THE GODPARENT BOOM

Nicholas Coleridge gives a personal

guide to the increasingly complicated and commercial world of the modem godparent

ANYONE who has attempted to organise a christening, or even become a godparent, in the last couple of years will have noticed an odd and contradictory state of affairs. The Church of England has never been less accommodating over the arrangements. To secure a private christening, as opposed to public baptism in the middle of morning service, now requires special pleading or coercion, and even then is usually refused. To inveigle a vicar into christening your baby at all involves months of dutiful Sun- day worship. And yet, as never before, the role of god- parent, and the sheer number of them jostling around the font, has grown and grown. Until the Fifties, it was novel for any baby to be allocated more than three: `two of the same sex as the child, one of the opposite sex', as section B23 of the Church Canons puts it. Thereafter, the customary number rose to four — two godfathers, two godmothers. Lately this has expanded to six, often seven. At the christening of one of my latest god-daughters there were eight of us, including Joan Collins in a wide-brimmed hat, craning our necks for a glimpse of the action. I have heard of a recent English country christening featur- ing nine godparents, and another, in New England, ten. Among a certain species of modern parent it is becoming as important to sign up a large and judiciously chosen roster of godparents as for the chairmen of certain companies to field a board of heavy-hitting non-executive directors. Since so many of us marry later, we accu- mulate more friends. When it comes to choosing godparents, this is awkward. Few people any longer have a single 'best friend'; instead we are enmeshed in a com- plex web of overlapping friendships. Both husband and wife may have a dozen friends each of whom they have known well for as many years. It is tricky to select only three or four front-runners from this huge cast of characters, so numbers swell. This is exac- erbated by women having fewer children, and having them later. Potential godpar- ents could once be gently mopped up over four, five or six offspring. Now, like com- muters on an ever more truncated British Rail service, the godparents have to be packed in more tightly. The 38-year-old mother, honing the list of godparents for her firstborn, is conscious that subsequent children might not be physically possible. So this might be her only chance to include her childhood friend and the school-friend and the flatmate and the office friend and the parents of her existing godchildren and the rich bachelor with a powerboat in Villefranche. And since we travel more, for pleasure and business, we make more friends abroad, and so increasingly at christenings there is the added presence of a mysterious Boston, Tokyo or Hong Kong godfather too.

The godparents boom can also be par- tially explained by darker factors. Ewa Lewis, the Taller social editor who has 12 godchildren, despite training as a child psy- chologist, points out that divorce tends to scatter the godparents. 'Every time another of our best friends splits up, bang goes another godparent.' In virtually every mar- riage, it is the wife who remembers the godchildren's birthdays, irrespective of whether they are her own or her husband's. After an acrimonious break-up, with friends obliged to take sides, it is unlikely that the former wife will continue to send presents to her ex's godchildren. For this reason, Mrs Lewis recommends that par- ents start with a healthy complement at the font, so there will still be some left when

others peel away, bolt or remarry.

There is a theory, too, that in a recession there's a lot to be said for adding a couple of extra-rich godparents to the mix, so that in the event of embarrassment they will do the decent thing and cough up a few terms' school fees, take the child skiing, slip a wad of traveller's cheques into their rucksack and eventually underwrite their wedding. A fashionable London clergyman told me that either he was becoming poorer, or else godparents were getting comparatively richer. (How on earth could he tell? He claimed by their surnames and accents; more Americans and glamorous South Americans, fewer tweed suits.) If people are really thinking in this calculating way, then let's hope it's mostly subliminal, though it would be high-minded parents who didn't take a villa with a pool near Lucca into consideration when choosing between two equally kind friends. In corpo- rate America, it is becoming commonplace for pushy executives to invite their boss to stand godfather, while the newspaper owner Mat Zukermann is godfather to the children of half of New York's media establishment.

And where exactly, you may wonder, does spirituality stand in all this? In the mind of most godparents, if they cared to admit it, well back. This is not for lack of trying by the Church of England. Since the late Eighties, just when godpar- ents were proliferating, an increasingly fun- damentalist Church has frowned upon private christenings, viewing them as over- whelmingly social and stand-offish. No records are kept of how many of the 186,200 annual baptisms of babies under the age of one are private, but it is estimat- ed by the Church to have slipped below 5 per cent. A spokesman for Church House told me that 'except in extraordinary cir- cumstances, for instance an emergency baptism in hospital, the Alternative Service Prayer Book requires the administration of baptism in the course of public worship. Baptism is all about becoming a member of the family of God. If the family of God is not there, a great nonsense is being pro- moted. Old "hole-in-the-wall baptisms" are not encouraged,' he added sternly.

