Once upon a time, I had a drama teacher to end all drama teachers.
She was special.
She was called Miss Seadle, but she was a very old Miss indeed. She was portly and her skin was soft and wrinkled. For some reason I associated her with pears soap: I think it was her clear, transluscent skin.
She always wore seventies crimplene trouser suits, in brown or maroon. She had a shock of unruly bottle-brown hair and thick, unforgiving Dame Edna glasses.
In other circumstances, such a frame, combined with such a dress code, would have been comic and mannish.
But this lady- one of the most formative influences of my young life- was anything but inelegant.
She carried herself with the most glorious poise.
She did not walk, she wafted. She had had an illustrious training and apprenticeship on the stage, and it had left her with the grace, I always felt, of Shakespeare’s Ariel.
It was one of the most stark examples I have every seen that beauty is far, far more than skin deep.
Because somehow, her mien reflected her dedication to her art.
There are artists, and then there are the conduits. There are the ones who pose and posture and talk about their philosophy: and then , there are the ones who are so much part of the seamless flow of creation that it seems they have just jumped on for the ride, and expressed what Creation bade them say.
Miss Seadle was not an egotist. If she had been, she would have been on the London stage receiving adulation, instead of teaching young girls to act in a provincial school. My teacher knew her art, and was engrossed in communicating it to others.
I can still see her, wrapped in a lesson about gesture which had its roots in classical theatre. She showed me how my wild ‘here I am’ arm sweeps could be tamed to work around a fulcrum at the centre of my body, how one could show the full range of human emotion through a less-is-more approach which favoured grace and symmetry.
She showed me grace, and taste, and poise and decorum.
I only wish I had remembered half of what I was taught.
You know that scene from the Sound of Music? The one where Maria Von Trapp careers in late to chapel, disgracefully noisy, clumsy, hapahzard and hectic?
Her character, at that moment: it was unsettlingly like my own.
Don’t get me wrong, I could ape decorum. But I never learnt that minimalist approach to movement that marks out someone with true grace.
But I can appreciate it.
There are many magic moments in cinema, but one of the greatest for me comes in that wonderful Hitchcock jewel, Rear Window.
James Stewart plays an award-winning press photographer who has broken his leg, and is laid up, recovering, in his New York apartment.
It is a film where so often the music of the New York renders any other soundtrack faint-hearted. Hitchcock uses the sounds of those who live in close proximity to the living, vibrant, flawed city.
We watch Stewart’s day: a humdrum convalescence. In the evening he drifts off to sleep, lulled by the life outside his window.
And when he wakes: a rustling, gleaming vision. It is his girlfriend, played by the peerless Grace Kelly. Hitchcock uses the gloom of the darkened flat, the sounds of her skirts, her radiant smile, to inspire awe.
Of course, Kelly later filled the Princess role, retiring from the film business at a premature 26. She was Grace by name, Grace by nature, a woman for whom every movement seemed sublimely choreographed.
Such poise comes easy to some, hard-won to others.
Some may recall I went to see my old school less than a week ago: and I must confide that has had quite a profound effect. I find I am looking back at the people who shaped me and wondering quite how they managed to come up with me at the end of their sophisticated function machine.
These people hold themselves beautifully, even the young: just like Miss Seadle, just like Princess Grace. But they have another aspect of that word – decorum – that is often missed.
Decorous can mean seemliness, the habits that are simply part of good manners. But my old Oxford reveals an older meaning: decorous can mean “not offending against”.
There’s a wonderful old house in the Weald of Kent, tucked away where tourists have to trek to find it. Its name is Chartwell, and it was the home of Winston Churchill and his wife Clementine.
A more gracious and polished background one could not wish for: Clem was born in Mayfair, the daughter of an Earl. Arguably. Her mother had a wandering eye, and took a fancy to a noted horseman of the day, Bay Middleton.
A member of the elite, she attended the Sourbonne in Paris. And in 1908, she met and married the man who would work with a handful of others to save the free world.
Her house, quite simply, is beautiful. Not in a heavy, guilded pompous style: but decorated comfortably, with such taste it makes one want to sit down in her house and stay for coffee.
The sofas are vast and well upholstered: the wallpaper pretty and welcoming. Each bedroom beckons one to unpack one’s suitcase and stop by.
One of my favourite places is her dining room, where the great and the good have parked and eaten. It is decorated, as it was then, in balmy green. It is unpretentious. It is decorous, in the very best sense, because it puts others at their ease.
Privilege has its advantages, and we can argue that these people were moneyed and could afford every grace that a good background could buy.
But the fact remains that, whatever the starting line, these were generous people.
Miss Siedle, Grace and Clem, even those who welcomed me to my school last week: they are polished, but with a generosity which poise does not stifle.
Rather, it burnishes that inner glow which each of them seems to possess.
Kate Shrewsday 
In my first year at my girls grammar I did not know that there would be a prize called the posture prize at the end of the Summer term: my best friend won it.
