Society

Saturday

Mary Wakefield Mary Wakefield

The week the Queen was born

Mary Wakefield looks back at our issue of 24 April 1926, and finds The Spectator reflecting on Mussolini, the brewing General Strike — and the off-side rule It was press day at The Spectator when Queen Elizabeth II was born. The printers had set the lines of type for the edition of 24 April 1926, and were waiting for the extra paragraph about the new royal baby. Did their hearts swell with pride when it arrived? The Spectator gave them the benefit of the doubt: ‘Universal pleasure has been caused by the birth of a daughter, on Wednesday, to the Duke and Duchess of York,’ it said. ‘The new Princess

Sarah Bradford

She has succeeded by being herself

Sarah Bradford, the Queen’s acclaimed biographer, hails her 80th birthday, reflects on an astonishing life — and looks forward to Her Majesty’s ninth decade The Queen will be 80 on 21 April, an appropriate time to reflect on the changes which have taken place during her 54-year reign. She was born in the difficult aftermath of the first world war, 12 days before the General Strike of 1926, when the more nervous spirits predicted revolution, and memories of the fall of the Romanovs less than ten years before were still fresh. Her grandfather, George V, conscious of the importance of popular consent in the maintenance of his throne, had abandoned

Friday

Tamzin Lightwater

Diary of a Notting Hill nobody – 7 April 2006

MONDAY Another day, another chance to demonstrate our values. We are launching our spring forum in Manchester with an initiative: ‘focusing on the transformational impact of trusting people’. DD was meant to be in charge but Dave stepped in at the last minute and said he would do it himself because D2 was bound to muck it up. Poppy in fearful snit after being put in charge of Wives’ Product Placement: Smythson’s handbags, novels written by spouses of members of the shadow Cabinet, etc. Says it’s beneath her. Well, excuse me! For once I seem to have come out on top. Am on a secret unit helping to secure celebrity

Diary – 7 April 2006

The most satisfying night of recent weeks had to be the poetry reading in the British Library organised by Josephine Hart, a woman born to fill us with her infectious love of poetry. It was standing room only, as Evelyn and Lynn Rothschild discovered, arriving late for the reading of Shelley by Dominic West, Byron by Edward Fox and Keats by Bob Geldof. Before the start it had been explained that Bob and Jeanne Marine (his traffic-stoppingly lovely girlfriend) had been in India, where they had been hit by celebratory henna bombs, leaving their hair a rich reddish brown. Back in London, Bob reached for the Daz to sort his

Saturday

Taki

Modern manners

In an age of corporate looting, insider trading, commercial gouging and crass commercialism, it is well to ask why we are picking on Didier Drogba for cheating. One tries to emulate one’s betters, and, as Matthew Norman wrote in the Sunday Telegraph, when a co-owner of Birmingham City has done time for pimping and makes his loot as a pornographer, why shouldn’t an overpaid African footballer try bending the rules? Elementary, my dear Roman. After all, if Abramovich can become Britain’s richest man by bending it like Beckham, cheating, diving and using one’s hand to set up a goal should be considered virtues, not vices. Sport follows society, and always

Mary Killen

Dear Mary… | 1 April 2006

Q. I look after 60 little girls at a boarding prep school. We have an ongoing struggle with headlice and nits. Combing these pestilential creatures out of long hair with nit combs and conditioner is almost a full-time job. (The parents do not want us to use organophosphates.) What can I do, Mary? Even if I do manage to get each girl’s head cleared, as soon as they go home one of them becomes reinfested through contact with a younger sibling and the whole thing starts all over again.Name and address withheld A. It is much less time-consuming to perform the treatment in a backwash sink. A company called LSE

Frank Keating

Oars-de-combat

‘Are you ready …’ The winds skim and frisk like a well-thrown flat pebble across the chop and chill of the mucky water. So do two slim, sleek boats carrying 16 broad and beefy men. Ships, towers, domes rip by …temples, wharves, jetties, tower blocks, bandstands, gullies; the Middlesex wall, the Surrey station, Harrods depository, Craven Cottage, the Riverside theatre; bikes on the towpath, daffs on the banks, pubs to the left of you, pubs to the right …and ‘hurrah! hurrah!’ from Hammersmith Bridge. Boat Race day tomorrow, so truly spring has sprung at last. Did I say 16 hulking he-man hearties, each in a boat for eight? Each man

