Part 1

In my time at University, I studied Art and Art History, with a little side project looking at literary greats. One of the things I learned by heart was the famous quote from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. It goes like this –

‘The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on.
Nor all your piety and wit, shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.’

I know that it is a leap of understanding, seeing that this was written in the ninth century, but I now believe that social media fits that same description in this day and age. You write your posts, living in the moment, never realising that pictures of your lunch, comments about your boss, snide remarks about celebrities, and anything that you commit to the airwaves, will be there for a long time, maybe forever.

I am a genuine Millennial, having been born in the first week of January 2001. My mathematician father being absolutely certain that the previous century ended on December 31st, 2000. My early life was as normal as you could get, it was only as I reached my teens, I realised that I was short, and probably would remain short all my life. It made no difference to my marks, as I had always been a good learner. I went on to the University of Derby to study Art History, not being a great painter, myself.

I grew up as the only son with three older sisters. The eldest was eight when I was born, and I was a page boy at her wedding. Everyone told me that I was cute, in my ruffled shirt and britches. I’m sure that there are photos of me, taken that day, that are still out there if you search for cute page boys. Luckily, I was too old for that sort of thing when the middle sister got married. That left just the youngest one at home, Dawn, only a year or so older than me. I expect that she would be there until some handsome brute carries her off on his white charger. Before that, however, she had lots of friends and enjoyed life.

I graduated with my qualifications in Art History and then found that there are not that many places I could work. All of the places that were worth having were filled by eminent professors, most with ten or twenty years to go. All I could do was to see if I could get a job near good collections and work my way into the system.

Having grown up near Derby, and had gone to the University there, I wanted somewhere close so that I could continue to stay at home. I had been volunteering with English Heritage at Bolsover Castle, mainly doing gardening. After graduation, I sent letters off to a number of places and got gentle rejections from all of the art galleries and auction houses, the common thread was that I should get back to them when I had more experience.

One place replied that they had gardening work, should I want it, having noted that I had included my volunteering at Bolsover as part of my work history. That place, I was happy to note, was Kedleston Hall, also reasonably close by. This was run by the National Trust, and I guess that they had spoken to English Heritage about me. We set up an appointment.

On the Friday of the appointment, I drove to the Hall in my car. It was lovely, out on the open road, in my MGTF. That had been a project that I had shared with my father, he was a good mechanic, and I was able to do the paintwork and upholstery. It looked good and ran sweetly. The trip was not that far but arriving at the Hall one felt if time had been turned back to the late 1700’s, except for a carpark, sited so that it didn’t mar the vista of the house.

I followed the signs to the Trust office and knocked on the door. Hearing a call to enter, I went in, clutching my document case with my limited history enclosed. A gentleman stood behind a desk and came forward to shake my hand.

“Edward Jameson, I gather. I’m glad to see that you are punctual, a trait that is sadly missing in a lot of young people, these days. I’m Derek Green, the property manager for the National Trust. Come and sit down and we can talk.”

I thanked him for seeing me and we sat at a side table in two period chairs that should have graced the main building but looked too worn to be seen in public. He didn’t have any paperwork in front of him, and, surprising to me, knew my application thoroughly. We didn’t talk about the job, straight away, but he asked me about my ideal future. I admitted that gardening wasn’t my first love, but a man has to do what a man has to do.

After about ten minutes, he nodded and stood. I wondered if I had said something wrong.

“Come with me, young Edward. Let us walk.”

He led me out to where golf buggies were being charged, took one off the charger and told me to sit next to him. We went out into the gardens, and he spoke about the layout, with the various garden rooms and the history of the grounds. With eight hundred acres, we didn’t see a lot of it, but he stopped in the middle of the Long Walk, looking as it would have done in the early eighteen hundreds, with its famous mass planting of Rhododendrons.

“If you join us, I’ll have you working here. You don’t look big enough to do the forestry work, although you could always drive a mower, that’s something every gardener has to do, including the volunteers. Now, let’s look in the house. It’s been called ‘The Temple of the Arts’ and lives up to that name, even today.”

I was eager to see inside the house, and followed closely as we went from the Trust Office, through another door and into the West Wing.

