Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is visiting her friend and fellow maid Hilda. It is a beautiful, sunny Wednesday and Wednesday afternoons from one o’clock, both girls have time off from their jobs as domestic servants. Taking advantage of this, Edith and Hilda are planning to go and have some afternoon tea at the nearby Lyon’s Corner House* at the top of Tottenham Court Road. Edith has come to collect Hilda from the home of Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon, where Hilda works as a live-in maid. However, Hilda is not quite ready to go.
When Edith walks in through the tradesman’s entrance of the Hill Street, she finds Hilda in the kitchen, pushing pieces of rather second-rate beef through a mincer, and the deal table is littered with cooking implements and food. As well as the tray of minced meat, there is a deep baking dish, a bowl of partially peeled potatoes, and several onions and tomatoes waiting to be sliced up. A large jar of salt stands to one side of a wooden chopping board, whilst a jar of mixed herbs perches precariously on the edge of the table next to the mincer.
“I won’t be long, Edith. I’m just finishing preparing tonight’s mince and potato stew for tea.”
“For dinner, Hilda,” Edith kindly corrects her friend**.
“Listen to you, My Lady!” Hilda chortles good naturedly, making her friend blush as she picks up a bright red tomato from in front of her. “Such fancy words from you Miss Edith Watsford! You must be the most well spoken maid in Mayfair.”
“I thought you wanted to improve yourself, Hilda.” Edith responds quietly, a little hurt by her best friend’s response. “I was only trying to help.”
“Oh, sorry Edith! I was only teasing.” Hilda apologises, smiling and kindly putting out her hand and clasping Edith’s in it as it rests on the arm of her chair. “I suppose it didn’t come across in quite the way I wanted. I’m just a little frazzled today.” She goes on. “Of course I’m all for self-improvement,” she assures her. “And I do appreciate you correcting me. I wasn’t really criticising you. Forgive me?”
Edith releases a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and sinks back into the rounded back of the Windsor chair she is sitting in. “That’s a relief! Of course I forgive you, Hilda: not that there’s anything to forgive, naturally.”
“Naturally.” Hilda retorts with a short nod. “Of course, whether it’s tea, dinner or supper,” she continues with a derisive snort. “It will all go down into our bellies, just the same.”
“I’d never want to offend you, Hilda.” Edith says seriously. “You’re my best friend.”
“You’d never offend me, Edith.” Hilda replies gently with a broad smile on her doughy face. “I know that. Best friends don’t offend one another, intentionally anyway.”
“Of course they don’t.” Edith replies with a relieved smile.
“And best friends help one another out.”
“Of course they do!” Edith enthuses.
“Then could you help me out?” She pushes a smaller wooden chopping board and knife towards Edith. “Could you cut up this onion for me?” She holds out a golden brown onion to her friend.
Edith’s mouth falls open in shock, but curls up at the corners as she takes in her friend’s beseeching look. “Hilda Clerkenwell! What crust you have! We’re going out for tea and cakes at Lyon’s Corner House, and you just don’t want your fingers smelling of raw onion!”
“Oh! Go on, Edith! Be a sport! You know I hate cutting onions. They always make me cry so much.” She pouts and looks hopefully at her friend. “Please?”
“Oh!” Edith huffs. “Only if you buy me a second slice of cake when we get to Lyon’s.”
“Done!” Hilda replies immediately, smiling as she places the onion in the middle of the board she has slid across to Edith.
“Any cake I like, mind.” Edith adds with a cheeky smile as she picks up the onion, knowing that she won’t ask for a slice of the most extravagant and expensive cakes in the glass counter of the Tottenham Court Road Lyon’s Corner House, even if she could, because she knows that Hilda works as hard, if not harder, for her meagre maid’s wage as she does.
“Thanks Edith! You are a brick!” Hilda replies with relief as Edith picks herself up out of her chair and picks up the chopping board and knife. “There’s plenty of carbolic at the sink for your hands afterwards.”
“You know, I keep telling you that there’s really nothing to it,” Edith remarks to Hilda as she walks across the black and white chequered linoleum floor of the kitchen and places the board on the enamel draining board of the sink beneath the kitchen window. “Just make sure there is plenty of fresh air around you.” She groans as she heaves open the squeaking sash of the lower pane of the window. “The breeze will carry away your tears.”
