What Downton Abbey can teach us about dying without a will

Where there's a will, there's a way.

Downton Abbey devotees and law students alike must have heaved a collective sigh of relief with the return to our screens of that compulsive lesson in legal history, cunningly disguised as a period costume drama.

Those who have not been drawn into the mystery and intrigue of the occupants of Downton Abbey, who seem to have suffered more communal misfortune than one would reasonably expect of an extended family (but no doubt a requirement for the television ratings), can stop reading now.

All others, take note for our first tutorial, of the references to the outdated (even then) but shortly to be amended laws on intestacy (Matthew failed to make a will) resulting in Lady Mary’s diminished share in the estate and looming spectre of heavy death duties.

While death at an early age is always tragic and as was observed of Matthew, he anticipated being around for many years thence, what happens on intestacy generally seems to come as something of a shock.

The rules, which determine the distribution on a person’s death of any of his or her property not governed by a valid will, are largely contained in the Administration of Estates Act 1925 (spookily coinciding roughly with the current Downton period - will Lord Grantham vote on it in the House of Lords?) and the Intestates’ Estates Act 1952.

By and large these have not kept pace with the requirements or expectations of modern family life. Back in 2009 the Law Commission published a consultation paper on various aspects of the rules, some of which have been included in the Inheritance and Trustees’ Powers Bill 2013 which is working its way through the House of Lords as I write.

Under the current provisions, however, in the absence of a valid will by Matthew, because his estate is likely to have been valued at more than £250,000 and he was survived by a wife and child, Lady Mary's entitlement today would still be limited. She could claim for herself a statutory legacy of £250,000 and all of Matthew's personal chattels.

The balance of Matthew's estate would then be divided in two with Lady Mary receiving a life interest (ie income only) in one half of the estate. The gorgeous George would be entitled to the other half of the estate on statutory trusts and the half of the estate in which his mother has a life interest, on her death.

This was probably not the result she and Matthew (or indeed Lord Grantham) were hoping to achieve by virtue of their collective and cumulative efforts in the previous three series. Do note, however, that in certain circumstances, the provisions of intestacy can be varied in the same way as one can vary a will.

However, in my experience what is sometimes more surprising for clients is not necessarily the effects of intestacy but the fact that despite having gone to the trouble of officially anticipating one’s demise and providing for it (as far as one's property is concerned) in a considered manner, one can find oneself inadvertently rendered intestate.

For example, if a testator divorces (or ends a civil partnership) his will takes effect as if his former spouse or civil partner had died before him, subject to express contrary intention. Similarly, marriage revokes a will unless it was drafted expressly in contemplation of the said nuptials. Of course, as a solicitor, Matthew should have known this, but perhaps he took too great a heed of the adage 'A solicitor who acts for himself has a fool for a client.'

Other topics for discussion in future tutorials might be the content of Nanny West’s employment contract (did she breach a condition that both charges should be treated equally?), the grounds for divorce in other jurisdictions or the extent to which the estate could qualify for agricultural, business or even heritage property for inheritance taxes. Who ever thought Downton was an education?

Sophie Mazzier is counsel at City private wealth law firm Maurice Turnor Gardner LLP

This piece first appeared on Spear's Magazine

Photograph: Getty Images

This is a story from the team at Spears magazine.

Getty
Show Hide image

Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

0800 7318496