CARSON (CONT’D): Go to bed, Ethel. And next time she gives you an order, ask me first.*
* I had a great-great-aunt who figures in several of these stories. Her name was Lady Sydenham and she lived in a house called Lamberhurst Priory in Kent, and she terrified the living daylights out of both my parents. She had a thing about electricity, that it leaked damaging vapours into the house during the night – Violet complains in the first series about electricity’s terrible ‘vapours’ – and one of the things she insisted on was that all the plugs were stopped up every evening. A maid went round and took the plugs out, then put in stoppers to prevent the electricity leaking into the room and poisoning the atmosphere. I am perfectly serious. Anyway, it was a short step from the Tales of Aunt Phyllis to having Ethel polishing the electric plugs and checking them for vapours, which is how that came about. This aunt also had a horror of smoking. She used to say to my mother, who dreaded these visits (she was my father’s aunt): ‘I hope you don’t smoke, dear.’ And my mother would protest how horrible it was as a habit and how she detested it, when in fact she smoked like a chimney. So she used to go up into the attic after Aunt Phyllis had gone to bed, into the head housemaid’s room, and they’d smoke together, puffing out of a window over the gardens. This particular maid was movie mad, and she had her walls covered in pictures from Photoplay and the other film magazines, all of which added up to the character Emily Watson played in Gosford Park.
67 INT. CORA’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.
Robert is taking off his dressing gown in silence.
CORA: Is anything the matter?
ROBERT: Nothing. Except that today has shown me I’m not only a worthless man, but also a bad-tempered and ungrateful one.
CORA: Well, we all know that.
She smiles, but she sees that he was not quite joking.
CORA (CONT’D): Can I help?
He shakes his head, taking her hand and kissing it.
CORA (CONT’D): I wonder how Sybil is feeling.
ROBERT: The war’s reaching its long fingers into Downton and scattering our chicks. But I’m glad we’ve made peace with Matthew.
CORA: I agree. Let us give thanks to Sir Richard Carlisle for distracting Mary at just the right moment. By the way, she wants him to come and stay. So we can all meet him.
Robert looks at his wife. He’s not attracted by the prospect.
ROBERT: She wants us to invite a hawker of newspaper scandal to stay as a guest in this house? It’s lucky I have a sense of irony. Which reminds me, do you know about a story…
CORA: What story?
ROBERT: Never mind. Goodnight.
And he turns out the light by his bed.
68 INT. KITCHEN PASSAGE/SERVANTS’ HALL. DOWNTON. NIGHT.
Carson walks down the kitchen passage. He looks in at the door and sees O’Brien alone there, cleaning some combs.
CARSON: I have sent Ethel to bed.
O’BRIEN: Oh, yes, Mr Carson?
CARSON: You are on the edge of an abyss, Miss O’Brien. One false step and you will fall. Do I make myself clear?
O’BRIEN: Very. Goodnight, Mr Carson.
CARSON: Goodnight, Miss O’Brien.
He goes on about his business.*
* I always think it’s helpful for the audience to know the extent to which the characters are deceiving each other, or to what extent they are aware of each other’s foibles. This scene was one of the only moments in the series where we absolutely understand that Carson knows what O’Brien is up to. So when we had to cut it, I did think it was a bit of a loss.
69 INT. ATTIC PASSAGE. DOWNTON. NIGHT.
Anna, red-eyed with weeping, is walking down the passage. She reaches her room and pushes the door open. Ethel is already there, crying into her handkerchief. Anna shuts the door.
ANNA: Not you, too. What’s the matter?
ETHEL: Why ask? You don’t care.
She wipes her eyes and stands to get undressed.
ANNA: Oh, Ethel. Perhaps if you stopped going on about all the marvellous things you’re going to do when you leave service.
ETHEL: But you’ve got to have dreams. Don’t you have any dreams?
ANNA: Of course I do. Big dreams… It’s just that I know now they won’t be coming true.
But she’s not unfriendly. In fact, she feels sorry for Ethel.
ETHEL: Has Mr Bates really left?
ANNA: I’m afraid so.
