Over a Hot Stove Read online

  OVER A HOT STOVE

  FLO WADLOW

  With additional notes by Alan Childs

  This book is dedicated with love to my late husband, Bob, and to all my family

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  APPENDIX

  Copyright

  A lovely portrait of Flo in the late 1930s, probably aged about twenty-five

  INTRODUCTION

  by Alan Childs

  Flo Wadlow was an amazing lady by any standards, and something of a Norfolk legend in her own lifetime. Her career in full-time domestic service was mainly in the 1930s, and the life she so vividly recalled now seems to us as some distant period of history, so markedly did things change after the Second World War. Flo regarded it as a wonderful opportunity to live in beautiful surroundings, employed by people who, in some cases, were at the very centre of world affairs. By her contact with and proximity to them, Flo felt ‘elevated’ herself. She would not hear a bad word spoken against the families whose paths crossed with hers whilst in domestic service. Where there were restrictions on what she was allowed to do, she saw these as part of her employers’ caring role, especially for the young girls in their charge. It is an experience she would not have missed, despite the hardness of the work, the long hours for little pay, and the often spartan accommodation.

  She started as a kitchen maid and ended this part of her life as cook at Blickling Hall no less, just before the Second World War – at the amazingly young age of twenty-three. In a sense, these jobs carried on throughout her long life because she continued to put her culinary skills to good use, whether for intimate dinner parties or large village or county events. Her enjoyment of this job, the vocation of serving up delicious food, carried her through. She was never happier than when her hands were engaged in cooking up masterpieces for people’s delight. Her five decades in the village of Heydon, which she loved, were intertwined with many members of the Bulwer (Bulwer-Long) family, descendants of the Bulwers of Heydon Hall, who over the years adopted Flo as their favourite cook – and friend.

  Amazingly, her needlework and sewing talents virtually matched her cooking expertise, and her life could so easily have gone in that direction instead. Many local weddings have benefited from Flo’s dressmaking skills. She took in her stride the creation of wedding dresses and bridesmaids’ dresses, or the ‘canvas work’ for chairs, or the complex embroidering of hassocks (kneelers) for two of the chapels in St Paul’s cathedral. Flo attended the impressive dedication service for the kneelers that she and others had made for the Chapel of the Order of the British Empire.

  Music and dressing up to perform on stage were both great interests during her life, as were involvement with the Red Cross, and the WI. Flo also loved driving; distance was never an object for her, nor tackling a long journey alone. Most years she would drive down to Devon to see her brother and his family, and in her eighties she undertook the journey from Norfolk to Alloa in Scotland, on her own, because her sister had been unwell and Flo felt she needed cheering up. About that journey Flo commented: ‘I didn’t look to see how fast I was going when it was over eighty!’

  To visit her cottage was to find, within her hand’s reach, a tottering pile of encyclopedias, thesauri and atlases, plus guidebooks to the riches of English buildings. Her thirst for knowledge never ceased, especially her twin loves of history and geography. Her memory was almost infallible, even at later life. To keep her word skills honed she regularly challenged her younger sister to a game of Scrabble. And of course the occasional cake still emerged from her kitchen.

  Flo led an active life and was thrilled by the possibility of sharing her memories in print, as she did on numerous occasions in person for local clubs and societies in Norfolk. As might be expected, Flo also took radio and television appearances in her stride. On one occasion, some few years ago, she was one of the stars of the series Upper Crust presented by the author and photographer, Christopher Simon Sykes. Flo’s role was played out with Sarah Bulwer-Long in her charming kitchen at Heydon Hall, cooking the chicken dish Flo had prepared for a visit of Queen Mary to Blickling Hall, way back in 1938.

  It has been a pleasure getting to know Flo Wadlow over these last years and to be able to help with her book. In the course of preparing it, my wife and I have met some delightful people and have gone along intriguing avenues of research. We have visited a number of the houses in the story, and in one, for example, discovered unexpectedly that Elgar and Richard Strauss and Paderewski were all close friends of Flo’s employers. These musicians could just possibly have created the music that drifted up to the attics of the house and lulled the young kitchen maid to sleep.

  It is essentially Flo’s story, in her own words, and one that I have no doubt will give great pleasure to all who read it.

  Flo with her mother and baby brother Tom

  CHAPTER ONE

  Early Life – Holkham

  Flo Wadlow was born on 8th December 1912, at Upton Park, in the Borough of West Ham. Her mother Georgina was a cook and her father Thomas Copeland was a porter at Billingsgate Market. When the First World War started on 28th July 1914, her father, who had been a regular soldier in South Africa, was called up as a reserve. He joined the Royal West Kent Regiment. Sadly, during the following year, he was killed. It was just after his death that Flo’s brother Tom was born. During those early wartime years, the children were looked after by their grandmother, while their mother went to work in a munitions factory. Flo’s first visit to Norfolk, aged about seven, was a memorable event.

