Best Wishes

I first experienced the extended Polish birthday wish a few years ago. A group of friends stood up, handed me a present and chorused “Happy birthday.” “Thanks,” I said, as I sat down and began ripping paper. It was a few seconds before I noticed everyone else was still standing there, looking uncomfortable. Eventually I understood they wanted to say something else, and got to my feet. Friends and colleagues then proceeded to say all kinds of nice and thoroughly undeserved things about me while I stood there feeling miserably awkward. I didn't know where to look or what to do with my hands, my English social training had not prepared me for this. I haven't been that embarrassed since the time I bumped heads bowing to a Japanese friend's mother in Yokohama.

It's not just birthdays, as I soon discovered. The Polish habit of making thoughtful, carefully worded speeches to close friends extends to all kinds of special occasions.

Weddings were the next big surprise. At an English wedding, it is the groom and the bride who are expected to make long, embarrassing speeches to the guests. At a Polish wedding it's the other way around – each guest is expected to say some carefully considered words to the newlyweds. Again, I wasn't ready for this. When my wife and I got to the end of what seemed like a five-kilometre long queue of well-wishers, I kissed the bride on the cheek, shook the groom's hand and said something like "Good job! Where's the bar?" Then I stepped smartly to one side and looked around for the wife. She was still engaged, apparently delivering a soliloquy from Hamlet. "What on earth were you talking about?" I asked later. "Giving them best wishes for their lives together, blessing their future children, hoping their dreams come true… the usual things." "Couldn't you have written that in the card?" I inquired. "Oh no, that requires a lot more thought."

I thought I would be safe at Christmas. Who makes speeches at Christmas? It’s all jollity, wine and presents, surely. Nobody told me about opłatek. “So the idea,” I was told “is to share a piece of your opłatek with everyone else at the table and wish them a good year.” Sounds simple, I thought. “Merry Christmas!” I said. It wasn’t enough. “Erm… happy birthday for June, and I hope you have a great Christmas next year too!” I’m not a natural at this.

I’m impressed by this Polish custom of expecting everyone to be able to come up with beautiful and heartfelt words at a moment’s notice. It probably goes a long way to explaining this country’s impressive literary tradition. What I find odd is that it adds a kind of formality to occasions that my countrymen treat with maximum informality. I wonder if it works the other way? When I’m eventually awarded the Order of the White Eagle, will the president simply pinch my cheek, wink and invite me into the kitchen for a vodka or two?

* Jamie Stokes*