AUTHORS' NOTE:
WARNING: May contain minor spoilers for those who have not watched series 5 especially the final episode
This story was written as a follow up to the conclusion to the war memorial story line which culminated with the unveiling of the Downton village war memorial and a separate plaque for Mrs Patmore's nephew. Contrary to what we have seen on screen, in real life such a thing would not have happened in 1924. Cowardice was seen as a dereliction of duty and the esprit de corps that was (and still is) the bedrock of army discipline and morale as well as letting down one's comrades . The Earl of Grantham we are told was a professional soldier and while he might sympathise with Mrs Patmore's nephew he would be of the view that there are lines that wouldn't be crossed and were fundamental to him as a soldier.
To this day, the issue surrounding the inclusion of the names of those who were shot for cowardice and desertion is still a contentious one and would certainly be back in 1924. The locals would most certainly not have taken kindly to seeing a plaque for someone shot for cowardice let alone the fact that he wasn't from the village. Families of such soldiers were officially and socially penalised – there were no pensions for their widows, no support for their children and no recognition of their deaths. Such treatment might seem harsh and unpalatable to our modern day sensibilities but putting up a memorial plaque for someone shot for cowardice would be seen as an insult to those who remained in their posts and did their duty. The sentiments that we express today towards men shot for cowardice would not have been accepted in 1924 and by having a memorial plaque dedicated to such a man, Julian Fellowes has applied modern morals to retrospective actions and greatly distorted history. We realise this is a subject about which people feel strongly, please try and read it in the spirit of 1924 - sympathetic to people who had lost menfolk in a great and tragic conflict only ten years before - not in the spirit of one hundred years later.
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham was on his way to meet up with his son-in-law Tom Branson over at Pip's Corner to oversee the initial stages of the housing project when he was accosted by his butler who was, for, him, in a state of agitation.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news my lord," Carson began after he had regained his composure.
"What is it, Carson?"
"The memorial plaque to young Archie Philpotts has been vandalised again," replied Carson. "Someone must have taken a hammer and tried to chip away at name on the tablet this time."
"That sounds rather serious, doesn't it?" Robert asked with concern then sighed. The incidents began not long after the memorial and the accompanying plaque was unveiled and for a time they could be shrugged off but this time with the plaque damaged, it sounded serious indeed.
"Indeed it is. There is some damage to the sides as well as to the inscription. Previous incidents have involved –" Carson paused "farmyard rubbish and paint being thrown at the tablet but nothing on this scale until today."
"Farmyard rubbish?"
"Yes my lord." Carson coughed behind his hand. "Animal waste." Robert tried not to smile.
"That sort of rubbish. People are very upset about this, aren't they?"
"I didn't think at the time it was a good idea, my lord," Carson coughed again. "You know what the boy did and why his village didn't want his name on their memorial."
"How did they find out, anyway?" Robert asked curiously then berated himself. Stupid man, he thought, of course, people will find out one way or the other, they talk; and gone were the days when what happens in one village stayed in that village. People moved around more easily these days with the railways and increasingly motor cars.
"People talk my lord and of course there would have been all sorts of questions about why a soldier from the Lancashire Fusiliers has a memorial here," Carson added rather unhelpfully. "The villagers would have been learned that Archie Philpotts is not from this area and given the circumstances of his death there will be some resentment and anger at the presence of such a plaque."
"Is Mrs Patmore aware of the incident?"
"Not yet my lord. I did not see the need to upset her with anything this serious," Carson answered. "Of course she's aware of the earlier incidents."
"Good, good. I'll leave it to you to inform Mrs Patmore at a time when you see fit," said Robert. "Make sure Mrs Hughes is with her. The repairs this time will be more than a simple cleaning one. I'll have to see how much it costs."
"I will my lord," Carson nodded.
"We might have to move it," Robert suggested. "Perhaps erect it somewhere in the gardens so that Mrs Patmore could have somewhere to remember her nephew in peace."
"Not without people seeing that we are, my lord," Carson raised an eyebrow.
Robert sighed again. This was the last thing he needed to hear especially so soon after learning that he had another grandchild, an illegitimate one at that and that Tom was contemplating a move to America with his daughter. The possibility of never again seeing the only child of his youngest daughter made his heart lurch.
"I feared this would end badly," he muttered.
"My lord?"
"What? Oh nothing," Robert smiled. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Carson."
oooOOOooo
A few days later, Robert was taken by surprise when Molesley announced that Mr Mason wanted to see him. He wondered what William's father wanted to talk to him about, and hoped that there wasn't any problems with his farm and tenancy.
"Mr Mason, I trust you are well."
"I am m'lord. My crops have been looking healthy so far and I am looking forward to a good harvest."
"I'm glad to hear it. And are you entering in this year's produce show?"
