Victorian Servants and Their Uniforms

While writing novels about a Victorian manor house, I came upon an interesting tidbit—one that I didn’t believe at first. For it makes no sense.

When a girl became a maid of any sort—whether kitchen or chambermaid—she had to provide her own uniforms. A black dress and white apron for formal occasions when she was seen by the public, and a simpler dress to wear when she was doing the hard work. This would cost between £4-5 (equivalent to £228-285 today, or $354-442.) In 1900, with a yearly wage of only £22 pounds (£1255/ $1948) she had to provide her own clothes? She had to spend nearly 20% of her first year’s wage on her uniforms.  They also had to do their work wearing a corset. No thank you.  Ever, actually.

The Lady’s Maid, who was often of some social position, usually knew a bit about fashion so they could be of use in advising, dressing, (and mending) their mistress’ clothing. They could wear normal clothing, even castoffs from her mistress (£32 (£1824/$2831.)


The Housekeeper, earning £45 (£2567/$3985), usually wore a dark dress, and the butler--the highest paid at £60 (£3423/$5314)—wore a formal black suit. The cook (who I would consider the most important servant) earned £40 (£2282/$3543.)

Their employers only paid for the uniforms of the footmen—the fancy-dancy livery. The footmen were paid £26 a year (£1484/$2304.) The fancier the livery, the more status for the family. They even were given a stipend to pay for the powder for their hair. So the footmen, who made decent money, didn’t have to pay for anything. No wonder they often had a haughty attitude. And if they were over six foot tall? They got paid extra. And if they were a matching pair…zounds. Now that was something to brag about.  Having good calves was also important and some footmen wore "falsies" to pad their lacking calves. It looks like the two in the photo at the right could have used a little extra padding.  Sorry, chaps. I'm just calling them as I see them.

Just to give you the full picture, the lowest position was the scullery maid, who made £12 (£685 /$1063.). And the lowest male position of hallboy got £16 (£913 $1417.)

I’m still learning about servants—and there’s so much to learn. But paying for uniforms? That seems unfair. And yet… I remember working in a restaurant that had a uniform, and I had to purchase it. But no way did it cost 20% of my annual income.

The good thing about being a servant is that their room and board was provided, so they had few expenses. But they also had little time off and had to suffer the heirarchy of their employers--and the strict heirarchy of their own servant-world (more on that in another post.)

I’ll also be writing more about the duties of servants later. But I can tell you now, I’m very happy I've never had to empty a chamber pot.

Want to read more about servants in action? Try my Manor House Series (Downton Abbey fans will love it!) //Nancy

An Antique Weed

            Every year since my now thirty-something daughter was about twelve years old, she and I and an assortment of friends have spent the Friday before Father’s Day in Walnut, Iowa, at the annual flea market there. We do our best to get there as soon as vendors are open to do business, and we stay until they begin to fold up their tents (almost literally, sometimes). I’ve never worn a pedometer, but my aching knees and feet are testimony to the fact that the day includes a few miles of walking, punctuated by a pause to eat lunch at the Methodist Church lunch tent—and pie. Gooseberry, if I’m lucky.

             Then, on the drive home, we stop for a meal and share “war stories” from the day of haggling and treasure-hunting. And of course we have a grown-up version of “show and tell.”    Over the years, I’ve brought home quilts, quilt blocks, feed sacks, silver charms, stereoscope cards (I love to find ones of places in Europe I’ve visited), and my personal favorite—characters for my novels in the guise of those old sepia toned photographs.

            The silver charms were a passion of my daughter’s childhood. Other phases have included windows from old houses, architectural finials and corbels, and … vintage suit cases. Books are a perennial favorite. This year I changed my mind on a beautiful volume titled The Life and Times of D.L. Moody. The reason I didn’t buy it was that it was $2 until I handed over the money … and then the dealer showed me the “real” price … $50. I don’t mind a mark-up, but that seemed a bit much. And I gotta admit I was disappointed that the dealer hadn’t bothered to erase her purchase price before indicating her own price on another page. Sigh. I’ll read about Moody another way.

            I think that one of the reasons I love “old stuff,” though, is the connection it provides to women from the past. And this year I made a connection that I’ll treasure for many years to come. I bought a weed. Sewing machine. I was attracted to the machine—at the back of a vendor’s spot on the street—because of the simplicity of the design. When I got closer, I realized that once it was “put away,” the machine would look like an end table. The cabinet is lovely, the foot pedals intricately formed. And it works.

            But the best thing about the machine was the fragments of 19^th century calico in the tool bin … the attachments … the “1871” pressed into the cabinet … and the fact that the dealer had the original manual. It’s a “Family Favorite” model. The manual was copyrighted in 1875, and some of the parts have patent dates as early as 1856. I’m fascinated. I’ve already ‘sprung’ for a page from an 1868 NY City Directory advertising this machine. And a trade card. Both for sale on ebay. I’ve talked to treadle machine enthusiasts and learned that my “weed” was made in Hartford, Connecticut.

