The Butler's Guide E-Book

Stanley Ager

• Herausgeber: The Robson Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Seitenzahl: 307

Beschreibung

Perched on an island off the shores of Cornwall, the soaring castle of St Michael's Mount has been home to Fiona St Aubyn's family since 1647. For nearly thirty years, Stanley Ager, one of the most celebrated butlers of the twentieth century, ensured that St Michael's Mount was an impeccable place to live and a gracious and welcoming destination for guests. But you don't need a manor to benefit from Ager's wisdom on running a home gracefully and efficiently. This charmingly illustrated, eminently useful volume offers his important wisdom and techniques.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGEFOREWORD BY ALASTAIR BRUCE OBEAUTHOR’S NOTEACKNOWLEDGEMENTSAGER’S WAYRUNNING THE HOMECLOTHING CARE AND PACKINGMANAGING THE TABLEOTHER GRACESINDEXABOUT THE AUTHORSCOPYRIGHT

FOREWORD

IT WOULD HAVE been wonderful to meet Stanley Ager and to hear his stories firsthand. His witness would have been particularly illuminating to someone sharing my interest in the period when many dedicated their lives “in Service” to others. In Stanley Ager’s case, it was what he really wanted to do. You can read in these pages about the skills acquired during his career, which was a sort of “calling” dedicated, in his own words, to “the three most important qualities for running a home (which) are punctuality, organisation, cleanliness. If you master these, everything else should fall into place.”

Helping to make the TV series Downton Abbey, as the historical adviser, I have found memories and insights left by men and women who lived and served in such extraordinary households to be tremendously informative. These voices from years past carry an empiric guide to a unique way of living, where everyone depended on one another while carrying out their own distinct role and function. Status and duties gave clarity of purpose and position, but no one, no matter how high or low their degree, was free from the strict expectation of standards. Perhaps, for this reason alone, the lengthy era of service and great houses was destined to end.

Many may say hoorah for the end of all that. Yet, in the post-deferential, post-modern and post-caring-much-about-much world, which has evolved over the years, where equality sometimes provides less happiness and fulfilment than was hoped, we still have a fascination for, and seek out, the illusive excellence of living; a style that was emblematic of the period. Writing with co-author Fiona St. Aubyn, the granddaughter of his last employer, the third Lord St. Levan, Stanley Ager became one of the few in his profession to actually record what he knew and how he lived. By doing this he ensured that a particular lifestyle was captured, and he writes in an accessible way that any householder can comprehend. He offers a unique opportunity to grasp at parts of a world that has all but disappeared. We owe him a deep debt of gratitude, since memories of this kind are no longer passed by word of mouth. It is as though, from the grave, he still enables the three qualities of living, quoted above, to be reached through his guidance.

Known as “Ager” by his employer and “Mr. Ager” by the household staff, he served for nearly three decades at St. Michael’s Mount, a castle that magically crowns a small island off England’s Cornish coast. During his years in service he travelled the world, married, raised two wonderful daughters, and was accepted and valued greatly as a de facto member of the Mount family. He retired following a fifty-three-year career, with his wife, Barbara, (a former head parlourmaid herself) to a spotless, sparkling, mainland cottage overlooking Mount’s Bay and St. Michael’s Mount.

To Stanley Ager the gift of human “service” was no one-way loyalty. He clearly gave his all to the families he served but, though he was almost too polite to state this, his expectation of loyalty in return was implicit. And he would have expected the highest standards from the families he toiled for. Their conduct, standing and the behaviour towards their staff were as important to him as the crease on his master’s shirts, the freshness of the flowers in the hall and the warmth of welcome all guests received at St. Michael’s Mount.