“I didn’t tell you before, but, if you take the job, you’ll be living here. This West Wing is the kitchens and servant’s quarters, where all of our live-in staff have rooms. It’s a bit basic, and you’ll have to share a modern addition, a large bathroom.”

Walking along a long corridor, he opened another door, and we were into the main part of the house. As we went along, my breath was taken away with the pictures, the architecture, and the whole sight of the interior. It had been designed by Robert Adam and was a tour-de-force of design for its period, around 1760.

In the Uni, we had booklets from most of the grand houses in England, and I had studied the one on Kedleston, being so close by. One picture caught my eye and I stopped to look at it. He raised an eyebrow, so I explained that I had seen a photo of it that didn’t do it justice.

“Tell me about it?”

So, I talked about the picture, and where it stood in its days, with a brief history of the painter.

“Keep walking, and keep talking, young man.”

We made our way through the grand rooms, with me talking about the pictures as we went along. Finally, he held his hand up.

“Edward, if you want it, you have the job, as a gardener. I will want you to double up as a guide when we get busy, you have all the information at your fingertips. The only things you’ll have to learn will be the building details. The wage isn’t huge, but you’ll join a small group of enthusiasts. As a live-in, you’ll be expected to help out with interior cleaning and preparation for the public days. We are open every day, between the end of March and early November. The job is year-round, though, as there is always work to be done to keep it all up to scratch, and we do remain partially open all year. What do you say?”

What could I say, it was a first rung on the ladder of a new career. We shook hands, there, in the middle of the great hall, and he took me back to the office, where we filled in the forms needed.

“You can go and get your things if you want. I’ll show you your room and let the others know that you’ll be joining them. If you’re back before seven, you’ll be able to join them for dinner. Saturday and Sunday you will work inside, then doing garden work during the week, unless we have large coach tour bookings. During the summer opening period you get one day off, during the week. We’ll work out your day after you get through this weekend. During winter we stagger the break so that there’s always someone on site.”

He showed me a small, but tidy, room, and then the door that led directly to the car park. He gave me a key fob with this door key, the key to the main house door, and a couple of keys which he told me were for a tractor and a mower. He admired my car as I got in, then gave me a wave and I drove home, eager to put my things together and get back.

My parents were at work, so I left a note saying where I would be, then packed a case. I put it in the car, added my collection of workwear and gardening boots, then collected my laptop and charger, putting that on the passenger seat, and returned to the Hall. When I arrived back in the carpark, there were a couple of small hatchbacks that weren’t there before. I pulled my suitcase out and headed for the door, reaching for the key fob as I walked.

Before I could unlock the door, it opened, and a glorious brunette smiled at me. She chocked the door open and then held out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Claudette, one of the girls who work inside. Mister Green has told me that you’ll be joining us this weekend but will have to be in the garden at other times. I’ll help you carry your things.”

I managed to put the key fob in my pocket and took her proffered hand. It was a firm and dry handshake that set my pulse racing.

“I’m Edward, and I do have a laptop on the passenger seat that you can carry.”

“You’re wonderful, Teddy, you’re so little I think I could carry you and that case.”

I smiled. “If you don’t mind, I do not do Teddy, it sounds too warm and fuzzy. At school, they all called me Jesse, after Jesse James, the notorious gunslinger.”

She giggled. “That’s even better, we have a Ted on the garden team, but there aren’t any Jessies here, so Jesse will work for us, especially me.”

My heart turned a cartwheel as she grinned. Armed with my things, we went inside to my room, and I put the case on the floor, while she put the laptop on the dressing table. Well, I call it a dressing table, most would have called it a vanity, with its mirror. She saw me looking and gave me another wonderful smile.

“Jesse, I don’t think that Derek told you everything. The room he gave you wasn’t the one he originally picked. This corridor is for the inside workers, all of us being female, so that’s why this room is more set up for a female than for a clod-hopper gardener. They are in another section, closer to the equipment sheds. There’s another locker there, where you can store your gardening outfits, and a shower block where you can change, then clean up after a hard day in the fields. Come along, I’ll show you.”

