Fired! Our Final Domestic Couple Job

We were in our late 40s and thought we’d found the perfect live-in domestic couple job just a stone’s throw from our family.

What began as an idyllic opportunity eventually became an overwhelming burden. Over the next several years, we faced relentless demands, strained relationships, and betrayal. 

At 54, I was fired, losing my job and our home. And it didn’t end there. Spiteful actions defined the final chapter of our time on that job, ensuring our departure was as harmful to my family as possible.

This is a cautionary tale about how even the most promising domestic couple's jobs can become nightmares.

Finding the Job

In 2016, while we happily worked for another family, we stumbled upon an online ad. It was for a domestic couple’s role at a historic country estate in south England.

We’d spent years happily working as a live-in domestic couple in London—first for a billionaire and then for a friendly, informal family in Borehamwood. (You can read more about those jobs in the "Our Journey" section.) Both jobs had been good, and our employers treated us well, but this new role offered something we longed for: the chance to live closer to our son, who was studying at a university in the south.

The estate was large, with cottages spread across the grounds to house the staff. 

We applied and were thrilled to get the job.

Our Accommodation

One of the best perks of this job was the tied two-bedroom cottage that was part of our package. It was just a minute’s walk from the main house and overlooked a large lake. From our bedroom window, we could see the impressive main house.

Like all domestic staff live-in roles in the UK, the cottage included utilities and council tax paid by our boss. The boss also generously let us rent the studio flat next to our cottage for our son—for just £250 a month.

A Great Start

Initially, the job was straightforward, and we loved it. Kirsten was the housekeeper and cook, reporting to the head housekeeper, while I handled maintenance alongside a live-out maintenance man. We and the other live-in staff, who had their own cottages on the grounds, reported to the estate manager. My responsibilities were what you’d typically expect on a large estate: changing light bulbs, cleaning windows, sweeping leaves, maintaining the pool, and helping care for some animals.

I also enjoyed tackling bigger projects when they came up, like building wooden pergolas for the climbing roses in one of the formal gardens and replacing the fountain bowl in one of the estate’s fountains.

The rest of the staff were easy to get along with, and we became good friends. The estate manager and his wife, the head housekeeper, kept everything running smoothly. Everyone knew their role, and the team worked well together.

The Boss and His Family

The estate was owned by an elderly couple in their eighties. The wife suffered from Alzheimer’s, and the husband—who we’ll refer to as “the boss”—had two sons and a granddaughter from a previous marriage. They were all directors of the estate. The older son lived and worked abroad, while the younger son had a cottage on the estate, though he wasn’t there often. As for the granddaughter, we only saw her once in the seven years we worked there.

We got on very well with all the family. I often drove them to and from the airport, especially during the festive season. Christmas on the estate was always a grand affair. Kirsten and I worked through the Christmas period, including Christmas Day, preparing three-course meals for their holiday gatherings.

The boss was fond of the holiday season and included his staff in the celebrations. He would invite us all for drinks and mince pies by the fire, creating a warm, convivial atmosphere. In that respect, he was a good employer—one of the best we’d ever had.

By the end of the Christmas season, we were completely worn out. The festive period was rewarding but exhausting. However, we always had one thing to look forward to: January. Each year, in the first week of the month, the boss and his wife would leave for their house abroad, staying away for three months. His children usually flew off as well, leaving the estate quieter than at any other time of the year.

Weddings

Meanwhile, all live-in staff were expected to work during weekend weddings held on the estate during the summer months. Our duties varied from managing parking and liaising with contractors to handling security late into the night. This occasionally involved escorting unruly and intoxicated guests from the property—a responsibility none of us felt qualified to handle and one we were all uneasy about.

While these additional responsibilities stretched us, we accepted them because, overall, our boss was good to us. The boss also paid bonuses just before Christmas, making the extra work more tolerable.

Exhaustion

Six months in, the workload changed significantly. Kirsten’s job grew to include caregiving for the boss’s wife, whose dementia was worsening quickly. She could no longer read or write and began needing help with personal care.
 

We were used to long hours after years of working in live-in roles, and we had always been willing to go above and beyond when the job required. But this was different. It was unrelenting, and neither of us had experience with dementia care.

