CHAPTER 54: PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE - JANUARY 1927


1 January 1927

My Beloved Husband,

I want this note to be your first message of the New Year.

Have you noticed that my suitcase is missing from the door? I have unpacked it and put it away. I trust you as I trust myself, and I know that I will have no need of it until we're packed and ready to leave as a family.

Your adoring wife,

Anna


Robert Crawley
Earl of Grantham

Downton
2 January 1927

My Darling Edith,

I hope you and Bertie had an enjoyable New Year's. Does the doctor still expect you to deliver mid-January?

You won't believe what your mother and I were doing a week ago. We were costume judges at the Fancy Dress Boxing Day Dance arranged by Barrow, Bates and Anna who are business partners now. We don't know how they manage it, but their work at the Abbey hasn't suffered.

Your mother and I received a formal note asking us to judge. We assumed we'd been asked as a courtesy and intended to decline. Tom recommended we accept. The partnership is becoming influential in the village. Bates successfully promoted a new bike from Davies' Bicycles to raffle at the dance for the benefit of the library, and you know what a skinflint old Davies is. The library collection is Barrow's pet project now. How does a servant who's arranged one little dance become an influential businessman with a pet project?

The raffle raised a tidy sum and Barrow handed the money to Headmaster Dawes at the dance to rousing applause. I thought the whole thing had been done for effect, but Bates told me later that Barrow was sincere. In the days when Barrow was socially adrift, books were his friends.

Tom says that Bates is a natural-born salesman. He promoted the costume prizes - bakery cakes, cinema tickets, that sort of thing. That may be, but it's Barrow who knows how to make fun. Even your sister let down her hair and said she may wear a costume next year. (Yes, your sister and Henry came to the dance. Mary claims she did it to oblige Anna, but we both know that she came to satisfy her curiosity.)

I asked Tom how Anna fits into the partnership. He laughed and answered that she's the only one who can tame the big cats. I have no idea what he meant by that.

We plan to visit at the end of the month when you will have had a chance to recover. Will that be convenient?

Affectionately,

Papa


The Lady Mary Talbot

Downton
17 January 1927

Dear Edith,

How clever of you to deliver your baby in January. It's much more pleasant than delivering in the heat of July as I foolishly did.

Rebecca Eve. What a lovely name!

In case you're moping about as I did, waiting to fit into your favourite dress, I have another Barrow story for you. No one is fonder of Carson than I, but I must say that Barrow's reign as butler is proving far livelier.

I've told you that Barrow is the godfather of the Bates baby, Timothy. He's no baby now. He's had his first birthday. Anna tells me that Barrow takes his godfather duties to heart and reads to the boy whenever he visits. Barrow gave Timothy the new children's book, Winnie-the-Pooh, for Christmas. It's a charming book, by the way. Marigold would love it.

Barrow's been reading and reading the book to Timothy. Now the child says, "Pooh," whenever he sees Barrow. At first, Barrow was pleased, thinking that Timothy was asking for the book. He wasn't so pleased when he realized that the boy had christened him with a new name.

Yesterday, I innocently mentioned Barrow's new appellation to Papa. At dinner, Barrow was filling Papa's wine glass when Papa took aim and fired off, "Thank you, Pooh."

Immediately, Barrow shot back, "You're welcome, Donk."

You can imagine the ominous silence that fell over the room. Papa stood, his chest puffed out, and glared at Barrow. I thought he was going to usurp my authority and discharge Barrow on the spot. Instead, he smiled that charming smile of his and replied, "That's Lord Donk to you, Barrow."

Barrow held Papa's chair as he sat and countered, "And it's Mr Pooh to Your Lordship."

Papa was determined to have the last word. He insisted that Pooh was far worse than Donk. Barrow asked, "On what scale, Your Lordship?"

Papa answered rather smugly, "Mine."

Barrow should have let it go but retorted, "Ah, the Donk scale." Papa warned Barrow that he would be permitted only one of those during his career, and Barrow, who had dug in his heels, replied, "Likewise, Your Lordship."

The debate ended with the appearance of the roast course, and I'm happy to report that Barrow remains our butler.

And that, my dear Edith, is the modern age!

Your sister,

Mary