the scandals of the 1920's & CRAWLEY INVOLVMENT.. 3/23/16

Cora didn't know. Robert was sure of it. He'd almost forgotten about the whole thing itself. Odd to think of a son as an almost forgotten thing. But that's how it was. One paid people to 'cover up' and life went on. Look at Edith... 'poor old Edith'... even she did that and now she's the wife of a marquis. But the truth doesn't go away. It's always there... waiting to spill out, like wine in a carafe on a table full of drunks.

The War Office knew, or certain men within it knew. John Bates knew. He was one of the first.. Bates knew everything there was to know about almost every member of the Downton household. Look, do you want to know what he was? He was 'the fixer.' All the big men had one.... that person charged with 'hiding things.' Even Bates was hidden. Being valet to Lord Robert, the earl, was only his cover. And now he had 'Lucas' to worry about....

Lady Mary was sure her new found half brother was being manipulated by unseen forces. Her father felt so too. What else could they think? Perhaps it was shared blood? Save for the light brown skin tone he looked so much like one of them. For God's sake, he WAS one of them.  Official acknowledgement was remote. 'Racial' prejudice wasn't even considered a prejudice. It was just how things were. Few questioned it. Fewer even cared.

The thing is, they were re-opening Tea Pot Dome investigations in Washington. Mary heard it on the wireless. It was in all the papers. Her Uncle Harold in New York had a close call. They almost prosecuted him in the first g0-round, but Robert, supposedly a blameless, British peer of the first rank, vouched for him. Character witnesses were big back then. But what if it came out that the earl's character was... shall we say, less than sterling? What then? Everything is connected. Life is like a big Tinker Toy just waiting to fall down.

So that's how it was... a season, or at least part of a season, in London... waiting for the next shoe to fall.  There were dinners and 'assemblies' (formal dances) ... trips to the theater. Mary and her new husband, Henry, saw the acclaimed, West End production of SHOWBOAT at The Haymarket Theater. She cried during most of the performance. Some parts of the plot came too close to home.


Then there was the gossip. People said a house across the square had been sold. The old owner, a Miss Hammersmith, from an ancient, august gentry family had died. Relations in Canada wanted the cash and a certain notorious newspaperman wanted the house....

Sir Richard Carlisle was coming to St. James Square.... The Merlin behind the magic, revealed...

Oh, he'd never claim credit. He couldn't ... But that doesn't mean he wouldn't stir the pot.

Old enemies never really disappear. They just plot and wait.

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"SONNY BOY" AL JOLSON in "THE SINGING FOOL" 1928 vitaphone .. Playing on wireless late one night in GRANTHAM HOUSE .. 3/18/16

The house, more an urban, petit palace, was quiet. Almost everyone was upstairs sleeping after an evening of dining with friends and attending the cinema ( Abel Ganz' NAPOLEON). All was dark, or almost dark. Small sconces scattered here and there provided a bit of illumination for the occasional night owl. London was not without its private 'after hours' clubs. Many were elegant affairs frequented by bright young things, the smart set, dashing scions and noted beauties. Lady Mary Crawley Talbot certainly made the cut. True, she was in her early thirties, but a noted beauty none the less... and a handsome, daring auto racing husband only added to her allure. When the film ended, she and Henry joined a group at The PEACH TREE CLUB, a posh spot full of cream colored walls accented by classic columns and banquets all upholstered in pale, muted oranges and tans. The kitchen served racks of tiny, grilled lamb chops accompanied by smooth, almost custardy dollops of buttered grits and small cubes of the best toasted corn bread this side of The Old Dominion. But people just nibbled. Most went for the minty, supposedly American Southern cocktails and (if they still had enough energy) took a few turns on the dance floor ( the 'Charleston' and all that )

But Mary seemed distracted. Henry could tell. Indeed, everyone could tell. She feigned a headache. He got their coats. They left. He asked her what was wrong and she wanted to explain, but the family was still so new to him and old scandals can be so tedious.

So they rode in silence. She caught the eye of the driver in the rear view mirror. Even he sensed something... But London cabbies were oh so discrete. Henry didn't want to press her and pretended to be taken with the lights of Piccadilly...

Upon arriving home, Lester, the night watchmen, let them in. That's how late it was. Even the butler couldn't be expected to wait up at that hour.

She kissed Henry and told him she wanted some cold lemonade in the kitchen for her headache. He offered to join her, but she insisted he get his sleep. He didn't press it.