“Not mine.” Hilda says grumpily as she takes up a potato and begins peeling it. “That never works for me. Damn things.”
“Language!” Edith scolds. She takes up the knife and cuts off both ends of the onion and peels the skin off. “Small pieces, Hilda?”
“Please.” Hilda replies as she casts her potato peelings aside into a small pile to her right.
Edith begins to chop the onion up into small pieces quickly and efficiently, the sound of the knife’s blade banging dully against the wood of the chopping board as it slices through the flesh of the onion, giving her a sense of satisfaction as she watches it transform from a round vegetable into neat white cubes. Once she is done, she uses the flat of the knife to push all the pieces into a pile in the middle of the board and places the knife next to it before she turns on the brass hot and cold taps of the sink and washes her hands thoroughly with carbolic soap. Once her hands are clean, and odour free, to her satisfaction, Edith returns the chopping board topped with the knife and pile of diced onions to Hilda’s deal kitchen table and resumes her seat.
“I know you enjoy a nice stew, Hilda,” Edith comments a little awkwardly as she manoeuvres herself back into a comfortable position in her seat, blushing as she looks at the large deep brown glazed baking dish with its pristine white interior in the centre of the table. “But that looks like a lot just for you for dinner.”
“Oh, it’s not just for me.” Hilda replies matter-of-factly as she cuts into the ripe flesh of a tomato and begins slicing it thinly. “It’s for Mr. and Mrs. Channon too.”
“What?” Edith blurts with an incredulous explosion of laughter. “Mr. and Mrs. Channon eating a mince and potato stew for dinner?”
“Shh!” Hilda drops the knife on the chopping board in front of her with a clatter and puts her chubby, sausage like finger to her lips.
“What?” Edith asks, trying to regain her composure.
“Mr. and Mrs. Channon will hear you.” Hilda hisses. “They haven’t gone out today. They’re only just out there, in the drawing room.” She indicates towards the closed kitchen door and the world of the Wood Street flat beyond it, inhabited by the Channons.
“What are they doing?” Edith hisses.
“Playing cards I think.” Hilda admits. “Or they were when I took them tea and coffee a half hour ago.”
Edith quickly grasps the seriousness of the situation and lowers her voice. “They usually pay calls on a Wednesday.”
“They can’t afford to, just now.” Hilda replies dourly in an equally low voice as she resumes chopping the tomato. “Mr. Channon has spent his allowance for the month, including the portion for petrol for their motorcar. They aren’t going to traipse around London paying calls on foot. At least it went to a good cause.”
“Oh?” Edith queries.
“Yes, they paid off the wine merchant’s bill. It was fearfully overdue, and he was threating to withhold any future orders.”
“That’s frightful, Hilda.”
Reducing her voice to barely more than a whisper, Hilda retorts, “It’s better than me standing at the door telling his man a bald-faced lie that the Master and Mistress are out, when in fact they are both hiding behind the drawing room sofa.”
“That’s true.” Edith replies, her eyebrows arching high over her pale blue eyes. “I don’t think I could do that.”
“That’s because you’re too good by half, Edith – far better a soul than me. You’ll go to heaven and I’ll be stuck in purgatory.” Hilda giggles. “And it’s because of the paid wine merchant’s bill that we’re having mince and potato stew for supper. We’re paying the piper***, for the other week’s Lobster à la Newburg**** supper.”
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear is right.” Hilda admits. “When I went to Mrs. Channon on Monday and said I needed money for the housekeeping, she gave me the most alarmed look I think I’ve ever seen on her face. It was as if I’d just told her that war had broken out again.”
“Heaven forbid!”
“She asked me where all the housekeeping money had gone.”
“What do you mean, Hilda?”
“Well, that was exactly what she said when I explained to her that whilst I can be a thrifty and canny grocery shopper, I’m not a miracle worker. Lobsters are expensive no matter where you buy them, or from whom.”
“And what did Mrs. Channon say to that?”
“Well, she told me that she would sort something out, but could I wait until the afternoon for the money. I said that I could, and she bustled off to her bedroom.”
“Her bedroom? Not to take the vapours*****, surely?”
