Even the socially approved quiet tears and sniffles become embarrassing and make people uncomfortable if excessively prolonged, and England is possibly the only culture in the world in which no tears at all is entirely normal and acceptable. Most adult English males do not cry publicly at funerals; if their eyes do start to fill, they will usually brush the wetness away with a quick, angry gesture and 'pull themselves together'. Although female relatives and friends are more likely to shed a few tears, failure to do so is not taken as a sign of callousness or absence of grief, providing a suitably sombre expression is maintained, broken only by an occasional 'brave smile'.
In fact, many will regard such restraint as admirable. There may have been criticism of some members of the royal family for their 'uncaring' response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, but no-one was surprised that her young sons shed only the most minimal, discreet tears at her funeral, having maintained their composure throughout the long walk behind her coffin, and indeed throughout almost all of the funeral service. They were commended for their bravery and dignity; their smiles and murmured thanks as they accepted the condolences of the crowds during a 'walkabout' were widely praised, and somehow far more poignant than any amount of uninhibited noisy sobbing. The English do not measure grief in tears. Too many tears are regarded as somewhat self-indulgent, even a bit selfish and unfair. Grief-stricken relatives who do not cry, or cry only briefly, at a funeral are likely to be seen as showing great courtesy and consideration for others, putting on a brave face to reassure their guests, rather than demanding attention and comfort for themselves. To be more precise, and at the risk of getting into pea-counting mode again, my calculations indicate that the optimum tear-quota at an average English funeral is as follows:
* Adult males (close relatives or very close friends of the deceased): One or two brief 'eye-fillings' during the service, brusquely brushed away. Brave smiles.
* Adult males (other): None. But maintain sombre/sympathetic expression. Sad/concerned smiles.
* Adult females (close relatives or very close friends): One or two short weeps during the service, with optional sniffles; occasional eye-filling, apologetically dabbed with hanky, in response to condolences. Brave smiles.
* Adult females (other): None, or one eye-filling during service. Maintain sad/sympathetic expression. Sad/concerned smiles.
* Male children (close relatives/friends): Unlimited if very young (under ten, say); older boys one weep during service. Brave smiles.
* Male children (other): Same as for adult males (other).
* Female children (close relatives/friends): Unlimited if very young; older girls roughly double adult female tear-quota. Brave smiles.
* Female children (other): None required, but brief eye-filling/sniffing during service allowed.
Quite apart from any genuine grief we may be experiencing, the prohibition on humour, the suspension of the earnestness taboo and the tear-quotas make English funerals a highly unpleasant business. We are required to switch off our humour reflex, express emotions we do not feel, and suppress most of those we do feel. On top of all this, the English regard death itself as rather embarrassing and unseemly, something we prefer not to think or talk about. Our instinctive response to death is a form of denial - we try to ignore it and pretend it is not happening, but this is rather hard to do at a funeral.
Not surprisingly, we tend to become tongue-tied, stiff and uncomfortable. There are no universally agreed-upon stock phrases or gestures (particularly among the higher social classes, who regard comforting cliches and platitudes as 'common') so we don't know what to say to each other or what to do with our hands, resulting in a lot of mumbled so sorries, very sads and what can I says - and awkward embraces or wooden little arm-pats. Although most funerals are vaguely 'Christian', this does not indicate any religious beliefs at all, so references to God or the afterlife are inappropriate unless one is absolutely sure of someone's faith. If the deceased was over eighty (seventy-five at a pinch) we can mutter something about him or her having had a 'good innings' - and some gentle humour is permitted at the post-ceremony gathering - but otherwise we are reduced to mutely rueful head-shaking and meaningful heavy sighs.
Clergymen and others delivering formal eulogies at funerals are lucky: they do have stock phrases they can use. Those used to describe the deceased person are a sort of code. It is forbidden to speak ill of the dead, but everyone knows, for example, that 'always the life and soul of the party' is a euphemism for drunkenness; 'didn't suffer fools gladly' is a polite way of calling the deceased a mean-spirited, grumpy old sod; 'generous with her affections' means she was a promiscuous tart; and 'a confirmed bachelor' has always meant he was gay.
The 'Public Outpouring of Grief' Rule
Speaking of stock phrases: our reaction to the death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales was described by every newspaper, magazine, radio and television reporter as 'an unprecedented public outpouring of grief'. And I do mean every single one of them - it was almost spooky, the way they all used the exact same phrase. I have already pointed out that this allegedly un-English 'outpouring' consisted mainly of orderly, quiet and dignified queuing but, After Diana, the media became very attached to the phrase 'public outpouring of grief' and have trotted it out at every possible opportunity ever since.
The considerably more muted response to the Queen Mother's death (which, incidentally, also consisted largely of queuing) was inevitably described as 'a public outpouring of grief'. So was the even less impressive reaction to the death of the former Beatle George Harrison. Every time a child or teenager is murdered or dies in some other newsworthy manner, and a dozen or so friends and sympathisers lay flowers outside their house, school gates or local church, this is now a 'public outpouring of grief'. Pretty much anyone who dies in the public eye, unless they were for some reason widely detested, can nowadays expect nothing less than a 'public outpouring of grief'.
CALENDRICAL RITES AND OTHER TRANSITIONS
Calendrical rites include big celebrations such as Christmas and New Year's Eve, and others that occur at the same time every year, such as Easter, May Day, Harvest Festivals, Hallowe'en and Guy Fawkes' Night, as well as Mothers' Day, Valentine's Day and Bank Holidays. I'm including our annual summer holidays in this category, as they are seasonal and therefore essentially calendrical, even though they do not occur on fixed dates. (Some nit-pickers might argue that the summer holiday is not, strictly speaking, a 'rite', or at least not in the same sense as Christmas or Harvest Festivals, but I think it qualifies, and will explain why later.) Also in this category would be the daily/weekly work-to-play transitional ritual of after-work drinks in the pub, but I've already covered this one in detail in the chapter on work.
Under 'other transitions' I'm including life-cycle rites of passage other than the major ones covered above - such as retirement celebrations, 'significant' birthdays (decade marks) and wedding anniversaries (silver, golden) - and rituals marking other social/place/status/lifestyle transitions, such as housewarmings and 'leaving dos'.
This all adds up to an awful lot of rites, many of which, like the major life-cycle transitions, are in most respects largely similar to their equivalents in other modern Western industrialized cultures. Gifts, parties, special meals, songs and decorations at Christmas; chocolate eggs at Easter; cards and flowers on Valentine's Day; alcohol at almost all festive occasions; food at most; etc. Rather than attempt to describe each rite in exhaustive detail, I will focus mainly on the broader unwritten social rules governing peculiarly English patterns of behaviour associated with these rites.