an old worn-out necktie. I have known him catch twenty-eight salmon in a day, ranging from sixteen to thirty-four pounds. But he never gave me one. But they were all packed in boxes and sent by rail to the market, excepting a few to personal friends. Servants were treated by him as though they were a lower order of beings simply sent for his use and convenience.

An amusing incident happened at a shooting party. We were to lunch at a farm house. The late Duke of Cambridge was one of the party. His Highness was very fond of lark pudding. When we arrived at the farm house the gentry went into the parlour, the valets and loaders went into the kitchen, where a table was laid. We put our guns and cartridge bags in the corner, and began to look round to see what there was for lunch, for we were all hungry after being out in the fresh air all the morning. One of the valets spied a large pudding in a basin, standing on the fender in front of the fire. He put it on the table, and began to help it round, observing, “By Jove, they do us very well here.” For it is generally cold meat and bread for the loaders, sometimes Irish stew. By the time we were all served, and were about to begin, the man who was waiting on the gentry came out of the parlour, and went towards the fireplace. He exclaimed, “Where’s the lark pudding?” He saw it, or what remained of it, on our table. “Good God,” he said, “that pudding was for the Duke of Cambridge.” He got a spoon and scraped it off our plates back into the basin, and squared it up as best he could. Had he been a few minutes later there would not have been any to put back. Lark pudding for servants? What next?

The Duke of Cambridge was the only man who ever told me I was not holding my gun properly. We were standing in a sort of ravine waiting. I had my gun on my shoulder, when I heard a voice on the rocks above and behind me, shouting, “Put your gun down, that man there.” I looked up. I did not know any of the guns were stationed above us. I knew a gun should always be either pointed to the sky or to the ground by the loader. I have often thought what a risk some of the bullying sort of gentry (who speak to their servants worse than they would to a dog,) run when out shooting. When, for instance, a gun might easily go off “accidently” when climbing through a hedge, or over a wall. For all loaders do not take the cartridges out of the gun when doing so, though it is the general rule. A gentleman was once shot in the back by accident, but there is such a thing as “accidently on purpose.”

One of the fads this Noble Lord had was when he went out for a walk he would put on four or five overcoats. As his blood began to circulate, and he got warmer, he would take one coat off and throw it down, on the ground or anywhere, and so on further on, till he had only one left. I had to go out afterwards, find out which way he went and collect the coats. If a working man did this sort of thing, people would say he was balmy. But with money in plenty one can do it with impunity. People call it “genious” in an aristocrat, or “originality.”

It is not often that, when out shooting, you find a place under cover to eat your lunch in. I remember once when out shooting in Scotland the beer in the bottles froze to a solid mass of ice. They put the bottles between their legs to try and thaw it, but was unable to get any out before we had to begin shooting again. The beef was also so frozen that we could not cut it. It was like a lump of stone.

When the day’s shooting is ended the valet takes the guns and cartridges, coats, etc., and gets back to the house as quickly as he can, before his Bos, if possible, in order to get a hot bath ready for him before he arrives.

Once, in Scotland (I did not know the country but could see the house in the distance), I took a bee line across country, thinking it was the nearest way. When within a quarter of a mile I found a river between me and the house, “Well,” thinks I, “I’m not going back, I’ll try to wade it.” I strapped the guns, cartridge bags and coats together, and held them over my head, and went in. Before I got to the middle of the river the water was up under my arms, and still got deeper. I was afraid to go any farther, as I could not attempt to swim under that load; so I turned back and had to go over a bridge half a mile away.

An amusing thing happened where I was staying at a large house in the Eastern Counties. I often used to take a walk round with the head keeper. He told me that a herd of young pigs used to get into the coverts, grubbing about, and disturbing the phesants sitting on their eggs. He had driven them out time after time, but they always came back. When they heard him coming they used to scutter off back to the farm in a drove, down one of the drives in the woods. One day he gave them a dose of sparrow shot out of his gun, at a good distance off. A few days afterwards he was going over the same ground when the farmer asked the keeper if he knew anything about pigs, as all his young ones had developed a lot of pimples on their sterns, a sort of rash had come out; he had never seen anything like it before. The keeper looked at them, said it was very curious, but no doubt would be all right in a day or two.

I had some fine trout fishing while there. I used a worm, which is not considered sportsmanlike, as fly fishing is the correct way to catch trout. When I had caught half a dozen I would take them and grill them for tea. But there was one artful old fellow I could not catch. He used to live among the roots of a tree that the water had washed bare. When he saw me he would simply draw back and wink the other eye, and say, “I don’t want your worm.” But I had him: he weighed four pounds and a half. I got my worm and rod ready about twenty yards from the bank of the river, then crawled along, laying low, and dropped the line gently into the roots of the tree. He was at home. In an instant the rod was pulled out of my hand; away he went with it. I after him, the end of the rod was sticking out of the water. I waded in and grasped it, and played him till he was tired. In an hour he was on his way to London by parcel post.

