The Real Life Downton Abbey (22 page)
Read The Real Life Downton Abbey Online
Authors: Jacky Hyams
Passports are not required for international travel until 1914. Originally valid for two years, they carry a personal description section, like ‘shape of face’, ‘complexion’ and ‘features’, which is a bit too much information for some.
THE DUCK PRESSBeing described as having a broad forehead, a large nose and small eyes upsets people. They think it’s ‘dehumanising’.
‘NO TRAINS THANKS, PEOPLE MIGHT USE THEM’The Edwardians love glazes, shiny surfaces on their food. And a duck press to create such a glaze is a necessity when serving pressed duck. Here’s how it works: the breast and leg are removed from the roasted duck. The brass contraption has a press handle, which the chef or cook can rotate clockwise to extract the juice and marrow out of the remaining duck bones. This is then added to wine, brandy and seasoning to make a glaze or sauce for the accompanying duck meat.
CABBIE!The 1st Duke of Wellington – who oversaw the Battle of Waterloo – worries that the railways might encourage poor people to go to London. Even worse, he fears that trains coming from Bath or Bristol would pass the toffs’ hallowed educational establishment, Eton, and the noise – and they were pretty noisy then – might disturb the pupils.
TITANICThe horse-drawn two-seat, two-wheel carriages called ‘cabriolets’ found on city streets in the 1800s evolve into vehicles for hire on the street, known popularly as ‘cabs’. By 1903, small numbers of petrol-powered cabs are plying for hire on the streets of London. Taxi meters displaying the fixed fares – disliked by cab drivers at first because they prefer to negotiate their own charges – are introduced the following year, and while these early London taxis are popular with the well-off in a hurry, the numbers of licensed cabs for hire remain small, just 11,862 by 1913. Horse-drawn cabs continue to ply for hire until the 1930s.
The
Titanic
, then the world’s largest passenger steamship, struck an iceberg and sank four days out during its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York in April 1912. Over 1,500 of the estimated 2,224 passengers perished. Those who perished were mostly male – and passengers in second and third class. (The ship had far too few lifeboats on board.) Of the first-class passengers 63 per cent survived. But only 38 per cent of the
third-class
passengers were saved (24 per cent of the crew survived too).
GOODBYE BATHING MACHINESuch was the class distinction of the time, the first official passenger lists released after the disaster did not even include the names of maids and servants travelling with first-class passengers. They were described as extensions of the family, simply ‘Mrs J.W.M. Cardoza and Maid’. After the disaster, a rumour went around that four maids had died trapped below deck because they had been sent down to the purser’s office to collect their bosses’ valuables. Fortunately, it was later discovered that these four women survived. And the records show that all female servants travelling in first and second class survived. One female cook in second class survived, but one female servant travelling in third class died, as did three male chauffeurs travelling in second class.
The seaside bathing machine, a roofed wooden cart similar to a garden shed but with wheels on one end, was a typically Victorian invention, segregating the sexes and preserving their modesty, even if they fancied a cooling dip on a hot day. (The Victorians claimed that bathing suits were not ‘proper’ clothing, to be viewed on a beach.) Men or women could only use these machines on designated separate areas of the sands. The wannabe swimmer entered the windowless machine from the back, changed, in the dark, into their somewhat restrictive bathing gear – women into a corseted bathing dress, with knickerbockers underneath their bathing skirt, though men’s bathing outfits, tight all-in-one garments that reveal all when wet, were somewhat more comfortable – and the machine was then rolled into the sea. This was achieved sometimes with a horse, sometimes by a strong man, and even, at times, by means of a mechanical contraption that dragged the whole thing into the water. Once in the water, people could take a dip, immersing themselves up to the neck, so there was no chance of any part of them being exposed to the naked eye. Their swim over, a small flag on the machine was raised – to indicate to an attendant that they wished to return to shore.
TAKING TO THE SKIESFortunately, by Edwardian times, mixed bathing has started to become more socially acceptable and technically, legal segregation of bathing ends in 1901, though some seaside resorts are more forward thinking than others. Bexhill’s move to mixed bathing causes raised eyebrows initially. But in time, the bathing machines stay on the beach as changing rooms until they disappear in 1914.
Flying is strictly for the rich elite. In 1903, the US aviation pioneers, the Wright Brothers, make the world’s first-ever powered flight. Yet commercial air travel does not start in the UK until 1919 with the first passenger service between London and Paris – which eventually goes out of business. By 1925, just over 11,000 passengers travel by air around the UK and abroad. But the numbers taking domestic or international flights don’t reach the millions until the late 1950s.
Chapter 10
I
t’s midnight in the big country house. The party guests are nearly all in their rooms. A frock-coated gentleman, loosening his cravat, is making his way down a long corridor. Thanks to the discretion of the hostess, he already knows the object of his desire is on the same floor – but where? Peering at the discreet little brass frames on each door, he checks for the name. Ah, here she is. Confidently, he turns the brass handle and steps into the spacious bedroom. A fire crackles in the big grate. Seconds later, the pair are ridding themselves of their elaborate coverings, tugging furiously at buttons, fumbling with laces and stays, throwing waistcoat, overskirt, corset, bloomers, silk stockings, shirt, trousers, up in the air, their passion
overwhelming
– the evidence of their fevered, hurried coupling to be scooped up from the floor, with knowing smirks, by the servants the following day.
Welcome to adultery in Edwardian high society. Both parties are titled and married. Some people in their exclusive circle know of their affair. It’s been talked of for weeks now, gossiped about across the card tables or on the huge yachts of the elite as they glide through the sparkling blue waters of the Mediterranean.