Kirsten handled it patiently and kindly, but the demands took a heavy toll. She wasn’t just caring for the boss’s wife but also dealing with the boss’s increasingly unrealistic and often cruel expectations. He had little patience or understanding of his wife’s condition, which only made the situation harder to bear.

We felt trapped. We had committed to the job, and with our son living next door, we didn’t feel we could just walk away. The demands kept piling up. Kirsten’s days stretched longer and longer—up at 7 a.m. and rarely home before 9 p.m., seven days a week.

London Dinner Parties

At the same time, the boss kept up a busy social schedule and made regular trips to London. While he had a driver for city trips, I became responsible for all his local driving.

As time passed, we were expected to work at the boss’s London property some evenings. Kirsten would prepare meals for his dinner parties while I handled front-of-house and butler duties. These nights were tough, with tight schedules and the stress of getting the boss’s wife ready to meet the guests. Her dementia made this incredibly challenging, as she would resist, wondering why she was there and who all these strange people were.

Afterwards, I would drive everyone back to the country estate, arriving in the early morning hours. 

Balancing the responsibilities of two properties added even more pressure.

Becoming the Estate Manager

A few months into the job, the estate manager and his wife left, and I was asked to take over. My predecessor had a wealth of experience in horticulture and estate management. I didn’t have that kind of background, but I gave it my best.

Now, I’m sure most estate managers achieve as much as I did—if not more. I’ve expanded on my efforts below to provide context for later events. Despite everything I worked to accomplish, I ultimately faced a pattern of dismissiveness that had already been experienced by other staff whose years of effort and contributions to the estate and the family were disregarded without a second thought. This behaviour created an unsettling atmosphere where no amount of dedication seemed to offer protection from sudden dismissal.

Throughout my tenure, I focused on doing my best, especially meeting the boss’s priorities to expand the business side of the estate. When I started my new role, event bookings came by word-of-mouth with no promotion other than a handful of free listings on wedding sites. I created the estate’s first website and introduced an online enquiry system for weddings and tours. I also launched the social media accounts, which quickly helped increase enquiries.

I also inherited a chaotic bookkeeping system with no accountability or transparency. I implemented the online QuickBooks accounting system to address this, creating a streamlined and transparent process that allowed the boss and his family to log in anytime to see the cash flow.

At the time, wedding receptions were held in a hired marquee, with outside contractors managing catering and bar services. This setup caused logistical headaches and didn’t align with the boss’s vision for a more upmarket venue. It also strained our small team, who spent too much time managing outside contractors and event companies. We transformed an underused building into a stunning reception space to address this. Kirsten and I added in-house features such as a dance floor, photo booth, lighting, and a DJ booth. I also set up a co-op with staff to own and operate the bar, although Kirsten and I were never part of the co-op ourselves. This reduced reliance on external suppliers and incentivised staff to be present and engaged during weddings and events.

The only external service we continued to use was professional security, which I insisted on hiring to avoid the previous reliance on our staff to handle unruly wedding guests. We also hired an events manager with social media skills to boost promotions. Over the years, these changes helped us grow from hosting a handful of weddings annually to more than 20, generating significant income for the estate.

Meanwhile, as Kirsten was battling with the unrelenting workload of doing her job and looking after the boss’s wife, I focused on keeping the estate’s operations running smoothly. Fortunately, the staff knew their jobs well, much better than I did, and I trusted them to get on with it without micromanaging. They were reliable and hardworking, so there was no need for me to scrutinise their work. To the relief of the head gardener and his team, my involvement in the gardens was minimal—I stuck to mowing the paddocks when time allowed—which suited everyone just fine.

Health and safety, however, had never been a priority on the estate, and I knew this had to change as we grew the business. To address this, I enrolled staff in courses covering first aid, ladder safety, working at heights, and food hygiene. I aimed to make the estate a safer and happier workplace for everyone. I also prioritised expanding my knowledge, enrolling in compliance courses covering health and safety regulations, RIDDOR (Reporting of Injuries, Diseases and Dangerous Occurrences Regulations), and risk management. These steps reinforced my commitment to improving safety standards across the estate.

