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Authors: Hilda Newman and Tim Tate
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10th Earl of Coventry and his wife, Nesta Donne, became the Countess. Within a few short years I would become her closest and most intimate servant, and Croome Court would become my home.
At the time, of course, I was still living with Mum and Dad in our little house in Vine Street in Stamford and still – albeit unhappily – working in the linen room at the Crown Hotel. But the idea of becoming a lady’s maid had been planted in my mind by one of the other girls on the hotel staff.
The question was, though, how to go about it? How did an ordinary girl like me find out about possible openings with the gentry? I was sure I would be up to the job – if only I could find a way in! The first thing to do was to talk to my Aunt Beat: not only was she my godmother but she had once been in service herself. We were a close family and, particularly during the years that Dad had been away at the Western Front, my aunts had helped Mum greatly, so that she had come to trust their advice.
When I sat down with Aunt Beat, she was enthusiastic about my idea: she could see a whole different world opening up for me, a world away from little old Stamfordand, I think, a route into a settled and comfortable life, which would be less prone to the buffeting of the economic ill winds that were sweeping the country. But when we talked to Dad, he was vehemently against it: he was very far from convinced about service as a suitable life for his daughter and was very worried about the prospect of me leaving home. Maybe that sounds a little strange to modern ears. After all, I was 19 and today no one thinks twice about young people of that age setting out to forge their own future. But in 1935, not only was 19 two years under the legal age at which a child became an adult but I think we all grew up much more slowly: a 19-year-old girl like me was, back then, nowhere near as worldly wise as someone of a similar age today. Of course, we were much less exposed to the world then: there was no television, no Internet – no one we knew even had a telephone. The upside of this was that families were much, much closer: the downside is that – for girls in particular – parents were very much more protective.
I’d had first-hand experience of this. As the eldest, I was the first to start going out of an evening. In addition to trips to the cinema, I loved dancing. The Assembly Rooms in Stamford put on dances every week – proper dances with a proper orchestra of ten or more musicians. They would play all the popular dances of the 1920s and 1930s – the Charleston, the Foxtrot and, if it was aparticularly racy orchestra, daring crazes like the Tango and the Black Bottom.
My favourite was always the Waltz – a much more serene affair and suitably seemly for Dad’s daughter. I had started to go to the Assembly Rooms when I was 15, handing over a hard-won thruppeny bit for the entrance fee. There was, of course, no question of alcohol being served: it was squash or a cup of tea – not even so much as a hint of beer. At first, Mum or Aunt Beat would take me – both of them loved dancing – but when I turned 16, I was allowed to go on my own. Dad took a very close interest in what I got up to: he insisted on walking me there the first few times, just to see what this dance business was all about and, even when he let me go there unaccompanied, he would always be waiting up for me when it was home time. I used to walk back down the street and, whatever the time, would see a light on in Mum and Dad’s bedroom: I knew he would be waiting at the window, peering out to check up on who had walked me home.
That was a big thing back then: boys who liked the look of you would, after a couple of dances, be asking who was walking you home – it was quite unthinkable that a young lady should walk herself home alone! This was one of the first stages in courtship in those days and, if this developed, your friends and family would know you were ‘walkingout’
At the time, of course, I was still living with Mum and Dad in our little house in Vine Street in Stamford and still – albeit unhappily – working in the linen room at the Crown Hotel. But the idea of becoming a lady’s maid had been planted in my mind by one of the other girls on the hotel staff.
The question was, though, how to go about it? How did an ordinary girl like me find out about possible openings with the gentry? I was sure I would be up to the job – if only I could find a way in! The first thing to do was to talk to my Aunt Beat: not only was she my godmother but she had once been in service herself. We were a close family and, particularly during the years that Dad had been away at the Western Front, my aunts had helped Mum greatly, so that she had come to trust their advice.
When I sat down with Aunt Beat, she was enthusiastic about my idea: she could see a whole different world opening up for me, a world away from little old Stamfordand, I think, a route into a settled and comfortable life, which would be less prone to the buffeting of the economic ill winds that were sweeping the country. But when we talked to Dad, he was vehemently against it: he was very far from convinced about service as a suitable life for his daughter and was very worried about the prospect of me leaving home. Maybe that sounds a little strange to modern ears. After all, I was 19 and today no one thinks twice about young people of that age setting out to forge their own future. But in 1935, not only was 19 two years under the legal age at which a child became an adult but I think we all grew up much more slowly: a 19-year-old girl like me was, back then, nowhere near as worldly wise as someone of a similar age today. Of course, we were much less exposed to the world then: there was no television, no Internet – no one we knew even had a telephone. The upside of this was that families were much, much closer: the downside is that – for girls in particular – parents were very much more protective.
I’d had first-hand experience of this. As the eldest, I was the first to start going out of an evening. In addition to trips to the cinema, I loved dancing. The Assembly Rooms in Stamford put on dances every week – proper dances with a proper orchestra of ten or more musicians. They would play all the popular dances of the 1920s and 1930s – the Charleston, the Foxtrot and, if it was aparticularly racy orchestra, daring crazes like the Tango and the Black Bottom.
My favourite was always the Waltz – a much more serene affair and suitably seemly for Dad’s daughter. I had started to go to the Assembly Rooms when I was 15, handing over a hard-won thruppeny bit for the entrance fee. There was, of course, no question of alcohol being served: it was squash or a cup of tea – not even so much as a hint of beer. At first, Mum or Aunt Beat would take me – both of them loved dancing – but when I turned 16, I was allowed to go on my own. Dad took a very close interest in what I got up to: he insisted on walking me there the first few times, just to see what this dance business was all about and, even when he let me go there unaccompanied, he would always be waiting up for me when it was home time. I used to walk back down the street and, whatever the time, would see a light on in Mum and Dad’s bedroom: I knew he would be waiting at the window, peering out to check up on who had walked me home.
That was a big thing back then: boys who liked the look of you would, after a couple of dances, be asking who was walking you home – it was quite unthinkable that a young lady should walk herself home alone! This was one of the first stages in courtship in those days and, if this developed, your friends and family would know you were ‘walkingout’
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