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The Tie that Really Binds

 

There’s nothing I like more than a nice tie. Although I’m proud of my collection of Hermes and Ferragamo, they are by no means the only ones I’m fond of. Yet sadly, some that I’ve taken a fancy to have been meant for other people. If that doesn’t make immediate sense, read on for in the mystery lies a pretty tale.

In December 1976, a year and a bit after my father’s death, I happened to be holidaying in Delhi. Mummy had arranged a small dinner and I was commanded to attend.

“But I have nothing to wear.” I desperately pleaded. I could have added that I had nothing in common with the generals she had invited but I knew that would be brushed aside. So I stuck to the excuse of my supposed sartorial inadequacy.

“Open Daddy’s cupboard and take whatever you need.” Mother swiftly responded. “You won’t find better ties than his.”

Now Daddy’s ties were nice but they were almost entirely regimental. Stripes, conventional in colour and old fashioned in style – or so I thought at the time. But there was one that jumped out at me. It was – if I recall correctly – orange and red. Striking, in fact eye-catching.Without hesitation, I took it.

Mummy smiled when she saw my choice. I assumed she was amused by the bright colours but as she said nothing we left it at that. The party began, I overcame my nerves and slowly, cautiously began enjoying myself. And then it happened. A tall dark gentleman strode up and as I looked up at him I noticed he had on an identical tie.

“Young man,” He started, “where did you get that tie?”

“Oh.” I replied, somewhat sheepish about the admission I was forced to make. “From my father’s cupboard.”

“And do you know that you’re not entitled to wear it?”

“Why?” By then, my voice was barely a whisper.

“Because it’s the Colonel of the Guards’ tie. Your father held the post and so do I but I don’t believe you do.”

Perhaps he was teasing but I never wore it again. I never had the guts to risk a repeat. In the meantime, regimental ties came back into fashion and London stores were overflowing with them. I often thought of buying one but memories of the last time I had worn one would flood back and I would walk away. If only I were ‘entitled’ to wear one.

Last Sunday, that happened. I was invited by General Rai to speak to the Rajputana Rifles Officer’s Association. The Raj Rif is Daddy’s old regiment and I was visiting the officer’s mess after almost forty years. As an unkempt civilian, I must have stuck out like a sore thumb but I was nonetheless welcomed and presumably forgiven. When I left, General Rai gave me a large wrapped present. I waited till I got into the car to open it. I assumed it would be a fancy calendar or perhaps a regimental insignia of some sort. I was wrong.

It was the Raj Rif tie. Deep green with bright red stripes. Dignified, distinguished, dashing. I’ve always wanted to wear it. Lewin’s in Jermyn Street, one of my favourite shirt shops, has a Raj Rif tie hanging in the display window. Many are the times I’ve been tempted except memories of the Colonel of the Guards’ came in the way. Now I had been given one by the Raj Rif officers themselves.

I’m not an officer and I doubt if I’m a gentleman but I do have a regimental tie with full authority to wear it. I’m itching for the next general to walk up and ask questions.