Language Sir! By Rick Kirkbride
On returning from the continent in 1919 I was fortunate in being able to take up my previous position with his Lordship, as indeed had all those who had worked for him before the conflict.
Such a situation was by no means commonplace at that time, and many a “conquering hero” found himself devoid of the wherewithal to earn a basic living, such were the economic woes of the country.
This state of affairs troubled his Lordship, for despite his privileged upbringing and considerable wealth he took an active interest in the way the country was governed, and was quick to upbraid the “pontificating idiots” whenever he visited the upper house, particularly when the much maligned phrase “a land fit for heroes” was used.
But although his genuine concern for the wellbeing of the nation earned him a good many column inches in the newspapers he felt his actions were having little effect other than to draw attention to himself as an ineffectual hand-wringer. His solution to this was to take a house in one of the fashionable areas of London with the intention of drawing about himself a body of men of action to formulate a plan to restore this great nation of ours to its rightful place in the world.
And so once a month I found myself dispatched up to town to assist the housekeeper with preparations for a lavish dinner to be served to a select few.
The party would rarely number more than eight and the guests would have their occupations as common ground; one gathering would be of merchant bankers, another of industrialists, even politicians from both sides of the house, but on one occasion there was a particular list which had me puzzling all the way from the great estate to the square. There were but three names on this list, two of them known to me on account of their having visited his Lordship (nonetheless I could garner no common link) and the third individual was a complete stranger.
Upon my arrival at the town house the housekeeper mistook my pensive air for liverishness and enquired after my health. To allay her concerns I showed her the list of names.
‘It will be quite a cosy affair, Mr.Huckridge,’ she said. ‘There’s little to trouble us and providing they don’t spend half the night righting the world’s wrongs we shall all be able to retire at a respectable hour. Why are you so concerned?’
‘It is not the number which concerns me, Mrs.Ames,’ I replied, ‘but the reason behind their being invited together. You know his Lordship’s ways and for the life of me I cannot see any common ground the three of them may have.’
'Then before his Lordship arrives tomorrow I suggest you spend some time in the library; you’ll be sure to find something in there. Now come to the kitchen and have some tea.’
Two hours later, fortified by strong tea and Mrs.Ames’ excellent fruit-cake, and with the dinner preparations in hand, I settled myself in the library with “Who’s Who”. It took but a few minutes work to find two of the names, and with the aid of a dictionary and a thesaurus I was able to make the necessary connection, yet I was left pondering the problematic third guest.
‘More tea Mr.Aitch?’
The cheerful tones of Peggy, one of the maids, roused me from my gloomy reverie and I rose to follow her to the kitchen. Knowing her propensity for “downstairs gossip” I showed her the three names in the hope of gleaning some information which would link them; she did not let me down.
‘My cousin Lou worked for Sir ‘Enry when ‘e was in Kent,’“she said, ‘but she moved two years ago to be nearer ‘er mum. Said ‘e was mad about books, always off somewhere buyin’ old books. Did you never ‘ave ‘im stay with ‘Is Lordship at the estate?’
‘Indeed he has stayed with His Lordship,’ I replied. ’Sir Henry is a great collector of old and rare editions, and it is said he has one of the finest libraries in the country.’
‘The monsoor I’ve seen a couple of times. Seems a proper gentleman, but my Billy says ‘e’s a bit – what’s the word – ‘centric.’
‘Your Billy should perhaps have a little care when referring to his betters; M. le Comte wisely brought his fortune to England early in 1914, and has been so well received in society that he has almost forsaken his native France. I believe his wish is to be regarded as an English gentleman which, in my opinion, is not a sign of eccentricity. Now, do you know anything about the mysterious Mr.Smith?’
Peggy’s mien became conspiratorial and her voice lowered.
‘Bit of a scandal there, Mr. Aitch. Old Fiddlefists’ – I knew who she meant and discretion forbids any revelation about one of our oldest families – ‘was said to ‘ave ‘ad a bit of a – you know – with one of the girls, and she ‘ad to, er, - go away. ‘E was good about it though, looked after ‘er, put the little ‘un through school and got ‘im a place in one of ‘is factories in the Midlands. Worked ‘ard did the lad and runs the place now.’
‘And what is the name of this factory?’ I asked her. ‘What is made there?’
She shook her head.
‘Can’t tell you the name Mr. Aitch but my Billy told me they make tools for all them little metalworkers round about. Are you coming for that tea?’
I cannot say what the poor girl’s thoughts were as I turned about and with a shout of ‘well done Peggy’ went back to the library with more haste than is seemly in a head of household. The conundrum was no more.
His Lordship arrived before lunch the following day and the front door was barely closed before he bade me join him in the library.
‘Preparations all in order, Huckridge?’
‘They are my Lord.’
‘No absentees?’
‘None my Lord.’
‘And?’
‘My Lord?’
He glowered, but there was a smile in his eyes.
‘Don’t sport with me, Huckridge. You know full well what I mean.’
‘My apologies, my Lord. I must confess it took some detective work but I am confident I have the correct conclusion.’
‘Excellent. Now, you are acquainted with Sir Henry. How would you describe him? What is he?’
‘My Lord, from his love of books, I would call him a bibliophile.’
An encouraging nod.
‘And M. le Comte?’
Another nod.
‘An Anglophile.’
Then his Lordship’s expression became that of a cheeky urchin.
‘And the industrious Mr. Smith, that would make him….’
