Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is visiting Edith’s friend and fellow maid, Hilda. Hilda works as a live-in maid for Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon. It is the first Wednesday of 1924 and Hilda has just returned with her employers after spending Christmas and New Year with them at the Shropshire country estate of Lord and Lady Lancraven, who are friends of the Dickie’s parents, the Marquis and Marchioness of Taunton. It is a cold January day, but the Channon’s kitchen is cosy and homely thanks to the flats hydronic heating coming through the metal radiators and the Roper stove that commands attention in the small space. Hilda and Edith have enjoyed a lunch of toast with choices of different toppings together. Now with the kitchen table cleaned and the dishes in the white enamel sink, Hilda announces with a flourish to Edith that she has made them a special pudding before going to the kitchen drawer and withdrawing some enamel handled kitchen cutlery.
“So how was your Christmas then, Hilda?” Edith asks as she sits back comfortably in her Windsor chair drawn up to the deal kitchen table.
“Well,” Hilda says, pausing with the kitchen cutlery and two starch stiffened napkins in her hand, cocking her head to one side thoughtfully. “It was lovely, but at the same time, it was the most peculiar Christmas I’ve ever had! You and I have never worked in the big country house of an aristocrat before, so I can tell you now from first-hand experience that they do things very differently in them!” She shakes her head, almost in disbelief.
Edith bursts out laughing at her best friend’s statement. “How so, Hilda?”
“Well, you know I wasn’t happy about having to tag along with Mrs. Channon to Lord and Lady Lancraven’s country house, pretending to be her lady’s maid.” When Edith nods, Hilda adds with an edge of scorn in her voice, “I don’t hold with pretending to be something I’m not, even if it is to help Mrs. Channon save face because she’s too poor to have a lady’s maid.”
“Well you said it was the old Marchioness of Taunton’s idea that you were to pose as Mrs. Channon’s lady’s maid, Hilda. It sounds to me like poor Mrs. Channon didn’t have a say in the matter.”
“Exactly Edith! And do I look like a lady’s maid?” Hilda asks rhetorically as she drops the cutlery and napery in her hand on the clean surface of the table with a clatter. “No! All you have to do is look at the way I’m dressed to know that fashion isn’t at the top of my mind, and these fingers,” She holds up her fat, sausage like digits before her. “Well, you know as well as anyone that I’m no needlewoman.”
“But,” counters Edith kindly, toying with the end of one of the napkins. “You are learning to knit, thanks to that group in the East End you joined last year. You told me you’re a dab hand at knitting scarves now.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was a dab hand at it yet,” Hilda replies doubtfully, screwing up her pudgy face. “My tension is a bit unregulated, and I do drop stitches now and then, only to pick them up on the following row.”
“It’s a start at least.” Edith replies with a friendly chuckle. “We all have to start somewhere, Hilda.”
“Well anyway, anyone can tell I’m not a lady’s maid’s bootlace just by looking at me, but I reluctantly agreed to play along, but only out of a sense of duty to poor Mrs. Channon and get her nasty old mother-in-law off her back.”
“And you got to see your sister, and your Mum.” adds Edith, wagging her finger. “Don’t forget that silver lining.”
“Well yes, but that was just by luck, Edith. I don’t think the Marquis and Marchioness accepted the invitation on behalf of themselves and Mr. and Mrs. Channon to Lord and Lady Lancraven’s for Christmas just because Emily is Lady Lancraven’s lady’s maid.”
“No, but at least you got to see them, and you said that Emily fixed things with Lady Lancraven to get your mum up to Shropshire from London.”
“That’s true.”
“So why was Christmas peculiar then, Hilda.” Edith’s eyes light up with excitement. “Tell me everything about being at the Lancraven’s! Was it glamorous? Did you meet anyone famous?”
“Famous? Acting as Mrs. Channon’s lady’s maid below stairs, the closest I came to meeting someone famous was if I met their maid or valet, and they were all a right lot of snobs themselves, let me tell you!” Hilda decries bitterly. “They wouldn’t even give me the time of day if they didn’t have to, and there’s a fact!” Her mouth forms into a thin crease as she nods heavily.
“Oh that is disappointing, Hilda.”
“Not really, Edith.” Hilda shakes her head. “Why would I waste my time talking to people who thought less of me because I’m a cook and maid-of-all-work, rather than a lady’s maid? We all work hard to earn a crust. What does it matter whether it’s cooking and cleaning or sewing and mending?”
