Silent Night

High Street, Downton, Yorkshire, England, 15th December 1942.

In the bitter cold, walking back along the High Street, through the gently falling snow, from his meeting with the Trustees of the Cottage Hospital, Matthew was deep in thought. Mulling over in his mind the one, single matter which had generated such a great deal of discussion this afternoon among the Trustees of which he himself, by virtue of being the earl of Grantham, was Chairman. The fact that, once the war was over, what had been proposed for some time now, the creation of a National Health Service for the entire country, was very likely to come into being. Earlier this year, in May, the Medical Planning Commission had recommended this as the way forward with the establishment of a National Health Service with General Practitioners working through "health centres" and with hospitals run by regional administrations. And now, this very month the Beveridge Report had recommended much the same idea. On the face of it, the proposal was eminently laudable and had a very great deal to commend it. The question on everyone's lips was, how on earth was it all to be funded?

Matthew sighed.

These days, all he ever seemed to do was attend meetings, whether or not it was with the trustees of the Cottage Hospital, or with the gentlemen from the National Trust into whose care Downton Abbey, along with its six thousand acre estate, was to pass forever, on the 1st March 1943. After which date, Matthew wondered what on earth he would find to do with his time. He pulled a face and, at the sight of what he now saw, grimaced still further. Slowing his pace, he came finally to a stop beside Friedrich who was down on his knees on the pavement outside Crawley House in the bitter cold and the snow with a brush and a pail of hot water next to him. For the umpteenth time, he was patiently scrubbing off the crude chalk swastikas which, as if by magic, had appeared once more over night, daubed on the brick wall bordering the house, along with two broken window panes, smashed by stones. Then there were the anonymous letters; the hateful words misspelled, crudely cut from out of a newspaper, and then pushed through the letterbox, calling the Schönborns Nazis. Given what all of them had all been through, Edith had been especially upset.

Friedrich looked up.

"I'll have another word with the headmaster," Matthew said.

Friedrich sighed, then nodded.

"As you see fit. Assuming of course that those responsible are children. They don't understand". Sadly, he shook his head and continued with his scrubbing.

Not that Friedrich knew it, but far worse was to come.

Back Lane, Downton, later that same day.

The narrow, winding, cobbled alley off Back Lane was the shortest way back to Crawley House from the Village School. While it was dark and lonely, especially at this time of the year, when it grew dark early, for someone who had survived the horror of the sinking of the Lancastria, let alone a madcap race against time across France in the aftermath of the German invasion, it held no especial horrors. And so, undaunted, young Kurt continued to made use of it each and every day on his way to and from school.

Even though he was not quite fourteen, like his older brother Luke, Sam Ellis had been in trouble almost ever since the day he was born; petty larceny and so forth; both of the Ellis boys in and out of the local police court. Having received his call up papers, Luke's conscription into the army had been quite the making of him, although how he would have fared when peace returned, whether or not he would have gone back to his bad habits, was debatable. But with his death at El Alamein, that particular question was now destined never to be answered.

The telegram, informing Sam's parents that their elder son had been killed, had arrived here in Downton but a week or so ago. Earlier today, since old man Ellis was one of his tenants, before his meeting with the trustees of the Cottage Hospital and also his encounter with Friedrich, Matthew had called in at their home to offer his condolences.

Sam Ellis had been much affected by his brother's death; as he had told his pals, Jimmy and Terry, had he been but old enough, he'd have joined up in order to take a crack at fucking jerry himself in order to settle things. An eye for an eye, Let he who is without sin cast the first stone and so forth. Sam had a store of Biblical quotations to hand, drilled into him by old Miss Foster down at Sunday School when he was a nipper. Not that Sam saw any contradiction at all in the fact that the way he lived his life was in contravention of most of them, as events now proved. And talking of stones, it was a couple of well-aimed shots with a catapult on the part of Terry which had smashed the window panes at the front of Crawley House, while the chalk daubed swastikas were the work of both Sam and Jimmy.