The staff had no idea what was happening behind closed doors. On the surface, the boss was friendly and charming, but his private behaviour was another matter entirely. He loved his wife but struggled to cope with her illness. Watching her condition deteriorate was heartbreaking—her illness made even the simplest tasks, like swallowing medication, impossible. The physical violence that erupted was shocking to witness, and it took an emotional toll on both of us.
While the rest of the team remained unaware, Kirsten and I were left to care for his wife’s physical needs and navigate the boss's refusal to accept her decline. These experiences profoundly shaped my views on the coercion of live-in staff into roles they are not trained, willing, or paid to perform. Speaking out about this became my undoing when the boss himself later developed dementia. My efforts to advocate for proper caregiving and fairness were interpreted as creating a “toxic” workplace, which ultimately led to my dismissal.

Ironically, the younger son—the same one who later dismissed me—had once acknowledged the limitations of live-in staff. In an email to his father, he candidly admitted:

"Craig’s got your best interests in mind, and he really takes good care of the estate. Your team were not qualified to provide 24-hour care."

Tours

The estate was more than just a private home and wedding venue—it owed much of its success to a long-serving staff member central to its operations. Hired by the boss’s wife years ago, long before her illness, he had worked for the family longer than anyone else and forged a uniquely personal bond with them.

Sociable and gregarious, he had a gift for storytelling that made him the perfect guide for the estate’s private tours. His engaging tales and dramatic flair brought the estate’s rich history to life, captivating visitors and earning praise. After the tours, Kirsten prepared refreshments while the rest of the staff helped serve. These events also gave the gardening team a rare opportunity to showcase their work, and the admiration of visitors lifted their spirits.

The tours became a cherished tradition but had to stop when Kirsten’s time was increasingly consumed by caring for the boss’s wife, whose behaviour had grown unpredictable.

Our tour guide’s contributions extended far beyond tours. As Master of Ceremonies at weddings, he played a key role in the estate’s success. His warmth and charisma were integral to these events, and his impact was undeniable.
Yet, for reasons none of the staff could understand, the younger son and his partner decided he no longer belonged. They built a baseless case against him, accusing him of startling guests, crossing boundaries, and taking liberties.
Letting him go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do as an estate manager. He deserved so much more—a proper thank-you, an acknowledgement of his years of service, and recognition of his enormous impact on the estate. Instead, it ended quietly, without ceremony, as though none of it had ever mattered.

Bonuses

For all his faults, the boss was always a generous employer. Bonuses, for example, are a rarity in most live-in roles, but he prioritised rewarding staff well. Staff bonuses ranged from nothing for poor performance to four weeks’ wages for exceptional contributions beyond specified duties. What you’d end up getting was carefully calculated using a scorecard system that marked you on specific tasks related to your job description. Bonuses were paid just before Christmas, and the team appreciated this. I made it my job to advocate for their hard work, especially their long hours and efforts, which often went unnoticed.

However, I sometimes felt that bonuses were used to justify unfair additional responsibilities. This became more evident when the younger son defended his decision to load extra work on the housekeeper and events manager by saying, “Keep in mind that they just received bonuses and raises,” without much understanding of how bonuses were meant to work.

This approach led to one of the first signs of friction between me and the younger son. I insisted that staff bonuses were a reward for work already done, not a justification for increasing workloads the following year.

Carers Came and Went

As the boss’s wife’s dementia advanced, her needs became overwhelming. They also stopped taking their three-month trips abroad, which left us working flat out for the whole year, only breaking for our holidays. Eventually, the boss reluctantly agreed to hire a live-in carer to help out at night to give Kirsten a break.

One of the boss’s colleagues suggested an excellent local care agency, but I was forbidden from using an agency, a decision that quickly revealed its darker purpose. Agency staff come with professional oversight, training, and a support network to protect carers and clients. These safeguards ensure carers have someone to report to if issues arise and prevent them from being isolated or exploited. So, instead, I was instructed to recruit through The Lady magazine and private ads. This approach meant the carers had no external safety net or professional body to advocate for them. It gave the boss complete control over their working conditions and ensured any issues stayed behind closed doors.