This Noble Lord I was with had an idea that I never wanted to go out on my own account. He expected me to be available at any moment of the day or night. When staying at an hotel he would always expect to find me waiting outside his door. I had to get his breakfast ready and wheel it into his room by seven o’clock in the morning. Anyone that has tried this at an hotel knows what that means. If anything was not right to please him, he would send for the manager, and get some of the servants the sack. Those that knew him scuttled out of his way, and spoke of him with awe, in a subdued voice. After two years of this I thought I would try my hand at a butler’s job, so I left him.

Nothing would please me at this time but that I should get married. Though whistling, singing, and courting are not allowed in good places, courting is carried on all the same, in a quiet way. Sometimes in the housemaids’ cupboard, where they keep their brushes and pails; a few words when passing on the stairs; ways and means can always be found to dodge the housekeeper’s eagle eye. Though I must admit it is not plesant or fair to the other servants in the house when courting is going on. But “Love,” or Cupid, is such a funny little fellow, and will not be denied. Try to stamp out the flame of love in one place, and it pops up in another. The more one tries to smother it, the fiercer it burns, yet it is said that “Love is blind,” if so then his feeling must be exceptionally good, and “eye language” goes a long way with lovers.

Now, for a butler to get married is simply suicidal. Firstly, his employer has got him fairly by the neck. He has got what they call an encumbrance. He cannot move so easily as he could when he was single. They can insult his feelings right and left. He must not answer, or say “Boo to a goose.” He has got to console himself with the saying: “It’s better to please a fool than tease one.” Suppose he is married and takes a place miles in the country; he has taken his wife and furniture, perhaps to live on the estate in a cottage. That man will put up with a great deal before he throws up his place, and has the responsibility of taking his wife and furniture elsewhere, and it is generally “God knows where.” On the other hand, should he prove to be unsatisfactory, and he gets the sack, things are blacker still, for he is told: “I have another man coming into the house you occupy on Monday next. So you must get out of it.” Perhaps there are no rooms, or a vacant house for miles, but he has to get out. They knew something in the olden days when they only had Eunuchs in their houses to wait on them. No trouble about the butlers’ wives and encumbrances then, or courting either. That is why one sees so many advertisements in the papers for “Man and wife.” They get them both for the wages of one, and have a stranglehold on them into the bargain. Like the old lady engaging a butler, said she expected him to fill up his spare time in whitewashing, painting, cleaning out the drains, cleaning windows, and feeding and cleaning out the chickens, and take the dogs out for a run. He asked: “Do you keep pigs? Mam.” “No,” the old lady replied, “not at present.” “Then I’m afraid your place won’t suit me,” replied the butler, “for I am very fond of pigs.”

Some years ago I knew of a butler who wished to get married, and asked his employer if he had any objection to his doing so. “No,” said his employer, “I have no objection.” So accordingly the butler got married, but to his surprise he got a month’s notice to leave shortly afterwards. His employer explained that he wanted his butler always within call; but that since he had got married he was often out, as he went home to see his wife, and that his was not “a married butler’s place.” Taking all things into consideration, a butler ought not to be married. It is not fair to the wife, for she has to mope at home, seeing very little of her husband, while he is at the big house, surrounded with all sorts of womenfolk. The wife remembering that he was somewhat of a “giddy kipper” before he was married, which does not alleviate matters. Should he happen to beget several children, it all goes against them, for the children must not be seen about the place. Of course there are places where a servant is treated as though he were human. There are also some real good places. But the butler stays there, because he cannot better his position by going elsewhere. Supposing by some means I could dislodge him from his position what are the chances that I should get his job? Quite ten thousand to one. But to one good place there are a hundred indifferent ones. Especially since the War, for now the butler has to be the general utility man.

The real good places are nearly always filled, either by promoting the next man that has served under the butler, or by his being known to a branch of the family. An outsider has no chance.

A certain philosopher likens marriage to a man putting his hand into a bag containing a lot of snakes, but only one eel. If he draws out the eel he is lucky. Love is also said to be “blind.” It is in a way. For a man does not know everything about a woman, nor the woman everything about a man before they marry. But they find it out afterwards. In the matter of incompability of temper: if they can’t find that out before marriage they must fight it out afterwards. It is well known that “Man wants all he can get, and woman wants all she can’t get.” A man may find himself landed with a partial invalid for life, or “visa versa.” This, in the case of a working man, is a great consideration and drawback. Perhaps he finds he is landed on to a woman who can’t get up in the morning because she has got a headache. Therefore if he wants any breakfast before he goes to work he must get it ready himself, whether he has a headache or not. A great many women, after marriage, parade these ailments and disabilities to do this or that as an asset, a sort of lawful excuse, so that a man finds instead of a helpmate he has found a hinderance to his making his way through life. To a working man this is serious, but to the gentry it does not matter if his wife stays in bed all day, and every day. The servants will attend to his wants.

