Servants and service

Most mistresses are anxious that household work should be well and thoroughly done. I am, however, bound, in common fairness, to say that, while many servants are careless and slippery—spending the time that ought to be occupied about their work in dawdling and gossiping—there are also mistresses who are unreasonable in their requirements. They demand impossibilities, because they have no idea of the time that is needed to ensure thoroughness in any branch of household work.

‘There is nothing I like so much as a mistress who knows what work is, and who, having done it herself, can tell how long it takes to do it real well.’

These were the words of a bonny, bright-faced young housemaid who had lately entered upon a new place. She loved cleanliness, and did not consider that her duty was done when the ashes were removed from under the grate, and a duster lightly whisked over the tops of the tables and the seats and backs of chairs.

‘I’m not afraid of the chairs being turned round or my mistress looking into corners, or that if you lift up a book or an ornament, the shape of it will be left clear on the dusty top of the chiffonier. I like things to be just as clean and as bright all over as hands can make them. But it takes time to make them so, as well as good rubbing.’

The girl was right. And it is a great blessing to the employed when the employer has a practical knowledge of the work her servants have to do.

I rejoice to think that the cookery and domestic economy classes are doing good service in this direction, by making girls, the future mistresses of homes, acquainted with the details of household work.

‘She is cleanly, but dreadfully slow,’ is no unfrequent character from an active bustling mistress, when parting with a servant, who is perhaps less slow than thorough.

On this subject, let me say to servants, If you are not allowed the time to do your work well, take care that you spend upon it every minute that you have allotted for the purpose. Let no one catch you gossiping or idling away your time, when you have complained that it was already insufficient for the task to be properly performed. And if, after having done your best, you are still found fault with, ask your mistress, in a respectful manner, if she will, just for once, look on whilst you do this piece of work, and note how long it takes you to do it well.

If instead of scolding on the one side, and flying into a temper and answering impertinently on the other, there were to be a fair consideration and a reasonable test such as the above, we should have fewer hasty warnings ‘to leave at the month’s end;’ less frequent changes, and longer and more valuable service from our domestics. These, too, would not pay us less respect or care less for our interests, because they found us willing to listen patiently to a well-grounded complaint, and to redress any real grievance.

From the subject of economy of time and thoroughness in the quality of work we turn naturally to that of care in the use of the property entrusted to you who serve in the household. In respect to work there can be no better advice than this: ‘Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.’ So, in using the property of others, use it as though you had earned the money which bought it.

Accidents will occasionally happen in spite of care; but numberless things are mutilated or destroyed by the want of a very little precaution. A window and door are both left open on a windy day. The blind is next seen flapping to and fro outside, and unless some watchful eye notices this, the crash of glass announces that the lath has been driven through a pane or two, valuable papers have been carried into the fire or up the chimney, a tablecloth and a number of fragile ornaments swept on to the floor, and everything that would break amongst them smashed to atoms by a little act of thoughtlessness.

Who can truly say, ‘I could not help it,’ when an indignant mistress reproaches the author of such waste and ruin? She may not have done it on purpose, but destruction which is caused by utter carelessness is scarcely less blamable than wilful waste.

A great deal of harm is done to furniture by rough, bouncing servants, who bang articles down on floor or table, who rush about like a whirlwind, under the impression that hurry and bustle mean industry and earnestness, who seem to think that noise is an essential accompaniment to work. These are the people under whom the edges of our tumblers are chipped, until they become dangerous to those who use them; in whose hands crockery is perpetually ‘coming in two,’ and handles as constantly ‘coming off.’

Chairs are recklessly brought in contact with side-boards, and the veneering is chipped, or smooth, polished surfaces are mercilessly rubbed with rough dusters, with the result of leaving the same covered with all sorts of fine lines and scratches. Under such treatment the polished top of, say, a grand piano, assumes the appearance of an immense outline map.

All such injury to furniture and utensils becomes a double source of annoyance from the fact that a little care would have prevented it. Hurry, bustle, and bounce always hinder real work. It is the steady, methodical servant, whose work is done with the least apparent effort, but which entails the smallest amount of destruction to property and is most satisfactory in the long run.