"Not this year m'lord," Mr Mason replied proudly. "I've been asked to be a judge and I shall be looking forward to seeing what the others have been growing. Not to mention William's headstone has been replaced now, a fitting tribute I must say. I've been told that those who were killed in action received the same headstone, whether officer or ordinary soldier, a good idea if you ask me. Still I'm fortunate that I don't have to travel far to visit my son's grave, Mr and Mrs Gough at Oakwood Farm aren't that lucky."
They continued talking about farm matters and Robert noticed that Mr Mason had resisted any urging to sit down. As they spoke to each other he noticed too how the older man was clutching on to his hat as if for dear life. He was wondering if there was something Mr Mason wanted to talk about other than farm matters.
"Is anything the matter?" Robert asked with concern. "Please, won't you sit down?"
"No thank you m'lord. I don't know if you can do anything to help," Mr Mason sighed. "There is something that has been troubling me."
"Go on," Robert said gently, wondering why Mr Mason looked visibly upset.
"I saw the memorial you had put up to Mrs Patmore's nephew and I didn't think much about it until a few weeks' ago I was shouted at in the street by Hawkins, you know who he is, served at Gallipolli, and asking what was I going to do about the stranger," Mr Mason began. "I said I didn't know what he was talking about then Hawkins pointed towards the tablet and spat at it. Then yesterday, I had to help break up a fight in the pub over the memorial, oh you should have seen it m' lord; tempers frayed, fists flying, broken glass everywhere and shouts of 'we don't want no stranger here' that sort of thing. It was only when I went home when everything began to make sense; I recalled overhearing Mrs Patmore thank you for what you did and the circumstances that led to her nephew's death."
Mr Mason paused, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief then continued:
"Lord Grantham, my son wanted to go to the front and serve. I didn't want him to go as he's the only child I had left. But go he did and he paid with his life. He was wounded saving your heir and died as a result. When I saw my boy before he died, I was struck by how calm he was, as if he wasn't afraid that he was going to die, all he was concerned about was if Mr Crawley was all right and making sure that Daisy was going to be looked after. Until the end he was still thinking about the others, never himself. That was William all over."
"We owe him a great deal," said Robert sincerely acutely aware that if it wasn't for William Mason then Matthew would have died much earlier in the trenches of France, and George would not have been born.
"I've spoken to some of the families of the war dead and they're not happy with the memorial to Mr Philpotts, m'lord," Mr Mason cocked his head to one side. "And I'm afraid I am one of them. William wasn't afraid to do his duty and it pains me to see that his sacrifice was in vain. They've said, it was meant to be a place where they can remember their dead with honour and love. How can the families do that with that thing there?" Mason's voice tone was vehement.
"I can see why you and the others are unhappy and upset," Robert began. "But-" Mr Mason cut him off.
"Upset, my lord? People are outraged. With all due respect m'lord, I don't want to be rude about it but there's others who are. Many people are beginning to think that you don't care about their feelings, oh it's all right for his lordship, they say, he didn't fight – " Robert made a sound of protest.
"I know you wanted to fight my lord, but you didn't in the end, and Mr Matthew came back alive, so what does he know about our loss? That's what they're saying in the village and on the estate. They've began to ask themselves, what's the point of the sacrifices their sons, brothers, husbands and fathers made if his lordship honours a coward? I'm afraid I've begun to think the same."
"Mr Mason, if you let me ex –"
"You're a soldier, my lord. You know the worst thing a soldier can do is let his comrades down. There are a lot of people surprised and let down by you, my lord, and that's a fact. The men on that memorial, they were just as afraid like he was, but they didn't run. They stood and died facing the enemy." Mr Mason put on his hat. "I'm sorry m'lord, I've said what I've come to say and I shan't disturb you any longer. Good day."
"Yes, good day," Robert said sadly as Mr Mason turned on his heel smartly to see himself out. He sensed the man's contempt and that hurt even more than being reminded that he hadn't fought. Not that he needed reminding.
Mr Mason's words echoed in Robert's mind for the rest of the day and over the next few days. Thank goodness that Carson had managed to keep Mrs Patmore in the dark about the damage but he couldn't do that for ever; there'd been another incident where this time someone had scrawled "COWARD" over the plaque. He had to admit that he was taken aback at how violently the village had reacted to the memorial plaque and that Mr Mason's words had stung; especially the implication that because he didn't fight he didn't care about those who had suffered losses. Hadn't he said to her – hadn't he said that there are all those men dead and you have to wonder what it was all for?
When the earl walked through the village the next day he was conscious of being watched by the people he passed, but the greetings were as respectful as usual, and as he passed the corn chandlers he breathed a little more easily; just as a man stepped out of the shop and stood in front of Robert, looking him up and down. Robert leaned on his stick and stood his ground.
"Mr Turner. How are you?" The man jerked his head towards the memorial.
"I'll be grand when that piece of rubbish your lordship saw fit to stick up to a coward is gone." He looked Robert up and down then stepped up, shoving his face close to the earl's. Robert resisted the temptation to step back.
