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October 22nd
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I’m sorry for not having written sooner. I don’t really have an excuse, other than the fact that I didn’t really know what to write. I’ve never been particularly good with words. They always seem to come out the wrong way, and I can never find the right ones to explain how I feel. You were always so good at understanding what I was trying to say, even when I didn’t say anything at all.
What’s going on in Downton? I expect things are the same as ever. Nothing ever seems to change there. I can never decide whether I like that or not. It’s probably what made Downton feel like living in a safe yet boring little bubble.
I don’t really know what to write. There’s not much point in saying what things are like here, because they aren’t really like anything. I’ve got some lodgings, but I’m still trying to find a position for footman somewhere. I’m not too sure I’ll manage to find anything at this point— perhaps it’s time to look for some other jobs too. Has my place been filled at Downton yet?
I don’t really have much else to write, there’s not really anything worth writing about here. I’d love to hear about everything that’s happening in Downton, though— upstairs and down. I do hope you’re well, Mr. Barrow.
Yours sincerely, Jimmy.
…
October 30th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I hope you don’t object to me writing again before you reply, but there’s so very little to do here, and no one interesting to talk to. I do miss our conversations. Who do you speak to now? Perhaps you’ve become friends with Mr. Bates or Mr. Molesly. I can’t quite picture it.
It’s bloody freezing here. My lodgings only have a fireplace downstairs, so I get very little heat from it. Mrs. Lancaster, the landlady is kind, though. She sometimes gives me apple pudding and leftovers, and reminds me of Mrs. Patmore— only less formidable. How are Daisy and Ivy? Has Daisy stopped pining over Alfred? Has Ivy taken up flirting with my replacement? Have you taken up flirting with my replacement? I hope not. I mean— I’d hate for you to get hurt, although I suppose that’s an appallingly hypocritical thing for me to say.
I remember a few weeks before I left, you gave me your old pocket-watch when you got that new one. I think it’s starting to slow down, and I don’t know how to fix it. You would, but you’re not here. What should I do? I can’t afford to take it to get fixed. Did you ever think of being a clockmaker like your father?
I used to want to be a tailor like mine, but I was too impatient. I’m too impatient for most things. I can’t even finish a sentence or a thought properly because I get bored of them. I wish I was a more interesting person. Perhaps then I’d be more content in my own company— but going from being in a house full of other people to living on my own is not something I can say I enjoy. The nights are so silent instead of full of arguments between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and Alfred trying to talk to Ivy and Mrs. Patmore shouting at Daisy. There isn’t even a piano here.
Does anyone play the piano now that I’m gone? Perhaps the new footman does. I hope he’s not as good as I was.
I know you’ll be very busy, but I do hope you’ll find the time to write back soon, Mr. Barrow. All the best.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
November 10th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I’m writing you another letter because I’m beginning to wonder whether or not my last two got lost in the post. If they did, it’s probably for the best. The last one I wrote was terribly rambling.
How is life at Downton? I want to hear about everything, from how much Bates irritated you this week to what the family are doing at the moment. Did Lady Edith find out what happened to Gregson? It’s really quite strange, not having people around me all the time. Admittedly, I didn’t like very many of the people at Downton, but now that I’m not there, I realise how nice it was to feel part of things.
I’m working serving at a grotty London bar now (just temporarily until I find another position as footman, I hope), and the people that come in are so depressing. They all look as though they should be in the mortuary or wish they were there, and the manager, Mr. Patrick, is such a bitter man. I hope to god I don’t end up like him. The bar is such a depressing place to work, it really makes me feel quite melancholy. I wish they had a piano.
I hope you’re well, and that this letter reaches you safely.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
November 21st
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I do hope you haven’t forgotten me. I know that I promised to write sooner after I left, but I just couldn’t think of what to say to begin with. Like I said, I’ve never been good with words, and I won’t pretend that I wasn’t ashamed of the way I left things with you. You’ve always helped me and I’ve done nothing for you. I do hope you’re not offended by how long it took me to write. Believe me, it wasn’t because I forgot. I do understand that you’re busy, but it would only take you fifteen minutes to write a brief reply. I would so like to hear from you. It feels like months since I’ve spoken to anyone remotely interesting.
