Class - Upstairs or Downstairs?

I’ve spent the last month or so re-reading my collection of ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ books. These slim paper-backs tell the story of the popular TV series about the ‘upstairs’ Bellamy family of 165, Eaton Place, Belgravia, and their ‘downstairs’ servants. The drama series began in 1971 and taught me more about social class and modern history than any amount of school lessons. The books followed the TV programmes series by series and each chapter is an episode, written by the same screen-writer.  They work quite well as novels. Fading, falling apart and with tiny print that made me wonder how I was managing without my hands-free magnifying glass, these are part of my ‘most treasured possessions’. For back up, I have the complete set of DVDs.

History was, and still is, a big interest to me. Unfortunately, the history master at school failed to ignite any passion in the subject, standing at the front of the class non-stop talking about one of the wars like he was presenting All Our Yesterdays. The boys drew Spitfires, us girls yawned. Instead, I learned social, economic and political history from the events going on in Upstairs, Downstairs. At the time, 1971 onwards, class distinction was mostly lost on me. I loved the servants, Mr Hudson the butler, all his staff and everything they got up to and I equally loved the members of the well-to-do Bellamy family. There was just one thing that grated on me and opened my eyes to class differences of the time. In an episode where Lord Bellamy’s brother is briefly staying at Eaton Place, Hudson’s brother and family are also visiting from abroad, staying in London, and unintentionally, they are all lunching in the same restaurant. This is a regular place for Richard Bellamy to be eating out, but Hudson has had to borrow money from cook, Mrs Bridges, to fund the outing. Bellamy and Hudson seeing each other in the restaurant causes embarrassment for Hudson, who, in an attempt to big himself up a bit for the benefit of his brother  now feels that he is aping his betters. Later, he offers his immediate resignation. Bellamy won’t hear of it and tells Hudson he was pleased to meet his family and that sadly, he, Bellamy, will not be seeing his own brother again. I was glad of the happy outcome, but it made me wonder why being in the same place should be a problem. Surely the butler could go wherever he likes on his time off, and how he funds it is his own business?

I have followed Downton Abbey, Belgravia and others, but nothing captured the essence of the time period quite like Upstairs, Downstairs. I couldn’t decide where I belong, up or down, or somewhere else entirely.

Re-reading it reminded me of a time at work, not where I am now. We had coffee mugs for ourselves, but there were cups and saucers for visiting senior staff and directors. When I brewed up, I gave everyone mugs and no one said anything. Sometimes, we used cups and saucers in our office. No reason not to.

Growing up in pubs, we had domestic staff. I called them ‘Auntie’ or ‘Mr’ and they were very much part of the family from my point of view, particularly our housekeeper ‘Auntie Kathy’ who I adored and was close to, and ‘Mr Joe’ who came with the pub and was like another grandad. I was brought up to treat everyone with respect and kindness. We are all the same.

Is that the time? I’d better ring for tea – or go and make it.

Here's John Betjeman:

How to Get On in Society

Phone for the fish-knives, Norman

As cook is a little unnerved;

You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes

And I must have things daintily served.

Are the requistites all in the toilet?

The frills round the cutlets can wait

'Till the girl has replenished the cruets

And switched on the logs in the grate.

It's ever so close in the lounge, dear,

But the vestibule's comfy for tea

And Howard is out riding on horseback

So do come and take some with me.

Now here is a fork for your pastries

And do use the couch for your feet;

I know what I wanted to ask you -

Is trifle sufficient for sweet?

Milk and then just as it comes dear?

I'm afraid the preserve's full of stones;

Beg pardon, I'm soiling the doilies

With afternoon tea-cakes and scones.

John Betjeman  (1906 - 1984)
 

             
Frost Report Social Class sketch: click here to play

Thanks for reading, keep well, Pam x

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Feghoots - A Pink Elephant and a Water Bottle

This is not my own work, though I wish it was. I consider it to be well thought out and clever, and when I first heard it, some years ago, I couldn't stop laughing. Forgive me if I'm repeating something you readers already know. If, by any chance it is new to you, I hope you find it amusing.

"A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that her name is Patricia Whack.

"Miss Whack, I'd like to get a $30000 loan to take a holiday."

Patty looks at the frog in disbelief and asks his name. The frog says his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it's OK, he knows the bank manager. Patty explains that he will need to secure the loan with some collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, about half an inch tall - bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patty explains that she'll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office. She finds the manager and says, "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30000, and he wants to use this as collateral."

She holds up the tiny pink elephant.

"I mean, what in the world is this?"

The bank manager looks back at her and says, "It's a knick-knack, Patty Whack, give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone." "

 

 

 

And another, again not my own work. I found this hilarious.

 

 

 

 

The Lord of the manor had a butler named Wibble. One day he called Wibble and said, "What about running my bath, Wibble?"

"Certainly, Sir," replied Wibble. "Will there be anything else my lord?"

"Yes, Wibble, what about my dressing gown."

"Certainly, Sir. Will there be anything else my lord?"

"Yes, Wibble, what about my carpet slippers."

"Certainly, Sir, will there be anything else my lord?"

"No, Wibble. If I require anything else I shall call you."

With that, the old lord lowered himself into the water and let go a long, loud fart. Five minutes later, Wibble returned with a hot water bottle on a silver tray.

"Here you are, my lord, your hot water bottle."

"I never asked for that," said his lordship.

Wibble replied, "But you did, my lord. As you lowered yourself into the bath, I distinctly heard you say, "Whadabowdawadderboddlewibble."


I hope these examples can be classed as Feghoots. In any case, I hope they have made you smile or even laugh out loud.
No poem today. Nothing could possibly complement.


Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

 

 

 

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