In fact, this subtle message is often the ingredient most forgotten today by those seeking to re-create that same grace in entertainment. Frequently the waiter or waitress struggling amongst a throng of guests, carrying a tray of canapés or a fresh bottle of champagne is ignored, brushed away or even abused. Yes, it is perfectly right for a host or hostess to expect the highest standards from those paid to deliver them. But this does not make them slaves. Mr. Ager expected courtesy from the families he served and from their guests. In most cases, this gentlemanly instinct of respect for others had been instilled by iron-willed nannies. It was understood by all classes because schools and the pulpit underscored selflessness as a noble quality but, for some reason, this human strength seems to be on the wane. Equally, however, Mr. Ager did not want his employer to throw an arm round his shoulder and call him “Stan” – the idea of inappropriate informality would have seemed impolite and alien. Finding a balance today, which works for an evolving generation, depends on local culture and changing conventions but the enduring quality of courtesy to all should make a better world and certainly a more enjoyable party – for all.

Of course, the period of service was no perfect “Narnia”. Far from it. There were always “bad apples” above and below stairs, and Julian Fellowes writes a fizzing reality for this in Downton Abbey. Quite what Mr. Ager might have made of the Downton storylines will never be known. But I sense he would have appreciated the efforts made by the producers to ensure that the subtle background details of behaviour, household pace and conduct are right. After all, these were the very same things that Mr. Ager dedicated his career to see crafted into perfection, for those he served.

It is this striving for perfection that is present in even the smallest details and in the precise way in which he describes everything from keeping moths out of clothes, folding napkins and managing the preparation of luggage. The age of T-shirts, jeans and trainers makes limited call on such things but, if you fly from London to New York for a meeting, and you have folded your suit using tissue paper, as Stanley Ager describes, you can simply shake it out and go straight to the meeting, without a crease. It’s a “trick” typical of the techniques and insights that people of his generation and profession learnt and handed down from one generation to another.

Enjoy his life story, learn from his experience and embrace entertaining, because he clearly did. And what would life be without the joy of friends and the challenge of trying to give them the best you have? Let him help you in this venture and see how seemingly minor things, when they are done correctly, can make all the difference. Now, through Stanley Ager’s elegant book, these and other techniques, large and small, are recorded and offered to all of us who live in a very different time and place.

ALASTAIR BRUCE OF CRIONAICH OBE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I WAS ALWAYS rather frightened of Mr. Ager when I was small; he seemed even more distant than my grandfather, and the only friendly thing about him was his black shiny shoes winking up at me from the bottom of his pinstripe trousers. By the time I was allowed out of the nursery we knew each other better – he was always formal towards us in uniform, but much less so when off duty in a jumper and trousers.

The castle ran like clockwork, and like a clock its work was hidden. Stanley Ager would ring the gong to announce either “Luncheon” or “Dinner is served m’lady” to my grandmother who was a stickler for punctuality, but somehow he always managed to delay things without upsetting her if one of us was late.

In the morning I’d see the housemaids polishing the long, red-tiled passage outside our nursery wing, using an Electrolux polisher with Mansion or Red Cardinal polish. I’d chat to Mrs. Herbert, the head housemaid, who I liked the best and was there throughout my childhood. She enjoyed seeing we children but my grandmother’s ladies’ maids were a lot more reserved. I remember two of them. The first was Miss Geach whose grey hair was done up in a tight bun and whose lined face looked cross. June was much younger and much less intimidating. She was pretty with dark curly hair and had a soft voice – the ladies’ maids were also in charge of linen, and I might pass her on the stairs with a damask napkin that needed darning.

Sometimes I’d hear the whoosh of the heavy swing door from the staff quarters, then the footmen walking purposefully towards the dining room. When we were children we saw one another in the games room playing Ping-Pong and darts. But we really got to know the staff who had a home of their own, because at some time during our visit we’d drop in on them and spend half an hour or so catching up.

Many had worked at the Mount for years. Stanley Ager, for instance, saw me arrive at the Mount in a carrycot, scramble round the castle as a child and eat in the dining room for the first time when I was sixteen. Because he had watched me grow up, there was never any awkwardness between us when we started working on The Butler’s Guide following his retirement. We had a great deal of fun and I enjoyed his humour, relied on his integrity and liked him more and more as we got to know each other. Yet in spite of becoming good friends over the long hours we spent together, I was always “Miss Fiona” to him, and he was “Mr. Ager” to me.

FIONA ST. AUBYN

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THROUGHOUT THE BOOK references to the second lord are to the second Lord St. Levan, and references to the third lord are to the third Lord St. Levan. In general, references to Her Ladyship are to the Dowager Lady St. Levan, the wife of the third lord.