Ian Ker

The everlasting bonfire

This splendid book of articles, essays and reviews, some published for the first time, begins with a long, masterly piece on the unfashionable doctrine of Hell, the best thing in the whole book. Having been taught about Hell by the monks of Ampleforth in the 1950s, Piers Paul Read asks, ‘Why was damnation dropped from Catholic preaching in the last decades of the 20th century when a monk from Ampleforth, Basil Hume, was Arch- bishop of Westminster?’ If there is a consistent theme in this book, it is the sense that what Read learned at Ampleforth and its prep school Gilling has been betrayed by the post-Vatican II English Church

Fraser Nelson Fraser Nelson

The Tory Blair thinks is underrated

Liam Fox could have been designed by a committee of Tory modernisers. He was brought up in a council house, educated at a comprehensive and worked as a hospital doctor in the deprived east end of Glasgow. He has met Mother Teresa, still buys pop music and has long campaigned for the unfashionable cause of mental health provision. His wife is a lung-cancer specialist and charity worker. But he fails the soft-focus New Tory test on one crucial point: his politics are unashamedly, defiantly Thatcherite. His face is thick with make-up when he turns up late for lunch at a bar overlooking Tower Bridge. He apologises: the television studio detained

Anne Applebaum

What I learned about Condi

Character, not ideology, is the key to understanding this remarkable politician, says Anne Applebaum, who has seen the US Secretary of State’s cool charm up close A long time ago, before George W. Bush was elected, and before ‘Condi’ was an internationally recognised nickname, someone who knew Condoleezza Rice in one of her previous incarnations told me that the thing to remember about her is that she is definitely not a token, but that because people assume she is a token, they always underestimate her. A black woman Republican! From Alabama! Who speaks Russian! Of course she’s overrated, they say — until they wake up one morning and discover she’s

Jaspistos

Studied insults

In Competition No. 2436 you were invited to supply a very rude letter in which the writer terminates the services of an employee, tradesman or professional person. The most successfully rude letter ever written is surely Dr Johnson’s to Lord Chesterfield with its superb combination of sarcasm and sorrow: ‘Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached ground encumbers him with help?’ For the curious, Max Beerbohm’s samples of very rude letters can be found in the essay ‘How shall I word it?’ in And Even Now. ‘Even Jehovah’s witnesses avoid our door.’

Paul Johnson

Well, and what have you been giving up for Lent?

Who keeps Lent now? Lenctentid was the Anglo-Saxon name for March, meaning spring tide, and as the 40-day fast fell almost entirely in March, it was called Lent, though in other Christian countries it had quite different names. The odd thing about Lent is that though it is a period of gloom and sorrow, commemorating Christ’s sojourn in the wilderness when he prepared himself to sacrifice his life, the days are lengthening all the time as the grip of winter is relaxed, so we ought to feel a lightness of heart. But this Lent the icy east wind has been so persistent that we have not felt the warm breath

Friday

Tamzin Lightwater

Diary of a Notting Hill nobody – 31 March 2006

MONDAYOrders from Dave. We must seize back the agenda, get everyone off sleaze. Problem is, DD wants to get stuck in and keeps ringing to set us on to some new loans-for-honours research project. Nigel says we must say, ‘Yes, right away, Mr Davis’ — and then get on with what we were doing. Dave says the Tories have changed. The days of bare-faced hypocrisy are over. Nowadays, if we are sitting in a bloody big glass house we don’t throw stones around — OK? It doesn’t seem fair. The Tories were the natural party of sleaze and now Labour has even taken that away from us. TUESDAYBig kerfuffle in

Emily Maitlis

Diary – 31 March 2006

Tuesday:Television Society Awards. Grosvenor, Park Lane. Wore little white dress, big black bow, quite low neckline. Tripped over own handbag on way into hotel. Awkward frock moment. Think I got away with it. Not sure anyone noticed. Wednesday:Calls for more rainbows and fewer shark attacks in Lambeth. The council has come up with a New Inishativ, nicknamed — by me — Operation Crayon. They have asked the under-fives — by way of a letter home from nursery — to ‘draw improvements they would like to see made to the borough’. Astonishingly, their drawings did not focus principally on the spiralling costs of council tax nor the pitiful collection of litter.