And Mary really did want a cold drink, but on her way to the kitchen she saw a bit of light coming from the small 'parlor' off the 'family' dining room. She peeked through the crack. Her father was in there, nursing some scotch and staring into space.... The wireless was turned down low, but you could still hear Al Jolson singing 'Sonny Boy.'

She went in and silently took a seat across from him. He knew she was there but didn't say a word.... 'Sonny boy,' how fitting. Then she whispered - I met someone on the street today.... Oh, really? Who? - mumbled her father..... In a 'calm' voice she said - Lucas, your son.....

He didn't say a word, but he tensed and his eyes teared up.... Mary said - Do you know who that is?.....

He nodded....

She quietly asked - What do we do now?.... That's when he broke down... Mary got up and locked the door....

For earlier that evening, her father had seen him too....

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TALES OF CRUSHING FEAR AND HEART POUNDING INTRIGUE .. 3/16/16

This is not a regular post. VERY HARD to post while dog sitting. I am prisoner of SOVIET PUPPIES... Want to continue DOWNTON ABBEY series and put up a bit about latest intrigue with Philadelphia vampires and nosy neighbors, Constance and Lars. But tonight is different.

Was watching TV FX show #TheAmericans.. Love that show (about Russian spies embedded in pre Soviet collapse America). Big writer/producer JOEL FIELDS ... (clickable to his Twitter account) is on line and all should follow.)

Show gave me ideas for other themes....

Here's one----

BREATHING ROOM

In near future governments have tiny sensors planted all over cities. Sensors constantly sample air for various DNA signatures. Every time we exhale tiny bits of our DNA float out into the vapor. In this way govs can track almost everyone. They even recruit population at large to help. EXAMPLE - speakers might say --- Attention populace, the 'arch criminal' Joe Blow is living in vicinity of First Street and Second Avenue blah blah blah...very bad individualist (FLASH PICTURE). Bring him to justice and receive many fabulous luxury gifts from grateful OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY OPPRESSOR...(or whatever)

We follow a few people running for their lives... sort of like THE FUGITIVE..

Imagine even being afraid to draw a breath...

after all... Everybody has to breathe<~~~ tag line.

Second show is somewhat similar too.

SUBMARINES -----

Germany in the 1930's and 1940's....

Forty Thousand Jews hide in plain sight in Berlin with false papers proving they and their families are Christian and have always been so for generations.

Some are inducted into the armed forces

Some work for Nazi hierarchy.

What was that like?

Imagine... nothing to fear...

except every single move they ever make...

This is based on real events. About forty thousand people are known to have survived this way.

They did call each other 'Submarines.' Some had small children with them... Think about the crushing fear...

I think these two examples would make good stories, on say FX or Syfy...

OK, that's it... Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to post out regular ongoing tale..

Thank you ALL!

Billy

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Perfect Love (1920's jazz ballad) LADY MARY MEETS A POSSIBLE SIBLING .. 3/14/16

Lady Mary stepped out alone. Even new brides need time for themselves and she decided to walk. The day was bright. She liked the way she looked in her new chic, fox collared coat. Shop windows made perfect mirrors. It was that kind of day. Everyone was left to their own devices. Her parents took the children to a matinee of Peter Pan. 'The boys' made the rounds of all the top drawer automobile showrooms... a perfect opportunity for a little innocent self indulgence. Perhaps a jaunt down to Selfriges for a tiny bit of 'war paint,' as her father called it. Maybe she'd visit the salon and have her 'doo' sharpened up? London in the 20's... what could be better?

The young man fell in behind her. He'd been watching the townhouse for days. At first he considered approaching the countess. He'd heard see was American. Maybe an American would be more accepting? Everyone supposed that's how they were. Who could tell. Britain was changing too. Every tabloid and magazine shrieked about the Lady Vera Cathcart scandal. My God, the American's even denied her entrance... questionable morals and all that. But he had to share what he knew. So he zig-zagged through the throng (almost skipping at times) and caught up.

She was looking at a display of smart, stylish handbags when he came up behind her. She saw his reflection in the window, right behind a snappy, little Coach number .

He spoke. He said - Excuse me, but are you Lady Mary Crawley? Forgive me, but I've seen pictures.... She said - No, I am not.... for since her marriage, the 'title' was more or less only a social courtesy... And some people did stroll the district in hopes of meeting 'posh' types... Some even asked for autographs. He seemed well behaved and polite. Probably a visitor from the colonies.

He spied the lie, but had to press on and said - Please, I have something to show you, a photograph..... Another blackmailer? - she thought. That business with the hotel maid was supposed to be over and she told him so... He said - No, I'm not (he looked hurt), but, if you would, kindly look at these.... He took two photographs from his pocket and held them out so she could see....  One was of himself. The other amazingly enough was of her father, taken when he was about the same age. They almost matched. Save for the skin tone, everything else was nearly identical.... even the smile.

