Downton Abbey 1926
Episode 10 Chapter 6
Thursday November 11, 1926. Armistice Day
Beryl and Kate
They looked for the boy, Mark, but he was nowhere to be found in the crowded hall. Mr. Molesley found them, however, and began an elaborate apology in mid-sentence.
"…told him he could not do Private Philpotts' story. And I told him he was not to go on, not without your approval, Mrs. Patmore." He spoke with a painful earnestness. Mr. Molesley was usually respectful of other people's feelings and was particularly sensitive to them in this matter. "But I couldn't see how to get him off the platform without…."
"It's all right, Mr. Molesley," Mrs. Patmore interrupted him. She gestured to her companion. "This is my sister Kate. Mrs. Philpotts. Archie's … our Archie's mother."
Molesley blanched to an even more deathly pallor, if that were possible, but Mrs. Patmore cut him off before he could start again. "It was nice, what Mark said, and not even having any information to work with."
Mrs. Philpotts was mopping up tears, but caught her breath. "It were a lovely idea, Mr. Molesley. It's important to remember. Thank you."
They'd only just shed Mr. Molesley to another family who wanted to express their appreciation, when they came face to face with Mr. Mason and Daisy.
Kate wiped away the last of her tears and smiled at Mr. Mason. "Lovely to meet you," she said brightly. "That was your son they did up there."
"Aye. Our William. He were a good lad." Mr. Mason's words reflected a mixture of sorrow and pride. He nodded politely to Kate Philpotts. "It were nice that Mr. Molesley included that tribute to your son. You didn't mention that," he added, with a glance at Beryl.
"It was a surprise," Beryl said quickly. "Mark just did it."
Daisy smiled. "I thought he might."
Beryl cast her a sharp glance. She was pleased with Mark's performance and with the boy, but wondered if Daisy hadn't egged him on.
"What a nice little boy that was telling how your William saved his father," Kate went on, addressing Mr. Mason again.
"That were Master George," Daisy said promptly. "He's His Lordship's heir." That was how the downstairs identified Master George to outsiders – his connection to the title.
"He were brave, your William."
Mr. Mason nodded his thanks. "They were all fine lads. It were a terrible war."
"Aren't they all," Beryl murmured.
"Won't you join us for tea?" Kate asked. She included Daisy with a glance, but focused on Mr. Mason.
"Nay. I've got things to do at the farm." He tipped his hat. "Glad to meet you, Mrs. Philpotts. Mrs. Patmore."
He and Daisy moved on and the two sisters started back to the Abbey.
"He's a good man," Kate pronounced.
"Who said he wasn't?" her sister snapped with a touch of belligerence.
"You could do a lot worse."
"Now there's a ringing endorsement." Beryl's sarcasm was apparent.
"What is, then?
Beryl paused thoughtfully. "Oh, that he puts a light in your eyes, makes your heart sing, puts a lilt in your step."
Her sister scoffed. "Ach, what nonsense is that, Beryl! A good man is one you can count on, share your joys and troubles with, chat about the everyday things that make up your life, his and yours together. All that … that moon, and June, and starry skies … it's rubbish."
Beryl was not convinced. Did she not have the Carsons before her every day, reminding her otherwise? "For you, maybe. For some. But I'd like to love a man, not just like him very much."
"You can't love someone you don't like."
"What kind of logic is that? Just because you like him doesn't mean you can love him." She shook her head as though casting off rain. "I'm not in the market," she said in a tone of finality. "But if you are, I can tell you he's unattached. And you do know how to run a farm."
"Beryl Patmore, you're a fool."
"Then you're the sister of a fool. Come, let's get on. I've got dinner to put on!"
Robert and Cora
Lord and Lady Grantham spent some time after the pageant greeting villagers and reflecting with mothers, fathers, wives, siblings, and children on the war dead of Downton. Robert spoke to every one of the families. It was a duty he felt more comfortable performing than the introductory remarks he'd made. He deliberately sought out Mrs. Patmore's sister.
"It's cold," Cora remarked, as they headed back toward the Abbey, walking despite the chill and the onset of dusk on this grey day. "I knew all the names and the families, but today their stories came alive. They are so much more real than ever they might have been doffing their caps to me in the village."
Robert, with Cora's arm tucked security through his, nodded. "I know what you mean. I knew them … some of them … a little better than you might have done, but the way the children put their stories together, linking the boys of Downton to the men they became on the battlefields of France and Belgium …. It fairly took my breath away."
"Molesley did a good job."
"Molesley did a very good job. It was touching. And what about George? How did that come about?"
Cora smiled. "Henry arranged it."
"Really?" The information gave Robert pause and moved him to warm thoughts about the son-in-law he was still getting to know. "That was very thoughtful of him."
