Jibber-Jabbering

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today is Tuesday and we are in the kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve, except on Tuesdays, every third Thursday of the month and occasionally after a big party. That is when Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, comes from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs. Edith is grateful that unlike her previous positions, she does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties. All of this leaves Edith with a little more time to spend on the tasks around the flat that she does enjoy, such as baking cakes in the splendidly modern and clean gas oven installed in the Cavendish Mews kitchen, which is a delight for Edith to use.

 

Edith sighs with satisfaction as she carefully lowers her latest creation onto the deal kitchen tabletop: a light and fluffy lemon sponge, baked just as her mother taught her. Between the layers of sponge, which are springy to the touch, is a layer of thick cream, ready to ooze out as the cake is cut, whilst on its top, more dollops of cream are graced with slices of candied lemon.

 

“There we go, Edith dearie. That’s the barfroom done.” Mrs. Boothby’s smoke hardened voice announces as she walks through the door leading from the hallway into the service portion of the flat carrying a wooden handled mop and gleaming tin bucket with her. “Spick where speck was, ‘n’ span where squalor.” she adds proudly with one of her fruity, phlegmy coughs as she plops the bucket on the linoleum floor and leans the mop against the end of the kitchen dresser. Reaching into the capacious front of her bright floral pinny, she withdraws a can of Vim** and bends down to put it back into her little crate of heavy duty cleaning aids which sits in the corner of the kitchen.

 

“Thank you Mrs. Boothby.” Edith says gratefully as she reaches up next to Mrs. Boothby for a box of Lyon’s tea***. “Could you get those stains off the vanity?”

 

“What wiv a bit of elbow grease, I did.” the old Cockney woman replies. Pulling out a cleaning rag from her pinny pocket she holds it out for Edith to see the black smears on it. “Lawd knows what’s in that muck Miss Lettice wears on ‘er face, but it marks the porcelain good ‘n’ proppa.”

 

Edith places the box of tea on the table. “Well, I’m grateful you managed to, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“That’s alright, Edith dearie. That’s me job, ain’t it?” She walks across the kitchen muttering, “Back in my day, a lady weren’t a real lady if she ‘ad muck on ‘er face, if you know what I mean.”

 

Edith blushes as she replies, “I think I do.” She remembers her mother talking about girls who painted their faces as being no better than actresses or tarts.

 

As she returns from depositing her rags into the clothing chute that leads down to the cellar where a large hamper waits to catch them and from where the professional commercial launderers collects the dirty linens every week, Mrs. Boothby spies the cake sitting on the table surrounded by tea things. “Ooooh! Fancy! What’s the occasion?”

 

Edith laughs. “No occasion, Mrs. Boothby. It’s just my Mum’s lemon sponge cake.” When Mrs. Boothby cocks her eyebrow over her eye and gives the young maid a doubtful look, Edith adds, “Well, with a few embellishments.”

 

“Embellishments, is it?” Mrs. Boothby’s voice arcs as she puts her hands on her bony hips. “Well, down Poplar, we’d call that cake just plain fancy, and far too fancy to be havin’ for any ordinary tea.”

 

“It’s to serve to Miss Lettice and Mr. Gifford, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith looks up to the kitchen wall, beyond which in the Cavendish Mews flat’s parlour, Lettice is entertaining Mr. Gifford for the second time.

 

“So that’s the fancy chap what Miss Lettice ‘as wiv ‘er in the parlour, then?” Mrs. Boothby asks.

 

“Yes, that’s Mr. Gifford.” Edith replies as she busily sets two saucers and two teacups on the square silver tray that already has Lettice’s Royal Doulton ‘Falling Leaves’ Art Deco teapot and milk jug on it. “He’s a neighbour of sorts of Miss Lettice’s parents, down in Wiltshire.”

 

“Cor! ‘E can’t half talk, can he?” Mrs. Boothby opines. “I’ve been listen’ to ‘im go on and on about lawd knows what whilst I’ve been scrubbin’ the barfroom.”

 

Edith smothers a laugh as she nods. “He is a bit of a talker, Mrs. Boothby, and no mistake!”

 

“Some people got a bit too much ta say, if you ask me, and I reckon ‘e’s one of um.”

 

“Mrs. Boothby!” Edith chides the older woman.

