Dear Sir,
I have today read possibly the most stupid example of PCism gone made that I can think of. Ms (inevitably) Hatch of Henley on Thames has written to the Editor (a man, coincidentally) of the Henley Standard complaining about the sexist practice of starting Letters to The Editor with ‘Dear Sir”. She says “Please bring your paper into the modern era and join the ranks of other papers which have removed such a RIDICULOUS and OFFENSIVE tradition” (Emphasis mine). Of all the things that we need to be worrying about in our extremely troubled world this must indeed be one of the most important. For a start who needs tradition for heaven’s sake? Let’s get rid of everything that’s ever happened before 2001. Standing up when someone comes into the room….pah, nonsense. Applauding a good shot, by whichever side, in cricket. Outrageous. Letting The Queen stately open parliament. Obscene. In fact why have a Queen at all? Buckingham Palace would be a great place for raves. What’s the point of paté to start and pudding to finish? Let’s kick off with ice cream for our next dinner party. Then the guests can cook their own main course; it’s ridiculous that the hosts should have to do that. Not to mention offensive. Why do we have an Army, that thrives because of its history and tradition? We’d be so much safer without our Armed Forces, not to mention richer. All the money (well debt actually) could go into the Bottomless Well otherwise known as the NHS.
So what would Ms Hatch prefer? “Hi”. “Hello”. “Watcha”. “Hey Goldenbollocks”? Personally, I’ve always loved writing letters and cards. Only yesterday, whilst trying to satisfy Mrs T’s desire for less clutter, I came across a large pile of old letters and cards that my dear (?) departed Mother had kept from my many years of travelling the Globe. What a wonderful reminder of times past and indeed a contemporaneous record that future historians might find interesting; or not. Sadly, with modern electronic media the art is dying out, but what is so wrong with “Dear”. It provides a satisfying uniformity (heaven forbid) that allows one to delve into the important stuff without having to worry about how to start. Sometimes, the recipient might even merit a “dearest” and how lovely is it to be able to venture down that dangerously informal route. Whilst railing against the “dear” bit I fancy it’s the “Sir” that Ms Outraged is really getting crosshatched about. I confess I’ve always found ‘Dear Sir or Madam’ somewhat irritating but in this case the answer is very simple. Just write ‘Dear Sir’ and if it transpires that the Editor is a woman, a sub at the relevant publication can change it to ‘Dear Madam’. Or write ‘Dear Sir/Madam (Please delete as appropriate).’ Or you could be REALLY adventurous and find out who the Editor is and write ‘Dear George Osbourne’…..(assuming you’re writing to the London Evening Standard). Or the Hatch Enders could just write “Ho George”.
As a former Army officer, my wife, had I been married, would’ve been known within the system not as Mrs Tutt, but “wife of” Captain Tutt. Many of the “wives of” quite reasonably resented that and I imagine it’s probably changed now. However, I am now known by Eastbourne College, who employ my wife, as “husband of” Mrs Tutt. Do I wake up every morning in a fit of pique and ping off thirty seven emails to Editors bemoaning my fate? “Dear Sir……yours outraged etc”. Or hang my head in shame as I wander the hallowed portals of a great educational institution, where tradition is the lifeblood of daily life? Do I feel so demeaned that…….oh I can’t go on. The whole thing is so ridiculous and offensive only a Corbyn led government can save the day.
On a dramatically more important note, I was walking Callie (the whippet) through some beautiful woods near Eastbourne today, imagining what it would’ve been like to be Donald Campbell at the helm of Bluebird, when a very different bird landed on a branch less than twenty yards away. With some excitement, (mine, not its) I crept to within a few yards, before it took flight, cleverly negotiating its bulky way through the tight knit beeches. It was a buzzard. It wasn’t many years ago when you had to go to Cornwall or Devon to see one. They’ve gradually been creeping further East, but I had no idea they’d got as far as East Sussex. I’m not a twitcher (well only when watching England getting stuffed by Wales in Cardiff), but I confess to a slight raising of the pulse when in close proximity to such beautiful birds. I’m not expert enough to know whether it was a boy or a girl, but even Ms Hatch might concede it’s worth reporting, without being gender specific? Or should it be gender non-specific? Oh dear, what hope for old farts in this Brave New World.
Mine’s a gin and tonic with ice and lemon please. Disgustingly traditional I know…..
ADayInTheStrifeOf 