Downton Abbey: Season 2, Episode 1 – This is War! (Full Recap)

Laura Linney is all decked out in black lace in front of a red satin curtain. That’s because she’s celebrating  — this time they’ve actually given her lines! Instead of channeling the ghost of Alec Guinness, though, and intoning sedately from a plush armchair, she moves all around the stage in way that makes me wonder if she’s going to belt out Bye, Bye, Birdie a la Ann-Margret. Bye, Bye, Matthew?

And then we cut to a series of seemingly endless opening promos. Come on! I want my Downton Abbey! But don’t worry. PBS is not like those crazy aunties who wrap presents in tulle, lace, and five increasingly smaller boxes that end up holding a teensy matchbox car. This episode packs more punch than Lady Violet giving you the hairy eyeball.

–SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!–

Finally, we open with a dazzling overhead shot of a battlefield and a body on the ground. The camera homes in and I can’t tell who it is, because I am too busy wondering what kind of crane they used to get that shot. Plus, the man is covered in grime, which stands to reason since this is war. It’s a dirty business. Then we cut to the trenches and there’s Matthew in uniform. We find out that he has a few days leave and there’s a girl he wants to see. Hmm… He says something about Downton seeming like the old world, which is the cue for the editor to cut to…

Downton Abbey! These transitions are about as subtle as Edith’s sisterly sabotage. The maids are cleaning the library, and there’s a new maid, Ethel.

Instead of Bates helping the Earl get into uniform, poor William is subbing for him. Bates, you see, is in London because his mother died. William is fumbling, and the Earl is crankay. So many buttons! Too bad they don’t make uniforms with velcro closings. William is feeling sorry for himself, because “they don’t want him”. He means the army, not the kids playing stickball out front.

You’ll be happy to know that O’Brien’s still smoking. The tar accumulation on her lungs has apparently done her a world of good, though, since this season she’s, uh, nicer. Except to Ethel, the new maid. And speaking of the help, Carson is upset that standards have gone down due to all the able-bodied men are being used for target practice.

At breakfast, the Earl gloats over the news that he’s been chosen to be a volunteer Colonel of the North Riders. Apparently all the men back in England missed that opening shot of what life is really like in the trenches, because they all pout that they won’t get the chance to have bullets whistling overhead. Yet again, this is 1916, and honor isn’t just a bulletin board in high school. He and Cora are so absorbed with the news that they hardly notice that Lady Sybil has gotten an upsetting missive.

At first I thought it was from Branson, but he’s busy teaching Lady Edith to drive. For a fraction of a second, I worry that I’m going to cut a bitch. If Sybil doesn’t want him, Branson is mine. Step off, Lady Edith. But, thank God, I don’t have to cast aside my ladylike guise. So who could this mash note be from? Does Sybil have a sweetie down at the front? Or is it just a newsletter from the Workers’ Party asking for more money?

In the meantime, Isobel informs the Crawleys that Matthew is engaged to a Miss Lavinia Swire, whom he met in London. And while on leave, he wants to come down and introduce her to the family, of course! As luck would have it, Mary will also be coming back from London the same day. Thankfully for Lavinia, they all won’t be running into each other at the train station. Lady Violet breathes a sigh of relief: “I hate Greek drama – when everything happens off-stage.” I don’t know, Your Ladyship. Personally, I’m always hugely relieved not to see Oedipus getting jiggy with his momma, or ripping his own eyes out of his sockets.

Apparently the letter Sybil read at breakfast was another death notice for a friend. She tells her mother: “Sometimes, it feels as if all the men I’ve ever danced with are dead.” Cora consoles her by telling her that she “was a tremendous help with the concert.” That sounds marginally more diplomatic than what I would’ve said, which is that sometimes it feels as if all the men I’ve ever danced with are being investigated for insider trading. But not by much. Noble soul that she is, Sybil lets it go, and mentions the probability of helping the war effort for real by becoming a nursemaid.

Sybil being Sybil, she immediately gets that plan in motion. That’s what I love about this girl. She doesn’t just talk and ponder the idea while smoking a cigarette, which is what I would do, were I not allergic to nicotine. She discusses this with Isobel, who informs her that there’s an opening at the teaching hospital for another nursing student, but that she better learn some real skills like, oh, cooking and cleaning. For someone who doesn’t know how to get in and out of her own clothing without help, this must indeed be a daunting task. Actually for most New Yorkers, this IS a daunting task. If it weren’t for take-out, we’d be foraging for roots like at the siege of Leningrad. O’Brien eavesdrops on this plan and immediately tattles to Cora: “Lady Sybil’s been brought up so very gently.” Me too! Well, except for the constant barrage of put-downs, and the emotional blackmail.

