The Staircase Girls

by Catherine Seymour

  Not long after that night, just before Christmas, Barry suggested that perhaps they should move house, and try to get a place with three bedrooms so that they could let one in the summer. Audrey readily agreed since she still wanted that Indesit, and was able to arrange a transfer to a recently built three-bedroomed place on Wycliffe Road quite quickly. They moved into the brand new house, and on an estate that had many young families among its residents, in March 1975.

  The only downside of the move for Audrey was that it meant that she lost her regular customers. The older ones were not going to travel to her, and it was going to be too much to start a mobile hairdressing business with two small children to look after, she thought. So she carried on with the waitressing and got to know her new neighbours and, three months later, rented out the third bedroom to a German student. This embarrassed Barry, who didn’t know how to behave around her because of her nationality. But it went so well that when she moved out in July, they took on another student named Witty, who was originally from Venezuela.

  Witty had intended to stay for at most three months, but decided to stay indefinitely, partly because of how much she liked being with the Woolards. She quickly became practically a member of the family, and the regular money she paid them meant that they could start to think about saving for a deposit on a house of their own. They’d be able to buy somewhere once Audrey found some more work – any work – Barry suggested. Nadine was at school and Witty could collect her and pick up Paula from the childminder, feed them and even bath and put them to bed some days, although she had to get a job as the autumn began in order to pay her rent.

  Audrey couldn’t face traipsing around the town’s hairdressing salons looking for work, she’d been her own boss for too long and would need training to work with the new dryers and equipment that was being used. She needed a job that would have regular hours, preferably allow her to be home for the kids’ dinner, and be relatively secure.

  Which is why she went to visit Bertha Mizen. She’d felt vaguely guilty that she hadn’t since Aunty Maud’s funeral, as she tried to explain when she and Bertha were seated in the gyp room at the college where Audrey had spent Saturdays helping Maud.

  Despite feeling the shock of the familiar, she wasn’t exactly eager to be there, especially since the reason for her visit was to ask about a job as a bedder. It wasn’t her idea, but Barry’s. ‘I ain’t being rude, my mum did it, Aunty Maud did it, but I never thought it would be my calling, you know,’ she had told him when he suggested it. But when his basic wage was cut, Barry had to work seventy hours a week to bring in a wage that was anywhere near adequate.

  Audrey explained to Bertha, ‘The thing is, Barry’s working all hours, we’ve got a lodger but we want to save, you know, for our future. I can’t do the hairdressing from home. I would only have time to do a couple of haircuts and that wouldn’t earn me enough.’

  Bertha told her that she knew one of the small colleges needed a bedder, but there weren’t any jobs going at hers. ‘Leave it with me though,’ she promised, ‘I’ll get you sorted, don’t you worry.’

  Bertha would help if she could, even though she was worried that Audrey wouldn’t like being told what to do by the housekeeper at the smaller college, who had a reputation for not taking any nonsense from the young ’uns – she was well known to not like employing young bedders and Audrey was still not yet thirty years old.

  As it turned out, Audrey was seen by the housekeeper only a few weeks after she’d asked about a job. One of the older women had fallen and broken her hip, which meant they needed someone urgently. Although the housekeeper told Audrey that it was against her better judgement to hire her, she had little choice and Bertha had given her a very strong reference, so she was hired. But just as Bertha feared, within a few weeks Audrey was finding it difficult working her staircase under the watchful eye of the housekeeper.

  ‘Bloody hell, Bertha, she’s bleeding crazy,’ Audrey told her when she popped in to see the old woman on her way home. ‘She’s always turning up when I’m trying to clean. I’ll turn round and she’s there, like a bloody ghost. I don’t hear her coming. I reckon she creeps on tip-toe, trying to catch me doing I don’t know what.’

  ‘That’s ’cos you’re not much older than the boys,’ Bertha told her, ‘she don’t like it. She’s lost a lot of bedders during her time there and I was worried that you might tell her where to go.’

  ‘It’s alright, Bertha,’ Audrey reassured her, ‘I need the work. It’s not like I’m fraternizing with the students. I just like talking to them and they like talking to me. It’s dull otherwise.’

  Bertha laughed, ‘Your Aunt Maud liked it too. Well, in the beginning, at least.’

  ‘It was different for Maud, though, she didn’t really have anything else, did she?’ Audrey knew that wasn’t strictly true, because she had her and they had each other. And then she realized in that moment how much she missed Maud, and that she hadn’t stopped to think about her for too long now. In fact, she hadn’t the time for anything other than the children and working, it seemed. When Barry was on night shifts she was able to do some hairdressing after teatime, and she’d made a few friends around Wycliffe Road, but that gave her even less time to think about anything other than working and the children.

  Audrey kept her temper and tongue in check at college when around the housekeeper, and as long as she worked hard and no students complained about her, she knew that the job would provide a steady and predictable income for them. She always got on well with her students and, like Maud had taught her, only talked to those who made the effort to engage her in conversation first.

