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early?’
    MARY
‘Bring them in, Nanny. I don’t think anyone will mind.’
    CORA
‘Your Papa might, but he isn’t here to complain.’
    Despite this, parents of the twentieth century believed that they were much nicer to their children than former generations had been. Julian’s great-grandfather, John Wrightson, for example (who was president and principal of the Downton Agricultural College, and so provided the name for the show), disliked babies so much he established a house in the village, the Warren, and my wretched great-great-grandmother had to visit her babies there until they were allowed in the main house at the age of five or six. This was in the 1870s, hardly a thousand years ago.
    Many parents justified their routine for the children with the latest fashion for scientific thinking: behaviourism. This was the rationale behind a popular belief in the 1920s that children could be trained to behave in desirable ways through suitable rewards and punishments.
    The frequent consequence of only seeing their parents in these restricted surroundings was that the children rarely felt they could be themselves or talk truthfully to their mother or father. We all know the child – we may well have been the child – who chooses to shield their parents from any sad or bad reports, particularly if they don’t see their parents much, so as to keep everything good humoured and happy.
    Parents then, too, expected a certain amount of reverence from their children and perhaps weren’t interested in them until they really had something to say. Julian reflects this in a line he gives to Robert, when Cora asks him to stay and see the children. ‘Just as soon as they’re able to answer back,’ he replies.
    In fact, Sybbie – the older of the two cousins – does reply to Robert, her grandfather, calling him ‘Donk’, which he doesn’t much like. Alastair Bruce, Downton Abbey’s historical adviser, recalls: ‘The actress who plays Sybbie is like Shirley Temple – she gave three perfect takes one after another and delivered the [‘Donk’] comic line with precision timing.’
    But even with all the grandeur that parents and grandparents could muster, it was usually an accepted fact that Nanny was the one in charge – of the adults as well as the children. A mother would always ask Nanny first if it was convenient for her to take her own children out and even then Nanny would usually go with them, so that they were still in her charge.

    In the nursery, home remedies would be doled out for those feeling poorly – Kepler’s Malt, cod liver oil and milk of magnesia were all kept in the cupboard. Bumps and bruises were treated with Pond’s Extract and Pommade Divine, both of which sound suspiciously like face cream and hair oil and may have been similarly as effective. Food was delivered up to the nursery, but nannies and cooks famously fought, with furious notes sent downstairs: ‘The children cannot be expected to eat this.’ Nursery food was just as one might expect – soft, hot and milky. One woman recalled from her childhood ‘a good deal of porridge, bread and butter, hot buttered toast and a great many milk puddings … On better days there was roly-poly (suet) pudding … and spotted dog, a suet-y sausage stuffed with currants. Also, treacle tart, pancakes, apple charlotte and the dizzy delight of chocolate eclairs.’

    An advertisement for baby milk from 1925.
    One nanny, when taking the children to stay at their grandparents’ house, instructed the cook that her charges would eat ‘porridge with thick cream … followed by bread which has been well soaked in whipped egg and then fried. On this they have little rolls of bacon. Mid-morning they have fruit … usually apple well shredded. Lunch at one sharp, they have jellied or clear soup, fish or chicken to follow then a milk pudding to finish. For tea at four o’clock, bread and butter, little sandwiches of jam and a sponge cake.’ It all sounds