the Germans themselves. We tell each other confidently that we’ve never
had it so good but what we really mean is that we are all right, Jack.
Oh yes, if you want to be a
modern Briton — a Briton of the sixties — you have to follow an entirely new
set of rules. Here they follow.
G.
M.
I. NEW ENGLISH
HOW TO BE PROSPEROUS
If
you want to be
a modern Briton, you must be prosperous, or, preferably, rich. Richness has
this in common with justice that it is not enough to be rich, you must also
manifestly appear to be rich. The English, however, are a basically modest
race, so you cannot just show off. In fact, you must hide your richness in an
ostentatious, pseudo-modest manner, as if you were really poor. The greatest
advantage of this being that you may, in fact, be really as poor as you like.
A short while back it was
much more difficult to be rich, but as riches were then quite out of fashion —
indeed, rather vulgar — this did not matter. A few years ago a Rolls Royce or a
Bentley was a must and to have a palatial residence was advisable. Today, only
the get-rich-quick businessmen, the vulgar, commercial barons and the lower
layer of television comedians buy new Rollses and Bentleys. The patricians use
Austin Sevens, Miniminors, scooters and bicycles, perhaps very ancient
Rollses, or else Jensens and Bristols (the last two costing about £4,000 each
but unrecognized by the masses).
It would take too long to
codify the entire art of how to look prosperous and how to behave in this Age
of Prosperity, but the main elementary rules are these:
1. You must get a place in
the country. You remark casually: ‘Oh — we have a tumble-down old barn in
Suffolk... ‘ If you can throw such a sentence away nonchalantly and especially
if you learn to blush modestly while uttering it, you will unfailingly give the
impression of possessing a ducal mansion on 227 acres, with thirty-four tithe cottages,
eighteen liveried servants and five racing stables. Whenever I have visited the
ducal mansions owned by my friends, I have invariably found dilapidated little
huts where you cooked on primus stoves and where, if you needed water, you were
at liberty to walk half a mile for it. You were allowed, however, to call half
a mile four furlongs which sounds incomparably superior.
2. You must become
amphibious and get hold of a watercraft of some sort. Here again, you must
refer to ‘my little launch’ or even ‘dinghy’ with an air as though she were a
yacht to put Onassis to shame. But a launch or a second-hand rubber dinghy or
any superannuated rowing boat will do fine.
And it is a good idea to
appear at the office — especially on Monday morning — in a dark blue blazer
with shiny metal buttons; in a nautical cap instead of a bowler; and to carry
in a leisurely manner and with an air of absentmindedness a sextant, an anchor
and a propeller.
3. You must choose your
friends with the greatest possible care. Titles are out of fashion. If you have
one, keep it under your hat and in cold storage: it may come in useful again in
the future. Dukes, nowadays, are not called ‘Your Grace’ but Bobby and Reggie;
Archbishops are called ‘archbish’; and second daughters of earls are spoken to
as if they were ordinary human beings. Ex- and would-be debutantes are only of
use if they work in publishing houses. The most sought-after people are Greeks
as there is a notion afloat that every Greek is a millionaire; Italian models
(female) are also very popular; Swedes (male) are in order, if tall and very
sad. Persians and foreign princes might be used in an emergency.
4. If you happen to be a
butcher or a lorry driver you will be helped along the way of prosperity by
periodical wins of £225,000 on the football pools. It is de rigeur on
such occasions to declare that your win will not make the slightest difference
to your way of life (after all, what does a quarter of a million matter if you
already have a washing machine and a
had it so good but what we really mean is that we are all right, Jack.
Oh yes, if you want to be a
modern Briton — a Briton of the sixties — you have to follow an entirely new
set of rules. Here they follow.
G.
M.
I. NEW ENGLISH
HOW TO BE PROSPEROUS
If
you want to be
a modern Briton, you must be prosperous, or, preferably, rich. Richness has
this in common with justice that it is not enough to be rich, you must also
manifestly appear to be rich. The English, however, are a basically modest
race, so you cannot just show off. In fact, you must hide your richness in an
ostentatious, pseudo-modest manner, as if you were really poor. The greatest
advantage of this being that you may, in fact, be really as poor as you like.
A short while back it was
much more difficult to be rich, but as riches were then quite out of fashion —
indeed, rather vulgar — this did not matter. A few years ago a Rolls Royce or a
Bentley was a must and to have a palatial residence was advisable. Today, only
the get-rich-quick businessmen, the vulgar, commercial barons and the lower
layer of television comedians buy new Rollses and Bentleys. The patricians use
Austin Sevens, Miniminors, scooters and bicycles, perhaps very ancient
Rollses, or else Jensens and Bristols (the last two costing about £4,000 each
but unrecognized by the masses).
It would take too long to
codify the entire art of how to look prosperous and how to behave in this Age
of Prosperity, but the main elementary rules are these:
1. You must get a place in
the country. You remark casually: ‘Oh — we have a tumble-down old barn in
Suffolk... ‘ If you can throw such a sentence away nonchalantly and especially
if you learn to blush modestly while uttering it, you will unfailingly give the
impression of possessing a ducal mansion on 227 acres, with thirty-four tithe cottages,
eighteen liveried servants and five racing stables. Whenever I have visited the
ducal mansions owned by my friends, I have invariably found dilapidated little
huts where you cooked on primus stoves and where, if you needed water, you were
at liberty to walk half a mile for it. You were allowed, however, to call half
a mile four furlongs which sounds incomparably superior.
2. You must become
amphibious and get hold of a watercraft of some sort. Here again, you must
refer to ‘my little launch’ or even ‘dinghy’ with an air as though she were a
yacht to put Onassis to shame. But a launch or a second-hand rubber dinghy or
any superannuated rowing boat will do fine.
And it is a good idea to
appear at the office — especially on Monday morning — in a dark blue blazer
with shiny metal buttons; in a nautical cap instead of a bowler; and to carry
in a leisurely manner and with an air of absentmindedness a sextant, an anchor
and a propeller.
3. You must choose your
friends with the greatest possible care. Titles are out of fashion. If you have
one, keep it under your hat and in cold storage: it may come in useful again in
the future. Dukes, nowadays, are not called ‘Your Grace’ but Bobby and Reggie;
Archbishops are called ‘archbish’; and second daughters of earls are spoken to
as if they were ordinary human beings. Ex- and would-be debutantes are only of
use if they work in publishing houses. The most sought-after people are Greeks
as there is a notion afloat that every Greek is a millionaire; Italian models
(female) are also very popular; Swedes (male) are in order, if tall and very
sad. Persians and foreign princes might be used in an emergency.
4. If you happen to be a
butcher or a lorry driver you will be helped along the way of prosperity by
periodical wins of £225,000 on the football pools. It is de rigeur on
such occasions to declare that your win will not make the slightest difference
to your way of life (after all, what does a quarter of a million matter if you
already have a washing machine and a
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