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Blaikie’s Guide to Modern Manners
Thomas Blaikie
To my mother, whose manners are a miracle
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Introduction
Manners in Public
Work Manners
Communications Manners
Let’s Get Together: Inviting and Accepting Manners
Clothes Manners
Greetings Manners
Right on Time: Clock Manners
Food and Menu Manners
Sitting-down-to-eat Manners
Returning-hospitality Manners: also the Problem of Richer Friends
Names Manners
What-to-say Manners
Speaking and Language Manners
Special Manners for Special Occasions
Extreme Manners
Sex, Filth and Couples Manners
Substance Manners
Condolence Manners
Holiday Manners
Money Manners
Children’s Manners – Mostly for Parents
Letters and Cards Manners
Presents and Gifts Manners
Dog Manners
Staff Manners – Mainly for Punters and Employers
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Also by Thomas Blaikie
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction
This is a guide to modern manners. You’re bound to be wondering what’s so modern about them and how they’re different from old manners, which, if you’re over forty-five, you’ll remember. Old manners were not always very well mannered and had it in for certain defenceless groups. Children were not favoured, especially if sitting down. It was, ‘Get up, a lady’s come into the room,’ ‘Get up for your uncle/aunt/granny’ or any senior person for that matter. In fact, children were lucky to get a seat at all and risked having it commandeered for no good reason by any nearby adult. Mealtimes weren’t much fun for anybody because of table manners. Eaters had always to be in a state of sentry-like alertness in case somebody wanted the salt/pepper/water/ butter. It was a terrible mark of failure if they had to ask. To top it all, so worrying and complex were manners, they were just about the only topic of conversation. In the 1960s, the matron at a friend of mine’s boarding school, eating as by custom with her eight-year-old charges, conducted a lively mealtime debate on a particularly awkward point: in what position on the plate should you leave your knife and fork when you had finished eating? Should it be six o’clock, four o’clock or nine o’clock? Should the prongs of the fork be turned up or down? This same matron decreed that nobody was to put their elbows on the table unless they were an uncle or over twenty-one. But obviously it was a different story entirely when a boy, claiming quite truthfully that he was an uncle, actually put his elbows on the table.
Scarcely a trace remains now of this bizarre labyrinthine world of ‘manners’. ‘Come as you are,’ we say, ‘be yourself.’ The tables have turned so completely that it is now a fault, if not an affliction, to be too polite, too ‘well-mannered’. Such people are dysfunctional, in need of therapy of some kind. ‘If only they could relax,’ we say, ‘be more casual, less stuffy. Such a shame!’
We’ve got rid of all the crazy old rules, we can do what we like, wear what we like, turn up when we like and everything’s completely and utterly wonderful, isn’t it? We can do without manners.
Well, maybe not. Look at the way Tracey Emin, of all people, complained about nasty people who sniggered when some of her artworks were incinerated in the Momart fire: ‘It is just not fair and it’s not funny and it’s not polite and it’s bad manners.’ (This the worst thing, coming climactically at the end.) And why, in the course of my research, did I find so much anxiety and guilt? At the merest mention of my subject people would invariably look at the ground. One woman, in her early twenties, even said, ‘Are you looking at me to see what my manners are like?’ This kind of thing was often a prelude to a torrent of enquiries: is it OK to thank by e-mail? Should I bring a bottle? What do I do about inviting estranged couples? What’s a nice way to end a text-message conversation that’s been going on just a bit too long?
This uncertainty turned out to have deeper implications. Far from seeing manners as superficial, a formality and a restraint on individuality and self-expression, a lot of people said that they would feel more themselves if they were more sure of their manners. As one woman put it, ‘I hate it if I think I’ve done something ungenerous or gauche. I know it’s just not me. I’m not a selfish or inconsiderate person.’
Our free-and-easy ways have left us in a vacuum of uncertainty and embarrassment. And this only gets worse because we are reluctant to give each other any guidance. If someone is late or doesn’t reply to the invitation, we say it doesn’t matter; if a friend won’t stop talking on their mobile phone while we’re out with them we make excuses, we say they probably don’t realise what they’re doing, they don’t mean any harm. We’ll just have to go on seething inside. We don’t think it’s our place to judge or tell other people what to do, but who knows? Maybe those other people are as worried about their manners as we are about ours? Maybe they have a nasty uneasy feeling of having got away with it. Nothing more than that.
