Books: Idle Ideas in 1905
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Jerome K. Jerome >> Idle Ideas in 1905
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"Ah," continued the good lady, "it's surprising 'ow contented they
can be with a little, some of 'em. Give 'em a 'ard-working woman to
look after them, and a day out once a week with a procession of the
unemployed, they don't ask for nothing more. There's that beauty my
poor sister Jane was fool enough to marry. Serves 'er right, as I
used to tell 'er at first, till there didn't seem any more need to
rub it into 'er. She'd 'ad one good 'usband. It wouldn't 'ave been
fair for 'er to 'ave 'ad another, even if there'd been a chance of
it, seeing the few of 'em there is to go round among so many. But
it's always the same with us widows: if we 'appen to 'ave been lucky
the first time, we put it down to our own judgment--think we can't
ever make a mistake; and if we draw a wrong 'un, as the saying is, we
argue as if it was the duty of Providence to make it up to us the
second time. Why, I'd a been making a fool of myself three years ago
if 'e 'adn't been good-natured enough to call one afternoon when I
was out, and 'ook it off with two pounds eight in the best teapot
that I 'ad been soft enough to talk to 'im about: and never let me
set eyes on 'im again. God bless 'im! 'E's one of the born-tireds,
'e is, as poor Jane might 'ave seen for 'erself, if she 'ad only
looked at 'im, instead of listening to 'im.
"But that's courtship all the world over--old and young alike, so far
as I've been able to see it," was the opinion of Mrs. Wilkins. "The
man's all eyes and the woman all ears. They don't seem to 'ave any
other senses left 'em. I ran against 'im the other night, on my way
'ome, at the corner of Gray's Inn Road. There was the usual crowd
watching a pack of them Italians laying down the asphalt in 'Olborn,
and 'e was among 'em. 'E 'ad secured the only lamp-post, and was
leaning agen it.
"'Ullo,' I says, 'glad to see you 'aven't lost your job. Nothin'
like stickin' to it, when you've dropped into somethin' that really
suits you.'
"'What do you mean, Martha?' 'e says. 'E's not one of what I call
your smart sort. It takes a bit of sarcasm to get through 'is 'ead.
"'Well,' I says, 'you're still on the old track, I see, looking for
work. Take care you don't 'ave an accident one of these days and run
up agen it before you've got time to get out of its way.'
"'It's these miserable foreigners,' 'e says. 'Look at 'em,' 'e says.
"'There's enough of you doing that,' I says. 'I've got my room to
put straight and three hours needlework to do before I can get to
bed. But don't let me 'inder you. You might forget what work was
like, if you didn't take an opportunity of watching it now and then.'
"'They come over 'ere,' 'e says, 'and take the work away from us
chaps.'
"'Ah,' I says, 'poor things, perhaps they ain't married.'
"'Lazy devils! 'e says. 'Look at 'em, smoking cigarettes. I could
do that sort of work. There's nothing in it. It don't take 'eathen
foreigners to dab a bit of tar about a road.'
"'Yes,' I says, 'you always could do anybody else's work but your
own.'
"'I can't find it, Martha,' 'e says.
"'No,' I says, 'and you never will in the sort of places you go
looking for it. They don't 'ang it out on lamp-posts, and they don't
leave it about at the street corners. Go 'ome,' I says, 'and turn
the mangle for your poor wife. That's big enough for you to find,
even in the dark.'
"Looking for work!" snorted Mrs. Wilkins with contempt; "we women
never 'ave much difficulty in finding it, I've noticed. There are
times when I feel I could do with losing it for a day."
"But what did he reply, Mrs. Wilkins," I asked; "your brass-finishing
friend, who was holding forth on the subject of Chinese cheap
labour." Mrs. Wilkins as a conversationalist is not easily kept to
the point. I was curious to know what the working classes were
thinking on the subject.
