DON'T START WITH 'THANK YOU'

At the height of the party season,

Ewa Lewis on the rights and

wrongs of thank-you letters

IT IS SAD that letter-writing is a dying art and future history is on computer instead. There are no longer ribboned bundles to keep and rummage through, eyes misting with melancholy or mirth.

There is one kind of letter which sur- vives, however, and remains quintessential- ly English — the thank-you letter. My Polish mother took some time to get used to this custom when she arrived here. On the Continent, it is more usual to use the telephone for this purpose, but then it would be unthinkable to arrive not bearing a gift. Both these European fashions are beginning to seep into British etiquette.

Sir Winston Churchill's granddaughter, Emma Soames, editor of the Saturday Tele- graph Magazine, says, 'Thank-you letters can go to ridiculous lengths, but since they are the only kind of letters we seem to write, we shouldn't stop.' The photographer Terry O'Neill, when he was going out with Tamara Beckwith-Smith, said he was terribly impressed with her friends who always wrote such nice letters to thank him whenever he took them out: 'They were brought up to it, I suppose, but so many aren't.' Paddy Ash- down obviously was too. 'I always write a thank-you letter,' he told me, 'even to jour- nalists for lunch. It may only be a quick scribble but I think it is important.'

Call it a tread-and-butter' letter if you must — which evokes a yawn even before it is read — but there is none more crucial. I am still getting letters for presents and parties given weeks ago. One read: 'Some- one told me that the length of time between a thank-you letter and the occa- sion reflects the enjoyment, and that a let- ter received the next day might be interpreted as rude. I hope a month's gap is acceptable.' Sorry, it isn't. He gives twice who gives quickly. Scott Fitzgerald wrote to his 19-year-old daughter, Scottie: 'A giver gets no pleasure in a letter acknowl- edging something three weeks late, even though it crawls with apologies — you will have stolen pleasure from one who has tried to give it to you (Ecclesiastes Fitzger- ald): Viscount Weymouth, who received a mountain of fabulous presents at his 21st birthday ball at Longleat, went away for a month before getting round to writing, by which time he'd completely forgotten who had given what and had to send a round- robin letter saying, 'I must apologise for not being able to elaborate on a simple thank you.' Whoops. We have all been guilty, though. A friend of mine, a father of two, is still writing thank-you letters for his wed- ding presents and is terrified of getting divorced before he has completed them.

There is nothing that will really compen- sate for this kind of oversight. One ploy which might save you from total damna- tion is to send the letter to an incorrect' address. If you are lucky the Post Office will open it and return it to you in a brown envelope. You can then resend the whole package to the right address with a note of apology on the lines of: 'I sent this weeks ago, and look what happened.'

It's worth a try but it still will not erase the disappointment. A well-written letter should give as much pleasure to read as you have been given by the gift, hospitali- ty, favour or whatever was received.

Drusilla Beyfus, author of a book on eti- quette, says: 'It is reassuring to hear that one's offering has been well received and why. So say what it is, how you will enjoy it or use it, and give a good reason for the excellent choice.' Just like the three-year- old who was sent a lovely big ticking clock for Christmas, and whose mother wrote on his behalf: 'Charlie absolutely adores his present and rushes up to everyone saying, "Would you like to see my cock?" ' If it's a real brute, then dwell perhaps on the thought behind it: 'The singing loo seat has made us laugh a lot and it was so nice of you to cheer us up.'

The same principle applies when thank- ing for dinner and mentioning the food. Of course the hostess wants to be told that it was delectable, but do not say so if it wasn't, since she probably realises the soufflé didn't rise and will then dismiss every other compliment in your letter as a lie. The essence is sincerity and, since peo- ple like to believe well of themselves, if you reinforce this notion you already have a great friendship going.

The aim of every hostess is that every guest should enjoy her hospitality, and she will feel the party is prolonged if they write and tell her that they had a happy time. Some letters can even become gifts in them- selves. Princess Galitzine, an assiduous let- ter-writer, may for a small occasion send a card of the Galitzine Library in St Peters- burg which is so lovely one couldn't bear to throw it away. Ally Cooper sends charming 3-D pop-up cards which can't be consigned to the bin either, and since her writing is rather illegible, they sit on the desk and, like an Advent calendar, each day another word is deciphered. Isla Blair, the actress, loves writing letters and always thanks for every- thing within the week on handmade paper closed with sealing wax. 'One can be more articulate on paper, poetic even, without sounding camp,' she says.

One can be intentionally rude too. But if you are going to be insulting, it must be effective and with good reason. Choose your words with care — you may be forced to eat them later. Having been invited to stay in the Mediterranean where our host was ungracious and tyrannical and nearly drowned us on his yacht, I wrote on thick creamy parchment of the kind that you need a chisel to fold: 'Dear X, Thank you for allowing us to stay in your beautiful house. I hope you get a lot of pleasure from your new boat, Yours. . . . ' I can gleefully report that I haven't had to speak to him since.

First and last sentences are crucial. A poor beginning and a lame ending can spoil every- thing in the middle. Avoid clichés which show a lack of thought. Since most of us are short-changed in the bright, original thought department, we must disguise the fact.

Most importantly, never start with 'Thank you'. It is so depressing, the reader drops off face down on the table before the next sentence. This lovely envelope lands on the mat among all the ghastly brown bills, and you open it eagerly to find it says: 'Thank you so much for the delicious ravio- li.' Victoria Mather solves it by writing: 'You were completely brilliant. I was sick after those magnificent oysters and I loved sitting opposite Joan Collins, even if I was scared to death.'

No need to go on for pages either. Brevi- ty is the soul of a letter of this kind, but do check your grammar — `Me and Mary loved the picture' will not win you admira- tion. Neither is getting someone's name wrong: it gives the impression you don't really care about them.

Impact is everything, so stationery is worth some thought and is a social mine- field in itself. Neutral colours are best. Dayglo yellow with silver ink does nothing to enhance the written word. Typewriters and computers are definitely out. The charm of a letter lies in the time and trou- ble invested in it, which is one of the many reasons why the fax is quite unacceptable on these occasions. One can imagine a modern equivalent of a Bateman cartoon depicting the guest who faxed a thank-you.

Ewa Lewis is social editor of Tatler.