I often think of a little figure familiar under our roof for nearly ten years, who was an admirable illustration of the value of method and of forecasting the work. Slight in frame, short in stature, and by no means strong, in many respects she was a living example of what could be effected by steadiness and a thoughtful planning of her work. Nobody ever saw her in a hurry, or with a smutty face or untidy hair. Her gowns looked less soiled and tumbled at the week’s end than those of many wearers would be after a few hours’ use.

All cooking materials that could be properly prepared beforehand or over-night were always ready for use when wanted. A glance at the spotless dressers and the floors, from which, to use a popular expression, ‘you might have eaten your dinner without a plate,’ gave a sufficient pledge of the exquisite cleanliness of everything prepared in that kitchen and by those hands. Yet all this beautiful order and purity were the result of quiet, steady work, carefully planned and carried out regularly and methodically.

There is no department in which cleanliness can be of more importance than in that of the cook. A careless, muddling cook will use her utensils indiscriminately. She will boil her onions, for sauce, and then, after a mere wash out, will make sweet sauce for pudding in the same pan—we all know with what result. A fine, subtle flavour of onions will run through the second preparation, and will, in turn, spoil both the sauce and the pudding it is intended to improve. And yet, when fault is found, the offender will perhaps stoutly insist, and with a certain measure of truth, that she had washed her pan quite clean. Washing will not remove strong flavours, and especially the taste of onions. A pan should be kept for these alone, and no other sauce should ever be prepared in it. It would take too much space were I to attempt to enter fully into the many little details connected with a cook’s duties, so I will make my advice very brief.

Be very cleanly in kitchen utensils, person, and dress. Be specially particular about the neat arrangement of your hair, so that it may not be loose and straggling. Few things are more disgusting than the sight of hairs amongst food. Scour and scald—in addition to merely washing—all utensils. Let crockery be thoroughly cleansed from grease and brightened in the drying. Fill milk bowls with boiling water, and let it stand in them until it is cold before drying for use again. This will tend to make the milk keep better.

In using the articles of food and preparing them, avoid all waste, and be ready to render an account of everything that is entrusted to your care. There are some cooks who use articles lavishly and wastefully, and who give away what is not theirs to bestow. They have no anxiety about providing the food, no occasion to consider how bills are to be paid, and often do not know the price and value of what they waste. They will throw bread and odd pieces amongst the swill, and let food be cast away to nourish swine, which many a widowed mother and hungry child would be thankful to receive and make use of.

Remember, you are accountable—and not to earthly employers only—for every wasted bit, whether of food or fuel. You are stewards in your position, as your master and mistress are stewards in theirs. And there is another thought I would bring before you. Every housekeeper knows that meat is daily growing dearer, and a sufficient supply becoming less and less attainable. Consider, then, that a lavish use or waste of meat helps to make it dearer still, and life harder for the poor. Out of the very scraps and crumbs, if you will only collect them, thousands of birds may be fed and the lives of the dear little songsters preserved through the cold blasts and pinching frosts of winter.

Every morning at my home, one of our kindly domestics may be seen sallying forth with a plate on which all these fragments have been collected by their united efforts. Half of the store goes to the birds in the front, half to their brethren in the back garden; and the daily scene at feeding-time is well worth watching for. I feel sure if you were to begin to care for these little feathered pensioners on human bounty, you would find so much pleasure in doing it that nothing would induce you to give up the practice.

As I have advised nurses on no account to conceal any accident that may happen to the children under their care, so I would earnestly urge all servants to tell, and at once, of any breakage or injury to furniture. I say at once, because delay in telling always makes the task more difficult.

It is a mean thing, and an acted untruth, for a servant to hide away the fragments of broken articles, conceal the mischief done, and, perhaps, leave the place without telling what has happened. Two unpleasant results are likely to follow. A fellow-servant may be blamed for that of which she is innocent; a mistress may be put to serious inconvenience for want of an article which she believed to be safe and sound, though really it had been long broken.

