ART OF ENTERTAINMENT

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23044, 21 November 1936, Page 25

ART OF ENTERTAINMENT

The other day I was given a book on the art of entertainment (writes Dr Catherine Gavin in an exchange). It began on the grand scale with the entertaining of royalty, which I never expect to do; it discussed the rules of precedence when peers are invited, and so by easy stages arrived at the less rarified altitudes of entertaining with one maid—or none. Thereafter followed many useful recipes, which, however, 1 presently ceased to study, my outbursts of domestic zeal being few and far between, I fell to thinking, instead, of the mental preparation which a party demands, and" which we usually ignore for more culinary anxieties. I refer, of course, to the eat-a-meal-and-spend-the-evening form of entertaining; for the average housewife, however much she may pant for, the gaieties of the bright young people, seldom gives coktail or “ bottle ” parties, which in any case are usually very dull. “ Having ” the Browns and the Blacks is too often looked upon as a duty, performed in the sacred and rquch-abused name of friendship, or for some never fully understood reason connected with one’s husband’s business: but if approached in the proper spirit it can be not only a recreation but an exercise of the great creative art of the interplay of human character through speech. So there we all are, sitting up to table and talking well. In these times it is probably a delightfully simple meal we are eating, but, oh. how it sticks in (he throat if our hostess apologises for it. This habit of making excuses is one of the ugly results of the slump. To hear an anxious woman apologising for her maidless state, or the lack of wine—or, worse still, to hear her say beforehand, “I’m afraid you’re only going to get chops”—is a truly embarrassing experience. Mince and a rice pudding can be as good as a banquet, if they are offered sincerely and without excuses. There is a great deal to be said for. the old-fashioned custom of leaving the gentlemen in the dining room for half an hour after the meal. Some people think this is pretentious, since they will probably sit over coffeedregs and cigarettes rather than the liqueur brandy and coronas of yore. But it lets the whole party relax. The ladies can dilate on the unfailing theme of ailments, and the polite fiction will be kept up that the lords of creation next door are discussing the slock market. 1 know them. They are talking about golf. But—and this is the point—let everyone go to the drawing room together; the men will feel vaguely illused, and that the evening stretches endlessly before them, Segregate them; they are soothed, they become expansive, they are positively eager for the sqciety whence they have been banished. Which is very agreeable. What is to be done now? I refuse to consider only the card table. Music? So few people " keep up their music ” (mysterious phrase) in these days of gramophone and wireless. It is easy to laugh at the old days, when guests arrived with a roll of songs under their arms, and worked steadily through it; but at least these people tried. They did not sit blankly waiting for something to happen. Let the hostess try that now. but let her be sure of her performers 'beforehand. One of the distressing features of modern parties is tfle scene of entreaty. pouting, and expostulation that takes place before some Miss who has never been taught to be complaisant condescends to recite.

For guests, as well as hostesses, have a duty They, too. must prepare their minds beforehand, must steel themselves against the facile and fashionable boredom of the nineteen-thirties. Suppose it is “only” supper with the Whites, whom one has known for ages? You know you really want to hear about her sister’s operation: you know John and White like to talk fishing together. But if that has begun to pall, and you crave something fresh, start it yourself. If we all kept our minds not only well groomed, but well stocked, what evening parties we could have! If we practised the delightful art of chqosing our guests like the ingredients in a salad, what a subtle flavour of wit or kindliness or intellect would blend with the dishes! Almost we might rescue the lost and brilliant art of conversation from its grave, and restore it to our drawing rooms, where once it flourished.