This very afternoon, an infernal mischance meant that, as Kurt was minding his own business, making his way home, wondering what Mrs. Braithwaite had prepared for tea, and taking his usual way route along the narrow alleyway, coming the other way was none other than Sam Ellis. Catching sight of the younger boy ahead of him, he knew that his sister Cathy was much enamoured of the youngster, and that rankled. Consor ... something or other with the enemy was how Luke had termed it when he had been home on what turned out to be his last ever leave. Despite the disparity in their sizes, Sam, who was big for his age and very free with his fists, decided that here was one bloody jerry he could deal with.

When Kurt did not come home from school as expected, the alarm was quickly raised. Shortly thereafter, he was found slumped in the snow covered alleyway, having clearly been the recipient of a severe beating. Taken straightaway by ambulance down to the Cottage Hospital, while an ashen faced Friedrich and a distraught Edith waited anxiously out in the corridor, Kurt's injuries, a black eye, cut lip, extensive bruising, and a fractured left wrist - the last evidence of the fact that he had done his best to try and defend himself - were dressed and attended to. Kept in over night as a precaution, with his left arm in plaster and in a sling, Kurt was released from hospital late the following morning; not to return to school until well after Christmas was over.

For their unenviable part in the proceedings, having admitted the same before the local police court, Sam and his two pals were sentenced to be birched. But who it was who had sent the anonymous letters still remained a mystery. That there could be such hate festering here in Downton seemed unbelievable but the notes were proof enough that exist it did.

The Rectory, Downton, Monday, 21st December 1942.

The blackout regulations, brought into force upon the outbreak of war which, while well intentioned, and with the protection of the public foremost in the minds of those who were responsible for their drafting, had soon been found to be completely unworkable. Even the red glow from cigarettes was banned and it was widely reported that a man who struck a match to look for his false teeth had been fined ten shillings. In due course, common sense prevailed and, at length, the Government permitted certain exemptions appertaining to the displaying of lights during the hours of darkness. So while on the railways window blinds on passenger trains had still to be kept drawn, light-bulbs painted blue, and during air raids all lights had to be extinguished, motor vehicles could now be driven with dipped headlights, so long as the headlamps were suitably masked, while markets and street stalls could be partly lit. So too restaurants and cinemas which were allowed to continue their use of illuminated signs but these also had to be put out when the air raid sirens sounded.

However, here in Downton, the exemption which pleased Reverend Davis no end had been that regarding the lighting of the parish church during Divine Service; as a result of which the annual, candlelit carol service had continued to be held in St. Mary's each and every year ever since the war had begun. Nonetheless, this year another problem manifested itself and in so doing threatened the staging of the whole service.

When, back in the summer of 1941, the German bomber had hit the church spire, before then spiralling out of control and destroying the Dower House, killing all those inside it, including Cora, Dowager Countess of Grantham, the resultant fall of masonry from the tower had damaged the electricity supply to the church. While this had been patched up, the repair to the cable had never been that satisfactory with, on occasions, the lighting both in the nave and the chancel flickering constantly while, on occasions, that in the south aisle simply refused to work at all.

The first indication that there was any kind of a really serious problem occurred yesterday at Evensong, when, just as Reverend Davis climbed into the pulpit to give his sermon, the lights in the church suddenly dimmed, flickered, and then went out altogether. At the same time there came a despairing asthmatic wheeze from the organ, powered by an electrically driven pump and which, in the absence of a functioning electrical supply, was thus rendered utterly useless. Fortunately, the vagaries of the lighting in the church were well known and most of the evening's congregation had taken the precaution of coming prepared for just such an eventuality and brought with them a goodly array of pocket torches.

However, when today, along with members of the parochial church council, the rector and the verger met, at short notice, with the local representative of the Electricity Board, it was to find the cable to the church immediately condemned as unsafe and, with the supply being deemed non essential to the war effort, there being no chance whatsoever of it being replaced before the New Year. While the lighting of the church presented no problem, insofar as there was a goodly supply of candles to hand, without electricity, the organ could not be played.

The Carol Service would have to be cancelled.

And then, when all seemed lost, help came, and from the most unlikely of sources.

Parish Church, Downton, Christmas Eve, December 1942.