"No one in this village was a coward. We don't want," he said deliberately, "memorials to cowards in this village. My sister's man was killed on the Somme. You should hear her about that thing. My Harry dies for his country and gets his name on a cross, she rages, and Lord Grantham gives that piece of rubbish a stone to hisself. What is his lordship thinking of and him a soldier? Fit to be tied, she was." Robert felt his heart thump hard.
"Your sister?"
"Used to work up at the Abbey. She said it was a good place to work and she's grieved that you've done this because it brings all the pain back again when her Harry died. His lordship called them heroes and defenders, she said, and said what everyone owed to men like my Harry and now she knows it was all lies and you never meant any of what you said to her. My lord." Robert winced slightly at the contempt in the man's voice.
"What was the point of her man sacrificing his life if he's going to be treated like that by them as should know better?" Turner demanded furiously. "We don't," he said, his voice rising belligerently, "want another village's coward remembered here!" Another man tugged nervously at Turner's sleeve.
"Alf. It's the earl you're speaking to." Turner rounded on him angrily. "I'll say what I like to who I like and I'll like what I bloody well say!" he bawled.
"Good day to you, Mr Turner." Robert raised his hat and stepped past the man.
"And you're a coward too!" he heard someone yell as he walked down the street. Was that meant for me? It's early in the day to be drunk, he thought, as he walked steadily back to the Abbey. He noticed that the memorial that had been clean when he walked past a few moments ago was now daubed with mud.
Yorkshire people don't mince their words, Robert thought resignedly. The war has changed people – they are much less deferential to the likes of me. No-one would have dared speak to papa or grandpapa like that or questioned their decisions, let alone to their faces in such a forthright and disrespectful way. And yet who can blame them? he admitted to himself. They saw that the dreadful failures of people like me that meant the miserable deaths of thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands, he amended to himself. In their place I wouldn't be respectful, either.
I have failed, Robert thought sadly, handing his coat and hat to a waiting footman. I forgot what papa always said - that the needs of the many are greater than the needs of one person - and I let my sympathy for Mrs Patmore cloud my judgement. For that I have lost the respect of good men like Mason. The care of my tenants has always been my concern and now, when they are grieving and in pain over those who died doing their duty, I let them down; now my reputation with everyone is smirched by this one action and lies in tatters. Including, he thought with a stab of pain, Mr Turner's sister. I was angry that Carson was wanted on the committee and I wasn't and for something that should have been beneath my notice I let my petulance override my judgement. How, he thought, pacing restlessly, can I not have seen what people would think about this?
Robert sighed. The world around me is changing, faster than I can keep up, but the fact remains that I was wrong and it can be set right. He rang for Carson.
"You are admitting that you are wrong, my lord? Apologising?" the butler's voice was politely incredulous. Robert flung down his pen.
"Yes, damn it, I am admitting that I was wrong and you of course were right. Find a quiet place in the garden for it where Mrs Patmore can grieve in private and have it removed to there."
"By night, my lord?"
"No, during the day." If I am going to abase myself, he thought, I may as well do it publicly and properly. "Tell Mrs Patmore before it is done. Tell her now and then have it removed and don't for heaven's sake let anyone in the village see where you are taking it."
Carson returned to say that Mrs Patmore had been told and that she understood and respected his lordship's decision.
"Good, I'm pleased to hear it." He held out a letter. "Give this to the committee and ask them to make sure it's printed in the parish magazine."
"A letter for the committee, my lord?"
"An apology."
"You don't need to do that, my lord. " Robert smiled.
"You might not think I do, Carson, but not for the first time, I don't agree with you. Shall I read to you?" Without waiting for a reply he started reading from the letter.
I once said that we in this country owed a great deal to our heroes and defenders who were fighting and dying. I meant it then and I mean it now. I did not fight but I salute those who did and especially those who never came back. I both respect and envy the sacrifices made by such men, and was proud to dedicate a memorial to them so that their families might see that they are not forgotten.
I have been made aware that there is another memorial in the village that is very much resented and while I will not make excuses for my lapse in judgement, I have done my best to make amends and I hope that those in the village who were most offended by it will find it in their hearts to forgive and will understand that it was done with the best of intentions.
Robert signed his name with a flourish. "Is that abasing myself enough, do you think?"
"I don't think I know of any other nobleman who would be so concerned about people's feelings and make such an apology, my lord."
"Thank you, Carson."
"My lord." Carson paused at the door.
"What?" Robert asked, not looking up from the page he was pretending to read.
"It takes a very generous spirit to admit being wrong about such a thing. I'm sure the village would have understood in time had you left it where it was." Robert sighed.
"No, they wouldn't, and there are people in the village whose good opinion of me I care about too much to allow it to stay where it was. With any luck this will repair my reputation in their eyes. That letter – well, I hope all the people who were offended will read it and accept my apology to them."
"I'm sure they will, my lord."
Yes, Robert thought. So do I.
THE END