ETHEL: And he won’t be back?
ANNA: Doesn’t look like it.
ETHEL: It’s very sudden. You don’t think he was in any trouble, do you?
ANNA: No. He’s done nothing wrong. He’s gone because he thought it was the right thing to do. I don’t know why. But I do know that.
70 INT. MARY’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.
Edith pushes open the door and stops dead. Mary is praying by her bed. At the sight of her sister, Mary jumps to her feet.
MARY: What do you want?
EDITH: I think I left my book in here.
Mary looks round, finds the book and hands it over.
MARY: Is that all?
EDITH: You were praying.
MARY: Don’t be ridiculous.
EDITH: You were praying. What were you praying for?
Mary walks to the door and opens it.
MARY: Please go. I’m tired.
Edith leaves. Mary returns to her bed and kneels, reaching for the picture she pushed quickly under the pillow. It is of Matthew. She bends her head.
MARY (CONT’D): Dear Lord, I don’t pretend to have much credit with you. I’m not even sure that you’re there. But if you are, and if I’ve ever done anything good, I beg you to keep him safe.*
* Edith discovers Mary at prayer, which, of course, she cannot resist teasing her about. It is a very Mary prayer, with her apology to God for not even being sure there’s anyone there. She’s reached that point, which I think people do reach, when they think, well, where’s the harm? If there is no God, I’ve got nothing to lose. Because the truth is, she can’t do anything to make Matthew safe, other than pray.
71 INT/EXT. FIRST AID POST. FRANCE. NIGHT.
Matthew is walking past the stretcher bearer post when he sees Thomas sitting, drinking tea.
MATTHEW: You look very comfortable there, Corporal.
Thomas jumps to his feet and salutes. Then…
THOMAS: Would you like some, sir? We’ve got condensed milk and sugar.
MATTHEW: I won’t ask how you managed that.
They both laugh as Thomas hands him a cup.
THOMAS: Go on, sir.
Matthew takes the proffered cup and sips it. They sit.
MATTHEW: That’s nectar… Are you sure you can spare it?
THOMAS: Gladly, if we can talk about the old days and forget about all this for a minute or two.
MATTHEW: I wonder if we’ll go back to the way things were, when the war is over. What do you think?
THOMAS: To be honest, I doubt it.
MATTHEW: ‘How you gonna keep‘em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree?’
THOMAS: We haven’t seen much of Paris, worse luck, but we have seen the world’s bigger than Downton.
MATTHEW: Strange to think I was there so recently. It feels like a million years ago. Do you ever hear from anyone?
THOMAS: Oh, yes. Miss O’Brien keeps me informed. Lady Edith’s driving. Lady Sybil’s training as a nurse. Miss O’Brien tells me the hospital’s busier than ever, with the wounded coming in. Is that true?
MATTHEW: Certainly is. They had a concert when I was there, to raise extra funds.
THOMAS: I’m curious, sir. Do you think I could ever get a transfer, back to the hospital? Seeing as it’s war work?
MATTHEW: Well, you’d have to be sent home from the front first. And then you might have to pull a few strings…
He drains his cup and stands, returning it to Thomas.
MATTHEW (CONT’D): Thank you for that. Thank you, very much.
THOMAS:
What would my mother say? Me entertaining the future Earl of Grantham to tea.
MATTHEW: War has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter, and the things that don’t.*
He touches his cap in salute and walks off. Thomas watches him go. He has come to a resolution. He starts to walk away.
SOLDIER: Where are you going?
THOMAS: Never you mind.
The noise of guns is constant, if distant, as Thomas walks along. At last he stops and checks to see if anyone is looking, then he lights a match and holds it above the edge of the trench. A shot rings out. Thomas clutches his hand with a cry, as blood spouts out. He falls, and whispers.
THOMAS (CONT’D): Thank you — thank you for my deliverance.
