Have you ever wondered why the so-called reality television shows are so popular? From what little I have seen of them, they don’t seem to bear much resemblance to any reality with which I’m familiar. Personally, the reason I watch television is to escape from reality. My current favorite viewing is the Masterpiece Theatre offering “Downton Abbey.” The show was in its sixth and final season before I even discovered it, and so I waited patiently for the entire package to come out in a box set so I could binge-watch it. We don’t have satellite service currently, so I’m limited to perusing our DVD collection or suffering through very s-l-o-w streaming via my phone. We’ve come to accept this is one of the “realities” of living in the Texas countryside.
After reaching the mid-point in the series, I’ve decided I’m very glad to be living in America in the 21st century. It all seemed so glamorous at first, ringing the bell to call your personal maid to dress you and going down to be served breakfast while the housemaid makes up your room. Being called m’lady at every turn and never having to wash dishes or clean house - what a nice thought that! But the more I watched, I realized this family wasn’t particularly close or even nice to each other at times, particularly the two older sisters and the dowager countess. If something really tragic happened, the father might show concern and say “my dear, whatever is wrong” with the strong hint that you keep a stiff upper lip through it all. And to be a slave to the gong, when one must completely change clothes, donning getups so complicated you truly needed a personal maid or valet just to get ready to eat! Or horror of horrors, living with your parents until a suitable match could be found, all the while having to ask for permission to go anywhere? What if we were transported magically to this time? Do you suppose we would all be lords and ladies? With my luck, I’d be “Daisy” the kitchen drudge who, at the beginning of the show, starts each day cleaning out all the fireplaces and laying new fires to warm the rooms before the family comes down.
Many years ago, my husband and I had the chance to live in one of those stone mansions north of Edinburgh. We only really had a portion, three stories of the central hall, the morning and music rooms on the ground floor, the family dining room and kitchen on the first floor, and several bedrooms on the second floor. The east wing which was the oldest, was virtually unlivable, and the west wing was partly occupied by the owner. It was a grand adventure, but I realized quickly that houses like that require staff to really function. Each room had a fireplace that was needed more than half the year, as the central heating was oil-fired and very very expensive to run. I felt like Daisy, contemplating heating the old-fashioned way. On particularly damp days, all the lovely framed needlepoint art in the central hall would have fogged glass and the mosaic floor tiles would be treacherously slick with the damp. And the kitchen! It was quite large and had a butler pantry adjacent, just as you would expect, but much of the walls were gone and a portion of the floor, so that you could look down into the ground floor hallway, as dry rot had claimed much of the interior. I spent many a day cooking in a woolen sweater and coat just to keep from freezing in place. I was glad to hear the place came with a clothes washer, but didn’t realize this meant a roll-up washer hooked to the kitchen sink. I further neglected to ask about a clothes dryer. I am convinced it rained every single Monday that summer, as I never got my wash dry in one day, unless I admitted defeat at the start and hung it up inside. There’s a reason it’s so green, you see. (And for those who don’t know, Monday is the traditional wash day.)
Getting back to the subject of television, there was one small set in the morning room. Not that it mattered all that much, as the latest addition to viewing was ITV, the first independent station beyond BBC-1 and BBC-2. I remember rejoicing at the change, because often the two BBC channels were showing the same thing. Heaven forbid if there was a test match, however. I remember having to choose between seeing cricket for three days straight or watching sheep dog trials. Honestly! Our escape from reality there was usually dropping by the pub after going around the golf course. We did play an awful lot of golf there and got used to Scottish bitter and Ploughman’s lunches, so it was really quite worth it, reality shows be hanged.