CHAPTER 48: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - JULY 1926
Downton
13 July 1926
I have the pleasure to announce that The Lady Mary Talbot, my beloved wife, was safely delivered of a daughter at 2:37 A.M. today:
Katherine Elise Talbot.
Mother and baby are both well.
We appreciate your many expressions of affection and joy.
Henry Talbot
Robert Crawley
Earl of Grantham
Downton
18 July 1926
My Darling Edith,
We are delighted by your news. Of course Mary doesn't mind that you made your announcement at the time of Katherine's birth. She is content, and you are entitled to squeeze every bit of enjoyment out of the experience that you were denied the first time. I'm certain that Bertie is up to the task of spoiling you as you should be.
You asked how George is handling the birth. His nose was out of joint at first, but Barrow knew how to perk him up. He printed Big Brother on a piece of cardboard and pinned it to George's shirt. Then he gave George a box and coached him on how to demand a big brother tax from every person he met for the next two days. Barrow started him off with a pair of shoelaces, Bates gave him a few buttons, and I gave him an old pair of cuff links. He collected quite a few little boy treasures in the box and enjoys showing them off to his baby sister. I wouldn't worry about Marigold. You'll find a way to make the prospect of a new sibling exciting.
Will it still be convenient for us to visit next month?
Affectionately,
Papa
Thomas Barrow
Downton
18 July 1926
My Darling City Mouse,
I hope this letter finds you happy and in the midst of friends.
I have only now returned from dinner at the Bates cottage, and my heart is in a jumble.
I told the Bates of my plan to be a hotelier in the States. If I had been a butler before the war, I would have felt set for life. But as John and Anna both know, the aristocracy is not what is was, and none of us is set for life.
I told them about the Prof and what he said when we ate with Churchill. Do you remember how he wants to breed a separate race of people, helots he called them, who will have no desires of their own and be content to do all the unsavoury tasks that people require? He was including the work that I do, wasn't he? He thinks I should be a beast with no trace of humanity. What a dreadful man! But you and I both know that the British aristocracy would be the first in line to take home their matched set of helots if there were such a thing.
John asked why I feel I must leave England. I explained that, if I stay, I'll be one more British servant trying to rise above himself. In the States, I'll be a novelty, perhaps even a bit of an exotic.
But, Ivor, how will I ever do it? How will I ever tear myself away from my Bonnie John and his darlings? They sweeten my life with so much affection that I can't bear the thought of leaving them. Even John, as stiff as he can be, throws his arm around my neck and pretends to wrestle me when I disagree with him, and I love it. He tousles my hair because I hate it (but not really). I know it's his way of making me one of his darlings. I returned from London thinking I could build an exciting future for myself, but how will I ever find the courage to leave?
I miss you, my darling. I miss seeing your lovely face at breakfast and kissing you goodnight before bed.
With all my love,
Your Country Mouse
John Bates
Downton
19 July 1926
My Dear Ivor,
I am writing you for two reasons. First, I want to congratulate you on the extended run of Down Hill, even if it does mean moving the kit and kaboodle to another theatre.
Second, I want to tell you how deeply touched I am by your gift and thoughtful note. You're right. I've done all I can to rid myself of my limp. It's part of me now, and I may as well flaunt it. It's a war medal, after all.
Yes, the stick is more than sturdy enough to support me. I am charmed by the ram's head and how the cunning curve of the horns forms the handle. My old cane goes into the missionary barrel tomorrow.
I don't know why a ram made you think of me. I can assume it's only that we're both virile.
Your devoted friend,
John Bates
Thomas Barrow
Downton
19 July 1926
My Darling City Mouse,
I'm certain that John has written to thank you for the walking stick. I'm writing to tell you the truth of it.
He had no idea what to expect when he opened the package, but his eyes shone with utter delight when he pulled out the carved cane. You should see him strut about with the thing. He thinks himself quite the dandy now.
