The Hall Boy’s Journal

September is an odd month, isn’t it? The weather can either be as hot as July or as cold as a November evening.

Last Sunday was my half-day off and me being me, I decided to make the most of the decent weather while it lasts. Soon enough I’m sure we’ll all be stuck grumbling about the cold and huddled around the fire in the servants’ hall.

I didn’t see Ma and Pa as I often do on my half-day. Instead I thought I would escape from the servants’ quarters and go off on a jolly. Sometimes I’m so caught up in polishing this, folding that, scurrying after whats-his-name that I forget all about the estate.

But it’s a bloomin’ beautiful place, specialy   especially  when the sun is low like this.

Right, signing off now as I can hear Mr Prosser’s footsteps down the corridor.










Diary of a Scullery Maid – August

Arianna Diary logo

Written by Sienna James


Ickworth is truly gorgeous in summer-time.

At every twist in the path flowers bloom in pink, yellow and blue. When Nancy and I walked a little this evening I noticed how a rose, coloured like a baby’s flushed cheeks, leant against the sandy brown of bricks. Really, it is an artist’s paradise.

“Funny, isn’t it,” Nancy began, twirling a lock of shiny hair around her finger. “Funny how the basement can be so stuffy and how we can complain, yet outside it is so peaceful and so pretty.”

We could just see the towering dome of the Rotunda, half in shadow, rising up above the shrubs and trees.


The Footman’s Story – Part Three


Written by Romain Arrayet


Today was the Children’s School Picnic; Lady Bristol opened up the gardens to the children of the village. There was were outdoor games, sumptuous food and iced lemonade. Luckily the sun was shining and the garden looked as wonderful as ever in the yellow warmth. With the exotic smells and shady stumpery, you could have been in Southern France.

For me the day started as normal. I got up at 6.00 in the morning and got on with my duties, starting by taking coals to the sitting rooms, trimming the lamps and filling them with oil before preparing the family’s breakfast table.

I must have had my own breakfast at about eight o’clock, when cook was ready for us. I began taking food upstairs for the family and Lord Bristol was the first to come down but the others followed soon afterwards.

Mr Fox called me down to his office so Laurie and Martin had to clear the breakfast table without me. I can still feel my heart pounding wildly about in my chest as I had no idea why Mr Fox would want to see or talk to me at all. I know that yesterday I made a mistake when bringing the luggage to the rooms but I didn’t think he knew about it. Fortunately I had realised my error in time and exchanged the mistaken luggage before he or Mr Prosser noticed.

When I arrived in his office he did not reprimand me (see – ‘reprimand’ – isn’t my English getting better by writing these entries?).

“Thomas, my boy. As you must know, today Lord and Lady Bristol have invited the children of Horringer for a picnic in the garden. I have asked you to come down here as I want you to aid the preparation of the tables and the setting of the games. When the children arrive you will make sure they all stay within the garden and not come wandering into the house. All your normal duties for today have been shared between the other footmen. Some of the maids will be there in the garden too to look after the children and cook will send someone from the kitchens to attend the food and drinks.” Perhaps these were not his precise words, but certainly the gist of it.

When Mr Fox had explained everything I found myself both relieved and rather excited at the day ahead.

I arrived to see the preparations in progress. Jim asked me to place the games around the cricket field and Alice wanted my help bringing food from the kitchens out into the garden.

By the time the children arrived I’d already had my lunch. I managed to sneak into the kitchens just long enough to filch a slice of lemon cake from the tin…

Lady Bristol had given Jim some bunting to decorate the garden which that had been made by the children themselves for the extra special occasion. She stayed with us to welcome our guests and I must admit I was quite nervous in her presence. However she retired to the house after drinking a glass of lemonade and, to my surprise, playing a game of hopscotch with a group of young girls. It did make me smile to see the look of clear awe on their faces as a real lady joined in their games.

It was nice to be outside today amongst the beautiful gardens at Ickworth – it really was a lovely warm day. I enjoyed a jumping bag race with the youngest children and croquet with some of the older ones.

