How to keep on top when Down Under

Press, 19 July 1983, Page 21

How to keep on top when Down Under

Never been quite sure which way to pass the port at your excruciatingly upper-class dinner parties? No more worries — your days of anxiety are over. Debrett’s, publishers of the snobbish “Peerage and Baronetage,” have now given us rough colonials the dinkum oil in a big red handbook specially produced for Down Under. It says nothing about first waiting for the ladies to withdraw — a regrettable oversight — but in its section on good manners it goes straight for the problem of dealing with the port decanter. “Port is always passed clockwise,” Debrett’s says, “and each person helps himself. It is the responsibility of those present to see that the decanter keeps moving at a leisurely pace.” It always begins with a particular ritual: the host, remaining seated, first serves the port to the person on his right — he passes the port to starboard. Then he helps himself, and then he passes the decanter to his left, and round it goes, clockwise. One hesitates to bandy words with such an authority, but have Debrett’s taken into account the curious reverse circulatory system of the southern hemisphere? Passing the port clockwise is all very well for the stately homes of England, but have they considered that perhaps it should swirl around the other way in this part of the world, just like the departing bathwater? Something for them to consider for the next edition.

about the bill? Let her pay, says Debrett’s.

GARRY ARTHUR takes an irreverent look at the serious subject of etiquette and coronets.

The long introductory section about manners and the correct way of doing things is easily the most entertaining part of this heavy reference book, which retails here for $l2O. The rest is a catalogue of the nobs and toffs of New Zealand and Australia, complete with date of birth, notable achievements, awards and gongs, and recreations. They were meant to name their racehorses, yachts, and aircraft, too, but neither the Prime Minister, Mr Muldoon, nor his racing partner, Mr Colin McLachlan, have named their horses.

owner of the establishment throughout the visit are now over, Debrett’s advises.

Letter writing is another difficult area for those languishing 12,000 miles away from London society. Debrett’s tells how it is done. Address an archdeacon as “Venerable Sir” (whatever his age), although you may start a letter to an archbishop: “Dear Archbishop.”

If, on the other hand, she invites you, do not refuse lightly. An invitation from the Queen is a royal command and should be answered as such. Debrett’s warns sternly that a reason to decline must be “a substantial one.”

But do not start a letter to an Amercian with “My Dear X”; they consider it somewhat patronising.

Ladies will be grateful for the knowledge that they must remove their long white kid evening gloves “entirely” when eating. If your servants happen to be having their half-day off and you must serve the food yourself, Debrett’s say you must serve all plates from the guest’s left side and wine from his right. Don’t give the game away by taking away all the plates at once in a big pile. Just two at a time, one in each hand.

Then there are the subtle nuances of letter endings. “Yours sincerely” is correct and dignified. “Yours” is considered by Debrett’s to be somewhat cold, dismissive, and unimaginative — not an invitation to friendship. “Yours ever” is friendlier, while “Yours as ever,” “as always,” and “affectionately,” although a little old-fashioned have “much charm.”

New Zealand’s entries begin with Lady Acland of Mount Peel, South Canterbury, and end with Ralph Frederick Wilson of Raumati Beach, former general director of the National Party. Big reference books take a while to produce, so it has missed a few recent changes such as the knighthood conferred on the Mayor of Christchurch, Sir Hamish Hay — “recreations: gardening (unskilled), golf”—or David Lange’s elevation to the leadership of the Labour Party, and a number of deaths. But some of them did make the final page of obituaries, including John A. Lee and Dame Ngaio Marsh.

This up-market Emily Post for the far-flung Commonwealth even gives the solution to that terrible problem of what to say when you momentarily forget the names of your closest friends. Just “turn to them with a smile and say ‘l’m sure you know each other’,” Debrett’s advises. “A tactful woman will then say ‘Of course, I’m Lily St Edmunds’ and the man will reply ‘l’m Humphrey Esmond. How do you do?’ ” (That is going to be terribly confusing if in fact they are Jane Smith and John Brown, but at least all concerned will have followed the correct form).

Immersed as it is in aristocratic lineage, precedence, and heraldry, Debrett’s naturally takes great interest in our few peers and baronets. It gives the antecedents of the travel agent Kenneth Oliver Musgrave St John, the 7th Viscount Bolingbroke, who is a descendant of the first viscount, Queen Anne’s minister, and formerly lived in Christchurch but now lives in Australia.

Meanwhile, Debrett’s first “Handbook of Australia and New Zealand” tells everything you wanted to know about how to avoid going into shock in the presence of the Queen. First, call her “Ma’am” as in “jam” (not as in “arm”). Second, “If the Royal hand is extended, take it lightly and briefly, at the same time executing a brief bob with the weight on the front foot, or a bow from the neck (not from the waist). If she wishes, a woman may bow instead of curtsey, it is the acknowledgement that counts, not the exact form it 1 takes.”

Debrett’s makes a concession or two to the feminist movement in its helpful advice for Australians and New Zealanders. In letters to women, “Ms” (prounced “miz”) is considered "Certainly the best solution” when the marital status is unknown. (But the prudent socialite asks a secretary to find out).

That leaves two hereditary peers in New Zealand — the 6th Lord Lyveden (one of the Derbyshire Vernons) of Te Aroha; and the 3rd Baron de Villiers, grandson of the first chief justice of South Africa, who lives at Kumeu. It has not caught up with Bob Edgcumbe of Kawerau who has now inherited the title of the Bth Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, and gone to live in the family seat.

There is also the matter of how to behave with businesswomen. When being taken to lunch by a woman, says Debrett’s, a man should conduct himself exactly as if his host were male — “except that after the meal he may help her on with her coat, and open the restaurant door for her.” What

If you should be bold enough to invite the Queen to dinner, and she accepts, you naturally surrender your place at the head of the table to her. But fear not for your freehold. The days when the reigning monarch was regarded as the

As well as being allowed to wear a coronet, a peer is exempt from jury service and gets 40 days’ before and after a meeting of

Parliament in which he is free from arrest in civil cases. We have 13 baronets too, including the Labour politician Sir Basil Arthur. They may regret that Debrett’s saw fit to reveal that their order dates from 1611 when James I needed more money to subdue the Irish. He sold baronetcies to 200 well-born, well-to-do gentlemen for the price of agreeing to pay the wages of 30 soldiers each for three years — at eight pence a day per soldier.

Regrettably, Debrett’s could find no Scottish chiefs in New Zealand, while Australia has such colourful gentlemen as The Menzies, Peter Lamont of that Ilk, and lan Nicolson of Scorrybeck. It also boasts one Irish chief, The Fox. The book, however, does provide a useful service to those who wish to know the ranks of Maori chiefs. It has a special section on social rank in contemporary Maori society. Debrett’s notes that most early Australians were convicts and their keepers, and that convict ancestors nowadays have an aura of distinction about them. Perhaps as an aid to attracting that aura, those listed were asked to state the year of their forbears’ arrival.

A Maori of ancient lineage, Mr Kuru Waaka of Whakarewarewa, beat the lot by giving the date of his family’s arrival as the year 1300, indicating a longer pedigree than could be boasted by most of the English notables in Debretts “Peerage and Baronetage.”