The modern process of applying for jobs can be an involved affair. It may include fashioning a slick looking CV that boasts of your many impressive accomplishments. You may be expected to upload a detailed application form to an online portal that outlines exactly how you meet the essential criteria outlined in the job advert. This may all be overseen by team of dedicated HR staff who will summon those luckily enough to be chosen to an interview, requiring preparation and a smartly pressed suit. However, if you were a fencer, mason or caretaker seeking to better your position in 1920s Northumberland, you could expect a somewhat more straightforward procedure.
Within the uncatalogued records of the Baker-Cresswell estate archive at Northumberland Archives we recently came across three folders of applications for situations vacant at one of the family’s properties, Harehope Hall near Eglingham. Harehope hall was built in 1848 by the Cresswell family and originally served as a hunting lodge. On the 12th of January 1924, the Newcastle Journal published an advert for an Estate Mason for Harehope. Two years later, on the 12th of April, the estate required a Caretaker, and then two years later again, an ‘Experienced Fencer’ was required. The number of applicants varied for each job; there were between 20 and 30 applications for each of the positions of mason and fencer in 1924/1926, and in 1928 there were 47 applicants for caretaker. In each case, jobseekers were required to send a simple letter of application to the estate office.
The letters in these files offer a fascinating insight into many aspects of life in 1920s Britain; how skilled labourers and the working class approached applications for employment and what were seen as attractive qualities for such positions in the eyes of those that applied for them. With the benefit of hindsight, we can also examine the material to look for evidence of the economic situation of the country in general.
Although worse was to come in the 1930s, Britain experienced record levels of unemployment throughout the 1920s following the end of the First World War. For the period covering these letters of 1924-28, the unemployment rate remained at over 10% which was the highest level that the industrialised UK had yet seen, as many returning soldiers from the front struggled to find a means of income following demobilisation. There are hints at this economic uncertainty within the job applications, as several of the writers state they have been out of work for an extended period following military service and would be very keen to start work as soon as possible, even within the next few days. Although this heightened level of financial anxiety is certainly evident in some of letters, they rarely demonstrate an out-and-out desperation and, overall, this collection does not paint a picture of a country or region in the grip of economic turmoil; the majority of applicants are currently in employment at the time of writing and are mostly seeking to better their lot.
All three of the adverts requested that applicants stated the wage they would require on application and for each position a similar range is evident. The most modest figure requested was a mere £1 a week, roughly equivalent to £40 in today’s money. At the other end of the scale, the highest that some applicants ventured was for £3 a week – roughly £123 today, with most requests at around £2 plus. It is worth noting that accommodation was provided for at least both the caretaker and fencer positions which may have had a bearing on the wages requested, but it does seem likely that there was a set salary band that this type or tradesman of the period would expect.
For modern jobseekers, the ability to enthusiastically explain that you are the perfect fit for the vacancy in question is usually an important part of an application; setting out your skillset, boasting about your accomplishments or explaining how you have approached a challenging task with resourcefulness and ingenuity are all common exercises. However, for our Northumbrian skilled labourers of the 1920s, this was obviously seen as less of an essential part of the application. In terms of skills or abilities, most of the letters simply stated in plain language what the applicant did as a trade and where they had worked previously. Nearly all either included references or offered to supply them later, but very few candidates attempted to make themselves stand out from the rest of the field. One man suggested he was ‘always willing to do the best he can to satisfy [my] employer’ and another proudly promised his hours of work to be 7am to 5pm. However only one candidate gave what could be considered an example of his inventiveness; in a previous role, he explained, he had ‘fences to put up in land so soft you could not pull the wire and we had the joists to make especially for the job’. In fact, if a candidate did feel inclined to talk highly of themselves it was more likely to be on matters of character or moral fibre than practical ability; several of the letters bragged of being sober or a ‘total abstainer’ and a handful talked of their churchgoing habits.
Although details of the duties involved in the three roles are relatively sparse, the advertisement for the role of caretaker at Harehope Hall offers an interesting glimpse into changing trends in British living conditions in the early 21st Century. In 1919, 6% of UK homes had the luxury of wired electricity. By 1930, this had shot up to 75%. The ability to oversee the running of this new luxury was now seen as a core responsibility of the role of caretaker, and so the job advert specifically requested someone who could ‘run the electric light.’ Many of the applicants confidently stated they could manage this task without giving much in the way of evidence or experience. One man explained that he had worked with dynamos as a ‘sea-going engineer’ in the Navy whilst several others admitted they had had little experience with electricity but, optimistically, could ‘manage with a lesson or two.’
One aspect of the recruitment process which seems not to have changed much in 100 years is the wide range of suitability and employability of hopeful applicants. On paper, many of those who replied to the advertisements seem well suited to the positions, but it does seem apparent that several were likely chancing their arm. One applicant for the role of mason went to great lengths in describing his career in French polishing, another prospective caretaker had clearly spent a large part of his working life as a chauffeur, and an applicant for the fencing job was very keen to tell of his successes in local hedge-cutting competitions. Despite the number of seemingly suitable applicants, A.H. Ridley of the Cresswell Estate Office did try to head-hunt some preferred staff, offering the role of Fencer to a gentleman who politely turned it down due to being in contract at Eton Manor until 1929. However, Ridley did eventually land a suitable candidate; after requesting a reference from M.A. Coates of Haggerston Castle, the role appears to have been offered to a well-qualified applicant, who, according to his previous employer, was ‘a very good man. He is very good and laying thorn hedges and can also mend dry stone walls and do any work on the Estate.’
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