Among the English upper- and upper-middle classes, this has often already been achieved by banishing oneХs offspring to character-building boarding schools for their entire adolescence. Until relatively recently, the upper class and aristocracy were determinedly anti-intellectual (a trait they shared, along with a penchant for sport and gambling, with the working classes), and rather looked down upon the middle classesХ reverence for higher education. Their sons might go to university, but this was not regarded as essential Р a spell in the army or at agricultural college or something would do just as well Р and academic achievement was even less important for their daughters. Lady Diana Spencer never seemed particularly ashamed of her total lack of academic qualifications, joking cheerfully in public speeches about her dismal O-level results and how ФthickХ she was. A middle-class girl would have been mortified. These attitudes are changing a little, particularly among the lower or less wealthy echelons of the upper class, whose offspring must now compete with the university-educated middle classes for the best jobs. Upper-class and even aristocratic or royal post-adolescents, such as Prince William, now find themselves bonding, team-building and comparing mosquito bites with middle-class teenagers on worthy Gap-Year adventures.
Gap-Year initiates of all classes are expected to come back from their Experience transformed into mature, socially aware, reliable adults, ready to take on the enormous challenge and responsibility of living in a university hall of residence, doing their own laundry and occasionally having to open a tin of beans when they come back from the pub to find that the cafeteria is shut. First-year university students who have Фdone a Gap YearХ regard themselves as superior to those who have come Фstraight from schoolХ Р more grown-up and worldly wise. They have a tendency to talk rather smugly about how much older they feel, compared to the immature, silly, un-Gap- yeared freshers.
In some less privileged sections of English society, a spell in prison or in a Young OffendersХ Institution at around the same age is regarded as having a similar character-building, maturing effect Р and graduates of this initiation-ordeal often exhibit much the same sense of smug superiority over their childish, uninitiated peers. In fact, if you look past the superficial ethnographic dazzle of accent and jargon, the similarities in the talk and manner of those who have Фbeen InsideХ and those who have been Gap-yeared are quite striking.
Student Rites
FreshersХ Week Rules
For the privileged university-goers, the eighteenth-birthday rites, A-level exams and possibly Gap-year ФordealХ are followed by another important rite of passage known as FreshersХ Week. This initiation ritual follows the classic pattern identified by van Gennep Р pre-liminal separation, liminal transition/marginalization and post-liminal incorporation. The initiates are first separated from their families, their familiar surroundings and their social status as schoolchildren. Most arrive at university accompanied by one or both parents, in cars crammed with objects from their old life (clothes, books, CDs, duvet, favourite pillow, posters, photos, teddy-bear) and specially purchased objects for their new life (shiny new kettle, mug, bowl, plate, spoon, towel and so on).
Once they have helped to unload all this, parents become something of an embarrassing encumbrance, and are dismissed by the fresher with unceremonious haste and impatient reassurances ФYes, yes Р IХll be fine. No donХt help me unpack, I can manage. DonХt fuss, OK? Yes, IХll ring you tomorrow. Yes, all right. Bye now, Bye...Х The fresher may in fact be feeling anxious and even tearful at the prospect of parting, but knows without being
told that it is not done Р indeed deeply uncool Р to display these feelings in front of other freshers. The fresher initiates barely have time to Blu-tac a few posters to their walls before the ФliminalХ phase begins
and they are hurled into a disorienting, noisy, exhausting succession of parties and fairs and events, staged by a bewildering variety of student clubs and societies Р sporting, social, theatrical, artistic, political Р all competing to sign them up for an impossible number of extra-curricular activities. These ФofficialХ events are interspersed with pub-crawls, late-night pizzas and bleary-eyed, rambling coffee-sessions at three in the morning (as well as endless queuing to register for courses, obtain student identity cards and sign incomprehensible forms). This week-long ФliminalХ phase is a period of cultural remission and inversion, in which the initiateХs senses are disturbed by alcohol and sleeplessness, social borders and categories are crossed and blurred, former identity is challenged and disrupted, and acceptance in the new social world is sought through pledges of affiliation to student clubs and societies. By the end of the week, the initiate has achieved a new social identity: he or she is incorporated as a student into the student ФtribeХ Р and finally allowed to rest a bit, calm down, and start attending lectures and participating in normal student life.