“I agree Hilda, but you think about when we worked at Mrs. Plaistow’s. The upper parlour maids snubbed us when in fact what we did as lower house maids wasn’t all that much different than what they did*.”
“Anyway,” Hilda goes on. “What would I have done if I met someone famous?”
“Probably done the same as I would have: stood agog, mouth hanging open like a frog.” giggles Edith.
“Exactly! So, anyway, on the way up to Shropshire, whilst Mr. Channon drove, I sat in the back with Mrs. Channon. She told me that when we arrived at Lord and Lady Lancraven’s, I wouldn’t be called Hilda, or even Miss Clerkenwell whilst we were staying there.”
“What? Whyever not, Hilda?” laughs Edith. “What did they call you then?”
“Channon.”
“Miss Channon?”
“No. Just Channon.”
“Why?”
“Because I was Mrs. Channon’s maid. Emily, being Her Ladyship’s lady’s maid is called Miss Lancraven by all the other household staff and the guests’ servants. Even though we’re sisters, I had to call her Miss Lancraven if anyone else was about and within earshot, which was most of the time. I could only call her Emily on the occasions when we were alone together.”
“How very peculiar!” remarks Edith.
“Well it gets more so, Edith, let me assure you. Mrs. Channon also told me on the drive up that when I arrived at the house, I was to give her jewellery box over to the safekeeping of the Lancraven’s first footman or Butler: whoever was looking after the strong room.”
“The strong room?”
“It’s where rich people in country houses keep their silver and valuables, apparently. I was to hand over Mrs. Channon’s jewellery casket to whoever was in charge of the safe, and retain the key. Each evening I had to go down, ask to retrieve the box and take out what jewels Mrs. Channon wanted to wear to dinner.”
“And why was that so peculiar, Hilda? It sounds reasonable enough to me.”
“Well, because unlike your Miss Lettice, most of Mrs. Channon’s jewels are paste, except for what her father Lord de Virre gave her. Certainly all the pieces given to her by the Marquis and Marchioness of Taunton aren’t real. She told me herself that the real jewels were sold off long ago to pay the family’s debts, and imitation copies were made. So it seems a bit peculiar to lock up a whole lot of paste jewellery in a safe, pretending it’s real.”
“I guess it’s that saving face again, Hilda. The Marquis and Marchioness don’t want to appear like they have no money, and they don’t want Mr. and Mrs. Channon as their heir and daughter-in-law to appear like that either.”
“So when we arrived, Mr. Channon parked the car at the front of the house alongside the other guests’ cars and whilst they went in through the front doors, I had to wait with the car until the Lancravens sent servants out to fetch Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s luggage, and then I had to walk around to the servant’s entrance of the Lancraven’s house carrying my own luggage and Mrs. Channon’s jewellery box, which I did hand over to the rather leering first footman, who winked at me when I did.”
“Ugh!” exclaims Edith. “How presumptuous of him. Tell me, what was the Lancraven’s house like? Was it grand?”
“Was it ever! A big red stone place with lots of gables and chimneys. What I did get to see of above stairs was ever so fine. Thick carpets and antique furniture. Mrs. Lancraven is American, so she had central heating put in, even in the servants’ quarters, and every guest bedroom has its own bathroom.”
“Fancy that!” gasps Edith. “And did you get to share a room with Emily?”
“Well, that was peculiar too, Edith. I thought I would have, just like you and I used to do, back at Mrs. Plaistow’s in Pimlico. But apparently, because Emily is Lady Lancraven’s maid, she doesn’t sleep in the servant’s quarters like I had to. She has her own little room next to Lady Lancraven’s boudoir, just in case Her Ladyship needs something during the night.”
“What could she possibly want?”
“I don’t know. A hot water bottle? A powder, perhaps**? Anyway, as it was, as a visiting maid, I had to share a room with a rather surly and snobby parlour maid, who worked out very quickly that I was no lady’s maid and called me a fraud right to my face.”
“Nasty thing!” decries Edith defensively.
“That’s why I don’t hold with pretending to be something I’m not. You always get caught out in the end if you try.” Hilda wags her finger admonishingly through the air. “I’m sure she spread that news around to all the other servants about who I was and wasn’t, because no-one, other than Emily when she could, wanted to talk to me willingly. At least it meant the Lancraven’s slimy footman in charge of the safe didn’t try and make any advances after that first bout of cheekiness.”
“Well, there’s a silver lining, Hilda.”