He clutches his bleeding hand. He is in agony, but overjoyed.*
* This meeting between Thomas and Matthew in the trenches is important for me, because the war broke down many of the social barriers. Proximity, to an extent, demystified the other classes, when before the war people had lived very much among their own kind. There is a famous quote from some army officer watching his troops bathing in a river, saying: ‘I didn’t know their skin was so white.’ Even where there was no hostility, there was still distance. After the war, that would change, and it would keep changing as the century wore on. Clearly, whatever people at the BBC may say, we are still divided by class, but I think today we share a consciousness of the realities of life, which I don’t believe we did before the First World War. I always remember my mother saying that at the end of the Second World War you were suddenly aware of whether or not the maids’ rooms were pretty, and if they were nicely done. Whereas before the war, while she got on well with servants, she never really troubled herself about their lives. The war changed her for the better in that respect and she never went back. This process is what we’re seeing here, as Matthew and Thomas sit together in a muddy ditch full of blood. Why shouldn’t they have a cup of tea? What do those petty distinctions matter?
* This kind of injury was called a Blighty, because it was a wound that took you back to England. A Blighty was not, I think I’m right in saying, necessarily an artificially received wound, as Thomas’s is here. Some men did do this sort of thing deliberately and got shot through the hand or broke their foot with a hammer, but this was very rare, and the wounds were usually received legitimately in combat. Of course, if you received a wound that disqualified you from service, but left you essentially whole, then clearly, for the men and their families, this was a huge bonus, and that was a Blighty.
The lighted match in the trenches gave rise to the superstition against lighting a third cigarette from the same match, which is still with us. There was truth in it, because when you lit a match, the Germans could see the light. But if you just lit one cigarette and blew it out, it was too short a moment for them to do anything about it. However, by the time you’d lit three cigarettes, they could take aim and fire – and a match was always an invitation to fire, because it had to mean there was a man standing there. Here, Thomas holds a match up to light his own hand as the target. But again, I don’t want to pretend that lots of people did this sort of thing, because I think what is always astonishing about any history of the First World War is how brave the vast majority of the men were. All ages, all types; they were as brave as lions. But, of course, we need Thomas to come back to Downton to carry on being nasty.
END OF EPISODE ONE
ACT ONE
1A EXT. DOWNTON. DAY.
A postman cycles up to the house.
1B INT. ROBERT’S DRESSING ROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.
Henry Lang, Robert’s new valet, lays out clothes.
1C INT. PANTRY. DOWNTON. DAY.
William is working. A hall boy enters carrying a letter.
HALL BOY: Letter for you, William.
2 INT. HALL/DRAWING ROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.
April 1917. Amid the flurry of the maids opening the house, Carson is seeing to the logs for the fire. Mrs Hughes walks up to him, unobserved.
MRS HUGHES: Why on earth are you doing that?
CARSON: Someone’s got to.
MRS HUGHES: Yes, indeed they do, and that someone is William or one of the maids. You’re making work for yourself, Mr Carson, and I’ve no sympathy with that.
CARSON: I’m not asking for sympathy.
He walks off. But of course she does sympathise.
3 INT. ROBERT’S DRESSING ROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.
Watched by Isis, Robert is with Lang, who helps him into a uniform jacket. Lang is diffident and now he hangs back, nervously. Robert looks in the glass.
ROBERT: What is it? What’s the matter?
LANG: I don’t think it should be…
ROBERT: What? For heaven’s sake, man, if something’s wrong, put it right!
Lang steps forward and adjusts a strap.
ROBERT (CONT’D): I’m sorry, Lang, I don’t mean to snap.
LANG: Nothing to worry about, m’lord.
ROBERT: You’ve been in the trenches. I have not. I have no right to criticise.
LANG: I’m not a soldier now.
ROBERT: You’ve been invalided out. That is perfectly honourable.
LANG: Is it? I know people look at me and wonder why I’m not in uniform.
ROBERT: Then you refer them to me, and I’ll give them a piece of my mind.
4 INT. KITCHEN. DOWNTON. DAY.
Mrs Patmore is studying a letter in silence.
DAISY: A penny for your thoughts.
MRS PATMORE: They’re worth a great deal more than that, thank you very much.
She puts the letter away as William appears, grinning.
DAISY: What is it?
WILLIAM: My papers. They’ve come. I’ve been called up.
