THREE LITTLE MAIDS

Mary O’Brien was beyond question a good, kind and humble woman of Irish descent, a devout Catholic to boot. A woman in her early fifties — I was fortunate to have her in my earlier years as a nanny. (Or not as the case may be, dependent very much on my behavior.) Always dressed in a simple neck to knee black one-piece dress over which she wore a large one-piece, a nurse like, stiffly starched apron. White as the driven snow, if memory serves me correct.

Miss O’Brien was also our esteemed Housekeeper. Responsible for the linen room, all guest rooms and public areas pertaining to them. Note the use of the surname. It was not permitted for this young man to address any of the hotel staff, other than by their surname. No matter their station, position or responsibility in the hotel. In turn, I was always to be addressed as Master Peter.

Don’t be fooled by Miss O’Briens humble description. There was a strong work ethic behind that starched apron, not only demanded of herself — but all the chambermaids in her charge.

Chambermaids are the opportunity, the purveyors of all things beautiful, or sadly ugly of a hotel bedroom. This includes the artery that joins them all together, the corridor too. A guests perception, reality, and gratuities are in their hands. Be it a bed well made, or not — a pristine bathroom or leftovers from a previous guest not removed.

Some of you I think are nodding in quiet agreement at the latter.

Many years later, this hotel trained schoolboy will not hesitate to quiz a hotel bedroom on arrival, and on occasion request an alternate room. You see, ingrained habits, truly die hard.

Let’s get back on track with our chambermaids. Three in particular. Let’s call them Miss O’Leary, Miss Kelly and Miss Murphy — all Irish of course, all as young as the dawn. All former convent school girls. Let’s start with Miss O’Leary, a mass of ginger hair, freckles and a contagious smile. Never one to be quiet, unless Miss O’Brien was about. Her maids uniform — always a tad wonky.

Like all young girls, O’Leary had a want for tittle-tattle (Google that in your own time please) and an eye for Sid (sorry, Mr. Roberts to me) our young hotel porter. Who would try to sing and look like Cliff Richards, (Yes, go on — this time I’ll wait. Google him.) Mother however was having none of that Elvis inspired hair, hip wiggling, and tight pants.

O’Leary, of the contagious smile, thinking the coast was clear, attempted boldly to parade up and down the corridor in a guests beautiful blue polka dot, sling-back satin evening shoes. “Look at me”, she shrieked attracting the attention of other maids, to this most outlandish act. Egged on by this would be fashion show audience — O’Leary attempts with one hand on hip, to glide like a model, down a make-believe runway.

Wobbling rather precariously (at the ankle), as one foot attempts to follow the other, disaster beckoning at every step. And as sure as night follows day, disaster reared its ugly head. Taking two or three more shaky steps, young O’Leary goes into a dramatic tumble, her body and arms flailing, as she crashes to the floor. With a chortle, one of the onlooking maids exclaims “you’re an Eejit”. (Best you look this one up on Google too.)

I’m assured dear reader, emergency stops are not to be recommended in a pair of stilettos, whilst attempting a 90° turn. The law of physics was surely not denied — on this day.

For every action, there is a reaction. (Issac Newton, I believe?) Sadly there were two reactions. One is a badly broken, blue polka dot satin evening shoe heel. The other a twisted ankle for freckle-faced O’Leary. I stand corrected. A third coming from the not so humble Miss O’Brien.

According to Father, it started something like this “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” echoing down the corridor — ahead of the apparitional presence of our Miss O’Brian. Not a pretty sight.

Dark clouds and thunder might be a better description. First Miss O’Brien sends for Mother. She of the ability to stop a rhino at 10 paces with two words — “Peter Andrew”. Let’s top that with an Austrian accent — and I trust you begin to get the picture.

Mother surveying the chaos requires little additional information. Dark clouds in the form of Miss O’Brien, a no ordinary satin broken heel and a sobbing Miss O’Toole say it all. Sending a fashion show audience of maids — scurrying back to their duties, with one look from Mother.

