So, the August Moon Ball. Just when we all heaved a sigh of relief and thought: finally a politician with a bit of zest, a man who knows how to twirl his missus about under the full moon and all that, Labour leader Joseph Muscat goes and hairline-fractures his ankle.

Eh! This is one of the troubles of modern youth, if I may say so myself. Even if our two left feet do not get the better of us when doing a spot of classical dancing, our lack of practice does.

If this was, say, sometime in the late 19th century, the only hairline which would trouble Dr Muscat would certainly not be in the ankle. No sir. At the time, any proper gentleman of society would have been almost born with the knowledge of how to place the feet strategically while purling and pivoting, without causing the tiniest bit of strain on said feet.

And here’s the proof: I have come across – in a little vintage shop in Valletta – a facsimile of an 1897 book, which goes by the title of Manners for Men.

The book covers all matters of ‘proper’ manners – from how men should behave in a carriage, on horseback, at dinner parties, in church and, well, almost anywhere except, thankfully, the bathroom. Chapter 17 dwells on ‘How to behave at the ball’. And this is what it says:

‘Every man who wishes to be a success in society must learn to dance. There are abundant oppor-tunities for doing so at the various dancing ‘academies’.

‘A man must be taught to hold his head up, to grasp his partner gently but firmly, not to tread on her toes or know his knees against hers, and also how to steer his course and hers. The learner is taught to glide gently from foot to foot, regulating his pace as quickly or as slowly as he may wish.’

There. Easy-peasy, and no limp to think of after the partying. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we grew up knowing how to whirl and wheel, gracefully, just like in the days of yore?

Now, you may think I’m a bit of an old-hat but this 19th century book has made me all nostalgic. What wouldn’t I give to have us still curtsying and bowing to one another? I am certain that if we had to throw a touch of grandiose good manners, we’d be cured of many a modern ill.

In fact, while we’re at it, why should we stop at dancing and curtsying? We should also bring back such chivalrous acts as men walking on the roadside to protect their lady friends and, ahem, throwing their cloaks over puddles for them to step on. And men would help ladies get into the car, and out of the car.

Here’s a tip from Chapter 3: ‘If, after a ball party, a man wishes to see any lady to her carriage, he asks her permission to do so, folds her wraps round her, hands her in and stands until the carriage has gone some yards away.’ Just like the movies.

What if hats and gloves made a comeback? And what if we could turn up to work in corseted silken frocks? And perhaps, for a touch of drama, faint every time we heard a swear word?

Oh, and men would rise every time a woman entered the office. (Sure, they’d pretty much have to get used to working standing up – but what the heck, it’s good for those thigh muscles).

When I’d need to leave for home, a gentleman would have to escort me to my hansom, erm, car.

Says the book: ‘A man offers his right arm to the lady and walks with her to the door, opening it with his left hand, holding an umbrella over her should it be raining.’

Perfect. Instead of computer games we’d have parlour games. After which, because of the sudden need of fresh air, it would be necessary to take a turn in the citrus garden (fine, fine, if pressed, a yard with a couple of herb pots will do).

And men would tip their hats at one another by way of greeting, and best of all they would duel for my affections. Squeal! What merriment!

Verily, let’s go back to the time of chivalry. In the meantime, perhaps Dr Muscat in recovery could do worse than read this 19th century book to while the time.

krischetcuti@gmail.com