Many people take damaging avoiding action rather than confront the problem. Let’s not have a party. It’s too humiliating when half the intended guests don’t answer the invitation and the other half say they’ll come but either don’t show up at all or arrive at least two hours after the whole miserable occasion is supposed to have started. Let’s not invite people round mid-week. They’ll all come at least an hour late and then never leave. We’ll have to crawl through the rest of the week on our hands and knees with exhaustion.
It’s time to act before we descend into anarchy and inner paralysis, and social life dwindles to nothing. What we need are modern manners. You can have modern manners without turning into Colonel Blimp strutting up and down and finding fault. Modern manners aren’t old manners. Modern manners are rational and liberating. They say, ‘Do what makes sense,’ and forget the rest. Don’t worry about things that don’t matter very much. It’s extraordinary how many people are still anxious about which cutlery to use (according to Cecil Beaton even the Queen Mother glanced anxiously to see what others were doing), how to pronounce certain words, what to wear. The British, especially, live in unnecessary dread of giving offence and not being good enough. If I take a bottle, will the hosts be offended? We couldn’t possibly ask them back, they’re such marvellous cooks and we can only manage M & S. And then there’s guilt – I’d better drag on and on with this phone call because I don’t quite like to say I’ve got something else I need to do urgently.
Let’s be free of all this. It’s so much easier to ‘move on’ at a party, or to end one of those exchanges of text messages that could go on for ever, if you can get rid of the guilt. Why feel guilty? It’s quite natural to want to talk some of the other people at the party, and conversations have got to come to an end at some point.
And while we’re about it, there’s another prison we could break out of. Why not say, ‘Actually, it’s not absolutely perfect and ideal and wonderful that you’re an hour late/never replied to the invitation/said you’d come but didn’t.’ Modern manners mean you can find nice cheerful ways of casting off the shallow mask of manner. Say what you really think. Be bold. And when your friends all turn up on time for your party because you’ve rather suggested that they might and the whole thing gets going with a swing and everybody’s happy, they’ll thank you for it.
Manners in Public
Where to begin? ‘Good morning,’ ‘Thank you,’ pushing and shoving – among other things
Dreadful, dreadful – let’s rave on like Colonel Blimp, such fun! It’s frightful out on the streets. Surely a new Ice Age of bad manners is nigh? There are the litter bugs, the pushers and shovers, the bellowers, the swearers – and that’s just a start.
What about this dreadful episode? The other day Matt Lawson, forty-three, assistant financial director of a company that publishes trade magazines (Dumper Truck Today is a big seller) held the door open for a nice, middle-aged, vaguely spinsterish woman as she was coming out of a department store in Peterborough and, would you believe it, she stalked straight through the door as if there was nobody there?
Matt says this happens all the time, not just in Peterborough but also in London where he works. ‘It would be nice if they said thank you,’ he says, ‘but what can you do? That’s how people are.’
In the genteel cathedral city of Worcester a similar thing happened. Some ladies failed to thank someone who had waited for them to come up a narrow stairs. In Manchester and London, queuing for the bus has been abandoned in favour of a dog-eat-dog approach.
Mrs Gibbs, eighty-five, lives in Winchester, her husband, a solicitor, long dead. ‘I don’t want to seem old-fashioned,’ she begins. ‘But I’m sorry to say, people are in such a hurry. All these mothers with one child in a pushchair, several more rampaging about. They’ve got no time to take any notice of anybody. People hold doors open for me, that kind of thing. They can see I’m an old woman. But the other day I thanked someone and he grunted in this peculiar way as if to say, “That’s enough of that. I’ve done you a favour, now clear off!” Not terribly charming.’
And what about this? One of those van-type vehicles in which celebrities are conveyed was once seen parked outside a tailor’s in Spitalfields. A rumour, unconfirmed to this day, went round that David Beckham was being fitted for a suit. The van was assumed to be unoccupied except by the driver but imagine the excitement when the back door slid open and a jewelled hand, clutching a coke can and associated sandwich wrappings, emerged into view, sank graciously towards the gutter and there deposited the can. Could this have been the hand of Posh, glamorously littering the streets?
What shall we do with them? Horsewhipping? Boot camp? National Service?
Well, it may not be the end of the world, but, let’s admit it, we’ve all got something, some discourtesy that occurs in public, which we find absolutely infuriating.
It’s no good resigning yourself, like Matt, or apologising, like Mrs Gibbs. You’ve got to do something, especially if you’re one of the millions who complain about antisocial behaviour (now an election issue, as we have seen). You can’t expect the police to attend every time someone drops some litter or raises their voice.
The good old British ‘keep your head down and don’t make a fuss’ approach has had its day. Not that it ever really was that. Nothing may have been said, but the accompanying withering looks were full strength and top-notch in quality. Actors would have given anything to achieve such silent power. But nobody today is going to take any notice of a look, however withering.
