Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (15 page)

I was at a loss for words but true to my costume I dropped a curtsy at him as he went on his way. Just at that moment Mr Hopkins drew up in the Rolls. I went over to him and he offered to drive me to the dance. I didn’t like to look to see if the generous couple had noticed, but if they did they must have got the shock of their lives. So did the photographer when I reached the Wharncliffe Rooms, for I suppose seeing a Rolls drive up and Mr Hopkins helping me out he thought I must be somebody, and kept his camera snapping at me. Then as I was going in he rushed up and asked me my name – ‘Rose Harrison, Lady Astor’s maid,’ I told him. I wished I’d had a camera for his face was a perfect picture. There was nothing he could do though. I hadn’t asked to have my photo taken.

One of the social events of the year in London for us was Lady Malcolm’s servants’ ball, which was held at the Albert Hall. It was a charity affair, with employers buying tickets for their staff at prices we could never have afforded. My ‘Eliza comes to stay’ took first prize there too, which Lady Astor considered a feather in her cap. Today it would seem incongruous to contemplate holding a servants’ ball. I don’t suppose anybody would go. To begin with there are so very few servants around and those that there are don’t acknowledge the word, and would think the whole idea lowering. We didn’t.

So, although today our social life might seem a bit dull and mundane I recall it with nostalgia. We had a deal of fun heightened possibly by the hard work that surrounded it. My life was made more enjoyable by the travelling I did and even at home it was never boring; my lady’s unpredictability saw to that. Then, despite the size of the staff, I think most of us had the feeling of belonging. I’ve already mentioned Michael Astor’s book
Tribal Feeling.
I suppose when he wrote it he was considering the family, but the feeling went wider than that. It brushed off on all of us, on some of course more than others. I must have got covered in it. After all, and I direct this remark to Mr Michael, ‘You left home when you were eight to go to your preparatory school. After that it was a place where you spent your holidays. I was there continuously for thirty-five years so I feel as much, if not more, a member of the tribe, even though I may have been a more savage one.’

E
ntertaining both at St James’s Square and Cliveden was done in style and in the grand manner. Lunch and dinner parties and receptions were so frequent, they became a commonplace. Not that that meant there was any less work, but it was like a drill: everyone knew what was expected of him and more or less did it automatically; so it became easier by constant repetition. My part was to get my lady presentable and ready on time. After that I went to my room and did the necessary pressing and cleaning and getting ready for the following day, though this was often interrupted when she wanted me to take her something or to run messages. But there was always an inquest in the servants’ hall afterwards so I had a very good idea of what went on in each department.

There were two types of party: ‘My town style and my country style,’ as Lady Astor would call them. The ‘town style’ at St James’s Square was more formal, with a majority of political guests. The ‘country style’ at Cliveden, while none the less correctly presented, had a feeling more of family and friends. She invited a mixed bag of people and since many were staying in the house there was a greater ease, more of the person and less of the face. This was also reflected in the dinner services used, the food served and, strange though it may seem, in the flower decoration. Her ladyship was very proud of the distinction between her two types of entertaining and was immediately critical if she felt that one had encroached on the other.

Mr Lee kept a guest list of many of the dinner parties in his little black book. Whether he got bored or blasé after I joined the staff I don’t know, but he stopped doing it and just recorded the event. He lent me his book and it was fascinating to read the names of those invited in the years from 1911 onwards; it was like dipping into history. The list was impressive both socially and politically. These were people who were used to the best and were prepared to be highly critical since they, themselves, were accustomed to entertaining on a similar scale. It was not only the dinner either, for immediately after dinner there was often a reception of up to a thousand people. This was generally held in the ballroom, depending on its size, as of course were the dances when they were given.