“And when we sat down to tea in the middle of the day, which we had to do because the Cook and his staff were too busy preparing dinners for the family upstairs in the evening, we weren’t allowed to sit wherever we wanted.”
“No?”
“No. So I couldn’t sit next to Emily, even though I wanted to. We had to sit in order of precedence in the servants’ hall, women down one side and men down the other,” Hilda pauses before going on. “The slimy first footman sat on the Butler's right, and Emily, as Lady Lancraven’s lady’s maid, sat on his left. As Mr. Channon is the Marquis’ heir, he gets his father’s courtesy title*** so Mrs. Channon is known as Lady Channon, but she is still below her mother-in-law, so I sat between the Marchioness’ lady’s maid and the lady’s maid of a Lady Lancaster.” Hilda steps away from the table and goes over to the meat safe in the corner of the kitchen, where she opens its door.
“And how was that?” Edith asks from her place at the kitchen table.
“Oh it was awful!” replies Hilda matter-of-factly, bending down and retrieving a polished fluted copper mould. “I think they both found it offensive to sit next to the pretending lady’s maid, and they only deigned to speak to me out of a sliver of politeness because they also knew, or had been told, that I was Emily’s younger sister, and they didn’t wish to put her nose out of joint being their hostess’ lady’s maid.”
“Oh Hilda! That sounds positively frightful! Did you have to sit and share your Christmas lunch separated from Emily at that table too?”
“Well, luckily no.” Hilda answers, straightening up and walking back across the room, carefully carrying the mould before gently placing it on the tabletop. “That’s where the lovely starts, although once again it was rather peculiar.”
“Go on then.” Edith encourages her friend.
“As Emily is Lady Lancraven’s lady’s maid, and she does hold some sway with her, she must have said something to Her Ladyship when she found out that I was coming up with Mr. and Mrs. Channon for Christmas and as you know, Lady Lancraven arranged for Mum to come up by the railway from London on Christmas Eve so she could spend Christmas Day with us. So Christmas Eve, we all sat as usual at the big table in the draughty servant’s hall, with Mum down the end after the lowest maids as though she was a nobody, not that she complained of course. I felt so sorry for her, and I know Emily did too, but as Emily pointed out later in the evening when it was just the three of us, we had to follow the protocols of presidence.” Hilda scoffs softly. “However, on Christmas Day the Lancraven’s Houskeeper, Mrs. Hartley, invited Emily, Mum and me to celebrate Christmas privately in her parlour***.”
“Oh that was nice of her to offer you that bit of family privacy, Hilda.”
“Well you’d think so,” Hilda begins, placing her hands on her hips. “Except she stayed in the parlour the entire time, and gave us no privacy at all! ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said as she took her place at the table with us. ‘You won’t even notice I’m here.’”
“But you did?”
“But we did.” Hild rolls her eyes. “She loudly ordered the scullery maid about when she came in to serve, and complained bitterly about the food, apologising to Mum and to me about the ‘poor quality of the Christmas fare’ and how ‘cold it was’.”
“And was it horrible?”
“Good heavens no! It was delicious, and hot!” bursts Hilda. “I don’t know what Mrs. Hartley was complaining about! Lord and Lady Lancraven have a French cook, Monsieur Dupain .”
“Fancy!” Edith replies, pulling a mock serious face.
“Apparently Lady Lancraven’s family in New York had a French cook, or should I say a ‘chef de cuisine’ as Emily quietly corrected me on one of the few occasions over Christmas time when we were on our own. So, what Lady Lancraven had in New York she has to have in England, so she hired Monsieur Dupain. I don’t know what the French eat on Christmas Day, but Monsieur Dupain served us a delicious roast with mint jelly and potatoes, sprouts, cabbage, parsnips and carrots. It was a real English Christmas, Edith, with all the trimmings, as if we were the guests of honour, and not them upstairs.”
“It sounds just as good as the turkey we had on Christmas Day.” Edith remarks.
“Oh how was the turkey received by your family and Frank and his gran?” Hilda enquires.
“They loved it, Hilda! Mum and Dad were tickled pink***** when it arrived, and Frank and Granny McTavish loved it too.” Edith admits.
“Oh, ‘Granny McTavish’ is it now?” Hilda queries with a cocked eyebrow. “Very cosy like.”
“Oh stop it Hilda!” Edith flaps a hand kittenishly at her friend. “She told me I could call her that. In fact she insisted.”
“So Granny McTavish has suitably calmed the waters between your mum and Frank then?” Hilda persists.