"Oh, that," replied Mrs. Wilkins, "'e did not say nothing. 'E ain't
the sort that's got much to say in an argument. 'E belongs to the
crowd that 'angs about at the back, and does the shouting. But there
was another of 'em, a young fellow as I feels sorry for, with a wife
and three small children, who 'asn't 'ad much luck for the last six
months; and that through no fault of 'is own, I should say, from the
look of 'im. 'I was a fool,' says 'e, 'when I chucked a good
situation and went out to the war. They told me I was going to fight
for equal rights for all white men. I thought they meant that all of
us were going to 'ave a better chance, and it seemed worth making a
bit of sacrifice for, that did. I should be glad if they would give
me a job in their mines that would enable me to feed my wife and
children. That's all I ask them for!'"
"It is a difficult problem, Mrs. Wilkins," I said. "According to the
mine owners--"
"Ah," said Mrs. Wilkins. "They don't seem to be exactly what you'd
call popular, them mine owners, do they? Daresay they're not as bad
as they're painted."
"Some people, Mrs. Wilkins," I said, "paint them very black. There
are those who hold that the South African mine-owner is not a man at
all, but a kind of pantomime demon. You take Goliath, the whale that
swallowed Jonah, a selection from the least respectable citizens of
Sodom and Gomorrah at their worst, Bluebeard, Bloody Queen Mary, Guy
Fawkes, and the sea-serpent--or, rather, you take the most
objectionable attributes of all these various personages, and mix
them up together. The result is the South African mine-owner, a
monster who would willingly promote a company for the putting on the
market of a new meat extract, prepared exclusively from new-born
infants, provided the scheme promised a fair and reasonable
opportunity of fleecing the widow and orphan."
"I've 'eard they're a bad lot," said Mrs. Wilkins. "But we're most
of us that, if we listen to what other people say about us."
"Quite so, Mrs. Wilkins," I agreed. "One never arrives at the truth
by listening to one side only. On the other hand, for example, there
are those who stoutly maintain that the South African mine-owner is a
kind of spiritual creature, all heart and sentiment, who, against his
own will, has been, so to speak, dumped down upon this earth as the
result of over-production up above of the higher class of archangel.
The stock of archangels of superior finish exceeds the heavenly
demand; the surplus has been dropped down into South Africa and has
taken to mine owning. It is not that these celestial visitors of
German sounding nomenclature care themselves about the gold. Their
only desire is, during this earthly pilgrimage of theirs, to benefit
the human race. Nothing can be obtained in this world without money-
-"
"That's true," said Mrs. Wilkins, with a sigh.
"For gold, everything can be obtained. The aim of the mine-owning
archangel is to provide the world with gold. Why should the world
trouble to grow things and make things? 'Let us,' say these
archangels, temporarily dwelling in South Africa, 'dig up and
distribute to the world plenty of gold, then the world can buy
whatever it wants, and be happy.'
"There may be a flaw in the argument, Mrs. Wilkins," I allowed. "I
am not presenting it to you as the last word upon the subject. I am
merely quoting the view of the South African mine-owner, feeling
himself a much misunderstood benefactor of mankind."
"I expect," said Mrs. Wilkins, "they are just the ordinary sort of
Christian, like the rest of us, anxious to do the best they can for
themselves, and not too particular as to doing other people in the
process."
"I am inclined to think, Mrs. Wilkins," I said, "that you are not
very far from the truth. A friend of mine, a year ago, was very
bitter on this subject of Chinese cheap labour. A little later there
died a distant relative of his who left him twenty thousand South
African mining shares. He thinks now that to object to the Chinese
is narrow-minded, illiberal, and against all religious teaching. He
has bought an abridged edition of Confucius, and tells me that there
is much that is ennobling in Chinese morality. Indeed, I gather from
him that the introduction of the Chinese into South Africa will be
the saving of that country. The noble Chinese will afford an object
lesson to the poor white man, displaying to him the virtues of
sobriety, thrift, and humility. I also gather that it will be of
inestimable benefit to the noble Chinee himself. The Christian
missionary will get hold of him in bulk, so to speak, and imbue him
with the higher theology. It appears to be one of those rare cases
where everybody is benefited at the expense of nobody. It is always
a pity to let these rare opportunities slip by."