Carers came and went, none lasting more than a few months. The issue wasn’t the wife—it was the relentless and unreasonable demands of the household. The boss insisted on a strict schedule: his wife had to be up, bathed, dressed, and seated at the breakfast table by 8:30 a.m., with no exceptions. This was unrealistic, especially for night carers who had already endured long shifts battling her worsening dementia, insomnia, and the boss’s controlling nature through the nights.

The Puppy

At the worst possible moment, the boss decided to buy a puppy. Kirsten and I were already stretched to breaking point, but, as expected, the responsibility of caring for the puppy fell entirely to us from the moment he arrived.
Despite this, we adored him from day one. In the chaos of those difficult times, the dog became a source of comfort—a little lapdog who gave us companionship and emotional support when we needed it most. He didn’t make the job any easier, but he quickly became part of our family.

Now, years later, he’s still with us and very much a part of our lives. After I was fired, finding another live-in role with a pet proved impossible, and securing rental accommodation with a dog was another challenge. But despite the obstacles, we couldn’t imagine leaving him behind.

Police Intervention

The turning point came when a caregiver, overwhelmed by the escalating violence in the household, contacted the police. This led to the involvement of the local authorities’ Adult Safeguarding team, whose investigation highlighted the severity of the situation. One outcome was the confiscation of firearms from the estate—a stark and undeniable indicator of how dire things had become.

In collaboration with the police and local authorities, I ensured the boss’s sons were informed about these disturbing incidents, hoping they might intervene. While the older son expressed verbal support, the younger one offered no opinion.

A solution was desperately needed. After all, we loved the work we were employed to do—maintaining the estate and ensuring it thrived—but being coerced into caregiving roles that exceeded our expertise was a strain no live-in member of staff should bear.

I never imagined that, years later, we would be tested in the same way when the family’s father required professional care. Despite their firsthand knowledge of the toll it had taken on us before, history was about to repeat itself.

Kirsten Leaves

The strain eventually became too much for Kirsten. She left to work as a live-out housekeeper and nanny for a lovely family in Sevenoaks, where she continues to work.

Her departure was a significant blow. After she left, we remained in my tied accommodation, and I continued alone as the estate manager. The family’s frequent reassurances to “hang in there” gave me a sense of duty, and I held on to the hope that things would change.

The Care Home

The police issued me an ultimatum: I had to ensure the boss’s wife was safe at home or move her into a care home for her protection. I persuaded my boss to let his wife relocate to the cottage near our son's cottage at the end of the row where our family lived. She would be safer living there with a full-time carer away from the main house. We even received approval from the boss to convert the downstairs area of the cottage into a wet room. However, he changed his mind at the last minute and insisted his wife stay in the main house with him.

Ensuring her safety at home became impossible for me. So I organised visits to local care homes, but each time, the boss refused to go at the last moment. Finally, I resorted to trickery. I convinced him to visit a new care home just five minutes away—a beautiful place with the atmosphere of a boutique hotel—by pretending we were heading to McDonald’s for one of his favourite chocolate milkshakes, a regular treat on shopping trips. The shouting match in the car when he realised our actual destination is something I’ll never forget.

The home was ideal, and he could visit his wife as often as he wanted. However, in the end, he opted to send her to a care home half an hour’s drive away. I spent a year's worth of Sundays driving the boss and our puppy to visit his wife. Sadly, she passed away a year later.

This sacrifice was tough on my family, as I had less time for Kirsten on weekends. However, she understood it was easier for me to sacrifice more time away from my family than to look after my boss’s wife at home. Despite these challenges, the boss and I developed a much stronger relationship during these trips. He would treat us to ice creams on our way back from the visits. We all enjoyed it, especially the puppy. We would also stop at the shops to do some grocery shopping, which the boss loved doing.

The Pandemic and Escalating Care Burdens

The pandemic made things harder. I was left to take care of my boss, who was frail and struggling with his own advancing dementia, though he refused to acknowledge it. His denial of the condition made caring for him even more challenging.