Students like to describe FreshersХ Week as ФmadХ and ФanarchicХ but, like most episodes of cultural remission, it is in fact a rule-governed, predictable, conventionalized deviation from convention. Certain normal social rules are suspended or inverted for the duration of the festivities Р talking to strangers, for example, is not only allowed but actively encouraged: one of the many guides to FreshersХ Week produced by student unions reminds initiates that this is Фprobably the only time in your lifeХ that you will be free to approach and strike up conversation with complete strangers, and urges you to make the most of the opportunity. The subtext is equally clear: after FreshersХ Week is over, the normal rules of Englishness apply, and talking to strangers without good cause is no longer acceptable. Freshers are encouraged to meet and make friends with as many fellow students as possible Р a euphemism for ignoring class barriers Р but also subtly reassured that friendships formed during the liminal period of FreshersХ Week are not ФbindingХ, that they will not be obliged to continue to associate with people from incompatible social backgrounds. ФYou will meet countless new people (many of whom you will never see again after the first two weeks) and drink countless pints (many of which you will see again, the next morning)Х are the instructions in one typical Фhow to survive FreshersХ WeekХ leaflet.
Getting drunk during FreshersХ Week is more or less compulsory (Фyou will drink countless pintsХ) and the English self-fulfilling belief in the magical disinhibiting powers of alcohol is essential Р without it, the inversion of normal social rules about talking to strangers would be pointless, as most freshers would be too shy to approach anyone. Free social lubricant is provided at all of the parties and events during FreshersХ Week, and initiates are expected to over-indulge and shed their inhibitions. In the prescribed manner, that is: there is a fairly limited range of acceptable drunken behaviours Р ФmooningХ (exposing oneХs bottom) is allowed, for example, but ФflashingХ (exposing oneХs genitals) would be frowned upon; arguing and even fighting are approved, but queue-jumping is still strictly prohibited; telling bawdy jokes is fine, but racist ones are inappropriate. Among the English, drunken disinhibition is an orderly, well-regulated state Р and FreshersХ Week, despite the appearance of anarchy and debauchery, is actually a choreographed sequence of traditional, conventional rituals in which, every October, first-year students across the country shed exactly the same designated inhibitions in precisely the same time- honoured ways.
Exam and Graduation Rules
The next significant transitional rites for students are final exams, post-exam celebrations and graduation ceremonies: the passage from studenthood to proper adulthood. Studenthood can itself be seen as a rather prolonged ФliminalХ stage Р a sort of limbo state where one is neither an adolescent nor a fully-fledged adult. University effectively postpones true adulthood for an extra three years. As limbo states go, this is quite a pleasant one: students have almost all of the privileges of full adult members of society, but few of the responsibilities. English students moan and whine constantly to each other about their ФimpossibleХ workload, and are always having what they call Фan essay crisisХ (meaning they have to write an essay) Р but the demands of most degree courses are not very onerous compared to those of an average full-time job.
The ordeal of final exams provides an excuse for even more therapeutic moaning-rituals, with their own unwritten rules. The modesty rule is important: even if you are feeling reasonably calm and confident about an exam, it is not done to say so Р you must pretend to be full of anxiety and self-doubt, convinced that you are going to fail, because it goes without saying (although you say it repeatedly) that you have not done anywhere near enough work. Only the most arrogant, pompous and socially insensitive students will ever admit to having done enough revision for their exams; such people are rare, and usually heartily disliked.