She took me by the hand and led me back to my car, where I opened the boot to take out my gardening things. After I put the top up and locked the car, she showed me where I may have been staying, a much more spartan room, and then the locker in the shower block where I stored my things. I commented that she knew a lot about the workings.

“Well, you’ll know the place inside out when you’ve been here five years. The house is a bit of a labyrinth, and we don’t get to visit the family apartments in the Eastern Wing very often, but you’ll get to know it intimately as we clean the place. It’s big, but we have industrial cleaners, and it doesn’t take long. The high areas are done in winter, with an elevated platform, to get them pristine for the season. Derek told me that he wants you to work around the paintings. He was a bit vague but suggested that we let you have your head, I think you may have impressed him.”

It was close to six, so she led me down another corridor and into a room which I could tell was a sewing and storage are, having seen my mother and sisters making clothes often enough. She asked me my size and then rummaged along a stack of garment bags on a rack.

“That’s a problem. It looks like we don’t have your size. These were from the days when we had mostly male guides, but, when Derek took over, he decided that they looked like a bunch of bouncers. He says that we are more inviting with female guides. The uniform is simple. It’s just charcoal slacks, or skirts, with a white shirt and a charcoal jacket with your name badge. Let’s see if there’s anything at all we can give you to wear, tomorrow.”

She went to another rack and pulled down a pair of slacks and a blouse, handed them to me and told me to put them on. She turned her head as I removed my shirt and jeans, then I put the blouse on, having trouble doing up the buttons that were so wrong. I pulled the slacks up and found that they zipped on the side. When I said I had finished, she looked around and grinned.

“Jesse, I would have thought that you would have just thrown them at me and left. Here you are, though, and you thoroughly look right as a guide. All we need is the jacket and the right shoes and no-one will tell that you haven’t done this before.”

The jacket was a good fit, and she went to a labelling machine on a table and printed out my name badge on a strip. Taking a blank badge, she carefully put the name on it and pinned it to my jacket lapel. I was now, officially, ‘Jesse, House Guide’. She found a complete set in a garment bag, for me to take to my room. I tried on a few shoes, finding a pair that were a little tight. Then I picked up my normal clothes and we went to my room. When we got there, she patted my arm.

“You change back into your normal things. I’ll go and see if I can find you some knee-highs to wear with those shoes, they’ll fit well then. I will also see if I can cadge a few pairs of panties from Sally, she’s about your size. Those boxers do not go well in those slacks. Hang all of this lot in the wardrobe, making sure they are hanging properly, we’ll help you, in the morning, if you need it.”

I changed back and hung all of my uniform away. I didn’t have much of a choice if I wanted to be near the art collection, and they were just clothes, after all. Claudette came back with a couple of packs of knee-high stockings and a few white panties.

“Sally said you can have these, as long as you buy her some more when you go shopping for your own. Now, if you need to freshen up before dinner, I’ll show you our wonderful wet room.”

This room was an addition, near the door to the carpark, and I went in with trepidation. It was well set out, a line of six toilet cubicles along the left wall, a dividing wall in the middle with sinks and mirrors, six to a side, so that twelve of us could wash our hands at once. On the right side was six shower cubicles, with doors, and enough room to walk in and undress. There were no urinals, however, so I guessed that it had been built with girls in mind. I went into a cubicle and sat to pee, then washed my hands at a sink.

By then, it was getting on for seven, so she led me back to our accommodation corridor, then we went through a door, down a short corridor and into the big kitchen. It was well set up to feed the ones that sat at a big table that could well have been used in the early days. There were ten girls sitting and waiting for us. Claudette rattled off all their names and they all smiled and welcomed me to the group. I would have to take some time to match the names and the faces, although I immediately remembered Sally, whose panties I’ll be wearing, tomorrow. They were all in their twenties, and all beautiful. I should have felt out of place among them, but they talked easily and included me in the discussion.

The meal was plain, but filling and tasty. We helped the two cooks tidy up, and then made hot drinks and sat back at the table. I was given a potted version of what the open days entail. I would need to set an early alarm so that I could clear the showers before the girls need them. I could use the sinks, at any time, as the girls decided that they wouldn’t wander around, naked, while I was here. The thought of that was enough to keep me awake.

