In various odd corners of The Spectator lately fortunate persons
who have resumed contact with Switzerland have been drawing polite but firm comparisons between that country and this, usually to the advantage of the former. I heard this week of another traveller who had come back with a stricken heart to English—not food— manners. I wish I could think her wrong. I wish I could do any- thing so to change conditions as to make her wrong. But about the degeneracy of ordinary manners, of common, decent, everyday behaviour, there can, I am afraid, be no question at all. Of course, there are excuses for it. Of course, we are all tired and living on our nerves. But bad manners make things worse for all concerned, not better. Rudeness ruffles, courtesy calms. And the very fact that we know we are in danger of letting manners slip is a good reason for keeping an extra resolute grip on them. That, no doubt, is enough said ; this is not morality corner. But frictions and tensions are numerous enough anyhow these days to make it almost criminal to add to them wantonly.
Previous page
