The Chair.

A short story by:

John Owen.
© 2010

For: Affaf, for her patience and support.

May 2010

CHAPTER 1. Raw Timber.

Many of our memories are congenial strangers. We acknowledge them, listen to them when they speak to us, use them as experience, but we do not know where they live and how they came to be amongst us. Other memories have been with us since they were borne. We witnessed the event that caused the memory to be a part of our being. I cannot recall when I started to collect my own memories but I am sure that my very earliest impressions have been adopted after hearing humans’ conversations, or by the sharing of speculation with my two brothers and eleven sisters. Folk-lore soon becomes fact if it is repeated often.

Before I was properly formed I was a piece of raw timber newly hewn from a fully aged oak trunk. My Maker and his three apprentices carved out my back, and turned my legs on a lathe powered by the fast-flowing stream that eventually becomes the River Ouse and flows into the great North Sea. They were happy days. The humans used to speak about the great military victories in America and France, and the Maker used to revel in the new scientific achievements. “Do you realize”, he said, “that we can bring in goods from anywhere in the world and move them along the canals to the most remote hamlet in the Kingdom within a matter of a few days. Why, with the Duke of Bridgewater’s canal we can unload ships on the Liverpool pier, put their cargoes on barges to Manchester and then to Leeds, and have them here in my workshop in a week”.

When I heard the apprentices speaking to each other after I had been fully formed, they often discussed how chairs, such as me and my brothers and sisters, should be created. Different woods are selected (always by the Maker). He holds it in his hands, runs his palm over the grain. Then he holds it to his nose. He often uses a lens to reveal any minute imperfections that would otherwise be missed. We have heard tales of the Maker cursing the timber-merchant for a scoundrel;
“Why I can’t use that knotty old firewood in my shop. It’s got worm-holes and splits. Take it away.”

The approved wood-stock is rough-formed by the junior apprentices. They are told to cut the timber according to template designs carved-out by the Maker himself. Wood turning and chiseling for mortise joints is done by more experienced apprentices, and any fabric work is completed by the Maker’s wife and a group of women seamstresses. I used to have a fabric seat made from beautiful crimson velvet but time wears heavily on that part of our constitution and what with all our adventures and the occasional disaster, why my seat cover has been replaced a number of times. When the construction is done, we are given-over to a polisher who smoothes our grain with stones and sand paper. Then he applies various oils and waxes, and he rubs, vigorously at first, and then more gently, until his touch is like a lover’s caress. A final shine and then we are inspected by the Maker. If he is displeased he will scold the unworthy apprentice responsible. Usually, he rejoices in His creation and blesses all those who had a part in the work. If the results are especially pleasing he will reward the carpenters and polishers with an extra shilling for good work. The Maker is very well regarded by the men. They return his generosity with unwavering loyalty.

The Maker had learned his trade from his father who had, in turn, learned it from his own father. Their workshop had been started sixty years before my commission in this small town on the edge of the Yorkshire moors. The Maker’s father had grown in reputation and soon acquired the lease on a showroom and workshop behind the great Church of Saint Martin, in London. Across the lane from his showroom stood Old Slaughter’s, a coffee house that attracted numerous artists, some talented, some not. The regulars called the house ‘The St. Martin’s Lane Academy’. The maker took great delight in meeting artists and craftsmen from all over England; Scottish and Irish artisans added colour to the gatherings and several French emigrees joined the company. There was little work for those fine craftsmen now that the cream of French society had lost it’s head.

The Maker’s order book swelled and he employed a dozen tradesmen and apprentices. He was a skilled craftsman and he had the moral honesty to understand his own limitations. He knew he was naive and that some of the more worldly inhabitants of the great metropolis would take advantage of his trusting nature. He made a partnership with a man of commerce, a person who understood the Laws of Equity and could find his way around the Chancery Courts. In this way his firm prospered.

When it was time for the current Maker to take over the business, he followed his father’s methods and alliances for several years. He was just as gifted a craftsman as his father and he also assumed wider interests. He was a celebrated landscape painter and was exhibited in the famous London Galleries. He saw no need to have ‘silent partners’ who contributed little more than un-needed capital and un-wanted advice, but yet took the cream away from his profits. His lack of commercial proficiency eventually caused him to lose the London showroom and he returned to his Northern roots where a man’s word is more to be relied upon than any number of copper-plate writs.

CHAPTER 2, My Family.

When the fourteen of us were all finished we assembled, with our table, in the Display Hall which adjoins the Maker’s workshop. Our family was the eighth commission the Maker had received in that year. We were a product of his orderly mind as much as his skillful artisan ability. Accordingly, each of us was given a serial number embossed in a discreet place; as the eighth commission, we were given numbers beginning with an “H”. I was officially known as H12-07. The last part was to signify the year of our creation, and I was the twelfth piece in the commission.

Our large table was placed in the centre of the room. Then, our brother, the Master’s chair was placed at one end and the Mistress’ chair at the other end. Only after they had been properly placed and aligned, were my sisters moved into their respective places.

Being gathered together as a family, for the first time was a very emotional event. Even the most boorish observer could see that we were all related to each other. We all had the same complexion, a sort of light brown that had darkened a little by the cosmetics used by the polisher. Our backs had a rococo design which we could admire in each other for the first time. Our two brothers had arms coming out of their backs; each supported by a spar between the arm and the seat.