If you have clearly swotted like mad, you can admit this only in a self-deprecatory context: ФIХve worked my butt off, but IХm still completely pants at genetics Р I just know IХm going to screw up Р and anyway thereХs bound to be a question on the one thing I havenХt revised properly. Just SodХs law, isnХt it?Х Any expression of confidence must be counterbalanced by an expression of insecurity: ФI think IХm OK on the sociology paper, but statistics is just totally doing my head in...Х
The superstition element, or the risk of making a fool of oneself, may be an important factor before the exam, but the modest demeanour is maintained even after the desired result has been achieved. Those who do well must always appear surprised by their success, even if they secretly feel it was well deserved. Cries of ФOh my God! I donХt believe it!Х are the norm when such students receive their results, and while elation is expected, success should be attributed to good fortune (ФI was lucky Р all the right questions came upХ) rather than talent or hard work. An Oxford medical student who had got a First, and was being congratulated by friends and relatives at a celebratory lunch, kept ducking her head, shrugging and insisting that ФItХs not really such a big
deal in science subjects Р you donХt have to be clever or anything, itХs all factual Р you just memorize the stuff and give the right answers. ItХs just parrot-learningХ.
At post-exam celebrations, it is also customary for all students to indulge in moaning rituals about their sense of Фanti-climaxХ. At every party, you will hear students complaining about how jaded they are. ФI know IХm supposed to be feeling all happy and celebrating,Х they say Фbut actually itХs a bit of an anti-climaxХ, ФEveryoneХs all euphoric, but I just feel like, yeah, OK, whatever...Х Although every student seems to believe that he or she is the first to experience this, the anti-climax lament is so common that students who do feel euphoric and celebratory are in the minority.
The next opportunity not to get excited is the graduation ceremony. Students all claim to be bored and unimpressed by this occasion; none will admit to any sense of pride: it is just a tedious ritual, to be endured for the sake of doting parents. As at the start of the FreshersХ Week rites, parents are again seen as something of an embarrassment. Many students go to some lengths to keep their parents and other relatives away from their friends and from any tutors or lecturers who might be present at the ceremony (ФNo, Dad! DonХt ask him about my Тcareer prospectsУ. This isnХt a bloody PTA meeting...Х; ФLook, Mum, just donХt do anything soppy, OK?Х; ФOh for ChristХs sake Granny, donХt cry! ItХs only a degree Р I havenХt won the fu- the flipping Nobel prize...Х). Students with overly doting parents adopt bored, exasperated expressions Р rolling their eyes and sighing heavily, particularly when anyone they know is within view or earshot.
The last few pages have focused disproportionately on educated-middle-class rites of passage Р Gap Year, FreshersХ Week, graduation. This is because there are no equivalent national, official rites for those who leave school at 16 Р or even for those who stop full-time education at eighteen. School leavers may celebrate in some way with their friends and/or family, but there is no formal ritual to mark their passage from school to vocational training, employment or unemployment. Yet oneХs first job (or dole cheque) is an important landmark, and arguably much more of a momentous change than simply going from school to university. Some schools have special speech days with prizegivings and so on, but no actual ФgraduationХ ceremony (certainly nothing like an American high-school graduation, which is a big event, more grand and elaborate than most English university graduation ceremonies). GCSE and A-level exam results are sent to school leavers by post some months later, so ФgraduatesХ would in any case only be celebrating the end of their schooldays, rather than the academic success or achievement implied by the term ФgraduationХ. But it still seems a shame that the completion of secondary education, and the passage from school to adult working life, is not ritually marked in some more significant way.
Matching Rites
At the beginning of this chapter, I pointed out that there is little about the format of an average English wedding that would seem odd or unfamiliar to a visitor from any other modern Western culture: we have the usual stag and hen nights (Americans call them bachelor and bachelorette parties); church or civil ceremony followed by reception; champagne; bride in white; wedding cake ditto; bridesmaids (optional); best man; speeches; special food; drink; dancing (optional); family tensions and feuds (more or less compulsory); etc. From an anthropologistХs perspective, an English wedding also has much in common even with exotic tribal marriage rites that would seem odd to most modern Western eyes. Despite superficial differences, they all conform to van GennepХs basic rites-of-passage formula Р separation, transition, incorporation Р by which people are ceremoniously shunted from one sociocultural/life-cycle category to the next.
The English make rather less of a big social fuss about the ФengagementХ than many other cultures Р in some societies, the betrothal or engagement party can be as important an event as the wedding itself. (Perhaps to compensate, we make rather more of a fuss over the stag and hen nights, which are often considerably more protracted and festive than the wedding.)