"Well," said Mrs. Wilkins, "I've nothin' to say agen the Chinaman, as
a Chinaman. As to 'is being a 'eathen, well, throwin' stones at a
church, as the sayin' is, don't make a Christian of you. There's
Christians I've met as couldn't do themselves much 'arm by changing
their religion; and as to cleanliness, well, I've never met but one,
and 'e was a washerwoman, and I'd rather 'ave sat next to 'im in a
third-class carriage on a Bank 'Oliday than next to some of 'em.
"Seems to me," continued Mrs. Wilkins, "we've got into the 'abit of
talkin' a bit too much about other people's dirt. The London
atmosphere ain't nat'rally a dry-cleanin' process in itself, but
there's a goodish few as seem to think it is. One comes across
Freeborn Britons 'ere and there as I'd be sorry to scrub clean for a
shillin' and find my own soap."
"It is a universal failing, Mrs. Wilkins," I explained. "If you talk
to a travelled Frenchman, he contrasts to his own satisfaction the
Paris ouvrier in his blue blouse with the appearance of the London
labourer."
"I daresay they're all right according to their lights," said Mrs.
Wilkins, "but it does seem a bit wrong that if our own chaps are
willin' and anxious to work, after all they've done, too, in the way
of getting the mines for us, they shouldn't be allowed the job."
"Again, Mrs. Wilkins, it is difficult to arrive at a just
conclusion," I said. "The mine-owner, according to his enemies,
hates the British workman with the natural instinct that evil
creatures feel towards the noble and virtuous. He will go to trouble
and expense merely to spite the British workman, to keep him out of
South Africa. According to his friends, the mine-owner sets his face
against the idea of white labour for two reasons. First and
foremost, it is not nice work; the mine-owner hates the thought of
his beloved white brother toiling in the mines. It is not right that
the noble white man should demean himself by such work. Secondly,
white labour is too expensive. If for digging gold men had to be
paid anything like the same prices they are paid for digging coal,
the mines could not be worked. The world would lose the gold that
the mine-owner is anxious to bestow upon it.
"The mine-owner, following his own inclinations, would take a little
farm, grow potatoes, and live a beautiful life--perhaps write a
little poetry. A slave to sense of duty, he is chained to the
philanthropic work of gold-mining. If we hamper him and worry him
the danger is that he will get angry with us--possibly he will order
his fiery chariot and return to where he came from."
"Well, 'e can't take the gold with him, wherever 'e goes to?" argued
Mrs. Wilkins.
"You talk, Mrs. Wilkins," I said, "as if the gold were of more value
to the world than is the mine-owner."
"Well, isn't it?" demanded Mrs. Wilkins.
"It's a new idea, Mrs. Wilkins," I answered; "it wants thinking out."
HOW TO SOLVE THE SERVANT PROBLEM.
"I am glad to see, Mrs. Wilkins," I said, "that the Women's Domestic
Guild of America has succeeded in solving the servant girl problem--
none too soon, one might almost say."
"Ah," said Mrs. Wilkins, as she took the cover off the bacon and gave
an extra polish to the mustard-pot with her apron, "they are clever
people over there; leastways, so I've always 'eard."
"This, their latest, Mrs. Wilkins," I said, "I am inclined to regard
as their greatest triumph. My hope is that the Women's Domestic
Guild of America, when it has finished with the United States and
Canada, will, perhaps, see its way to establishing a branch in
England. There are ladies of my acquaintance who would welcome, I
feel sure, any really satisfactory solution of the problem."
"Well, good luck to it, is all I say," responded Mrs. Wilkins, "and
if it makes all the gals contented with their places, and all the
mistresses satisfied with what they've got and 'appy in their minds,
why, God bless it, say I."
