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

Read More

Experts - Zip It Up

Thank goodness for the experts. We really need them sometimes.  I mean those proper, professionals that fix things before a drama becomes a crisis, not those pretend experts saying ‘you don’t want to do it like that’.  We seem to have needed them a lot, lately, and to some expense.

I’m good with a sewing machine and a needle and thread. One of my grandmothers was a dressmaker and tailoress.  She taught me plain stitching and sewing buttons on before I was seven years old. It is in my blood. At school, I excelled in needlework classes. I have made clothes and soft furnishings for home and for gifts. I’ve happily done alterations and repairs for people at work. Hems up, hems down, take in, let out, buttons on, zips replaced and very little turned away. Recently, to my horror, I had no choice but to admit defeat and hand something over to a proper expert.

The zip had ‘gone’ on my husband’s football jacket. The one he wears to matches, with the Blackpool FC badge embroidered on the left front. He’s had it for a few years, a really warm, good jacket, still perfect, apart from the zip which I can easily replace. I bought a new zip and it sat waiting to be done. I wasn’t well enough to tackle it, but no problem. There was a hiatus in home matches, anyway. Eventually, I set myself up at the table, maximum light and everything to hand. The jacket is black which could be a problem to my eyesight, but it is a straightforward job that wouldn’t take me long. Famous last words. I spent about half an hour struggling in vain to unpick the stitching and get the old zip out. Impossible. I tried again to repair the zip itself. No chance. A quick ‘Google’ for the nearest professional repair and alteration service, and husband despatched to South Shore to drop off offending garment before the shop closed.

I had to admit failure and defeat and my pride was hurt. I’m as much an expert at this as they are – but, no, of course I’m not. Nanna Hetty might have given up, too, or she might have known another way.

The experts replaced the zip. The very well made jacket is as good as new again.

 

In recent weeks, we've needed expert car repair and a plumbing job. Things come in threes. I hope this is the end of it.

A few Haikus with an ‘expert’ theme,

 

Sucking air through teeth,

Voicing a high estimate

For an expert job.

 

Freshly laundered scrubs,

The smell of antiseptic,

Surgery prepared.

 

A home made plumb-line

And a 'How-To-Do-It' book.

Who needs an expert?

 

They know how it's done

And make it look so easy

Behind a wry smile.

 

Flashy pin-stripe suit

The expert knowledge in a

Brown leather briefcase.

 

Perfect workmanship

Of a completed good job.

Pleased with the experts.

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More