When, all things considered, given what had happened to young Kurt, in an overt show of public solidarity, the Crawleys and the Schönborns arrived together at St. Mary's for the annual Carol Service, it was to find the church lit by both candles and horn lanterns, the interior festively adorned, decorated with evergreen, with fir cones, branches of larch, of yew, and of pine, along with curling tendrils of ivy, and copious sprigs of holly festooned with bright red berries. And, as was usual, taking pride of place, beneath the pulpit, was the Nativity Scene with its array of painted carved wooden figures and animals: Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, a couple of sheep, along with both an ox and an ass. However, since it was only Christmas Eve, as yet, the crib remained empty. Clearly, despite both the exigencies of the war and the absence of electricity, the Sanctuary Guild had decided that it was business as usual. Even so, despite the subdued buzz of conversation, without the organ playing, the church seemed strangely muted.

While they all sat waiting for the service to begin, in what Simon had predicted correctly enough would be a cold, hard, narrow wooden pew, Matthew found himself to be in a sombre mood. How, in God's Name - if indeed there was a god - and these days he was more disposed to Tom's view that there was not, had it come down to this? That for the second time this century, just twenty five years after the beginning of the Great War, Europe had toppled over the precipice again into yet another war, which was proving just as costly as the first, and this time engulfing far more of the world.

Matthew found himself taking stock; thinking back to Christmases long gone, when the children were still small, when everything seemed so safe and secure, even if in reality it wasn't really ever so. Now, with the children grown, how things had changed. Here at Downton, with Robert and Saiorse married and the parents of twins, with Robert having survived being shot down over the Channel and again over France, then evading capture by the Germans and making his way to Gibraltar and from thence home to England. And Simon, who against all the odds, with David in tow, had come back to them alive from the Far East; being awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal, which however well deserved, was surely its most unlikeliest recipient, his investiture by His Majesty the King due to take place next February. With Rebecca and Emily still too young to be involved in the war, he supposed Mary and he should be thankful for their good fortune.

And yet despite all of this, things seemed not to be quite right between Robert and Saiorse. With Robert expected here at Downton on Boxing Day, if the opportunity arose, Matthew thought he would try and have a quiet word. As for Saiorse, she seemed to be at daggers drawn with Mary, though when he himself had tackled her about it, Mary refused to discuss the matter. Like Simon, Saiorse had cried off attending tonight's Carol Service, citing her advancing pregnancy and had remained behind at the house to look after the twins. And while Simon had come back to them alive, it was doubtful if he would ever regain full use of his injured leg, on top of which the death of his pal Tristan out in Egypt at El Alamein had hit him very hard indeed. No wonder he, too, had stayed up at the abbey. Glancing along the length of the pew, Matthew smiled. Well, along with David, at least the two girls were here, thus ensuring the family was adequately represented at tonight's service.

What then, of dearest Tom, darling Sybil and their children across the sea in distant Dublin? To have lost Bobby the way they did was terrible. But then, thank God, assuming of course that He existed, this year had seen the arrival of little Ailis. Not that one cancelled out the other. But now had come this awful business of Danny. To lose his wife thus, when their lives together had barely begun, leaving three small children motherless, was heartbreaking. Tom had written, saying now was not the time to go into details, but that Danny and his three young boys had returned home to Ireland. That he would write more fully in the New Year.

Then there was the hateful campaign being waged against the Schönborns. And now young Kurt. To be set upon the way he had been. Even if was an unchristian thought, especially here in church, Matthew thought Sam Ellis deserved everything coming to him.

Still, with two babies expected in the New Year, all things being equal, if not for the world, then for the Bransons, the Crawleys, and the Schönborns, surely, 1943 would bring better news.

More to the point, thought Matthew, after four years of war, and with no end of the conflict in sight, how could everyone here tonight sing about Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Men?

In the absence of the organ, the short answer to that was, they couldn't. Then, quite unexpectedly, Reverend Davis climbed into the pulpit and made a startling announcement.

As an expectant hush now settled over the congregation, at the other end of the pew, Kurt reached out his good hand.

"Was machst du gerade, Max?"

