I'M STAYING Chapter 1

 

CHAPTER 15

 

ENGLAND

 

STORIES FROM THE STAFF

In the village

 

From the Handyman Eric:

“I didn’t live on the Estate but on one of Sir Duncan’s farms about five miles away. At one time my name was at the top of the list for security call-outs. One night the panic button was activated and I drove over to the estate to check that all was ok. The outside of the house appeared normal but the alarm continued to ring and so I used my master key to enter the back door. Having checked the downstairs area thoroughly and finding nothing at fault I decided to check upstairs. On entering his lordship’s bedroom I discovered him leaning face-first over the back of a chair, with the panic button hanging around his neck and being pushed by his chest into the chair. He was completely oblivious to this as he was somewhat the worse for drink. His wife lay in bed and on my entering the bedroom jumped up and embarrassedly began to fluff pillows and straighten the bed while she twittered to me that everything was alright. I retrieved the panic button and helped his lordship to his bed. Nothing more was said about this incident.”

“On another occasion when his lordship was obviously “in his cups”, he fell down the stairs backwards and cut his head open. The local doctor was called and in order to keep everything hush-hush Sir was laid out on the kitchen table to have his head stitched up again.”

“Whilst on holiday on a pacific island and once again having enjoyed a bottle too many, he fell over a chair in his room and broke off his front tooth. He was delayed for a few days in London in need of a repair job with his private dentist before returning to the country estate in a filthy mood.”

No need to say more here than that it was quite obvious our boss enjoyed his wine!

Amongst the many properties owned by this family were two large estates, the first being the original family home which dates back to the 13^th century and was later rebuilt in 1763 together with a riding school, stables, a church, tennis courts and various other staff abodes.

“When Sir Duncan’s family had grown up and his son moved to this property some years ago” Eric the Handyman continued, “ he did extreme renovations to the main house. But as we’ve all learnt over time, he’s not a man to easily arrive at a decision. The contractor discovered this the hard way.

“Firstly they were ordered to put in wall radiators for central heating and on completion they were told to pull them all out and put under floor heating and this after they had completed all the floors. Put light switches at this height, take them out and put them at another height. Put them on this side of the door, move them to the other side of the room.  And so it went on.

“One day I saw an ambulance arriving.  They slowed down as the approached me and lowered the window. “Could you direct me to the main house”, the driver requested. I thought that maybe Lady Felicity or Sir Duncan had been taken ill but instead I watched as they loaded the contractor into the back of their vehicle.  He had become a complete gibbering idiot, mumbling to himself and sucking his thumb, no word of lie, while they loaded him into the back and drove him away.”

No wonder then that one of the employees on the estate on being introduced to us said “Ah, so you’ve sold your soul to the devil then! “

Never before have I seen people celebrating when they’re fired. A consultant who came on a monthly basis to give advice on the gardens was told that since we were being paid so much, Sir Duncan could no longer afford his services. He was jubilant when he left the office and in fact told us that he felt very sorry for us and hoped that he could help us to find other employment if we should need it. Such a lovely man and presumably the only way he had managed to stay employed and sane for three long years was that he came to visit the estate once a month only.  And spent the rest of the time recovering I’ve no doubt.

Sometimes the staff who work on an estate for a long time tend to start thinking they are part of the family. They begin to act like their boss and think of the estate as ‘ours” and use the Royal “we” . 

They had somehow taken on parts of Sir’s personality and when he was away, while most of us would take the opportunity to park off and put our feet up, along would come certain staff members to take command, striding around the estate, straight back and chin up, checking on our work and telling us how “we don’t do things this way at the Ashton Hall” or “Our policy at the Estate is……” and we could be sure that on Sir Duncan’s return there would be a clandestine meeting behind closed doors relating to the staff’s behaviour while he’d been away.

The rest of the staff were, in my opinion, absolute angels to tolerate the treatment they were subjected to on the estate. We wondered after hearing the stories, why on earth they stayed with this monster but soon realised that they were pretty much owned by him. Mostly they were people who had lived in this area their whole life and more often than not their parents and grandparents had worked for the Estate too. Their houses were all owned by Sir Duncan and without him they had nothing. And some of them just needed the salary and had learnt huge patience and had nerves of steel.

One such person was Peter who told us that his father had worked for the estate for 50 years and he himself had just completed his 50 years of service too. He had made the mistake of disagreeing with Sir Duncan on one occasion and it had never been forgotten. On celebrating his 50 years' service Peter was rewarded with a second hand old and rusty chain saw. When he announced that he would like to retire, he was told that he would have to leave the cottage he had lived in his whole life or pay his boss an exorbitant rent. And so he had to agree to continue working at the estate well into his retirement on a part time basis, but still expected to do the same tough physical work.

So what can these poor people do? Talk about selling one’s soul to the devil.