During this time, he also developed a squamous cell carcinoma, which required ongoing treatment. Weekly hospital visits for blood tests, constant wound care, and the regular changing of his bandages all fell to me by default.
The boss’s part-time PA and secretary began working from home during the pandemic and never returned to the office. This left me to take on tasks such as managing his emails, handling his phone calls, and dealing with his endlessly repetitive and often pointless admin requests. These included combing through year-old itineraries or printing every single email he received—of which there were many each daily. Time held no meaning for him, as his dementia left him unable to distinguish between day and night. His fixation on trivial matters made these tasks exhausting and emotionally draining.

His dementia worsened significantly during this time. His circadian rhythm became severely disrupted, and he often called me and other staff at all hours, convinced he had urgent meetings in London. Sometimes, he would call as early as 3 a.m., insisting he was late and accusing me of “playing games” when I tried to explain that no such meetings existed.

Eventually, he lost the ability to use his mobile phone properly. He would grow frustrated when he couldn’t reach me and accuse me of “cutting him off.” His frustration often drove him to wander out on foot late at night, banging on staff members’ doors and angrily blaming me for taking away his car keys. This behaviour posed significant health and safety risks, as the estate was surrounded by deep lakes and other hazards. Ensuring his safety became an urgent and constant challenge, requiring ever-vigilant efforts by all the staff.

By March 2022, I had reached a breaking point and sent the following email to his two sons:

"I must tell you that we are not coping well with your father’s condition. He is up at all hours and has started walking the grounds in the dark. He knocked on [head gardener's] door at 4 a.m. this morning and had to be walked back to his house. He also WhatsApp messaged me at 4 a.m., saying he had been waiting for me since 7 a.m. This behaviour has progressively gotten worse over the last month."

My “Zero Interest”

Throughout the pandemic, I found myself on call most nights to assist my boss. I prepared his breakfast every morning, arriving by 8 a.m. to find him seated at the table, impatiently waiting. “What time is this? I’ve been waiting for hours!” he’d exclaim. These moments of confusion and frustration were draining and set the tone for increasingly tricky days.

I had already stopped doing weekend duties due to the long hours I spent with him during the week. I’d begun sharing the burden with other staff, who thankfully understood the situation. He seemed to appreciate their company and even found in them a welcome outlet for his frustration with me. He’d complain about me to them, but if it helped him see them as allies, that was fine by me.

As his condition worsened, so did our relationship. I was not equipped for this. Once strong and trusting, our relationship became strained under the weight of his frustration and confusion. He began “firing” me regularly in fits of anger, only to forget about it later. The constant accusations and misunderstandings created tension, and my role grew emotionally and mentally exhausting. Despite doing everything I could to keep him safe, it was clear the situation was no longer sustainable without professional care.

Exhausted and disheartened by the family’s neglect of the situation, I began to see a troubling pattern of coercion in their approach to caregiving—echoing the same dynamic Kirsten and I had faced when left to manage his wife’s care. Something had to change—for his sake and mine. Finally, I reached my breaking point and sent the younger son the following email:

"I would like to clarify my position in case there are any doubts—I don’t spend any longer in his (the boss’s) presence than I have to, but I will always assist him whenever I am able to do so. This is based on compassion and a sense of what’s right, not on anything I consider part of my role as Estate Manager. Fundamentally, I respect him and want him to be cared for, but not at my own expense, and I won’t prepare meals or work outside of my hours any longer."

This wasn’t about shirking my duties—far from it. No one ever expected any other Estate Manager to take on caregiving duties, much less such extensive responsibilities outside their job description, especially for someone who resented their presence. His worsening condition had made it unsafe for me to continue to do so. My job was never to do this. My attempts to help—supervising him, giving medication—were now being seen by him as controlling, and his denial of his dementia had turned me into the enemy. The more I tried to support him, the more he pushed back. I realised stepping back was the only viable way forward.

What followed, however, was devastating. The younger son misrepresented my email, claiming I had “Zero Interest” in his father’s well-being and was acting with an agenda. He didn’t understand that I cared about his father; I just didn’t want to be his carer. This accusation was false and cruelly ironic, as my email was a plea for professional care. He spread this misrepresentation to others, painting me as indifferent and uncaring.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. I had always advocated for my boss’s proper care, and I’d ALWAYS speak highly of him as an employer to the staff. To have my efforts twisted into accusations of indifference felt like a betrayal of everything I had worked for.

