Dearest Lavinia Letter Six

29th of May 2019

Dearest Lavinia,

I was so pleased to hear that you are now fully recovered from your dreadful flu. It was such a relief. Tom wrote a story for the Times about the effect of the Spanish flu on the working class. It was truly shocking; he was telling me about the number of people who have died, especially those poor people living in such cramped conditions.

Tom hasn't taken me to the truly poor areas of Dublin; he doesn't think it would be safe for me, even with my husband accompanying me. Living in Downton as I did, I probably had a rose-tinted view of the working class, thinking of Anna and Carson as examples and the various gardeners I would see happily about their work. Papa always made sure that the tenant cottages were in liveable condition. I just assumed that working-class people were healthy robust sorts, like I would see around Downton.

I hadn't realized that Tom's own mother was considered well-off by working-class standards. Her children had worked together and bought Mrs. Branson her tiny little terraced house. In a street filled with such houses. All the houses have brightly coloured doors. All the women made sure that their little garden was neat as a pin and the brass knockers where sparkling with how vigorously they were all polished. It's a little two up, two down, as Tom calls it. This is where there are only two rooms on the ground floor and two bedrooms on the first floor. Mrs. Branson always seats me in her sitting room when I come over. This is an honour usually reserved for her priest and never her children.

Tom tells me her kitchen is considered spacious. It is certainly spotlessly clean. She has a kitchen table that can seat six people comfortably, a solid fuel range, and a Belfast sink with fresh water plumbed directly to the kitchen. All painted in a cheerful yellow and cream. She has a large dresser against one wall where she keeps her special china. Tom says I am blessed to be served on such plates.

The most embarrassing thing is that they only have an outside toilet. I am sorry for talking about such an indelicate subject. But we visit Mrs. Branson every Sunday afternoon, and sometimes it just cannot be avoided. I don't think I have blushed so severely as the first time I requested to use the facilities and was told it was outside. Poor Mrs. Branson's blushed profusely too. She sent Tom out first to make sure there were no SPIDERS present! It was terrible. As it was a newly built house it has electric lighting, so that was one upside. It would have been dreadful to have to sit out there in the dark.

Anyway, what I am trying to say in this rambling account is Mrs. Branson has a sweet little house that is the exception rather than the norm. Tom has told me of tenements where a family of ten might live in two small rooms. Sometimes there might be multigenerations living in the same cramped conditions. That any illness runs rampant through the building. But the truly frightening thing about the Spanish Flu is how it seems to strike down adults in their prime. There are numerous families who have been orphaned, with just elderly grandparents to care for children left. I am curious, did you ever see such tenements when you lived in London?

Mrs. Holden and I are organizing some charity drives to raise money for these poor families. I felt so sorry for them, how frightened those children must be, suddenly without a mother or father. So, we are also collecting donations of food and clothing, to help them. Mrs. Holden is splendidly organized. She is such a friendly sort that she seems to know everyone in Dublin. I am glad we are becoming friends. We are organizing an art auction to raise some necessary funds. Tom even persuaded his newspaper to print an article about our little auction to increase interest in the event.

But the most embarrassing thing about it, I am blushing even writing this down. Mrs. Holden has persuaded me to enter one of my watercolours for the auction. I feel I am not good enough; I am only amateur after all. Tom has been very supportive and encouraging. He seems to think my artwork is worthy. Being my husband, I think he might be biased. I am mainly afraid that no one will bid on my work. It is just a view of St Stephen's green similar to what I have sent you previously. What do you think, dearest?

I am glad to hear from your letters that the Spanish Flu hasn't taken hold at Downton. I do worry about you all. I was also pleased to hear about your own charity work with the displaced Russians. I can sympathize with them, moving to a foreign country where they might not know anyone. I know it is different for me; I can at least come home for visits. But still, I feel for them.

Granny is also pleased with your work with the refugees. But I think this is mainly because Cousin Isobel is so distracted by their plight that she isn't paying as much interest in the cottage hospital.

I was also pleased to hear about your planned holiday to the beach with Matthew. I am sure you will have a lovely time, as long as the weather stays dry.

Tom has been telling me that he would like to take me to Bray, his childhood home. It will be nice to see where he was brought up.

Oh! Before I forget, I have arranged to have lunch with Miss Doran next Thursday. I will keep you abreast of all she says.

May your health continue to improve.

Fondest regards.

Mary