“No, Edith, although she can be prone to fits of hysteria sometimes, especially when it comes to paying bills.”
“I’m sure her fits of hysteria aren’t anywhere near as bad as Miss Lettice’s friend, Mrs. Palmerston’s are. She caused quite a scene over luncheon last year when Miss Lettice’s sister-in-law was visiting Cavendish Mews.”
“Maybe not, but they can still be trying when the grocer is at the tradesman’s entrance demanding payment from me, and Mrs., Channon is suddenly indisposed.”
“So, if not for the vapours, why did Mrs. Channon go to her bedroom, Hilda?”
“Well, when I saw her a short while later whilst I was dusting the entrance hall, she bustled past all dressed up to the nines, looking very serious and carrying one of her small brown leather valises in her hand. I think she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice me dusting the nook in the hallway, and I gave her ever such a fright when I wished her a good afternoon as she went to the door.”
“What happened, Hilda?”
“She dropped her valise on the entrance hall tiles, that’s what happened, and it popped open: not much mind you, but enough for me to see that she had one of her fox fur tippets****** inside. She hurriedly shut it again, and told me she was going out for a little bit, but that she hadn’t forgotten I needed the housekeeping money, and she left.”
“She didn’t get you to hail a taxi, then?”
“I don’t think she’d have dared, considering I had run out of housekeeping money.”
“Do you know where she went, Hilda?”
“No, I don’t, because as soon as she left, I hurried to her dressing room rather than peeping out of the drawing room windows to see in which direction she walked.”
“What did you find in her dressing room?”
“It was in the usual state of untidiness it’s in after she’s chosen what she’s going to wear: wardrobe doors flung and left open, hatboxes strewn about, clothes all over her pretty little Marie Antoinette chaise and the floor.”
“So, nothing amiss there.” Edith remarks.
“Indeed,” Hilda admits. “However, then I noticed that her tippet was missing from the wardrobe, as well as two of her older evening dresses: only the empty coat hangers were left on the rail.”
“You don’t think she…” Edith drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hocked them, do you?” She gasps even at the thought of one of her own mistress’ dearest friends forced to deposit some of her beautiful clothes, even the older, more worn and less fashionable pieces, at a pawnbroker as a security for money lent.
“I hate to admit it, but I’m sure she did, Edith.” Hilda hisses guiltily. “She returned later that afternoon and paid me my housekeeping money just as she promised.” Hilda looks around, as if double checking to make sure Mrs. Channon wasn’t about to barge in and catch she and Edith gossiping about her. “In fact, she gave me enough housekeeping money, albeit on a far less lavish budget,” She indicates with a sweeping gesture to the minced meat, potatoes, tomatoes and onions on the deal kitchen table before her. “To keep us going until Mr. Channon receives his next month’s allowance from the Marquis in a fortnight. Mrs. Channon told me to use my thrift with the shopping, as that under no circumstances was she able to furnish me with any more money for the housekeeping until Mr. Channon receives his next stipend.”
“No!”
“Yes. I’m only grateful that Mrs. Channon’s father, Mr. de Virre pays my wages.”
“And Mrs. Boothby’s.” Edith adds.
“And Mrs. Boothby’s.” Hilda agrees quietly. “Otherwise, we might not get paid at all!”
“So Mr. and Mrs. Channon are economising, then.”
“As much as they know how to, I suppose.” Hilda shrugs. “They haven’t been to the theatre or to the Embassy Club in Bond Street for over a week now. Instead, they sit in the drawing room and play cards, read, or listen to the wireless.”
“At least they have a wireless for entertainment.” Edith points out.
“Yes, well, Mrs. and Mrs. Channon’s idea of economising is nothing like yours and mines are,” Hilda sighs. “But I suppose it’s all relative. Them not going to the theatre and spending a quiet night at home is probably as unusual and difficult for them to contrive as it is for us to be able to afford to go to the theatre in the first place.”
“I’ve never been to the theatre.” Edith points out. “And nor have you, Hilda.”
“Well, we’ve been to the music hall, and that’s the theatre.” Hilda defends.
“I’m sure the music hall is not what Mr. and Mrs. Channon call theatre.” Edith scoffs with an amused chuckle.
“Tea, dinner. Music hall, theatre. It’s all much of a muchness, isn’t it?”
