A stitch in time saves millions, says Mary Kenny

Two French ideas are worth copying. One is that cash is categorised as legal

tender, and payment in readies cannot be refused: no signs in shops saying, ‘card payment only’. The abolition of cash not only means the banks control our lives (and can therefore ‘de-bank’ us if they choose, as in the Nigel Farage case).

The disappearance of cash is also unfair to the poor, to charities and to those whose livelihood is helped by tips, and by grandparents who enjoy the pleasure of slipping a grandchild a tenner – somehow more spontaneous than a financial transfer.

And who doesn’t derive a small glow of virtue in dropping a couple of coins into a busker’s mendicant cap?

The second admirable measure of President Macron’s administration is to make a commitment to the practice of repairing clothes rather than chucking them away.

Because France currently discards 700,000 tonnes of clothes a year, the ecology minister has promised that government financial reimbursements for repairing – rather than binning – older clothes will be available from October.

My town, Deal in Kent (the second most desirable English seaside town, according to a recent survey), already has an excellent clothes repair service, called ‘A Stitch in Time’.

Margaret, our seamstress, shortens, lengthens, expands, takes in, renews and repairs all garments brought to her, applying quite modest charges.

Every town should have an appointed seamstress (or seamster). I feel sure King Charles, who extols mending and repairing, would endorse the concept.

Sir Keir Starmer, when he becomes prime minister – imminently expected

– plans to expand the skills of young people by offering them a course in ‘oracy’. School pupils are to be taught to speak articulately, to improve their chances of getting on in life. Jolly good idea, even if it does slightly smack of reinventing the wheel.

When I was a schoolgirl, in the far-off 1950s, we had a weekly session called ‘elocution’. During this period, Miss Ena Bourke, a formidable Dublin spinster, would teach us to stand up, speak up and perfect our DICTION.

‘Every word you enounce,’ said Miss Ena Bourke, ‘should be heard clearly

by whosoever is listening to you. Do not ELIDE your sentences, girls.

‘PRONOUNCE your words properly – I want to hear that epiglottis doing what it was made to do. Practice – “She sells seashells on the seashore!” Do not GABBLE.’

How often have I thought nostalgically of Miss Ena Bourke

and her endeavours. She sallied forth into inner-city schools, as well as into genteel convents, where she exhorted a, shall we say, more proletarian demographic to exercise CORRECT DICTION.

But then it came about that elocution was dismissed as a waste of curriculum time and, moreover, something rather snobbish.

So, it disappeared. And speech came to include the ellisions, the gabblings, the mutterings and mumblings that are now part of everyday communication (especially to those of us whose hearing is not what it was).

When Margaret Thatcher took elocution lessons to improve her speech, some regarded this as pretentious and social climbing.

So, bravo to Sir Keir for reversing that notion, and recognising that CLEAR DICTION and ARTICULATE

PRONUNCIATION are an asset in any young person’s education.

Immigration is often seen as problematic, and accommodating new populations is a challenge. Yet sometimes the influence of immigrants can be unexpected.

Britain is an increasingly secular society, but London is one of the most religious parts of the United Kingdom – because its immigrant population tends to be more religious. Ireland has a high percentage of immigrants – 20 per cent of the population were born outside the country.

For years, secular campaigners have sought to silence the Angelus being relayed by RTE TV and radio, calling it an outdated relic of bygone Catholic Ireland.

But every time the national broadcaster does the market research, they find the Angelus is popular – Muslims in Ireland are often particularly appreciative. And so, a renewed set of Angelus films and bell-ringing were launched over the summer airwaves. Ecumenism has many faces.

Authors today are supposed to carry out speaking engagements, appear at writers’ festivals and promote themselves publicly.

Some enjoy these events – The Oldie’s lunchtime speakers always have great fun. But some have blanched at the prospect. My late sister worked for the BBC in New York, and I have just found, among her correspondence, a message to that effect from the late John Updike.

In 1970, the BBC sent a flattering letter to the famous American novelist, asking him to be part of an important forthcoming broadcast series on the future of religion. Updike was a Dutch Calvinist, despite his novelistic themes of sexy romps.

‘Thank you for your kind invitation,’ he replied. ‘But, in an attempt to purge myself of evil humours, I have renounced all speaking engagements, interviews, symposia and other modes of self-display.’

How very quaint!