Mick Hartley

Reading about the “post-war humour of the English elite”, as collected by Countess Mountbatten – she asked those in her circle to contribute amusing anecdotes for a book to be auctioned for charity – makes me glad I was born too late (and too poorly connected) to attend those glittering dinner parties.

There you all are, seated round the table. The soup course is being served. One of the guests, A.A.Milne, breaks the silence. “Heard this little story the other day…..”:

The Young Priest was nervous, for this was the first day on which he had officiated. As the woman came into the confessional, he tried to remember all the instruction he had received from the Old Priest, and to forget that the latter was listening in to them, noting for correction or approval his conduct of the occasion.

“You did very well, my son,” said the Old Priest, “very well indeed.” The Young Priest flushed with pride, and stammered out his thanks. “Indeed, yes, excellently well.” The Old Priest turned away as if to leave and then turned back.

“Just one small suggestion, perhaps.” He paused for a moment, fingering his chin. “Generally speaking,” he went on, choosing his words carefully, “when the more exotic passages of a confession seem to call for some interjectory comment, one finds that an occasional tut-tut-tut of shocked admonition is more helpful than a prolonged whistle of fascinated incredulity.”

Polite laughter round the table. “That’s awfully good, A.A – isn’t it Millicent dear? Must remember that one.” “Yes, awfully good.” “Prolonged whistle! Wonderful!” Silence returns, broken only by the clink of spoon on china. Heads bend forward to inbibe the Cream of Mushroom soup; eyes stare desperately at the wall over the heads of the diners opposite. Not to fear, though…Cecil Beaton’s here. Good old Cecil! Such a wit! He sets aside his spoon, and leans back…

A few anecdotes stick in my mind as being amusing. Many of them centre around that great personality the Late Lady Oxford — Margot was extremely kind but extremely frank. Once at a wedding reception she waylaid the guests in the hall as they were about to greet the newly-weds and warned them in a stage whisper: “Don’t go upstairs, the bride is hideous!”

Does the laughter seem perhaps a little more forced this time? What’s that strange sound? – and is it really your mouth it’s coming from?

Silence descends again. You’ve finished the soup. Perhaps if you mop around the bowl with a piece of bread…but can one do that sort of thing in this distinguished company?

Now Dame Agatha Christie breaks the silence and clears her throat. “Do you know..” she starts, and gives a little laugh…

“I once gave one of my books to the very charming girl who did my hair. My next visit was six months later and as she started the shampoo, she said, ‘It was so kind of you to give me one of your books and I’m getting on with it splendidly! I’ve got to the third chapter already’.”

“Ha Ha! Most amusing, Dame Agatha!”

The soup course is barely finished. There’s the entree to come; the main course; dessert. Hours more of this. Should you feign some kind of fit? Slump forward in your chair…..or perhaps slide gracefully sideways onto the floor?

Oh no!….Douglas Fairbanks Jr is leaning forward with a smile. He has an amusing little anecdote to tell….