Later in the afternoon it was time to say goodbye to our little visitors. I helped Jim bring the tables back inside and then joined everyone in the servants’ hall for tea. After that I resumed my day as a footman, preparing the dinner table, serving food, pouring coffee for Lord and Lady Bristol…

I am writing this while I wait to hear the bell to let me know I can clear the coffee tray away from upstairs. It has been a rather different day for me and I have enjoyed the change. I forget how tense and – what’s the word? – tight-of-air the basement can be. No, that’s still not the word I want. Hang on, I’ll ask Rose. She seems to be a marvel with words.

There, I knew she’d have it. Claustrophobic.

Anyway, the bell has just rung and it’s time to go.

Au revoir for now.


The footmen are forever polishing.


Diary of a Scullery Maid – July

Arianna Diary logo

Written by Sienna James

Imagine my surprise when Laurie perched on the bench next to me in the servants’ hall yesterday and flung a letter on the table.

“For you, Arianna.”

Curiously I picked up the paper and studied the handwriting. It was Mama’s. We used to correspond regularly when I first came to Ickworth. And I had sent her and Mr Fairfax a Christmas card. But we haven’t written at all since then. Does she miss me? Do I miss her? My family is at Ickworth now and I expect she knows that.

I was pretty alarmed at the sight of it I must say. What kind of news could it bring? I slit open the seal and swiftly scanned the letter – it was very short. My heart gave one heavy thud and I couldn’t help a loud gasp. There was no bad news. No, not bad news but shocking news. I had no idea. Of course it makes sense though – mama had always wanted a large family. And two children who now live in Suffolk can’t possibly be enough for her.

The rather blunt letter is pasted below so I do not lose it. I wonder what James thinks about it.


July 10th, Bakewell, Derbyshire

Dear Arianna

I hope you’re well.

I write to you with exciting news – I dearly hope you will congratulate Mr Fairfax and I. We are expecting a baby, Arianna. Is that not delightful? I hope you and your brother will come to visit us once it is born. It is expected in September.




I know little about these kind of events. My time in domestic service might prepare me for cooking for a family but it doesn’t prepare me for having one. But I do know babies take longer than two months to grow and then be born. Nancy, I was sure, would know.

“Eight months. If it’s expected in September…” she counted on her starch covered fingers – she had been peeling hundreds and hundreds of potatoes. “Then the baby would have been conceived in January, I think.”

And mama hadn’t told me all that time. I suppose that is the reason she hadn’t written to me for a while. She and Mr Fairfax are getting ready for a family in their Bakewell cottage.

I did my best to put it from my mind. Luckily Cook kept us all so busy today in the sweltering kitchens. We made delectable jellies and savoury tarts as well as fresh elderflower cordial. Now I have been at Ickworth for so many months, Cook lets me watch her make sauces for the family’s main meal. At least if I do go to Bakewell and visit Mama, I’ll be able to show off all my cooking talent. And meet my new brother or sister.


The Footman’s Story – Part Two


Written by Romain Arrayet


Earlier today the family enjoyed a summer picnic by the magical Fairy Lake and so the house was hushed without them all. Most of the staff were down there serving and helping with the hampers but I had to stay behind. Laurie was sent with the car to the station to collect Lord Bristol’s London guest and his luggage. I would have liked to go with him and drive out into the town but Mr Prosser kept me extremely busy today. I have been polishing scores of cutlery, moving some of the guests’ portmanteaus and cleaning the lights on the first floor.

I did manage to escape early afternoon. As it is a Sunday I had my half-day off. It gave me the opportunity to send a letter to my Aunt Rose and one to Father. As I strolled out of the servants’ quarters I could feel the sun burning on my back. It shone bright, deep and warm and if I closed my eyes I could imagine I was deep in the lazy French countryside.

Some of us servants took the bus into Bury and went to the Pictures but I must save some money to go down and visit Father and Harry. So instead, I ate a cooling ice-cream with Ava in the Abbey Gardens. The cheery outdoors was a welcome break from the tight, rigid life in the basement.