Later that year, a close friend of the boss visited for a few months as a guest. Recognising the desperate need for help, the friend informed a local hospice previously involved in safeguarding matters concerning the boss’s wife. The hospice notified the boss's family that they must report the situation to the county council's adult safeguarding authorities. This marked the second safeguarding intervention within the same household, highlighting a troubling pattern of neglect.

Staff Mental Health

I’m not one for visiting Doctors, but the relentless pressure at work eventually became too much, and I found myself seeking medical help.

In July 2022, I was diagnosed with work-related anxiety and depressive disorder. Later, as I prepared for my tribunal, I requested my medical records and discovered that my doctor had explicitly named my employer as the cause of my condition. I wasn’t the only one struggling. Other staff members were being booked off work for similar reasons, and one staff member reported to me that they were prescribed antidepressants due to work-related stress.
When I notified the boss’s sons and granddaughter—all directors of the company that employed us—about these issues, I received no response. It was as though the well-being of their employees simply didn’t matter.

For me, the stress had built up over the years. Sleep became a constant battle. I was regularly woken in the middle of the night by my boss’s demands, leaving me physically and mentally drained. Eventually, I had no choice but to rely on Promethazine just to get back to sleep.

I was prescribed Mirtazapine, an antidepressant for major depressive disorder. While it dulled the sharp edges of my stress and anxiety, it also numbed everything else. The medication didn’t change the reality of my situation at work: the demands continued, and the toxic environment remained.

I have thankfully stopped taking Mirtazapine because its numbing effects had become a hindrance, making it harder for me to focus on rebuilding my life and securing a new home for my family. The medication that once helped me endure the estate’s pressures had become an obstacle to starting over.

Fire the Cook.

She was new to the estate and was hired in September 2022 to relieve the pressure on overworked staff after I insisted we needed help. Hardworking, kind, and dedicated, she joined us at one of the worst possible times.

That Christmas was stressful for everyone. The younger son and his partner stayed on the estate, which intensified the demands on staff. The cook, still adjusting to her new role, was also dealing with immense personal challenges—her mother was gravely ill, and she herself was unwell. Yet, despite everything, she gave her best.

We worked side by side that Christmas, catering to the family’s endless demands. I saw how much effort she put into her work under impossible circumstances. But for the younger son and his partner, it didn’t matter. Once they had someone in their sights, there was no escape.

Their fabricated stories painted a picture of insubordination that couldn’t have been further from the truth. In one email, they even blatantly suggested applying pressure to force her to quit:

“If she can be persuaded to quit, that’s fine by me. If that means telling her we’d like lunch until she does so, that’s fine.”

This clear attempt at constructive dismissal was deeply unfair. It exposed a troubling pattern of unjust treatment of staff, which I found deeply concerning as the Estate Manager tasked with ensuring a fair and safe working environment.

At the time, I was persuaded to believe she wasn’t fitting in and was undermining the team. Under pressure, I fired her. But later, I discovered that the accusations against her weren’t true.

Looking back, she was better off leaving. The environment was toxic, and she deserved far better than the treatment she received. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. I did what little I could: I ensured she received her generous bonus, wrote her a letter of apology, and contacted the agency I’d hired her through to explain the situation. I made it clear that she was a good worker and that the circumstances were impossible, but that I would highly recommend her as a live-in cook. I offered to support her with a reference, if needed.

Sadly—and I don’t blame her—she never replied.

Why Didn’t I Just Leave?

It’s a fair question, but after Kirsten left in 2020, the family encouraged me to remain as estate manager, with repeated assurances from the eldest son that staff employment would remain secure. He frequently told me to “hang in there,” reassuring me that the younger son’s abrupt decisions—such as the dismissal of the tour guide and others—would not jeopardise the long-term future of the remaining team. Following these unsettling dismissals, I was instructed to reassure staff that no redundancies would occur within the first year after the elderly boss’s passing.

There were signs of renewed optimism in the months leading up to my dismissal. The older son shared plans to donate the estate to a heritage organisation that would open it to the public, hopefully transforming it into a thriving venue in line with the elderly boss’s long-held vision. This potential for stability inspired hope among the staff that the estate was entering a promising new chapter with owners who had the appetite for its success. For us, these discussions—along with verbal reassurances from the eldest son—served as the foundation of our continued commitment.

