professionals in

 

England talking late into the night by the warmth of the fire. And let me tell

you, if you were to have come into our servants' hall on any of those evenings,

you would not have heard mere gossip; more likely, you would have witnessed

debates over the great affairs preoccupying our employers upstairs, or else over

matters of import reported in the newspapers; and of course, as fellow

professionals from all walks of life are wont to do when gathered together, we

could be found discussing every aspect of our vocation. Sometimes, naturally,

there would be strong disagreements, but more often than not, the atmosphere was

dominated by a feeling of mutual respect. Perhaps I will convey a better idea of

the tone of those evenings if I say that regular visitors included the likes of

Mr Harry Graham, valet-butler to Sir James Chambers, and Mr John Donalds, valet

to Mr Sydney Dickenson. And there were others less distinguished, perhaps, but

whose lively presence made any visit memorable; for instance, Mr Wilkinson,

valet-butler to Mr John Campbell, with his well-known repertoire of

impersonations of prominent gentlemen; Mr Davidson from Easterly House, whose

passion in debating a point could at times be as alarming to a stranger as his

simple kindness at all other times was endearing; Mr Herman, valet to Mr John

Henry Peters, whose extreme views no one could listen to passively, but whose

distinctive belly-laugh and Yorkshire charm made him impossible to dislike. I

could go on. There existed in those days a true camaraderie in our profession,

whatever the small differences in our approach.

 

We were all essentially cut from the same cloth, so to speak. Not the way it is