  We first came to Norfolk on the train, before we even moved here. We came to have a holiday first of all, coming to Liverpool Street from Forest Gate. On the station there was a troop of servicemen all dressed in their uniforms, all lined up. Another guard of honour came and brought the coffin of Edith Cavell and put it on the train. There was a whole carriage for her coffin to be put into and it was all draped with the union flag. It’s a scene that has stuck in my mind, and I can see it now. Such a wonderful thing about this lady who was shot by the Germans because she helped our servicemen. And they paid tribute to her. We had to change trains at Wymondham, to go to Wells, so I never saw the reception she got at Norwich – but I did see the sending off in London.

  It was the chance friendship of a girl who worked with Flo’s mother that led to an invitation to stay with them when the war was over. They stayed in Wells-next-the-Sea, and Flo’s family so enjoyed it they decided to move to Wells to live. And by a kind of fate, her mother met and married her young friend’s brother, so Flo had a new stepfather. From their marriage three more daughters were to be born, Phyllis, Freda (Alfreda) and Betty. For a time her family lived in one of the cottages at the entrance to Holkham Park.

  Holkham Park

  I had a very happy childhood at Wells. We also lived at Holkham for a time and mother used to be a cook for the gardeners in the ‘Bothy’ [small cottage for workmen] there. I loved living at Holkham. We were like ‘The Children of the New Forest’. It was really wonderful, and once or twice I had the privilege of going up to the Hall.

  As a child, trees always fascinated me and I used to like walking in the woods at Holkham. I found out where there were violets and primroses which I could gather to take home to my mum. I also found out where there was watercress in the streams and there were blackberries too in the woods. I can’t really describe the thrill I had – that we could just wander about at will and nobody minded. We seemed to be quit
e safe, not like today. I spent hours in the park. There was a herd of deer there too, and they used to come right up to the house and rattle their horns in the window. It was an idyllic place for a child to live.

  My mother would send me to buy dripping from the Hall cook, but there were other children from the village, from big families, who were allowed to go up to the Hall kitchen, and they were given all sorts of things – stews, or soup or puddings that had been left. They used to take small milk cans to bring their food home in. Once or twice I bribed them to let me go with them, because I wanted to see inside Holkham Hall. I thought it was absolutely fabulous. I thought the saucepans were all made of gold! Of course it was brass really, and copper.

  I would have loved to have gone to Holkham to work, but there never seemed to be a place – not when I was ready to leave a job, and I never did get there. In those days all the village people worked on the estate or would do something for the estate, except, for example, the schoolteacher or the pub landlord. It all seemed like one big family. I think I did find that with a lot of places I went to. The families did care about the village people. They were concerned and looked after them.

  At Holkham there was a chapel, and now and again they used to have a service in there and all the village could go. So of course we used to troop into the Marble Hall. As a child, I had never seen anything like it before. I thought it was wonderful. Lady Leicester was a very aristocratic lady but she used to think a lot about the village people. She used to go round to see them, to see if they were all right. She used to run the WI, and of course nearly all the ladies of the village had to go, because her Ladyship ran it. They had it after school and I used to go and see what they were up to. I remember once they had a competition where you had to ‘Sing, Say or Pay’. Of course mother had not got a lot of money so she didn’t really want to pay, and she could sing, but she didn’t want to. Her Ladyship said, ‘Tell us something that your clever little girl has been doing.’ Well I did have a swollen head indeed. Lady Leicester was a nice lady but mother used to get a bit fed up with her because she nearly always used to come in when we were having our tea.

  ‘Oh, you have far more to eat for your tea than I do,’ she would say. Of course we did, because that was our main meal and she’d have her dinner afterwards, wouldn’t she?

  At school we had to learn things more or less off by heart – like our tables. I think to myself now, when I go to the supermarket, I can add up my things in my head whereas these girls can’t. They learn how to use computers instead. I tried very hard at school and joined in everything there was. We had school games and a school play. I loved doing anything like that. I remember doing The Merchant of Venice, but I wasn’t very happy because I had to be Shylock of all people. I’d much rather have been Portia!

  Mum was quite a good cook and a needlewoman, and as a child I always loved to help her. They really were my two main interests. When my father was killed, for several years there was only my brother and I with my mother. We had all her attention, so of course there was a great bond with my mum and I would do anything to help her. I could easily cook the dinner by the time I was about eleven, and make a cake and things like that – a very simple sort of cake, or buns. I used to love doing it for Mum.

  My mother had a pension for us two children – even after she got married again – so my stepfather didn’t have to keep us two. Mother lost her pension, but she had a pension for my brother and me. I think mine was about ten shillings a week. That was quite a bit of money in them days you see. Mother didn’t want to lose that, so I stayed at home until I was sixteen.