Looking back, I treasure the wonderful gift our Maker provided. We were gathered together as a fully-formed family, and all within ten weeks of the commission. Human children continue to grow after their creation. It can take fifteen or twenty years before a human child can be allowed to appear as a family member. The human children we later came to know were hidden away until they became fully grown. They were held in a sort of prison called the nursery under the guardianship of a female servant called “Nanny”. After several years the conditions of their imprisonment became even harsher due to the addition of another guard called “Governess”. She made them work all day and often gave them more work to do at night. Our human family was enormously wealthy but we heard about children from poor homes who were treated much more brutally. Many were sent out to work in coalmines or made to climb up the insides of chimneys to scrape off the soot; anything that required a small body.

It was at this gathering that our Table (H1-07) spoke to us for the first time.
“We cannot go on addressing each other as numbers” he said.
“We shall all have proper names. The boys (armchairs) will be called Henry and Horatio”.
“The girls will all have names starting with an ‘H’”.

So it was that I became Heather. To my left was Helen and to my right Hazel. Across the width of the table stood my one identical twin, Hannah. You may think that we were all exactly the same but this is not so. We discovered that the Master had asked the Maker to provide a chair for the Mistress that was a little lower than the one he intended to use for himself. The dining chairs (we girls) were all scaled progressively one quarter of an inch shorter for each position further away from the Master. This meant that Helen was a little shorter than me, and Hazel was just a little taller. Hannah, my twin, was exactly the same height as me. The Mistress’ Chair – Horatio was one and three-quarters of an inch lower than Henry. It remains a puzzle to me as to whether the Master intended to elevate his own appearance, or if the lower altitude of Horatio’s seat was due to his sensitivity to his wife’s shortness of stature.

In the course of our duties, and over many years, we were to witness several affectionate human interactions. Usually, but not always, these were between a gentleman and a lady. Very often these encounters involved a certain amount of mobility. Naturally, we chairs were unable to emulate the physical aspects of their affection, but we certainly had warm feelings for each other. I was especially fond of Horatio – the Mistress’ Chair, and (as will be seen as my story unfolds), I became deeply involved with Harriet who stood two places to my right.

How I admired Horatio! It is true that his seat was the lowest of all of us. But this mattered not to me. He was quite special because of his unique duties toward Her Ladyship, (The Mistress). Like Henry, Horatio only ever had one person to support. The rest of us had to bear the weight of whomever was invited. Horatio once confided to me that he had allowed his upholstery to become gradually shifted so as to conform exactly to Her Ladyship’s bottom.

Perhaps I was a little envious.

CHAPTER 3. My Human Family.

We were on display for a few days. Several visitors came into the Display Hall. All were very grand, mostly arriving in carriages or occasionally, on horseback. They would examine various pieces and make complimentary comments to the Maker or his wife. Sometimes a visitor would arrive without an appointment and, if the Maker was busy the task of receiving would be left to the eldest apprentice. A gentleman and his lady appeared one day arriving in a beautiful open carriage drawn by two greys. The lady saw our family and she clutched her husband’s arm and said
“Look at that gorgeous dining table and chairs. The set will go so well in our new house”.
He replied that he did not think they would have room for so large a collection. She pleaded with him, ignoring all his reasoned denials.
“We must have this set. What price do you put on it?” she asked the Maker. The Maker shook his head sadly.
“I am sorry madam. This is a commission from a very exalted gentleman and I could not break my bond with him for any amount of money.”
The visitors left very quickly in some disarray, she obviously disappointed and annoyed. He perhaps relieved at having avoided an unwanted expense.

One day, as soon as the apprentices started their work, we had a visit from a person dressed in a sort of uniform. He wore a top hat with a wide scarlet band (a pagri), a frock coat also in scarlet and black knee breeches. His buttons were of polished brass and his coat was decorated with gold lace. He informed the Maker that his employer would arrive at ten that morning to inspect his commission. The Maker stopped all work and told the apprentices to clean up the workshop until it shined.

“Polish all the finished work”, he told them. The Maker’s wife sent off one of the maids to buy confections from the bakery and the Maker went to put on his best black suit. The tense anticipation was palpable.

At about ten thirty we heard the arrival of a large carriage. We, of course, could not see it from the Display Room, but we heard later that it was the most elaborate carriage ever to grace our yard. The four matched white horses were groomed to perfection and wore brilliantly polished harness parts with gleaming brasses. The door to the carriage bore the heraldic device of the gentleman who was to become our Master.

In our short experience we had always taken the Maker as being the supreme authority. No-one was higher than he! The apprentices stood when he approached. His wife was respectful and his fellow master tradesmen always removed their hats in his presence. To our astonishment he bowed low to the gentleman and lady.
“Good morning, indeed, my lord. What an honour you do our humble workshop with your esteemed presence. I do trust that you will find our simple workings to be to your Lordship’s satisfaction”.
And so it went on! To see our Maker, groveling and scraping to please this gentleman was shocking! We were embarrassed for him. When he spoke at all, the gentleman addressed the Maker by his last name, alone. Most of his questions were first put to the messenger who had appeared earlier. He spoke to the Maker who replied as if the question had come directly from the Master.

“Ask him the height of the seat of my armchair” he said to the messenger.
The messenger nodded and turned to the Maker.
“My Lord wishes to be advised as to the height of the seat of the head armchair; the one to be used by my Lord himself. Is it as my Lord specified in his commission?”
The Maker coughed and turned toward the gentleman focusing his attention on his shoes – not, apparently of sufficient rank to look upon the gentleman’s face.
“My Lord, Thank you, yes indeed, the seat is as you ordered. Nineteen and three-quarters of an inch between the floor and the seat, my Lord. Yes”.

Two days later we were taken out into the yard, wrapped in soft woolen cloth and then covered with burlap. We were placed on the bed of a large cart and then tied down and covered with more canvas. Our journey to our new home took most of a day. Because we were covered it was impossible to tell how many men were employed in our expedition. We heard several coarse voices shouting to each other, and a stern but well-schooled voice who admonished them to attend to their work with care and speed. We arrived at our new home late in the afternoon and were immediately taken inside. Only when we were in the dining room did our covers come off so we had only the merest impression of the house beyond the dining room.