Let’s take a breather here and ask ourselves where Bodo the boxer and his young master were? We sadly missed the catwalk segment — of this two-act play. We having fetched Mr Roberts — awaited Act II of this imaginary stage to play out.

At Miss O’Brien’s request, Miss O’Toole was hoisted off the floor, by the young Mr. Roberts, our hotel porter and literally swept off to the hospital. Now in Mr. Roberts enviable strong arms, that contagious smile returns to tear-stained cheeks, unable to stop itself breaking out riotously — over her freckled face, framed by that mass of ginger hair.

Disappearing in an instant — as Miss O’Toole looks over to Mother for additional sympathy. Not forthcoming from Mother, who is now sporting a germanic “we are not amused” look on her face.

Marilyn Monroe said, “Give A Girl The Right Shoes and She Can Conquer The World”. Not sure what world our Miss. O’Toole was trying to conquer, (other than Mr. Roberts) but more importantly what about our guest — the owner of the beautiful blue polka dot, satin evening shoes?

Sensing Mothers darkening mood, Bodo now partway down the corridor leads our swift silent cowardly retreat. The outcome of that question — best left on the third floor.

Least you think I’ve forgotten, let’s quickly move onto our little maids two and three, Miss Kelly and Miss Murphy. Miss Kelly would best be described as a plain, simple and pious young lady. Never missing mass on a Sunday or Holy Day. A quietly spoken young lady, prone to blushing profusely. Yet could always be heard singing some beautiful Irish lullaby as she went about the rooms under her charge.

Here we need to return to Mr Grey and his demise. His passing going unnoticed by our lullaby maid. Mr. Grey, it appears was sitting up, atop the bed covers, in his pajamas and tartan monogrammed dressing gown — when Miss Kelly entered to clear away his tea tray. (It has to be stated that neither Bodo nor I were present at this happening, and is recounted on Fathers recollection of the situation as relayed to him.)

Getting no response to her quiet good morning, she left dear Mr Grey alone in his room. Miss O’Brien seeing Miss Frances leave the room asked how old Mr. Grey was? I’m not sure — came the mouse-like response. Moments after Miss O’Brian entered Mr. Grey's room uninvited (getting no response to her increasingly urgent knocking) the proverbial “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” emanated from his room. Followed by a reverently whispered request to Miss Kelly “please go and fetch Miss Lindor” That would be Mother.

As a by-note, Father and I have often wondered about Mother and her maiden name. Ring a bell? No? Now think chocolate — that of the Swiss variety. Oooh, I hear you exclaim.

Poor Miss Kelly, blushing with embarrassment, ran off down the corridor to fetch Mother. The rest you know, if you partook in the first vignette dedicated to the late Mr. Grey. (Of course, Mother saw to it that a priest and last rites were involved too — Father often wondered if the dear man was Catholic or not?)

This dovetails nicely to our third and last little maid Miss Murphy.

Growing up in a hotel has many educational moments. This particular lesson might have been best learned at a later moment in time. Thus the reason for being sent off to boarding school. But I digress. Morning tea is paraphernalia of “brown china tea-pots”, extra hot water jugs, cubes of sugar and tongs, milk jugs and on this particular morning — my good self following said maid, Miss Murphy into a bedroom with an additional tray of buttered toast and Duerr’s marmalade.

On this occasion, an order for three delivered to a double room. I’ll end with that thought and pick it up on our next vignette. Crikey! Has the penny not dropped yet?

Did the beautiful blue polka dot, satin evening shoes ever get repaired? Replaced? The honest answer is — we’ll never know. However, Miss O’Toole seemed to somewhat recover, in the arms of Mr. Roberts. And the quiet pious Miss Kelly? She kindly as is her nature lit a candle every Sunday for dear old Mr. Grey. As to our three guests in the bedroom? Well, dear reader — you’ll need to wait patiently for the next upcoming vignette. Or skip it, depending on your demure.

© Peter Wood 2024