 

“Well, it’s true.” the older woman replies dourly, wagging her finger. “Jibber-jabber, jibber-jabber*****, fillin’ the air wiv noise, and nuffink to show for it neither, and that’s a fact.” She nods once.

 

“Come, Mrs. Boothby, there’s no denying that you like your bit of gossip.”

 

“Gossip ain’t jibber-jabberin’, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby defends herself. “It’s a vital part of life.” She looks at Edith as she places two brilliantly polished teaspoons on the tray. “And don’t you pretend like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Edith dearie. You like a bit of gossip too.”

 

“Not as much as you, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“Says you!” laughs the old woman.

 

Eith chuckles and shakes her head. “I had to answer that infernal contraption, the other day,” she remarks, changing the subject back to Mr. Gifford and referring to the Bakelite**** and chrome telephone in Lettice’s Cavendish Mews drawing room which she dislikes intensely. “Because Miss Lettice was out at Croydon visiting Mr. Blessed the upholsterer, and Mr. Gifford was on the other end.”

 

“Talk a lot to yer, did ‘e?”

 

“Well, let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t have this lemon sponge in the oven when he rang.” Edith arches her eyebrows as she speaks.

 

“So, what’s ‘e ‘ere for anyways? Got news ‘bout Miss Lettice’s dad ‘n mum, ‘as ‘e?”

 

“Oh, heavens no, Mrs. Boothby!” Edith replies as she opens the narrow, brightly decorated box of Lyon’s tea and scoops out several spoons of fragrant tea leaves and puts them in the bottom of Lettice’s elegant teapot. She inhales the scent and sighs pleasurably. “If it were something like that, I’m sure Miss Lettice would have found out by other means, like…”

 

“Like that infernal contraption?” Mrs. Boothby adds cheekily, interrupting her young companion.

 

“Like that infernal contraption.” Edith agrees.

 

Mrs, Boothby chuckles with mirth, however her chuckles quickly turn into a fruity coughing fit. Edith snatches a glass from the dresser and rushes to the white enamel kitchen sink and fills the glass with water from the shiny brass cold tap. She quickly brings it back to the kitchen table and offers it to Mrs. Boothby, who has collapsed into Edith’s Windsor chair and is bent over double, with her head between her legs, coughing loudly.

 

“Quick! Drink this, Mrs. Boothby!” Edith insists, shoving the glass into her hand.

 

The old Cockney char takes a long draught of the clean cool water and gasps for breath raspily as she sits up and leans her bony frame back into the curved back of the chair. “Oh… oh…” she huffs. “Fank you…” She gulps. “Fanks, Edith dearie… you… youse a… a love.”

 

“That’s alright, Mrs. Boothby. Catch your breath.”

 

“That’ll teach me… for teasin’ ya… won’t it, dear… dearie?”

 

“Well, I’m not the vengeful type, Mrs. Boothby, but…”

 

Edith’s statement is suddenly broken by the sound of the green baize door that leads between the dining room and the service part of the flat creaking on its hinges. Both women are suddenly acutely aware as they hear Lettice’s soft footsteps slapping on the black and white linoleum floor of the cupboard lined scullery.

 

“Is everything alright, Edith?” Lettice’s head appears through the open kitchen door that leads to the scullery, a look of concern upon her pretty face as she takes in the scene of her maid and charwoman.

 

“Oh, yes Miss.”

 

“T’was… just me.. mum.” Mrs. Boothby manages to say. “I done… done lost me breaf, like an idiot,” She sighs and takes a sip of water, slurping it noisily from her glass. “An’… an… I couldn’t… catch it.”

 

“Are you quite alright, Mrs. Boothby?” Lettice asks, screwing up her nose with distaste at the old cockney woman’s unattractive slurping gulps of water. “It sounded quite serious from out there.”

 

“I’ll… I’ll be fine, mum.” She takes another noisy slurp of water. “Fanks ta Edith,” She pats Edith’s hand draped on her right shoulder with her free careworn and bony left hand. “She… got me a glass of… water.” she huffs. “Just need ta… catch me breaf is all, mum.”

 

“Good.” Lettice replies, although both Edith and Mrs. Boothby cannot help but catch a tinge of irritation in her voice. “Well, as long as everything is in hand, I’ll leave you to it.”

 

“Don’t cha… worry your… pretty ‘ead about me, mum.” the old woman goes on breathily before taking another large gulp of water from the glass. “I’ll be right as rain****** in no time.”