Several house maids appeared with dusters and polishing waxes. They removed any grime we had picked-up from our journey and polished the table top until their faces could be seen in reflection. Our filigree chair-backs were poked with sticks covered with soft cloth and still more polishing. This work was supervised by a colicky looking man dressed in a black suit, a waist-coat with yellow stripes like a bumblebee’s, and a high collar holding up a trout’s glassy-eyed face that kept opening and closing its mouth and staring vacantly into the middle-distance.

The maids spoke very respectfully to him and addressed him as Mr. Fallows. He had evidently been given the formula for placing the different chairs.

“The head of the table is to be at the west end of the room. That is where His Lordship will sit. Her Ladyship will be at the east end close to the servants’ door so that she can convey her instructions to myself and the cooks”.
Then he had the maids pick up each chair, one-by-one. He examined its serial and had it placed at its designated position. He then gave one of the maids the end of a piece of string. He had her go to the east end and place her string-end at the back of Helen who stood next to me and was nearest to the Mistress. He then stretched the line and had another maid move me and my other sisters in and out, until we were perfectly lined-up in a row. Then he measured the distances between us and made further small sideway adjustments. Then, he had the string placed at our backs once more, just in case we had moved. Finally, he told the maid to stand on the other side of the table, behind Harriet and go through the whole procedure once more.

The following morning, Her Ladyship came into the room before ten o’clock. She had Fallows and two maids with her. She supervised the setting out of all her best crystal and silver-ware. Then she called for the cook to be brought to her. She said,
“Fallows, Tell cook to come here and discuss tomorrow’s menu”.

So, we were to have our first dinner party!

CHAPTER 4. The First Supper.

The Mistress planned our first dinner party to the tiniest detail. The butcher had been given very precise orders to slaughter and dress three lambs and a pig from the Master’s estate. The baker had been told exactly what types of bread and pastries to supply and the gardeners were to provide fresh vegetables and herbs. These instructions were delivered by Fallows.

“I think we shall start with the Cote du Rhone” she told Fallows.

“It is light and will not overshadow the leek and potato soup”

Surprisingly, she asked for Fallows’ advice on the rest of the wine servings. It seems that he keeps the key to the wine cellar and records which wines had been consumed and how they were appreciated. His wine ledger was examined regularly by the Master who gave orders for replacements from a large wine merchant in London.

Some of the guests had arrived early in the day and were expected to stay at the house until the following morning. Local guests were to arrive at 6:30 p.m. The Master wore his best dinner frock suit and the Mistress had a beautiful yellow silk gown set-off by a diamond pendant and matching ear-rings. The Master’s younger brother, Gerald wore the mess kit of a Major in his regiment. Garfield, the last of the three brothers was dressed in the clerical bands of an Anglican deacon. The Mistress had asked her two lady cousins, Allyson and Audrey, to attend so as to provide a matching number of Gentlemen and Ladies. Additional guests included the Lord Lieutenant of the County and his Lady as well as Doctor Schultz, a visiting German physician who was matched with the Master’s elderly Aunt Felicity. Gerald had, unexpectedly, brought-along one of his brother officers to the annoyance of the Mistress who had to send out to a young widow from a nearby estate to make up the table. This made a party of twelve so that two of my sisters were quietly removed to an adjoining room and the rest of us were spread evenly.

At seven, Fallows quietly entered the ante-room and whispered something to the Mistress. She nodded her head. Then he returned to the door leading to the dining room, turned to face the assembled guests and in a loud, clear voice announced.

“Dinner is served, My Lady”.

Her Ladyship then accepted the arm of The Master and the party walked into the dining room, two-by-two, having been previously briefed by Her Ladyship as to which gentleman was to take which lady ‘in’ and which seats they were to occupy. As senior guests, the Lord Lieutenant and his Lady were seated next to the Master. Brother Gerald was next followed by Dr. Schultz and Aunt Felicity. Brother Garfield was next and finally Gerald’s friend, Captain Bidell-Smythe, each providing escort for their respective dinner partners. When all were seated the Master called upon his brother Garfield to say grace. The seating arrangement was of the utmost importance; it had to reflect each person’s rank and precedence and absolutely must have an even number of male and female diners seated so as to alternate male and female.

Dinner conversation was mundane to the point of being boring. No-one uttered any cross word or controversial subject. The Master alternated his attention between the Lord Lieutenant seated to his right, and to his Lady seated on the left. With each course change (Amus Bouche, Soup, Fish, Main, Pudding and Cheese), he altered his focus from one side to the other and tailored his conversation topic as appropriate. At my end of the table, the Mistress – Her Ladyship was doing exactly the same thing. Toward the end of the meal, Her Ladyship silently caught the attention of each of the lady guests. She then rose and informed her husband that the ladies would now withdraw. The Gentlemen rose and after the ladies had left they re-assembled in the seats closest to His Lordship.

Fallows brought-in a decanter of port. He placed it before the Master who poured himself a glass and then passed the crystal flask to the Lord Lieutenant seated on his right. He too, filled his glass and passed the port to his right, and so on until all glasses were filled and the near-empty bottle had returned to the Master. When all the glasses had been charged, several toasts were proposed, the first being to “The King”. The men repeated the toast, “The King” with the Major adding “God bless him”. Cigars were distributed and more port appeared as if by magic. Now the conversation became more boisterous and opinionated. Politics was argued about. The Master told his guests about his plans for the estate and how he intended to build several textile mills in West Yorkshire. His holdings included mines in Doncaster and Sheffield so that he could fuel the new mills from his own resources.