"The mistake hitherto," I said, "from what I read, appears to have
been that the right servant was not sent to the right place. What
the Women's Domestic Guild of America proposes to do is to find the
right servant for the right place. You see the difference, don't
you, Mrs. Wilkins?"
"That's the secret," agreed Mrs. Wilkins. They don't anticipate any
difficulty in getting the right sort of gal, I take it?"
"I gather not, Mrs. Wilkins," I replied.
Mrs. Wilkins is of a pessimistic turn of mind.
"I am not so sure about it," she said; "the Almighty don't seem to
'ave made too many of that sort. Unless these American ladies that
you speak of are going to start a factory of their own. I am afraid
there is disappointment in store for them."
"Don't throw cold water on the idea before it is fairly started, Mrs.
Wilkins," I pleaded.
"Well, sir," said Mrs. Wilkins, "I 'ave been a gal myself in service;
and in my time I've 'ad a few mistresses of my own, and I've 'eard a
good deal about others. There are ladies and ladies, as you may
know, sir, and some of them, if they aren't exactly angels, are about
as near to it as can be looked for in this climate, and they are not
the ones that do most of the complaining. But, as for the average
mistress--well it ain't a gal she wants, it's a plaster image,
without any natural innards--a sort of thing as ain't 'uman, and
ain't to be found in 'uman nature. And then she'd grumble at it, if
it didn't 'appen to be able to be in two places at once."
"You fear that the standard for that 'right girl' is likely to be set
a trifle too high Mrs. Wilkins," I suggested.
"That 'right gal,' according to the notions of some of 'em," retorted
Mrs. Wilkins, "'er place ain't down 'ere among us mere mortals; 'er
place is up in 'eaven with a 'arp and a golden crown. There's my
niece, Emma, I don't say she is a saint, but a better 'earted, 'arder
working gal, at twenty pounds a year, you don't expect to find,
unless maybe you're a natural born fool that can't 'elp yourself.
She wanted a place. She 'ad been 'ome for nearly six months, nursing
'er old father, as 'ad been down all the winter with rheumatic fever;
and 'ard-put to it she was for a few clothes. You 'ear 'em talk
about gals as insists on an hour a day for practising the piano, and
the right to invite their young man to spend the evening with them in
the drawing-room. Perhaps it is meant to be funny; I ain't come
across that type of gal myself, outside the pictures in the comic
papers; and I'll never believe, till I see 'er myself, that anybody
else 'as. They sent 'er from the registry office to a lady at
Clapton.
"'I 'ope you are good at getting up early in the morning?' says the
lady, 'I like a gal as rises cheerfully to 'er work.'
"'Well, ma'am,' says Emma, 'I can't say as I've got a passion for it.
But it's one of those things that 'as to be done, and I guess I've
learnt the trick.'
"'I'm a great believer in early rising,' says my lady; 'in the
morning, one is always fresher for one's work; my 'usband and the
younger children breakfast at 'arf past seven; myself and my eldest
daughter 'ave our breakfest in bed at eight.'
'That'll be all right, ma'am,' says Emma.
"'And I 'ope,' says the lady, 'you are of an amiable disposition.
Some gals when you ring the bell come up looking so disagreeable, one
almost wishes one didn't want them.'
"'Well, it ain't a thing,' explains Emma, 'as makes you want to burst
out laughing, 'earing the bell go off for the twentieth time, and
'aving suddenly to put down your work at, perhaps, a critical moment.
Some ladies don't seem able to reach down their 'at for themselves.'
"'I 'ope you are not impertinent,' says the lady; 'if there's one
thing that I object to in a servant it is impertinence.'
"'We none of us like being answered back,' says Emma, 'more
particularly when we are in the wrong. But I know my place ma'am,
and I shan't give you no lip. It always leads to less trouble, I
find, keeping your mouth shut, rather than opening it.'
"'Are you fond of children,' asks my lady.
