Scullion

Ouch! Aha ha ha ...hot! Ow! Get out of my light, will you! I can’t see what I’m doing.

Don’t let anyone find you in here, or you will get me in trouble. Only kitchen staff allowed in the kitchen – so unless you want to sign up as a scullion, then keep quiet.

Oh yes, it’s great fun in here. I started when I was ten years old and I think that was the last time I saw daylight.

Well, of course, any chance to serve in a great household is an honour – you certainly wouldn’t let a commoner do this duty in a Lord’s house. My father was well-born...bailiff to the Lord of Carew...which makes me well-born too. Service to your betters is a way of life – everyone serves someone, right up to the barons who serve the king... But if serving the lord is an honour, serving as a scullion is a very small honour.

You want to know what a scullion does all day? All the jobs that nobody else wants to do, that’s what. Gutting birds, cleaning tables, and putting clay pots onto the embers and getting his hands burned. I spend that much time leaning over the fire I’m surprised the cook hasn’t served me up at dinner.

It is neverending down here. We have to feed the staff and any number of guests and each meal takes hours to prepare. And these clay pots are always breaking and spilling the food into the fire, and I get blamed. But if I gain favour with the steward, get his attention, I can hope for a better position. I don’t want to be an old scullion, if you know what I mean...