He said, “We can have ten-thousand spindles in five years. Mechanical power looms are being built and they can make cloth pieces sufficient to clothe the Kingdom and the whole world at a fraction the cost of today’s cottage labour.”

“That’s all very well”, muttered Garfield. “Just because you are five years older than me, you inherit the title, the land, the income and the position in Parliament and at Court.
I have nothing at all”. “How am I expected to live on the meager allowance you give me? The church pays me nothing and I can only hope to obtain a living and perhaps, one day a Bishopric, if I write learnèd sermons. I mean, dash it all, I can barely write my name”

“Of course, I feel for you” added Gerald, the Major, “but that is the system we are born into. The estate provided the funds for me to buy my Army commission and the annual provision I am afforded allows me to serve my King and my regiment. Our brother is obligated to his duty just as we are to ours. His calling is to preserve our family estates for future generations and his task is a good deal more onerous than yours, or mine. All you have to do is look pious and pretend to be intelligent. I just race horses and shoot at things.”

It was at a similar gathering three years later when the Master was telling his guests about how his mills were now among the most productive in the land.

“We employ fifteen thousand workers in eight mills and two mines. Then we have the carters and sales agents. Without our industry there would be untold misery and abject poverty. I really cannot understand why there is opposition to this great social blessing that benefits so many poor people”.

He went into a rage about some people he called ‘Luddites’ who, he said went about the country wrecking machinery and burning factories.

“All they can see is that owners become rich, but without us the poor would starve”

CHAPTER 5. Honoured Guests:

Most of the gatherings were celebrations, large and small. When no guests were present the Master and the Mistress would dine – just the two of them, each in their own special chair. Their conversation was strained by the twenty foot table length that spanned between them. If they had private matters to discuss they would switch to French so that the servants could not comprehend. Some of us realized that Fallows secretly understood the foreign language better than his employers. Six months after our commission, a French chef de cuisine had been engaged for a special dinner and Fallows spent quite a long time discussing the arrangements with him. The normally taciturn Fallows became animated, embellishing his speech with hand and arm gestures, and an occasional shrug which seemed to be most expressive.

We also had some sad occasions. One day we heard the news that the Master’s soldier brother had been killed at a place called Waterloo in Belgium. Captain (now Major) Bidell-Smythe came to offer condolences to the family, and (we think) renew his acquaintance with Cousin Allyson.

He said “It was a close thing but we gained a wonderful victory over Boney (Napoleon). I hear he is to be imprisoned on a remote island so he can’t stir-up trouble anymore”.

The Master and Mistress had married two years before the Commission and they now had two sons, George (after his father) and Gerald after his now departed soldier uncle. Master George was ten years old and had appeared in the dining room only twice before. Today was his tenth birthday and he was allowed to dine with the family. Gregory made it clear that he was openly jealous of young George because any inheritance he may have had to look forward to was slipping further from his reach. The Master, now confident of the family succession, proposed to Gregory that, in exchange for a sum of money (we never found out how much), he would leave England and be ordained in the Canadas. Gregory gave careful thought to the proposal for all of fifteen minutes and agreed.

Young Master Gerald was a dreadful snitch. Once, he brought in a dead field-mouse and left it where one of the maids had just cleaned up. Then he ‘found’ the creature while his mother was present. The hapless maid was scolded and told that she would be employed in the cow-shed if the offence was repeated. Master Gerald thought it was all a huge prank and could not understand the maid’s failure to join in the amusement. When he was thirteen he thought it might be a useful distraction to carve his initials into the back of one of my sisters. Of course, his initials were the same as his older brother’s and when the crime was discovered he attempted to shift the blame. We heard that Master George beat him until his face was bruised and cut. His explanation for his black eye was that his pony had cast a shoe and thrown him, but no-one believed him.

CHAPTER 6. Progress and Politics

During this period, the Master was becoming even richer, the two boys were growing taller and more independent, and the Mistress was becoming even more beautiful – no doubt due to the attention she could afford to devote to her appearance. Gerald was declared to be ‘unmanageable’ by his tutor and was sent away to a boarding school. He was soon expelled for cheating on examinations but his father paid for his re-admittance. Master George was a complete opposite. He worked at his studies. He learned French and German and could sketch wildlife in minute detail. Gradually, he was introduced to the management of the estate. He accompanied the estate manager on his rounds and spent a year articling with the Counting House manager. Soon he was advising his father on joint-stock companies that promised to pay dividends against invested capital.

Our first dinner party for that year was to include a cabinet minister, a bishop and a banker. All these were ‘safe guests’. The Mistress also invited Mr. Wilberforce in spite of the Master’s doubts.

“He’s a bit of a rabble-rouser, you know” said the Master. “He wants to put a stop to the plantations in America and the Indies”. “Oh, Surely not” replied the Mistress. “He just wants to stop the taking of slaves from Africa”. The Master replied in a way that indicated the end of the argument “Yes, well it amounts to the same thing. You can’t farm sugar cane and cotton, and pay commercial wages. There just isn’t the margin.”

To the Master’s relief, the party went off smoothly with no-one bringing up the tricky subject of slavery; at least not until the ladies had withdrawn. Then the Banker said he was against giving heathen savages the same freedoms as English gentlemen. “Where will it all end? Are we to have cannibals in Parliament?” “You know, Wilberforce, you’re a politician. You spend other people’s money, unchecked; money that you have not earned. I have to account to my Directors for any improvident speculation”. The Cabinet Minister felt he had to be part of the discussion (although he wasn’t sure which side to take). “I do sympathize with your ideals, Wilberforce. But you must remember that it was the propertied gentlemen of Bamber who sent you to Westminster, not some wild natives of West Africa. Have we achieved the riddance of injustice and evil from the shores of England so completely that you are obliged to seek out causes half a world away?”

