Nooks and Corners / being the companion volume to 'From Kitchen to Garret'

by J. E. Panton

Very young children, if proper nurses and superintendents are found for them, do not require the companionship we shall not be able to give them later on if we wear ourselves out in their service when they are very small. By this I do not naturally mean that children should be neglected or left entirely to the mercy of hirelings. Far be it from me to suggest anything so dreadful; but I do maintain that for six weeks of the year they would be quite as well at the seaside without their parents as they would be with them, more especially if the cottage they are sent to is well known and the people who keep it are acquaintances, while of course both the lady superintendent and the nurses should not be new, but should be thoroughly tested by some amount of service before they are trusted.

It is better, should we determine to send the children away as I have suggested, to pay so much per head for all the board and lodging expenses combined. No servant, and indeed very few governesses, can be trusted to ‘housekeep.’ I cannot tell why, but the moment they are allowed to order the food and make purchases for the household, they all become most wildly extravagant, and have no more notion of managing than they have of flying. They may, of course, have the truly British notion that holiday-making and over-eating must go hand-in-hand, and proceed to demonstrate this by the exorbitant demands made upon one’s purse. Anyhow, whatever the reason, it is an axiom that housekeeping cannot be trusted to either, and that we should make arrangements for board as well as lodging unless we wish to be fairly appalled by the weekly bills. As an illustration, I may mention that the only time I sent my children to the sea with the governess, allowing her to cater for them all, the bills she sent me home for herself, the German maid and three children, were exactly treble what I paid for ourselves and the same number of children and six servants, and that she did not consider it improper to give 6s. for a chicken and 8s. for a pound of grapes. From this my readers will perceive that I am warning them out of my own experience. And this governess, moreover, was an elderly woman who had lived with us a great many years, and really had in some measure our interest at heart. Therefore I am convinced neither governess nor servants can make good managers; they are always provided for as far as food is concerned; they never have to provide, and therefore know nothing about it.

I think, once we have discovered a spot that really suits the children, it is best to keep to that, as children simply require good sands and good air, and do not trouble themselves about scenery. Deal is absolutely delightful as regards air, but the beach is unsafe and pebbly, and has no sand; Margate is quite perfect; so is Westgate; while Swanage in spring leaves nothing to be desired except for children who require bracing air; then Swanage is not for one moment to be compared to either of the places I have named, which are also near enough to town for the parents to run down and see the children should they wish to do so, and, indeed, as they ought to do, to learn how they are getting on.

Personally I know nothing of the east coast, but I believe there are plenty of little places about there where the children would be happy, well, and safe; and I should recommend anyone before finally choosing the summer home of the children to make an exhaustive survey of the English coast, and, having found one place which will suit, then to stick to that until the children are twelve years old. Then one would have to begin to alter one’s plans a little, more especially if the boys go to school and are only at home in the holidays; then the children and parents must go out together, else they will never meet, and will grow up like strangers to each other.

During the minority, so to speak, of the children, the parents would be wise to spend their holidays in learning which would be the nicest places to take the children to when they are beginning to grow up; they should make and keep notes of excursions, advantages, prices, and houses, and should be able to refer to them in a moment, when they have to decide on the place where they are to spend their holiday in; they must not trust to their memory, the best of memories will not retain the names of the house agents, the position of the different streets, and the aspect of the different houses, while the notes would be always there to refer to, and would be of immense service to them in more ways than one.

Now, having made up their minds to the change, it is absolutely necessary that a house, not rooms, should be taken, if anyone is to enjoy the holiday at all.

