Upstairs or downstairs? Where do you see yourself?

Yes, we’ve succumbed. And that is not the royal “we,” even though we are referring to a British subject. The “we” is me, and pretty much everyone I know, and what we’ve succumbed to is the latest drawing room drama from the BBC, “Downton Abbey.”Who is not talking about it? The New York Times reported that people are having British-themed viewing parties. It seems to be a common reaction to a primetime British event; when Prince William wed Kate Middleton, the papers were filled with similar stories — any excuse to don a tiara. But what I want to know is, where do you see yourself? Upstairs or downstairs? Do you identify with the help? Or with the upper crust? Are you swanning about for Mr. Bates, the valet, that bastion of male rectitude? He can be seen as the bad boy in need of redemption (he has a criminal record), the strong silent type, who will be fearless and faithful; the misguided moralist. Or do you fancy Thomas? The character we love to hate, but with a twist. He’s a tortured soul. You see he’s gay, but he works downstairs and has probably never heard of Bloomsbury or Oscar Wilde. But he’s lucky; some among the staff recognize that he’s “different” and don’t hold it against him. Of course, for his part he’s not entirely sure whether he’s madder at the world for its sexual inhibitions or at the entrenched class system that makes it difficult to get ahead.Perhaps you envision yourself taking a seat in the dining room alongside Lord Grantham; note that counter to the American custom, the Lord of the manor does not sit at the head of the table.Most people’s first choice would be for the upstairs. It looks like a nice life — beautiful house, gorgeous grounds and servants to anticipate your every need, want and desire. But consider this: When you live upstairs you can get a cup of tea (that all-purpose British band-aid), but you have to ring for it; you can’t just go into the kitchen and make yourself a pot. Consider how comforting that small act actually is.If you live upstairs, there is nearly always a servant in the room with you. When you are dining — if you are having a meal that someone in livery has served you from the left, then you are dining, not eating — someone is standing silently at attention. Do you think they are deaf? Do you think your conversation is not of interest? There is nowhere you can go without someone observing you. No privacy, no boundaries. Not even the bathroom; after the maid runs the bath she’ll hang around to hand you the soap. However, it’s not OK for the family to wander around their own house. Servants’ quarters are off limits, even as the servants come and go from the family’s rooms.Talk about a class system meant to control and confine. One would almost hope to be part of the downstairs crew rather than the daughter of an Earl. Since he didn’t sire a son, the entire estate, title and inheritance will pass to whichever male heir they can dredge up, no matter how far down the line. The unlucky daughters of the Earl have only their looks and wits to see them through.It is possible to pity those privileged young women. They are unable to inherit because of the centuries-old right of primogeniture and entail. Their best bet is to marry well, but the pool they’re picking from is limited by the same class restraints they were born into. Turns out marrying for money isn’t that easy. The heart has a tendency to get in the way. And if Lady Mary doesn’t find herself a rich husband, she has no marketable skill to fall back on. An argument can be made that the downstairs maids actually have more social mobility than Mary. At least, they have upward mobility. Marry the valet, leave service and open up a small inn in a sweet little village. That’s Anna’s dream. It seems like it might be possible.What do Anna, Mary and all of us really want? We want to wander upstairs and downstairs at will. We want freedom of mobility. Tara Kelly, copy editor at The Lakeville Journal, is an avid follower of social trends. She may be reached at tarakny@earthlink.net.