Life Below Stairs (16 page)
Authors: Alison Maloney
The importance of Character: servants advertising their qualities in a London newspaper
Kitty Marion recalled a close shave with one such woman after a trip to visit a friend in London, on her Sunday afternoon off. Kitty befriended the woman who had asked
her for directions and was offered a bed for the night in a flat in Gray’s Inn Road. On the way there, they bumped into two men and Kitty struck up a conversation with one of them. He edged
her out of earshot before asking ‘Is that woman a friend of yours?’ Kitty continued, ‘I was surprised and told him how I had met her, and that she had invited me home, whereupon
he became most concerned and said, “Little girl, she’s no fit companion for you, come along, here’s your bus,”’ and he hailed one. He helped me up the stairs and
said “Good night, dear” as if he’d known me all my life.’ Telling friends later she admitted, ‘I was a greenhorn. I had no ideas that women had “evil
designs” on others. This one was so ladylike too.’
MOVING UP AND MOVING ON
In the largest households, a lower servant might be able to progress through the ranks, learning their trade at the elbow of those above them. However, if the house was a
good, comfortable one, held in affection by those who worked there, the upper servants were less likely to leave and the lower servants would be obliged to seek work elsewhere in order to
‘better themselves’.
Having worked for three years as a kitchen maid, Margaret Powell applied for a job as a cook in Kensington. Although she was only eighteen she lied about her age, telling
the mistress of the house, Lady Gibbons, that she was twenty, in order to seem more experienced. She had come a long way from the terrified teenager who had refused to speak at her first interview.
During the ‘usual interrogation’, she was asked how much money she expected:
I heard a voice that didn’t sound like mine saying, ‘Forty pounds.’ ‘Forty pounds!’ she echoed, as if I’d asked for the Crown
Jewels. There was a pause as if she thought I would reconsider it. I didn’t. ‘Yes’, I said, ‘and I want a whole day off a month.’ Her face fell still
further. ‘If I give you a whole day off every month,’ she said, ‘the housemaid and the parlourmaid will want one too.’ I said nothing. Just sat silent.
Margaret got the job, and on her own terms.
Getting a better job was not the only reason for moving on, however. For the maids, the most common reason for leaving service was marriage. In 1844, Lavinia Jane Watson, mistress of Rockingham
Castle, was dismayed that her lady’s maid Lloyd was ill. It turned out she was merely too nervous to tell her employer of her decision to leave and eventually the housekeeper, Mrs Champion,
had to do it for her. ‘Champion broke the ice about
Lloyd, who wishes to marry Mr Lloyd,’ wrote Mrs Watson in her diary. ‘And as it incurred her leaving me,
she was in low spirits. Had an interview with the bride and comforted her.’
The expectation for maids to leave in order to marry continued well into the twentieth century. Margaret Powell commented in her memoirs on the hypocritical attitude of the upper classes, who
encouraged their own daughters to meet young men at parties and balls while the servants were allowed ‘no followers’. And yet they saw marriage as the only acceptable reason for a young
girl to leave service.
‘It was a funny thing that although none on them like you to leave if you were going to another job, if you left to get married, it was a totally different thing,’ she wrote.
‘It was acceptable and it was respectable. And yet the business of getting a young man was not respectable, and one’s employers tended to degrade any relationship.’
DISMISSAL
Although the work was exhausting and the conditions often meagre, the alternative to a life in service, for many, didn’t bear thinking about. Servants would put up with a harsh or mean
mistress for months or years rather than leave without a reference but being dismissed for a minor misdemeanour was all too common. Hannah Cullwick, whose diaries were edited by
Liz Stanley in 1984, was employed as a maid at Aqualate Hall in Staffordshire in the mid twentieth century and lost her position after her mistress spied her and another maid laughing
while going about their chores. ‘I got on very well as under-housemaid for eight months, but Lady Boughey saw me and another playing as we was cleaning our kettles (we had about 16 to clean,
they belong’d to the bedroom),’ she wrote. ‘I was vex’d to leave. I ax’d Lady Boughey if she would please forgive me and let me stop. But she said “NO”
very loudly.’
Bad behaviour, real or perceived, wasn’t the only reason for dismissal. Hannah also recalled being let go because she was considered too young and the aforementioned Lavinia Watson
recalled in her diary how the replacement for her treasured lady’s maid Lloyd lasted just two days. ‘Short old fashioned mincing body – won’t do,’ she wrote, although
she had the grace to admit that, having dismissed the unfortunate Stephenson, ‘her humble resigned manner on the occasion almost made me feel a lump, and yet I am sure I have never felt less
fascinated by anyone.’
The household uprooting for the Season could be enough to see a maid left jobless. Margaret Thomas remembered how she was summoned by the Lady of the House, a rare honour, only to be given her
notice. ‘When the family were going to Scotland for the shooting season the Lady sent for me and told me they weren’t taking me as I wasn’t strong enough for the hard life
there,’ she recalled. ‘I was upset because I was looking
forward to the visit . . . But I appreciated the fact that the Lady told me herself, for it was the only
time I saw her.’
THE OLD RETAINERS
For those who became too old or ill to do their jobs effectively, their fortunes depended on the largesse of their employers and their own financial prudence throughout
their service. Giving evidence before the Royal Commission on the Aged Poor in 1893, Joseph Chamberlain outlined a sorry fate for some, commenting that households were reluctant to hire anyone over
fifty and that ‘accordingly almost by necessity of the case, they will have to go to the workhouse’.