I should agree to a law that all persons proposing to marry be thoroughly medically examined, inside and out, and given a certificate. This would prevent a great deal of misery in the world: not only in the case of begetting children, but also in the battle of life.

Well, I got married, which I ought not to have done while my mother was alive. I had saved up the amount of seventy pounds to buy the furniture and launch our boat on the sea of life. Meanwhile things had not gone on well at home. My youngest sister’s husband had been playing old gooseberry with things in general. He was out at all hours of the night, and worried my mother to death. In fact she did die shortly after I married. I was able to go to her funeral. Thus ended a hard life, when, with a woman of her education and refinement, her tender disposition and lovable manner, it ought to have been easier for her. She had a true sense of religion. As she lay dieing, the curate called to see her, but she told him that as she had lived in the same house for forty years, and he had never called before he needn’t trouble now, it was too late.

Now my sister’s husband had to turn too and work to pay the rent and keep a roof over his head. They had one child, a girl. They wished to stay in the house. So I came away and left them. In the end he got work at Southampton, on one of the mail boats, through the influence of a relative of my mother, who held a high position at the docks. He cleared the house out, and took all the furniture with him. I did not object as my sister wanted it for her home, they had no other. Thus ended the home of my childhood, where I had spent many happy days. But I myself could not afford to lose any time. I had little left, except my first-class references, which all showed that I was a thorough, reliable servant.

I had little trouble in obtaining my first butler’s place, having had such a good schooling in livery. But it turned out to be more or less a “rotter.” It was situated on the South Coast. I packed my furniture, and took a cottage near the place, but not on the estate. I will call the Bos Sir Grizle de Bluster, for he was always on the “nag.” The house was an old Elizabethan mansion. The kitchen was like a great barn. Sir Grizel was a typical Member of Parliament, with the brains of a rabbit. It was his money that did it. He made his name famous when he brought in a bill about adding more water to beer, or some such idiotic notion. They had the usual old servant of the family, the housekeeper, to be treated as one of themselves, a trustworthy spy. He also had his old mother to live there with him; she was as deaf as a block. On one occasion the footman ran up to her rooms to tell her the house was falling down. She said, “What?” “The house is falling down, mam.” “Goodness gracious, why didn’t you tell me before.” As the old lady ran out of the room the whole of the five gables fell flat on to the lawn, in one slab, leaving all the insides of the rooms exposed. Which reminds me of an incident that happened at Manchester when I was there. It had been a remarkably wet season. A commercial traveller was occupying a bedroom in an hotel that had recently been built. He had more than a couple of whiskies before retiring. When the side wall of the room fell out, so that the people in the street had a full view of the interior, there he lay in bed. He said he had paid for the room, and he was not going to get up for anybody.

Sir Grizel and the family came to London for the season. The confidential housekeeper dined in her own room, at the same time as the family. When they had finished with the silver dishes in the dining room, they were taken direct to her room, from there to the kitchen when she had finished with them. All the other servants dined in the servants’ hall, and got what they could. For the old confidential used to go out every morning to either order or bring the things in for the day. One day she brought some half-ripe plums in late, and told the cook to make puddings, but as there was not time, the cook sent in the half-ripe plums for us to eat as they were in the servants’ hall. “Oh, ours was a nice house, ours was.”

When the family returned to the country the house had been repaired. I thought the circumstances over in my mind. Everything was so different, everything so second rate, that I thought I could be doing something better. So I gave Sir Grizel a month’s notice. Talk about a whole box of squibs going off at once! (Sir Grizel stuttered a bit, especially when he was excited). “What do you mean? How dare you give me a month’s notice? Come into the billiard room.” I followed him in. “Now, what do you mean? How dare you give me a month’s notice?” I said, “I think I am quite within my rights in doing so.” “Rights! What rights? Talk to me about your rights, I will knock you down with this stick.” I said, “I don’t think you will, for I am a younger and stronger man than you: if you struck me I should give you such a hiding you would not readily forget.” He spluttered, stuttered and foamed at the mouth, and said, “I will send for the police.” I said, “I wish you would, for if he is a truthful policeman he will state who struck the first blow. Send for him before you begin knocking me about.” Here, then, is a fine illustration of the employer’s point of view. This man (I can’t call him a gentleman) because he had plenty of money, thought he could have everything he wanted, and no one dare deny him. Everything was quite all right as long as I would take his insults and snubbings without a murmer; but as soon as I had a voice in the matter, he went raving mad, and would like to smash me. But he could not compel me to stay in his service. The old slave days have passed away long since. Yet he still thought he had the whip hand of me. He was not compelled to give me a reference, and could bring me to my knees in that way. But he didn’t, for I never applied to him for a reference. My previous first-class record would get me a place anywhere. So he found out that there were other things besides “Love” that money would not buy. Had his constituants known more of his inside life, he would not have got many votes. It was simply the possession of money that did it.