We just made it back in time for supper, and enjoyed all the leftovers of the family’s picnic. The food really is the highlight of working here!

Well, I’m off to bed now as Lord and Lady Bristol have more guests that arrive arriving in the morning.

Au Revoir for now.

P.S. I have just found this draft of a letter I’d started to write for Aunt Rose, stuffed in a bedroom drawer from a few months past. It is pasted below.


Dear Aunt Rose,

The London season is now over and I have returned to the big house in Suffolk. I did miss the smells of the grass and the fields around the house – there is definitely a special way the countryside smells after the sun has warmed the meadows.

For the first time it felt like coming home. I remember a time when I always thought of home as your little cottage. Of course I still think of France all the time, but I have settled in here more than I ever thought. Ickworth is now my home.

Do you mind me writing to you in English? I am practising my spelling and pronunciation at the moment as the other footmen still tease me about my accent and the way I muddle words. I hope I’ll soon be able to speak the language as well as the good King himself.

Yesterday we arrived in Bury on the late train and we ate a quick supper when we got back to the House. Over the food we had an hour or so to exchange stories of London life with those who stayed behind over the cooler months. I don’t envy those who had the task of the Spring Clean as all the poor housemaids’ hands are chapped and red raw. Apparently the dust got everywhere and as Ava has an allergy she sneezed one after another for five minutes straight!

We also had some free time to catch up with those who had stayed behind over the winter. Although I am glad to be back in Suffolk I am even more glad I passed the winter months in London. The city is exciting and exotic – I was lucky to have a taste of it.

As for the upstairs family, they return on Sunday and Laurie stayed in the City to accompany them. Mr Fox has informed me that tomorrow will be a very long day and he has already given me a long list of tasks I will have to complete.

Have you heard from Father? I received a letter from Harry last week and he says Father’s cough has gone and he has been out of bed and back on the farm for a few days now. A cough is a nasty thing, and I shall be glad to visit them soon as it will be my half-day off a week on Sunday.

How is life in Amboise? Do you still cook apple tart on every first Sunday of the month? These are the traditions I miss most. In your last letter you said you would love to come and visit one day so I could show you the Fairy Lake and the woods I love so much. Do you think one day you really could?

My lamp is burning low so it’s time for me to say good night. I hope this letter finds you both well – give my best regards to Uncle Henry.




The Footman’s Story – part 1

Welcome to the latest addition to the Ickworth Lives blog.

We’ve read about the daydreams of a housemaid, the misadventures of the hall boy and the musings of a scullery maid – we now hear from another young domestic servant: the footman.

Romain Arrayet writes about the life of footman Thomas Brown, the character he plays at the Ickworth House living history events. Inspired by memories of footmen who used to work at Ickworth House in the 1920s and 30s, storylines that transpire during living history performances, and his fictional character’s back story Romain provides an insight into what life might have been like for young men in domestic service.


Bonjour. Je m’appelle Thomas Brown. I am twenty-eight years old and I am a footman at Ickworth House. Let me tell you a little about my life before I came to live here.

I was born in the year 1907 in a small town in Suffolk where my family own a farm. My father William Brown still lives there with my older brother Harry. My mother Mary died a few months after I was born – I never knew her.

After Mother died it was too much for my father to look after both of us boys as well as the farm so I was sent to live with Mother’s sister who lives in France, in a town called Amboise. She is my aunt but as I grew up she became more like my mother.

Aunt Rose and her husband Henry live in a little cottage just on the outside of the town. You see, they don’t have any children of their own so they looked on me as their son and gave me all the love and affection that parents give to their children. Because I grew up in France I have a French accent – it has its advantages and disadvantages. Laurie, one of the other footmen, loves to tease me about it. But I managed to charm a slice of cake from Cook yesterday so I don’t suppose I can complain. Forgive the spelling errors – I am hoping that by writing this journal my English will improve.