  I used to go and help a lady who lived across the road. She had TB and she used to live in one of them little huts they had out of doors, which turned round to catch the sun. I used to go there and cook the dinner for her and her husband. I would run errands for her, and other people as well, and do all kinds of jobs. And I helped mother with her sewing. The rector of Wells, or his daughter, would bring sewing jobs for my mother to do and I would help her do them. The rector came round one day and asked me what I wanted to do, so I replied that I’d like to sew as well. He said he’d see what he could do. He went to Norwich where there was a big shop called Chamberlins, which was just near the Guildhall. He went there because they used to have apprentice dressmakers. But when we heard that my mother would have to pay for me to go, well that put a different complexion on it altogether. We couldn’t possibly afford that, so I thought I’d turn to my other liking and I would learn to be a cook.

  The rector told me about the agency in Norwich where you put your name down for a job, and he gave me a reference. Before I ever went into service he said, ‘You don’t really want to go anywhere where there are young children. Let me warn you – nannies, oh, are terrible people, and ever so particular! You will find, if you ever go where there is a nanny, they are worse than the lady and gentleman are – so fussy and everything.’ I don’t think I ever went where there was a nanny. Well, the only place where they had nannies was Hatfield and that was for their grandchildren, and I didn’t come in contact with the nanny either, not there.

  I told my mother I didn’t want to be a ‘maid-of-all-work’. I just wanted to work in the kitchen. I didn’t want to do housework. It never interested me one little bit – and it still doesn’t, to tell you the truth. And of course I couldn’t earn as much as the pension. If I had gone as a maid at the rectory I’d have earned five shillings a week.

  I thought I would go to London and make my fortune. If you were in Norfolk you had about twelve pounds a year where in London you got twenty pounds. Eight pounds’ difference was a lot. I put my name down at this agency in Prince of Wales Road, in Norwich. I had heard that people in London were very keen to have Norfolk girls because they were nearly always quite healthy and strong, and not afraid of hard work. So I stood a good chance you see, although quite truthfully, I wasn’t Norfolk at all. But I didn’t tell them that!

  Entrance to 78 Onslow Gardens in South Kensington. ‘Those blooming steps were the bane of my life.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  South Kensington and Shenley

  Aged sixteen, young Flo set out for the big city, missing her mother of course, but excited at her new life. This first job was working for a retired army officer in South Kensington. She was never quite sure what her mother felt about her ambition to be a cook, even though she had herself cooked for a time at Holkham.

  My mother appreciated what I wanted to do but I don’t really know if she was pleased or not. She never did say. My grandmother wasn’t pleased. She couldn’t understand my mum letting me go into service. I said, ‘Well Mum didn’t make me go at all. It was my choice.’ She’d never heard anything so ridiculous. A girl should do what she’s told. I should have gone in a shop or something. Well I wouldn’t have had half the interest in life I’ve had if I’d gone into a shop, of course I wouldn’t. But Mum was quite proud of me really! Of course I got terribly homesick, but the days were full of work.

  My grandmother lived in East Ham, and I thought that if I went to London to work, I could go to see my granny sometimes – not realising how far South Kensington was from East Ham. You used to have to go on the Underground. Even out of my London wages I couldn’t afford many tickets, but I know I went there once.

  I went off to London as bold as anything and got myself on the Underground to South Kensington. It must have been January 1929 when I went there because it was just after Christmas, after I was sixteen. They told me to have a taxi from the station, but when I asked the taxi man to take me to Onslow Gardens he said, ‘It’s just round the corner,’ and so of course I walked to where I had to go.

  I arrived at 78 Onslow Gardens, the home of Colonel Young. He wasn’t a married gentleman and his two sisters who lived with him weren’t married either. The day after I got there, the parlour maid took me upstairs to be introduced to the elder of the ladies. She had waived the idea of me going through an interview. Mostly they interviewed their gi
rls before they employed them but as she had had such a good reference for me from Norfolk, and that was a long way to come, they waived that aside. But she did want to meet me and talk to me and see what kind of person I was. After that of course I never saw them! You didn’t – not in the kitchen. That was the only thing I thought was a bit sad really, because we never did see the people who we worked for.

  The parlour maid’s name was Florence so of course I couldn’t be called Florence too. They asked me what my second name was, and when I said ‘Georgina’ – well I couldn’t be called Georgina. That was far too big a mouthful, and too smart really, for just a kitchen maid. So they called me ‘Ena’ and that took a bit of getting used to.

  Luckily I had a little bedroom to myself, right on the very top floor. Most of these houses were about four or five storeys high. The bedrooms were unheated and the room was very bare – an iron bedstead, a chest of drawers and a chair, that was my lot. I had a curtain and a rail in one corner where I could hang my Sunday best. Fortunately I hadn’t got a lot of clothes so it didn’t really matter. I didn’t want a wardrobe. It was very basic there, but things did improve as I went along. My mother had bought me an ‘alarum’ clock because I had to be downstairs in the kitchen, ready to work, at half past six in the morning. I don’t think I had been up at half past six before in my life, so I took my alarum clock with me and the first night I was there I could hardly go to sleep for having the clock ticking. You see I wasn’t used to having a clock. I put it in the drawer, then I couldn’t hear it, and I thought I shouldn’t wake up when the alarm went. So I had to have it, and I didn’t get much sleep at all.