Cobblers.
It is all about breeding, accent, the old school tie and funny handshakes behind the bike shed.
My reasoning is below.
My parents split up when I was three years old, so I was brought up by my Mum and step Dad.
Step dad had a shoe shop, and mum worked for AV Roe & Sons.
I have a strong Northern accent.
Working class!
Visited real Dad every other weekend on the estate, with staff etc, and then got driven home by the chauffeur on a Sunday night.
Upper class!
Left school at 16 and joined up as an airman.
Worked through the system from LAC up through the ranks until discharge.
Gone through the rest of my life knowing my position / status, and got on with and enjoyed, every minute of it.
I’m working class.
Three years ago, my natural Father died. Me, only child. Guess where it all went?
I work now because I want to and I enjoy it, not because I have to.
All members of my household staff, and my family are on first name terms.
My family and I are no better that my staff.
They do the job they do because they want to.
If I could I could run the farms properly and profitably, I would do it myself.
I can’t, I know very little about it, so I employ several estate managers to do it for me.
We all have limits. We all have different limits in different fields.
Like one of my carpenters. Great lad, but can barely read and write. Get him down to the bookies, and he can work the odds out in his head as quick as a flash.
My point I suppose is this; you do what you do because you can.
It doesn’t mater if it is for the money, the prestige, the girls, or even if you actually enjoy your job, whatever it is you do.
The bits that you can’t, or are not capable of doing, someone else has to do for you.
Apart from wealth, we are all equal.
