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I wish I’d never agreed to sign that damned contract, but the Mistress o’ the house could be so persuasive and who wouldn’t jump at the chance of acting like a lady for a while. It sounds mad to think that the Mistress wanted us to change places so she could act like a maid for six months and I would be the lady of the house. But I wish I hadn’t. I’m Fanny the maid not Miss Francesca. I miss having a fag in the yard with the scullery maid as we gossiped about the guests at dinner, I miss arm wrestling the coalman for a farthing, I miss the rough sting of a pinch o’ stolen snuff, I miss going down The Dog And Duck for a swallow of gin and singing ribald songs with the other servants in town. Now I’m trapped worrying about which fork to use, having to sit through those boring nights at the theatre and the ballet –urgh!, Wearing the Mistress’ outfits and acting all la-di-da all the damn time, I hate it. It’s just not me, putting on all these social graces having to watch what I say at all times, using a plummy voice with those awful stuck up posh gits. I’ve never felt more alone and empty, doin’ nuthin’ but wandering around the park acting all high an’ mighty. Tonight I have to pretend to care about the Countess of Bavaria’s never ending tales of hunting in the Dordogne as I sit with a rigid spine, painted on smile and use the right spoon for the entrée. It’s like the old saying goes;- Would you rather live free in the gutter, or live in the palace as a slave.

I’ve never been happier, I’m so free! It makes me giddy when I curtsy to the new Mistress, serving tea and scrubbing the floors, I love the camaraderie of life below stairs, I was so lonely and living in a gilded cage when I was the Mistress. The crown upon my head was little more than a noose around my neck. I’ve finally been given the gift of pride at a job well done, looking at the shining silverware or glistening chamber pots, being reduced to a humble maid has never made me prouder of who I am. It took a lot of pestering of Fanny and some clever wording of the contract to let us trade places but now, after all those years of pandering to the false peers and putting on a façade, I can actually breathe. Wearing the uniform takes all the hassle out of dressing according to what is in fashion in high society, no more decisions for me, I get to relish in being told what to do by the housekeeper. For the first time in my life my smile is genuine, I thrive on the repetition on menial duties, I know it sounds ridiculous but being paid 5 shillings a week less laundry, it somehow makes me feel whole. All the fine dining and bespoke clothes drained my soul until I wished for life to end, but watching Fanny hard at work made me think that maybe I was just waiting for life to start.

Tonight is our evening off and the ladies and I … I mean, the gals an’ me are going for a snifter o’ porter before we go to the cockfights down at the docks.

Description

I wish I’d never agreed to sign that damned contract, but the Mistress o’ the house could be so persuasive and who wouldn’t jump at the chance of acting like a lady for a while. It sounds mad to think that the Mistress wanted us to change places so she could act like a maid for six months and I would be the lady of the house. But I wish I hadn’t. I’m Fanny the maid not Miss Francesca. I miss having a fag in the yard with the scullery maid as we gossiped about the guests at dinner, I miss arm wrestling the coalman for a farthing, I miss the rough sting of a pinch o’ stolen snuff, I miss going down The Dog And Duck for a swallow of gin and singing ribald songs with the other servants in town. Now I’m trapped worrying about which fork to use, having to sit through those boring nights at the theatre and the ballet –urgh!, Wearing the Mistress’ outfits and acting all la-di-da all the damn time, I hate it. It’s just not me, putting on all these social graces having to watch what I say at all times, using a plummy voice with those awful stuck up posh gits. I’ve never felt more alone and empty, doin’ nuthin’ but wandering around the park acting all high an’ mighty. Tonight I have to pretend to care about the Countess of Bavaria’s never ending tales of hunting in the Dordogne as I sit with a rigid spine, painted on smile and use the right spoon for the entrée. It’s like the old saying goes;- Would you rather live free in the gutter, or live in the palace as a slave.

I’ve never been happier, I’m so free! It makes me giddy when I curtsy to the new Mistress, serving tea and scrubbing the floors, I love the camaraderie of life below stairs, I was so lonely and living in a gilded cage when I was the Mistress. The crown upon my head was little more than a noose around my neck. I’ve finally been given the gift of pride at a job well done, looking at the shining silverware or glistening chamber pots, being reduced to a humble maid has never made me prouder of who I am. It took a lot of pestering of Fanny and some clever wording of the contract to let us trade places but now, after all those years of pandering to the false peers and putting on a façade, I can actually breathe. Wearing the uniform takes all the hassle out of dressing according to what is in fashion in high society, no more decisions for me, I get to relish in being told what to do by the housekeeper. For the first time in my life my smile is genuine, I thrive on the repetition on menial duties, I know it sounds ridiculous but being paid 5 shillings a week less laundry, it somehow makes me feel whole. All the fine dining and bespoke clothes drained my soul until I wished for life to end, but watching Fanny hard at work made me think that maybe I was just waiting for life to start.

Tonight is our evening off and the ladies and I … I mean, the gals an’ me are going for a snifter o’ porter before we go to the cockfights down at the docks.