We are particularly grateful to the Dowager Lady St. Levan, the fourth Lord St. Levan, James St. Aubyn and the Hon. Hilaria St. Aubyn.

Very special thanks must go to both the St. Aubyn and Ager families, whose help and understanding have proved invaluable. We are particularly grateful to James St. Aubyn and the Hon. Hilaria St. Aubyn. We would also like to express our gratitude to Mme. Armand Gazel, Miss Iva Dundas and the Balmer family of Marazion.

Special thanks must also go to Major John Baxendale, Helen Greene, Mrs. Hill, Linda Hodgson, Marley Hodgson, Carolyn Price Horton, Jean Koefoed, Mrs. Murphy, Norman Rothman and Frank Yardley.

Lastly, we express our appreciation to the following firms and organisations for their cooperation during the creation of this book: Cartier, Inc., New York, for the table setting shown on page 122. The British Museum; Alfred Dunhill of London, Inc.; Hammacher Schlemmer; Harrods Ltd.; S.C. Johnson and Son, Inc.; the Library of Congress; James Lock and Co., Ltd.; Henry Poole and Co.; Procter and Gamble; Nat Sherman, Tobacconist; Trafalgar Ltd.; A. and H. Page, Jewellers.

AGER’S WAY

In 1975 I retired, after fifty-three years in service. Barbara and I moved out of our house on St. Michael’s Mount, where we had lived for thirty years, and into one in Marazion, the village opposite the castle. We left the Mount on a Friday and had a house-warming party on the Sunday. It had taken us exactly two days to establish ourselves so completely that we didn’t have to look for anything. Our friends were amazed. “It feels as though you’ve been here all your life!” they said. But it was simply a question of experience; we were used to moving house from having been in service. At the start of the London season, the staff were sent up in the afternoon to have the house ready for the family in the evening. We’d arrive to find the house in dust sheets, but by the time the family arrived for dinner, you would never know that anyone had been away.

At first I didn’t feel right being out of uniform and in casual clothes in the morning; otherwise, I was content to retire. After all, I have travelled the world, lived in some magnificent houses and been lucky with my employers. But I still miss the staff. They fought amongst themselves and always caused me far more trouble than the Lord and Lady – yet I miss them most of all.

• • •

I WAS FOURTEEN when I entered service in 1922. I began as hallboy – the lowest servant of all – in Lord Coventry’s household at Croome Court. On my first day it seemed like a house full of servants; there were some forty people of all ages working there. Everyone was friendly except the housekeeper – she didn’t want anything to do with new boys. But she treated her youngest girls just the same way I was treated by the butler, and most butlers were courteous people.

I chose to work for Lord Coventry because he raced in partnership with his daughter, Lady Barbara Smith, and I have always been interested in horse racing. I come from Newmarket, a town north of London that is the home of British horse racing. My father was a head stableman and my brother an apprentice jockey. At one time I thought more about going into racing than about going into service, but after my parents died, entering service seemed the best way of supporting myself.

At the beginning I did most of my work in the servants’ quarters at the back of the house. I didn’t go to the front where the family lived, except for the dining room, until I had worked at Croome Court for six months. When I did, the flowers in the reception rooms struck me first of all. I can still remember the smell of the carnations. I had never seen carnations in such quantity before, and they were all colours – even yellow, and I haven’t seen many yellow ones since. I was awed by the general opulence – the silver candlesticks and inkstands on the writing desks, the tapestries on the walls and the thick rugs, which were quite different from the stone tiles I was used to walking on.

It was not until I worked at the front of the house that I saw the family to speak to. The only time I saw them before that was at prayers, which were held in the dining room at nine o’clock after we laid the table for breakfast. At the end the lady of the house always said, “God make my servants dutiful.” Then the family left the room and we rushed like mad to get breakfast on the table.

At fourteen, I wasn’t considered young to start work. A lad was usually hallboy until he was fifteen and a half, then he became steward’s room boy or third footman. The hallboy and steward’s room boy learnt their trade by waiting on members of staff, and the hallboy looked after the butler’s clothes. Only the grander houses had a steward’s room boy, and few of them had as many as forty servants. Most houses had between twelve and fifteen staff members.

