Collected Columns

by Michael Frayn

  We feel that the only reason so many lords hang about racecources and grouse moors is that they have nowhere else to go. They drink and gamble and inflict suffering on animals because they’re bored. We want to see more clubs set up for them along the lines of the one at Westminster. It doesn’t take much – some red leather upholstery and a begged or borrowed woolsack – to turn the average church crypt into a very gay and inviting little House of Lords, where the local nobility can enjoy soft drinks together and take part in constructive activities such as debating.

  These clubs should be places where lords and ladies can feel at home in the sort of clothes they like to wear – which may mean anything from baggy tweeds to the full traditional ‘gear’ of robes and coronets! Sober citizens may sniff, but very smart some of them can look, believe me, when they’re ‘dressed to kill’ at the local meet!

  Above all, we want to encourage the lords and ladies to do their divorcing in a healthy, open atmosphere of camaraderie and good fellowship, and get right away from the old hole-and-corner approach. Let all the questions and worries be thrashed out fully and frankly. ‘Can pre-marital divorce ever be right?’ ‘Will I lose my husband if I refuse to divorce him?’ You’ll be amazed at the things that worry these high-spirited old families.

  But this by itself is not enough – we must try to attract them into the churches. The Bishop made a remarkable start last Sunday by holding a Lord and Lady Day Service. He decorated the Cathedral with sporting prints, and replaced the choir and organist with Debrett Dansant and his Debs Delights, who rendered a number of hymns which the Bishop had translated into straightforward upper-class English, such as ‘Too super, too dishy, too marvellous Chap!’

  His Lordship himself galloped in on horseback, wearing hunting pink and plus-fours. Crying ‘View halloo!’ he threw a gun into his shoulder, gave the angels in the roof a right and left, and brought down a cock and a hen. Pausing only to set the port circulating among the congregation, he got the Rural Dean to give him a leg up into the pulpit, where all the known tongues of dukes and of barons descended on him simultaneously, and he preached thus: ‘My text today is from Ecclesiastes chapter 5 verse 12: “The sleep of a labouring man is sweet.” Or as we say, “The sleep of a labourin’ man is puddin’.”’

  ‘How true that is, what? I mean to say, sometimes we draw a covert for the meanin’ of life, and it seems to double back and go to earth. I know I do, what? But when you go forth from here today I want you to bear in your hearts the knowledge that whenever things get too utterly ghastly, too absolutely filthington, you can always drop in on God for a quick spiritual snifter.

  ‘You see, I like to think of prayer as a kind of spiritual grouse shootin’ – a chance to get shot of the odd brace of grumbles. Yes, as I said in the Teenagers’ Service last week, goin’ out after the birds is as much part of religion as toddlin’ along to Vespers or Holy Communers. And doin’ a ton in the Rolls is just about as religious as you can get short of actually goin’ in for Holy Orders kit. I mean to say, what?

  ‘To him who hearkeneth not to the voice of righteousness the consequences could be dashed desperate, not to say hellish. But the man who doth the best he can in the jolly old circs is likely to have a heavenly time, doncher know, what?

  ‘Shall we Johann Sebastian kneelers-peelers?’

  And the whole congregation – Mrs Thrumley, Mrs Arthur Upstreet, and the Lord Bishop’s old mother – fell upon their knees and repented bitterly of the way of life that had brought them into that place.

  (1963)

  East of Suez

  An extract from the signal log of HMS Ubiquitous, on passage in the Indian Ocean.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Urgent amendment sailing orders. Courtesy call South African ports cancelled. Re-embark all coloured personnel and Chinese cooks debarked in anticipation SA visit and alter course forthwith for Aden. Render all necessary assistance required by local civil and military authorities to maintain order during disturbances.

  Report position and estimated time of arrival Aden.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Your signal received and understood. Wilco. My position 3.15N 79.44E. Estimated time of arrival Aden – early June.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Cancel my last signal. Re-debark Chinese cooks and proceed with all possible speed Hong Kong make show of strength during civil disturbances. Equip shore patrols with anti-riot weapons. Stand by to take over Hong-Kong-Kowloon ferry service from strikers.

  Report position and ETA Hong Kong.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. Have fetched round to take up easterly course and my position is once again 3.15N 79.44E. ETA Hong Kong – Tuesday week.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Most urgent. Abandon course Hong Kong and make all possible speed Gulf of Aqaba. Stand by southern approaches to Strait of Tiran outside territorial waters establishing British presence but in view delicate situation in area establish it with maximum circumspection.

