Downton Abbey

by Julian Fellowes

  ISOBEL: The fact is, they cannot stay with us for their whole treatment. We just can’t tie up the beds.

  CLARKSON: We’ll get them through the worst, then push them off to the nearest convalescent homes, ready for the next lot.

  ROBERT: That seems rather cruel.

  VIOLET: War is cruel. Horribly cruel.

  * When a series returns after a gap you want a little bit of a drum roll for the principals, and so we have this shot of Violet coming in like Vlad Dracula in her fur hat. Those things are fun to write; at least, they are in this show, because Maggie Smith is so very good at doing them. She always delivers. In a sense, Violet is a reminder that the aristocracy, in the space of not too many years, would become a branch of the performing arts, since in many cases they were going to have to turn cartwheels in order to attract the public to their houses. The fuss would begin in the 1950s with the Duke of Bedford and his safari park at Woburn, while the Marquess of Bath, not to be outdone, would install lions at Longleat.

  For us, there is nothing very strange about buying a ticket to walk round a house and then perhaps have lunch in the former stables. But one has to remember that for the generation who lived before us, for whom these houses were simply their homes, it could be a very hard transition. Many of them, after the second war particularly, would throw in the towel, preferring to live in a rectory rather than being on show like a monkey in the zoo, which is a sentiment that most modern people would, at the very least, understand. But others have, happily for us, been determined to soldier on. Here, Violet gives a hint that she will be one of the latter group and fight to the bitter end, offering hot buttered toast with a countess, at ‘tuppence a slice’.

  10 INT. LIBRARY. DOWNTON. DAY.

  The maids arrange the room for the evening party. Anna is still with Ethel. Mrs Hughes appears.

  ANNA: You drop the cushions on the floor to plump them up.

  ETHEL: I know.*

  MRS HUGHES: Ethel? Are you settling in?

  ETHEL: I would be. If Anna’d stop teaching me how to suck eggs. I was head housemaid in my last position.

  MRS HUGHES: You were senior housemaid, out of two, in a much smaller house.†

  ANNA: Are they to come in here tonight?

  MRS HUGHES: Only at the interval. And keep them out of the drawing room. I thought Mr Bates would’ve been back by now, or he could’ve stood guard.

  She smiles at Anna, then leaves with some of the other maids.

  ETHEL: Who is this Mr Bates?

  ANNA: His lordship’s valet. He’s been in London because his mother died.

  ETHEL: Only everyone talks about him as if he were king.

  ANNA: Do they? That’s nice to hear.

  Violet enters. She observes a large flower arrangement.

  VIOLET: Anna, help me do battle with this monstrosity. It looks like a creature from The Lost World.*

  She starts to pull bits out and hand them to the maid.

  * What they should have done here is drop the big seat cushions of the sofa. This was something that my wife, Emma, taught me – that you break up the density of the feathers by dropping these large, heavy cushions. Just trying to plump them up doesn’t work, as they’re too big. Unfortunately, they filmed it with the maids dropping the little scatter cushions, which doesn’t make any sense because actually, with those, you do fluff them up by hand. I was suitably annoyed on seeing the rushes, but there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. In the end, we kept it in, because it was quite a nice observation.

  † I think, if Downton has a sort of message about the servants, it is that being in service was a career. There was an order of seniority and it had to be respected, just as the people upstairs had to be respected. The whole set-up constituted a sort of mountain, of which the top half would be the family, and the bottom half the servants, but the butler and the housekeeper forged a path between the two groups. So Mrs Hughes, who is generally a pretty sympathetic character, and an intelligent, moral woman, has no hesitation in slapping Ethel down.

  * Violet wants to keep up the old ways and maintain the old disciplines. But unlike the younger generation, she is aware that this will involve limiting her own personal freedoms. She is under no illusion that it will be other people making all the sacrifices. I don’t ever think that Violet is either unintelligent or uninformed; she knows how the cookie crumbles. And a way of telling the audience that is to make her aware of current events – of books that have been written (such as Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, published in 1912), of pictures that have been painted – so you feel that, in her own way, she is keeping up with what’s going on, even if she just doesn’t approve of quite a lot of it. This is a slightly complicated note to strike, so thank heaven we have Maggie Smith to strike it.