"'It depends upon the children,' says Emma; 'there are some I 'ave
'ad to do with as made the day seem pleasanter, and I've come across
others as I could 'ave parted from at any moment without tears.'
"'I like a gal,' says the lady, 'who is naturally fond of children,
it shows a good character.'
"'How many of them are there?' says Emma.
"'Four of them,' answers my lady, 'but you won't 'ave much to do
except with the two youngest. The great thing with young children is
to surround them with good examples. Are you a Christian?' asks my
lady.
"'That's what I'm generally called,' says Emma.
"'Every other Sunday evening out is my rule,' says the lady, 'but of
course I shall expect you to go to church.'
"'Do you mean in my time, ma'am,' says Emma, 'or in yours.'
"'I mean on your evening of course,' says my lady. ''Ow else could
you go?'
"'Well, ma'am,' says Emma, 'I like to see my people now and then.'
"'There are better things,' says my lady, 'than seeing what you call
your people, and I should not care to take a girl into my 'ouse as
put 'er pleasure before 'er religion. You are not engaged, I 'ope?'
"'Walking out, ma'am, do you mean?' says Emma. 'No, ma'am, there is
nobody I've got in my mind--not just at present.'
"'I never will take a gal,' explains my lady, 'who is engaged. I
find it distracts 'er attention from 'er work. And I must insist if
you come to me,' continues my lady, 'that you get yourself another
'at and jacket. If there is one thing I object to in a servant it is
a disposition to cheap finery.'
"'Er own daughter was sitting there beside 'er with 'alf a dozen
silver bangles on 'er wrist, and a sort of thing 'anging around 'er
neck, as, 'ad it been real, would 'ave been worth perhaps a thousand
pounds. But Emma wanted a job, so she kept 'er thoughts to 'erself.
"'I can put these things by and get myself something else,' she says,
'if you don't mind, ma'am, advancing me something out of my first
three months' wages. I'm afraid my account at the bank is a bit
overdrawn.'
"The lady whispered something to 'er daughter. 'I am afraid, on
thinking it over,' she says, 'that you won't suit, after all. You
don't look serious enough. I feel sure, from the way you do your
'air,' says my lady, 'there's a frivolous side to your nature.'
"So Emma came away, and was not, on the whole, too sorry."
"But do they get servants to come to them, this type of mistress, do
you think, Mrs. Wilkins?" I asked.
"They get them all right," said Mrs. Wilkins, "and if it's a decent
gal, it makes a bad gal of 'er, that ever afterwards looks upon every
mistress as 'er enemy, and acts accordingly. And if she ain't a
naturally good gal, it makes 'er worse, and then you 'ear what awful
things gals are. I don't say it's an easy problem," continued Mrs.
Wilkins, "it's just like marriages. The good mistress gets 'old of
the bad servant, and the bad mistress, as often as not is lucky."
"But how is it," I argued, "that in hotels, for instance, the service
is excellent, and the girls, generally speaking, seem contented? The
work is hard, and the wages not much better, if as good."
"Ah," said Mrs. Wilkins, "you 'ave 'it the right nail on the 'ead,
there, sir. They go into the 'otels and work like niggers, knowing
that if a single thing goes wrong they will be bully-ragged and sworn
at till they don't know whether they are standing on their 'ead or
their 'eels. But they 'ave their hours; the gal knows when 'er work
is done, and when the clock strikes she is a 'uman being once again.
She 'as got that moment to look forward to all day, and it keeps 'er
going. In private service there's no moment in the day to 'ope for.
If the lady is reasonable she ain't overworked; but no 'ow can she
ever feel she is her own mistress, free to come and go, to wear 'er
bit of finery, to 'ave 'er bit of fun. She works from six in the
morning till eleven or twelve at night, and then she only goes to bed
provided she ain't wanted. She don't belong to 'erself at all; it's
that that irritates them."
