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There is something about the British aristocracy that seems to hold a fascination for the entire world and their once colonial subjects in particular. Tales and traditions of peers of the realm — scoffed at in modern times — still make a beguiling narrative.
I recently got hooked on to an English series — a period British drama set in the times of George the V — which has captivated me with its brilliance in dramatic presentation and I can’t get enough of it. I can’t say whether it’s the crisp dialogue, the portrayal of the social climate of the times or simply the quaint setting of the fictional Yorkshire country house of the Earl and Countess of Grantham that has me enthralled.
Titled Downton Abbey, the story chronicles the sagas of two tiers of social classes as it traces the lives of the Crawley family (residing above) and their domestic staff (residing downstairs). The plot is based on the dire need of and a search for a male heir to inherit the vast estates of the Earl who has three daughters but no son.
This search forms the dramatic device of the plot and launches the social commentary, exposing aristocratic prejudices of the time before, during and after the First World War, which was perhaps the era of most social changes.
For the Crawley family, a male heir is essential because of the entail of the Earl’s estate which forbids a woman to inherit the title and the estate. To provide one, the eldest daughter is affianced to her male cousin so that the property, while inherited by her husband, would still remain in the family. But the unfortunate cousin happens to board the Titanic’s maiden voyage, subsequently leaving Lady Mary Crawley relieved of her duty to marry her cousin and the family estate with no heir apparent.
Ironically, the wealth of the estate is intact because the Earl had married a rich American heiress just before landing into total financial ruin but the Countess in turn cannot bequeath the wealth to her daughter.
While these intricacies form the backdrop, the story proceeds as Lady Mary is presented with the rather desperate marriage prospect with a city dwelling cousin who is neither rich nor aristocratic and furthermore works as a solicitor to make a living. Brilliantly acted by its entire cast, the series emanates the old world British charm.
In North America however, for the younger generation, the series is like a fantasy story representing an alien world of butlers, footmen and scullery maids waiting on people who rang bells whenever they were needed. Some of the reviews in North American publications reveal total enchantment with the life shown in Downton Abbey, enlightening an observer like me as to how far removed the North American public is from European culture.
For me the ambience recreates the world that we have grown up reading in books and which has been largely responsible for some of our mindset and upbringing. Whatever British classics are read in North America, are mostly read as part of the curriculum at school or university.
An average high-school student will not know who Charles Dickens, Bernard Shaw or even Agatha Christie were. They know Shakespeare because it is mandated reading for English courses throughout high school and they know Jane Austen because of the many movies made. But anything outside that sphere which is included in British classics is largely alien to the average North American unless of course you are a literature student.
The reviews on BBC state that the American fans of Downton Abbey are so enthralled that they have parties to dress up in that era`s costumes. BBC also quoted a funny quip by a blogger who wrote, “it`s everyone’s favourite buttoned-up British passionstravaganza!”
For those, however, who feel difficulty in digesting the indolent existence of the nobility, Downton Abbey is a portrayal of shallow standards of snobbery better left buried. They cannot relate to the archaic ideas like a lady not being allowed to go out unattended or that dinner table chit chat must be mundane with no scandalous talk.
However, many others like me simply enjoy seeing the rolling meadows of the English countryside, the clothing extravaganza and the dining finesse using Georgian or Edwardian crockery and extensive cutlery arrangements.
Most of all however, I enjoy the cryptic British humour especially when it drips from the Dowager Countess’ lips. On one occasion in particular, as she’s trying to accept the city-dwelling heir at her table she appears baffled as he talks of working days and weekend plans and innocently asks, “What is a weekend?”