How quickly a lad was promoted depended on his ability rather than on his age. Most third and second footmen were very young footmen. Their duties included serving at table, cleaning silver and caring for clothes. The first footman was usually in his mid-twenties and acted as an assistant to the butler. Very few footmen became butlers until they were in their thirties. Before that a footman might valet the gentleman of the house. Then when he became butler, his most important duty was to see that the house ran smoothly.

Most young servants moved to a different house after about a year or so to gain promotion and to experience how various houses were run. A servant who was looking for another job became very snobbish about the family; we wanted someone who had several houses so we could travel round the country. Two houses weren’t really enough. And they had to go to London in the London season – if they didn’t have a house in London, we wouldn’t look at that job either. We wanted London because of the lovely parties and because in town we could get out more and spend all the money we had saved in the country. This wasn’t very much, as salaries were small – from fifteen to twenty pounds a year, which the hallboy received, to a butler’s ninety pounds a year.

I left Lord Coventry to work for Lady Barbara Smith as steward’s room boy. I stayed there a year before becoming third footman to the Pikes. The first guest I looked after for the Pikes was television pioneer John Logie Baird. He arrived with two scruffy suitcases and preferred a cheap brand of cigarettes to some excellent cigars after dinner. I didn’t think my tip would amount to much. But when he left, he gave me five pounds – more than double my month’s wages.

Next I was second footman to Sir Bryan Godfrey-Faussett, who was at one time equerry to King George V. Then in 1926 I went to Lord Dunsany, a well-known author and playwright. He lived at Dunsany Castle, County Meath, Ireland, and his country house in England was Dunstall Priory in Kent. I began as second footman and valet to his eldest son. After a couple of years, when I was only nineteen, I was promoted to first footman and valet to Lord Dunsany.

I remember a time when H. G. Wells came to stay and the tablecloth accidentally caught fire. H. G. Wells was up in an instant and out of the window. The butler appeared and simply put the fire out with a damp cloth. I don’t know whether this had anything to do with it, but I never saw H. G. Wells at Dunsany again.

I was at Dunsany for four years in all before leaving in 1930 to become full-time valet to the second Lord St. Levan. He lived in St. Michael’s Mount, a castle just off the southern coast of England, in Cornwall. The Mount is about a quarter of a mile from the mainland. It can be reached by causeway eight hours out of twenty-four, but at high tide the sea is fifteen feet deep in the centre of the causeway and the Mount becomes an island.

I took the job because I had never been to Cornwall and the second lord said he travelled. I went all round the world with him. Wherever he wanted to go, he just went. If it was cold when we returned to England, we’d pop off again. I made all the arrangements, bought the tickets and more or less made the world smooth for him and his party.

A valet was almost always a bachelor because so much of his time was spent travelling with his employer. So in 1933 after I married Barbara, who was parlourmaid at the castle, I left the Mount for my first butlering job. I was twenty-six. For two years I worked for Mr. Dunkels, who was head of the Diamond Corporation, and Barbara worked as head parlourmaid (the female equivalent of a butler) in another household.

I left in 1935 to become butler to Colonel Trotter, who lived at Charterhall, Berwickshire, Scotland. The house was a halfway stop for Princess Alice, who frequently stayed with us on her way to visit the Queen at Balmoral. Barbara and I were given a cottage on the estate. Our two daughters, Jill and Brenda, were born there, and we lived there for twelve years. During that time the war came, and I went into the army.

Soon after I returned at the end of the war, Colonel Trotter died. While I was mulling over my future, I received a letter from the third Lord St. Levan, who had succeeded his uncle at the Mount. He wrote asking me to come back as his butler. I said I’d come back for three months, which turned into nearly thirty years!

In my day we knew exactly what we had to do and what our roles were. The person who presided over the entire house was the lady of the house. Her three principals were the butler, the housekeeper and the cook: if there were arrangements to be discussed, she would see us in that order. The butler oversaw the pantry staff (the footmen, steward’s room boy and hallboy), the housekeeper oversaw the housemaids and the stillroom maids (the women who made the preserves and cakes – a room was set aside for this) and the cook or chef oversaw the kitchen and the kitchen maids.