  At home she found a rhythm to their week that allowed her Saturday afternoons to herself. She didn’t have any hairdressing customers, Barry would take the girls out all over Cambridge if the weather was good, and occasionally to the ex-servicemen’s club if it wasn’t, and the housework was all done. That was when she began to experiment with cooking, creating unusual meals that were inspired at least in part by the dishes that she’d seen while waitressing (which she still did a bit of, during term times). Her cooking became a subject of conversation with some of her friendlier students.

  ‘So Audrey, what are you making this weekend?’ one of her favourite students asked her one Friday.

  ‘I’ve been learning how to make a curry from scratch,’ she told him. ‘My friend Mary’s married to an Asian chap and he’s been teaching me. We’ve got friends coming over this Saturday for dinner, and it’s going to take me all day, I reckon.’

  The student asked her to, ‘Bring some of that curry in for us, if there’s any left over,’ and Audrey promised she would. She had grown fond of these three particular young men on her staircase. They seemed like ordinary boys, not too dissimilar to the Cambridge town boys she’d known when younger.

  She’d been working at the college for two years when the boys who loved her curry began to play a record that she liked hearing, by Steve Forbert. She’d ask them to leave their door open so that she could hear it while working on the stairs or in nearby rooms, which they did. It became a regular thing for them to turn it up as she worked her way along the hall, and no one objected. However, one day the housekeeper happened along the hallway, holding her hands to her ears. She slammed the boys’ door closed and approached Audrey with a furious look on her face. ‘What do you think you’re doing? You are here to work, not have a good time!’

  Audrey stopped vacuuming and looked the older woman in the eye. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of music while you work, you know,’ she said with barely concealed anger.

  ‘There is when you work here, missy, so I’ll have no more of it, do you hear?’

  ‘You’re right.’ Audrey stood the vacuum cleaner against the wall and began to undo her pinafore. ‘You’ll have no more of it from me, ’cos I’m leaving. Find another slave, why doncha.’ With that she left, with the housekeeper staring after her, angry, mute and confused, as Audrey walked out of the
college.

  Two days after she had walked out, there was a knock at Audrey’s front door. When she answered it she found the three students from her staircase, one holding the Steve Forbert LP and the others a case of wine.

  ‘How ever did you find me?’ she asked.

  ‘We just asked “Where’s Audrey?” and demanded to know what she had done to you. She had to tell us where you lived otherwise, well . . . she knows she was out of turn.’

  ‘That’s lovely, but . . . I can’t ask you in, my husband’s upstairs, sleeping. He’s been on a night shift. But I am really touched. Thank you.’

  ‘No problem, we just wanted you to know that we’re sorry if we caused you to have to leave. We liked having you around. You’re a damn sight better than that angry housekeeper.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it was a pleasure.’

  Audrey was genuinely touched by their visit and generosity. She thanked them, wished them luck and closed the door, wondering how she was going to keep this from Barry. He would be furious if he knew three young men had paid her a visit and come bearing gifts. He’d question their intentions and probably try to raise a hand to her. Best if he doesn’t find out, she thought, and so put the LP in among their own and hid the crate of wine at the back of the pantry.

  Much to Audrey’s surprise, three weeks later the housekeeper rang her to ask if she could clean one of the college houses for her, and take it on as a permanent job. The old woman told her that she could have the children at work with her if she needed to during the holidays, because the job wouldn’t only be in term time. Audrey was so surprised that she said yes without asking any questions, not least of which would have been why her – the housekeeper didn’t seem to like her at all. Audrey could only think that she appreciated her hard work.

  The house was close to the Catholic Church on Hills Road and was a huge Edwardian place that housed half a dozen or so third-year students. Audrey started that week, and was delighted to discover that she’d be alone. She was the only cleaner in the house and didn’t have to worry about the house-keeper (or anyone else from the college) turning up to see what she was up to. The hours were perfect, too. She could start after 9 a.m. and finish just after 1 p.m., which allowed her enough time to take the children to school and pick them up.

  Barry was so pleased that she was back at work and happy that he saved up secretly and bought a new bike for her birthday that year. Just like her mum had, Audrey cycled everywhere on her Raleigh with its big basket. For a couple of weeks, that is, until it was stolen.

  Barry was furious when she told him it had gone. ‘Well, you’ll have to get the bus, ’cos I’m not getting you another one,’ he told her before slamming the door behind him on his way to the pub.

  That isn’t a problem, she thought, I’ll just get the 102 or 133 again. Which she did, for a month, until she was forced to give the job up.

  Audrey collapsed while at work one morning, and fainted clean away. A couple of students took her to hospital.

  ‘She’s exhausted,’ the doctor told Barry when he arrived an hour later. The doctor pointed out to her husband that Audrey had been running their home, hairdressing whenever she could, working evenings in the colleges doing silver service and bedding every day – cleaning the equivalent of six or seven flats. The doctor warned that Audrey – indeed any woman – couldn’t be expected to do as much and continue to be healthy. He suggested that the pair of them rethink their lives, and quickly.

  When the doctor asked Barry how his health was, because he looked tired and slightly yellow, Barry became worried. After a lecture on the perils of drinking too much, a shaken Barry realized that while Audrey had been working all the hours God sent, he was drinking their money away and it wasn’t doing anyone any good, not least himself.