When I was around huit heiht eight years old, Henry took me to the grand house where he worked as a valet. I was trained as the hall-boy – yes, I was very young. Yet so many of the men were at the Front Lines that the gentry were desperate. By this time the Great War had started and most of the men had left the town and the Manor. My uncle too had joined-up to play his part. Not many men came home. Henry returned wounded – he had been sent to the Western Front and was shot in the leg. It was impossible for him to walk without a stick.

After 1918, the family I was worked for the family I worked for suffered a number of deaths which meant that a few years later, with no male descendant, the house was sold.

At that time my life was in France. It was the summer of 1920 when my aunt told me I was going back to Angleterre. Aunt Rose and I made the Channel crossing by boat and when we arrived it was the first time I had seen my father and brother since I was a baby. We had sent Christmas and birthday cards, but I was still scared to meet them. Aunt Rose stayed with us a few days and then took a boat back to her life in Amboise. I would like to visit her and Henry soon as I still miss them and the French countryside.

After about two years of working with Father and Harry, I was still hopeless at the farm duties. At the age of fifteen my father sent me to work as a hall-boy at the impressive hall in Long Melford with the instructions to send half my wages home to the farm. Soon I was promoted to footman and I learned the art of polishing cutlery so you can see your own reflection.

But I never felt like a proper footman there – all the senior servants knew me as the hall-boy and still treated me so. In 1930 I saw an advertisement in the Bury Free Press for the job as footman at Lord and Lady Bristol’s estate in Suffolk. I wrote to the butler, Mr Fox, and after a few weeks moved to the impressive country retreat – Ickworth House.

And so here I am now, scribbling away in the servant’s hall. Mr Fox would like me to set the table for dinner soon so I’ll sign off.

Au Revoir for now.

footman 3footman1

A photograph of Romain Arrayet as Thomas Brown

Diary of a Scullery Maid – June

Arianna Diary logo

Written by Sienna James


I’ve been here for just over a year now. I must say, it seems much longer as I have settled in better than I ever expected I would. Those first couple of months of aching limbs and sore fingers seemed to drag on forever, but now I can proudly say that Ickworth is definitely my home.

I’ve enjoyed the work in the kitchen today – the sun makes me happy although Cook doesn’t like working in a hot and stuffy kitchen.

Today we made lots of lovely summer treats for the family. Of course, Jim was in and out of the kitchen every other minute hoping for a spoonful of cream or an off-cut from the pastry tart. Cook shooed him away each time, clucking in disapproval like a hen might cluck if somebody touched her eggs, but I just giggled.

What a difference this warm weather makes to everything! Nancy says I sound quite middle-aged when I say that, but it is true. Now it’s June the sun is strong and sets so very late in the evening. Last night the sky was filled with blood red streaks of a sunset.

To make best use of the gorgeous weather John, the hall-boy, and I went for a little stroll around the park. We didn’t walk through the Italianate gardens of course – I wonder what Lord Bristol would have said if he’d seen his scullery-maid and hall-boy frolicking in his gardens?! John and I didn’t chat much; we listened to the birdsong and he seemed to recognise most of the tweets. He really does love the outdoors and told me he’d been walking around the meadows and woods before and admired the flowers.

“It’s not as girlish as it sounds,” he informed me quite importantly. “I like the flowers at this time of year. I still prefer watching the birds though. Look, Arianna, there goes a magpie.”

I really cannot remember all the different birds he showed me – their names are far too complicated. We spent a pleasant hour wandering the estate. It’s not like when the housemaids and footmen go out and flirt ‘abominably’ (that’s Miss Edgeley’s word). No, it was more companionable than that, as though he was a brother of mine.

Speaking of brothers, James and I managed to meet up on my half-day off. I caught the bus to the village where he works and we bought ice creams from the dairy there. Dear old James. He’s still head-over-heals for Charlotte. We’ve both settled in remarkably well I think – we’re so very much happier than we were in Bakewell.

John and Nancy are calling me so I’d better sign off for now.