"Where are you going?" whispered Claire, hugging Kurt to her in a fond embrace. While her young brother-in-law beamed his delight, Max smiled, then squeezed Claire's gloved hand.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked of her softly.

"Of course I do. Implicitly. But I don't see how whatever it is that you're ..."

"You will".

"What on earth ..." began Mary as with the sight of the softly falling snow outside clearly visible through the church windows, by the flickering light of the candles, she now saw Edith carrying a guitar, closely followed by Max, both walk forward, to stand before everyone in the nave. A faint ripple of surprise, not to say disapproval, ran round the congregation. For here it seemed was something which was both new and unusual, and so treated by some with a considerable degree of suspicion, if not downright hostility.

Edith stood and waited patiently for everyone to settle down before speaking both clearly and firmly, addressing what it was she had to say, both to young and old.

"All of you here know who I am and, looking around this church tonight, I see many familiar, friendly faces". Familiar certainly, but by the looks some were giving her ... Nonetheless, undeterred, Edith ploughed on with what it was she was saying. "Some of you know too that my husband is Austrian. Not German. That because of the Nazi annexation of Austria, he and I, along with our two sons, had to leave both our home, and our own country, to go and live in France. And when France fell, we had to come to live in England, here at Downton, where I grew up. And since we've been here, our elder son has married an English girl".

Before continuing Edith now paused. She shot a fond glance firstly at Max standing beside her, then at Friedrich, at Claire, and lastly at young Kurt seated in the pew just in front of her, his face still battered and bruised, and with his left arm in a sling, at the renewed sight of which Edith found herself wondering, could she do this? Then, just as all those years ago, on her wedding day in the English Church in Florence, she felt a hand, no longer small and moist, but firm and strong, steal into her own. Half turning, she saw Max smile, nod his head, silently willing her to continue with what it was she was saying.

"Whatever some of you may think, neither I nor any member of my family is a Nazi. Indeed quite the reverse. We didn't want this war and like you, all we as a family are doing, is trying to survive it. And, one day, God willing, when this terrible war is at last over, then we hope to go home to Austria to try and rebuild our lives". Again, Edith paused. "For the moment, the church has no electricity and, because of that, tonight we have no organ. But, perhaps we don't need one".

With that enigmatic utterance, Edith sat down on the rush seated chair behind her. Then, having slipped the broad strap of the guitar around her neck, a moment or so later, and she began to play; the haunting opening chords of the well-known carol echoing through the hushed church. As she did so, Edith nodded to Max who, taking his cue from his mother, now began to sing:

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!

Max's voice was as striking a tenor as that possessed by his Uncle Tom. Now, as he began to sing, he held everyone spellbound. Staring into the middle distance, somewhere just above the apex of the tower arch, Max seemed completely oblivious to the effect he was having upon everybody gathered together, here in this ancient parish church, on this the most holiest of nights. The beautiful, lilting notes of the carol soared ever upwards, high above the heads of everyone, as far even as the huge oak rafters of the magnificent hammer beam roof, drifting among its carved wooden angels, mingling with the prayers and incense of the ages.

Exactly what it was, no-one ever knew. But, as Max continued to weave his magic, irrespective of whether or not anyone here present tonight believed in miracles, it was now that something totally unexpected happened. For, as he began the second verse, behind Max in the darkened chancel, lit only by a pair of candles, one set on either side of the High Altar, completely unbidden, the church choir began to croon the same tune. A moment later and everyone, whether English or Austrian, friend or foe, had joined in:

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Hirten erst kundgemacht
Durch der Engel Halleluja,
Tönt es laut von fern und nah:
Christ, der Retter ist da!
Christ, der Retter ist da!

Initially, disbelieving the evidence of his own ears, what it was that was happening finally dawned on Max. Lieber Gott! They were with him! With this realisation, blinking back his tears, Max carried on with the third verse:

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht
Lieb' aus deinem göttlichen Mund,
Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund'.
Christ, in deiner Geburt!
Christ, in deiner Geburt!

And, by the time that the very last chord drifted away, and Max fell silent, there was not a dry eye in the church.