  Report position and ETA Tiran.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. Have come round on to westerly course again and am back at 3.15N 79.44E. ETA Tiran – mid-June.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Note amendment previous signal. In view local customs and feelings debark Jewish personnel before proceeding Tiran.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. In view of possible Papal pronouncement on situation advise whether should keep RCs below decks.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Urgent amendment previous signals. Re-embark forthwith all Jewish personnel debark coloured personnel and proceed with maximum dispatch Macao. Establish British presence outside territorial waters in support British consul. Report ETA Macao.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. ETA Macao uncertain but expect to be back at 3.15N 79.44E in approximately 10 minutes.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Urgent re-amendment to amended orders. Political situation United Nations re Aqaba question makes immediate courtesy call African port essential. Debark all white personnel and proceed forthwith Mombasa.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. Advise whether Chinese cooks classified white or coloured in Mombasa.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Correction. Proceed Shanghai establish discreet British presence in support two British diplomats being glued by crowd. In view local sensibilities re defectors re-debark Chinese cooks again.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Cancel last signal. Proceed at once Gibraltar make discreet show of strength outside territorial waters off Algeciras.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Show of strength impossible without full complement of Chinese cooks.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Re-re-embark Chinese cooks forthwith. Astonished not re-embarked already.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. Advise whether should circumnavigate world eastabout or westabout.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Westabout calling at Malta for major refit. Imperative you reassure local population HM Government still using base.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco. Have kept helm hard over and am almost back at 3.15N 79.44E again.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Correction. Proceed eastabout via North-West Passage so as to pass Iceland protect British trawlers suffering harassment Icelandic gunboats.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: Wilco.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Your signal very faint.

  Ubiquitous to C-in-C Singapore: My signalman very dizzy. But British presence at 3.15N 79.44E almost overpowering. Situation here entirely under control.

  C-in-C Singapore to Ubiquitous: Well done Ubiquitous. But in view of general world feeling debark all personnel with British nationality before proceeding further.

  (1967)

  Eating for others

  The beggars you meet in the street these days don’t seem to know anything about modern fundraising.

  They ask you for money. This is a very
nave and counterproductive approach. You know they propose to spend the money entirely on themselves, and no one finds blatant self-interest very appealing. They haven’t grasped, the essential point of all commercial enterprise, that to make a profit you must first invest. They don’t understand that the most effective way to solicit a gift is to offer a gift.

  But, you protest, the old man outside Marks and Spencer who keeps asking you for the price of a cup of tea – how can he offer you a gift? He hasn’t anything to give! No, but then nor has the Royal National Metropolitan Centre of Cultural Excellence. According to their last published accounts they have about £4 million less than the old man outside Marks and Spencer. Has that ever stopped them sending you free glossy brochures, which you put by to read at the weekend, but which then get covered up by the week’s newspapers, so that you never even discover there’s a quid pro quo in the shape of a banker’s order form inside the back cover?

  It’s not their money that they’re spending, this is the point. It’s your money. It’s the money you will give them out of the sense of obligation imposed by their giving something to you. Or would have given them, if you hadn’t taken their little offering round to the recycling depot first. And you have plenty of money. I hope. Because once I’ve explained these basic principles to the old man outside Marks and Spencer you’re going to need it.

  I’m preparing a business pack, on the subject, which I shall be giving him instead of money the next time he approaches me. So the next time he approaches you, after he has digested my advice, and raised the appropriate venture capital from his merchant banker contacts in the City, he won’t ask you for anything.

  Instead he will thrust a very large invitation card into your hand, printed in raised italic script, with his family coat of arms at the top embossed in gold. Even before you read it you will feel a simple pride at the thought of being able to prop this thing up casually on your mantlepiece, where its sheer size, and the glitter of its gold embossing, will arouse the envy of every visitor who walks into the room.

  When you do read it you will discover that, far from being asked for the price of a cup of tea, you are being offered refreshment yourself. Not only you, but your partner as well. Not on the pavement outside the Kwality Liquor Mart, where this man usually consumes any cups of tea he has been able to raise finance for, but in the banqueting suite of some more central hostelry, such as the Royal Imperial Intercontinental Hotel. Not in the company of him and his fellow tea-drinkers, but in the presence of a Royal Highness.

  You talk it over sensibly with your partner and you decide to invest 25p in a stamp to put on your acceptance, which is probably already 5p more than you would have advanced towards the cup of tea. You take your dinner jacket and evening dress to the cleaners (another £15 or so, but they need cleaning anyway). When you look at the results you make a joint reasoned decision to invest a further £200 in a new evening dress, because you are after all going to be hobnobbing with royalty, and perhaps, if you seem presentable enough, getting invited to some delightful little intimate party they are giving themselves. Then, when the day comes, you spend another £15 on a taxi to get to the Royal Imperial Intercontinental Hotel, because you can’t really travel on public transport in your amazing new evening dress, and you don’t want to risk driving home still intoxicated by the delightfulness of the royal presence.

  You know that at some point, sooner or later, you will be writing a cheque for some not too gracelessly mean amount in return for all this. But what you’ll be getting for your money! No question of a cup of tea. You’ll be getting champagne and canapes, followed by four courses of food specially rich in health-giving cholesterol, washed down by several different sorts of wine, followed by brandy or liqueurs. You will be entertained by delightful speeches, which various public relations consultants and equerries have given up whole highly-paid days to writing.

