ARE WE TOO POLITE?

Evening Star, Issue 22805, 13 November 1937, Page 12

ARE WE TOO POLITE?

THE DEVIL VERY MUCH AUVE We are too polite (writes Stephen Graham in an English paper). Instead of taking the old-fashioned advice “ Tell the truth and shame the devil!” we like to excuse ourselves with the saying that the ‘ soft answer turneth away wrath.” _ The individual is inclined to follow the example of the, Government, and when bombed or torpedoed he merely says: “Naughty, naughty!” He lifts up his linger and says: “ Nay, nay.” Street manners have become so fine that when two men collide both say: “My fault!” If one man calls another a liar he is not forthwith knocked down, as of old. The modern young woman, instead of _ rounding on a masher and giving him a stinging box on the ear, says: “ Excuse me, I think you’ve got the wrong number, haven’t you?” In club and pub nowadays the bounder has a smooth passage. No one tells him what his character is in_ plain English. But in the decried ’nineties he was in constant danger of having his behind toed. He was always ready to run, and one could tell him by the uncertain way he walked. . He was much more insecure because we were so much less polite. Even when a tradesman charges twice for the same thing we merely tell him we think he has made a slight error. We do not tell him roundly that he is a cheating, double-dealing son of perdition. If he is a cheat he will do the same thing aagin. Our forefathers, on such occasions, had a happy knack of getting conveniently angry. They were not really angry, but they could turn on a flow of effective abuse. Put rogues out of countenance; that is the meaning of “ Tell the truth and shame the devil!” There is some virtue in a startling oath. It makes ’em tremble. What is the use of “Gracious me!” “The idpa!” “Coo!” “I say!” “That’s a bit thick !”P One has to invoke death and destruction, hell and the evil one to get attention. “ I> n your eyes and blast your soul!” may make you shudder when read in cold print, but there are occasions when the ordinary vocabulary! is useless. Lots of men have the bad habit of saying “ blast ” when they cut themselves when shaving or tread on a stair that isn’t there, but few have the courage to say “ Blast ye!” to a humbug or a crook. That is the meaning of the song: “ Couldn’t say boo to a goose!” Saying boo is impolite. Everyone has become _ frightfully public sehoolboyish. For instance, in elections. Since Lord Baldwin gave his clarion call to the country, “ Play up, you fellows, jday up!” the election egg has been almost unknown, and everyone tends to vote for_ the same party with the utmost propriety. In Parliament there is too much soft soap; even the extremists speak with the suavity of radio announcers. Where is the acrimonious retort of Joey Chamberlain, or the violent invective of Lord Randolph Churchill attacking the “Moloch of Midlothian?”

There used to be in British politics rude laughter, not merely ribald mirth, but bad-mannered destructive laughter which made the ears of Ministers tingle when they have some shabby defence of miserable policy. The polite French have got it, a rude laugh which begins in a guffaw, then develops

and may last several minutes, opening up like a machine-gun against a regiment of shams. Of course we are not logical. The Germans have engraved on their cannons the words “ultima ratio,” by which they mean to say, “We, the guns, have the last word in any argument.” Guns are the most frightful sort of impoliteness, but we are obliged to have a great quantity of impoliteness on hand so as to protect ourselves. The guns ought to be merely our second line of defence. If our tempers and our tongues and our- “langwidgc” were in proper training we would not have to depend so much on re armament. . But we still believe that the soft answer turneth away wrath. Why, so it docs, but only for a while. It merely postpones the evil day when the guns must resume the bloody argutnent which was adjourned one eleventh of November some years ago. W T e thought for a while that the devil was dead, but he is not. He is very much alive, and though he may he wearing a top-hat we must up and shame him.