But long and loyal service often paid dividends in old age, with employers making provision for their ‘old retainers’. Many an ageing housekeeper, butler or gardener were retired to
a gatehouse or to a cottage in the grounds and, in some cases, they were employed in lighter duties, such as gatekeeping, sewing or providing sage advice for the younger servants. At Welbeck Abbey,
the 6th Duke of Portland built almshouses for retiring staff on the estate. He was a huge fan of racing, won the Derby twice and kept one thoroughbred, St Simon, who sired numerous champions.
Having paid for the building work out of the proceeds of his hobby, he named his charitable housing ‘The Winnings’.
But it was not just the huge estates that looked after their servants in their dotage. Gillian Tripp remembers Mina, a loyal housemaid to her Aunt Tibby and Uncle John in
a large house in Greenock, near Glasgow. ‘Every night, for as many years as we children could remember, Mina waited at the table in a black dress and white cap and apron,’ she recalls.
‘Even when she was quite old, Mina spent hours of her life carrying trays of heavy dishes up from the kitchen. She also lit all the beautiful gas chandeliers all over the house every night.
After Tibby and John died the house was sold and, out of the proceeds, the family bought Mina a flat in Greenock.’
Nursery nurses who had raised generations of the same family were most likely to be treated well in retirement. Children growing up in the upper classes in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries saw more of the family nurse than their own parents and a close bond was formed well into adulthood. As such, they often remained within the household or nearby, in a flat or
cottage provided by their one-time charges.
Lady Astor had a strong bond with her children’s nurse, known as Nannie Gibbons, and described her as ‘my strength and stay and the backbone of my home. She was with us forty years,
until she died. She had, I often think, every virtue, and added to them one that is not always found in Nannies – she was utterly and absolutely loyal to me.’
Author Noel Streatfeild remembered the old nurse who had brought up her father and his nine brothers and sisters and
lived out her remaining days in the nursery rooms at
her grandfather’s house. ‘She had been married, but her husband had died and so she adopted my father’s family. She was a great character, and extremely proud of her
nurslings.’
As they grew up, many of her young charges took job abroad. ‘When they came on leave, almost before they had greeted their parents, they were up the stairs and flinging their arms round
old Nannie’s neck. As each of the boys became engaged to be married, before the engagement was announced, the fiancée was brought to Nannie for inspection, and she would look them up
and down and always ask the same question: “Can you needle?”’
When this charming character died she was buried in the church near the family home. Although it was quite a distance the boys refused to let her travel in a hearse. ‘Instead they whom she
had carried in her arms, carried her to her grave on their shoulders.’
With no old-age pension or sick pay, staff had to think ahead and save for the future. Although their wages were a pittance, with all meals and accommodation provided those servants who never
married but stayed in service for decades often accumulated a surprisingly large nest egg. One long-serving gardener at Erdigg in Wales amassed £4,000 over his lifetime and a maid, if
careful, could stockpile up to £500.
Some large houses provided annuities when servants retired and often these were made as a condition in a will. For
example, Lord Northwick left annual payments of £5
for his butler, under-butler, groom, coachman and nurse which were to be forfeited if invested in a public house. He also left a lump sum of £100 to each member of staff who had been in his
service for a year at the time of his death.
Butler to the Earl of Sandwich
Edward Montagu, the 8th Earl of Sandwich took his duty of care to his servants to a whole new level. In 1907 his butler, George Andrews, had a serious operation for a
tumour on his spine at a hospital in Queen’s Square, London. The Earl was a believer in spiritual healing and visited the sick man, as he recalled later in his memoirs, published in 1919.
My footman, who had been to see him, told me his agony was so great that he could not remain in the room with him. I went off at once to see him and found him lying
in a ward adjoining the theatre. While I was talking with Andrews about a visit he had received the day before from the Duchess of Albany, he suddenly said, ‘Oh my lord, this agony
is returning. It is more than I can bear.’ The intuition came to me to say that he was not going to have the return of his pain. I began talking to him about his schooldays etc. He
remained free from pain and had no return of it. The nurse was much surprised.
The Earl, who believed this was the first demonstration of his healing powers, treated his butler daily for about four months. ‘His improvement was marvellous. He became
cheerful and was able to walk about, and lived for a year and nine months.’
Constitutional expert Alastair Bruce worked with the cast of
Downton Abbey
as they filmed at Highclere Castle in Berkshire, which is still the family home of the Earl and Countess of
Carnarvon. ‘If you worked in a house like this and were well behaved, your position was pretty secure,’ he remarked. ‘And if you were a good retainer, you could assume that when
you retired, you would be put into one of the cottages on the estate and the family who had grown to respect you, like you and possibly even love you – that tentacle of care went on until the
day that you were buried in the family graveyard.’
CHAPTER NINE
The High Life
A
LTHOUGH LIFE BELOW
stairs was tough, there was some fun to be had in the short periods when the domestic staff
wasn’t rushed off its feet. In the large houses this was often known as ‘The High Life’ and would consist of a few servants, mostly male, playing cards, gambling or drinking
together. For both sexes there would be conversation, practical jokes, laughter and often music. Many servants played instruments, such as fiddles, and a piano was often provided in the
servants’ hall by kinder employers.
Jean Hunt told author Frank Dawes, ‘I can well remember standing at the top of the “kitchen stairs” in my grandmother’s Welsh home and listening to gales of laughter
coming from down in the kitchen . . . Although they did not go out in the evenings and didn’t have a radio or television, they seemed to enjoy themselves.’
Dances
Former footman Eric Horne recalled a particularly happy posting in the castle of an earl where the staff was permitted monthly dances.
‘Servants seldom wanted to leave that place, unless they had been there some time and wanted promotion,’ he said. ‘I think what kept them together to a great extent was
that we were allowed a dance on the first Tuesday of 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. Our programme consisted of lancers, quadrilles, waltzes, schottisches, polkas, Valse of Vienna, Mazurka and country dances.’