The Banker seemed encouraged by the Cabinet Minister’s ambivalence and continued, “As a Member of Parliament, Wilberforce, you are charged to protect your constituents. Yet, here you are legislating us into penury”.

Mr. Wilberforce was not moved and repeated his view that slavery was unchristian and immoral.

The next morning, old Mr. Fallows came in with the housemaids and they started the cleanup. Fallows told the maids about Mr. Wilberforce and how he wanted to stop sending slaves to America. Flossy, the youngest maid listened very thoughtfully. She put several questions to Fallows.

She asked “What’s the difference between them and us?” We don’t ‘ave no choice about where we work” “If I went away I could never get another position without a refrunse from ‘er Ladyship. So I’m tied to this situation just as if I was bought with the ‘ouse”.

Fallows tried to explain “Yes Flossy, but these Africans are little more than children. They have not the will to serve Christ and most of them are quite naked. They are made to work in plantations without payment and housed in terrible lodgings”.

Flossy was not deterred, “Well my young bruvver was sent to work in a coal mine. He almost drownded in the cold water and ‘e didn’t get no pay, either. Our Da’ gets an extra two pence a day from the pit for ‘aving Jimmie there”. “At least these black Africans get to live where it’s warm and dry. Our kid works up to ‘is waist in cold water and darkness all day. ‘e would be ‘appier working under the palm trees of Jamaica if you ask me”.

Fallows tried to restore order. “You see, Mr. Wilberforce believes it to be immoral to take another human being by force, and set them to work against their wishes.

Fannie, another maid took up the case “We ‘ad a cousin, only sixteen ‘e was. Paintin’ the outside of a baker’s shop in Whitby, an’ ‘e was set upon by a press gang from one of the King’s ships; ‘e was made to work in the riggin’ an’ all ‘e ‘ad to eat was ‘ard biscuits an’ foul, maggoty mutton. It was three years afore ‘e came back, an’ ‘e said ‘e was lucky. ‘E could ‘ave been killed ten times over”.

CHAPTER 7 Changing of the Guard

The year 1837 was a year of great upset and change. King William had died without a male heir to succeed him. Eventually, news came to us that the young Princess Victoria was to become Queen Regnant. The Master, and some of the regular diners at our table had been presented to the eighteen-year old Princess two years ago when she visited York and Leeds. It was generally assumed that her reign would begin as some sort of Regency, due to her youth. We later heard stories about her self-assurance and poise. She stepped into the role of Queen with complete independence to the chagrin of her mother who had expected to become de facto Ruler. As a Peer of the Realm, our Master was expected to go to London to attend the Coronation and to pledge his fealty to the new Monarch. The Master was in his sixty-sixth year and we all knew that the ordeal would test his courage.

After three weeks in London, the Master and Mistress returned to the house and he took to his bed. Doctors were called but could not quell the raging fever. We heard that the Master’s funeral service was the most splendid event in the County for the last ten years. Colonel Bidel-Smyth provided a gun-carriage to bear the remains and the attendees filled our small village church and spilled out to the field beside the churchyard.

We had a new Master. Young Master George was now entitled to all the estate’s wealth and income. He succeeded to the title and to his seat in the House of Lords. Master Gerald got nothing. After a few weeks the new Master announced that his mother would remain in residence at the Hall until such time as he married. Then she would be found suitable accommodation in a former manse on the estate. Gerald would be given a modest increase in his allowance on condition that he find employment. George suggested the Army or the Navy but Gerald was not interested in being too far away from the city lights. “Why not go into the world of commerce?” asked George. The reply was rude and derisory. Gerald would continue to soak up whatever was given to him but could not generate any activity on his own account. He was a leech.

In the meantime, George continued to manage the estate, the mills, the mines and the cartage businesses, always with skill and a deft understanding gleaned from his tutelage. His General Managers soon came to respect the young man and they served him as they had his father. George’s most pressing challenge was to find a wife. At thirty-three years of age, and with a title, and as one of the richest men in the Kingdom, he was on every mother’s ‘A’ List.

Gerald ran up gambling debts. He would wager huge sums of money on the outcome of horse-races, cockfights, bare-knuckle fist fights and casino gambling. Bookmakers’ collectors often appeared at the Hall asking for him. Against his oft-stated firm determination, George always paid the debts. He could neither control Gerald’s weakness, nor suffer the indignity of having a member of his family committed to Debtors’ Prison. Gerald had to find relief from his brother’s constant disapproval. The veiled threats to allow him to sink in his own cesspool were irritating beyond understanding. Even his mother chastised him. His only solace was in strong drink and the kind attentions of his lady friends who were said to be employed in the theatre. He was, in fact, a rake as well as a leech.

Because we were confined to the Dining Room we had a fairly restricted view of these events. Gerald’s weakness was rarely discussed at dinner and only then among close family in the absence of the servants. Nor did we observe the lead-up to George’s marriage. With little warning he announced to his mother that he had become engaged to a lady with a title but no money of her own. Her father was an impoverished Duke whose former family wealth had disappeared with the South Sea Bubble.

Of course, we took part in the Wedding Breakfast and a Celebration Dinner given to honour His Grace (George’s new Father-in-Law). Gerald became intoxicated and insulted the Duke’s brother by suggesting that the marriage had been engineered for the purpose of improper enrichment at his (Gerald’s) expense.

