The Servants Who Suffered in 1854

The Servants Who Suffered in 1854

They rang the bell, the silver tray,

their names unknown to history’s say

Hands rubbed raw by soot and starch

bones bowed low beneath the arch

They lit the fires before first light

scrubbed the floors till day turned night

Wore silence like a second skin

heard secrets whispered deep within

The lady’s dress, a sea of lace

was stitched by girls with sunken face

Each pleat a prayer, each hem a sigh

that no one asked the reason why

A cough behind the cellar door

a cradle stilled on cobbled floor

A letter lost, a wage delayed

a child unmarked, a debt unpaid

They polished grief in every spoon

and rose by five a.m., not noon

When master stirred and mistress frowned

they made no cry, they made no sound

A maid dismissed for broken plate

was gone by dusk, too soon, too late

Her footsteps washed by London rain

no record kept, no trace, no name

The chimney boys, too small to climb

were sent with soot before their time

And Mary Ann, who bore the bruise

was told to smile and shine her shoes

Yet still they stitched and still they sang

their laughter low, their sorrow rang

in basements cold and attic rooms

where youth was traded, lost too soon

The gowns remain, the tales are thin

but history hides the truth within

The ones who bowed, who bore, who bled

still whisper truths the rich forget.