They suggested that I would be able to speed things up if I took my shower in the evening. I was feeling quite tired, with all this new information, and said that I would make my way to bed. In my room, I stripped off. I walked away from my clothes, on the floor, and then thought that it would not be a good look, should someone visit. I picked them up, found a basket for my underwear and socks, and hung the other things properly. I unpacked my case and found the dressing gown, which I put on, then put away the other things and put the case on top of the wardrobe.

I slipped into my slippers and padded to the shower room. In a shower cubicle, I found a whole lot of body wash and shampoos on a shelf, a good thing because that was the one thing I’d forgotten to bring. I had a very welcome shower, using the body wash, and then the shampoo and the conditioner. I had turned the water off and was about to dry my hair when I heard Claudette call my name. I called back.

“Jesse, have you washed your hair?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I had to use the stuff in here as I didn’t bring my own.”

“That’s all right, in fact, that’s good. Don’t dry your hair with the towel. We have driers here. Dry your body and come out so I can properly dry your hair.”

I did as ordered and emerged from the cubicle in my gown. She had a chair, next to one of the sinks, and ordered me to sit and stay still. She then used a brush, and a hot air drier, to turn my shabby locks into a shiny head of hair.

“You’ll look great after a visit to a salon. I’ll see if we can get our day off together and I’ll make a booking. Take this brush with you, and make sure you brush your hair in the morning.”

I thanked her for her skills and padded back to my room. There I got into bed and grabbed my phone to call home. I spoke to my mother, telling her where I was, and what I would be doing, and a little about the situation I had found myself in. She laughed and told me that I had the skills to get through it, seeing what teaching I had been given by my sisters. After we had spoken, I lay in the dark thinking about that one time my sisters had put me in girl’s clothes.

It was a half-hearted attempt to celebrate Halloween, something alien to our neck of the woods. The two sisters still at home had decided that I would be Cinderella to their ugly sisters, something that took all day to achieve. I really couldn’t understand their thinking, but, for them, the evening was almost a disaster, as most of the people who opened their doors roared with laughter. They did end up with enough chocolate to get a stomach-ache. Me? Well, I was universally accepted as too cute for my button nose and had a full sack of goodies when we got home. I also expect that there are several pictures of me, in an old ballet dress, circulating the airwaves to this day.

Next morning, my first day at work, I got up and padded through to the shower room, where I did my business, washed my face and hands, and padded back to the room. I was adamant that I wouldn’t ask for help, so set to work getting dressed. The slacks fit much easier with the panties on, and my tackle tucked away between my legs. The shoes were a perfect fit with the knee-highs, and the blouse was easier to button, now I knew what I had to do. I used the brush on my hair and, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw my sisters there, from their younger days.

Leaving my phone on charge, I went to the kitchen. I wasn’t the first, and I wasn’t the last, and everyone complimented me on how I looked. Claudette looked smug, so I made sure that I acted in character. After breakfast, we helped to tidy up and I went back to my room, grabbed my toothbrush, and went to make sure my teeth were bright and shiny. Some of the other girls were doing their make-up and I made my exit before someone could suggest that I would look better in lipstick.
We gathered in the big hall, where Derek gave us any special information about the booked coach tours. We all started off, spread around the house, in pairs within sight of each other. If we needed a break, we would notify our partner and was expected to be back, on station, inside ten minutes. Starting at midday, we would take twenty minutes, one partner at a time, to have a sandwich, and would stay on station until the house was cleared, doing a search to find any stragglers. The gates were opened at 9.30am and we called for people to vacate the grounds for 5.30pm. Claudette agreed that it was a long day, but that I would find it interesting.

When we were assembled in the main hall, Derek looked along the line and smiled when he got to me.

“Edward, I see that the wicked witches have fooled you into wearing a girls’ outfit.”

Claudette piped up. “No witchery needed, Derek, there just wasn’t anything in his size. Also, if you read the name badge, it’s Jesse, not Edward.”

“All right. Jesse, if you’re happy to carry on, we can talk about getting a proper uniform for you before next weekend. Right, we have three tours, today, so you’ll all be busy. Jesse, you can partner Sally, it won’t make you stand out if you’re both the same height. Let’s do it!”

Marianne Gregory © 2023