It was a feat of organization to mount occasions of this kind. Each department had its own task, though often these as it were interlocked. Mr Lee as butler was in charge of the whole production and it was for him to see that everything finally came together. The first thing his men had to do was select the silver from the safe at Cliveden. This safe was a sight to behold. It was the size of an average room and as you walked round it, it was like looking at a treasure trove. His lordship had inherited and bought gold and silver ornaments, silver cups, candelabra, candlesticks, plates and cutlery, and had added to them the trophies his horses had won. All service was done from silver plates and salvers. Although everything in the safe was kept polished it was always refurbished before use. Mr Lee had set his standards when he was a footman and under-butler, and was famed for the condition of his silver. He saw to it that his demands were met. It was an unpleasant task. It began with red rougeing; this gave the silver a dark appearance which looked so much better, particularly under light. This rouge was put into saucers, mixed into a paste and then rubbed on with the fingers and rubbed in hard. The silver was then highly polished with cloths and leathers. Polishing silver this way played havoc with the footmen’s hands, but Mr Lee insisted that there were no short cuts; and he was not above showing a new footman himself how he should do it.

Many of the visitors remarked on our beautiful silver and once the Argentine Ambassador, a Mr Carcano, asked Mr Lee to show him how it was done. He took him into his pantry and demonstrated, and then wrapped up a packet of the rouge for him to take back to the Embassy. The next time they met the Ambassador said, ‘It’s no use, Lee, my men refuse to dirty their hands with the stuff. I suppose you won’t come as my butler and make them?’ He knew it was a vain hope as he said it.

Only once did Mr Lee nearly leave the Astors. Needless to say it was her ladyship’s fault with her goading, her unreasonable demands and lack of appreciation. He could stand it no more and one evening announced to her that he would be leaving at the end of the month. Quick as a flash her ladyship saw the danger she was in. ‘In that case, Lee, tell me where you’re going because I’m coming with you.’ That finished it; they both fell about laughing, and of course Mr Lee stayed.

But back to the silver; it was driven down to London from Cliveden in what we nicknamed the ‘Black Maria’. Gordon Grimmett, one of the footmen, used to travel with it. He remembers the early 1920s when they used an open lorry and slung a canvas sheet over the boxes. ‘It must have been worth well over a hundred thousand pounds, even in those days, and we never had a thought about it being stolen. Today we’d probably have an armoured car and three outriders to protect it. There’s a moral in it somewhere, Yorkie,’ he said. Mr Lee was proud to boast that he had never lost any silver, though recently he admitted to me that that was not strictly true. ‘As far as the family were concerned I didn’t. There was once though when a silver dish went missing. We hunted high and low for it, but with no luck. So the next day I went to the silversmiths with a similar plate and had it copied. I paid for it personally. Of course I knew I didn’t have to, but it kept my record straight with the Astors.’

The seating plan for the guests was prepared by her ladyship with the help of Miss Kindersley, the controller. This was more difficult than one would think: there were so many things to be considered. First was precedence. Royalty was easy, so really were the dukes. It was when you came to the lords, marquesses, generals, bishops and such-like that the trouble started. Rarely were mistakes made.
Burke’s Peerage, Debrett
and
Who’s Who,
the books of reference, saw to that. But we did occasionally get mixed up with Indians, and with their caste system they were the quickest to take offence. Mention of Indians reminds me of the time when Mr Gandhi came to dinner. His meal took a lot of sorting out. During it her ladyship offered him some American pecan nuts. ‘Oh, Lady Astor,’ he retorted, ‘be British and buy British.’

As well as the business of precedence there was the question of who should sit next to or opposite whom! Political or social adversaries or personal ‘bêtes noirs’, and incompatibles, had to be separated. Of course in the choosing of guests this had been considered, but it was occasionally impossible to leave opposites out. Sometimes there would be two or more tables, which made things easier, but as Miss Kindersley confided to me, Lady Astor then tried to hog the most important or interesting guests for her table. Eventually Mr Lee would get the plan and have name cards printed so there could be no mistakes. Sometimes on his advice places would be changed. He was, as it were, overseer at these parties and knew more than anyone who got on well with whom.

