In Budapest last weekend, I loved the collision of architectural styles: onion-domed churches from the east; classical palaces from Italy; the vast, swelling dome over the Rudas Baths, built by the Ottomans in 1550.
There was also a touch of surliness around; not least in the magnificently grumpy waiter at Budapest airport, who refused to take my order because he wasn’t my assigned server.
For a moment, I liked to think this was an intriguing hangover from four decades of communism. But, actually, my waiter’s attitude was reminiscent of British grumpiness, particularly when it comes to waiters.
British bolshiness isn’t a new phenomenon. As we approach the 75th anniversary of D-Day, I remember the anecdote that WF Deedes – “Dear Bill” in Private Eye – told me on the 60th anniversary in 2004, when we both worked at the Daily Telegraph.
Just after D-Day, Bill Deedes was in the east London docks, loading vehicles aboard ship to take them to Normandy to help the march towards Germany.
“Trouble is, mate,” said a friendly docker who was reluctant to help, “we don’t have the rate.”
“The rate?” Bill repeated.
“That’s right,” he said, “The rate for loading these ’ere vehicles. Never seen ’em before.”
In other words, the dockers hadn’t been promised a mutually agreed amount of money for their work.
“Look,” Bill cried, “some of you have sons, relations out there, clinging onto that bridgehead. We’ve got to get there fast.”
“That’s right! You’ve got to get there fast,” the dockers echoed. “But, you see, we haven’t got the rate.”
In the end, Bill and his men loaded the vehicles themselves under the supervision of a retired docker.
You don’t have to come from a Bolshevist country to be bolshie.
***
Should tidiness be added to the seven Christian virtues? If paediatricians at the University of Virginia are to be believed, tidiness is next to godliness. In a study of 10,000 primary school children by paediatricians at the university, pupils who kept their rooms tidy did better at school than those who didn’t.
It isn’t surprising. The same obedient child who keeps a tidy room is the same obedient child who does their maths homework on time.
Minor virtues like tidiness don’t automatically produce the major Christian virtues (prudence, justice, temperance, fortitude, faith, hope and charity) – but they often grow from a shared root: tidiness and good maths homework grow out of obedience.
In my job commissioning articles, I’ve noticed a similar connection between apparently unconnected virtues.
People who file punctually write better articles than people who file them late. The writer AN Wilson is the supreme example of this: he files perfect articles within an hour; lesser intellects file bad pieces late.
The shared root of punctuality and good writing is an acute understanding of the behaviour of the human race. A good writer is a good observer of people; a good observer of people will realise that punctuality matters more to editors than delivering a supposed masterpiece hours after the deadline.
In his memorial service address for Alexander Chancellor – my much-missed predecessor as editor of the Oldie – my father, the writer Ferdinand Mount, noticed a similar connection: between precision and good editing.
“Like all great editors,” he said of Alexander, “like Harold Ross at the New Yorker, like Bob Silvers at the New York Review of Books, he was incurably punctilious.”
A similar connection exists between good writing and good grammar. The best writers have immaculate syntax and grammar; correct writing leads to a more sophisticated transfer of thought to page. A lot of bad writers think syntax and grammar don’t matter. Little things mean a lot.
***
The pattern applies to minor vices, too: they explode into major vices. People who are habitually late are invariably selfish. Stingy people are always nasty.
There is a reverse rule, though: minor virtues often turn into minor vices. So a certain kind of tidiness – the neat freak gene – bleeds into intolerance.
When I was the New York correspondent for the Daily Telegraph, I often had friends to stay. One friend left a wet bathmat on the bathroom floor. Then, in the middle of the night, in an entirely unerotic gesture, she left her bra on the kitchen floor.
“I was undressing on the way to make something to eat,” she told me when I interrogated her.
Afterwards, I laid down a stringent list of rules for visiting friends. I’ve even stipulated bedtimes and wake-up times for night owls, for fear they might disturb my precious sleep.
Not surprisingly, I don’t get many guests these days. I wish I could develop the ability to be easy-going about other people’s foibles. It would be a greater virtue than tidiness.
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