Both are known for their string of different amours. Though it is now rumoured that the man’s wife, having caught him in bed with a teenage footman the year before – and having openly voiced her disgust to others – is being packed off, to their Scottish estate by her parents. And, of course, downstairs chatter between the housemaids the next morning is lively and speculative. Everyone downstairs knows about the footman because his aristocratic lover promptly sacked him after being caught in the act. And the boy tried, unsuccessfully, to get a job with another posh family. The disgusted wife’s lady’s maid blabbed downstairs, too. But does the bisexual man’s latest love know about the footman? And does she care?
She probably does know, given how discreetly bitchy the women in her circle can be. Subtle but clear hints have been dropped into her ear over tea in gilded salons. Yet she won’t be questioning her lover about it. Her own marriage, since she had her son and daughter, is a sterile, hands-off relationship and she relishes the sheer thrill of the romantic, clandestine affair, the midnight assignations, partly through desire and physical need for passionate lovemaking – but also because it is so exciting to organise these stolen moments of abandon in a stiflingly boring life dominated by appearances and the rules.
Outwardly, she is a glittering hostess in the social firmament, not yet thirty, decked in jewels, silks and furs, her glamour and beauty celebrated everywhere. But her private life is a hot topic. She’s aware that certain people in her circle know what’s going on – yet she dare not discuss her secret love life with anyone. Only in unanswered letters to her lover does she give voice to her innermost feelings and emotions… a dangerous exercise should they fall into the wrong hands.
Yet again, the moral code of Edwardian high society dictates that the superficial is what counts. In fact, there is a long-held mantra that a respectable society woman’s name only ever appears in a newspaper at birth, on marriage and on her demise. Newspapers, of course, will report the official engagements of high society. But if it all explodes into scandal and a widely reported court case – which it infrequently does – then it’s open season on those who are ‘caught’. And social death.
Essentially, the code permits married wealthy people to cover up their love affairs with a finely woven web of discretion and manners. If they are caught out by their spouse, the aggrieved party cannot make a scene or a noisy fuss. That just isn’t permitted. Etiquette matters so much more than a discreet affair between marrieds, though at times, of course, very human emotional responses break through the web of discretion.
The royal marriage of ‘Bertie’ and Alexandra, which lasts for nearly 50 years and produces six children, survives scandal after scandal, mostly thanks to Alexandra’s tolerance, is the
upper-crust
benchmark: have your cake and eat it. But keep shtum.
The social code is such that only married women can have affairs: single high-born women are hands off as far as amorous cheating husbands are concerned. Women either marry – or are married off – or they remain spinsters, a lowly status in this world. Single means ‘unwanted’.
If a daring, spirited unmarried aristocratic young woman does indulge herself with a lover and falls pregnant, it’s usually hushed up. A lengthy trip to Europe, accompanied by a lady’s maid, is usually discreetly arranged by her family. And the child is born far away from the eyes of her peer group – the baby handed to a convent. But there is no return to society: one mistake and you’re out. And since wealthy aristocratic single women are not required to pursue any profession or work, their sole purpose is to be decorative and ‘come out’ – and be available for invitations to dances, balls or marriage proposals. They may get intellectually involved with the issues of the day and have opinions on the social changes that are emerging around them. And this generation is often intelligent and curious. But as single women their involvement with the affairs of the world must remain limited – unless they wish to wage war with their family.
Divorce, as already seen, means loss of status, an unwanted consequence. So the big country-house gathering of ‘Saturday to Monday’ guests tends to be a common setting for these
not-so
-secret affairs; couples, given the space between them, can organise these assignations in the perfect place for ‘playing away’ – and extra marital bliss. In fact, this situation is so widely accepted in the elite circle that in a few big houses, the lady of the house discreetly instructs staff to ring a bell at 6am – to give certain guests a chance to get back to their own rooms before the maids start arriving with the early morning tea.
The alternative setting for illicit love is the briefer
cinq à sept
assignation (literally, 5–7pm) so beloved of the French. The venue is usually the London townhouse, where the lady changes into her fashionable tea gown, a floaty, loose, flimsy gown worn without a corset underneath, before greeting her lover. The tea dress has been created as a leisure dress (a sort of equivalent to a Juicy Couture tracksuit, though somewhat more feminine), a light, un-corseted garment that is perfect for love: a welcome improvement on the button-tugging, corset-removing marathon involved when relinquishing formal evening gear.
Such afternoon diversions are often arranged by a series of notes delivered to and from respective town houses, proffered on silver dishes by the servants – or even via the odd telegram. Phone calls, if the family use one, are too tricky. The phone is frequently kept in a hallway, where everyone can hear every word. Especially the butler…
Couples may pretend not to know about their partner’s dalliances, but nothing private gets past the personal servants. Take the lady’s maid. She’s looks after her mistress’s underwear. She knows whether her mistress is having a period. Or not. The fine linen sheets too, changed by the servants, tell their own story. It’s all very well having people around to do everything for you. But if you want to keep your love life secret, forget it. When it comes to the amours of their bosses, the servants’ hall is an early twentieth-century version of Twitter.
Yet if they want to keep their jobs – and sometimes a straight face – they must pretend not to see or hear anything. ‘Do not seem in any way to notice, or enter into, the family conversation, or the talk at the table, or with visitors..’ warns the toffs’ servants’ etiquette manual,
Rules for the Manners of Servants in Good Families
in 1901. So, should they unexpectedly enter a room to find a half-clad couple entwined behind a sofa, they must remain impassive, stony-faced. Only when they’re downstairs can they give way to laughter and ribaldry.
In a world where TV and radio have not yet emerged, their boss’s secrets are an ongoing form of gossipy entertainment for servants: the most simple task, like emptying a wastepaper basket in the living area and discovering a torn-up love letter, carelessly thrown away but pieced together by the finder, gives plenty of talk below stairs – and reveals innermost truths about their masters’ emotional lives.
