The Remains of the Day pdfdrive com

particularly those items that would appear at table – was not always
regarded a serious duty. But it would not be unfair to suggest that many
butlers of, say, my father’s generation did not consider the matter such a
key one, and this is evidenced by the fact that in those days, the butler
of a household rarely supervised the polishing of silver directly, being
content to leave it to, say, the under-butler’s whims, carrying out
inspections only intermittently. It was Mr Marshall, it is generally
agreed, who was the first to recognize the full significance of silver –
namely, that no other objects in the house were likely to come under
such intimate scrutiny from outsiders as was silver during a meal, and as
such, it served as a public index of a house’s standards. And Mr Marshall
it was who first caused stupefaction amongst ladies and gentlemen
visiting Charleville House with displays of silver polished to previously
unimagined standards. Very soon, naturally, butlers up and down the
country, under pressure from their employers, were focusing their minds
on the question of silver-polishing. There quickly sprang up, I recall,
various butlers, each claiming to have discovered methods by which
they could surpass Mr Marshall – methods they made a great show of
keeping secret, as though they were French chefs guarding their recipes.
But I am confident – as I was then – that the sorts of elaborate and
mysterious processes performed by someone like Mr Jack Neighbours
had little or no discernible effect on the end result. As far as I was
concerned, it was a simple enough matter: one used good polish, and
one supervised closely. Giffen’s was the polish ordered by all discerning
butlers of the time, and if this product was used correctly, one had no
fear of one’s silver being second best to anybody’s.
I am glad to be able to recall numerous occasions when the silver at
Darlington Hall had a pleasing impact upon observers. For instance, I
recall Lady Astor remarking, not without a certain bitterness, that our

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silver ‘was probably unrivalled’. I recall also watching Mr George
Bernard Shaw, the renowned playwright, at dinner one evening,
examining closely the dessert spoon before him, holding it up to the
light and comparing its surface to that of a nearby platter, quite
oblivious to the company around him. But perhaps the instance I recall
with most satisfaction today concerns the night that a certain
distinguished personage – a cabinet minister, shortly afterwards to
become foreign secretary – paid a very ‘off the record’ visit to the house.
In fact, now that the subsequent fruits of those visits have become well
documented, there seems little reason not to reveal that I am talking of
Lord Halifax.
As things turned out, that particular visit was simply the first of a
whole series of such ‘unofficial’ meetings between Lord Halifax and the
German Ambassador of that time, Herr Ribbentrop. But on that first
night, Lord Halifax had arrived in a mood of great wariness; virtually his
first words on being shown in were: ‘Really, Darlington, I don’t know
what you’ve put me up to here. I know I shall be sorry.’
Herr Ribbentrop not being expected for a further hour or so, his
lordship had suggested to his guest a tour of Darlington Hall – a strategy
which had helped many a nervous visitor to relax. However, as I went
about my business, all I could hear for some time was Lord Halifax, in
various parts of the building, continuing to express his doubts about the
evening ahead, and Lord Darlington trying in vain to reassure him. But
then at one point I overheard Lord Halifax exclaiming: ‘My goodness,
Darlington, the silver in this house is a delight.’ I was of course very
pleased to hear this at the time, but what was for me the truly satisfying
corollary to this episode camé two or three days later, when Lord
Darlington remarked to me: ‘By the way, Stevens, Lord Halifax was jolly
impressed with the silver the other night. Put him into a quite different
frame of mind altogether.’ These were – I recollect it clearly – his
lordship’s actual words and so it is not simply my fantasy that the state
of the silver had made a small, but significant contribution towards the
easing of relations between Lord Halifax and Herr Ribbentrop that
evening.
It is probably apt at this point to say a few words concerning Herr
Ribbentrop. It is, of course, generally accepted today that Herr