  11 INT. CARSON’S PANTRY. DOWNTON. DAY.

  Carson is cleaning silver, furiously. Mrs Hughes looks in.

  MRS HUGHES: You should let William do that.

  CARSON: He’s got enough on his hands, getting the uniforms out of mothballs. I must remember to put Anna on alert for dinner tonight.

  MRS HUGHES: You have to ease up a bit or you’ll give yourself a heart attack. There’s a war on. Things cannot be the same when there’s a war on.

  CARSON: I do not agree. Keeping up standards is the only way to show the Germans that they will not beat us in the end.

  MRS HUGHES: Well, give me some warning the next time we’re expecting Germans at Downton and I’ll see what I can do.*

  * A sub-theme of the story of these houses in decline is that the standards that had been set in the old days, when you could have one man to wind the clocks, four footmen to polish the silver and eight housemaids to clean and re-order the rooms, just could not be maintained once the household started to be cut down, which began in the war with the call-up. After that, you either had older men, or just women, and later, after the war, far fewer of even these, since there would be a widespread resistance to any kind of service as a career. Some things could be compensated for by machinery, and we see the arrival of toasters and Hoovers and all that stuff. But there had to be a realisation that the way things used to be done, when they were done ‘properly’, was no longer possible. Carson is a classic example of someone who will not accept that. He won’t send anything up to the dining room that isn’t as clean as it would have been in 1850, and that’s going to be a struggle. Mrs Hughes, on the other hand, who is a more practical person than he is, and who doesn’t worship the way of life or the family in the way Carson does, puts it quite simply: ‘There’s a war on. Things cannot be the same when there’s a war on.’

  12 INT. LIBRARY. DOWNTON. DAY.

  The other servants have gone and Anna has a cloth on the floor covered with foliage. Violet pulls out a final sprig.

  VIOLET: That’s the best we can do. At least it’s stopped looking like a brush for a witch to ride home on.

  Anna is gathering up the cloth when the door opens and Isobel comes in with Robert and Cora. She stops.

  ISOBEL: Oh. We thought we’d come in here for a little talk.

  VIOLET: Oh, well, I’m sure we won’t be disturbed.

  She makes no effort to move. Anna carries out the cloth and leaves them alone.

  ROBERT: Please.

  ISOBEL: Well, the thing is, I’ve had a letter from Matthew… Of course, he never tells me what he’s actually doing.

  ROBERT: No. He wouldn’t. But I’m glad he’s all right… I miss him.

  ISOBEL: Well, that’s the point. You must know he’s been here a few times since the war started.

  CORA: We had heard.

  VIOLET: Downton is hardly a metropolis.

  ISOBEL: He wasn’t being rude. He just felt it was better to keep a wide berth.

  ROBERT: Is he still determined to go back to Manchester when it’s all over?

  ISOBEL: He doesn’t talk much about life after the war. None of them do. I suppose they don’t want to tempt fate. Until now, that is… He writes that he is eng
aged to be married. To a Miss Lavinia Swire.*

  This is a heavy moment. Violet breaks the silence.

  VIOLET: Well, I suppose we all knew it would happen one day.

  ROBERT: Do you know her?

  ISOBEL: Not yet. Apparently, they met when he was in England last time. It all seems rather hurried.

  ROBERT: You can’t blame them for wanting to live in the present.

  ISOBEL: Anyway, he’s been in London on leave and now he’s bringing her here to meet me. He’ll be here tonight and tomorrow, then he leaves on Thursday while she stays for a bit.

  CORA: So will you miss the concert?

  ISOBEL: Well, that’s up to you. We’d all hoped that he and Mary would sort things out between them. But if that’s not to be, then shouldn’t we try to get back to normal? Even if he’s not keen to live in the village, he’s still the heir. And you’re still his family.

  ROBERT: I quite agree. We can’t know if Matthew will come through it… Either way, I would like to see him. And I want to wish him luck.

  CORA: The trouble is, Mary’s back from London today as well. She gets in at five o’clock.

  ISOBEL: Matthew’s driving down in Lavinia’s car; they won’t meet on the train.

  VIOLET: That’s a relief.