"I see your point, Mrs. Wilkins," I said, "and, of course, in a house
where two or three servants were kept some such plan might easily be
arranged. The girl who commenced work at six o'clock in the morning
might consider herself free at six o'clock in the evening. What she
did with herself, how she dressed herself in her own time, would be
her affair. What church the clerk or the workman belongs to, what
company he keeps, is no concern of the firm. In such matters,
mistresses, I am inclined to think, saddle themselves with a
responsibility for which there is no need. If the girl behaves
herself while in the house, and does her work, there the contract
ends. The mistress who thinks it her duty to combine the roles of
employer and of maiden aunt is naturally resented. The next month
the girl might change her hours from twelve to twelve, and her
fellow-servant could enjoy the six a.m. to six p.m. shift. But how
do you propose to deal, Mrs. Wilkins, with the smaller menage, that
employs only one servant?"
"Well, sir," said Mrs. Wilkins, "it seems to me simple enough.
Ladies talk pretty about the dignity of labour, and are never tired
of pointing out why gals should prefer domestic service to all other
kinds of work. Suppose they practise what they preach. In the
'ouse, where there's only the master and the mistress, and, say a
couple of small children, let the lady take her turn. After all,
it's only her duty, same as the office or the shop is the man's.
Where, on the other 'and, there are biggish boys and gals about the
place, well it wouldn't do them any 'arm to be taught to play a
little less, and to look after themselves a little more. It's just
arranging things--that's all that's wanted."
"You remind me of a family I once knew, Mrs. Wilkins," I said; "it
consisted of the usual father and mother, and of five sad, healthy
girls. They kept two servants--or, rather, they never kept any
servants; they lived always looking for servants, breaking their
hearts over servants, packing servants off at a moment's notice,
standing disconsolately looking after servants who had packed
themselves off at a moment's notice, wondering generally what the
world was coming too. It occurred to me at the time, that without
much trouble, they could have lived a peaceful life without servants.
The eldest girl was learning painting--and seemed unable to learn
anything else. It was poor sort of painting; she noticed it herself.
But she seemed to think that, if she talked a lot about it, and
thought of nothing else, that somehow it would all come right. The
second girl played the violin. She played it from early morning till
late evening, and friends fell away from them. There wasn't a spark
of talent in the family, but they all had a notion that a vague
longing to be admired was just the same as genius.
"Another daughter fancied she would like to be an actress, and
screamed all day in the attic. The fourth wrote poetry on a
typewriter, and wondered why nobody seemed to want it; while the
fifth one suffered from a weird belief that smearing wood with a red-
hot sort of poker was a thing worth doing for its own sake. All of
them seemed willing enough to work, provided only that it was work of
no use to any living soul. With a little sense, and the occasional
assistance of a charwoman, they could have led a merrier life."
"If I was giving away secrets," said Mrs. Wilkins, "I'd say to the
mistresses: 'Show yourselves able to be independent.' It's because
the gals know that the mistresses can't do without them that they
sometimes gives themselves airs."
WHY WE HATE THE FOREIGNER.
The advantage that the foreigner possesses over the Englishman is
that he is born good. He does not have to try to be good, as we do.
He does not have to start the New Year with the resolution to be
good, and succeed, bar accidents, in being so till the middle of
January. He is just good all the year round. When a foreigner is
told to mount or descend from a tram on the near side, it does not
occur to him that it would be humanly possible to secure egress from
or ingress to that tram from the off side.
In Brussels once I witnessed a daring attempt by a lawless foreigner
to enter a tram from the wrong side. The gate was open: he was
standing close beside it. A line of traffic was in his way: to have
got round to the right side of that tram would have meant missing it.
He entered when the conductor was not looking, and took his seat.
The astonishment of the conductor on finding him there was immense.
How did he get there? The conductor had been watching the proper
entrance, and the man had not passed him. Later, the true
explanation suggested itself to the conductor, but for a while he
hesitated to accuse a fellow human being of such crime.
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