She said - Who are you? What is this?.... Struck by the immediacy of it all, he responded in a still, small voice and said - I believe we may be related.

They spoke for a bit. He left... Lady Mary just walked. She teared up, but she walked... Composure it everything... at least on the outside....

That's how she met Lucas...

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War Footage from 1899 (The Boer War) .. How Robert's Bastard, Lucas, Was Born.. 3/12/16

There's a reason for everything. Lord Grantham was obviously of a proper age to see service during The World War, especially as part of the officer corps, but the War Office never contacted him. True, not all were called. Some were simply excess baggage and no longer needed. Others had injuries. Some simply no longer had the inclination... Whatever... No one asked, for his service during the recent South African campaign was know to all.  What wasn't known is what happened off the battlefield.

Now liaisons between British personnel and native populations were common and to a certain measure responsible for the 'creole' element found in most British colonies and protectorates. The majority involved enlisted men and lower elements of the resident society. Officers, many stemming from old, established noble and gentry families, held to a higher standard. Any fraternization that did occur was kept secret, for according to the national fiction, Britain's aristocracy never faltered.

Except when they did....

The Zulus were a cultivated people, with a proud national history and military traditions worthy of Europe's best. For the most part, they steered clear of British and Dutch altercations, but sometimes segments of the kingdom found themselves in the thick of it. Many fell in with the Boers, the predominantly Dutch element long native to the land, viewing them as a weaker, more malleable alternative to the Brits. The Zulu ruling classes , you see, had plans of their own.

But one girl, well born, though not closely connected to the ruling house, feared for her life.  Through no fault of her own, she over heard things... intrigue between The Kingdom and various lesser states to the west. The 'She Elephant,' the Queen Mother knew. She was there. She saw and not one to make a scene was quite willing to bide her time... a bit of poison here... a berserk royal elephant there... an accidental impalement on a famed Zulu asengi (long, tapered, bayonet-like, fine steel blade). These things, in their own time, can be accomplished. The girl knew it and she ran.

When the British intercepted her she claimed kinship with Clan Buthalaisy, the Royal House. Well, she was close, but close doesn't count. Dynastic relations are all or nothing. Lesser cousins, barring unforeseen circumstances, remain lesser cousins. The English knew that, but they didn't know  the ins and outs of Zulu descent, so she passed.

There was an officer, an Earl, a major, some said soon to be colonel, a spruce young man from the North.... decorated for an encounter toward The Drakkensbergs, they sent the girl to him... One hot dusty day she was there, dressed like a Boer farm wife... a young, pretty Boer farm wife with a loose cap of dark brown curls and large, vivid eyes. She had some knowledge of English, not as much as Africans, but the Boers lived in close contact with the Zulus so that was understandable.

The major, Lord Robert Crawley, knew a bit of Zulu. He called for Bates, his batman. The field servant said - Headquarters sent her. She seems to know something of enemy positions, Zulu plans too. The colonel couldn't understand her and thought maybe you could, my lord.....

So they sat and talked. He sent for refreshments, beverages too.

That's how it started. He found her a job and she became part of the camp, even followed them to Pretoria.... Grantham's 'pet' they called her...

But she was much more than that. She had to be. Better life, such as it was, with this Brit, than death with her own.... And from that arrangement, Lucas was born...

They kept it quiet. Few people knew....

But the army did... and that's why a certain Earl from Yorkshire, with a sweet American wife and three young daughters never served in the trenches.

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City Of York (1930-1939) & Our Fifth Downton Abbey Episode.. 3/11/16

Lady Violet called for a car. She kept no chauffeur of her own, but relied on the big house. Since few were in residence right now her request posed no problem. She asked for a smaller 'machine,' something inconspicuous, so they sent the Crosley, a somewhat compact, dark grey sedan. Denker asked if she needed any help, after all, trips into York were almost as good as trips into London. The dowager said - Not today. And please play nice with your little brother while I'm out... The lady's maid pretended not to notice. Sprat was cloistered in his room typing out his column anyway. She wouldn't knock. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction. So she perfunctorily straightened up the dowager's dressing table and holed up in her own room with a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover.

York is a special place, a classic English city, if you will. There's the Minster (the cathedral), the university, not to mention a warren of streets going back to the middle ages and newer thoroughfares to rival anything in Liverpool, or London. In a sense, it's the second capital of England. London serves the south and York serves the north. That's how it is. At one time, centuries ago, Northerners remembered legends of a 'Raven King,' an all powerful wizard, who surreptitiously ruled from there. But Lady Violet searched for memories of a different sort.

