Manners maketh woman

THOSE who know me would probably agree I’m one of the clumsiest people they’ve ever met.

Stairs, taxis, mobile phones… you name it, I’ve tripped over it, fallen out of it, or dropped it down the lavatory. And while I’m not exactly Eliza Doolittle, I’m a North- East miner’s granddaughter and my accent isn’t exactly cut-glass Queen’s English.

So when I mentioned in the newsroom that my latest assignment was an etiquette class with Jill Harbord – best known as the ultrastrict headmistress in ITV’s Ladette to Lady – there was much smirking and sniggering.

“I’ll be honest, Loz,” one male colleague, who was obviously feeling brave that day, piped up. “Being from Stockton, you could probably do with a decent spell at finishing school.

Shame it’s only a one-day session, really.”

Charming. Undeterred, I accepted the invitation – after all, if it’s good enough for Audrey Hepburn, it’s certainly good enough for me. I wasn’t really sure what to expect of either the class or Mrs Harbord. In her persona in the television show filmed at Teesdale’s Eggleston Hall, she seemed to possess a laser-like stare which didn’t miss a trick, along with a razor-sharp tongue capable of administering a dressing down which would leave even the hardest of hard men crying for his mother. In short, she gives the impression she’s the sort of lady my granny would have deemed “a formidable woman”.

So when I clattered through the door of her very first etiquette class, half-anhour late and flapping, thanks to a combination of bad directions, weekend traffic and the dog considerately throwing up on the kitchen floor as I left the house, I expected a bit of a telling off.

So imagine my surprise when I was quietly ushered in, seated and offered a cup of coffee while Mrs Harbord – petite and radiant – gave me a mega-watt smile carried on talking to the rest of the class about formal dinner etiquette, as though politely turning a blind eye to the rudeness of my interruption.

As well as going through the basics of which fork to use (work from the outside in) and how to hold your wine glass (by the stem, so the drink doesn’t get warm), Mrs Harbord entertained the group with witty anecdotes, dispensing useful advice.

It is not polite, apparently, to sprinkle salt all over your plate – a small pile should be put in the corner of the plate and the food taken to the salt.

Obviously, a lady never drinks out of a can or bottle, only a glass, and does not generally help herself to more drinks – although it is acceptable to refill your own water glass if the “gentleman”

sitting next to you is not looking after you properly and you’re dying of thirst.

She also told us that some words, derived from French, are considered a little bit gauche and bourgeois in high society, including serviette, dessert and toilet. You should use napkin, pudding – or pud – and lavatory, although loo is also acceptable.

You should also avoid “pleased to meet you”, and opt for either a more personal compliment, with “how do you do?”, to which the correct response is also, “how do you do?”

“Etiquette is important and relevant,” Mrs Harbord says. “It is all part and parcel of presenting yourself well and making yourself feel good. This is why I think it is important to teach it in schools.

Often, children are no longer taught these important life-skills at home. That is the problem. There is a huge problem with discipline.”

The class – all women – is a real mix of ages, ranging from teenagers to ladies in their 40s. It’s a smallish group – ten of us – giving it a nice intimate feel. Everyone’s very pleasant and polite, if a little shy, and none really struck me as being greatly in need of etiquette lessons, but I suppose that people who are seriously deficient in manners probably, by definition, aren’t aware of the fact.

It’s kind of like being back at school, but an extremely civilised, all-girls school, without any screaming teachers, bullying or bitchiness.

NEXT on the timetable is replying to formal letters, which is taken by Belinda Alexander, a long-time friend of Mrs Harbord’s.

She’s also a former model who is now a freelance stylist and make-up artist. We’re given an extremely posh wedding invitation and split into pairs to reply. Although we all make a decent stab at it, none of us manages to get it spot on.

The last lesson before lunch is the one I’ve been dreading – deportment. Belinda is joined by Lady Elizabeth Devonport, a former ballet dancer, to put us through our paces. First, she takes us through removing a coat elegantly. She asks for a volunteer to demonstrate and the lady who gets up does it beautifully.

“Do you want have a go?”, Belinda beams at me.

Oh dear. I reluctantly get up. Obviously, I make a complete hash of it, but ever polite, Belinda simply suggests how I can improve and gets me to try again.

Next is walking. We’re told to imagine a thread at the top of our heads, pulling us straight, with tummies pulled in and bottoms tucked under.

Then, Lady Devonport gets out a bizarre-looking contraption – a back bra, which goes around your back and shoulders in a similar fashion to a concealed gun holster, and is supposed to keep you straight. I try it out and it does seem to force your back into line.

We practise walking with books on heads, doing a little modelling parade with a spin in the middle.

Everyone seems to get the hang of it eventually and by the end we’re all certainly more poised and postured than when we started.

After a break for lunch, Mrs Harbord demonstrates her speciality – flower arranging. She’s created a beautiful display, which she proceeds to dismantle and re-create before our eyes, making it look wonderfully easy. The trick, she says, is to build up and out at the same time, to ensure balance.

She also suggests using a lot of greenery, as it looks attractive and saves on expensive flowers.

Next class is make-up. Belinda works her magic on a willing volunteer who normally doesn’t wear makeup, giving her a subtle evening look. The transformation is remarkable and Belinda is full of useful tips for even a war paint junkie like me.

The final lesson is conversation. We sit and sip tea while the teaching trio politely make conversation with us. It’s a little odd, particularly as I’m usually the one asking the questions, but fun nevertheless.

Top tips include never asking about anything too personal as this may be embarrassing for the person you’re talking to and good bets for conversation include holidays, how their journey was and what they do for a living – although this is a little obvious, so should maybe be used later in the conversation.

When I walked into the etiquette class, I have to admit, I was unsure of how relevant or useful it would actually be in the 21 Century. But as well as having an extremely enjoyable and relaxed day, where everyone was simply pleasant to one another, a lot of the information passed on is invaluable for the modern woman. Worrying about whether you’re using the correct fork or not might seem a little frivolous compared to, say the Haiti disaster, but etiquette’s underlying philosophy is consideration and respect for others. And, particularly in an age where manners are underrated and underused, there’s very little which is more important than how you treat people.