The eldest son also assured us that full-time care would eventually be arranged for the elderly boss. And given the younger son’s prior acknowledgement that staff were not qualified to provide care, we believed this was inevitable. The promise of professional care gave us hope that we could soon return to the roles we were hired for without the additional burden of caregiving responsibilities we were not employed to do.

For a predominantly middle-aged team—most of us in our 50s—the possibility of long-term stability at the estate was hugely appealing. Knowing we’d have at least the promise of staying on for a year after the boss passed, which could have meant a minimum of a year from then, but more likely 3 or 4, was enough to keep us going, giving meaning to our struggles.

Ultimately, these reassurances shaped my decision to stay. Many of us, including myself, might have left far earlier without those commitments.

I believe that, under the principle of promissory estoppel, these repeated assurances created a reasonable expectation of job security and stability. I relied on these promises in good faith, only to find that the ever-increasing demands of the job were not matched by meaningful action to protect the staff.
By late 2022, the strain on staff had reached a breaking point.

Employing a Nighttime Carer.

By Christmas 2022, the situation had become unbearable. All household staff, including myself, the housekeeper, and even the gardeners, took turns staying up at night to keep the boss safe.

Eventually, in January of 2023, a waking nighttime carer was hired through a local agency, working from 10 p.m. to 8 a.m. While this provided some relief and allowed us to rest knowing he was safe at night, the staff and I still struggled to balance our day-to-day duties with looking after him during the day.

The agency was incredibly supportive, providing trained and qualified carers who rotated every few weeks. To maintain consistency, the agency ensured the same three or four carers worked in rotation, allowing them to become familiar with the boss, the household, and the estate. I was responsible for ensuring they integrated smoothly and ensuring the household staff provided them with any needed support.

The carers stayed on-site, with their own bedroom to rest in during the day, and began their shifts at 10 p.m. At first, there was concern about how the boss would react to having carers, given his denial of his condition and his insistence on maintaining control. However, the carers were highly skilled in dementia care. Their expertise, patience, and professionalism quickly eased these concerns.

The carers took on more responsibilities as his condition worsened, including feeding him. The boss would often forget he had eaten and ask to be fed between 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. They would accommodate this by preparing up to three light breakfasts during the night. Before the carers arrived, I would make him breakfast at 8 a.m. daily, except on weekends when the weekend duty staff would do it. However, the carers’ presence significantly eased this burden and relieved him of my unintentional antagonising presence, driven by misunderstood efforts to protect him.

Tasks such as dressing required more frequent help and eventually expanded to include bathing and helping go to the loo, which required professional care.

Remarkably, the boss accepted this help more quickly than anticipated. For a man with a deep-seated phobia of being touched, this was a significant shift. The carers also took over treating his wounds, massaging his swollen legs, and applying creams—tasks that the housekeeper and I had previously handled in the absence of professional care.
This level of professional care was invaluable at night, and the same care quickly became desperately needed during the day.

24-Hour Care Denied

During the day, the challenges continued despite the much-needed relief the professional nighttime carers provided. The boss’s condition quickly worsened, and he was now wandering without inhibitions—sometimes semi-naked and, on one occasion, fully naked. This caused serious concern for everyone on the estate. His behaviour wasn’t just a risk to his safety and the estate’s reputation. With paying guests regularly visiting for tours and weddings, there was a real danger of him interacting with them inappropriately, particularly in such a vulnerable state.

The staff were deeply worried about preserving his dignity and the potential liability and damage to the estate’s image. These concerns were reported to his sons by the care agency, which recommended introducing 24-hour care. The gaps in coverage between 8 a.m. and 10 p.m. were becoming increasingly difficult to manage, leaving the staff and me struggling to handle these incidents alongside our usual responsibilities.

Despite the obvious need for extra help, the younger son dismissed the idea. He rejected the care agency’s advice, claiming that he hadn’t seen anything “funky” himself and that additional care was unnecessary.
 

Fired!

After unsuccessfully advocating for professional care for their father and a better working environment—both clear violations of health and safety—I was fired in early 2024 under what I firmly believe was fabricated allegations. This tactic had been used against other staff before me. Though I was told I could appeal the decision, my appeal was ignored. 