Saturday

Simon Courtauld

Quail order

I wonder whether the US vice-president, Dick Cheney, will eat quail again after the shooting incident in south Texas last month, when he ignored the most basic safety rules in shooting at his intended target while unable to see that an elderly gentleman was in his line of fire. The birds that Mr Cheney was trying to shoot would have been either scaled or bobwhite quail, both species which take to the air only reluctantly, when put up by ‘bird dogs’. They never fly very far or very high, making Mr Cheney’s negligence — he was apparently firing into a low, late-afternoon sun — the more culpable. No quail are

Taki

Perfect peace

Gstaad The end of another perfect season where skiing is concerned. Wonderful powder snow, beautiful sunshine, plunging temperatures at night and empty slopes once the glitzy types went back to whatever holes they came from. On my son’s last day here, he and I skied recklessly fast together (I couldn’t keep up) and late in the afternoon we were the last two on the mountain. It was so perfect, so beautiful and still, I almost blubbed. I was sad that he was leaving and sad that the next time I see snow I will be 70. (Well, perhaps not. If I go to Japan next month for a farewell karate

Dot Wordsworth

Mind your language | 25 March 2006

My husband lives almost entirely in the past, generally finding it a more agreeable place to make his habitation as, often, do we. To sustain him, the television has recently screened a number of dramatic reconstructions of the last days of Harold Wilson, and on some other channel a retrospective of the Thatcher years under the would-be witty title Tory, Tory, Tory. A snatch of film of Margaret Thatcher showed her, after her victory in the general election of 1979, standing in Downing Street saying, ‘Where there is doubt, may we bring faith. Where there is despair, may we bring hope.’ Some of those not well disposed to Mrs Thatcher

Mary Killen

Dear Mary… | 25 March 2006

Q. The most recent dog to arrive uninvited at our house, a little terrier, happened to behave impeccably, but in the past I have opened the doors to a variety of hounds from hell who have climbed on furniture, left messes and stolen food from the larder. You cannot very well turn people away when they arrive with uninvited dogs, but what would you suggest as a punishment fit for this crime?E.G., Fosbury, Wilts A. Welcome the dog, then pleasantly regale its owners with the cautionary tale of the guests who turned up at a nearby household with an uninvited naughty dog which wreaked havoc, desecrating carpets and beds. Moments

Frank Keating

Pick’n’mix

Anthem is as anthem does. What with the rugby internationals last weekend and the ongoing Commonwealth Games, a mad medley of various national anthems has been grating around the airwaves. Some find them uplifting. For me, the jingoistic jingles jar, particularly as extended overture to the rugby when the camera, with ingratiating reverence, pans along the line of cauliflower-eared shaven heads which resembles a Dickensian identity parade at Tilbury and a last call for Magwitches bound for the colonies. Some players weep, others prefer the trance-like glare. What, or which, is a national anthem these days? At Melbourne it’s been ‘Scotland the Brave’; at the rugby ‘Flower of Scotland’, a

The Spectator

Letters to the Editor | 25 March 2006

The neocons’ Iraqi ‘vision’ From Correlli BarnettSir: Surely Con Coughlin (‘A bittersweet birthday’, 18 March) is in error when he states that it was only after the fall of Saddam that Washington adopted the neocon vision whereby Iraq should be ‘a beacon of democracy that would shed its light throughout the tired autocracies of the Arab world’. Surely Bush and co. came into office in January 2001 having already bought the idea of ‘the American century’, and having already committed themselves to a mission to spread democracy round the world, starting with the Middle East, and with Iraq as the first target. This is attested by Christopher Meyer’s memoirs, Bob