The housekeeper looked after the household linen. She was responsible for the staff quarters, whereas the butler was in charge of the front of the house. Normally butler, housekeeper and cook worked closely together, but if any of the three disliked each other, there was trouble. And some housekeepers could be quite nasty. They were lonely people and nearly always spinsters, although they were always called “Mrs.” as a mark of respect. Cooks were also addressed in this manner. A cook was usually very bad-tempered; if she wasn’t struggling against a clock, she was struggling against an oven. A cook seldom stayed at a house as long as the housekeeper, and if she did she was likely to be rather a tyrant. Nine times out of ten a butler or housekeeper stayed at the same house for years – perhaps thirty or forty years.

Next in line to the butler and housekeeper were the valet and lady’s maid. Up until the second war any gentleman of any consequence had a valet, and every lady had a lady’s maid. The sons were looked after by the footmen and the daughters by the younger lady’s maid, who was also the head housemaid. Footmen also looked after gentlemen guests who travelled without their valet, and housemaids looked after visiting ladies who travelled without their maid.

The head housemaid was directly beneath the lady’s maid in rank, and she was equal to the first footman. The second housemaid was equal to the second footman and the third housemaid equal to the third footman. There might be seven housemaids in all, and the younger housemaids were equal to the steward’s room boy and the hallboy. On the kitchen side of the house, the first kitchen maid was directly beneath the cook and equal to the first footman; the second and third kitchen maid were equal to the second and third footman. The scullery maid, who prepared the vegetables for cooking and washed the pots and the pans, was on a par with the hallboy.

As a rule, the large houses had footmen and a butler to oversee them, and the smaller houses had parlourmaids and a head parlourmaid. Parlourmaids and footmen were never mixed, as they did the same work – the second parlourmaid ranked with the first footman and the third parlourmaid with the second footman. Most head parlourmaids only had two parlourmaids under them. The drawback to parlourmaids was that they weren’t able to do the same heavy work as footmen. A man would have to come in daily to carry coal or lift heavy leaves from the dining room table.

Our uniforms were provided by the family. A hallboy wore a dark grey flecked suit, which we called a salt and pepper but was officially described as a morning suit. Every male member of staff had one of these in his cupboard.

In addition to his salt and pepper the steward’s room boy had a dark blue coat similar to a bellhop’s jacket, which he wore with black box-cloth trousers. A footman wore a salt and pepper when he was working at the back of the house, for instance cleaning silver. Whenever he was waiting on the family he wore livery. A valet usually only wore a salt and pepper. Until the mid-1920s a butler wore a grey morning tailcoat with a cutaway front over a pair of grey striped trousers. After that time, a butler would wear a black evening tailcoat all day long. In the evening he changed from the grey trousers into a pair of black trousers with a fine silk line running down the side.

When I was a footman, the senior staff stood very much on their dignity, and the rest of the staff were acutely aware of their status within the house. No one could help out anyone else. We didn’t help the kitchen people, however busy they were, and we certainly wouldn’t help a housemaid.

The first, second and third housemaids were responsible for the appearance of the drawing room, and they made sure the curtains, chair covers, ornaments and flowers were in good order. They also saw that nothing needed dusting and that the furniture was kept well polished. The younger housemaids did the hard physical work of cleaning grates and laying fires.

As with housemaids, what a footman did depended on his rank. Generally, our first job in the morning was to wake the gentlemen and see that their clothes were brushed and laid out ready for them to wear. Later on we saw that the gentlemen’s evening clothes were left clean and ready for them to step into for dinner. We laid the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner and cleared it afterwards. We served lunch and dinner. We laid the table for tea at four thirty in the afternoon and served drinks at six o’clock in the evening. Throughout most of the day – unless it was our morning for cleaning silver – we received guests, answered the telephone and waited on the family at the front of the house.