DebrettХs etiquette bible reminds us, somewhat pessimistically, that Фan important function of an engagement is to allow the two parental sides to get used to one another, and thus smooth out as early as possible any differences and difficulties.Х This tells us a lot about the English attitude to weddings. We know that a wedding is supposed to be a joyous event, but in our usual Eeyorish fashion, we really see it as an ordeal, an occasion fraught with difficulties and dangers (or, as the ever-cheery DebrettХs puts it Фa minefield for the socially insecure and a logistical nightmare for the organisersХ and, for good measure, Фa source of inter-family tensionХ). Something is bound to go drastically wrong, and someone is bound to be mortally offended Р and because of our belief in the magical disinhibiting powers of alcohol, we know that the veneer of polite conviviality may crack, and the inevitable family tensions may erupt into unseemly tears and quarrels. Even if stiff upper lips are maintained on the day, there will be grumbles and recriminations in the aftermath, and in any case, even at best, we expect the whole ritual to be rather embarrassing.
The Money-talk Taboo
When the tensions are over money, which they often are Р not least because weddings themselves tend to be expensive affairs Р the embarrassment factor is doubled. Unlike most other cultures, we persist in the notion that love and marriage have nothing to do with money Р and that any mention of money would Фlower the toneХ of the event. It is customary, for example, for the male partner to fork out about a monthХs salary on an engagement ring (in America it can be double that, or even more, as an engagement ring is seen as a more overt symbol of the maleХs status as a provider) but to ask or talk about how much the ring cost would be offensive. This does not stop everyone making their own private guesses, or asking about the stones and the setting as a roundabout way of estimating the price, but only the groom (and perhaps his bank manager) should know the exact cost,
and only a very crass, vulgar groom would either boast or complain about it. The cost of the wedding itself is traditionally borne by the brideХs parents, but in these days of late marriages
is now often met or at least shared by the couple themselves and/or grandparents or other relatives. But whoever has footed the lionХs share of the bill, the groom will usually, in his speech, politely thank the brideХs parents for Фthis wonderful partyХ or some such euphemism Р the words ФmoneyХ or ФpaidХ are not used. If the groomХs parents, grandparents or uncle have contributed by paying for, say, the champagne or the honeymoon, they may be thanked for ФprovidingХ or ФgivingХ these items Р to use the words Фpaying forХ would imply that money was involved. We all know perfectly well that money is involved, but it would be bad manners to draw attention to the fact. The usual English hypocrisies. These polite euphemisms may conceal many petty financial squabbles, and in some cases much seething resentment over who paid for what or how unnecessarily extravagant the whole thing was. If you are hard-up, there is very little point in beggaring yourself to provide a lavishly expensive wedding for your daughter: other cultures might be impressed, but the English will only find it ostentatious, and wonder why you did not Фjust do something simple and unpretentiousХ.
Humour Rules
Quite apart from the difficulties caused by money, or by the money-talk taboo, there is nowadays endless potential for tension in the composition of the two families involved in the ritual: it is highly likely that at least one set of parents will be divorced, and possibly remarried or cohabiting with new partners, perhaps with children from second or even third pair-bondings.
And even if nobody makes a drunken exhibition of themselves, and nobody is offended by the seating plan or the transport arrangements or the best manХs speech, someone is bound to do or say something that will cause embarrassment. At the first English wedding I ever attended, I was that someone, although I was only about five years old. My parents had decided that my sisters and I should have some understanding of the important rite of passage we were about to witness. My father told us all about pair-bonding, described the wedding customs and practices of different cultures, and explained the intricacies of matrilateral cross-cousin marriage. My mother took it upon herself to explain the Фfacts of lifeХ Р sex, where babies come from and so on. My sisters, aged about three and four, were perhaps a little too young to take much interest in this, but I was riveted. At the church the next day, I found the ceremony equally fascinating, and during a momentХs silent pause (possible after Фspeak now, or forever hold your peaceХ), I turned to my mother and asked, in a loud, piercing whisper, ФIs he going to put the seed in now?Х
I was not taken to any weddings for quite a few years after that, which seems a bit unfair, as I had clearly grasped the essential points, and only got the chronological order of things slightly mixed up. The next one I remember was in America, my fatherХs second marriage. I was about eight or nine Р old enough this time for a lecture on bifurcate merging kinship terminology and virilocal versus uxorilocal postmarital residence patterns, with diagrams. This did not stop me suffering an attack of (mercifully quiet) giggles during the most solemn part of the ceremony. At the time, I felt rather ashamed of myself for being so childish (my father was always telling me to Фstop being childishХ), but I now realize that my urge to laugh was a very English response. We find solemnity discomforting, and somehow faintly ridiculous; the most serious, formal, earnest bits of important ceremonies have an unfortunate tendency to make us want to laugh. This is an uneasy, nervous sort of laughter, a close relation of our knee-jerk humour reflex. Humour is our favourite coping mechanism, and laughter is our standard way of dealing with our social dis-ease.