  The Royal Highness will turn out not to be sitting at your table, sadly, but you will have the pleasure of being among people who seem to be as wealthy as you hope you look yourself. If a gentleman, you will find yourself sitting with a lovely wealthy lady in a new evening dress on either side of you; if a lady, with a distinguished wealthy gentleman in a newly-cleaned dinner jacket. Your head whirls with the possibilities of moneyed romance. Which of your two partners to exchange delicious gallantries with first? You turn gracefully to the one on your left, say, and you talk about …

  You talk about …

  About … well … where he or she lives. You talk about where you live. You talk about where you are both going on holiday, the precise numbers of your respective children, their educational arrangements and professional prospects.

  Enchanting as this conversation is, you will remember halfway through the sole avec son coulis de kiwi that you haven’t said anything to your charming and well-heeled companion on the right, so you will turn to him or her. Your tongue loosened now by wine, you will find no more difficulty in finding conversational topics. You will talk about … where you both live … where going/gone on holiday … numbers of children … children’s outstanding charms and achievements …

  By the time you have got on to the kiwis dans un parfait de chèvre it will come to you that there is something suspiciously familiar about this person’s entire life. Slowly you will realise that you sat next to him or her at some similar occasion last year, and went through precisely the same conversation. In the ensuing silence you will find time to eat three petits fours instead of one, and have a brandy, which you never normally do. You may go so far as to take the cigar you are offered, even though you don’t smoke, and put another one in your breast pocket or handbag, something you’d noticed other people doing but had never thought you would be bold enough to do yourself.

  So you go home with a feeling in your chest which is either heartburn or heart disease, or possibly just the cockles of your heart being warmed by all the good you have done. You pay another £15 for a taxi, or £20 in parking fees, because you couldn’t in fact find a taxi when you set out and had to bring the car after all, or £100 to release the car from the car-pound, because you couldn’t find a parking-space, plus a £1,000 fine for driving with more than the permitted limit of royal highness in your blood, all of which, together with the loss of your licence and consequently your job, at say £50,000 a year for the next ten years, brings the bill for the evening up to somewhere around half a million pounds.

  Not to mention your generous contribution to the organisers of all this, which will at last provide the old man outside Marks and Spencer with his cup of tea, unless all his 20p share of the proceeds has gone in administration.

  And you have the pleasant prospect of doing the same thing again the following week, to finance a cup of coffee for the man who usually stands outside Sainsbury’s.

  (1994)

  Eternity in a tube of toothpaste

  The lotos-eaters, in Tennyson’s poem, live in a land where it seems always afternoon. Tennyson reports no complaints from them about this arrangement, and Odysseus’s men, as soon as they have eaten a little of the fruit themselves, decide they are perfectly happy to settle down here as well, and give up all prospect of morning, evening, or night.

  Permanent afternoon would have its drawbacks, of course. It would be sad if one never got to teatime, tragic if dinner remained forever beyond the horizon. But at least it’s better getting stuck in the afternoon than where all the rest of us are stuck – in the morning. And in one particular bit of the morning, at that. Not breakfast-time, or coffee-break, or the approaches to lunch. In the land of the Gala apple-eaters, where you and I live, it’s always getting-up time.

  Have you noticed this? I mean that whenever you become conscious of the time, that’s when it is. Whenever you think about what you are actually doing at this particular moment in time, what you’re doing is cleaning your teeth. You’re looking at yourself in the mirror and you’re thinking, Here I am again, cleaning my teeth. And you’re thinking that this is
a pretty dreary thing to be doing. You’re also thinking that the last thing before this that you can remember being actually conscious of doing was looking at yourself in the mirror as you cleaned your teeth the previous morning.

  You remember what you were thinking as you did it, too. You were thinking, Here I am again, cleaning my teeth. And you were thinking that this was a pretty dreary thing to be doing. You were also thinking that the last thing before this that you could remember being actually conscious of doing was looking at yourself in the mirror as you cleaned your teeth the previous morning. Etcetera. It’s as if there were another mirror behind you as well, and you could see your life stretching away in both directions into glass-green infinity. And what are you doing in each increasingly remote green moment of this infinity? You’re cleaning your teeth.

  No, there is some variation. For men, at any rate, it’s sometimes a slightly different time. It’s a few minutes later, when they’re shaving, and things are even drearier than they were when they were cleaning their teeth. Or, worse, in my case – it’s a few minutes earlier, when I’m lying in bed trying to decide whether I should get up and start brushing my teeth and shaving. I’m trying to decide whether to get up precisely now, or whether I could safely leave it an instant longer, and get up say … now. Or … now … Then worrying that if I don’t get up now, which is where it’s got to now … or even now … then it’s difficult to see how I’m ever going to get up at all, so that the dreary prospect of looking in the mirror and all the rest of it is always going to be in front of me, which is even worse than its actually happening.