When dinner was over, we tidied the gentlemen’s rooms and removed their clothes to brush them. At about ten thirty or eleven o’clock, there was the grog tray to take into the drawing room. And we weren’t free until the family and their guests had gone to bed. If we were unlucky and they were playing a long game of billiards or cards, this might mean four in the morning. On really busy nights we didn’t go to bed at all, as our day started again at six.

A footman wasn’t given a free day. But as long as there wasn’t a party, when everyone was expected to help, we were usually free every other day between lunch and dinner and after serving dinner. A wise man had a nap when he was off duty after lunch, because as soon as dinner was over he was going out.

In Ireland about forty or fifty of us met to dance square dances at the crossroads near Dunsany. We had nowhere else to go, as there wasn’t a village hall within miles, but with four roads meeting we had quite a bit of space. We were lit by our bicycle lamps and by the light of the moon, and the Irishmen played accordions and fiddles. When it was over, the boys went behind one hedge to change into their working clothes, and the girls changed behind the other hedge. Then everybody disappeared to start work.

On a Saturday night in London we went to the Chelsea town hall, and in the country we usually went to a dance held in the village hall or the local town hall. The Charleston was replacing square dances, and there’d be a five-or six-piece band playing. When I was valet to the second lord, we went by boat from the Mount to the mainland. Then we made our way to the town hall to dance. It was at one of these dances that I first met Barbara, before she became parlourmaid at the Mount. She was staying on the island with John, the Mount postman, who asked if she could travel in the same boat with me to the dance. “Yes,” I said. “But I hope she doesn’t expect me to dance with her all night, because I’m simply not going to. Although if she likes to wait, I’ll see that she gets back safely.” I hadn’t realised then that that would be the end of me!

When I accompanied the second lord on a weekend away, we rarely stayed in any house for longer than three nights. Even so, he travelled with at least three cases as well as his dressing case, all of which were my responsibility. We generally left home Friday morning and arrived in time for tea that afternoon. The weekend finished on Monday and we left immediately after breakfast, unless it was a weekend’s shooting. Then he would shoot on Monday and we would leave on Tuesday.

Staff accepted me as a visiting valet, but they rarely had time for me because they had extra work looking after all the guests. And even where there was an enormous staff, as there was at Chatsworth, I was still more or less ignored, because when the duke had twenty to thirty guests staying, each guest demanded absolute attention. I always had an uncomfortable feeling that I was in the way wherever we were staying. I preferred shooting weekends because there was more for me to do. I was out all day loading for His Lordship, and then I had both sets of our clothes to clean when I returned. If there was another visiting valet staying, it was different. If we couldn’t help out in the house, we could both go to the pub for a couple of pints and a game of darts.

A valet is neither up nor down. He is so close to his employer that other servants are wary of him. I had to be very careful as to what I said and how I behaved. Even at home I had to be on my dignity and most discreet – more discreet than the butler, because I was always with my employer and he would tell me things off the cuff. And although the first footman was likely to be very near a valet’s own age and was probably a friend, the valet had to maintain a careful distance. The valet didn’t eat with the first footman but with the older staff – the housekeeper, lady’s maid and butler – in the housekeeper’s room or steward’s room.

A valet was a very lonely person. Even when I travelled abroad with the family party, I felt alone. Everyone aboard ship knew that I was a servant; the odd passenger might speak to me in the hopes this would lead him to my employer.

Civil servants were the worst. The ones I met were the most awful snobs. Once, when we were coming back from East Africa, a civil servant returning home on leave didn’t see why I – a servant – should have a first-class cabin all to myself when he was in with three others. So I invited him in with me, although as soon as he arrived I realised my mistake. He began laying down the law at once and became so intolerable that I told His Lordship. In no time at all His Lordship saw the purser, and the civil servant was out of my cabin. He never spoke to me again!

On shipboard I was always friends with the crew. There was the bartender, the librarian and deck stewards to talk to. But we had little in common; they weren’t in my line of business, and we didn’t share the same interests in sport. Also, I had to stay aloof; if I had been the least bit brash, His Lordship would have wondered about me.

When we travelled abroad, I warned the station beforehand that there would be twenty or thirty pieces of luggage, including six specially made trunks, to be registered. I brought the luggage to the station at nine in the morning, and the next time I saw it was at Marseilles, where our ship was docked. Then I would stand at the gangway and allot it to the cabins.