The pocket-watch is definitely slowing down. It’s almost an hour behind now. I still carry it with me all the time, though. I’m not sure why, it’s silly really. Did you take it with you to war? There are lots of scratches and chips on the back of it, as though you’d had it a long time before you gave it to me. I’ve never had my own watch before.
I’m going to finish this now as I want to catch the last post. Please write back soon.
Yours sincerely, Jimmy.
…
December 1st
Dear Mr. Barrow,
It has suddenly occurred to me that you’re receiving my letters, but for some reason your replies are going astray. It wouldn’t surprise me— my lodgings are rather out of the way. I’ll go down to the postal office and ask about it as soon as I’ve written this.
They must definitely have hired my replacement now if they hadn’t before. How are they settling in? Is Ivy mooning over them? Do you share all your smoke breaks with them the way you did with me? I’m half ashamed to say that I haven’t brought myself to smoke since I left. It’s just not quite the same, smoking on my own. I rather miss it.
Mr. Patrick said something today which stuck in my mind for some reason— he said that there’s no point worrying about the future because by the time you’ve worried about it, it’s in the past. He’s really rather an enigmatic man, although I cannot say I like him. I think he’s having an affair with the equally grim barmaid— I heard them together in the stock room yesterday. God knows why, she looks as though she spends her life sucking on lemons. She’s really a most unpleasant woman, but then, I suppose, so is Mr. Patrick’s wife.
Did you ever think about marrying a girl just to fit in? A couple of the girls who come into the bar always flirt themselves something silly with me, but I can’t say I care. Personally, I can’t really say I see the point of marriage— I rather envy you for having an excuse not to enter into it. But I meant what I said when I left— I truly do hope you find happiness, Mr. Barrow. God knows you deserve it.
I hope your next reply doesn’t go astray, but if it does, I’ll keep writing back just in case. I’d hate you to think I’d forgotten you. Give my best wishes to Mrs. Patmore— Mrs. Lancaster gave me the leftovers of a blackberry tart just like the ones she used to make, and it made me feel rather melancholy.
Yours sincerely, Jimmy.
…
December 15th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Your last letter must have gone astray too. Perhaps the snow has slowed the postal service down. Have you got much at Downton? It’s barely stopped snowing here since Sunday, and my lodgings are colder than ever. I wrapped myself up in four blankets last night and wore all my jumpers to bed, but still couldn’t get warm.
Have the Christmas decorations been put up yet at Downton? I know I only spent one Christmas there, but I must say, I remember it being rather spectacular. Imagine having so much money to spend on decorations for a few days in the year. I don’t have any decorations here, of course— and there are none at the bar except a glum looking Christmas tree that looks as though it’s half dead already. I want to send you a Christmas present, but I’m afraid of getting you something you’ll find pointless.
I also want to save up to try and get the pocket-watch fixed. It’s slowed down even more now; six hours behind real time. I tried taking the back off and looking at all the little cogs and clockwork, but I didn’t dare meddle with it. It’s so intricate, it must be quite an art, working with them.
Has Mrs. Patmore started making mince pies yet? I stole a whole bunch of them last year and we shared them in the yard, remember? I ate so many I felt quite sick. I can’t quite stomach the thought of mince pies this year.
I feel rather foolish to admit it, but the more time I spend here, the more I realise how happy I was at Downton, Mr. Barrow. I do wish I’d realised it and appreciated it more at the time.
I hope you’re well and haven’t succumbed to any colds from the chilly weather.
Yours sincerely, Jimmy.
…
23nd December
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Merry Christmas! I hope this reaches you before Christmas day. I’m afraid I’m rather late in sending it off— the bar has been terribly busy the last few days what with the holiday just around the corner. Although God knows why anyone would want to come and drink here at Christmas time, it’s one of the glummest places I’ve ever been in. It sounds silly, but it almost feels as though the whole place is in black and white.
I bet old Carson has worked himself up into a right state about the Christmas preparations by this stage! I hope he’s not taking it out on you too much, but I suppose you know how to deal with him. Mrs. Patmore is probably close to some nervous breakdown too, what with all the food preparations for the 25th.
