Being Modern

In Cary Grant’s 1960 film The Grass Is Greener, we see an old fashioned man fighting, in his own way, for his wife against a modern millionaire.  There is a conversation near the beginning of the film between Grant’s character, Earl Vitor Rhyall, and his butler, Sellers, in which the butler lays out for his master this particular conflict of being a non-modern man in a modern world.  In this scene, Sellers is concerned because he does not seem to be able to make progress with a novel he is writing.

Sellers: Almost certainly the basic trouble is myself.  I’m fundamentally happy and contented.  That’s bad enough of course.  But on top of that, I’m normal.  That’s fatal.

Victor: Hmmm you mean you’d prefer to be unhappy and abnormal.

Sellers: (Smiling) Of course.  You see I want to be a success and to be a success one has to at least start off by being modern.  Like yourself, m’lord, I’m not.  It means I have no feeling of insecurity or frustration.  No despair.

Victor: And that’s essential.

Sellers: First essential.  I feel perfectly contented, really rather blameless and hardly resent anything at all.

Victor: Tsk, tsk.  You are in a pickle, aren’t you?

The Young Fogey: An Elegy

(I have had a link to this article for some time, but I wanted to make sure that I could still find it when needed.  So, I've mercilessly cribbed it from The Spectator.  No disrespect intended.  In fact, I wish to pay Mr. Mount the utmost compliment by attempting to save his article for posterity.  --O.K.) 


The Young Fogey: An Elegy

Harry Mount mourns the extinction of young men who wore four-piece tweed suits, including ‘westkits’, and loved the old Prayer Book 

They’re playing rap music in the jewellery department at Christie’s South Kensington. In T.M. Lewin, the Jermyn Street shirtmakers, you can dip into a fridge by the cufflinks counter and have a frozen mini-Mars while you are leafing through the chocolate corduroy jackets.

But who is left to mourn these things? In the old days, the Young Fogey, the character invented by Alan Watkins on these pages in 1984, would have been in the vanguard of the protesters, shrieking and whinnying away about the desecration of his haunts. He is silent ...because he is no more.

Twenty years after his creation, the Young Fogey has pedalled off into the sunset on his sit-up-and-beg butcher’s bike, broad-brim fedora firmly on head, wicker basket strapped to the handlebars by leather and brass ties.

He hasn’t actually died. The two archetypes of the Young Fogey mentioned by Mr Watkins — the journalist and novelist A.N. Wilson, and Dr John Casey, Fellow of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge — were only in their thirties at the time, and so are now in their fifties and in rude health. But there is no one following in their footsteps and they have abandoned the whimsical attitudes that once defined them.

The grown-up Young Fogey — now, typically, in a position of power, as are Mr Wilson and Dr Casey — will live in some style, but he’ll no longer be interested in style. You might not even notice him in a crowd. Goodbye, braces with old-fashioned fasteners and trouser waistbands strapped perilously close to the nipple line. Farewell, frockcoats cut for long-dead Victorians. No more the endless pairs of black brogues. Hello, suit of modern cut. Hello, moccasins. Hello, loafers.

Old Knock Wardrobe: Trousers

Not much to be said about them, poor old things.  They rarely fit properly, are typically getting a bit warn and could use a good wash.  But they do keep us warm and mostly dry.  They are the Old Knock trousers. 

The cut is typically loose.  An old leather belt or old tie is used to keep them snug above the navel.  The Old Knock would normally prefer that they be a bit long, as opposed to short, to keep the drafts out.  Cuffs or no cuffs?  Who knows.  It depends on what was in style when the Old Knock left home for the first time all those years ago, because these are likely to be the same trousers he or she wore back then.  As always, comfort and durability are key.  The fabric tends toward natural fibers—not for any ecological compunction, mind you, but because natural fibers tend to be softer and last longer.  The traditional Old Knock will probably prefer a nice flannel or tweed in some earthy color along the lines of mud or soot—the better to conceal muddy cuffs and coffee stains. Deep pockets are another nice addition.  Old Knocks love to fill their deep pockets with an assortment of necessary equipment for their day.  Patches here should be kept to a minimum.  After all, one doesn’t want to look like a hobo—that’s overdoing things a bit.  Elbow patches are one thing, but knee or bum patches?  Really!

Old Knock Wardrobe: Tweed Jacket with Elbow Patches

There is no other item of clothing that is more closely connected to The Old Knock in the general public’s collective imagination (even if they are not aware of the existence of such a thing as an “Old Knock”) than the Tweed Jacket with Elbow Patches.  It meets all of the requirements for an Old Knock Wardrobe item: comfortable, durable, likely handed down from generation to generation, practical. 

A Month in the Country (1987 film)

This great novel does not translate well to the screen.  Colin Firth and Kenneth Branagh do an admirable job, don’t get me wrong.  But Birkin’s voice doesn’t come through on the screen.  In the novel he is much more humorous and self-deprecating, but there isn’t any real way to get this across on film, because Birkin isn’t the type of man to say the things on his mind.  While Firth does a fine job, his portrayal is a bit bleak.  While Birkin’s view on life is rather pessimistic, there is a certain romanticism, especially when dealing with his faith and the vicar’s wife that gives one hope.  The different ending is unbearable.  It’s as if the director knew that he had botched it and tried to give it a happy ending—which it really doesn’t have.  Not by any means the worst film I’ve ever seen, but it lacks the warmth and humanity of the novel.

E.F. Benson's Queen Lucia

Emmeline Lucas (Lucia) is the reigning queen of culture in her small village of Riesholme.  Things move slowly in the little Hamlet—the town gossips spend their days on the commons and neighbors spend their days looking out windows to see who is visiting whom.  There is at least one fine example of an Old Knock, but one could say that this is a town full of them. 

Lucia’s husband, Phillip (nick-named Peppino by Lucia) runs his own printing-press, where he prints his poetry.  They live together in a faux Elizabethan house (named “The Hurst” by its owners) with leaded glass and ancient beams exposed.  Poor Peppino would prefer to spend his days alone, reading and writing, but he is married to the matriarch of all that matters in Riesholme, and thus, he is thrust into the ebb and flow of all things “cultural”. 

One could say that Lucia herself could be considered and Old Knock in that she doesn’t want things to change.  She savors village life and society, wishing that teas, socials and recitals would remain the focal point of society for eternity. 

E.F. Benson

The Old Knock Home: The Chair

The Chair is a very important piece of furniture for any Old Knock.  This should not be confused with just any chair used during the day.  This is The Chair.  The Chair is the place where an Old Knock rests his or her weary bones for a long think.  It is not some new-fangled contraption with levers and pulleys.  It does not swivel.  It does not tilt.  It is stationary.  It is solid.  It is comfortable.  It is normally fairly worn from use.  Ideally, it should be as individualistic as it’s owner.  (It should not be part of a matching living room set.) 

A lucky Old Knock will have a leather-bound chair.  I myself have an overstuffed chair covered in woven fabric.  It has a high back and arm rests with a deep seat.  My Chair is not ideal, as it is actually part of a furniture set—but one makes do with what one is allotted in life.  A favorite blanket may be thrown over the back for added warmth on those cold autumn days.  Seated next to an open fireplace is preferable.