He's named the stick Old Ram. Instead of asking us to hand him his cane, he'll say, "Toss me Old Ram." If someone asks where he purchased it, he answers nonchalantly that it was a gift from an admirer.
You've made my Bonnie John happy, and that makes me happy.
With all my love,
Your Country Mouse
Thomas Barrow
Downton
21 July 1926
My Dear Morgan,
I'm pleased to hear of your upcoming (and well-deserved) vacation in Clovelly with Vi. However will Ivor manage without you?
I received your photos and enjoyed them immensely. My favourite is the one of Ivor and Bobbie sitting in camp chairs and eating chocolates while I'm changing the tyre. I was so concentrated that I hadn't noticed their antics. Another favourite is the one of me in that dressing gown sitting with Noël. I have too many favourites!
The staff appropriated the photos and passed them around the breakfast table, giggling and commenting and asking questions. Anna rescued them and has promised to arrange them in a scrapbook she's made for me. It has all the newspaper stories and that Nerman caricature of Glads, the goat, and me that was published last week in The Tattler. Do others see me as Nerman does? How dreadful! No wonder The Butler had to go into hiding!
You'll be pleased to hear that Lord Grantham took a trip to Ripon last week and purchased a Leica camera, the same as yours. You're quite the salesman! He's much enamoured of his new hobby. He's made two more trips to Ripon for instruction and is thinking of setting up his own darkroom and starting a gentlemen's camera club. His new granddaughter's life will be fully documented in photos, but Lady Mary is ready to toss the camera out the window. His Lordship had the unmitigated gall to take a photo of her before she had gotten her figure back.
Now here's the part you won't believe. Yesterday morning at our regular after-breakfast meeting in the library, His Lordship asked me if Mrs Patmore was sufficiently recompensed for her work. I asked if Mrs Patmore had complained. No, she hadn't said a word, but the day before, His Lordship thought it would be fun to take photos of Mrs Patmore preparing dinner for the family and some guests. He had no idea of the complexity and demands of her job. Can you imagine! After all these years, he finally appreciates her dedication to expanding his waistline. What other miracles will the camera bring?
That's not all. This morning, I found a package on my desk. It contained another Leica camera, but it wasn't from His Lordship. He had selected it, but it was a gift from Lady Mary - an apology for a minor accident last week that's too silly to mention. I'll keep the camera at the Bates cottage so I can take pictures of Timothy. His Lordship is full of advice, so I expect to be an expert in no time. I only wish I had your excellent eye.
I miss your good company and look forward to our reunion next summer.
With all my affection,
Thomas
Beryl Patmore
Downton
21 July 1926
Dear Mr Novello,
I hope it is not presumptuous of me to write you directly to thank you for the lovely autographed picture and the silver frame for me to hang in my bed and breakfast. I know from the inscription that Mr Morgan put you up to it. Imagine you writing that I'm the best cook in Yorkshire and beyond.
How do I thank you for something like that? Nothing could impress my patrons more.
Your grateful and devoted servant,
Beryl Patmore
Gladys Cooper
Charlwood
22 July 1926
My Dear Thoms,
I was delighted to receive your letter. I didn't know they had paper and ink in the wilderness. I'm flattered that you would come to me for advice, so here it is.
I'm afraid your friend, John, is right to be concerned. Even if this young woman knows that you have no romantic interest in her gender, she may think that she can change you. When I first met Ivor, I thought I could change him. (We would have made the perfect couple if not for that little flaw, don't you think?) I'm a pragmatic woman and saw almost immediately that I was fooling myself. Sadly, some women aren't so practical and waste years believing their fantasies will come true.
It is not enough that you tell this woman you are not the marrying kind. You must make it clear to her that you will never be the marrying kind under any circumstances. If you are certain she is convinced, then you should feel free to enjoy her friendship. She sounds like a happy, hearty soul, and that's what you need.