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Ribbentrop was a trickster: that it was Hitler’s plan throughout those
years to deceive England for as long as possible concerning his true
intentions, and that Herr Ribbentrop’s sole mission in our country was to
orchestrate this deception. As I say, this is the commonly held view and I
do not wish to differ with it here. It is, however, rather irksome to have
to hear people talking today as though they were never for a moment
taken in by Herr Ribbentrop – as though Lord Darlington was alone in
believing Herr Ribbentrop an honourable gentleman and developing a
working relationship with him. The truth is that Herr Ribbentrop was,
throughout the thirties, a well-regarded figure, even a glamorous one, in
the very best houses. Particularly around 1936 and 1937, I can recall all
the talk in the servants’ hall from visiting staff revolving around ‘the
German Ambassador’, and it was clear from what was said that many of
the most distinguished ladies and gentlemen in this country were quite
enamoured of him. It is, as I say, irksome to have to hear the way these
same people now talk of those times, and in particular, what some have
said concerning his lordship. The great hypocrisy of these persons would
be instantly obvious to you were you to see just a few of their own guest
lists from those days; you would see then not only the extent to which
Herr Ribbentrop dined at these same persons’ tables, but that he often
did so as guest of honour.
And then again, you will hear these same persons talking as though
Lord Darlington did something unusual in receiving hospitality from the
Nazis on the several trips he made to Germany during those years. I do
not suppose they would speak quite so readily if, say. The Times were to
publish even one of the guest lists of the banquets given by the Germans
around the time of the Nuremberg Rally. The fact is, the most
established, respected ladies and gentlemen in England were availing
themselves of the hospitality of the German leaders, and I can vouch at
first hand that the great majority of these persons were returning with
nothing but praise and admiration for their hosts. Anyone who implies
that Lord Darlington was liaising covertly with a known enemy is just
conveniently forgetting the true climate of those times.
It needs to be said too what salacious nonsense it is to claim that Lord
Darlington was anti-Semitic, or that he had close association with
organizations like the British Union of Fascists. Such claims can only

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arise from complete ignorance of the sort of gentleman his lordship was.
Lord Darlington came to abhor anti-Semitism; I heard him express his
disgust on several separate occasions when confronted with anti-Semitic
sentiments. And the allegation that his lordship never allowed Jewish
people to enter the house or any Jewish staff to be employed is utterly
unfounded – except, perhaps, in respect to one very minor episode in the
thirties which has been blown up out of all proportion. And as for the
British Union of Fascists, I can only say that any talk linking his lordship
to such people is quite ridiculous. Sir Oswald Mosley, the gentleman
who led the ‘blackshirts’, was a visitor at Darlington Hall on, I would
say, three occasions at the most, and these visits all took place during
the early days of that organization before it had betrayed its true nature.
Once the ugliness of the blackshirts’ movement became apparent – and
let it be said his lordship was quicker than most in noticing it – Lord
Darlington had no further association with such people.
In any case, such organizations were a complete irrelevance to the
heart of political life in this country. Lord Darlington, you will
understand, was the sort of gentleman who cared to occupy himself only
with what was at the true centre of things, and the figures he gathered
together in his efforts over those years were as far away from such
unpleasant fringe groups as one could imagine. Not only were they
eminently respectable, these were figures who held real influence in
British life: politicians, diplomats, military men, clergy. Indeed, some of
the personages were Jewish, and this fact alone should demonstrate how
nonsensical is much of what has been said about his lordship.
But I drift. I was in fact discussing the silver, and how Lord Halifax
had been suitably impressed on the evening of his meeting with Herr
Ribbentrop at Darlington Hall. Let me make clear, I was not for a
moment suggesting that what had initially threatened to be a
disappointing evening for my employer had turned into a triumphant
one solely on account of the silver. But then, as I indicated, Lord
Darlington himself suggested that the silver might have been at least a
small factor in the change in his guest’s mood that evening, and it is
perhaps not absurd to think back to such instances with a glow of
satisfaction.
There are certain members of our profession who would have it that it

