Ready, steady...Mop!
The clocks have moved forward. Flowers are blooming. The trees are unfurling fresh green leaves. Three unmistakable reminders that it’s time to spring-clean. The big annual once-over in a large house evokes images of maids in mob caps wielding feather dusters or madly beating carpets in the scullery yard – but it’s not quite so Downton Abbey these days. Still, no matter the size of the home, it is one chore that must be done.
At the first large house my husband and I were responsible for, the spring clean felt like a mammoth task, especially as we were novices back then. Where to begin? The wooden floors and panelling seemed to go on forever and then there was the ornate plasterwork and cornicing, the complicated curtains and drapes, the priceless antique furniture, the giltframed pictures, the marble fireplaces, silver, china and glass… and it all needed dusting or polishing or beating – or all three.
A further complication was that the house was lived in throughout the year, so the tasks had to be carried out as inconspicuously as possible, on top of the day-to-day running of the place. The key is to tackle one room, and within each room, one thing at a time. Start with the big things and work your way down to the tiniest ornaments.
So off we went, with the help of the existing cleaning lady, polishing and brushing, soaping and rinsing, smoothing and shining, a fl urry of mops and buckets and vacuum cleaners and dusters – feather and yellow. Beautiful things becoming more beautiful as the dust or grime disappeared.
I am not sure, however, that my application of lemon juice, a ‘traditional remedy’, to the marble fi replaces is something that would be recommended now, even if it did do the trick. (Too much acidic residue, I have since discovered.)
I tackled the Oak Room floor, which consisted of beautiful, very wide old planks on which several hundred years’ of feet had trod, on my knees. I applied the polish with great care and proceeded to methodically buff it up to a most satisfying shine. I was very pleased. ‘You don’t want to be doing that,’ said old Bill, who used to come in to do odd jobs around the house. ‘You’ll pay for it on them knees later.’
And how right he was. Let me recommend that you always use a kneeling cushion – if you don’t use a standup electric polisher, that is. I also discovered that there is something deeply satisfying about beating carpets. Just hang them over the line and beat away. It can relieve an awful lot of built-up tension, and certainly is better than kicking the dog or shouting at your dear husband.
It is also the best way to revitalise some of the smaller runners and rugs. Although give me a vacuum cleaner every time for a large area – and I’m all for getting the professionals in when the carpets need to be shampooed. Over the following 12 years we became more and more accomplished at performing this annual pantomime. It was with a sense of pride that we would view the gleaming results of our labours and I fell in love with the smell of lavender wood polish, gently mixing with the fresh spring air, wafting through the open windows, and the bowls of scented daffodils in the hall.
When we moved to work at a large Scottish home, things were different. The owners were away from the end of January until mid-June, so the house spent half the year pretty much asleep. During the long, cold months of February and March, my husband and I would make regular visits to ensure all was well – and it was definitely a house that liked to be full of people. It always felt decidedly sullen when empty. It even smelled odd. It was almost as if it were sulking.
Come April, however, and it was all hands on deck. It was the home of an artist with the eagle eye of a perfectionist, so the very greatest attention had to be paid to returning each thing to its rightful place. It was as much a challenge of memory as one of cleaning. Even now, 20 years later, I can remember in exact detail where each book and box of matches belonged.
It is a funny thing, but the more effort you put into not breaking something, the more likely you are to do just that. This paradox probably has a quasi-scientific name, but it’s likely a case of ‘grasping the nettle’. Carry something firmly and you’ll probably be all right; hold it in a cautious, airyfairy manner, however, and it is more likely to sting you by falling from your clutches.
It was certainly a good thing that the owner couldn’t see the chaos that reigned while we were setting about the Big Clean. For us it was a luxury to be able to move all the furniture around at will, to get underneath bits and bobs and into the difficult corners, to strip all the beds and get the chair covers off, to strew the terrace with the bedspreads and household linens so they could air in the sunshine. It was also reassuring to know that we wouldn’t inadvertently get our mops tangled in important feet.