To ensure maximum distress, my employers withheld my salary during my seven-week statutory notice period—a time when I urgently needed my salary to find alternative housing for my family. It was only after I reported the matter to the press—and was asked to retract my report under the pretext that my colleagues had now agreed to take on caregiving responsibilities and that I would be paid—that they finally paid me my seven weeks' statutory pay.

The young son, whose main role seemed to be getting rid of hard-working employees who had served his father and the estate, orchestrated my dismissal. This person, who hadn't been involved much in estate management before, suddenly took charge and did everything possible to isolate and undermine me in front of my colleagues. Eventually, he fired me. 

This whole situation sent a clear message to the remaining staff: if you stand up for what's right, you'll pay a heavy price - losing both your job and your home. The rest of the staff were left at the mercy of the younger son. The other directors, his brother and the boss's granddaughter, could have made a difference but they didn't challenge his unchecked authority. It was easier for them to fire me than to deal with the younger brother's resistance to proper care and the coercion of staff without considering their well-being. Without any real support or options, the staff had no choice but to accept an increasingly unfair and unsustainable situation.

On 10th April 2024, Kirsten, our puppy, and I moved out of the estate into our new home in Sevenoaks. While this marked a turning point, the story is far from over. It will ultimately be resolved in the only way it can: an employment tribunal.

Spite, Starting Over, and Advocating for Change

The fallout from this experience was profound. I lost valued friendships with colleagues as I intentionally distanced myself, wanting to give them the space they needed to meet the demands of their new care roles—roles I have no doubt they felt forced to accept to safeguard their jobs and tied accommodation. I also wanted to ensure the younger son had no excuse to use any perceived connection with me as a pretext for retaliation against them. The stress and uncertainty of starting over were overwhelming, and finding another live-in role with our dog proved impossible.

After a few months of job hunting, which proved challenging with a seven-year gap in my employment history, I requested a reference—simply to confirm my time at the estate and avoid the gap in my CV. I was informed that both my and Kirsten’s employee files had gone missing, making it "difficult" to confirm my time working there.

When my solicitor and the Information Commissioner’s Office (ICO) sought clarification on this apparent breach of data handling, which included my sensitive medical information, their response was evasive and deflective.

With a seven-year gap in my CV and no reliable reference to validate my work, it became painfully clear that pursuing another live-in job was no longer viable. Instead, I directed my efforts toward writing and advocating for change.

I am now transforming this website into a resource for job seekers looking for live-in couple roles, sharing insights and advice to help others navigate the complexities of these jobs. Additionally, Kirsten and I launched two dedicated platforms to help job seekers and employers connect. Live-In-Jobs.co.uk is tailored for those seeking live-in roles in the domestic, hospitality, and care sectors, typically featuring over 70 active job listings. We also created a second platform focused on local employment opportunities in the Sevenoaks area, which currently lists over 10,000 jobs.

Kirsten, thankfully, continued her role with the family in Sevenoaks, where she found stability and appreciation for her work. Her encouragement and unwavering support gave me the strength to rebuild and channel my energy into something meaningful. While it is too late for us to return to live-in work, we hope to improve the experience for others and foster fairer, more supportive workplaces through these platforms.

Employment Tribunal

In July 2025, I’ll be attending a five-day employment tribunal to address issues I have faced. I believe some of these are firmly in the public interest. Live-in staff being coerced into tasks they aren’t qualified for—or feeling trapped because their job is tied to their accommodation—is far too common in this industry. These practices are unacceptable, and it’s time to expose them.

A Call for Change

This story is not just about me—it’s about the broader issues facing live-in domestic staff. Employers must recognise that their employees are not professional carers unless explicitly hired for that purpose. Staff deserve fair treatment, realistic expectations, and appropriate boundaries.

If you’ve found yourself in a similar situation, we want to hear from you. Sharing your story will help shed light on these issues and bring about the change that’s so badly needed. Drop us a line at craig@jobs4couples.co.uk and join our over 2,300 members in our Facebook Group—together, we can make sure these challenges aren’t ignored any longer.