When I was quite young, before I had started school, I had a brief conversation with an older woman, the memory of which has remained with me ever since. She was a teacher of some sort, and the incident took place in what must have been a playschool, though as this was perhaps 60 years ago, when such things were hardly known, I cannot be sure.
What I do remember is that my mother had left me in this place while she had gone somewhere and I knew she would be back shortly Anyway, my memory has this woman seated across from me at a low table. And what she was doing, or trying to do, was to get me to address her by her first name. And I wouldn’t – I couldn’t – do it.
“Now, I want you to call me Anne and I’ll call you Barnaby,” she said. I had previously learnt her name from my mother, and I had used it already, maybe once or twice. And so, each time Anne asked me to call her by her first name, I replied automatically by addressing her as Mrs So-and-So (I called every woman I met Mrs, unless they were relatives, in which case they received their appropriate familial designations, such as grandma or auntie or uncle.
This went on for a while, when suddenly Anne’tried a new tactic. “Ok”, she said, “If you won’t call me Anne, I won’t call you Barnaby. I’ll call you Mr ffrench.” I can still remember vividly the shock this gave me. The only Mr ffrench there was, was my father. I was Barnaby. Oh, I knew I was Barnaby ffrench, but the idea that I could be addressed as Mr ffrench caused tears to come my eyes.
Nevertheless, Anne was determined upon her social experiment. “Would you like a biscuit, Mr ffrench?” My desire for a biscuit met the brick wall of my complete inability to enter into this little psycho-drama. “I’m not Mr ffrench. I’m Barnaby. And you’re Mrs So-and-So.”
That’s all I can remember. Eventually my mother arrived and I was able to escape the further attentions of Anne. I don’t know if I said anything to her about it, or if, perhaps, Anne did. But the memory of the incident settled into me, and, as I say, has remained with me till this moment.
Why did this brief encounter so upset me, so much so the memory of it is still so strong? Because it has something to do with the old adage – attributed to the 13th century bishop, William of Wykeham – ‘manners makyth man’, a summary statement which contains an important truth: that people are made, not born, and that they are made by their relation to others.
And one of the things involved in this process of ‘making’ is learning courtesy, politeness, manners. And now that I have reached the exalted age of three quarters of a century and walk with a cane, I find I am deeply appreciative if those younger than me on a bus or train, offer me their seat or their place in line.
Take my little story. Obviously at some point my parents must have in some way communicated to me – either directly or indirectly – that older people were to be addressed as Mr or Mrs. No exceptions. So that when Anne tried her little experiment with me, so strongly had this early lesson in courtesy imprinted itself on my tender mind that it was absolutely impossible for me to do as she wanted me to. That, in itself, might, at first sight, seem trivial, but I don’t think it is, because it is children who most vividly remind us of this truth that ‘manners makyth man’.
In teaching children manners, we are putting the finishing touches on future members of society. Manners are the oil that makes life run smoothly. It is not morality – we all know of examples where courtesy can conceal both hypocrisy and cruelty – but it is, at its best, a foundation for morality, if only because it formalises respect, which must be the basis of any morality.
Manners are not artificial rules for controlling people’s lives. They are the common sense guidelines developed over time to facilitate the practice of virtue. Courtesy books made this process easier since they helped create good habits early in children’s souls before vices could gain a foothold.
In our increasingly brutish modern society, lack of manners and civility is tearing society apart. A carefree attitude favouring selfish living facilitates a hellish way of life where no one respects the other. And innocent children are left without guidance at that tender age when they should be developing habits and character
Barnaby ffrench.