The last house to come under our care was a big old rambling Cotswolds manor house. It, too, was occupied for part of the year, from April to September, again meaning that the spring clean could be a more leisurely affair. We were always on our toes in the winter, however, as the house was a haven for spiders, mice and bats, all of which would set the very sensitive alarms off in the middle of the night.
This, I am afraid, often meant a swift demise for the spiders and mice. The bats, however, were another matter. Not only are they rather adorable but they are protected by law. Consequently, we fought a preemptive war against them, blocking fireplaces and stuffing towels under doors in an attempt to stop them coming inside in the first place.
Our efforts were often futile, however, and the alarm would trill in the small hours, resulting in a long and usually unproductive search for the little blighters. They can hide in the tiniest of places, favouring the folds in curtains, or under pelmets, or among the drapes of the fourposter beds. On one occasion, one even found refuge under a tapestrycovered brick doorstop. He was undiscovered until he decided to do some daylight flying.
Of course, in the spring, along with all the other preparations, these precautions had to be dismantled – fireplaces were unblocked and towels were removed from doorways. This meant that the unwanted visitors had a bit of a free run and there was always an increased chance of unwelcome alarm calls.
When the cleaning was well under way and I was happy that it would be finished in time, my other job was to try and bring some order to the freezers, which were invariably stuffed with the abundance of the previous season. It is so easy at the time to think, ‘I’ll just stick it in the freezer.’ But, eventually, you have to do something with it.
The great freezer clean-out inevitably involves some casualties and a fair amount of ‘what was that?’ but also reveals piles of vegetables and fruit, ready for turning into delicious soups, pies – and last but not least, jam.
I have spent many an April morning watching pans of fruit bubbling away on the hob and praying that it will set. It usually does and I think that the most helpful tip I’ve read on the subject is to listen for a change in tune: when the mixture stops ‘bubbling’ and starts ‘plopping’. This seems to reliably indicate that the setting point has been reached and saves an awful lot of faffing about with thermometers and cold saucers.
The spring clean is hard work, but it can also be a labour of love and extremely rewarding. Better still, if you do it right, the benefits will last for a good while. So get out the feather duster and the carpet beater, the polish and the bleach, put a bowl of flowers on the dining-room table and clear out the freezer. Then throw open the windows and breathe in the invigorating smell of fresh air – and strawberry jam. You deserve it.
At the first large house my husband and I were responsible for, the spring clean felt like a mammoth task, especially as we were novices back then. Where to begin? The wooden floors and panelling seemed to go on forever and then there was the ornate plasterwork and cornicing, the complicated curtains and drapes, the priceless antique furniture, the giltframed pictures, the marble fireplaces, silver, china and glass… and it all needed dusting or polishing or beating – or all three.
A further complication was that the house was lived in throughout the year, so the tasks had to be carried out as inconspicuously as possible, on top of the day-to-day running of the place. The key is to tackle one room, and within each room, one thing at a time. Start with the big things and work your way down to the tiniest ornaments.
So off we went, with the help of the existing cleaning lady, polishing and brushing, soaping and rinsing, smoothing and shining, a fl urry of mops and buckets and vacuum cleaners and dusters – feather and yellow. Beautiful things becoming more beautiful as the dust or grime disappeared.
I am not sure, however, that my application of lemon juice, a ‘traditional remedy’, to the marble fi replaces is something that would be recommended now, even if it did do the trick. (Too much acidic residue, I have since discovered.)
I tackled the Oak Room floor, which consisted of beautiful, very wide old planks on which several hundred years’ of feet had trod, on my knees. I applied the polish with great care and proceeded to methodically buff it up to a most satisfying shine. I was very pleased. ‘You don’t want to be doing that,’ said old Bill, who used to come in to do odd jobs around the house. ‘You’ll pay for it on them knees later.’
And how right he was. Let me recommend that you always use a kneeling cushion – if you don’t use a standup electric polisher, that is. I also discovered that there is something deeply satisfying about beating carpets. Just hang them over the line and beat away. It can relieve an awful lot of built-up tension, and certainly is better than kicking the dog or shouting at your dear husband.