  They, and Isis, all look over to her for clarification.

  VIOLET (CONT’D): I hate Greek drama, when everything happens offstage.

  CORA: But should we tell her not to come? We might still catch her.

  ROBERT: Isobel’s right. We must use this engagement as a new beginning. You bring our Lieutenant Crawley to the concert, and stay for dinner afterwards.

  ISOBEL: I was hoping you’d say that.

  * Lavinia is the Christian name of an old friend of mine in Northamptonshire, whom I knew when I was acting at the Royal Theatre, Northampton, the first permanent rep I went into as a player after leaving drama school. Lavinia Dyer became den mother to the repertory company. She had a large house in a village quite near the city and we used to race over there after shows, drink all night and eat everything in the ’fridge. How her husband, Rex, put up with it I cannot imagine, but he did. They are both gone now, but I’ve always remained very fond of them in my memories of that time, and so I thought I’d name a character after her. Swire comes from the Hong Kong family. Hugo Swire, the MP, is a friend of mine, and I borrow my friends’ surnames relentlessly.

  13 EXT. DOWNTON. DAY.

  Sybil is walking to the house. She’s been crying. She stops, wipes her eyes, straightens her hair and heads for the door.

  14 INT. HALL. DOWNTON. DAY.

  The space is much more organised now, with only one or two people still working. Isobel walks through to the inner hall as Sybil opens the door and comes in.

  ISOBEL: There you are. I’m just going home, but I’ll be back at four.

  Sybil nods, but now Isobel is nearer and can see.

  ISOBEL (CONT’D): Sybil? My dear, what is it?

  SYBIL: Tom Bellasis has been killed. I had a letter this morning from Imogen Bunting. She heard he was missing and called on Lady Bellasis, but he’s dead. It’s been confirmed.

  ISOBEL: What a terrible thing.

  SYBIL: I remember him at Imogen’s ball. He made me laugh out loud, just as her uncle was giving a speech…

  The tears are coming again, as she shakes her head in sorrow.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): Sometimes it feels as if all the men I ever danced with are dead.*

  Isobel takes her into her arms. But Sybil is angry.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): I just feel so useless, wasting my life while they sacrifice theirs.

  ISOBEL: You’ve been a tremendous help with the concert.

  SYBIL: No, I don’t mean selling programmes or finding prizes for the tombola. I want to do a real job, real work.

  O’Brien arrives behind the open glass door, hesitating.

  ISOBEL: Well, if you’re serious, what about being an auxiliary nurse? There’s a training college in York — I know I could get you onto a course.

  SYBIL: Would you, really?

  ISOBEL: If you’d like me to. But —

  SYBIL: What?

  ISOBEL: It may be something of a rough awakening. Are you ready for that? Have you ever made your own bed, for example? Or scrubbed a floor?* O’Brien? What is it?

  She has noticed the maid listening behind the door.

  O’BRIEN: Mr Platt’s taking her ladyship and Lady Grantham down to the village. She wondered if you’d like to go with them.

  ISOBEL: That’s very kind. Thank you.

  O’Brien leaves. Isobel looks at Sybil.

  SYBIL: Go on. What else would I need?

  ISOBEL: Well, if you’re serious, what about cooking? Why don’t you ask Mrs Patmore if she could give you one or two basic tips? She won’t mind.

  SYBIL: I feel pathetic saying it, but I’m not sure Mama would approve.

  ISOBEL: I’d never encourage disobedience, my dear. But, when you get to York, it might be useful to know a little more than nothing.

  * That was actually said to me by my Great-Aunt Isie, my grandfather’s eldest sister, when we were talking about her experiences at the end of the war. She’d had a cable saying her husband was coming home on a troop carrier, so she got all dressed up and went down to Southampton to meet him, only to find that he was carried off on a stretcher, dying of wounds. She took him home and nursed him, but he died anyway, and she was then in mourning for about a year. She had a house called Vicar’s Hill in Hampshire, and she stayed there with her little son, Russell. But at the end of the year she was asked to a dance in London, and she thought it was time to get going, so she went up to London and put on her dance frock. However, on entering the ballroom she looked round and thought, just for a moment, oh God, I’ve made a mistake, this is a party for women, and I’m all dressed up for a ball. But then she saw that there was a man over there, and another over here, and slowly she realised that these were the only men of her crowd who had survived. That was when she told me that, at parties like the one she was remembering, it was as if every man you’d ever danced with was dead. I thought it was such a good line. So I used it.