“I think so, Hilda. Mum’s really taken a shine to Frank now. She may not agree with all his ideas, but she’s willing to entertain his thoughts, and she says he’s a generous soul. She’s even admitted to being pleased to have him over regularly for Sundy lunch, and she and Dad are both happy that I’m happy.”
“Ahh,” Hilda says knowingly. “So it won’t be long now before I hear from you about a proposal from Frank then, Edith?”
“Oh stop that!” Edith says again as her face flushes with embarrassment. “I mean, we’ve talked about it, but that will be ages away yet. We need to save up some money so we can set up house together, and I won’t be able to work for Miss Lettice any more if I’m married, even if she wants me to.”
“We’ll see.” Hilda looks away from her embarrassed friend and smiles to herself.
“Oh today isn’t about me, Hilda Clerkenwell!” Edith deflects hotly. “Go on with your story about Christmas Day at the Lancraven’s.”
“Well, going back to the food, I actually think it may have been Monsieur Dupain’s head kitchen maid, Dulcie, who cooked our tea, as I’m sure a Frenchman couldn’t cook an English roast the way we had it. I’m sure Monsieur Dupain would have been too busy making fancy things like pheasant pies, roast quail and braised ox hearts for the family and guests above stairs for Christmas tea.”
“Christmas dinner.” Edith gently corrects her friend.
“Tea, dinner, it’s all the same once it ends up in your stomach, Edith.” Hilda counters. “Anyway, Mrs. Hartley never left the table whilst we were having our tea. Perhaps she was frightened that Mum and me would slip a few pieces of silverware into our pockets. She nosed into all our business and we couldn’t have a proper private conversation between the three of us.” Hilda goes on. “Still, at least it was good to be celebrating Christmas away from home for a change. The spectre of Dad still hangs heavily around at home.” She sighs heavily. “Especially at birthdays and Christmas.”
“Even though he’s been gone for…”
“It will be three and a half years in March.” Hilda admits sadly. “Yet I still expect him to burst through the kitchen door on Christmas Day in that old worn Father Christmas outfit and imitation beard – goodness knows where he found them – full of cheer, even though he knew Emily and I were both far to old to believe in Father Christmas anymore. I think it was good for Mum too. As well as not being at home, she didn’t have to peel a potato or wash a dish the whole time she was at Lord and Lady Lancraven’s. For all her nosiness, Mrs. Hartley was most solicitous towards Mum, and she treated her like an honoured guest and wouldn’t let her lift a finger whilst she was staying. I know Mum felt a bit bad about that, but still, Emily told her not to fuss about it.” Hilda smiles. “Now, thinking of honoured guests, that’s why I wanted to have you over here this afternoon: to try this out.” She taps the gleaming copper mould with her fingers.
“I did notice that, and I was wondering why you were serving us jelly here this afternoon when it’s so cold outside, rather than us going out for lunch.” Edith remarks. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Channon by the way?”
“They’ve gone out settling their accounts with the wine merchant, the butcher and Mrs. Channon’s hat maker with some of the money that wealthier relations gave them for Christmas.” Hilda elucidates. “Anyway, I wanted to try out this jelly mould because this was my Christmas gift from Lady Lancraven.”
“From Lady Lancraven?” Edith gasps.
“Yes!” Hilda admits.
“I thought your mum must have given it you.” Edith admires the gleaming mould on the table before her.
“Well, there’s the thing, Edith. We’d not long finished our tea when there was a soft knocking at the parlour door. When Mrs. Hartley answered it, in came Her Ladyship herself, dressed up in all her Christmas finery like a faerie atop the Christmas tree. She wanted to make sure that Mum had had a pleasant trip up from London, and then explained that as she always gave all her servants Christmas gifts every year, as we were her guests, she had Christmas gifts for us!”
“Really! That’s so generous of her.”
“I know, Edith. So she gave Mum a beautiful lacquered sewing box, and she gave me this copper jelly mould. I suppose Emily would have told her the truth about me being a cook and live-in maid, rather than Mrs. Channon’s lady’s maid.”
“Then let’s see if it works.” Edith remarks, looking hungrily at the upside down mould filled with gleaming jelly.
Hilda takes a gilt edged blue and white platter and places it upside down atop the copper jelly mould, then carefully she flips them both. Taking up a spoon, she taps the mould on the top and around the sides, and then carefully lifts the mould up. With a satisfying slurp, the orange coloured jelly separates from the mould and comes out in a clean fluted dome.