“Poor Mrs. Channon. That must be awful for her, having to pawn her beautiful things, just to be able to afford to eat. I mean, I know you’ve said that she’s no dab hand at managing a budget…”
“Now that’s an understatement, if ever I heard one.” Hilda chuckles as she starts adding the minced meat, chunks of peeled potato, sliced tomatoes and Edith’s diced onions to the deep dish and sprinkling herbs on top. “But it’s more than just Mrs. Channon’s inability to balance the books.”
“What do you mean, Hilda?”
Hilda pours some Worcestershire sauce over the top of the food in the dish and stirs it all together, before draping a muslin cloth over the top of it. “There! That can steep for the afternoon, and it will be perfect come tea… err… dinner time.”
“You didn’t hear me, Hilda.” Edith persists. “What did you mean by Mrs. Ch…”
“Shh!” Hilda puts her finger to her mouth again, and looks warningly towards the kitchen door. “I did, actually. Come on Edith, let’s get our coats and hats. I’ll explain it all to you as we go up to Tottenham Court Road.”
The pair gather up their coats, hats, gloves and handbags and step out of the Hill Street flat through the rear tradesman’s entrance. “I’m off Mrs, Channon!” Hilda calls brightly before carefully closing the kitchen door, without waiting for a response.
As the pair walk down the back stairs of the flats, Hilda explains. “I don’t suppose when you were here a few weeks ago, you overheard the conversation over dinner?”
“Hilda Clerkenwell!” Edith gasps. “I never listen to conversations over the dinner table!”
“Yes, you’re far better than me in that respect.” Hilda admits guiltily.
“Anyway, even if I was prone to eavesdrop, which I don’t, I was too busy concentrating on what we needed to do in order to serve the next dish, that night.”
“Well, if you weren’t so good and pious, Edith, earing your place in heaven, you would have heard that loud American man, Mr. Carter…”
“The one who likes his ground coffee?”
“The very same. Well, he and his wife were talking about how Mrs. Carter was going to see a specialist in Harley Street*******.”
“A specialist?”
“Some fancy doctor, who is assisting Mrs. Carter in…” Hilda pauses and glances around to make sure that no-one is eavesdropping in the stairwell. “In the family way.”
Edith gaps. “I didn’t think Mrs. Carter was in the family way, Hilda! She certainly doesn’t look like it.”
“She’s not.”
Edith pauses mid step. “Hilda, what has a specialist in Harley Street and Mrs. Carter not being with child have to do with Mrs. Channon not being able to pay the household bills?”
“Mrs. Channon isn’t pregnant either,” Hilda says conspiratorially. “And that’s a problem, Edith.”
“Well, I must confess I did notice that they’ve been married for almost three years and there is still no sign of children, but I just assumed that being a flapper, and part of the Bright Young Things******** set I read about in the papers that Miss Lettice is part of too, well, I just assumed that with their busy lives, going to parties and nightclubs all that, that they didn’t have time to have a child.”
“Well, they might have put it down to that in the first place, but now there is some pressure being exerted on them to have a child.”
“What kind of pressure, Hilda?”
“Well, Mr. Carter’s family want grandchildren, but Mrs. Carter still isn’t with child, and it’s the same problem for Mr. and Mrs. Channon. The old Marquis and Marchioness are desperate for Mr. and Mrs. Channon to have a son who can inherit the title from Mr. Channon when he passes on, even though I’m sure it will be years before the old Marquis passes on and passes the title to Mr. Channon, never mind Mr. Channon passing on himself. But anyway, because Mrs. Channon isn’t with child yet, the mean old Marquis has cut Mr. Channon’s allowance.”
“Cut it?”
“Not entirely, but certainly cut it.”
“By how much?”
“I’m not really sure, but enough that I’m having to do more with less housekeeping. I think the old Marquis is hoping that if Mr. and Mrs. Channon live a quieter life and don’t go to the theatre or nightclubs as much, they will settle down to the business of having a child.
“Well, that’s awful of the old Marquis, but there is an element of common sense in what he is suggesting.” Edith admits.
“Maybe, but Mrs. Channon confided in me, and she told me that she and Mr. Channon have been trying to have a child. It just hasn’t happened. So, now that the pressure has been put upon them, they are resorting to visiting a specialist to see if they can help.”
