The times they are a-changing

It’s a full day in the kitchen when the Aubrey family is stopping by for a meal. But it’s a day well spent. One cooks plentifully, for the Aubreys eat with relish and show their appreciation via a second and, not uncommonly, a third helping. Verbally, too.

“The stuffed fish is just divine. What is it…coriander I can tell for sure, but what else?” “That curried prawn has the taste buds doing the salsa.” “How do you manage it? I can never get my crème brulee to have this perfect wobble. You just want to cut into it.”

The children – Cedric, Theo and Rosebud – 11, nine and seven years respectively, state outright: “I’m going to have another helping of ….” And a dish is named. There are occasions when one or all three will say, “Thanks but I’ve eaten too much, I can’t eat any more.” They don’t for one moment look to their parents for guidance, and why, indeed, should they?

Such forthrightness makes me totally comfortable. It takes me back to my childhood, to a time when things were, let’s say, different. At least in my home and my friends’ homes.

We – my siblings and I – would receive a firm reminder before the family set out, all neatly groomed, smelling of Brylcreem, Lifeboy soap and a liberal dusting of Ponds talcum: “Now, remember your manners.”

In the Family Guidebook on Good Manners and Proper Etiquette, this didn’t merely involve sitting silently and speaking only when spoken to. It included sitting up straight, not swinging the legs in random circles – because this could present a hazard to the hostess or the domestic help passing by with a tray filled with salad or biriyani, or even tall glasses filled with an array of coloured liquids.

The hostess brought out her best crockery, cutlery and glassware on such occasions and, in retrospect, must have held her breath for the entire duration of a meal that included four children still on a quest for perfect coordination.

‘Close your mouth when chewing’, ‘be very sure the chicken is held down firmly with the fork before using the knife’, ‘avoid using the clean serviette beside the plate because it only means you have poor aim putting a spoonful of food into your mouth. Besides, curry stains are very hard to wash off.’ These items were on the list, too, the last of which of course led to forced but surreptitious cheek-licking – or at least as far as the tongue could reach out the side of the mouth. The most important rule, the golden one guaranteed to make the stomach shrink, was, ‘Never ask for more.’

Even today, I can see my brother – a quick eater with a voracious appetite – finishing ahead of us and, on being asked the obligatory, “Would you like a little more?” shaking his head weakly while still toying with the spoon and fork, and darting sly looks at mum or grandma, to see if – surprise, surprise – permission might be granted. I’ve since seen that look in other situations – when a person is saying no but the eyes are really meaning yes.

“Go on, let the child have some more,” one of the elders would say on occasion and this would be followed by a vigorous shake of the maternal head from across the table coupled with a frown, or ‘the big eyes’ signifying ‘don’t you dare!’

I still can’t imagine why we looked forward eagerly to those occasions – to go out to dinner only to return semi-filled, whereas at home we were never hungry. I still catch myself these days sitting quiet waiting for someone to ask me something so we can….take if from there and embark on a conversation. I’m relieved in some respects that mores and manners have loosened up considerably. It cannot have been easy for our parents. But when the Aubreys come over, I’m so glad they don’t bring their mannered masks.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.