Charles Moore
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Further light on the difference between ‘may’ and ‘might’ (see Spectator’s Notes, 17 June) comes from my original correspondent, Mr J.D. Tunnicliffe. He writes: ‘One has to bear in mind that might, whatever non-grammarians may think, is either a past or conditional tense and cannot be anything else.’ In a postscript to another recent letter to me he adds, crushingly but correctly, ‘I cannot recall ever finding a misuse of may/might in the writings of Bill Deedes.’ I am relieved to find, though, that I am not alone in having found the subject confusing. The distinguished novelist Philip Pullman has written to me to say, ‘This was something that puzzled me till I got the hang of it.’ ‘The point,’ Mr Pullman goes on, ‘is simply this: “may” means that we’re still uncertain, “might” means that there was uncertainty once, but it has passed.’ He exemplifies the difference: ‘If it hadn’t been for the work of Bletchley Park, Germany might have won the second world war’. If one wrote ‘Germany may have won the second world war’, it would suggest one was unsure whether she did or not. Perhaps, in modern secondary schools, they are unsure about this. History matters.
At Christmas I planted the germ of a rectory club in the minds of readers of the Daily Telegraph. The idea, which came to me because I am lucky enough to live in an old rectory, was to form a society to increase knowledge and interest in vicarages, rectories, presbyteries and manses, most of which have passed out of the hands of the Church and into private ownership. My theory was that these buildings are huge repositories of architectural, social and cultural history throughout the British Isles, particularly in England, Wales and Ireland. So many of these houses are beautiful, play important roles in their communities (both urban and rural) and have been occupied by remarkable people. Their history matters. It would be nice, I argued, to get the current owners, and what Vatican II documents call ‘people of good will’, to exchange information, build up data, have lectures and parties and open their fascinating houses to the occasional members’ visit. The response has been huge and the club, now in the process of being legally incorporated, will soon be open for business. As a sort of warm-up, our Patron, the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, opened her house to the public on Saturday and kindly allowed me to hand out leaflets about the club. Debo Devonshire has moved out of Chatsworth and moved into the Old Vicarage in the neighbouring village of Edensor (the ‘Ed’ is silent). She boasts of the fact that her house, which had 14 bedrooms when inhabited by the vicar, is now divided between herself and a neighbour and is therefore one of the few semis to feature on our list. The scene was perfect. The sun shone. The vicar (who lives next door in a new vicarage which is older than the Old Vicarage) looked exactly right in an old straw hat and open-work sandals. Glamour was added by the presence of John F. Kennedy’s daughter Caroline visiting, with her children, on a pilgrimage to the grave of her aunt, Kick, who was married for five weeks to Billy Hartington, who would have been Duke of Devonshire if he had not been killed in the war. A hundred and fifty people paid £5 each in aid of church funds and tramped happily up and down Debo’s stairs. Spectator readers interested in joining the Rectory Club (NB you do not have to be an owner to join) may register their interest on info@rectoryclub.co.uk or by writing to the Hon. Sec. Charles Crosthwaite at Brown Rudnick and Co., 8 Clifford Street, London W1S 2LQ. Our embryonic website is www.rectoryclub.co.uk.
It is reported that Linda Walker, from Newcastle, had a stroke and found, on otherwise recovering, that her Geordie accent had changed to a Jamaican one. This medical rarity is called ‘foreign accent syndrome’. I wonder if Tony Blair suffers from this affliction. His accent is Australian. He pronounces the ‘-ed’ and ‘-et’ ending — ‘suspended’, ‘sorted’, ‘cricket’, ‘basket’ — with an Aussie swallow so that it all but disappears. Mr Blair has had some slightly obscure health problems in the past: is this a symptom? Mrs Walker explains the unsettling psychological effect of the change: ‘It’s like losing a big part of your identity. You don’t feel like the same person any more.’
Why do people now say ‘across the piece’ where they used to say ‘across the board’? What is the piece? What was the board?
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