There can be no freedom and very little enjoyment, and there is great risk of infection at the seaside unless the house is shared by someone we may happen to know, if we take only a part of a house. We may have a fidgety mortal who sends up twenty times a day to ask our children to be quiet, or we may have a screaming, badly managed baby near us, a piano which plays just when we don’t want it to play, or we may meet on the stairs a convalescent from some childish complaint, who may hand it on to our children, and bring our holiday to an abrupt conclusion with measles or whooping-cough. Then there are always the landlady, the larder difficulties, and the horrors of being waited on by strange servants, generally most inferior ones, and always those who cannot and do not understand our ways. Therefore I maintain that a house is a sine quâ non, and that if we cannot afford to take one and go away comfortably we had better remain at home; if we leave we may get fresher air, we shall have the necessary change, but the change will be for the worse, and the good the fresher air may do will be more than outbalanced by the continual rasping worry of arranging, and very likely battling with the servants, who resent the landlady’s interference, and won’t do any more work than they can help, under the mistaken idea that the house-servants are to wait on them, and in the endless worries caused by the disappearance of one’s food, and the disagreeable feeling that everything one touches has probably been well ‘pawed over’ by the lodging-house maid, if not by the mistress herself.

If, therefore, as I remarked before, we cannot afford to go away comfortably we had better remain at home, going away in detachments if the doctor thinks that the weaker members must have sea air; in that case visits can always be managed, for everyone almost has relations or friends in the country, or knows of some nice family who will take in a stray child or two and ‘do for them’ with their own; while if the boys are away at school, they are quite satisfied to return to their own haunts, while no end of excursions can be made from London and in and round London, which is, it must be confessed, just a little hot in August, and smells just a little of over-ripe fruit and dead cabbage leaves, but is positively delightful in September with its soft skies and its wonderful effects of cloud and sunshine, and which has always something amusing to show those who really appreciate the most delightful and picturesque city in the whole world. I love my London, even in August, when the parks are empty of fashionable people, but full of the most beautiful flowers and palms, which only those who remain in town in that unfashionable month ever see at their prime; and despite the heat and the odours in the streets, I would rather be in London than in a cramped lodging at the sea, where I was inundated with children, worried by bad service, and had none of my own belongings about me; and, in fact, had not time to read or sit alone to enjoy myself in the peace and quiet that are absolutely necessary to make a holiday even endurable.

I hope my readers will not think I am writing of what I do not know when I say that London in August and September is quite as beautiful and entrancing as it is in the heart of the season. I have been for the last seven years constantly in the beloved city in those unfashionable months, and I unreservedly advise anyone in want of a real change to go up to town then. They will learn and see more then than at any other time; they will not be hurried; they will be able to see everything quietly, and will really see what they never can when the roads are crammed with carriages and the streets with people—i.e. how beautiful London is, and how many things she possesses we never dream of when we are simply rushing from occupation to amusement, and are only thinking of our work or pleasure. However, as I cannot expect all to believe me, or to share my enthusiasm for the streets and chimney-pots that I adore, I will simply now advise my readers how to proceed once they have made up their minds to go away. If possible they should let their own house; if not, they should endeavour always to keep to the same caretaker who should, if possible, be married to a policeman and have a dog, but no children; the furniture should be covered over, and ‘put to bed’ by the upholsterer, who understands how to prepare for possible moth and damp, and who will not make an exorbitant charge for what will, as a rule, prevent most of the things from being spoiled. Fires should be ordered, no matter what the weather may be, in rotation all through the house, for one that is uninhabited, and in which very little gas, if any, will be burned, always becomes damp in our climate; while it would be wise to have the gas cut off at the meter entirely. We should save a great deal of waste; and as caretakers are used to lamps in their own abodes, we should run no risk of fire, not as much as we do when we leave the gas for the use of those who often enough have never had any control over it on their own account, and so have not learned how to save it or even use it.

No valuables should be left in the house; all should be sent to the bank; and we should naturally take our plate with us for use. But, having taken our house by the sea, we should in some measure know what it wants, and we should invariably have ornaments, photographs, &c., to take with us to brighten up the house and to make it home-like; while the children must take their story-books, work, and playthings. We must, in fact, prepare in every way we can for a rainy day; rain must fall, and if the children have their books and toys, and their own rooms, they will be as happy, and be no more of a nuisance by the sea than they are at home; at least, if they are, it will be the fault of the parents and not of the unfortunate children themselves.