GOOD MANNERS AND MY MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER

By Carlos Pinho

My maternal grandmother grew up in the era of what she liked to call ‘fine living’. It was a time in which the only benchmarks of refinement were etiquette, deportment and above all good manners. Without those she would say, affecting an imperious gaze and an audible ‘pffftttt’, you were nothing, adrift in a world of ugliness.

A man who doffed his hat at one, imperceptibly nodding his head as a mark of respect while at the same time avoiding direct, confrontational eye contact, was considered ‘well mannered’ and obviously a man of ‘breeding’.

Grandmother was from the era of the finishing school all girls of ‘breeding’ were expected to attend in anticipation of their official debut into formal society. Much like modern day Universities in refinement if you will.

Grandmother learned valuable and important skills in flower arranging, choosing the correct shade of Spode, which silverware to use, the right blend of linen, cotton and curtaining, creating ambience and setting mood, good housekeeping skills and whatever else it took for a girl to ‘get’ a good husband and marry a society Gentleman. After all what other skills did a ‘girl’ need?

The crystal was Waterford and trinkets and ‘objet’ Wedgewood.  The ‘servants’ where dressed in the style so favoured of the Victorians of the time, and were managed by the Major Domo / Butler. The housekeeper supervised ‘the girls’ while cook ruled the roost in the kitchen. Gardeners, ground staff and stable-hands where forbidden from being anywhere near the ‘Main House’ and all ‘servants’ used either the back or side entrance, depending on their rank or seniority in the household.

A stickler for protocol, Grandmother would always inscribe a short hand-written note of thanks, always on fine paper, and always accompanied by a small gift or flowers, as a gesture of thanks for any act of ‘breeding’ or ‘good manners’ she perceived.

Whether it was to thank the hostess for, “the wonderful time William and I had at your soiree the other evening,” or to reciprocate a kindness, there was always the hand-written note. Always the note, and always accompanied by a small gift or flowers. My maternal grandmother was a woman of ‘breeding’.

Years later at Boarding School I would always recognise that beautiful, well-considered, almost poetic handwriting while the envelope was still in the Hall Masters hand during  ‘post time’.

We in turn were compelled, every week, for two hours on a Sunday afternoon, to write one family letter per week. Always to be left unopened and accompanied by a stamped envelope, and to handed in to the Study Master who would ensure that it got posted.

I understand know what Grandmother meant about being ‘adrift in a world of ugliness’. Our popular landscape is littered with examples. But those are stories for another time.

Copyright © Carlos Pinho 2013