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ultimately makes little difference what sort of employer one serves; who
believe that the sort of idealism prevalent amongst our generation –
namely the notion that we butlers should aspire to serve those great
gentlemen who further the cause of humanity – is just high-flown talk
with no grounding in reality. It is of course noticeable that the
individuals who express such scepticism invariably turn out to be the
most mediocre of our profession – those who know they lack the ability
to progress to any position of note and who aspire only to drag as many
down to their own level as possible – and one is hardly tempted to take
such opinions seriously. But for all that, it is still satisfying to be able to
point to instances in one’s career that highlight very clearly how wrong
such people are. Of course, one seeks to provide a general, sustained
service to one’s employer, the value of which could never be reduced to
a number of specific instances – such as that concerning Lord Halifax.
But what I am saying is that it is these sorts of instances which over time
come to symbolize an irrefutable fact; namely that one has had the
privilege of practising one’s profession at the very fulcrum of great
affairs. And one has a right, perhaps, to feel a satisfaction those content
to serve mediocre employers will never know – the satisfaction of being
able to say with some reason that one’s efforts, in however modest a
way, comprise a contribution to the course of history.
But perhaps one should not be looking back to the past so much. After
all, I still have before me many more years of service I am required to
give. And not only is Mr Farraday a most excellent employer, he is an
American gentleman to whom, surely, one has a special duty to show all
that is best about service in England. It is essential, then, to keep one’s
attention focused on the present; to guard against any complacency
creeping in on account of what one may have achieved in the past. For it
has to be admitted, over these last few months, things have not been all
they might at Darlington Hall. A number of small errors have surfaced of
late, including that incident last April relating to the silver. Most
fortunately, it was not an occasion on which Mr Farraday had guests, but
even so, it was a moment of genuine embarrassment to me.
It had occurred at breakfast one morning, and for his part, Mr
Farraday – either through kindness, or because being an American he
failed to recognize the extent of the shortcoming – did not utter one

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word of complaint to me throughout the whole episode. He had, upon
seating himself, simply picked up the fork, examined it for a brief
second, touching the prongs with a fingertip, then turned his attention to
the morning headlines. The whole gesture had been carried out in an
absent-minded sort of way, but of course, I had spotted the occurrence
and had advanced swiftly to remove the offending item. I may in fact
have done so a little too swiftly on account of my disturbance, for Mr
Farraday gave a small start, muttering: ‘Ah, Stevens.’
I had continued to proceed swiftly out of the room, returning without
undue delay bearing a satisfactory fork. As I advanced again upon the
table – and a Mr Farraday now apparently absorbed in his newspaper –
it occurred to me I might slip the fork on to the tablecloth quietly
without disturbing my employer’s reading. However, the possibility had
already occurred to me that Mr Farraday was simply feigning
indifference in order to minimize my embarrassment, and such a
surreptitious delivery could be interpreted as complacency on my part
towards my error – or worse, an attempt to cover it up. This was why,
then, I decided it appropriate to put the fork down on to the table with a
certain emphasis, causing my employer to start a second time, look up
and mutter again: ‘Ah, Stevens.’
Errors such as these which have occurred over the last few months
have been, naturally enough, injurious to one’s self-respect, but then
there is no reason to believe them to be the signs of anything more
sinister than a staff shortage. Not that a staff shortage is not significant
in itself; but if Miss Kenton were indeed to return to Darlington Hall,
such little slips, I am sure, would become a thing of the past. Of course,
one has to remember there is nothing stated specifically in Miss Kenton’s
letter – which, incidentally, I reread last night up in my room before
putting out the light – to indicate unambiguously her desire to return to
her former position. In fact, one has to accept the distinct possibility that
one may have previously – perhaps through wishful thinking of a
professional kind – exaggerated what evidence there was regarding such
a desire on her part. For I must say I was a little surprised last night at
how difficult it was actually to point to any passage which clearly
demonstrated her wish to return.
But then again, it seems hardly worthwhile to speculate greatly on

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such matters now when one knows one will, in all likelihood, be talking
face to face with Miss Kenton within forty-eight hours. Still, I must say, I
did spend some long minutes turning those passages over in my mind
last night as I lay there in the darkness, listening to the sounds from
below of the landlord and his wife clearing up for the night.

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