There was one particular thing about parties that always seemed to get her ladyship and Mr Lee hot under the collar: that was the size of the chairs and the seating accommodation. Her ladyship would insist on getting as many people round a table as possible and this gave little room for manoeuvre either for the guests or the footmen. Mr Winston Churchill always complained. One particular night he refused to eat anything, but he must have been watching throughout the meal because at the end he said, ‘Thirty dishes served and no damn room to eat one.’ Sir Montagu Norman, Governor of the Bank of England, also used to grumble, but it didn’t worry her ladyship when she was told about it. ‘They can both afford to lose a little weight,’ she said to Mr Lee, but he was testy about it and took their criticism personally.

The butler and footmen were of course liveried servants. The everyday livery was brown with yellow and white striped waistcoats, and a red and yellow piping down the side of the trousers. The dress livery was brown jackets, striped waistcoats, breeches, white stockings and black pumps with gold buckles, and of course white gloves; no serving was done with bare hands except by Mr Lee, who only served the wines and liqueurs. I must say that when I first saw the footmen in their get-up, although they looked very smart I couldn’t stifle a laugh; to me they looked like a swarm of wasps. Mr Lee as butler was more distinguished than the others. He wore a navy blue tail coat, black breeches, black stockings and the same black pumps. The men were provided with two sets of livery and these were changed regularly, usually every two years. Less formal wear for them was morning suits, and in the evening, dress suits, black tie and tails.

Gordon Grimmett tells the story of how he joined the Astors, as second footman in the early 1920s, and of his experience with the tailors. ‘I’d been to Campbell & Hearn, the footmen’s agency in North Audley Street, and was given a card and instructed to go and be interviewed by Mr Lee, butler to Viscount and Viscountess Astor at 4 St James’s Square. I went down the area steps of this imposing building wondering what was in store for me. I pressed the back-door bell and was greeted by a young lad. “What’s your business?” he inquired. I handed him the card and he said, “Hmm, Grimmett, not, I take it, the Australian cricketer?” and he smirked. “I’m Eric, the schoolroom boy, follow me and I’ll take you to see the skipper.”

‘I met Mr Lee in his sitting-room. “What’s your Christian name?” he said.

‘“Gordon, sir,” I answered.

‘“Very well, Gordon, where have you worked over the past years?”

‘“With the Marquess of Bath, the Honourable Claud Portman and Mr C. H. Sanford.”

‘I thought this an imposing list, but by Mr Lee’s expression I could see he was not impressed.

‘“Done any valeting?” I said I had. After a few more brusque questions he rose and said, “Right, Gordon, we’ll go and see her ladyship.” By the way he said it I was convinced I was not going to get the job. He took me to what I learnt later was Lady Astor’s boudoir, told me to wait outside while he informed her ladyship of my presence and left me for what seemed a long time, with my heart now nearly in my boots. Finally the door opened. He beckoned me in and said, “This is Gordon, my lady, applying for the post of second footman.” I looked at Lady Astor, a beautiful trim figure of a lady with a smile like a spring day (I was to learn later how quickly it could turn to winter).

‘“A very good afternoon to you, Gordon,” she said. “He looks a big strong boy, Lee. Where is your home, Gordon, and have you a mother and father?”

‘“I have a mother and father and my home is in Ascot in Berkshire, your ladyship,” I replied.

‘“Well now, isn’t that nice. We have a country house at Cliveden, near Taplow in Buckinghamshire. You will be able to go home to your parents’ regularly.” Then she sped towards the door. “How soon can you join us? We want you in one week’s time. Goodbye, I must fly to the House of Commons.” And out she went.

‘“You can consider yourself engaged,” said Mr Lee, I thought a trifle unnecessarily. He told me my wage would be £32 a year, with two shillings and sixpence a week beer and laundry money, not for my general washing, just for the starching of white shirts and collars. I discovered that any beer I wanted would have to be bought outside, but that was not encouraged. It had to be mentioned in the terms though because it was the tradition of that time. I was then instructed to proceed to visit Robert Lillico, their tailors in Maddox Street, to be measured for suits and livery.

‘“Are we allowed to choose our own patterns, sir, for the morning suit or do you insist on ‘pepper and salt’?” This was a footman’s term for a grey and white pinhead suiting which many families instructed their tailors to supply their menservants with, which looks, as it was intended, a servants’ suit.