A Benchmark of Understatement

The British, and perhaps the English in particular, have a certain reputation for restraint and understatement. This reputation is not wholly undeserved (You see, I don't write "is totally justified", because, hey, I'm English, that's what we do, which is my point, really.)

A comment, which, to people of many other nations, may seem innocuous or innocent, may seem to most Brits to be a closely targeted insult, laden with malice and nuance. As an example, saying "I'm sorry, I don't understand" to someone is commonly interpreted as "Your explanation is inadequate. You are a failure. Go away and die now so I can continue to live in ignorance."

In a formal context, writing "I am disappointed." is akin to saying "I hate whatever it is that you did", and "I respectfully suggest that...", should more properly be interpreted as "Do this, or else..."

I don't know where this convention springs from. It's not politeness, per se, as pretty much everyone in the country knows what you really mean when you write "Please would you refrain from...", rather than "Stop..." It's a carefully nuanced use of language, instilled from an early age, which can confuse and, at times, infuriate the non-native.

If you ask me how I am, I more likely to respond, "Not too bad", "Mustn't grumble", or "I've been worse" than to give you a resounding "I'm doing great!" In fact, if a Brit asks you how you are, they don't really want to know, and will switch off the moment you begin to list your ailments and recent disappointments or successes. In fact, the only time this detailed analysis is acceptable is if the question is followed up by "No, how are you really?"

Perhaps this talent for understatement and not wishing to upset people is best illustrated by a set of meeting minutes I received through my door in 1999. At the time, I was living in a small village - you know the sort from Miss Marple and the like. Some among our population of 340 had decided that the village should mark the upcoming millennium. Whilst many larger, brasher, communities planned to celebrate with parties, fireworks and the like, our ambitions were much more modest; we would erect an engraved stone bench somewhere in the village.

Such an undertaking could not be imagined, without the formation of a committee to oversee the design, fund-raising etc, and soon several local worthies had assumed the mantle of "Millennium Bench Committee". In order to justify their existence to the rest of the community, they held monthly meetings and produced a set of minutes from each meeting, distributing a sheet to each house.

Usually, I would skim through these minutes and then toss them in the recycling, but after about 6 months of not very much happening, I received the usual A4 sheet and noted, at the end of the minutes, the loaded phrase,

"A discussion about the site of the bench occurred."

To a Brit, this sentence was masterly in its understatement. It immediately told me all I needed to know about the nature of the discussion, and perfectly conveyed the secretary's frustrations with the length and pettiness of the arguments presented by the various factions.

I appreciate, that, to a non-British audience, this may need some elaboration, hence the following verse, which I hope captures the mood, even though I was not present.

Poetry in Motions

They'd raised the funds, the bench was bought

Yet village elders rowed and fought

They'd just one problem - this was it:

Just where the sodding seat should sit.

Twin sisters, Jane and Marcia Twisters

Talked of bunions, corns and blisters

Suffered walking to the chapel

And said "This hand-embroidered map'll

Show the bench's ideal home...

Between our house and St Jerome."

Then Arthur Bub, who ran the pub

Said "Ay, but here's the rub,

We need to pick up passing trade

And if decision's to be made

The ideal site, wi'out a doubt

Is just outside the Frog and Trout."

But "Keep fit" Michael loved to cycle

Objecting "Ev'ry errant tyk'll

Just take the opportunity

To use the bench to take a pee.

The pond's the best place for a seat

So folks can rest and cool their feet."

Yet Sydney Striker, ardent hiker

Dismissed the poor misguided biker

And stridently expressed his will

That "It should stand atop Crux Hill

Where seven counties might be seen

(Provided that your eyesight's keen)."

"We'd get there quicker", said the vicar

(Who had a rather dodgy ticker),

"By writing notes then drawing lots,

"That way, we'll narrow down the spots.

"You think so, Squadron Leader Herman?

"It's just I have to draft my sermon.."

The chairman, once a gallant airman,

Sucked on his pipe "I think that's fair an'

"As the casting vote is mine

"We'll use my hat. Does that sound fine?

"And I should put my two votes in it"

A hand shot up "Now just a minute..."

'Twas union steward, Alfred Freward

"We needn't study that one too 'ard

"I know my rights, let's take this steady

"We'll vote when all are good and ready

"It's one vote each now Mr Herman

"If not, we might as well speak German."

They took a break (with tea and cake)

With still the vital choice to make

The night grew long and voices heated

And still the bench remained unseated.

'Til from the shouts and yells and cries

Someone suggested compromise.

Professor Frood; "May I intrude?

"But just add lat and longitude,

"Divide by all the votes we've seen

"To get the arithmetic mean

"It seems we've argued long enough

"I think my plan is up to snuff."

So middle ground at last was found

The elders proffered claps all round.

The spot was cold and rather dank

And half way down a river bank

The ground was rocky, strewn with weed,

But, thank the Lord, it was agreed.

Through her keen powers, Justine Flowers,

Had taken minutes lasting hours.

Yet when she fin'lly left the stage

The note filled less than half a page

A sentence, true in every word

"A discussion of the site occurred".