After the wedding there was a settling down period. The old Mistress moved to the Manse. If she regretted this indignity, she never showed it. The new Mistress took charge of all the household property. She had ledgers prepared to inventory every item of silver and crystal. She corresponded regularly with her own family and her many friends. She entertained on a grand scale. No more foreign doctors. Politicians were not invited unless they were marked as ‘cabinet material’. Fortunately, George’s capacity to make money exceeded the combined profligate behavior of his brother and the witless extravagance of his wife. As the years passed, the family became even wealthier in spite of their very best efforts to avoid abundance.

CHAPTER 8 War and Changes

The Mistress held a large dinner party once a month except when she was traveling to Europe. Italy was always a delight and Germany was fashionable again now that the Queen had made it respectable by her own marriage to Prince Albert.

Among her guests were Admirals and Generals, Cabinet Ministers, Artists, Writers and Senior Clerical Gentlemen. She had no time for theatricals or scientists. Gerald was automatically excluded from any gathering involving non-family guests.

On one occasion when the Master was in his fifty-second year, a famous soldier came to visit. He was a general officer complete with an Aide-de-Camp who wore gold egallettes on his right shoulder, a ‘batman’ to press his trousers and a coach-and-four with driver. After dinner, the gentlemen started on the port and asked the General about the situation in the Crimea.

He said “It was a massive misuse of our troops, and for what? We had nothing to gain. We could have come away victorious but I have to say most of my colleagues on the General Staff are dolts! Dolts and donkeys!

It was a military disaster of unspeakable proportions” he told the Master. “Not only were our strategic positioning and movement all wrong, but our stores and ammunition had been landed at a beach twenty miles from where the soldiers were dug-in. The sanitation was deplorable and more men died from illness than from the sword. I have heard – confidentially of course – that Lord Wellesley is to hold an Inquiry and I expect you will see some massive changes.”

A few weeks later, tragedy was visited upon us. The Master died unexpectedly after he caught his hand in the unguarded machinery of a spinning mule in one of his mills. The injury was serious but not critical in itself. The doctors said that the shock had been too much for him and he declined rapidly. The now deceased Master had never found the time or whatever else is involved, to create children. Gerald attended the funeral and became drunk at the Reception.

With no male heir the title and the estate passed to Gerald. He had little interest in the estate except for matters concerning the income which he consumed with an urgency like a hungry dog gnawing at a bone in the sureness that it will be soon taken away. Within days he had seen-off the Mistress to the Manse that had served her mother-in-law until her death. Most of the mills and commercial businesses were now set up as joint stock companies so that Gerald’s involvement in them would be limited to attending Directors’ Meetings.

Gerald’s bankruptcy was inevitable. He left the house and was not seen there ever again. We had no Master now. The Hall became a ‘white elephant’ owned by the corporation which had once been at the core of the estate. The Directors met in our dining room from time to time. The house and grounds were too large for anyone to buy or even to occupy. It could not be sold and yet it was too expensive to keep. We were an unwanted financial drain!

One day several motor-cars arrived. Men got out and started to survey the premises. They sat down, about a dozen of them and plotted to turn the house into a military hospital. The dining room would become a Conference Room and my brothers and sisters would again be useful. A war was in progress and thousands soldiers with terrible wounds were being brought back from France.

The Chief Surgeon was soon in residence. He called himself Lieutenant Colonel Julius Petrie a Scottish orthopedic surgeon who boasted that he could complete an amputation within three minutes. Our existence was very dull for many months. Our room was supposed to be a conference room but there were very few meetings of any sort. Sometimes we worried that we had been completely forgotten. We sometimes heard men screaming in pain but we never saw any of the inmates. The wards could have been a thousand miles away.

At one of the rare meetings, Colonel Petrie told his assistants to expect a very important visitor. This visitor was a Cabinet Minister and he wanted to meet some of the injured soldiers. It was arranged that the visitor should see only those with superficial wounds, or broken arms or legs. When he arrived a few days later he scorned the Matron and Doctors for showing him a sanitized version.

He said, “Don’t you forget, I was a soldier myself. I was captured by the Boers but I got away, and I know what it is to be shot at!”

The chief surgeon complained about the poor facilities and how they needed more money to buy equipment.

Mr, Churchill replied “Pray send me a list of the items you need and it shall be made available. Our leaders place a higher value on caring for the King’s horses than for the King’s soldiers. No cost should be spared in the feeding, equipping and healing of British fighting men”.

After many more months and years of neglect and abandonment, we heard from strange visitors, that there was yet another war going on. This one, it seemed, had stopped using horses and now relied on machines. Aeroplanes, tanks and heavy guns were spoken of. The old hospital wards were to be re-arranged to form barracks and offices for a squadron of the Royal Air Force. Much of the estate had been flattened to make a runway. We heard the aeroplanes arrive. Each one flew low over the house and sometimes we caught a glimpse as it passed before the large window. The machines had a throaty engine noise that we soon came to love to hear. Their pointed wing tips seemed to scrape the chimneys as they aligned themselves with the runway.

For the most part we enjoyed supporting the young men who came with the aeroplanes. They were boisterous and noisy. They smoked cigarettes and pipes – even before meals. And they drank copious amounts of beer except when they knew they had to work soon. To our horror, they referred to our dining room as a ‘Mess’. Anything was better than the lonely silence of our abandonment.

The oldest man was still not quite thirty years old in appearance. All the other men called him ‘Sir’ or ‘Squadron Leader’. Some of the young men had very strange manners of speech and when they shared their stories it became clear that they had come to our little part of the world from Australia, Canada and two even from America.