I know I said I wasn’t going to get you anything because I didn’t want to get something you’d dislike, but I couldn’t quite bring myself not to send anything. There’s a packet of Marlboro Cigarettes enclosed— I know they’re your favourites. I must say, it made me feel rather melancholy wrapping them up and remembering all our smoke breaks in the yard after supper or first thing in the morning.
Because it’s Christmas (and because I’m already halfway through some horrible cheap gin leftover from the bar), I’ll be honest; I never expected to become such good friends with you. But I’ve never had such a good friend as you, Mr. Barrow. I miss your company more than I can express, and it pains me beyond words to think that the reason you haven’t written back is because you might have forgotten me. I hope you haven’t. I won’t forget you.
Sorry, this isn’t a very cheerful Christmas letter… I hope Christmas day is wonderful for you. Give my love to everyone at Downton.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
28th December
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I hope you had a lovely Christmas! Did Carson manage to go the whole day without having a breakdown? I hope Mrs. Patmore didn’t yell at Daisy too much. Did you get any nice presents?
I can’t say that my Christmas was one of the best, although Mrs. Lancaster gave me half of her Christmas pudding, which was kind. I spent most of the day reading, actually. I can’t say that I ever really read much before now— I’ve never had the patience for it— but there isn’t really much else to do. I remember that you used to read quite a bit of poetry… do you have any favourites? I rather like Keats, not that I understand what he’s going on about half the time, but the words are lovely. It rather reminds me of you.
Now that I’m here, I can’t help wishing that I got to know you better. It felt as though I was such good friends with you at Downton, but now I’m here, I can’t help realising that I know so little about you. There was so much more to talk about, I wish we’d had the time. I know it’s pointless, wishing things like that, especially as it’s my own fault I’m here, but I really do wish it. You told me once that it’s hard to appreciate what you have until it’s gone, and I can’t help thinking how true that is.
The pocket watch has slowed down even more. Perhaps it’s the cold. I spent all of yesterday turning it over and over in my hands, looking at all the different marks and scratches on it. I do love it— I’m determined to save up and go and get it fixed.
I’d better wind this up so I can go and post it before the last collection. I hope your Christmas was enjoyable, and if you’re ever up near London, please write and tell me so that we can meet.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
January 1st
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Happy New Year! I haven’t got much time to write just now because I’m posting this on the way to work, but I just wanted to say that I wish you the very best for the new year. I hope it’s a happy one.
Usually I love New Year— I’ve always been too impatient with the past and eager for the future— but this year, I can’t help feeling almost sad to leave the last year behind. Although it didn’t really end as I wanted, it was one of the best years of my life.
Give my best wishes for the New Year to everyone! Do they ever speak of me? Do you? I hope you haven’t all forgotten me.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
January 12th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I do apologise for the melancholy tone of my previous letter, I was feeling rather downhearted when I wrote it. I can’t say I feel much better now, either, but I’ll try not to be gloomy this time. Perhaps the cold is finally starting to get to me. I know it was always cold in the servants’ quarters at Downton in the winter too, but I never really noticed it— it was so full of bustle and people. But here it’s still and silent, and despite its small size, my room is bitterly cold. The bar isn’t much better— although there’s a roaring fire in the corner, the flames just don’t seem to heat through the miserable atmosphere.
Mr. Patrick and the barmaid are still having an affair, and the girls who come in still flirt themselves something silly with me. Time seems to stand still there just like at Downton— but not in a good way.
But I promised not to come over all melancholy, so I’ll change the subject. Were there any mistletoe kisses this year? Ivy tried to corner me under the mistletoe last year. I felt rather bad for dodging out of her way, but really, I just can’t see the appeal of the girl. Her feelings were just about as wasted on me as they would be on you.
Don’t you ever get lonely?
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
January 30th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Why ever did you save me, that day at the fair? I know it was so long ago, but I still think about it. I don’t think I could ever be so brave.
I almost have enough to go and get the pocket watch fixed now. I feel almost as if it’s my fault that it’s stopping to work. I’ve never been much good at fixing things.