  * One has to remember that this was all pretty extraordinary for these girls; an awakening, really. Up until then, the most shocking thing they’d ever seen was the death of a fox at the end of a hunt. There’s a very good memoir by Vera Brittain, Testament of Youth, about her time as an auxiliary nurse, and at the beginning they were trained in very gentle arts. The idea was they’d write letters for soldiers, read to them and hold their hands. But by the end she said that, short of actually going to bed with them, she had performed every intimate physical service that one could imagine. It was an incredible transition. Because of the numbers of casualties, these girls, who were supposed to be protected from anything too horrid, were helping with amputations within days or weeks of their arrival.

  15 INT. CORA’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.

  O’Brien is helping Cora into a hat and coat.

  O’BRIEN: They want to use her as a maid of all work at the hospital. I suppose it’s cheaper when Lady Sybil can live here for nothing. But it doesn’t seem quite right, somehow. To take advantage.

  CORA: No, it does not.

  O’BRIEN: I hear the young men that are being brought in now are very disfigured.

  CORA: How terrible.

  O’BRIEN: Limbs missing and faces blown apart, and Lady Sybil’s been nurtured so very gently… And what types would she be working with? Still, you’ll know what’s best to do.

  CORA: Yes. I certainly will.*

  Coat and hat on, she picks up her gloves with real purpose.

  * Cora’s worry about it, which O’Brien of course attempts to stoke, was shared by a lot of mothers at that time. What were their blessed daughters getting into?

  END OF ACT ONE

  ACT TWO

  16 INT. SERVANTS’ HALL. DOWNTON. DAY.

  Anna’s cleaning jewellery. William sews a button on
a shirt. Daisy is shelling peas. Ethel files her nails. Branson is reading a newspaper. William mutters a loud ‘ouch’.

  ANNA: You should wear a thimble.

  WILLIAM: Of course. Yes. I should be sewing shirts with a dainty thimble.

  BRANSON: What’s up? As if I didn’t know.

  DAISY: Leave him alone.

  BRANSON: You’ll not catch me fighting for the English King.

  O’Brien comes in, and so does Mrs Patmore, wiping her hands.

  MRS PATMORE: Where’s the batter for the pancakes?

  DAISY: It’s in the cold larder.

  ETHEL: Are we having pancakes tonight?

  O’BRIEN: Are we ‘eck as like.

  MRS PATMORE: Upstairs dinner. Crêpes Suzettes.

  ETHEL: Ooh. I’ve always wanted to try those. Could you save me some? If they don’t finish them all.

  This impertinence silences the rest of the room.

  MRS PATMORE: Save you some Crêpes Suzettes?

  ETHEL: If you don’t mind. What are we having?

  MRS PATMORE: Lamb stew and semolina.

  ETHEL: Do you eat a lot of stews?

  MRS PATMORE: Don’t you fancy that, dear?

  ETHEL: Not all the time.

  MRS PATMORE: Oh, I see. Would you like to sleep in her ladyship’s bedroom while you’re at it?

  ETHEL: I wouldn’t mind. I hate sharing a room. I didn’t in my last place.

  ANNA: There were only two maids and a cook.

  ETHEL: I’m just saying.

  MRS PATMORE: And I’ll ‘just say’ if you don’t look out!

  She storms out. O’Brien stares at Ethel. She speaks softly.

  O’BRIEN: You’ve got a cheek, on your first day.

  ETHEL: I don’t see why. I want the best. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.

  O’BRIEN: And you think we don’t?

  ETHEL: I think it’s hard to change at your age. I don’t blame you, but I suppose, in the end, I want to be more than just a servant.

  17 EXT. VICTORIA. DAY.

  Cora, Violet and Isobel are riding in the open Victoria.

  CORA: I’m sorry, but if Doctor Clarkson needs free labour, I’d prefer him not to find it in my nursery.

  ISOBEL: But Sybil isn’t in the nursery.