Breakfast in the Officers’ Mess was usually a quiet time. The RAF squadron was due to be re-deployed, and replacements were arriving from Canada. Several of the new tenants were already here to acclimatize themselves and prepare for the arrival of the main body. The young men were permitted to read newspapers at the dining table for this one meal of the day. About a dozen young officers were eating, reading, chatting and some were smoking pipes and cigarettes. Barry Wainright was sitting on Horatio who we used to know as the Mistress’ Chair. He was a just turned twenty year-old Flight-Lieutenant who had grown up in the North of England. He knew the surrounding area better than most and he sometimes led small groups to visit local towns. “I’m going into York, today”, he announced. “Anyone want to come along”? One of the new Canadian pilots, Bob Halliday, said he would like to join him. “What’s there to see in York, anyhow?” he asked. Barry told him they would see the Minster, they could walk through ‘the Shambles’ and there were several good pubs. Bob said that sounded ‘swell’. He would like to see the Minster but as he had to fly that evening he was not allowed to drink alcohol. “No matter” continued Barry, “There are a couple of very nice tea rooms there”.

“You seem to know this area pretty well, eh?” said Bob. “Yes, I do”, replied Barry. “I was born twenty miles from here. My grandmother’s older sister used to live right here on the estate, before it was taken over by the Government. Her house is on the other side of the windsock, by the copse; it’s called ’The Manse’. I was taken to meet her once when I was very young but I don’t remember anything about it. By the name, I guess the house used to be occupied by a clergyman. Anyhow, this great-aunt of mine was married to the local lord but he died young and left her a childless widow. She lived here until she was well into her nineties”. The two men finished their meal and headed off to locate Barry’s vee-twin Morgan two-seater to go to York.

I got Hazel and Harriet’s attention and told them that one of the young men was a great-nephew to the old mistress who’s memory we still cherished. How I wished I could have found a way to tell Barry about his elegant and gifted ancestor.

Once or twice we heard the wailing of some sort of wild animal. Its cry led us to believe that it was being brutally abused; the tone rose and fell as its pain increased or ebbed. The men called it a siren and usually nothing more happened until after a little while, the wailing started again, this time with a steady lonely-sounding note. Then it happened! The siren wailed and then we heard the noise of aeroplanes, but these were not the friendly purr of ‘our’ planes; these were angry, staccato growls that made us shudder. There was a deafening crack then a whoosh and then the creaking of timber and tinkling of glass, as the house started to fall on top of us.

Some of my sisters had been badly hurt but they might have been repairable had it not been for the fire! The heat was beyond belief. There was no air. Smoke was everywhere. The fire raged for several hours. I think it burned out by itself because the firemen had been told to save the aeroplanes, not the furniture!

Salvage teams arrived and sorted through the muck. They were able to find one or two smaller pieces that could be cleaned up and saved. My fabric was all gone and I had a badly scraped back leg but otherwise I appeared to be in good shape. My two brothers had perished. All my sisters except Harriet were cut to splinters. This was the end.

Harriet used to stand two places to my right. Hazel stood between us and she had succumbed. How can it be explained that two are relatively undamaged while all about them is chaos and devastation?

The salvers took us away and tried to clean us. Then they sold us as a pair to a used furniture buyer. We were moved from hand to hand staying in one place for a few days or sometimes for many months. We spent a whole two years in a dark back room cluttered with all manner of broken articles, household appliances and old damp books.

An auction buyer took us away and gave us a cursory polish. He put some cheap fabric on our seats. Then he subjected us to the ultimate humiliation; we were to be auctioned-off! On viewing day he had a notice placed beside us. It read “Pair of Chippendale Style Dining Chairs. Genuine Oak”. The gawkers came around and sniffed at us. One said “Look at that. He has to say ‘Chippendale Style’ because he knows it’s a copy. If you place them side-by-side you can see one is half an inch higher than the other. What kind of shoddy workmanship is that?”

On sale day there was a certain weariness in the air. The attendees knew this was not one of the great auction houses of London. When our turn came we were announced as ‘Lot 42, a matched pair of Chippendale style dining chairs”. A bid came from a young man with a very good-looking young woman beside him. They had examined us closely on viewing day and now I recognized his manner of speech from the young men in the RAF Mess. He was from Canada. His companion (I later found out she was his new wife), had said “I know it’s going to cost a lot to ship them home but just look at that fretwork back. They’re gorgeous” So he bid fifteen shillings a piece for us with very little opposition.

Up to this point in my narrative I have tried, diligently, to provide only first-hand accounts. I have repeated only those conversations that I, myself, actually heard. Naturally, I was not invited to wander about Yorkshire with our new owners, Isabel and Phillip. I was not able to join them as they hiked around the Dales, and took a morning bus to Whitby to poke around the old fishing town. They went to the theatre one evening and strolled through the medieval ‘Shambles’ streets. The following is, therefore, based on second-hand conversations that took place later between Isabel and Phillip, or between Isabel and her girl friends.

After the auction they went into the Minster. An organist was practicing. Phillip was bowled over by the effect of the majestic sound reverberating through the nave. He recognized the music and knew it was Bach, but he couldn’t name the piece. He felt a lump in his throat, and a sort of bubbling in his chest. His nose and eyes had become watery. Isabel squeezed his hand and he knew she was affected as well as he.

They walked out behind the Minster and found themselves in one of the narrow lanes of ‘the Shambles’. Most of their spending money had already been used but Isabel still wanted to look in all the shop windows. She browsed the bookstores, but found nothing worth carrying back to Canada. After an hour of window-shopping she was becoming a little weary, and in need of a break. Phillip said there was a tea room on the next corner. They were surprised to find a dozen people lining-up, waiting for tables, and they resolved to wait for ten minutes. It was a large café so there would be a quick turnover, and if people were prepared to wait, it must be good.