Sybil immediately gets down to learning how to cook and enlists Mrs. Patmore.

Talking about cooking, you know who else wants to have her crepes Suzette and eat them too? Why, Ethel, the new ginger maid. She asks Mrs. Patmore to save her some in case there’s left over. All the servants are shocked at her cheek. Isn’t insipid grub good enough for her?! They’re even more shocked that she deigns to dream of a life in which she’s not working 14 hour days scrubbing someone else’s undies. O’Brien chides her and Ethel says: “I think it’s hard to change at your age.” Oh, snap! First time I’m ever on O’Brien’s side. And it is on, like Donkey Kong.

Lady Edith accidentally on purpose tells Mary that Matthew’s engaged. Is it me, or are Edith’s flatfooted attempts at intrigue kind of, well, endearing? Mary takes Gillette’s advice to heart because she never lets anyone see her sweat, so she answers coolly that she’s so happy for him, since she is very interested in Sir Richard Carlisle. “The one with all those horrid newspapers?” Don’t be a snob, how else are we supposed to find out when the aliens will land? Apparently forgetting all about last season’s flirtation with Sir Strallan, Edith asks: “How old is he?” Now, now. Pot kettle and all that, dear Edith.

But finally! The great dinner at which Matthew presents Miss Lavinia to the Crawleys has arrived! Ever graceful, Cora mentions that “meeting us all together must be very intimidating.” To which Lady Violet retorts: “I do hope so.” Lady Vi is always so classy when she goes ghetto.

Matthew and Mary exchange charged looks, but all he has to say to her is: “I’m very glad to see you looking so well.” And I bet Mary’s thankful the servants can’t figure out how to answer a ringing telephone, because I see some drunk-dialing in her future.

You know what else is breaking news this season? Mrs. Hughes is a yenta! She and Carson disagree about Matthew’s new lady. Carson, of course, is on Lady Mary’s side. But Mrs. Hughes points out that Lady Mary broke her own heart! And besides, she does have Sir Carlisle sniffing around. Carson sneers that Sir Carlisle just has an eye on the main chance. Why, he’s not even in Burke’s Peerage or Burke’s Landed Gentry! My standards are so much lower. I’m just happy when a guy’s not in the local police blotter, or on the SEC’s Watch List. Don’t be a snob, Carson. Where else are upstanding pillars of the community unveiled for the sex-addled perverts they really are?

At the concert, poor William, who has been tormenting himself over not being enlisted, gets a white feather from some random woman. This means he’s being called out for cowardice, which prompts the Earl to lose his temper and throw her out of the hall. The Earl has a temper! It’s kinda hot.

Bates, who returned home on the same train as Mary, is now having a tete a tete with Anna. Hearing that his mother was leaving him money, Bates’ wife turned up. Now he can finally get a divorce! And in his own inimitably passive way, he offers a lame marriage proposal. Seriously, this was so roundabout that if you blinked, you missed it. Anyway, once they get, uh, you know, whatever it was that Bates hinted at, they can leave service, and open a hotel. Imagine! Bates and Anna owning Fawlty Towers! Whatever you do, Bates, don’t mention the war when German guests show up.

Isobel finds out that Lady Violet lied about Molesley and William being unfit for combat. She is appalled and she will soon take care of that! After all this is not just a little police action like Nam. This is a world war.

The next day, Mary shows up at the train station to bid adieu to Matthew and to give him her beloved stuffed animal. I’m surprised baby Mary took solace in a toy and not, say, in a voodoo doll of baby Edith. Matthew asks Mary to take care of his Mom and Lavinia. No one ever accused Matthew of being psychologically astute! Then there’s some talk that Matthew might not come back from the war. Matthew’s got a much higher chance of surviving trench foot, mustard gas, and a bayonet to the gut, than Lavinia does of surviving Mary’s care. Come on. You all thought the same thing.

We’re back at Downton Abbey and a mysterious woman has shown up. We only get to see the back of her head. Is it Mary Poppins? She sure dresses like her. But, alas, it is only Mrs. Bates, who is talking smack about Mary to Ethel.

In the meantime, Carson tells Cora that Sybil has been taking cooking lessons from Mrs. Patmore and is baking her a cake. Ain’t that sweet? He leads her down to the kitchen where they spy on Sybil bringing out her creation. And Cora is unexpectedly proud of her baby daughter! Just wait until Sybil does her first amputation, Cora. Avail yourself of your smelling salts. You know she will and she will kick ASS.

