As my new release, THE FOLLY AT FALCONBRIDGE HALL is set in
a big Victorian house, I had to research how these huge houses operated. I’ve
focused today on the footman, and some of the interesting facts I found. There wasn’t
a footman at Falconbridge Hall – if you read the book, you’ll find out why!
'livery,' or household uniform of fancy coat, knee breeches, stockings, and powdered hair, a costume that endured to the end of the 1800s. Because of their appearance at dinner and in public with the family, footmen were supposed to be the most 'presentable' of the male servants. They were evaluated on the basis of the appearance of their calves in silk stocking, and they often gave their height when advertising for positions in the paper–it was considered absurd to have a pair of footmen who didn’t match in height. (Poole, p. 221)
Distinctive livery was a feature of male servant's dress in aristocratic
households for two centuries from the Restoration of Charles ll in
1660. This livery outfit with its bold yellow colouring for the breeches
and waistcoat, dates from the middle of the 19th century and
still shows features of 18th century dress including the style of
the coat, and the breeches. This type of retrospective styling was also
used for court dress, reinforcing the timeless and traditional feel, and
the difference from changing contemporary fashions.
With household uniforms, this distinctive garb also served to distinguish the servant clearly from his master, as well as ensuring that such employees felt noticeably subserviant. Only male servants wore such uniforms, although some advocated its introduction for female staff. In 1725, Daniel Defoe wrote a broadsheet urging the adoption of uniforms for women servants, professing that he had mistakenly kissed a chamber maid, believing her to be one of his friend's guests! It was not until the later 19th century that female house servants were usually dressed in similar cotton print dresses with white bibbed cotton aprons and caps.
With household uniforms, this distinctive garb also served to distinguish the servant clearly from his master, as well as ensuring that such employees felt noticeably subserviant. Only male servants wore such uniforms, although some advocated its introduction for female staff. In 1725, Daniel Defoe wrote a broadsheet urging the adoption of uniforms for women servants, professing that he had mistakenly kissed a chamber maid, believing her to be one of his friend's guests! It was not until the later 19th century that female house servants were usually dressed in similar cotton print dresses with white bibbed cotton aprons and caps.
Footmen had to powder their hair – a throwback to the 18th century when footmen wore a bag wig with queue and tail. It was
universally disliked, as they believed it caused premature balding and colds. The
hair had to be dampened, then stiffened with soap and powder. It was necessary
to wash and oil the hair at night to prevent it turning a foxlike colour. Either
the powder was provided, or the footman was given ‘powder money’ with which to
buy it.
The running Footman: The running
footman was required to be a healthy and agile man, and
both in his dress and his diet a regard was had to the
long and comparatively rapid journeys which he had to
perform. A light black cap, a jockey coat, white Linen
trousers, or a mere linen shirt coming to the knees,
with a pole six or seven feet long, constituted his
outfit. On the top of the pole was a hollow ball, in
which he kept a hard-boiled egg, or a little white
wine, to serve as a refreshment in his journey; and
this ball-topped pole seems to be the original of the
long silver-headed cane which is still borne by
footmen at the backs of the carriages of the nobility.
A clever runner in his best clays would undertake to
do as much as seven miles an hour, when necessary, and
go three-score miles a day; but, of course, it was not
possible for any man to last long who tasked himself
in this manner.
The nobility lived in a very dignified way, and among the particulars of their grandeur was the custom of keeping running footmen. All great people deemed it a necessary part of their travelling equipage, to have one or more men running in front of the carriage. For appearances sake more than anything else, although they may be required to lift the carriage out of ruts, or assist it through rivers. Coach travel was slow, seldom above five miles an hour, and was not difficult for these strong, agile gentleman until the end of the 18th Century. Then the speed of travel increased as a consequence of improved roads and equipages, and the custom began to be given up.
“…Well developed calves and a supercilious expression.
Several times a day he partakes freely of nourishing food, including a
surprising quantity of beer,” says Lady Violet Greville in the National Review
in 1892. Footmen have had bad press. Called ‘lackey’ and ‘flunkey’, ‘peacocks
among domestics’ and ornamental parasites.
It was true that footmen were heavy drinkers and many liked
to gamble. It didn’t get much better in the 20th Century. When Mr.
and Mrs. Chichester’s household went out for the day, the moment their carriage
was out of hearing, down to the cellar the butler would go and ring the bell to
summon all stable hands, gardeners and workmen …And the beer would flow… both
the butler and a footman died of drink. Many an insurance company then would
refuse to insure a butler because of his ready access to drink. They were given
beer and ale allowances as normal practice. But when you examine the kind of
life they lived, it’s not hard to understand why they drank.
The footman was responsible to the butler. For carriage
work, he answered to the coachman or the gentleman of the horse. He was
expected to help out with valeting for male guests or family members. He was also expected to serve food and
lay tables. He needed to develop a wide range of skills, many of which involved
intricate rules of etiquette. He was also involved in menial aspects of large
scale domestic management: cleaning, lighting, security and endless travelling. But the job was most closely associated with ‘waiting’. To
stand on duty at a specific station waiting for his services to be required,
perhaps to mend the fire, take a message to someone, or receive and announce
guests.
The life of a gentleman servant was not unlike a bird shut
up in a gilded cage. They were chosen for their appearance and paid according
to their height. Their livery was expensive. In 1863, a single bill for livery
items bought by the 2nd Earl of Lichfield at Shugborough, totalled:
120 pounds 7 shillings and 10 pence. It was usual to provide one or two livery
suits a year, plus court livery. In many houses, it was the custom to wait to
see if a new footman was suitable before measuring him for livery. In some houses,
a new male member of staff was shown a variety of second hand livery suits,
hoping that one would fit.
In the 19th century, dormitory or single-bedroom
accommodation was unusual. Footmen often slept in pull down beds in the
servant’s hall. They were the last servants to retire for the night and
considered it early if they got to bed at 12.15 am. Even if a footman was out
on carriage duty until the small hours, he still had to get up early in order
to vacate his bed when breakfast was being served in the servant’s hall.
In 1896 in London, it was usual for menservants to sleep in
the basement, well away from the women in the attic.
The footman might have been called an ‘ornamental parasite’,
but the footman was the mainstay of a household.
They were a mark of status,
and were essential in an age where male fashion was so elaborate no gentleman
could dress himself; furniture was so finely wrought that it needed skilled
cleaners, and even in the nineteenth century, being waited on at dinner by
a manservant carried higher status than
a mere parlour maid.
Towards the end of the 19th century, however, the
shortage of menservants became such that in many country houses parlour maids
took over many of the duties of footman.
Sources: Chambers Book of Days
Servant Livery Manchester Art Gallery
Daniel Pool in What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew
Servant Livery Manchester Art Gallery
Daniel Pool in What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew
2 comments:
I enjoyed this post so much! I'm working on book two of an MG series based in the Victorian Era, and I needed to know more about the servants in wealthy households. This was a gem. Thanks! I've bookmarked it.
Glad it was of some help, Elizabeth. Thanks for commenting.
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