After five minutes, they were shown to a table by a window from where they could watch the passers-by. Phillip told the hostess that they had come for tea and a snack. The hostess said that Molly would look after them. Molly arrived at their table and left a menu card. Like all her colleagues, she was dressed in a calf-length black skirt and a white blouse with a cameo broach at the throat. Her name-badge confirmed that she was Molly.

“Hello. Can I help you with the menu”? She asked. Phillip said they would have tea and he wanted scones. Molly said they had numerous tea blends but she recommended the house brand.

“If I was you, I would ’ave the sultana scones”, she said in her lovely Northern accent.

She was friendly and polite without being servile. Phillip couldn’t stand some of the restaurant staff he had come into contact with while in England. They seemed to either be rude and indifferent, or smarmy.

Molly was a refreshing change.

“Are you visiting”? She asked.

Isabel said “Yes. We’re from Canada. This is our first trip away, together. We were married three weeks ago. We’ve been looking at the shops, and we were in the Minster.”

“It’s nice in th’Minster when they’re playing th’ organ, ‘int it? Sometimes, they ‘ave concerts with a choir, or a brass band.”

The scones arrived with a large dollop of butter, clotted cream and raspberry jam. Phillip finished his first cup of tea and added hot water to the pot to make a second cup. He looked around the room. It was still full and the line-up to get in was longer than before. The large room exuded a sort of Edwardian period elegance. He saw what he had been looking for. “I need to go to inspect the plumbing” he said and he headed toward a stairway with a sign that read “Toilets” and an arrow pointing down.

After a few minutes he returned bubbling with excitement. He told Isabel that he had made an amazing discovery. “Come and see”! He said. Downstairs he showed her a large mirror fixed to the wall beside the men’s toilet. It bore dozens of names scratched on the surface. All the names appeared to be Air Force crew members. “Look here, at this one“. He pointed to a familiar name, his own surname – ‘Halliday’. “That’s my uncle Bob”! He read the etching out loud “F/L R.G. Halliday 408 Sqn RCAF Nov 7, 1942”. He was posted to England in the War.”

CHAPTER 9 Emmigration

We arrived in Canada on a very warm sunny day in June. We were taken to a small apartment in Don Mills. We discovered that it was the home of Phillip Halliday and his new wife Isabel. They, of course, were the couple who took a day out of their honeymoon in York to look-in at an estate auction and decided they wanted us. We were given a place of prominence in their tiny home (It had only three bedrooms!). Isabel was a very intense person and made a determined effort to find out about our original appearance. She must have bought or borrowed twenty books to further her research. She had glossy picture books illustrating country homes. She had technical reference guides, and numerous auction sales-room catalogues. All of these, she devoured from cover to cover. When she was satisfied that she had all the available information she sent us to an upholsterer. She ordered him to have us fitted with dark red velvet seat covers. As near as I can tell they are exactly like the ones we had at our beginning. While we waited to be returned to the Halliday’s, Harriet (who was closer to the door) overheard the upholsterer speaking to someone on the telephone. According to Harriet he had been making inquiries about English Georgian furniture, and was asking about prices on the consignment market. When the upholsterer delivered us he asked if the Hallidays wanted to sell us. He offered fifty dollars each but Isabel said “No” she was already very attached to us.

I wondered if Phillip’s uncle Bob had survived the war. Was he still alive? If so, he must be an old man, now. Perhaps he might visit his nephew one day. Would he recognize Harriet and me?

Isabel worked as a Membership Co-ordinator at the Royal Ontario Museum and she must have been discussing us on a coffee break. She was referred to a curator who specialized in furnishings and after some persuasion, he came to inspect us. He looked at us directly, and then he used a magnifying glass to see how our joints were carved. Then he took out a note book and copied the serial numbers from our undersides. “Hmm.. ‘H12-07’, that rings a bell”. He was very quiet after that and in spite of Isabel’s urgent pleas for information, refused to be drawn.

Ten days later, he was back. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. Your chairs are Chippendales! No, not the original Thomas Chippendale but his son Thomas Chippendale the Younger. The number under the seat matches Chippendale’s journal which I was able to consult. Your chairs are part of a set of fourteen chairs and a table specially made for a very wealthy industrialist in the North of England in 1807. The reason why one chair is taller by half an inch is because the original owner wanted his chair to be higher than the others and he had all the chairs graduated to drop by an inch and three-quarters over the length of the table. Your chairs are genuine, one-of-a-kind antique collectors’ pieces and they are very valuable. CONGRATULATIONS.”

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TIMELINE:

1807. Commission
1811 Luddites. Industrial Revolution
1815. Battle of Waterloo
1822 Chippendale the younger dies. 1749 to 1822.
1833 William Wilberforce dies 1759 to 1833
1837 Queen Victoria crowned
1838 Master dies. Young Master George assumes (at 33 yrs)
1853 Crimean War to 1856
1914 The Great War 1914 – 1918
1939 World War II 1939 – 1945

Plot Summary.

A fantasy biography written in the first-person (or more accurately, first seat) by a very old piece of furniture who has had a unique opportunity to witness two hundred years of social history. A journey through time with periods of great wealth and abject poverty, of glory and ruin, and of peace and war.

The walled northern City of York contains numerous hotels and restaurants. Among them is 'Betty's' in St. Helens square. Despite its prosaic name, it is quite elegant, and much larger than the name implies. In the basement there is a passageway leading to the Gentlemen's toilet. Two huge mirrors are fixed to the wall. Each mirror contains dozens of etched names of World War II flight crews. Most are RAF with several Commonwealth and US Squadrons represented.