 

“Very good, Mrs. Boothby.” Lettice concludes, turning around. Then she pauses and turns back. “Edith, if you could try to keep the noise to a minimum, I’d appreciate it. Mr. Gifford and I could both clearly hear the kerfuffle in here. It’s far too much noise.” She shakes her head. “Most unprofessional.”

 

“Yes Miss.” Edith quickly bobs an apologetic curtsey to her mistress and casts her eyes downwards as Lettice turns on her heel and walks back through the scullery and the green baize door, back to the drawing room and her guest.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry… Edith dearie. I were just ‘avin’ a laugh. I didn’t mean ta get youse inta no trouble.”

 

“It’s fine, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith assures her, sweeping down on her knee before the old Cockney char. Looking her squarely in the face, she gazes earnestly at her. “Honestly. Miss Lettice has been a bit out of sorts lately. I can’t say for certain, but I think she is having some difficulties with one of the commissions she has taken on.”

 

“Which one? She’s got so many, I can’t keep up wiv ‘em all.”

 

“I think it’s the one in Bloomsbury, where Miss Lettice is decorating the flat of a young lady.”

 

“Is the lady bein’ difficult then?”

 

“No, not her, but her mother, I think. The flat belongs to the lady, but her mother, Lady Caxton, keeps butting in and telling Lettice how she wants it decorated.”

 

“That doesn’t sound very nice. What about what the lady wants her flat ta look like? Don’t she care?”

 

“I’m not sure that matters, Mrs. Boothby. She keeps telephoning Miss Lettice. I’ve spoken to her a number of times when I’ve had to answer that infernal contraption. She’s very nice to me: actually far nicer than some of the other ladies that telephone here. I’m trying to stay on her good side, because Miss Lettice tells me that she writes romance novels, under the name of Madeline St John, and I love her books! Miss Lettice says Lady Caxton is going to sign a couple of her novels and give them to her to give to me as a gift.”

 

“Well, she can’t be all bad then, even if she’s givin’ Miss Lettice an ‘ard time. That’s a loverly fing ta do, givin’ you a couple a books, Edith dearie.”

 

“I know!” Edith enthuses. “Anyway, I’m sure this is just a passing phase with Miss Lettice, and it will all be fine in the end. She’s very good at smoothing things over with people. And thinking of which, I think you’re contrite enough now, Mrs. Boothby. You just sit there, and once the kettle is boiled, I’ll serve Miss Lettice and Mr. Gifford, and then I’ll make us a pot of tea too when I come back. That will revive you.”

 

“Nuffin’ like a good cup ‘a Rosie-Lee******* to fix everyfink, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby agrees. “Along wiv a fag.”

 

“Oh no you don’t, Mrs. Boothby!” Edith snatches Mrs. Boothby’s blue beaded bag out of her grasp and puts it out of the old woman’s reach on the wooden bench behind her. “I’m sure those things make you cough. In fact, I know they do, because I coughed when my brother Bert came home with some woodbines******* after his first trip out to sea as a bell boy. An older steward gave him the packet, telling him that smoking them would make him a man. We both hid behind Mum’s washhouse at home in Harlesden and shared one. It made us both cough.”

 

“Did your mum catch youse?”

 

“No, luckily. She was out shopping down on the high street at the time. I’m sure if she was home, Mum would have caught us: we made that much noise. We threw the packet over the garden wall into the back laneway after our little experiment and scrubbed our hands willingly with carbolic, so as not to get caught. I’ve never had one since!” Edith nods emphatically. “Besides,” she turns the fluted white gilt plate holding the lemon sponge decorated with whipped cream and candied lemon wedges, adjusting her view of the cake, smiling with pleasure as she looks down at it. “I don’t want you smoking up my cake before I serve it to Miss Lettice and Mr. Gifford.”

 

“Alright. Alright.” Mrs. Boothby puts the empty glass on the deal tabletop and holds up her hands in defence. “I don’t want cha getting’ in no more trouble than I may ‘ave got ya in already wiv me coughin’, Edith dearie.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith says gratefully.

 

“So goin’ back to me question, before I nearly chocked on me own breaf, what’s this Mr. Gifford doin’ ‘ere in Miss Lettice’s parlour, anyway?”