It is also the best way to revitalise some of the smaller runners and rugs. Although give me a vacuum cleaner every time for a large area – and I’m all for getting the professionals in when the carpets need to be shampooed. Over the following 12 years we became more and more accomplished at performing this annual pantomime. It was with a sense of pride that we would view the gleaming results of our labours and I fell in love with the smell of lavender wood polish, gently mixing with the fresh spring air, wafting through the open windows, and the bowls of scented daffodils in the hall.
When we moved to work at a large Scottish home, things were different. The owners were away from the end of January until mid-June, so the house spent half the year pretty much asleep. During the long, cold months of February and March, my husband and I would make regular visits to ensure all was well – and it was definitely a house that liked to be full of people. It always felt decidedly sullen when empty. It even smelled odd. It was almost as if it were sulking.
Come April, however, and it was all hands on deck. It was the home of an artist with the eagle eye of a perfectionist, so the very greatest attention had to be paid to returning each thing to its rightful place. It was as much a challenge of memory as one of cleaning. Even now, 20 years later, I can remember in exact detail where each book and box of matches belonged.
It is a funny thing, but the more effort you put into not breaking something, the more likely you are to do just that. This paradox probably has a quasi-scientific name, but it’s likely a case of ‘grasping the nettle’. Carry something firmly and you’ll probably be all right; hold it in a cautious, airyfairy manner, however, and it is more likely to sting you by falling from your clutches.
It was certainly a good thing that the owner couldn’t see the chaos that reigned while we were setting about the Big Clean. For us it was a luxury to be able to move all the furniture around at will, to get underneath bits and bobs and into the difficult corners, to strip all the beds and get the chair covers off, to strew the terrace with the bedspreads and household linens so they could air in the sunshine. It was also reassuring to know that we wouldn’t inadvertently get our mops tangled in important feet.
The last house to come under our care was a big old rambling Cotswolds manor house. It, too, was occupied for part of the year, from April to September, again meaning that the spring clean could be a more leisurely affair. We were always on our toes in the winter, however, as the house was a haven for spiders, mice and bats, all of which would set the very sensitive alarms off in the middle of the night.
This, I am afraid, often meant a swift demise for the spiders and mice. The bats, however, were another matter. Not only are they rather adorable but they are protected by law. Consequently, we fought a preemptive war against them, blocking fireplaces and stuffing towels under doors in an attempt to stop them coming inside in the first place.
Our efforts were often futile, however, and the alarm would trill in the small hours, resulting in a long and usually unproductive search for the little blighters. They can hide in the tiniest of places, favouring the folds in curtains, or under pelmets, or among the drapes of the fourposter beds. On one occasion, one even found refuge under a tapestrycovered brick doorstop. He was undiscovered until he decided to do some daylight flying.
Of course, in the spring, along with all the other preparations, these precautions had to be dismantled – fireplaces were unblocked and towels were removed from doorways. This meant that the unwanted visitors had a bit of a free run and there was always an increased chance of unwelcome alarm calls.
When the cleaning was well under way and I was happy that it would be finished in time, my other job was to try and bring some order to the freezers, which were invariably stuffed with the abundance of the previous season. It is so easy at the time to think, ‘I’ll just stick it in the freezer.’ But, eventually, you have to do something with it.
The great freezer clean-out inevitably involves some casualties and a fair amount of ‘what was that?’ but also reveals piles of vegetables and fruit, ready for turning into delicious soups, pies – and last but not least, jam.
I have spent many an April morning watching pans of fruit bubbling away on the hob and praying that it will set. It usually does and I think that the most helpful tip I’ve read on the subject is to listen for a change in tune: when the mixture stops ‘bubbling’ and starts ‘plopping’. This seems to reliably indicate that the setting point has been reached and saves an awful lot of faffing about with thermometers and cold saucers.
The spring clean is hard work, but it can also be a labour of love and extremely rewarding. Better still, if you do it right, the benefits will last for a good while. So get out the feather duster and the carpet beater, the polish and the bleach, put a bowl of flowers on the dining-room table and clear out the freezer. Then throw open the windows and breathe in the invigorating smell of fresh air – and strawberry jam. You deserve it.