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Dear me, whatever happened to the polite formalities?
JOAN Collins, in her Spectator column, reveals that she received a letter which began "Dear Joan, Win a pre-paid cremation!" and went on to offer her a place in a monthly free draw in return for completing a reply slip.
This is shocking on two counts. Many have followed Miss Collins' career eagerly since her exquisite form was first displayed in the 1952 film Lady Godiva Rides Again. I first saw her from the one-and-nines at the Coliseum, and thenceforth left Ingrid Bergman to the likes of Michael Parkinson. Fifty years on, she is still in good shape, and it is dismaying to contemplate the form divine being committed to the furnace.
Secondly, the crematoria salesman has cheekily assumed the right to address her by her Christian name.
This is the habit of those trying to sell something on the phone. They introduce themselves with their own Christian name, and make free with that of the potential customer at the other end. An exchange which cast light on the strange world of the call centre came when a man rang with a query, and was told Andy would deal with the matter.
On requesting Andy's surname so he could address him properly, the reply was: "I am sorry, I do not know Andy well enough to know his surname."
There is a lot of this informality about. Christian names are bandied freely, which jars with members of the older generation who were brought up to expect to be thus addressed only by relations or close friends.
Nowadays even those who would prefer to be given their surnames with the appropriate prefix are reluctant to say so, fearing it will cause them to be looked on with disfavour.
As a result, old folk in hospitals and care homes are addressed as George or Bill or Edith or Margaret. I do not like it. An old aunt of mine was something of a stickler, fondly remembered in the family for checking my table manners ("Elbows, Malcolm, elbows"). Towards the end of her days, I heard a ward-maid in hospital call her Hilda, and I thought the poor old lass had lost a shred of her splendid dignity.
It appears that in some schools pupils address their teachers by their Christian names, which may explain difficulties with discipline. I have tried to imagine addressing our formidable English mistress, Miss LL Ross, as Louise, without success. However, it is probably not worth making a fuss. The very term Christian name is now outmoded, this being for the most part a heathen nation. Even the free will-offering envelopes left in the pews at church have abandoned it, and ask for forenames.
Informality appears to prevail at the highest level. At the recent summit, the Prime Minister and the President of the United States were soon on first name terms, and so were their wives. The French President is in the forefront of this relaxed protocol, and excelled himself when, in conversation with the Obamas, he tenderly fondled Mme Sarkozy's bottom. Mrs Obama gave the Queen a hug, no doubt an expression of affection for nice old Betty Windsor.
The worrying thing is that before long it may be deemed wrong to call any woman Miss or Mrs, Madame or Mademoiselle, or Frau or Fraulein. The European Parliament, plainly desperate for something to do, has condemned such titles as archaic and a hangover from the past, as they indicate a woman's relationship to a man. Apparently, the intention is to correct a perceived imbalance because a man's lifetime title of Mr means he never has to reveal his marital status.
Heaven knows what alternative is on offer elsewhere in Europe, but in England Ms is being recommended as the politically correct prefix for women to adopt. This is a dreadful little term. When it first crept into usage, an editor of my acquaintance banned it from his newspaper, declaring that he could only think of it as an abbreviation for Mess. It has, however, survived despite being unpronounceable, and therefore useless as a means of address, and must be regarded as a threat to the more formal (and informative) Miss and Mrs.
Those who seek to adhere to the proper form are probably thought hidebound fuddy-duddies. It is the way we were brought up. I remember three reference books in the junior reporters' room at my first newspaper, a dictionary, Lloyds List for 1912, and Debrett's guide to social and professional etiquette, precedence and protocol.
It was extremely useful, but a bit of a let-down when it came to the local gentry. It recommended us to refer to the master of Mulgrave Castle as the Marquess of Normanby, adding a sniffy footnote to the effect that some newspapers used Marquis.
We decided that what was good enough for the Yorkshire Post would do nicely for the Whitby Gazette.
Nowadays, as they say, no problem. Constantine Edmund Walter Phipps, 5th Marquis of Normanby, might just get one of his Christian names.
Malcolm Barker is a former editor of the Yorkshire Evening Post.
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Weather for Yorkshire
Tuesday 07 February 2012
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