 

“Miss Lettice is taking him on as a client. He’s come up to London to sign the contract.”

 

“Oooh.” Mrs. Boothby enthuses. “What’s she doin’ for ‘im?”

 

“I’m not exactly certain, but I know that she went down to Wiltshire to visit his house, after he came here with a photo album. She has been painting a design over and over again with her watercolours of a little Japanese house, like you see on Blue Willow ware.”

 

“Oh, I know them. They’s called pagodas.”

 

“That’s them! Well, I’ve been cleaning up a lot of screwed up pieces of paper with pagodas on them, which obviously weren’t to Miss Lettice’s liking.”

 

“Sounds a bit rum, doesn’t it, Edith dearie?”

 

“Well, yes, but as I found out later, what she’s been painting is a wallpaper design for Mr. Gifford. I suppose she is going to get the pattern printed on paper and then hung for Mr. Gifford. Beyond that, I don’t know much else.”

 

“Oh well, that’ll be good business for ‘er, anyway.”

 

“Well, here is something I do know, because I overheard Miss Lettice talking to Mrs. Channon over tea and biscuits the other day.”

 

“Aha!” crows Mrs. Boothby, eliciting another phlegmy cough. “I was right! I said you likes a bit of gossip!”

 

“Well…” Edith mutters, blushing as she speaks. As the older woman cocks her ear and looks expectantly at Edith, she continues, “If whatever she does pleases Mr. Gifford, she’ll get another article in Country Life******** magazine! Apparently, Mr. Gifford is related in some way to the man who wrote the first article about Miss Lettice, and he promised to write another one if Mr. Gifford likes what Miss Lettice does at his house. Hopefully that might help brighten up Miss Lettice too!”

 

“Well then, Edith dearie, you’re going to have ta face the fact.”

 

“And what fact is that, Mrs. Boothby?”

 

“That, that infernal contraption is goin’ ta be ringin’ off the ‘ook, just like it did ever since that first article in that fancy toff magazine got published, Edith dearie.”

 

The bright copper kettle on the stove rattles about, indicating that it is boiling. Using a cloth to protect her hand from burning, Edith grasps its handle and pours hot water into the tall and elegant teapot on the tray.

 

“I’ll just serve this to Miss Lettice,” Edith says to Mrs. Boothby. “And then we can have our own bit of jibber-jabbering over some tea.”

 

*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.

 

**Vim was a common cleaning agent, used in any Edwardian household. Vim scouring powder was created by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.

 

***Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J. Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in Britain, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J. Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England.

 

****Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, teapot handles, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

*****The term to jibber-jabber was first seen in English in the early Sixteenth century. It is generally thought to be an onomatopoeia imitative of speech, similar to the words jabber (to talk rapidly) and gibber (to speak inarticulately).

 

******The allusion in the simile “right as rain” is unclear, but it originated in Britain, where rainy weather is a normal fact of life, and indeed W.L. Phelps wrote, “The expression 'right as rain' must have been invented by an Englishman.” It was first recorded in 1894.

 

*******Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.

 

********Woodbine is a British brand of cigarettes which, as of 2019, is owned and manufactured by Imperial Tobacco. Woodbine cigarettes are named after the woodbine flowers, native to Eurasia. Woodbine was launched in 1888 by W.D. & H.O. Wills. Noted for its strong unfiltered cigarettes, the brand was cheap and popular in the early 20th century with the working-class, as well as with army men during the First and Second World War.

 

********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

This comfortable domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection, some of which come from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

Edith’s deal kitchen table is covered with everything required for a splendid afternoon tea. Edith’s delicious and very realistic looking lemon sponge cake has been made from polymer clay and was made by Karen Ladybug miniatures in England. Lettice’s “falling leaves” tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The delicate silver tea is a miniature piece I have had since I was a child or about eight or nine. The forks on the plates and the teaspoons on the tray come from a large cutlery set acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The box of Lyons Tea is a 1:12 miniature hand made with close attention paid to the packaging by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The vase of flowers are all beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.

 

Edith’s Windsor chairs are both hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniatures which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat of either chair, but they are definitely unmarked artisan pieces.

 

The bright brass pieces hanging on the wall or standing on the stove all come from various stockists, most overseas, but the three frypans I bought from a High Street specialist in dolls and dolls’ house furnishings when I was a teenager.

 

In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.

Done