"It was." Cora was less surprised at Henry's capacity for empathy. "And to think that Mary was prepared to marry Sir Richard Carlisle when there were men like Matthew and Henry in the world."
Robert stiffened. "Please don't mention that name," he said. "Thinking about how close she came to it upsets my tummy."
"Well, we can't have that," Cora said, squeezing his arm. "They were all so good, the children's presentations. The audacity of the 'three brothers' took my breath away. I worried that Mrs. Elcot might collapse with the strain. I was moved to tears."
"It is my understanding that Mrs. Elcot cooperated with the children, giving them letters and such. What struck me was the children themselves, how they shifted the mood how they managed their own feelings." The children had honoured their subjects without descending into sentimentality.
"The odd one out was the boy who spoke about Mrs. Patmore's nephew. He didn't tell a story, not like the others. But you must know his story, Robert. You put up the stone." It had seemed a peculiar thing to do at the time, but Cora hadn't questioned it. She knew it had pleased Mrs. Patmore and that was reason enough. But now Robert's silence piqued his wife's curiosity. "Robert?"
"I do know the story," he admitted. "And, knowing it, I understand why the boy did not relate it this afternoon. I wonder if Mrs. Patmore knew about his presentation. I can't think that she had done."
"Can you tell me?"
Robert appreciated Cora's approach. She accepted that it might be a secret he could not tell. He considered. "It is a matter of the utmost discretion."
Cora said nothing, leaving it to Robert to decide.
Robert knew he could count on his wife. "Private Archibald Philpotts was shot for cowardice," he said.
"What?" Cora could not have imagined such a response. "Oh, no. Does Mrs. Patmore know?"
"Yes. I told her. I only know because she asked me to look into the secrecy surrounding his death. I called the War Office and they told me."
"Poor Mrs. Patmore. Poor Mrs. Patmore's sister!"
"Well, as to that, I don't know. I advised Mrs. Patmore not to tell her. Indeed, I don't know that she's told anyone but Mrs. Carson. Oh, and Carson knows. That business with the war memorial brought it out. The War Office won't permit the names of such men to be included on official memorials."
"Hence the stone you had made," Cora murmured.
"Yes."
They walked without speaking for a few moments, but Robert felt the weight of the unasked question upon him. His shoulders heaved and he turned to face his wife.
"I know something of what it was like," he said. "And yet I know nothing of what it was like for him. I cannot judge."
Cora put a hand tenderly to his cheek. "You are a good man, Robert."
"Well, I don't know about that." But he was very glad she thought so.
John and Anna
They had attended the ceremony at the cenotaph and the pageant at the school as a matter of course. These were significant events in Downton village life and they were immersed in that life. The "war to end all wars" was also close by them. They had known some of the young men, not least Thomas and William and Mr. Matthew, and were touched by that. And they liked Mr. Molesley and would have supported his project on that ground alone.
Anna noticed how John became almost a different person on Armistice Day. At dawn, even before he dressed, he would take out the medals he had earned in his own war and polish them up before pinning them to his best suit. He put them away as carefully at the end of the day. Anna never saw them otherwise. His disposition was solemn enough at the best of times, but Anna could always win a smile from him, except on November 11. On this day she caught a glimpse of the man he had been before she met him – the man who had joined the army, gone to war, embraced life as a military man. That he had wanted such a life intrigued her, but he seldom spoke of it and she did not press him. She wondered if he would tell their children about it.
The pageant absorbed them both. Anna thought it a good idea well executed and congratulated Mr. Molesley on his work. John had taken her hand as the stories began to unfold, though his eyes never left the stage. He, too, offered his appreciation to the schoolteacher. As they stepped from the schoolhouse and began the trek back to the Abbey, something occurred to Anna.
"There wasn't anything like this for your war, was there?"
He knew what she meant. "No. Not quite. There were victory parades and celebrations across the country when the war ended, of course. It'd been a much larger war than anyone expected and a hard-won victory. But the relief gave way to recriminations pretty quickly. And then it faded from the minds of everyone, but for those who fought it."
Anna had some idea of what the war had cost John, in physical terms if nothing else. The wound that had taken him out of action had crippled him in more ways than one.
"You do have to wonder what it's all for," John said abruptly.
Remembering the wounded men who had come through Downton's cottage hospital and the convalescent home at the Abbey, Anna could only agree with this. But she wondered how John saw it. "What do you mean?"
"Only that we went to war against the Boers to enforce our jurisdiction over them, and eight years after the Treaty of Vereeniging which subjugated them, we were encouraging them to confederate and claim the measure of independence we denied them in 1900. During the late war, South Africa fought with us."
"And the Great War? Do you think its victories will be so quickly squandered?"
John looked grim. "The powers-that-be are already squabbling over the Treaty of Versailles. When the French seized control of the Ruhr, as they had every right to do under the treaty, there was a backlash. And in this country, support for strict enforcement is pretty feeble."