Very often she will be met with a look of combined protest and mock astonishment when she asks for particulars. ‘Oh, that was done months since,’ is the reply given. As though the length of time which had elapsed made the loss less annoying, or the concealment less to be condemned.

Two wealthy bachelors, whose establishment was nominally under the rule of a cook-housekeeper, were one day surprised to find that out of a large and fine set of cut wine-glasses, none remained but those they were using at the moment. The waitress was considered responsible for the safe keeping of table appointments, and she had gone on breaking and hiding, until, when a visitor came, there was no spare glass to place for his use.

The wrath of the masters may be better imagined than described. It was, however, less the loss of their property than the deceit and consequent annoyance which caused them to arrange for the prompt departure of that waitress.

So again I say, tell and at once of any accident to your employer’s property. At the moment, perhaps, vexation at the loss may try your mistress’s temper, and you may be sharply reproved. Express your sorrow, if you have been careless, try to be more careful in the future. Bear the reproof meekly, and, when the first irritation is past, you will find that the prompt confession has helped to build up your own character for truthfulness and straightforwardness. It is not unlikely that the mistress will afterwards say something of this kind: ‘I was vexed at the moment, but I am glad you told me the truth.’ And in speaking of you to others she may blame you for carelessness; but she will be able to say, ‘I can trust her word.’ At any rate, your own conscience will tell you that you have not added a wilful sin to an unintentional error.

And the ladies who rule in the house should encourage their handmaidens to tell the truth in any and every case of accident. It is rather hard to keep from speaking sharply when some fragile but much-valued article has been smashed to atoms by careless hands. But if the culprit’s confession and expressions of sorrow are met with scolding and harsh words, the offender is very likely to hold her peace and hide the fragments, should she meet with a second mishap of the kind. Not that it would be right to do so; but the temptation to take such a course would be vastly increased.

Where, however, a mistress has her patience tried by repeated acts of carelessness, and the almost wilful destruction of property, she has the remedy in her own hands. She must either have a distinct understanding that whoever breaks pays, or she must part with the author of the mischief.

Punctuality in carrying out household arrangements is valuable in every home, as tending to make the domestic machinery run smoothly. In some houses it is of vital importance. Yet, all the members of a family depend more or less on each other for the power to be punctual with comfort—the children who have to go to school, the father who must be at his place of business, the servants whose work should be completed by a given time.

A lady who was about to engage a cook was extremely particular in her inquiries about the habitual punctuality of the applicant.

‘I can be punctual if the family can,’ was the answer. ‘I like to be regular and orderly about my work, and am prepared to be so. But my difficulty has mostly been to get other people to be the same.’

The girl spoke respectfully, and was quite in earnest. The lady she addressed felt a guilty flush creeping over her own face as she listened. She knew very well that, whilst professing to exact punctuality in others, she was often sadly deficient in the practice of that virtue.

There is no doubt, however, that a punctual mistress will make her servants keep to the proper time; but it is by no means equally sure that punctuality in the employed would have the same effect on the employers. These will sometimes say to servants, ‘You must have the meals on the table at the time. Never mind whether any one is there to eat them or not.’ But this would be a most unsatisfactory state of things. The cook would grieve over spoiled dishes; the waiting damsel would be uncomfortable; and, depend on it, the blame would be placed on clocks, on servants, on anything and anybody rather than applied to themselves by those who grumble over a cold or lukewarm dinner.

I shall not soon forget my return from town on one occasion. I was half an hour late, and after I came into the house I stopped on my way upstairs to speak to a seamstress about some working materials which I had brought back with me. On finally descending I was met in the hall by that methodical cook of whom I have already written.

‘Ma’am! Are you aware that the dinner is starving?’ (meaning, ‘getting cold,’) she asked with a reproachful look on her face.

I hope I felt properly guilty. I know I blushed and said, apologetically, that if such were the case I was to blame, and not she. And I hurried to my place at table, convinced that punctuality ought to be an all-round thing, and, if exacted from servants, should also be practised by all the members of the family.