‘It’s comfort, not style, as you wants, my good young lidy,’ she would say as she bustled about. ‘Them slips of Jap things can’t know your ways as I does.’
Once a week she used to have her mid-day meal with us, and a glass of stout. Then how her tongue would wag! I asked her one day how she had enjoyed her dinner.
‘Why, miss, I fancied as ’ow I was at the Gilt ’All (Guild Hall). Them young gals was that pressing I thought as ’ow I should never ’ave done.’
The memories of her early courtship and marriage always brought a blush to her withered cheek, as she would tell us how she met her ‘pore Peter,’ for the first time, on the Thames Embankment--‘Jist by one of them little trees in cages, you know, my good young lidy.’ (This, you will remember, was forty years ago; the trees have grown since then.) ‘He did look a proper dook, did Peter, in ’is red uniform--the dead split of the Colonel ’e were.’
They were married at the Tower, and soon afterwards came out to Japan, Mrs. Potts as temporary maid to the wife of the English Minister.
‘Law, miss,’ she said to me one day, ‘His Excurrency used to get real Victoria Cross sometimes, and stamp, ’e did, fit to scare you into next week, but ’e was a kind master, ’e was. He’d say, “Come along, Mrs. Potts, and choose a drink for yourself,” and when I said I kind o’ fancied a glass o’ beer, he’d go and draw it with ’is own ’ands, ’e would.’
The old lady had a great admiration for my father. I overheard her saying to Yami one day: ‘I think as ’ow the master represents the one from above. He’s no respecter of persons, ’e isn’t, but treats us all alike--so perlite and consid’rate, ’e is. He says, “Thank you, Mrs. Potts,” as if I was a Duchess, he do.‘
She was a perfect walking Court Circular. Every event connected with Royalties was of the greatest personal interest to her, and she invariably took a holiday to celebrate any Royal birthday, and hung a little Union Jack out of her cottage window. Just before the Coronation of the King we were all busy preparing for the festivities, but for some reason best known to herself Mrs. Potts refused to share in the general rejoicings, although as a rule she was the gayest of the gay on these occasions.
‘I don’t somehow feel like jubilating, my dears,’ was all she would say.
When the news of the King’s illness reached Tokio, she said to my father, ‘You see, sir, I ’ad a “presentimum” that there was something wrong, and I thank the Lord that I wasn’t thinking of merry-making with His Blessed Majesty ill-a-bed and like to die.’