"Isn't it a good thing to put the past behind you?" Anna ventured. She'd be the first to admit the limits of her knowledge about the peace of 1919, but it had seemed harsh on the face of it.
"Only if it stays there," John said. He glanced at her and his countenance softened. "Our Mr. Molesley appears to have found his place in life."
Anna nodded her agreement.
"Funny, isn't it?" John went on. "I was so glad to get the position of valet in 1912 and I'm still grateful to it, for so many reasons." Their eyes met in complete understanding at that. "But now we're about to go our own way. And Mr. Molesley established as a school teacher. And Daisy, off to school herself."
"I think that's how life works," Anna said. "Or should, anyway."
Charlie and Elsie
"Well." Elsie was dabbing at her eyes. "That was quite an event."
Beside her, her husband nodded soberly. "They did the men justice. It was very moving."
"Mr. Molesley is a good teacher," Elsie added, glancing at Charlie.
He knew what she was saying. "Yes, I agree that Mr. Molesley seems to have a talent for working with children. In this instance, at least, he has marshalled their talents and made a significant contribution to the community."
"And I think the whole community turned out," Elsie said, looking around. There was a crowd. "It may be a while before we can get out the door." She paused and linked her arm through her husband's. "Every time I pass the school, I remember our wedding breakfast and the party."
Her words broke through the solemnity of the day's events and Charlie Carson smiled. "You wanted it to be the best party downstairs had ever had and I think we achieved that."
Fond memories carried them forward.
By the time they reached him, Mr. Molesley was red in the face, overheated with the accolades he had received. He wasn't used to praise.
"Well done, Mr. Molesley!" Elsie said heartily. "Your children moved us all to tears."
"I couldn't really see anyone else," Molesley admitted, "for the tears in my own eyes."
"I'm sure your father and Miss Baxter are very proud of you," Elsie said mischievously.
"Oh! Well. You know my dad. And…of course… Miss Baxter. She…."
"I have a great regard for history," Charlie broke in, never patient with Mr. Molesley's stuttered incoherence, "and so I must add my compliments to those of Mrs. Carson. The stories ought to be remembered and they were told today in ways that etched them on our hearts." He steered Elsie on and they stepped out into the cold and the descending dusk. Molesley had quite enough people still waiting to enthuse over his efforts. The Carsons need not detain him further.
"Do you have to go back up to the Abbey?" he asked, as they crossed the yard to the gate.
"No. I've brought some paperwork home with me so we can go home together. Button up your coat, now that we're out here." He did as she said, though not without rolling his eyes at her solicitude. She only laughed at him and then took up his arm again. They might do this now, stroll arm-in-arm and retire to their cozy cottage. She liked that.
"Would you mind if we stopped in the graveyard for a moment?" he asked. "I've not been there for a while and it is a day of remembrance."
"Of course, we should," she said agreeably. Charlie's parents and infant brother were buried in the Downton churchyard and he liked to visit them. Elsie had joined him on occasion, but it usually happened he went alone as he passed through the village on one errand or another. Elsie found it heart-warming that he was so attentive to his long-dead parents. He had been a good son in their lifetimes and was so still after their deaths. His devotion reflected, she believed, the dimensions of his great heart.
The church gate opening to the road was ajar, but so it often was. Charlie Carson was not the only one in Downton village who visited the dead. It wasn't uncommon, in the warmer months, to see vases of bright flowers adorning individual graves. Charlie didn't bring his parents flowers. He brought them conversation, bringing them up to date on all the goings-on of his life. And on the occasions when Elsie had come with him, he had told her stories of other people who lay nearby. He knew the lives of many.
But they picked their way through the graves this afternoon in a somber silence, reflecting the day and what it stood for more than the natural tendency to quiet as darkness fell. There was a bit of a breeze and the light was diminishing so Elsie did not at first realize that they were not alone in the graveyard. It was a long moment before she focused on a dark form ahead of them and realized it was not one of the larger gravestones. From there, she discerned that it was not one but two figures, two people in each other other's arms. At the same moment her ears registered a sound, no sounds – the sobbing of one voice, the murmured comfort of another.
Neither sight nor sound was startling in a graveyard where grief often drove people to the public displays of emotion that almost everyone kept in check in other settings. Charlie, deeper in his thoughts or perhaps thinking of what he might tell his parents of the day's events, saw the pair ahead just after Elsie did. They both stopped. And then Charlie cleared his throat just a little to communicate delicately that the grieving pair were not alone.
The black form ahead of them broke apart suddenly, in a manner so abrupt that Elsie registered the unnaturalness of it before she realized who it was. And understood. It was Thomas Barrow and Daniel Rider. They gaped at the Carsons but neither could match the horrorstruck look that descended on Charlie Carson.
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