I never travelled alone with His Lordship. There was usually his sister, his brother and his daughter, as well as a lady’s maid, and a registered nurse in case someone fell ill. We usually had the same nurse and I was company for her. On one trip she nearly married some scoundrel in East Africa. I asked her one day where her gold watch was, and she said she had given it to this man as a keepsake. I told her she was absolutely mad and that he was an out-and-out rogue. I was twenty-three at the time and she was in her forties, but I recovered her watch from him.

It was part of my job to see that His Lordship had every comfort when we arrived at a hotel. The trick is to ask the right people politely, and they are the people who supply things, not necessarily the manager. I would see the floor linen keeper about towels and soap and the chambermaid about where His Lordship wanted to have his bed and what he wanted moved in his room. Then I saw the floor waiters to make sure he would have the breakfast he wanted, and not what they thought he ought to have.

In one hotel I had trouble ordering His Lordship a cooked breakfast, which he preferred, as their usual breakfast was a continental breakfast. So I went down to the kitchen and told them I wanted two fried eggs on a plate. “There’s no use telling me you don’t do it,” I said, “or I’ll come and do it myself.” And after that we got what we wanted.

We always went abroad as soon as Christmas was over. We’d leave about the second week in January and stay away until April. Most of the younger staff who were left behind took temporary jobs over that period. But they could have chosen to be put on board wages instead. This meant their keep would be paid for in addition to their wages, and in return they looked after the house.

A household was generally in London for the London season from May through July. Then we went to Scotland in August for grouse shooting and returned to London for the “little season,” which was in September and October. Where you happened to be really depended on where the family’s interests lay. When I worked for Lord Dunsany, we always returned to Ireland in August for the Dublin Horse Show, instead of going to Scotland to shoot grouse. Then back to London for the “little season.”

Men’s and women’s quarters were kept strictly apart in every house with a staff of any size. Before a man could get anywhere near women’s rooms, he had to pass the housekeeper, who was always on the watch. In the country the housemaids, stillroom maids and kitchen maids each had their own sitting room, which we were never allowed to enter. And they only went into each other’s rooms if they were invited in and the housekeeper gave her permission. In London there weren’t all these spare rooms, and everyone was either working or sleeping or had gone out.

The first footman always guarded the silver in both the London and country houses; he slept in the pantry, often across the door to the strongroom where the silver was kept. His was a foldaway bed, but most of the staff slept on hospital beds with straw or horsehair mattresses.

Every house had a servants’ hall, which in my early days was only used at mealtimes. There was nothing comfortable about that room; it was painted a drab colour and there was no carpet on the wood or stone floor. The only furniture was a long wooden table with a couple of benches either side of it, and a tall cupboard to keep the tableware.

The butler and footmen were always in the pantry. The best pantries had an adjoining office for the butler where he could write up his inventories. A butler was invariably married and nearly always went home after work, but at busy times he’d sleep overnight in his office. Most pantries had good natural light, and there was always a fire burning in the grate. They usually had wood floors and fairly high ceilings. Ideally they were large enough to hold four working men as well as a wooden table ten feet long by four feet wide. A wooden table was a blessing, because if we were in a hurry and put our trays down quickly, they didn’t slide. We had two or three high stools instead of chairs, so when we sat down our coattails could pop down each side without becoming creased. The stools also served as stepladders to reach the top shelves.

The pantry bucket with its scrubbing cloths was kept under the sink, and the clothes basket and trays in a cupboard beside it. Generally there were two sinks with hot and cold running water. And in the courtyard outside was a rainwater tub, holding anything up to a hundred gallons. After it was filtered we used it for our washing, because rainwater is remarkably soft.

As a rule the only thing to separate the pantry from the front of the house was one baize door, which fit snugly and shut quietly. The pantry was in effect between upstairs and downstairs. There was a dividing line understood and recognised throughout the house. Everyone knew his or her place. We would never walk through the front of the house unless we were in uniform on business, and the gentleman or the lady of the house would never walk through the staff rooms without warning us first.