Meanwhile, back at Mrs. Hughes’ drawing room, Bates and his evil wife are having a little talk. Turns out that the missus does not like it on her own. Who can blame her? I too wish there were someone else to take on the tax burden, to make me some tea when I’m under the weather, and to lie to my boss when I want to call in sick from work. There’s nothing quite as satisfying to a sociopathic harridan than having a spineless husband to beat down. Besides he has money now. She emotionally blackmails him into leaving town with her, and resuming their loveless marriage. If he won’t, she will go to the newspapers with the story about Mary and her Turkish prince. Bates loses his temper and calls her “a bitch”! I think that just got her hot and bothered. Poor Anna! But don’t worry, bubbelehs. With her inimitable yenta radar, Mrs. Hughes set herself by the grating and heard the whole dirty plot.

Back at the trenches, Matthew runs into Thomas. They have tea. By the way, Matthew goes in and out of the trenches, and back home so frequently that the war might as well be a regular nine to five. Jealous, Thomas forges a plan to get sent back home. He gets a bullet through his hand.

Bates has no choice but to quit. The Earl is apoplectic at Bates’ selfishness! He thought they were friends! They fought side by side! They bonded! And can he please get down on hands and knees and buff the Earl’s shoes before he goes?

Anna is, of course, also terribly upset. Bates won’t talk. I know this is supposed to be seen as noble, but seriously, is there no way that Bates can say, “Sorry, boo, but she refuses to budge, and I can’t tell you the details, but I still care for you”? Isn’t there a, well, more straightforward way of being subtle? Because keeping completely mum seems cruel to me. Anyway, Bates leaves with his horrid wife.

All the Downton women are gathered in Sybil’s room as she packs for the training hospital. Lady Violet reminds Sybil that the Crawley women are bad ass, one of them even “loaded the guns at Lucknow.” Then she reminds Sybil to pack clothing that she can get into on her own. So bad ass in a crisis, but utterly useless at mundane tasks. I wonder if my ex-husband was a Crawley female. Anyway, Edith takes the opportunity to remind her granny that she is learning how to drive, to which Lady Violet responds: “What is this driving mania?” Poor Edith. She can’t get any love in this household. So, loading guns and sewing into human flesh with minimal anesthesia: a skill that can come in handy. Getting from point A to point B on your own: a task so petty as to not bother with. But then again, weird logic is one reason Lady Violet’s so appealing, isn’t it? And at this point Isobel quarrels with Lady Vi over her covering for Molesley and William.

You can’t keep a yenta down. And Mrs. Hughes is off and running to Carson about what she heard. Carson: “If I was a gentleman, I wouldn’t want to know.” Mrs. Hughes: “But you’re not.” Carson: “Fortunately.” And she spills!

But something even more exciting is afoot! Branson bares his heart to Lady Sybil: “I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness.” Swoooooon! Nowadays, I’d fall head over heels if a guy promised to pick up his dirty underwear off the floor. But Sybil, alas, does not feel the same way about him. Oh, Syibil. If you were a good girlfriend you’d do it for me. I’m not ashamed to live vicariously through you. Besides with your taste for culottes, there’s no chance I’ll go all Single White Female on you.

At the long-awaited volunteer North Riders dinner, the Earl finds out that although they’ve named him Colonel, it is merely an honorary position. They don’t want him at the front. The biggest risk he runs is of catching a cold while doing the secret handshake.

Isobel’s nagging has ensured that William and Molesley are no longer protected from going to war. By the way, isn’t Molesley kind of old to be enlisted? Am I off-base here? That dude has got to be over 50. Either that or erysipelas really ages you. Anyway, he jumps on Dr. Clarkson and persuades him not to send him to the front.

In the meantime, guess who else is finagling his way out of combat? Thomas, that’s who! Not only has he gotten his hand shot at, he’s also trying to snag a post at the hospital. Ever his ally, O’Brien talks to Cora about the possibility.

Carson’s a snitch and a stoolpigeon, and this is why I love him so. He reveals to the Earl that Bates left the household in order to protect the family’s honor. This pricks the Earl’s conscience.

O’Brien has minimal conscience to bother with, so she’s been having a grand old time playing pranks on Ethel, the uppity maid. The latter finally breaks down and cries. Anna catches her and asks her what’s wrong. “Don’t you have dreams?” Ethel asks. Anna does! But they’ve been trampled on by an evil self-serving bitch! Just like me. Well, no, actually, my dreams have been tramped on by my neuroses and my penchant for self-sabotage. Anyway,  they bond.