In my second year at this school I did not know that there would be no prizes for posture: they were only awarded to one girl in the first year. However I had spent much of that second year attempting to move with grace and dignity in order that I could win. I coveted that prize. I yearned to have decorum and good posture, poise and presence.
I never will have any of these, but that year of tying probably helped greatly.
Someone else who yearns for that grace…I think you and I must both have been helped along the way by our schools, but in very different ways, Pseu. It must have been such a disappointment to realise there was no prize in the second year! We must both be further along the continuum than we would have been, though…..
You have taken me back years, Kate, many of them. I hear my mothers voice now, sit up, walk straight, hold your head up, tuck your bottom in… and a favourite by a favourite aunt “Walk as though your legs are pinned to your knickers, not stuck to your bottom”.
It was my curse to be born clumsy. If there was a slight bump in the path, I would trip over it – I should have more scars, truly, only my genes saved me there. I have learned though. Surprisingly, my yet my eldest daughter has all the grace I had to work hard to attain – and, of course, decorum is her second name 🙂
Do you know, Maddie is the same! How odd! She walks everywhere like a ballet dancer and sits as if she were a princess in waiting!
Maybe it’s a backlash to an older generation with two left feet…
Drabbit – whu csn’t we edot our comments? 🙂
Ha! my sentiments exactly!
Audrey Hepburn comes to mind. What grace and beauty both on and off screen. I too wish I had more of these qualities. Thanks for the post. http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6BHfjUEY16c/SxR35B5IliI/AAAAAAAABaw/IH8bqkPhprU/s400/Audrey_Hepburn.jpg
Ah, Hep! When they gave her a London barrow girl to play, we all loved her so much we didn’t mind that the poise was there even before Eliza Doolittle’s transformation. What an extraordinary woman. Thanks doe that Zoe:-)
Lovely picture too…
Icons of dignity and grace, you’ve sent me on a delightful tour through my own memories.
Love Clem’s dining room too.
Isn’t it beautiful? If you ever travel Chartwell is a must because its so unlike the rest of our stately homes. I covet my way round the place.
Clem voted Liberal all her life – so the story goes – even when her husband was the greatest Conservative PM of all time.
Whadda gal.
Ah, Kate! Now that I’ve placed you on my blogroll, I’ll be visiting much more often! I’ve got the photos of our beloved Paul Newman and will either mail them or e-mail them – let me know what you would like. I can make a print for you, but wonder which size you would like? It’s really a wonderful photo! It was taken about 35 years ago – his skin is without wrinkle, and he looks gorgeous. Also, my brother snapped a quick photo of his car at the time, a Porsche, parked outside the shop. I’ll send that along too!
Now – on this post! It really hits home, especially for someone who trips over a painted line on the sidewalk! Every time I attempt to behave with some decorum, it always backfires on me. I’m a clown – always have been, probably always will be. The best I can do is decorous pratfalls! Also, you have given me a tour destination if I ever make it to the BI. (Not for lack of wanting that I haven’t been there.) I’m heading to Clem’s house! Hubs and I love looking at things like that – making notes and getting ideas. In STARK contrast to Chartwell there is a home over here , in North Carolina, called “Biltmore.” It is the largest private home in the USA, built by the Vanderbilt family in the late 19th/early 20th centuries. It is a very popular tourist destination, and the grounds are absolutely gorgeous, with lots of picnic areas, gardens, ponds, streams, etc. Hundreds of acres of unspoiled land as well. It costs a pretty penny to visit, but many, many deem it worth the price, and buy yearly tickets in order to visit throughout the changing seasons. It is so OVER-THE-TOP in terms of conspicuous consumption inside the building itself, however. There is not one single inviting or warm space in it, despite the beauty of all the things. That’s not to say that many in that family were not lovely and generous people. And I suspect there are many to this day (the family corporation owns the house in union with some sort of trust) that behave with all decorous attributes. Just, that house. . .oh well. Maybe I’m just jealous, but I doubt that. I mean, who would want to vacuum that place? 😀
Quite:-) Great to have you at my place, Barbara- now I can visit yours…
Photos of Paul: e mail would be fabulous. I confess to being very excited. He is one of my idols. I have already bragged about your connections to several friends!
And aren’t you perceptive to bring the Vanderbilt House into our discussions. Lovely people, pots of money, fabulous place: but it just needs a little more warmth. I wonder if they fell into that age old British trap- decorating to show one’s affluence and more importantly, one’s power? I must google it and have a look. Maybe one day I’ll make it there to see it for myself.
Hi Kate! Paula here (not Barbara – but I figure I’m the one you meant! :-D). Send me via e-mail your snail mail address. I’ll send you decent print as well as e-mailing a file you can keep. It’s easy and inexpensive for me to do, so don’t worry!
You can take a virtual tour of Biltmore by going here:
http://www.biltmore.com/videos/
Enjoy! And don’t you dare come to Biltmore without coming to see me! We live about 25 miles from there!
Oh nuts. I must still be more concussed than I thought!! Apologies, Paula,you are correct, I meant you all along:-D I’ll mail for pics! Thanks!