“Oh poor Mrs. Channon.”
“Well, let’s just hope she doesn’t have to hock anything else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, those doctors in Harley Street are expensive. Mrs. Carter was saying that lots of duchesses and the like go there for help to get in the family way. If Mrs. Channon can’t balance her household budget now, how will she manage the fees from a fancy doctor on top of that?”
*J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.
**Before, and even after the Second World War, a great deal could be attained about a person’s social origins by what language and terminology they used in class-conscious Britain by the use of ‘”U and non-U English” as popularised by upper class English author, Nancy Mitford when she published a glossary of terms in an article “The English Aristocracy” published by Stephen Spender in his magazine “encounter” in 1954. There are many examples in her glossary, amongst which are the word “sofa” which is a U (upper class) word, versus “settee” or “couch” which are a non-U (aspiring middle-class) words. Whilst quite outdated today, it gives an insight into how easily someone could betray their humbler origins by something as simple as a single word.
***The idiom of “to pay the piper”, meaning to pay for the cost of something, derives from the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. The town of Hamelin agrees to pay the Piper to get rid of all the rats. When they fail to pay him, he steals their kids. The earliest known reference, according to the article, is from AD1300.
****Lobster Newberg (also spelled lobster Newburg or lobster Newburgh) is an American seafood dish made from lobster, butter, cream, cognac, sherry and eggs, with a secret ingredient found to be Cayenne pepper. A modern legend with no primary or early sources states that the dish was invented by Ben Wenberg, a sea captain in the fruit trade. He was said to have demonstrated the dish at Delmonico's Restaurant in New York City to the manager, Charles Delmonico, in 1876. After refinements by the chef, Charles Ranhofer, the creation was added to the restaurant's menu as Lobster à la Wenberg and it soon became very popular. The legend says that an argument between Wenberg and Charles Delmonico caused the dish to be removed from the menu. To satisfy patrons’ continued requests for it, the name was rendered in anagram as Lobster à la Newberg or Lobster Newberg.
*****In archaic usage, “the vapours” is a mental, psychological, or physical state, such as hysteria, mania, clinical depression, bipolar disorder, lightheadedness, fainting, flush, withdrawal syndrome, mood swings, or PMS in which a sufferer loses mental focus.
******A tippet is a piece of clothing worn over the shoulders in the shape of a scarf or cape. Tippets evolved in the fourteenth century from long sleeves and typically had one end hanging down to the knees. By the 1920s, tippets were usually made of fox, mink or other types of fur.
*******Harley Street is a street in Marylebone, Central London, named after Edward Harley, 2nd Earl of Oxford and Earl Mortimer. Since the Nineteenth Century it has housed a large number of private specialists in medicine and surgery. Since the Nineteenth Century, the number of doctors, hospitals, and medical organisations in and around Harley Street has greatly increased. Records show that there were around twenty doctors in 1860, eighty by 1900, and almost two hundred by 1914. When the National Health Service was established in 1948, there were around one and half thousand. Today, there are more than three thousand people employed in the Harley Street area, in clinics, medical and paramedical practices, and hospitals.
********The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On Hilda’s deal table stand everything required to make a mince and potato stew. There is a deep ceramic baking dish, a wooden chopping board with a kitchen knife, onions and slices of tomato on it, some potatoes and tomatoes, a tray of mince and salt and herbs. Attached to the edge of the table is a mincer. The chopping board, brown onions, tomatoes, potatoes, the yellow ceramic bowl and the cutlery all came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The tomato slices come from an English stockist of 1:12 artisan miniatures whom I found on E-Bay. The knife on the chopping board and the bread knife come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures Shop in the United Kingdom. The dish of mincemeat, jars of salt and herbs and the deep baking dish base come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The meat mincer is a 1:12 miniature that I acquired from a collector in the Netherlands. The vase of flowers are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.
Hilda’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.
In the background you can see a very modern dresser stacked with a panoply of kitchen items. Including a bread crock, cannisters and a toast rack that came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.
Also in the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.
The bright brass pieces standing on the stove all come from various stockists, most overseas.
The tin bucket, mops and brooms between the dresser and the stove all come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