MRS PATMORE: You never have!
DAISY: What does it mean?
WILLIAM: I’m to report for my medical next Wednesday, and once I’m through that I go to Richmond for training.
DAISY: And then… you go to war?
WILLIAM: With any luck. I’ll be beggared if it’s over before I get there.
MRS PATMORE: Well, if they’d listen to me, it’d be over by teatime.
With a sad shake of her head, she walks off to the larder.
WILLIAM: Daisy, I wonder… would you give me a picture to take with me?
DAISY: I haven’t got one.
WILLIAM: Then have one taken. On your afternoon off. Please.
Mrs Patmore has returned with some onions.
MRS PATMORE: That’s enough. Let her get on with her work.
William goes, still brimming with excitement.
MRS PATMORE (CONT’D): Poor lad. Little does he know…
DAISY: He wants me to get my picture taken.
MRS PATMORE: Does he, indeed? And will you?
DAISY: I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Daisy is troubled by the spot she’s got herself into.
5 INT. CORA’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.
O’Brien is dressing Cora.
CORA: How is Thomas coming along? I wish he could be treated at our hospital, here.
O’BRIEN: Well, it’s only for officers…
CORA: Of course.
O’BRIEN: Although, ideally, he’d love to be transferred there. To work.
CORA: He won’t be sent back to the front?
O’BRIEN: Not with his hand the way it is.
CORA: It’s such a pity he isn’t under Doctor Clarkson. We might have been able to influence him a bit.
O’BRIEN: I should hope so. Why, without this family and the money you’ve spent, his precious hospital wouldn’t exist at all.
CORA: Perhaps I’ll ask his advice. You never know. Thomas is in the Royal Infirmary in Leicester, isn’t he?
O’BRIEN: I was sure you’d have a good idea of what to do for the best.
6 INT. DUG-OUT. TRENCHES. SOMME. NORTHERN FRANCE. DAY.
Davis is cleaning, as Matthew reads a telegram.
MATTHEW: Fancy a tour in England, Da
vis?
DAVIS: I assume you’re having me on, sir.
MATTHEW: Not at all. General Sir Herbert Strutt has asked for my transfer to be his ADC. He’s touring England to boost recruitment and he’s remembered that I know Manchester and Yorkshire pretty well. It’ll mean a couple of months at home and a promotion to Captain. I can’t object to that.*
DAVIS: So you’re glad?
MATTHEW: It’s an odd business. I should be glad, of course…
DAVIS: But?
MATTHEW: I feel like a worried father, leaving the men to a new officer.
DAVIS: Orders are orders, sir. They’ll understand.
MATTHEW: Probably rather better than I do.
* I didn’t want Matthew going back and forth to the trenches as easily as if he was toddling down to Southend. We really needed him to be in England for two episodes, without returning to France, so he gets put onto the staff of General Strutt, the name of a chap I was at school with, to achieve it. This happened, in fact – officers being seconded to recruitment duties or whatever – there was nothing unusual about that. They would tour the areas where they were trying their hardest to attract volunteers, as well as the training camps for men who had enlisted, and they generally kept people’s spirits up about the eventual outcome of the war. The idea was that if these new recruits could talk to soldiers who had actually been at the front, then the experienced officers would be able to dispel some of their apprehension. Otherwise, there was a fear that there would be a kind of mythological swallowing of you when you went to the front, that you would never be seen again. This is why the work that Matthew and Strutt are doing was important.
7 INT. LIBRARY. DOWNTON. DAY.
Robert is at his desk. Cora is sitting on a sofa, reading letters. Carson is there with William.
CORA: Have you told your father?
WILLIAM: I’ve not had a chance yet, m’lady.
CORA: Don’t write. Go and see him. So you can tell him yourself.
WILLIAM: I’ve only got a few days before the medical, m’lady.
CORA: Then go and tell your father. You don’t mind, do you, Carson?
CARSON: We must manage with no footmen at all from next Wednesday. It’ll be no different if we start now.
ROBERT: And you’ve always got Lang.
CORA: We wish you every good fortune. Don’t we, darling?
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