Where have all the gentlemen gone?

Matthew Steeples laments the loss of one of what once set London apart: Manners and gentlemen

 

In September in London, “normality” – if such ever exists – is meant to resume. The ‘Silly Season’ is supposed to end but yesterday, on 1^st September, anything but such was apparent.

 

 

With streets still peppered with yellow Bentleys (nobody would object to a yellow Ferrari but a yellow Bentley, yes, a yellow Bentley; certainly not) and gaudy pink G-Wagens, shisha remained all the rage and perfume still strongly wafted. The Arabs paraded and Russians flashed their cash; bodyguards pushed little old ladies out of the paths of their charges, loud music blared from rickshaws and all in all, I noted the aura in Knightsbridge and South Kensington to be nothing but dreadful.

 

An English voice is rare now in this neighbourhood and with the sad passing of such legends – and true gentlemen, wherever they may have originated from – such as Sir Peter O’Sullevan and Omar Sharif, a wonderful thing has passed. One simply has to ask: “Where have all the gentlemen gone?”

 

 

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