English wedding receptions Р and most other rites of passage Р ring with laughter: virtually every conversational exchange is either overtly or subtly humorous. This is not, however, necessarily an indication that everyone is having a happy, jolly time. Some may well be feeling genuinely cheerful, but even they are also simply obeying the unwritten English humour rules Р rules so deeply ingrained they have become an unthinking, involuntary impulse.
Dispatching Rites Which is one of the reasons why we have a big problem with funerals. There are few rites of passage on Earth as
stilted, uncomfortable and excruciatingly awkward as a typical English funeral.65 The Humour-vivisection Rule
At funerals we are deprived of our primary social coping mechanism Р our usual levels of humour and laughter being deemed inappropriate on such an officially sad occasion. At other times, we joke constantly about death, as we do about anything that frightens or disturbs us, but funerals are the one time when humour Р or at least any humour beyond that which raises a wry, sad smile Р would be disrespectful and out of place. Without it, we are left naked, unprotected, our social inadequacies exposed for all to see.
This is fascinating but painful to watch, like some cruel vivisectionistХs animal-behaviour experiment: observing the English at funerals feels like watching turtles deprived of their shells. Denied the use of our humour reflex, we seem horribly vulnerable, as though some vital social organ has been removed Р which in effect it has. Humour is such an essential, hard-wired element of the English character that forbidding (or severely restricting) its use is the psychological equivalent of amputating our toes Р we simply cannot function socially without humour. The English humour rules are ФrulesХ principally in the fourth sense of the term allowed by the Oxford English Dictionary: Фthe normal or usual state of thingsХ. Like having toes. Or breathing. At funerals we are left bereft and
helpless. No irony! No mockery! No teasing! No banter! No humorous understatement! No jokey wordplay or double entendres! How the hell are we supposed to communicate?
Earnestness-taboo Suspension and Tear-quotas
Not only are we not allowed to relieve tensions, break ice and generally self-medicate our chronic social dis-ease by making a joke out of everything, but we are expected to be solemn. Not only is humour drastically restricted, but earnestness, normally tabooed, is actively prescribed. We are supposed to say solemn, earnest, heartfelt things to the bereaved relatives, or respond to these things in a solemn, earnest, heartfelt way if we are the bereaved.
But not too heartfelt. This is only a limited, qualified suspension of the normal taboo on earnestness and sentimentality. Even those family and friends who are genuinely sad are not allowed to indulge in any cathartic weeping and wailing. Tears are permitted; a bit of quiet, unobtrusive sobbing and sniffing is acceptable, but the sort of anguished howling that is considered normal, and indeed expected, at funerals in many other cultures, would here be regarded as undignified and inappropriate.
Even the socially approved quiet tears and sniffles become embarrassing and make people uncomfortable if excessively prolonged, and England is possibly the only culture in the world in which no tears at all is entirely normal and acceptable. Most adult English males do not cry publicly at funerals; if their eyes do start to fill, they will usually brush the wetness away with a quick, angry gesture and Фpull themselves togetherХ. Although female relatives and friends are more likely to shed a few tears, failure to do so is not taken as a sign of callousness or absence of grief, providing a suitably sombre expression is maintained, broken only by an occasional Фbrave smileХ.