She had the driver take her to a narrow hidden street deep within the university district lined by tiny row houses. He helped her exit the car and climb the three, white marble steps...

The dowager said - Wait here please. If you must, there's a nice little café around the corner, with a 'necessary' and quite serviceable coffee, but either way, I shall be finished within thirty minutes.... Then she took out a key, opened the door and went in.

The small front room was shrouded in gloom. A few pieces of furniture hid under white sheets and the aged wood floor creaked softly. The old woman looked around, took the measure of the place and sighed. She touched the small mantelpiece and for a few moments stood lost in thought. Then she went into the kitchen, a basic affair with an old iron stove, a small primitive sink and not much else. There was a narrow closet on one wall, a pantry of sorts. The door stuck, but she managed to get it open. The shelves were empty and dry. The green paint largely gone, or absorbed into the wood. But the back wall wasn't solid. There was a small square etched into the surface. Maybe at one time, when the paint was fresh, it was less visible, but those days were long gone. The dowager opened a squeaky tableware drawer, took out a corroded butter knife and pried it open revealing a wood-lined hidey-hole containing a small metal box. She took it out, held it to her lips for a few moments and put it in her pocketbook.

Then she carefully put everything in its place, as best she could, went back into the front room, took the sheet off a slat-backed rocking chair and sat down, staring at the dust motes in a thin sunbeam sneaking in between the almost closed draperies.

A bit later there was a knock on the door. She got up, sighed and opened it..... The chauffeur said - I just wanted your ladyship to know I was out here.

Her ladyship whispered - Thank you. I'm ready.....

He helped her into the car and drove off, just as the cathedral bells began to chime.

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London St James Square .. Site of Grantham House, The Crawley Residence ..3/9/16

Grantham House was built in 1849, on a prime parcel across from St. James Square, the ranking aristocratic district of London. It dates from The Restoration and since Regency times till now ( 1926 ) has been a bastion of inherited wealth and social position, either nobility, or gentry. No parvenus here. Don't even think it. Well, maybe a fabulously successful financier might sneak in if he played the game correctly and supported all the right institutions and causes.

Everything about the place was spruce and scrubbed. Everything glowed with posh urbanity. And the young man standing across from the glossy front door saw that. He tried to be discrete. He tried to fit in. Most passersby didn't stare. Some did. You know how it is. People want to know. Is he Hindu? Is he Sudanese, or perhaps from somewhere in Latin America? The top coat was obviously bespoke and the shoes from Jermayne Street. But the complexion was all wrong... a little too swarthy... a little too 'foreign.' Then he found a seat on a bench and sat, studying the house and thinking..... Who were the people inside? What were they like? What would they say?

A woman came out with three English children. A younger person, seemingly a nanny, or someone filling in for a nanny went with them. They walked to the curb and waited, fresh and sharp in their fine melton coats and coordinating caps... the two little girls wore tam-0-shanters... the little boy sported a black, velvet, child's version of a formal riding helmet. How well behaved they were. A gleaming Bentley rounded the corner and stopped. The chauffer jumped out, smart as any cavalry officer, snapped open the door and helped his betters enter. Then they sailed off into the crisp, January sunshine.... the Countess of Grantham, off for a day of shopping, with her three grandchildren... her three junior aristocrats. Of course there'd be a break for tea at a fitting venue. Why wouldn't there be?

Lucas saw it all (that was the young man's name) from his front row seat. Then he got up and walked off, passed the impregnable facades of innumerable gentlemen's clubs, till after a bit he found himself among the crowds and sights of Piccadilly. He stopped to watch a Pearly King and Pearly Queen do a dance, even tossed a few pence into the cap. Then he entered a pub (after waiting to see if any other 'exotic' types went in first) for bangers and mash, washed down by a pint.....

'England'.... He had family there... in a manner of speaking... In a way... Who knows? We'll see...

Later that day he went back to his spot on the bench. The sun was setting. The earlier, winter warmth gave way to chill. Lights went on around the square. He focused on an upstairs window, possibly a bedroom, in Grantham House. A pinkish glow illuminated the interior, perhaps from a boudoir lamp with a rose silk shade. Then a man looked out, stepped back and closed the drapes.... Lucas thought he might be Lord Grantham, but he was only a footman. The room wasn't even a bedroom... just a small, rarely used study.

Would there be a meeting?... Of course... but that would come later...

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