Cook's Story
Chapter 1 Early Years
My name is Marjorie Braithwaite. I was born in 1895 in a small cottage in the Lake District. I think my life story is worth telling, although my family has no special claim to fame. We are all God's creatures. You don't have to have wealth and position to have an interesting and worthwhile life. I have lived through difficult and changing times and observed people along the way.
I was the second child and eldest girl in a family of seven. My dad was head gardener at a big house. Our little cottage came with his job. When things changed and he had to seek a new position, he had to find another job with a tied cottage or his growing family would have nowhere to live. Bosses knew that. They could keep the wages down and treat their employees in tied cottages how they willed because they were in fear of eviction.
As the family grew, the cottage became more cramped, but we thought nothing of it. It was to be expected. The younger ones and the boys played outside when not at school, except in the harshest weather. Us girls soon had to spend much of our time keeping house and tending the current youngest baby. One of us would be kept off school to look after Mum, when she had been recently confined.
School was quite strict. I got on quite well with it. I cottoned on to reading fairly quickly and worked out how to keep on the right side of the teacher. Others weren't so fly as me. Some got caned a lot, especially the boys. Now I can see that the young teacher was probably a bit afraid of them and there were a lot of us in the class. As soon as I turned 12 it was goodbye to education and my working life started. Dad heard that a very grand household about 20 miles away was looking for a kitchen maid. He got his mate's wife to put in a good word for me and so it was that I was that I left my loving home for the first time and found myself in an alien environment and regarded as the lowest form of life.
After having been engaged to work in the kitchen, I rarely had any contact with Madam, as we referred to the lady to the lady of the house. Cook was my boss. She had to run a tight ship. The household was expected to run like clockwork and we were all overworked. But, I must say, Cook wasn't unkind. I spent most of my day scrubbing, washing up and preparing vegetables. I got up early to light the fires and make a cup of tea for Cook. Sometimes Cook would remember that I wasn't just a skivvy. She was supposed to be teaching me about cooking, too. She might take a moment to show me how to beat an egg white until it was stiff or how to make the batter for Yorkshire pudding by gradually beating in the flour to combine it with the milk and egg. Once I'd got the hang of it, she could add the most tedious bits of food preparation to my long list of duties. She would ask after my family, as well. Not all the other servants were thoughtful about me, at the bottom of the heap. They might tease me or shout at me, just to remind me that they thought they were superior to me.
I'd been in my position about five years when a new groom arrived. He as a shy young man and the men servants ragged him, sending him on spurious errands, or making very coarse comments so they could laugh when his cheeks reddened. I took my opportunities to chat to Walter and found that he was kind, quiet man. I think he had the making of a good groom. He had a way with horses. We started walking to church together every Sunday. We didn't hurry ourselves on the way back, either. Madam was very severe about what she called 'goings on' between her staff so we kept our friendship a secret. I now think that Cook had her suspicions, but didn't let on. My friendship with the gentle Walter grew into an understanding. One Mothering Sunday, when we had day off, as was the custom, to visit our mothers, Walter managed to borrow a horse and cart and I took him home to visit my Mum and Dad. They were very taken with him.