Butler is happy at Charlwood now that we've purchased a second baby goat. Goats are herd animals and BLEAT LOUDLY ALL NIGHT (as we discovered) if they don't have a hoofed friend. Butler is a girl, by the way, so we've changed her name. My daughter, Joan, insisted on naming the two kids, Jenny and Rose, after the Dolly sisters.
The next time you come to London, you must come to Charlwood, my own little piece of wilderness.
With bleating affection,
Glads
Loreto Santarelli
Savoy Hotel
23 July 1926
My Dear Barrow,
I am pleased to hear that you are devising a plan to leave service. While I understand that your present financial situation imposes a delay, I advise you not to waste valuable time. Try your hand at a small business locally. You understand service. Now you must learn about profit and loss, publicity, and the other business elements of operating a hotel. What is your little village missing that you can provide?
I hope you have found this helpful. It is a privilege to advise you as best I can. I would not be where I am today without the advice of others who wanted me to succeed.
Your servant,
Loreto Santarelli
Thomas Barrow
Downton
25 July 1926
My Darling City Mouse,
How giddy I am tonight! I have returned from another evening at the Bates cottage, but this time I wasn't a third wheel. I brought Minnie, the parlourmaid of whom I've spoken. She's quickly becoming a close friend. She's intelligent and well-read, and she's so much fun! Her nieces and nephews keep her up on all the latest songs and dances. Tonight she taught Anna the black bottom while John and I watched. I was pleased not to have to leave John alone on the sofa to watch by himself.
Minnie suspected that I had censored my London stories when speaking to the staff and insisted on hearing the unabridged versions. I acted out my first lesson with Garland, and that had them in stitches. Minnie wanted to hear more about you. I told how the flat was filled with guests when I first arrived and how nervous I was. Then I asked if they wanted to see how you greeted me at the door. They all demanded to see, so I clasped John's face and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. Anna and Minnie thought it was hilarious. John gave his considered opinion that it was better that you kissed me like that in public than behind closed doors. (I won't tell him what happened behind closed doors.)
How is it that, as I make the decision to leave Downton, I'm having so much fun?
I hope you had some fun yourself today while your sets were being moved to the Princes. I'm certain you will be as big a hit there as at the Queens.
I miss you as always,
Love,
Your Country Mouse
The Lady Mary Talbot
Downton
27 July 1926
Dear Edith,
I'm glad to hear that you aren't too burdened with morning sickness. Neither was I. It's a trait we Crawley women must share.
Today was my first day in the breakfast room since Katherine was born, and the oddest thing happened. The hall boy (yes, we still have one of those) carried in a large package. It appeared to be either a painting or mirror, and Mrs Hughes wanted to know to which room it was to be taken. The package had the Abbey address but no name, and none of us had the slightest idea about it. Papa thought perhaps Mama had purchased something and ordered the package to be opened.
The boy opened the package and pulled out an unframed painting. I could see a small envelope attached to the back and asked the boy to bring it to me. Meanwhile Papa took a look at the canvas and made a face. He does hate anything painted in the last 70 years.
To whom do you suppose the envelope was addressed? Barrow! He was serving us, as usual, and I apologized and handed him the note. Papa asked Barrow if he had ordered "that monstrosity", and Barrow replied that he hadn't ordered anything. Papa asked Barrow to take a look at the offending canvas. When Barrow saw the painting, he became excited. He carried it across the room and told Papa that it must be viewed from a distance to be appreciated. It was an oil painting of a boy in a boat, and I thought it was charming. It would look lovely in George's room.
I asked Barrow if he knew who sent it, and he replied only that I wouldn't believe him if he said. I asked if I could see the note. He read the note to himself, smiled, and handed it to me. The stationery was stamped:
11, Downing Street
Whitehall
The message read, "To a man who isn't really Russian from a man who isn't really an artist. Winston"
I showed the note to Papa, who read it twice in case his eyes deceived him. Then he ordered the boy to put the painting in Barrow's room.
There are more things in heaven and earth, my dear sister, than are dreamt of in our philosophy.
Your sister,
Mary