‘Yes, my Lord - the bastard file.’
Copyright Rick Kirkbride 2012
Such a situation was by no means commonplace at that time, and many a “conquering hero” found himself devoid of the wherewithal to earn a basic living, such were the economic woes of the country.
This state of affairs troubled his Lordship, for despite his privileged upbringing and considerable wealth he took an active interest in the way the country was governed, and was quick to upbraid the “pontificating idiots” whenever he visited the upper house, particularly when the much maligned phrase “a land fit for heroes” was used.
But although his genuine concern for the wellbeing of the nation earned him a good many column inches in the newspapers he felt his actions were having little effect other than to draw attention to himself as an ineffectual hand-wringer. His solution to this was to take a house in one of the fashionable areas of London with the intention of drawing about himself a body of men of action to formulate a plan to restore this great nation of ours to its rightful place in the world.
And so once a month I found myself dispatched up to town to assist the housekeeper with preparations for a lavish dinner to be served to a select few.
The party would rarely number more than eight and the guests would have their occupations as common ground; one gathering would be of merchant bankers, another of industrialists, even politicians from both sides of the house, but on one occasion there was a particular list which had me puzzling all the way from the great estate to the square. There were but three names on this list, two of them known to me on account of their having visited his Lordship (nonetheless I could garner no common link) and the third individual was a complete stranger.
Upon my arrival at the town house the housekeeper mistook my pensive air for liverishness and enquired after my health. To allay her concerns I showed her the list of names.
‘It will be quite a cosy affair, Mr.Huckridge,’ she said. ‘There’s little to trouble us and providing they don’t spend half the night righting the world’s wrongs we shall all be able to retire at a respectable hour. Why are you so concerned?’
‘It is not the number which concerns me, Mrs.Ames,’ I replied, ‘but the reason behind their being invited together. You know his Lordship’s ways and for the life of me I cannot see any common ground the three of them may have.’
'Then before his Lordship arrives tomorrow I suggest you spend some time in the library; you’ll be sure to find something in there. Now come to the kitchen and have some tea.’
Two hours later, fortified by strong tea and Mrs.Ames’ excellent fruit-cake, and with the dinner preparations in hand, I settled myself in the library with “Who’s Who”. It took but a few minutes work to find two of the names, and with the aid of a dictionary and a thesaurus I was able to make the necessary connection, yet I was left pondering the problematic third guest.
‘More tea Mr.Aitch?’
The cheerful tones of Peggy, one of the maids, roused me from my gloomy reverie and I rose to follow her to the kitchen. Knowing her propensity for “downstairs gossip” I showed her the three names in the hope of gleaning some information which would link them; she did not let me down.
‘My cousin Lou worked for Sir ‘Enry when ‘e was in Kent,’“she said, ‘but she moved two years ago to be nearer ‘er mum. Said ‘e was mad about books, always off somewhere buyin’ old books. Did you never ‘ave ‘im stay with ‘Is Lordship at the estate?’
‘Indeed he has stayed with His Lordship,’ I replied. ’Sir Henry is a great collector of old and rare editions, and it is said he has one of the finest libraries in the country.’
‘The monsoor I’ve seen a couple of times. Seems a proper gentleman, but my Billy says ‘e’s a bit – what’s the word – ‘centric.’
‘Your Billy should perhaps have a little care when referring to his betters; M. le Comte wisely brought his fortune to England early in 1914, and has been so well received in society that he has almost forsaken his native France. I believe his wish is to be regarded as an English gentleman which, in my opinion, is not a sign of eccentricity. Now, do you know anything about the mysterious Mr.Smith?’
Peggy’s mien became conspiratorial and her voice lowered.
‘Bit of a scandal there, Mr. Aitch. Old Fiddlefists’ – I knew who she meant and discretion forbids any revelation about one of our oldest families – ‘was said to ‘ave ‘ad a bit of a – you know – with one of the girls, and she ‘ad to, er, - go away. ‘E was good about it though, looked after ‘er, put the little ‘un through school and got ‘im a place in one of ‘is factories in the Midlands. Worked ‘ard did the lad and runs the place now.’
‘And what is the name of this factory?’ I asked her. ‘What is made there?’
She shook her head.
‘Can’t tell you the name Mr. Aitch but my Billy told me they make tools for all them little metalworkers round about. Are you coming for that tea?’
I cannot say what the poor girl’s thoughts were as I turned about and with a shout of ‘well done Peggy’ went back to the library with more haste than is seemly in a head of household. The conundrum was no more.
His Lordship arrived before lunch the following day and the front door was barely closed before he bade me join him in the library.
‘Preparations all in order, Huckridge?’
‘They are my Lord.’
‘No absentees?’
‘None my Lord.’
‘And?’
‘My Lord?’
He glowered, but there was a smile in his eyes.
‘Don’t sport with me, Huckridge. You know full well what I mean.’
‘My apologies, my Lord. I must confess it took some detective work but I am confident I have the correct conclusion.’
‘Excellent. Now, you are acquainted with Sir Henry. How would you describe him? What is he?’
‘My Lord, from his love of books, I would call him a bibliophile.’
An encouraging nod.
‘And M. le Comte?’
Another nod.
‘An Anglophile.’
Then his Lordship’s expression became that of a cheeky urchin.
‘And the industrious Mr. Smith, that would make him….’
‘Yes, my Lord - the bastard file.’
Copyright Rick Kirkbride 2012