Dining with the Queen (memoir)

My maternal grandmother was determined that, if she did nothing else, she

would instil good table-manners in her five grandchildren and in this duty, she was

relentless. The pleasure of savouring our food was superseded by the need to ensure

our elbows weren’t on the table, that we asked for the salt to be passed rather than

reach for it, that the soup bowl was tilted away instead of towards us, and a lot of

other rules that made little sense then or now. But they were important to Granny and

there was no point arguing.

I’m not sure in what company she expected us to mingle when we grew up, but

Granny, having been reared with Victorian manners, seemed to feel that our family

alone could save the world from uncivilised behaviour, one dinner table at a time.

Sitting at the head of the table, her steely grey eyes missed nothing, and her

penetrating gaze was only broken to roll her eyes heavenward at our failures of

etiquette.

‘Oh, I suppose you’ll do that when you go to see the Queen?’

My grandmother, born on the longest day of the year 1900, was a live-in

governess to a family in Dun Laoghaire in her early twenties, charged with teaching

two young girls etiquette and decorum, as well as the rudiments of the English

language. When the two girls went to a boarding school for young ladies, Granny

continued her mission in Carlow with her own two daughters and finally, with us.

‘Put your knife and fork together when you’ve finished. In good establishments

that indicates to the staff that you’re finished your meal,’ she’d say.

And we’d look around our humble kitchen, and there wasn’t a maid or butler to

be seen.

‘Sit back down there, young lady. You didn’t ask to leave the table,’ she’d say.

‘May I leave the table please Granny?’

This was 1974, not 1874, and asking to leave the table got quite a hearty laugh

when I tried it in my friend’s house.

It was bad manners to eat one pea at a time. There had to be more than one on

the fork and the fork could not be used like a shovel. Oh no. That was a definite sign

of not knowing what was what. ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t slurp when

you drink. Keep your elbows in. Don’t eat too much or too little. Never wipe your

nose or your face with your napkin - only your mouth and chin.’

For a long time, I actually thought that Granny would some day bring me to

see the Queen. It seemed like my destiny, since we were always rehearsing for it. I

imagined the scene - Granny and I striding up to the big black gates and flashing a

gilt-edged invitation to a guard with a bearskin hat. Then the Queen at one end of a

long table, ten-year-old me at the other and Granny’s watchful eye in between. I

would be shielding my eyes from the reflected light of the crown, while the Queen,

with her glasses on the end of her nose, studied the position of my elbows as I ate.

And I would have to remind myself not to throw scraps to the Corgis at my feet.

Sometimes, lying in my bed at night, I even wondered should I learn to curtsy.

But, alas, no. It soon became apparent that this was a fantasy completely of my

grandmother’s making, and that in fact, far from being well-prepared for a future of

fine dining, we were ill-prepared for the world of Chinese takeaways and drive-thru’s

that were finger-licking good.

I only remember dining out with Granny once. We were having new Lino laid

in the kitchen and the whole family met for lunch in one of the only hotels in Carlow

at the time - appropriately for Granny, it was called the Royal Hotel. Not a sign of the

Queen, though! But it gave me my first chance to exhibit exquisite table manners

and Sr. Áine was mightily impressed when I got back to school at 2pm and

announced that our family had dined at the Royal.

It’s comforting to know that my grandmother, who went to her heavenly

reward many years ago, has now been joined by Queen Elizabeth herself. Finally,

they might actually get to meet and to share a heavenly repast. I’m sure the Queen

will be impressed at my grandmother’s impeccable table-manners.

Back in Carlow I often imagine Granny looking down and approving of my

efforts on a good day and I hope she doesn’t find too much cause to purse her lips and

shake her head. I know that on a daily basis she would despair at the sight of her

descendants eating from pizza boxes and styrofoam containers. But on the special

days, I hope we do her proud. And, although I never got to meet the Queen, she

indirectly taught me quite a lot and for that I’m eternally grateful.