There was a very old man called Harold who brought the newspaper each morning. He was in his late 80’s and obviously one of the old and trusted servants who they STILL used to carry out errands and walk their dogs. Each morning at about 8.30 I watched him climb slowly out of his car and walk his old bones to the kitchen door, daily newspapers under his arm. Always with a smile and a greeting on his lips. I realised that this was the only life he knew and that he still wanted to serve his master.  Or maybe he still HAD to serve his master or he’d be kicked out of his cottage.

One of the ex-maids Sarah, from the big house told us a story of how she was put in charge of the mouse traps inside the house. Every morning it was her duty to empty the traps and dispose of the bodies. One day she was called to Sir Duncan’s study. “Why is there a mouse in this trap?” he roared at her, “You were instructed to empty these traps every day”. 

 “I did Sir” she answered. 

“Well you forgot this one!” he shouted.

Knowing she had emptied all the traps early that morning, she felt the body of the mouse in the trap and discovered it was still warm. She gave him the dead mouse to feel and to prove that it had only just been killed. A slight curve at one side of his thin lips was the only answer she got. His Lordship never apologises.

We were told by the Agent before we took the job that all the staff at the estate had been with the family for many years. This was obviously to encourage us into thinking that they were such kindly people that their staff never wanted to leave. This couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

Take for instance the long list of gardeners who had gone before us: One of them, who was obviously a little too clever for Sir, sued him for verbal abuse and won the case. His replacement became an alcoholic and drank himself to death; another had a nervous breakdown; one just walked out never to be heard of again and our predecessor resigned when he had been bullied into a state of depression. I think the Agent needs to update her records.  The year after we left, I heard there were three more gardeners employed in quick succession, each one resigning in quick succession too.

The staff that have stayed on for any longer period of time are almost all beholden to their Master. Either he owns their cottage or farm or he’s managed to find a way to own them.  But some of them, after we got to know them, obviously felt it was a great honour to serve a titled family which they did with much pride.

We were warned never to offer to act as chauffer to his lordship. He would do the driving and drove at break-neck speed, foot flat and speeding down all the narrow little country lanes, ignoring anyone who dared to get in his way. (How dare any animal or human get in the way of ME!) The chauffer crouched in the passenger seat, sweating and trembling.

 John, being the Head Gardener was expected to step into this position on a few occasions when Lord Duncan and Lady Felicity needed to be dropped at the train station to travel to London. He would sit in the front passenger seat holding his breath while they sped past the high hedges, expecting to hit a vehicle head-on at any moment.

For anyone who hasn’t visited the countryside in England let me describe to you the narrow and dangerous roads which appear so prettily in movies or on puzzle boxes.  Beautiful little winding roads with high hedges on either side and at some places large trees that form leafy tunnels with overhanging branches.  These roads were once merely tracks in the countryside where people rode in pony traps and farmers moved their animals from one field to another. They certainly weren’t designed for the fast, large modern vehicles of today. 

Beautiful country roads, perfect for a pony trap but not so easy to navigate in a large car

But as is the case with much of the UK, things must remain as they were in the previous century and this goes for roads, buildings and traditions. These country roads are only wide enough to carry one car at a time so one must be constantly on the lookout for oncoming traffic and this isn’t easy either with the winding road and high hedges.  When you meet another car, one of you needs to pull off the road and wait on the grass verge to allow the other one to pass.  Who has right of way we never discovered, probably whoever has the bigger 4x4 and the better manners I suppose.

Woe betide anyone who didn’t recognise that Sir Duncan had more money than them and a title and decided not to pull over when they spotted his big black vehicle bearing down on them.  On arrival at the station, John could be heard murmuring thankful prayers and breathing a sigh of relief to have arrived in one piece.

They kept two vehicles at the estate, both black and similar in appearance.  We didn’t know the actual make of either of them because Sir Duncan had instructed that the metal names that adorn the rear of every vehicle be removed.  The registration plates were simply his initials and on the bonnet of each car was mounted a large silver bird.

No, this isn't the bosses car but it's quite similar and scary and I'm sure if he could've got his hands on this one he would have loved to drive in it

On occasion we would have to use one of these cars to go shopping in the nearest town.  We noticed that people gave us strange looks when we drove down the main street and later realised that Sir Duncan was well known and disliked in town. Not surprising when one considered his reputation for driving.

When we bought gardening supplies at the local hardware shop we would need to give our boss’s name in order to have the purchases put on his account. Immediately the staff behind the counter would give us sympathetic looks.(And we didn’t imagine it).  They all knew what our boss was like but they didn’t dare put it into words for fear of losing their jobs.  I spent some time wondering whether it was a benefit to be such a tyrant and have most of the county scared of him or whether he minded that all his peasants disliked him so.

 

 Market Day in the nearest town in Yorkshire