            The machine works. And now it’s sitting to the left of my desk where I can wonder about all the women who’ve made work shirts and dresses and aprons and … maybe … quilts seated at this machine. And I’m already looking forward to next year’s caravan to 2013 edition of the Walnut, Iowa, flea market.

            Memories for sale … and memories made. Fun time with my girls. Priceless. 

---Stephanie

Public speaking and the historical fiction author

Stephanie will be sharing her presentation "Calico Trails in Falls City, Nebraska, on Tuesday, June 12.

Falls City Library & Arts Center

1400 Stone Street

Falls City, Nebraska.

 Supper at 5:30 (call 402/245-2913 to make a reservation) 

or come to the library at 7:00 p.m. for the free presentation

The first time someone asked me if I did public speaking as a writer, I was shocked. Of course not. I’m a historical fiction author. I hide in the library and study dead people. And then I play—alone—with imaginary friends to write a story based on the people I’ve “met”—alone—at the library. Or the museum. Or the historical society archives.

Eventually, though, I realized that I had, after all, led women’s Bible studies at church on occasion, and maybe I should give it a try. Why not take the opportunity to share what God has done in my life? So I developed my personal testimony as my first talk. I called it “A Patchwork Life,” and I used some of my old quilts to illustrate the talk—not only as a visual aid, but also as a way to make people look at something besides the speaker shaking in her boots over being up in front of a bunch of strangers.

Many writers—perhaps most of the writers I know—are actually introverts. Oh, they write and lecture and teach, but they get their energy from being alone. Since writers spend a lot of time alone, that’s probably a good thing, but it also fools a lot of people about who we really all when no one is watching. Happy to be alone. Not just at peace with silence but often energized by it.

This next Tuesday evening, I’m taking my “show on the road” so to speak and giving my Calico Trails presentation at the Falls City, Nebraska, Library and Arts Center. This is one of my favorite talks, because it includes LOTS of quilts and hence, less of me in the spotlight. I get to share what pioneer women’s lives were like in their own words, sharing some of the things I’ve read in their diaries and reminiscences over the years, and once again I’ll get to celebrate the women who have encouraged me, all the way from the 19^th century.

Couldn't resist getting out of the car and taking this photo in Kansas. 

Martha Mott wrote home, asking if her parents might have some old clothes they could send her so she could make her little boy a coat. And then apologized for bothering them. I discovered her letters home in the archive here in Nebraska, and delighted as I met a sister in Christ who spoke often of her faith in a personal God. Of praying for rain, and praising God when it came. Or  didn’t. Grandmother Newton worked the farm alone while her beloved husband was away during the Civil War, and then wrote of making thirty-one quilts to give her descendents as “something to remember me by.” Her great grandson lovingly preserved her letters and entrusted them to me for a season of study. Katie Maze ended up using the box her father had made for her kitchen utensils as a casket for a child she lost to diphtheria. I bought her out of print memoir from a rare book dealer, and then enjoyed the serendipity of seeing a quilt she made in a local collection. Emily Carpenter  wrote in her diary, “Huldah sick and I care nothing about cattle.” (Emily’s family was making the trek west with a sizeable herd of cattle.) I read a fragment of Emily’s diary tucked into an archival file named for someone else.

Miss Mary Longfellow, Custer County, Nebraska
courtesy of Nebraska State Historical Society

I once had a friend who said that if it had been up to her to settle the American West, we’d all still be in Boston drinking tea. The more I learn about the women of the 19^th century West, the more I am inclined to agree with her. I’m a hardy soul, but I have my limits … and I think life in a sod house on a rainy day with a sick baby would have reached it. Except, of course, for God’s grace, which enabled those women, just as it enables me today. And that’s what I love about learning about the women of the past. They encourage me. They give me perspective. They remind me that, as poet Roy Lessin wrote, “The God who helped you in the past, is the one who’s faithful still.”

If you can join me in Falls City, Nebraska, please do! Falls City Library & Arts Center, 1400 Stone Street, Falls City, Nebraska. Supper at 5:30 (call 402/245-2913 to make a reservation) or come to the library at 7:00 p.m. for the free presentation. I’d love to meet you and introduce you to a few of the real women who continue to inspire my imaginary friends.

If you love reading about the real women of the past, try the Covered Wagon Women collection of actual Oregon Trail Diaries. Or No Time on My Hands, Grace Snyder’s memoir. Or something by historians Lillian Schlissel or Joanna Stratton. If you’re like me, you’ll be newly grateful for your dishwasher, your doctor, your refrigerator, your furnace, your spider spray, and light bulbs. I’m really thankful for light bulbs. And indoor plumbing. And … those women who endured.