In a growing number of parishes, it is not just the parents who must be active wor- shippers to secure a christening but all the godparents too. St Mary's, Gillingham, in Kent, is currently clamping down and doesn't permit anyone at all to become a godparent unless they can prove six months of regular Anglican church-going. At a time of rapidly declining membership, I am surprised the Church feels it is in a position to make these demands.

Modern parents, conversely, attach increasing significance to their godparents' character rather than creed. Roman Catholics, Jews, Greek Orthodox and agnostics all regularly stand godparent at Church of England christenings. Having just totted them up, I find that my own children have equal numbers of C of E and non-C of E godparents. Nobody has ever questioned me about my own faith or any- body else's before a christening. Nor is there anything in the service to disturb a non-Anglican. The vicar announces at the beginning, 'All those who bring children to be baptised [i.e., the parents] must affirm their allegiance to Christ.' Godparents later declare, 'I turn to Christ. I believe and trust in Him.' All reassuringly woolly, and no problem either of course for Hindus or Muslims since they view Jesus as a prophet.

Being tentatively asked whether you'd consider becoming a godparent is the warmest compliment short of a marriage proposal, implying as it does that you are a good enough friend (in both senses) of the baby's parents and that they expect to go on seeing you for the next 20 years. It is a role that exposes you to much of the fun but none of the responsibility of a child's life. Your sole realistic obligation is to indulge them. You have a special bond which, not being a blood tie, avoids the squabbles and nuances of family. Uncondi- tionally, you wish your godchild well. You can plan treats. You can give godchildren presents they really want, but which you would consider too hideous to buy for your own children. One of my happiest Saturday afternoons this year was spent choosing for a god-daughter three frog-faced, pink- haired trolls, and inflicting them upon her parents' impeccable post-modern house. If your godchildren grow up successful, you bask in their glory; if they end up a mess, it's not your fault.

Your only two formal fixtures both cul- minate in jolly lunches. For some reason, probably the mixture of ages, family and friends, christenings are great parties; the service swift and inspiring, the status of the godparents unambiguous, the baby's cousins and grandparents (having no for- mal role to play in the proceedings) enthu- siastic spectators. And then, 15 years later, the confirmation: a reunion in a packed school chapel, vague unease and embar- rassment at the sincerity of the chaplain and confirmands, followed by another gar- gantuan lunch at a local hotel. What else does a modern godparent do? The New York godfather to one of our children sent us a letter detailing what he sees as his duties: '1) Suitable birthday and Christmas gifts each year, with an Ameri- can theme (this has translated into Davy Crockett racoon hats and baseball gloves); 2) Interesting summer jobs in New York when teenage years arrive; 3) Act as sound- ing board for complaints about stuffy and over-restrictive parents.'

Unless you are intending to be a dor- mant godparent, publicly reviled by your godchildren for never giving presents (`Dear Godmother Clare, Thank you for the cricket pads you gave me for Christ- mas. My Godfather Nicholas sent me noth- ing as per usual' etc. etc.), then it isn't cheap. An adequate christening present always seems to cost £100, whether you take the enamel cuff-links route, the Beat- rix Potter books and shelf route or any other. A really generous present like gold engraved cuff-links is five times as much. Then there are pre-christening baby pre- sents, at least 18 years of birthdays and Christmases, Sooty show tickets, the Royal Tournament, Thorpe Park, confirmation (once a Bible; now brooches for girls, a putter for boys), an extra-generous wed- ding present. Even then it doesn't end.

Once the obligations of godparents were discharged at confirmation. Now you're a lifer. Half of my own kind godparents still send me, at the age of 36, Christmas parcels of books and sponge-bags. For each new godchild you take on, you must reck- on, in today's money, a minimum of £3,000.

Almost the sole enduring thing in the godparent status game is securing a mem- ber of the royal family. The Monarch as godmother to your baby carries even more kudos than Lady Thatcher as non-executive director of your holding board. The Prince of Wales has 20 godchildren, the Princess rather fewer (but sees them more often), the Queen about two dozen, whose wed- dings she punctiliously attends. The great question is how to set about inviting one of them to be a godparent, assuming you are first a friend. Do you ask them straight, or through an equerry, or wait to be asked by them? The correct answer, according to the biographer Hugo. Vickers, is the last, hav- ing primed the pump by inviting them to visit the newborn baby in hospital or early upon its return home. To ask directly invites rebuff. The royal family, in this respect, identifies with those fierce notices pinned above saloon bars: 'Please do not ask for credit. Refusal often offends. '

'1 vont to be a loan.' Edward VII consented to become godfa- ther to a child only if there was a decent chance he was the biological father too. At modern christenings, it is old flames who are increasingly invited to become godpar- ents. At the recent London christening of a baby whose parents had each led a breezily promiscuous pre-wedded life, there were seven godparents ranged around the font: three of his exes, and four of hers.

Nicholas Coleridge is managing director of Conde Nast.