I had cautioned Ryan that, whatever else we did on our father-son military history tour of England, we would begin with live-fire etiquette practice in preparation for a big event we would shortly be attending. Owing to a transit strike (which seems to occur every other time I visit Britain), the etiquette coaching service I had attempted to hire could not get its people into London. There was nothing for it but to take on the ennobling task myself. If I should prove up to it, the test for Ryan, 13, would come two days hence at no less a venue than the British Museum.
Our first stop: my tailor on Savile Row, Henry Poole & Co. Alex Cooke, my cutter and a co-managing director of the family-owned, 2-century-old firm, met us sleepy-eyed at the door. Due to the strike, someone had to spend the night in order to get things going in the morning for whatever staff and customers could make it in, and Alex had drawn that lot. Ever the model of grace under pressure, Alex has spent years pulling cloth around me so as magically to coax elegance from my sloping shoulders and severely V-shaped torso. He now brought out my Norfolk jacket for its second fitting. A Norfolk is a country squire’s shooting jacket. In my case, the shooting would not be done with a double-barreled shotgun but with a brace of Leica M cameras, the jacket’s distinctive, expandable front pockets to be filled not with shells but with filters and spare batteries.
In order to show Ryan that a gentleman’s wardrobe is grounded in the same care and respect that a gentleman need show others, Alex brought Ryan downstairs for a tour the workrooms. Master craftspeople demonstrated for Ryan how bespoke (custom-made) suits and jackets are sewn and pressed into the look that is the distinctive London cut. Ryan took it in, visibly impressed with the skill and diligence.
