Winter Wednesdays, Part Two

The Great War has come and gone, as expected it was not so great, and at its onset suddenly we find Lord Grantham in fancy officer fatigues that look more like party scivvies, what with all the charms, accessories, medals and ribbons dangling from it. Nonetheless, he still will be presiding over the castle for the duration, his desire to kill and maim notwithstanding.

What I love most about this chief resident of Downton Abbey may be the actor’s actual name. It’s funny I think, that the name even closely matches his fictional importance- Hugh Bonneville.

To the best of my knowledge there are no Hugh Bonnevilles in the Bronx. Which is why among other reasons I am addicted to this image laden narration of upper class fantasia. Honestly, watching it is like a weekly session in Freudian analysis and wish fulfillment with gorgeous sets in the background. You know, dreamlike.

But I digress.

During the war the palace has been turned into a rather posh recuperative barracks of sorts for wounded officers and the like. Edith is running around like mad, hither and thither, to and fro, carrying books for the soldiers, writing heartfelt letters to their moms. Oh dear! So much to do all of a sudden!

The bedeviled and now quasi-soldierly Thomas is for the duration of the conflict “no longer under Carson’s command,” but back at Highclere nonetheless due to some self-injuring funny business in the trenches.

Then there is the episode where the whole mess briefly and almost embarrassingly turns into an operetta! “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Crawley sisters” it is announced, as the three lovelies burst into morale-building song at some family festivity, presaging the surprise arrival of Captain Matthew!

But, as we are soon to learn, the course of war never does run smooth, and Matthew winds up in a wheel chair. Apparently a shell lands a tad too near to his personage and when he arrives back at the makeshift hospital in tatters,Dr. Clarkson thinks there may be trouble brewing with his legs and then some. . . .

Lord Grantham: “You mean there will be no children???”

Dr. C: “No anything I’m afraid.”

Such delicacy!

And there is so much more, so very much more on these happy, reprised Wednesdays, but I’m afraid I have to leave it there. This is becoming an obsession. I will however share just a few more random nuggets of elation before I go:

-Bates revealing he was once “a drunkard and a thief”- oh, for shame!

-Branson lamenting after his return, “They’re forcing me into a morning coat!"
-“Ladies' maids love intrigue” reminds the ineffable dowager, who herself consorts with an old love, a Russian prince for godsake!!!

And on it goes. Edith stiffed at the altar, then finding out her next suitor Michael Gregson to be a married man, finally being consoled by hearing him confess plaintively, "I'm tied for the rest of my life to a mad woman. . . "  (this precious diamond of dialogue topping my list of all time favorites); Lord G. succumbing to the quietly tarty maid. . . . Anna being overcome with emotion in the courtroom during Bates' horrid sentencing!!!

Before closing however, I must shamefacedly admit to one moment of pure insanity which I experienced while swooning over the reruns.

At some point during the shameless pledge pleas inter-dispersed between scenes, I fell victim to the pitch and realized I so badly wanted- nay, needed, to own the Downton Abbey Limited Edition Collectors Set- one of the several treasured items for addicts that PBS was hawking during these reruns, seducing us with promises of priceless souvenirs. The set apparently features six(!) “elegant cork backed coasters” with the family crest, all the complete seasons needless to say, and a working replica of the Downton Abbey pull bell- it was this last carrot of course that drove to me near insanity as I began wondering if I could indeed spring for the three hundred bucks, and if so, would I ever wear it?

In the end, I managed to regain a modicum of rationality, but now that the reruns are ending (will they ever end???), I somehow feel I may never be the same. There always will be this ineffable, nameless longing. . . .