In the frescoed ballroom of the International Butler Academy (TIBA) in the Netherlands, a gaggle of students shuffled into line. “You may have walked in a certain way for 25 years, but this is not how you do it as a butler,” said their etiquette instructor, addressed by everyone as Mr Munro. He ordered them to slot their arms behind wooden crosses, which they held against their spines – “torture devices” to correct posture. “Now relax!”
The suited students – five men and two women, aged from mid-20s to late-50s – primly waddled across the marble floor. Their crosses were removed and each was handed a book and a silver tray loaded with wine glasses. “This is harder for those that are follically challenged,” said Munro (who is bald). “But if the book is in the right position, I can do almost anything.” He performed a pirouette with a copy of Forum Kritische Psychologie, a German psychology journal, perched on his head. As his students tried to emulate him, the sounds of books slapping the floor and wine glasses smashing echoed around the hall.
As soon as they found their balance, Munro started hurling balls the size of grapefruit at them. The students swerved, with varying degrees of success. The aim of the exercise was not only to protect the glassware but maintain a calm demeanour under bombardment; although butlers are never centre stage, they are, ultimately, performers. “We are working for real people, but it’s still a show,” Munro, a former actor, told me. This was something that his students recognised as well. As one academy graduate put it to me later, “We’re only actors. It’s a role we play.” | | |