So I put my furniture on the rail, and off we went back to London town. I found two nice rooms at Hampstead, and soon got straight. Here my son was born, on exactly to the day twelve months after I was married. My wife said she should not do any more travelling about, the first time sickened her of it. She said I could get a place where I liked, but she was going to stay where she was. So I scouted round, and got a situation with a certain Duchess, as butler, but what a place it turned out to be! The Duchess had made herself very unpopular. There had been some sort of shady business going on about the Duke’s (her first husband) property. Eventually she married again, a man beneath her in rank. The place had got demoralised. Butlers staid only a month, some not that. So I thought I would see what I could do with it. The under butler was an older man than myself, and had served the old Duke. The footmen did just what they liked, they would not take their turn on duty, but went out just when they liked. I tried to lick them into shape, but they said: “Don’t worry yourself, old chap, you won’t be here longer than the other butlers, about a month.” The husband had his own valet: he was the spy in the house, in this case. The Duchess told me he acted as groom of the chambers as well, but when I asked him to take a turn on duty, he said: “Duty be damned. I have got plenty of other work to do beside going on duty.” I had to answer all bells, the footmen would only show up when the Duchess was about. They knew her ways. After a short time in London the family went to the country house for a week or so, an enormous place. I went down the day previous to get ready all the writing tables and other things, as the house was to be full of visitors. I went in every bedroom, putting up candles, ink, pens, pencils, notepaper—got lost, and could not find my way back, there was no one about. I ought to have put an envelope on the mat of the door I came in by, as I had to go through a room which was a passage room, before I got to the landing where the staircase was, and the rooms were all alike. The family and guests arrived next day, about twenty of them. In the butler’s room was a telephone: all the telegrams were ’phoned from the town, which was ten miles away. That telephone was continuously ringing. I had to copy the message on to an ordinary telegraph form, put it in a buff envelope, address it, then diliver it. By the time I got back three or four other messages were waiting to be taken off. There was quite enough telephone work for one person. However, I struggled through somehow. The gentry played cards until two and three in the morning, and they were a thirsty lot. The Duchess would hold a sort of levee in her boudoir every morning. First I got my whigging, then the head gardener, coachman, keeper—she had them all in. She always said I never washed out her fountain pens every morning. It was useless my saying I had done them. One morning she came into her boudior dressed in a white muslin dress, trimmed with blue bows and ribbons. She began about the pens, took hold of one, tugged it open: the ink went all over the front of her dress. I was glad to beat a retreat, as she ran into her bedroom. Not being popular with the families in the highest circles, the Duchess and her beloved spouse had to put up with the second-raters, comprising theatrical people, and such like, a lot of people on the look out for something for nothing. The servants were constantly changing. Those leaving they sent away by a different line and station from those new ones arriving, so that they should not meet. One day they did meet, at the Junction, all the jolly lot went back to London together, the new ones and the old. Eventually we returned to the London house, where they gave a large dinner party. They were a thirsty lot. On these occasions the valet had to help wait at table. As soon as I filled their glasses with champayne, they picked them up and emptied them at one gulp. The Bos, seeing the glasses empty, told me to hand the wine, with the same result as before. The next morning the Bos asked me how many bottles of champayne were used for the dinner party. I told him. He said, “Impossible.” Then he said he had been told that the men who carried up the dinner was seen to be drinking champayne in the serving room. That was not true, for they did not get the chance. What the valet did see was the men sucking at the empty bottles, for I left nothing in them: there may have been a few drops left in the bottom of the bottles. He stormed and fumed. I told him I did not want his champayne or him either. I asked him to give me my wages, and I would clear out at once. The footmen were right. I was only there about a month, and that was a month too long. After that they told the under butler if he did not accept the butler’s place, he would have to leave. He had been offered the place on previous occasions, but knew better than accept it. Anyhow, he took the place. Shortly after he could not be found. Eventually they found he was in his room, locked in, and as drunk as a lord. The Duchess was frightened to death he would set the house alight.