  When she was strong enough to hear it, the doctor strongly warned Audrey about doing too much and what the consequences of carrying on as she had would be. ‘Think of your children if not yourself,’ he told her, which really hit home.

  When she was allowed home after several days of rest and recuperation, the first thing Audrey did was to ring the college housekeeper and quit her job as a bedder for the second and – she hoped – final time.

  Feeling determined, but also a little sad as she put the phone down, Audrey had a sudden, vivid memory of her mother and Maud, laughing their heads off as they cycled side by side to work at the college – the sky was clear, the air cold and she could feel frost on her cheek as she pressed against the window, wanting to see them for as long as she could before they turned the corner and disappeared. They seemed, in that far away time, to be so happy together, to have found something in their job that they couldn’t find at home, something that was so very different from their otherwise normal day-to-day existence. Back then, Audrey recalled, she had wanted whatever they had, which was why she had loved going with them to work as a bedder when she was a child.

  Happy times, she thought, so long gone.

  Acknowledgements

  While the stories in this book are all true, some of the extraordinary women who shared their memories of life as a bedder asked to remain anonymous, and so we have changed names and in some instances dates in order to honour their wishes.

  The greatest thanks go to all of them, and to the following Barnwell bedders: Joyce, Audrey, Doreen, Brenda, Jane and Gladys. A huge gratitude also has to go to the following women who started this journey with me in 2008: Margaret Granger, then a housekeeper, provided me with access into her college so I could see first-hand again the world of the bedder, and to Maggie Brown and Christine Snare for allowing me to follow them during their bedmaking routines for my 2008 film The Bedders. The help from Cambridgeshire Collection was integral in the early stages of research. In a small room in their temporary home at Milton Road Library, I was provided with absolutely everything that had ever been reported or written about bedmakers and landladies. Thank you also goes to Malcolm Underwood, the (now retired) archivist of St John’s, who in 2008 provided me with access to servant records and also put me in contact with the late Rachel Wroth, who kindly shared with me her fascinating research on college servants. More recently, along with St John’s, the Trinity archives have also been a great source of research: from servants’ pay records of the nineteenth and twentieth century to minutes of meetings, they gave me a greater insight into the history of the bedder.

  Thank you must also go to the Sidney Sussex chaplain who, on the day of my Aunt Shirley’s funeral, told me that the stories about bedders like her and other extraordinary women should be told in a documentary, which was where the journey began. An even bigger thank you goes to all of my family and friends who have supported me, among them Marc Atkinson and Katie Barlow, who helped me with the filming and editing of my film.

  It was no easy feat putting on The Bedders at the Cambridge colleges, where I wanted the gown to meet the town. After it was seen only by the Cambridge community of bedders during the 800th anniversary celebrations of the university, I approached The Museum of Cambridge and asked if they would hold an event, to which they agreed. It was a great success, and I have to thank Tamsin Wimhurst and her colleagues for providing me with a forum for people to share their experiences of working as a bedder and having a bedder work for them. Mal also has to thank Tamsin and Mike for the loan of their writer’s retreat in Norfolk, while thanks are due from me to the Venables, the Millers and Debbie for a summer spent writing at their homes in Devon and Cornwall.

  Thank you to the staff at the East Barnwell Community Centre for providing us with the space to hold an afternoon tea for the retired bedders of Barnwell, so that they could reconnect and reminisce.

  In this book, Rose Hobbs and Maud Cooper are created from various tales told to me about bedders and their lives, by women who knew people like them. There was a wonderful neighbour of my nana’s named Ruby, and stories of her and my nana’s friendship were told to me by my mum. Audrey also had an ‘aunty’. But Maud and Rose’s li
ves, as portrayed here, are only representative of the experiences of several women who lived in Cambridge and worked as bedders during the period of 1940 to 1980.

  In the early 1990s I interviewed my late Nana Adams for an A-level English project, and it was then that I started writing a play based on her life and her work. I thankfully kept the transcript of this interview, so the life of Ann ‘Nance’ Adams née Pilcher is more or less true to the memory and knowledge of her time, as it was told to me by her and by different members of my immediate and extended family, to whom I am eternally grateful. Similarly, Audrey and Joyce’s stories reflect to the greater part the reminiscences of both women, although they include aspects of reimagined conversation and situations. Enormous gratitude goes to the women who shared their memories with us, and I hope that in reading this book you get an idea of how these remarkable people lived, loved, suffered and enjoyed their time working at one of the world’s most famous educational institutions.

  Thanks to Ingrid Connell at Pan Macmillan for recognizing the potential in relating the stories of what is an almost criminally neglected group of working-class women, who spent their lives making sure that the ruling classes of England got their beds made, their fireplaces cleaned and their gyp rooms tidied. Thanks also to Zennor Compton at Pan Macmillan for her help in shaping the book.

  Bibliography

  Elliott, Chris and Cambridge Evening News, Cambridge: The Story of a City (Breedon Books, 2001)

  Hayman, Ronald (ed.), My Cambridge (Robson Books, 1977)

  Holbrook, Margot, Where Do You Keep? Lodging the Cambridge University Undergraduate (Capella Archive, 2006)