In fact, many will regard such restraint as admirable. There may have been criticism of some members of the royal family for their ФuncaringХ response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, but no-one was surprised that her young sons shed only the most minimal, discreet tears at her funeral, having maintained their composure throughout the long walk behind her coffin, and indeed throughout almost all of the funeral service. They were commended for their bravery and dignity; their smiles and murmured thanks as they accepted the condolences of the crowds during a ФwalkaboutХ were widely praised, and somehow far more poignant than any amount of uninhibited noisy sobbing. The English do not measure grief in tears. Too many tears are regarded as somewhat self-indulgent, even a bit selfish and unfair. Grief-stricken relatives who do not cry, or cry only briefly, at a funeral are likely to be seen as showing great courtesy and consideration for others, putting on a brave face to reassure their guests, rather than demanding attention and comfort for themselves. To be more precise, and at the risk of getting into pea-counting mode again, my calculations indicate that the optimum tear-quota at an average English funeral is as follows:
Adult males (close relatives or very close friends of the deceased): One or two brief Фeye-fillingsХ during the service, brusquely brushed away. Brave smiles. Adult males (other): None. But maintain sombre/sympathetic expression. Sad/concerned smiles. Adult females (close relatives or very close friends): One or two short weeps during the service, with optional sniffles; occasional eye-filling, apologetically dabbed with hanky, in response to condolences. Brave smiles.
Adult females (other): None, or one eye-filling during service. Maintain sad/sympathetic expression. Sad/concerned smiles. Male children (close relatives/friends): Unlimited if very young (under ten, say); older boys one weep during service. Brave smiles. Male children (other): Same as for adult males (other). Female children (close relatives/friends): Unlimited if very young; older girls roughly double adult female tear-quota. Brave smiles. Female children (other): None required, but brief eye-filling/sniffing during service allowed.
Quite apart from any genuine grief we may be experiencing, the prohibition on humour, the suspension of the earnestness taboo and the tear-quotas make English funerals a highly unpleasant business. We are required to switch off our humour reflex, express emotions we do not feel, and suppress most of those we do feel. On top of all this, the English regard death itself as rather embarrassing and unseemly, something we prefer not to think or talk about. Our instinctive response to death is a form of denial Р we try to ignore it and pretend it is not happening, but this is rather hard to do at a funeral.
Not surprisingly, we tend to become tongue-tied, stiff and uncomfortable. There are no universally agreed- upon stock phrases or gestures (particularly among the higher social classes, who regard comforting clichЋs and platitudes as ФcommonХ) so we donХt know what to say to each other or what to do with our hands, resulting in a lot of mumbled so sorries, very sads and what can I says Р and awkward embraces or wooden little arm-pats. Although most funerals are vaguely ФChristianХ, this does not indicate any religious beliefs at all, so references to God or the afterlife are inappropriate unless one is absolutely sure of someoneХs faith. If the deceased was over eighty (seventy-five at a pinch) we can mutter something about him or her having had a Фgood inningsХ Р and some gentle humour is permitted at the post-ceremony gathering Р but otherwise we are reduced to mutely rueful head-shaking and meaningful heavy sighs.
Clergymen and others delivering formal eulogies at funerals are lucky: they do have stock phrases they can use. Those used to describe the deceased person are a sort of code. It is forbidden to speak ill of the dead, but everyone knows, for example, that Фalways the life and soul of the partyХ is a euphemism for drunkenness; ФdidnХt suffer fools gladlyХ is a polite way of calling the deceased a mean-spirited, grumpy old sod; Фgenerous with her affectionsХ means she was a promiscuous tart; and Фa confirmed bachelorХ has always meant he was gay.
The ФPublic Outpouring of GriefХ Rule
Speaking of stock phrases: our reaction to the death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales was described by every newspaper, magazine, radio and television reporter as Фan unprecedented public outpouring of griefХ. And I do mean every single one of them Р it was almost spooky, the way they all used the exact same phrase. I have already pointed out that this allegedly un-English ФoutpouringХ consisted mainly of orderly, quiet and dignified queuing but, After Diana, the media became very attached to the phrase Фpublic outpouring of griefХ and have trotted it out at every possible opportunity ever since.
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