If you hold a door open for someone or wait to let them pass and they don’t thank you, say loudly, ‘Thank you so much.’ In exteme cases you can pursue them and say, ‘I’m so sorry. Did you forget to thank?’ Don’t be put off by an abusive response. If enough people start doing this, the message will get through.
If you’re the person not thanking, you probably don’t mean any harm. You’re just not awake.
Always say, ‘Good morning,’ ‘Hello,’ or ‘Hi,’ to shop assistants, receptionists etc. The French do this without thinking about it. In some places, you’ll be met with astonishment or bewilderment. Don’t be discouraged. It’s the right thing to do.
If there’s no queue for the bus, just a scrum, it would be nice to think that enough people would band together to do something about it. But they probably won’t. Nevertheless there are other ways of making a fuss. Write to the local paper, complain to the council, your MP, the bus company. Don’t listen to people who sneer at the British and their eternal queues. Queues are fair and just. They’re worth fighting for.
In a crowd, few follow the example of the late Bubbles Rothermere who would beat the back of anyone in the way with her tiny fists. But many have a policy of massively increasing speed and biffing everybody else out of the way. This isn’t very nice but is less easy to resist. They’ve usually disappeared by the time you realise what has happened. Protest charmingly – ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise I was in the way’ – if you get the chance. Or just don’t get out of the way. Stand your ground and see what happens.
If you see someone dropping litter, pick it up and hand it back to them. ‘I think you dropped this.’ It sometimes works. If they turn nasty, say, ‘It’s quite all right. I’ll throw it away for you.’ Then make a run for it.
Children
In public places there are two sorts: ones who are unaccompanied, ones who aren’t. Neither are quite as they should be. ‘I was in the newsagents only last week,’ says Mrs Gibbs. ‘Two little boys, both under ten, rushed in making an awful noise, barged in front of me and shouted at the shopkeeper, “Give us some chewing gum.” I wasn’t going to stand there doing nothing, I can tell you. I said, “Stop that racket, wait in the queue, if you wouldn’t mind, and when it’s your turn you might try ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’.” The shopkeeper and the one other customer in the shop were horrified. “You ought to watch out,” they said, “they might have had a gun.” I couldn’t believe it. What nonsense! Three adults in the shop and two little boys and the only person who wasn’t afraid of them an old woman of eighty-five!’
At the airport, setting out with a party of ten for a villa holiday in Majorca, Zoe Miller, 25, just starting out in PR and a graduate of the University of Kent (one of those subjects that are hard to explain), was fed up with ‘all these parents who seemed to think the departure lounge was just a big play-pen for their children. One of the fathers was making the most noise, pretending to be a roller-coaster or something.’ Zoe is rather against children in general, which Mrs Gibbs isn’t. But perhaps Zoe has a point. It probably wasn’t just thoughtlessness either. Many parents now like to make a conspicuous parade of their parenting and what better opportunity than the departure lounge?
Did she do anything about it? She is shocked. ‘Oh, no. That wouldn’t be right, would it? I’m not a busybody. It’s just my personal opinion that they’re annoying.’
Zoe’s not thinking straight. She’s being too nice. It isn’t ‘just my personal opinion’. She’s got a fair point. A public space is a public space. It isn’t for one special interest group to take over.
If unaccompanied children are behaving inconsiderately in public – making a lot of noise, dropping litter, barging queues – intervene if it is safe to do so and you are likely to get somewhere, in other words if there is a majority of adults present.
Speak firmly but politely.
Most children, even ‘well-brought-up’ ones, will take advantage if they sense that adults are afraid of them.
Most ‘antisocial behaviour’ is perpetrated by children and teenagers. If adults won’t step in to put a stop to minor outbreaks it isn’t very surprising that some young people will graduate to more advanced forms.
Parents of small children: it may be difficult to keep your offspring amused, especially if waiting in a public place, but try to show consideration for others. Once, at a rather serious concert, I sat in front of a child who had been supplied with a rattly teddy to keep her occupied for the duration.
You’re more likely to get people’s backs up if your underlying attitude seems to be that your child has a right to rampage about. If you are apologetic and make some attempt to restrain, you will get a more indulgent response.
If you are exasperated by unfettered children (e.g. strange child actually crawling over you in a café; mother looking on waiting for you to coo admiration) you’re going to have to say something. Don’t be relativist; don’t think, ‘Who am I to tell others what to do?’ Stand up for what you believe in!
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