Refugee
My ancestors in the male line were French protestants who escaped the St Bartholomew's Day massacre in 1572. They made a living in London as silk weavers, silversmiths and traders.
I don't know whether that's posh or not.

More recently on my mum's side I am descended from millionaire south London butchers who had a large villa in the fields of Lewisham.
Eliza, the young lady of the family had an ... entanglement with the captain of a Sweedish merchant ship then docked in London.
She had to travel to Germany to give birth to my grandmother, who had no birth certificate.

Back in England my grandmother was given for adoption to a family in Dover. At fourteen, she was sent into domestic service with a fine family who lived in Lewisham.
Some time before her eighteenth birthday she came to know that her mistress was also her mother.
She was married off to a poor specimen of humanity, the thirteenth son of a modestly successful businessman.

As a girl, mum was allowed to visit the big house for the famous Boxing Day parties, with silver coins hidden around for kids to find, crackers from Harrods and servants out in force.
She had no idea whether she was posh or not, treated neither as family nor servant.
(you_can't_get_there_from_here, Sun 18 Sep 2005, 23:41, Reply)