I hope you're well.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
...
February 15th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Mrs. Lancaster has a new tenant in the room above mine— a girl called Elizabeth. She’s rather sad and sickly looking, but I invited her to have coffee with me this evening to be polite. She’s rather quiet, but it was nice not spending the evening on my own for once.
Who do you share all your smoke breaks with now, Mr. Barrow? I know that Mr. Molesly smokes sometimes, but I can’t imagine you managing to maintain polite conversation with him for the amount of time it takes to smoke a cigarette. Do you just smoke on your own?
It’s a silly thing to miss, but I find myself missing our smoke breaks most of all about my time at Downton.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
March 3rd
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I do wish you’d write back. It’s getting colder here now, even though spring’s on its way. Are the first flowers coming out at Downton yet? The pocket watch has stopped completely now.
…
March 18th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Please write back. I took my savings with me today to the clockmaker’s on the other side of town, but they said that the pocket-watch can’t be fixed.
…
April 16th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I had a visit from Mrs. Hughes today. She never opened any of the letters I sent since the end of last year, but she knew it was me. She said I ought to know what happened.
I wish she’d never come.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
April 20th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I suppose I knew, really— you’d never have ignored my letters, would you? At least I could pretend, before she visited and told me. You’re still so real, even although I can’t remember exactly what you look like. I remember the important things, like how you raise your eyebrows in amusement whenever Alfred speaks, or how you never resent me no matter how much of an idiot I am, or how you are the best man and only true friend I know.
Knew. You were the best man and only true friend I knew.
The past tense just doesn’t feel right. Mrs. Hughes kept saying how ‘Mr. Barrow was an exceptional man’, and it just made me so angry, hearing her speak about you in the past tense, like you no longer exist— even if that’s the truth.
I wish it wasn’t all in the past tense, Mr. Barrow. God, I wish it wasn’t.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this when I know you’ll never read it now, but it makes it a little easier— as if you’re really still at Downton, smoking cigarettes in the yard and annoying Mr. Carson and subjecting the idiot hallboys to your sarcasm, as if you’re reading this at the breakfast table.
I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow. I wish it wasn’t all in the past tense so I could fix it. I wish I’d realised it all in time. I wish I’d never hurt you so much and almost cost you your job, I wish I’d never sent those stupid valentines to Lady Anstruther, I wish I’d had the courage to tell you when I left. I’m ashamed of how cowardly I was. You had the courage to tell me, when you didn’t even know if I returned your feelings.
At the time I didn’t— but do now. God, I have for months and months and months. I didn’t even realise until Mrs. Hughes told me what had happened after I left Downton… And then it just hit me.
I love you.
And I’m not putting that in the past tense, because it’s not in the past. I love you, Mr. Barrow—whether you’re here or not. I think I have ever since you took a beating for me that day in the fair. I wish to god I’d realised it sooner— I wish to god I could have told you to see the look on your face and so I could have held you so tightly you wouldn’t have been able to go.
But I never did tell you, and now you’re gone, and I can’t. I hope that somehow, somewhere, you know.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
May 3rd
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I can’t believe that all that time I was writing to you about such meaningless, trivial little things like Mr. Patrick’s affair or how cold my lodgings are or Christmas decorations, when you were already gone. I can’t comprehend it.
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
May 4th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
Would it have made a difference if I’d written sooner?
Yours Sincerely, Jimmy.
…
May 30th
Dear Mr. Barrow,
I know there’s no point in writing to you anymore, so this will be my last letter.
The pocket watch started working again today. It’s pouring, even though it’s almost June, and I was just sitting by the window, looking at the raindrops on the grimy glass. I was turning the watch over in my hands, looking at the scratches and scores on the back of it and the way the hands were frozen at ten past four— and then it suddenly started ticking again.
I could almost feel it ticking in my hands, like it had a heartbeat. Do you know I left Downton at ten past four? I suppose in a way, time never really moved after that. There wasn’t much point in it moving. These eight months have felt frozen.
Maybe there’s no such thing as the past tense… After all, isn’t death timeless? It’s ten past four now. I love you, Thomas.
Jimmy.