Tea is still believed, by English people of all classes, to have miraculous properties. A cup of tea can cure, or at least significantly alleviate, almost all minor physical ailments and indispositions, from a headache to a scraped knee. Tea is also an essential remedy for all social and psychological ills, from a bruised ego to the trauma of a divorce or bereavement. This magical drink can be used equally effectively as a sedative or stimulant, to calm and soothe or to revive and invigorate. Whatever your mental or physical state, what you need is 'a nice cup of tea'.
Perhaps most importantly, tea-making is the perfect displacement activity: whenever the English feel awkward or uncomfortable in a social situation (that is, almost all of the time), they make tea. It's a universal rule: when in doubt, put the kettle on. Visitors arrive; we have our usual difficulties over greeting protocol. We say, 'I'll just put the kettle on'. There is one of those uneasy lulls in the conversation, and we've run out of weather-speak. We say, 'Now, who'd like more tea? I'll just go and put the kettle on'. A business meeting might involve having to talk about money. We postpone the uncomfortable bit by making sure everyone has tea. A bad accident - people are injured and in shock: tea is needed. 'I'll put the kettle on.' World War Three breaks out - a nuclear attack is imminent. 'I'll put the kettle on.'
You get the idea. We are rather fond of tea.
We are also very partial to toast. Toast is a breakfast staple, and an all-purpose, anytime comfort food. What tea alone does not cure, tea and toast surely will. The 'toast rack' is a peculiarly English object. My father, who lives in America and has become somewhat American in his tastes and habits, calls it a 'toast cooler' and claims that its sole function is to ensure that one's toast gets stone cold as quickly as possible. English supporters of the toast rack would argue that it keeps toast dry and crisp, that separating the slices of toast and standing them upright stops them becoming soggy, which is what happens to American toast, served piled up hugger-mugger in a humid, perspiring stack on the plate, sometimes even wrapped in a napkin to retain yet more moisture. The English would rather have their toast cool and dry than warm and damp. American toast lacks reserve and dignity: it is too sweaty and indiscreet and emotional.
But toast is not much use as a class indicator: everybody likes toast. The higher social ranks do have a bit of a prejudice against packaged sliced bread, but only the very class-anxious will go to great lengths to avoid it. What you choose to spread on your toast, however, can provide clues to your social position. Margarine is regarded as decidedly 'common' by the middle and upper classes, who use butter (unless they are on a diet or have a dairy intolerance, that is). Marmalade is universally popular, but the dark, thick-cut Oxford or Dundee marmalade is favoured by the higher echelons, while the lower ranks generally prefer the lighter-coloured, thin-cut Golden Shred.
The unwritten class rules about jam are much the same: the darker the colour and the bigger the lumps of fruit, the more socially elevated the jam. Some class-anxious middles and upper-middles secretly prefer the paler, smoother, low-class marmalades and jams (possibly because they come from lower-class backgrounds, and were fed Golden Shred and the like as children), but feel obliged to buy the socially superior chunky ones. Only the lower classes - the lower-middles in particular - try to sound posh by calling jam 'preserves'.
Table Manners and 'Material Culture' Indicators
Table Manners
English table manners, across all classes, have deteriorated somewhat but are still, as Mikes acknowledges, fairly decent. The genuinely important aspects of eating etiquette - showing consideration for others; not being selfish or greedy; general fairness, politeness and sociability - are known to, if not always strictly observed by, most English people of all social classes. No class has a monopoly on either good or bad eating behaviour.
Although proper 'family meals' may nowadays occur on average only once a week, rather than every day, most English children of all classes are still brought up to say please and thank you when asking for food and being given food, and most adults are also reasonably polite. We all know that we should ask for things rather than just grabbing them; not serve ourselves huge helpings leaving insufficient food for the others; wait until everyone has been served before starting to eat, unless urged to 'please start, or it will go cold'; not take the last piece of anything without asking if anyone else wants it; not talk with our mouths full; not cram vast, unsightly amounts of food into our mouths or masticate noisily; take part in the conversation without monopolizing or dominating it; and so on.
When eating at a restaurant, we know that in addition to the above we should be polite to the waiters and, in particular, never, ever try to summon a waiter by snapping our fingers or bellowing across the room. The correct procedure is to lean back in your chair with an expectant look, endeavour to make eye contact, then perform a quick eyebrow-lift/chin-lift. Raising a hand is permissible, as is a quiet 'Excuse me?' if the waiter is nearby and has not noticed you, but this should not be done in an imperious manner. We know that orders should be phrased as requests, with the usual full complement of pleases and thank-yous. We know that it is unseemly to make a fuss or a scene or in any way draw attention to oneself when eating in public. Making any sort of fuss about money is especially distasteful, and ostentatious displays of wealth are as bad as conspicuous meanness. People who insist on calculating in detail exactly who had what when it comes to dividing up the bill are despised, not just because they are miserly, but because such discussions involve a prolonged breach of the money-talk taboo.
We may not always abide by all of these codes, but we know the rules. If you ask English people about 'table manners', they may assume that you mean prissy, pointless etiquette about which fork to use, but if you start a conversation about what is and isn't acceptable when eating with other people, what they were taught and what they teach their children, these rather more basic, universal, classless courtesies will emerge. Many of them, if you look closely, are essentially about that perennial English preoccupation: fairness.
Lower-class mothers - particularly 'respectable upper-working' and lower-middle mothers - tend to be, if anything, more strict on these basic points than some middle-middle and upper-middle parents, who are still unduly influenced by the supposedly 'progressive' child-rearing methods of the 1970s, which frowned upon rules and regulations, and encouraged unfettered self-expression. I say 'parents' rather than just 'mothers' in this case, as the middles and upper-middles tend to be more role-reversed than the other classes, with fathers more involved in the social education of their children.
Those at the top of the social scale, as so often seems to be the case, have more in common with the working classes than with the middle ranks: upper-class mothers tend to be quite strict on basic good eating manners, although upper-class men do not necessarily practise what their wives and nannies preach to their children. Some aristocratic males are notorious for their appalling table manners, in this trait resembling some lower-working/underclass males, who also do not care about other people's opinion of them.