From Kitchen to Garret: Hints for young householders

by J. E. Panton

If people suffer very much from cold, I am luxurious enough to allow them a feather bed on the mattress. I always feel I am doing very wrong, and that it is a most unhealthy practice, though I have one myself, for in the winter, and indeed during most of the year, I hardly know what it is like to be even moderately warm in bed; but I still think I should be doing well were I to put away my feathers entirely, and only use the springs and the hair mattress, but I am not strong-minded enough, so, though I know feathers are unhealthy in every way, I still use them, believing that now I am too old to change my undoubtedly evil ways.

A brass and iron bedstead furnished with the spring mattress, nice hair mattress and bolster, and four pillows if a double, two if a single, bedstead, is the beau-ideal of a sleeping place for health, and should furthermore be provided with two under blankets—one in use, one in store in case of illness—and two good pairs of nice Witney blankets, and these should be marked in red wool with the date of purchase, initials, and number of the room to which they belong. If the four blankets are too much, those not in use should be very neatly folded under the mattress, thus insuring that they are always aired and ready for use. An eider-down quilt is also nice in winter, and should have an extra covering made from cretonne like the window curtains, or in a pretty contrast, edged all round with a two-inch goffered frill, and furnished with buttons and buttonholes, in order that it can be easily removed and sent to the wash.

Three pairs of sheets are the least that can be allowed to each bed; the top sheet of each pair should be frilled with Cash’s patent frilling two inches and a half wide, and should have a large red monogram in the centre to look really well; these can be worked by Angelina, if she has clever fingers; and as it adds so very much to the appearance of the linen, I do hope where she can she will embellish her house-linen with nicely embroidered initials, repeating the same in the centre of the pillow-cases; which should be frilled and placed outside the bed during the day to look nice, the frilled cases being removed at night and replaced by plain ones, from motives of economy. Four plain pillow-cases for each pillow, and two or three frilled and embroidered ones for the top pillows, are the least that can be allowed when the linen is bought; for if Angelina have to stay in bed—and no doubt she will—a change from the plain pillow-case of night to the frilled one for day, and a removal of the plain counterpane for a pretty one, is as good almost as a change of room, and makes far more difference in one’s feelings than can readily be believed. Now one especial word in Angelina’s ear: I have never yet found in all my experience a servant who can really and truly be trusted to properly air the bed. Her first idea is to cover it up and get it made, and unless Angelina copies me I am quite certain she will find the bed stuffy and disagreeable, because it has not had time to get properly aired, and because it has been made up as soon almost as Angelina got out of it.

Now there is not one single thing that should be left on the bed once one is out of it. Do not be content with turning all the bed-clothes over the rail; see they are all pulled out from under the mattress, separated, and hung up, if possible. Then remove the pillows, and dot them about on chairs and sofas; hang up separately the under sheet and blanket where they will receive a current of air from the open window wet or dry; and then pull off the mattress, placing it as close to the window as it will go, which only takes about five minutes, as, of course, Edwin will help with the mattress, and then, when dressed, open all the windows possible. Leave the door wide open too, unless there are torrents of rain and a windy tempest going on; and I venture to remark that the bed will be all right and properly aired, even if Mary Jane rushes wildly upstairs from the breakfast table and sets to work at once.

May I also add: don’t fold up your night attire! I used to be informed by my governess that no lady ever left her towels on the floor—as if any one wanted to—or went downstairs without neatly folding up her night-garment. Now this I will not do. It should be left to air with the beds, and should then be folded up, with the soft, woolly slippers in attendance, and put neatly into an embroidered case provided for it. How fussy and old-maidish all this seems, yet on these trifles depend so very much that I feel I really cannot say too much about them. It may seem silly of me here to tell most of my readers of things they may all do daily, just as they have their meals, but I know a great many women who never think of these items, and of course there may be a very great many others who just want to be given the same sort of little hints too; and as for the servants, I do not believe one exists who out of her own head would air a bed daily, and who does not regard such airing as a useless fad.

While we are on the subject of beds, I may mention that a matchbox, the boxes of Bryant and May’s, painted with enamel paint, and embellished with a tiny picture, nailed to the wall just above one’s head, is an excellent thing; and so is a bracket provided with either one of Mr. Drew’s small paraffin lamps with a chimney, or else one of Field’s candle-lamps, also with a glass shade; and that a bed pocket made out of a Japanese fan, covered with soft silk, and the pocket itself made of plush, and nailed within easy reach, is also very useful to hold a handkerchief or one’s watch; and, furthermore, that great comfort is to be had from a table at one’s bedside, on which can stand one’s book or anything one may be likely to want in the night.

The counterpane of the bed should be one of these nice honeycomb quilts with a deep cotton fringe; in winter and summer both, the eider-down should be always on the bed ready for use, for some of our English summer nights are as cold and chilly as many of the autumn and winter ones; and very charming-looking day coverings for the beds can be bought for one guinea at Marshall and Snelgrove’s, and are called Madras quilts. They have more substance than Madras muslin itself, and are ready trimmed with a neat fringe. Guipure and lace strips make nice quilts too, and very nice covers can be made of cretonne like the curtains edged by the pretty nine-inch goffered frill of which I am so fond; but if Angelina works, beautiful ones can be made from crash or workhouse sheeting, embroidered in scrolls and pomegranates in red chain stitch, a deep border of thicker work, also in a pomegranate pattern, forming an appropriate and very handsome finish to it. These quilts can be bought ready traced and begun at Francis’s, Hanway Street, Oxford Street, W., at 30s.; they should be lined with sateen, and finished off by a wide border of furniture lace, turned over a band of sateen of any colour that will harmonise with the room itself.

A careful servant should brush under the bed daily to pick up any little bits of fluff or dust, and once a week, without fail, all the corners should be turned out and the room thoroughly cleaned. The floor, to be perfect, should be stained all over, polished and rubbed bright, and be furnished with nice rugs, which can be shaken daily, for nothing keeps so clean, and it is undoubtedly healthy, for, much as I like matting, and largely as I use it, it must fill up the corners entirely, and dust cannot help accumulating there, in a bedroom.

Furniture for the room itself could be had cheaply, did we know of any man willing to work under our orders, but this seems impossible.

I do not know if there are any trades-union rules among carpenters that prevent them working for themselves; but, if not, I am quite sure an honest mechanic could make a large fortune if only he set himself seriously to work, and would keep to reasonable prices.