One of the most winning anecdotes from the life of Sir David Tang (and there are thousands) comes from the days shortly before his death last week in the Royal Marsden Hospital. Aware that his prognosis was decidedly bleak, the great entrepreneur, philanthropist and columnist extraordinaire began to arrange a party, to be held on September the 6th at the hotel whose fortunes he had so successfully revived. “I want to be at my wake” he told a guest list of 500 friends. “I want intimacy at the Dorchester. So I’ve booked the London Symphony Orchestra.”
I want intimacy at the Dorchester. So I’ve booked the London Symphony Orchestra...
This combination – to the very end – of wit, purpose, expansive style and huge warmth was what garnered Sir David the asset for which he will be most remembered. Not the prodigious business empire that spanned five continents and several eras, nor the unerring ambassadorial work for his beloved Hong Kong, nor even the remarkable services to charity for which he was awarded a Knighthood in 2007.
But for the friendships, long and deeply held, with so many figures from all corners of the globe and all walks of life. Often dubbed the most connected man in the world, Sir David walked arm in arm with the glittering stars of the global elite – from Hollywood royalty to actual royalty; from the autocrat Robert Mugabe to the renegade Fidel Castro; from supermodels to the super rich. In a 2007 interview, Sir David was asked how he came to know so many notable people. “You mean how did they know me?” was his reply.
Those notable names loved and revered him for his caustic humour and mercurial temper as much as his invaluable advice and unerring succour. At the launch of his Rules for Modern Life guidebook last year, the assembled guests stayed beyond the time specified on the invitation. Bellowing out to the gathered princes, politicians and powerbrokers, Sir David said: “F*** off. The party’s over.”
It was in that very same book, in fact – the culmination of seven years of tireless Agony Uncle service to the Financial Times – that Sir David displayed one of his most winning qualities: an old-world charm combined with an insatiable curiosity for the new one.
On topics as varied and disparate as hotel buffets, stemless wine glasses and Bavarian Lederhosen, the great raconteur held forth with certainty, refreshing candour and unpretentious insight, peeling away our modern conventions layer by layer to reveal a way of life more honest, elegant, and, most importantly, fun. In our own small tribute to a very big life, we present below some of our favourite rules for gentlemanly living from that indispensable handbook.
“Is it OK to go sockless when wearing a suit?”
It is highly unpleasant to look at any sockless person, especially with a suit because it would highlight their naked ankles and possibly hair around the bottom of the shin. Both of these are as “no-no” as Nanette! In any case, isn’t the prospect of sweating in a pair of leather shoes altogether rather unsavoury? It doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to smell the consequences.
“I am in mild need of a new shooting suit but am hesitant in going to many obvious choices because of a reluctance to get threads similar to everyone else. Where would you recommend?”
A new shooting suit is an open invitation to get mobbed by others. Much smarter for your suit to be threadbare than for you to have new threads. Indeed, you will always find good sots in well-worn suits, often with noticeable darning or patches that nouveaux brands such as Dunhill put on new jackets ab initio, which is exceedingly common.
So why bother with a new suit? It is dangerous to dress too smartly at a shoot when you can’t shoot properly. It’s infinitely better to be a crack shot in shabby clothes than a crap shot in fancy gear.
“How should a gentleman respond to finding out that he has been the victim of a cruel practical joke?”
A real gent would take a practical joke in his stride, although occasionally it might not be ungentlemanly to resort to revenge. We must not, however, be too hasty in exacting revenge, which is best served cold. A very good friend of mine, whose wife introduced me to my wife, worked for the Prince of Wales, and on a few occasions he would telephone me imitating the voice of the heir to the throne – with devastating accuracy.
Every time he did it, I was too gullible and unctuous to disbelieve that the Prince would telephone me, I would politely carry on the conversation, gesticulating to anyone else in the room to keep quiet. Then suddenly there would be booming laughter at the other end of the line with my friend obviously curled up in the foetal position for succeeding with his impression, I fell for the joke a couple of times and was determined not to be caught out again.
The day after the death of my father, I received a phone call with I was convinced was another of my friend vocal pranks. So I let him carry on sending me his condolences, then I bellowed down the line: “Sure, sure, Guy, and you know where you can shove your condolences?” – before slamming down the phone. It turned out that, on this singular occasion, it was actually the Prince who had called.
“I wonder what you think about stemless wine glasses. When Riedel came out with a stemless goblet, I bought some and have seldom used stems since. Yes, it’s lovely to see tall glassware on the table. But then there are the shrieks as a knocked over glass of red goes flying, everyone jumping up to save their outfits – invariably white – plus the conversation killing mop-up, the anguish of the knocker-over, etc.”
The Riedel stemless wine goblet is foul to look at and fouler to drink wine from. Calling it a “goblet” is an insult to me as a good Catholic altar boy who is used to gleaming silver grails at Mass. If you are so antsy about wine glasses having stems, you should get some old ones without stems – especially those with a square crystal base.
The idea that you should worry endlessly about glasses of red wine being knocked over is typically one of those irritating middle-class anxieties best consigned to oblivion. If a glass of red wine is knocked over, then it’s knocked over. We will just have to clean it up. Blotches on table-cloths and carpets are the marks of stylish nonchalance and confidence.
“I have a social dilemma. I wish to address a letter to Tang Wing, otherwise known as Sir David Tang. As he is a Sir, this introduces a dilemma in that I ordinarily start my letters to male person as “Dear Sir”. Would this show the right degree of deference, or do you address a Sir as “Dear Sir Sir” in letters?”
First, my Chinese name is Tang Wing-Cheung (meaning “forever brilliant”!). My Grandfather, who was also knighted, was known in Hong Kong as Sir Tang, which of course was inconsistent with the established British practice of using the given name after the title. So he should have been Sir Shui-Kin.
Anyway, if you were writing to someone you didn’t know, you would indeed address them as “Dear Sir”. If you knew you were writing to me, you could address your opening as “Dear Sir David”. Or even “Dear Sir David Tang”, which is less obsequious. And if you knew me, “Dear David” would be perfectly acceptable. As for all my friends, they of course just write “Dear Tang” or something much more derogatory like “Dear Fatso”. I have always wished I had another son, whom I would have named Price – so that if he were to be knighted, he would become “Sir Price” Tang!
“David – I like you, in a completely non-sexual way. Is this an acceptable feeling for a man? Kind regards, André.”
Not if your name is André!
“I notice lately that you have been bothered with some quite stupid questions. Please tell me how you are coping with that.”
I would say in exactly the same way as I am coping with you, to wit, with aloofness and contempt. Don’t worry about be. You look after yourself.
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