April 1917 rolls around. William’s been called up. Daisy kissed him a year ago, and it all went to his head. He’s gotten so bold, he asks her for a picture. Oh, how times have changed. Nowadays when a guy’s called up to war, the least you can do is sext him ten times a day. Either way, Daisy’s taking a page off Mary, and figuring out ways to lead a guy on and drop him at the last minute. She’s not his sweetheart, she protests. Mrs. Patmore protests that she can’t tell him that and then send him off to the front. The Crawleys bid him farewell.

Lady Edith knows how to drive now and she takes up the war cause by taking up with a married farmer. No, I’m sorry, she volunteers to drive his tractor. Arduous farm labor is never as much fun as when you’re doing it with another woman’s man. Poor Lady Edith. Always taking everyone else’s scraps. Everyone treats her like the red-haired stepchild, even though she’s actually the red-haired fully legitimate child. I’d be dyeing my tresses chocolate brown if I were you, Edith. Alas, at the rate my hair is graying, that might happen sooner than later.

And at long last, Lady Mary’s “fancy man” finally arrives with Lady Rosamund. Sir Richard Carlisle spent the entire ride reading up on his investments. That’s the kind of thing that doesn’t go down well with socialists or socialites. Apparently, Sir Richard is such a vulgarian he can’t tell the difference between hunting tweed and walking tweed. Listen, Mary, at least he didn’t show up in a red velvet track-suit. I don’t know where Mary picked him up, but really, once you’ve been in the sack with a corpse, the possibilities do narrow down.

And who should show up but Matthew? Seriously, Matthew spends as much time at the front as I do at the gym. Which is to say, hardly ever. Anyway, he is back just in time for his Lavinia to make some snide remarks about Sir Richard. Don’t look now, but it looks like Lavinia and Sir Richard have met before. Did Lavinia pose in her corset for one of his rags? Either way, from the way they exchange words, there is some history, shall we say. Sir Richard is downright nasty, in fact. Oh, Lavinia, I see a broken engagement in your future. Thank God your father’s a solicitor, for it looks like Lady Vi was prescient when she mentioned how fortunate that is should Lavinia get in trouble with the law.

Talking about “fancy men”, Thomas is back! O’Brien has gotten him the post he wanted as a medic in the hospital. There, he strikes up a friendship with a young man who’s been blinded. Apparently, war has wrecked his soul so much, that Thomas has now acquired feelings. He tells his friend, “You have to fight back.” Evil Thomas becoming a champion of the broken man? There’s an unforeseeable plot twist.  War must be good for one’s conscience, since O’Brien too has all of a sudden become compassionate. She also consoles Lang, Bates’ replacement, when he ruins dinner on account of an episode of shell-shock.

The blind soldier attempts suicide when he’s told that he must leave hospital. Thomas breaks down! Sybil, who always blends common sense with compassion, has the idea of bringing him to Downton, and turning it into a convalescent home. Lady Vi’s aghast: “What now? Amputation in the living room?” Why not? Mary’s done emasculation in just about every room of the manor!

Which brings me to the next vict—I mean, suitor. Sir Richard has not made a splash with the folks. Not that he cares. His marriage proposal to Mary is so businesslike, it’s a wonder there’s no PowerPoint presentation. “We should be a good team,” he says. This is all well and good if you’re wooing a player for the Oakland A’s, Carlisle. She says she will consider it properly.

Carson advises her to tell Matthew how she really feels about him: “As if any man in his right mind would prefer Miss Swire to you.” Sure, any man who prefers to keep his psyche intact, what with Mary’s propensity for head games. But this is Matthew we’re talking about. So she may be safe keeping that baseball glove in mothballs. Or do moths even eat leather?

Lovesick Mary asks Anna for advice. Anna says that she should pick the one whom she loves with all her heart. Even if he’s chosen someone else, asks Mary? Anna explains that when you love a child with all your heart and that child dies, you don’t stop loving him. And really this metaphor does not bode well for her and Bates’ amatory relations. Just saying. If a dude made that metaphor about me, I’d wonder about his fetishes.

We end this special two-hour episode the same way it began. Everyone getting missives over breakfast! Poor Lady Edith finds out that she’s been dismissed from her voluntary job at Farmer Drake. And it looks like Mary better be practicing her fastball, because it looks like Sir Carlisle is the best she can do. Well, Mary no one has to tell you: All’s fair in love and war. Too bad there’s no recipe for homemade mustard gas in The Anarchist Cookbook. And that it didn’t come out until 1971. Until next time, dear hearts!