“Perfect!” Hilda sighs with satisfaction, standing back slightly to admire her own handiwork.
“Well, it may have been peculiar to receive a Christmas gift from Lady Lancraven,” Edith remarks. “But as a gift, it produces perfectly formed jelly!”
“Let’s enjoy Lady Lancraven’s generosity then!” Hilda remarks with a cheeky smile, taking a seat in her Windsor chair adjunct to Edith, proffering her an enamel handled spoon.
*It wasn’t uncommon in the class-conscious world before the Second World War for servants to be as snobby as their masters, and a definite hierarchy existed, with deference being paid to the upper house staff by the lower house staff. Cooks would be waited upon by their scullery maids, Butlers by footmen and footmen by hallboys. Servants took pride in working for titled employers, even when these roles were sometimes not as well paid as the same position in the home of a wealthy industrialist or steel magnate. The cache that came with working for old, well established aristocratic families meant that upper house servants from these households often snubbed lower house staff or the staff of nouveau riche families working their way up the social ladder.
**To take a powder is a very old fashioned term, but was often used to by ladies to refer delicately to taking medication of some kind, like a headache powder.
***A Marquis is called “My Lord” by both social equals and commoners. His eldest son also bore his courtesy title, and any of his younger sons were known as “Lord Firstname Surname”, and his daughters, or daughter-in-laws as “Lady Firstname Surname”.
****In class-obsessed times a strict hierarchy existed among servants, with the senior, upper servants known as "the pugs". The home, whether large or small, was run by the housekeeper. Before dinner in the servants’ hall, the upper servants assembled in the housekeeper’s room, which was known as “pug’s parlour”, and walked in for dinner, led by the butler, which was known as the “pug’s parade”. It was also customary for the upper servants to take their pudding, tea and coffee in the “pug's parlour” as well. It was the privilege that went with seniority of position in grander houses.
*****The phrase “tickled pink” is used to denote that someone is expressing delight. The first term, first recorded in 1922, alludes to one's face turning pink with laughter when one is being tickled. The variant, clearly a hyperbole, dates from about 1800.
This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
On Hilda’s deal table is a delicious looking jelly, almost good enough to eat, made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. It stands on a small plate that came from an online stockist of dollhouse miniatures. Next to it stands a copper jelly mould, also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The vase of flowers also comes from an online shop on E-Bay. The cutlery came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in England.
The packet of Chivers Jelly Crystals and the packet of gelatine come from Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Great attention to detail has been paid to the labelling, to match it authentically to the real thing. Chivers is an Irish brand of jams and preserves. For a large part of the Twentieth Century Chivers and Sons was Britain's leading preserves manufacturer. Originally market gardeners in Cambridgeshire in 1873 after an exceptional harvest, Stephen Chivers entrepreneurial sons convinced their father to let them make their first batch of jam in a barn off Milton Road, Impington. By 1875 the Victoria Works had been opened next to Histon railway station to improve the manufacture of jam and they produced stone jars containing two, four or six pounds of jam, with glass jars first used in 1885. In around 1885 they had 150 employees. Over the next decade they added marmalade to their offering which allowed them to employ year-round staff, rather than seasonal workers at harvest time. This was followed by their clear dessert jelly (1889), and then lemonade, mincemeat, custard powder, and Christmas puddings. By 1896 the family owned 500 acres of orchards. They began selling their products in cans in 1895, and the rapid growth in demand was overseen by Charles Lack, their chief engineer, who developed the most efficient canning machinery in Europe and by the end of the century Chivers had become one of the largest manufacturers of preserves in the world. He later added a variety of machines for sorting, can making, vacuum-caps and sterilisation that helped retain Chivers' advantage over its rivals well into the Twentieth Century. By the turn of the century the factory was entirely self-sufficient, growing all its own fruit, and supplying its own water and electricity. The factory made its own cans, but also contained a sawmill, blacksmiths, coopers, carpenters, paint shop, builders and basket makers. On the 14th of March 1901 the company was registered as S. Chivers and Sons. By 1939 there were over 3,000 full-time employees, with offices in East Anglia as well as additional factories in Montrose, Newry and Huntingdon, and the company owned almost 8,000 acres of farms. The company's farms were each run independently, and grew cereal and raised pedigree livestock as well as the fruit for which they were known.
Hilda’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan pieces.
In the background you can see a very modern dresser stacked with a panoply of kitchen items. Including a bread crock, cannisters and a toast rack that came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.