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First-class flight
Regarding Mark Palmer’s article about looking smart to travel (August), we were flying to Canada a few years ago and when arriving at the gate, were taken to one side by a member of staff. We had been selected for an upgrade to first class!
When I queried why we were chosen from the 200 or so passengers, the reply was that they were looking for two welldressed passengers travelling together. (Nothing out of the ordinary, just no vests or flip flops.) It clearly pays to look half-decent when travelling.
Val Pounds Marlowe, Buckinghamshire
Smart decision
Mark Palmer’s column struck a chord. Before Covid, my husband and I holidayed abroad at least once a year, and gradually noticed how scruffy the fellow passengers were becoming.
The last time we flew, as we were boarding, the lovely cabin crew lady complimented me on my dress – ared and white striped shift dress with matching red patent pumps, necklace and a cheerful red lipstick. It was just as comfy as a T-shirt and joggers.
We also noticed people wander into the dining room in the evening looking as if they’d just come from the beach. But then standards of dress seem to be disappearing for everything.
So, next time we fly, watch out for the two old fogeys (71 and 72) boarding the plane looking neat and tidy!
Susan Williams Buxton, Norwich
Plane clothes
I agree with Mark Palmer on the way that passengers on flights dress these days.
I fly to my Saga holiday in Tenerife with BA so I can upgrade to business class. On my last flight, the chap sitting next to me was wearing shorts with a hole in them. He said his holiday started on the plane.
At 91, I must be out of touch with the younger generation who board a plane dressed ready to go on the beach.
Colin Mansbridge Gosport, Hampshire
Hidden gem
Secret Gardens (July) recalled my first visit to Biddulph Grange – one of the hidden gems mentioned – where the gardens really were hidden.
This was during the Second World War when the Grange was a soldiers’ hospital. Patients were pushed out in their beds on to the terrace for fresh air and views of the then overgrown and neglected gardens. I’d gone with my friend Brian and our mothers, who tended to the wounded while we raced around, tearing through giant reeds and weeds, down stone tunnels, then across a rickety wooden bridge hung with broken lanterns, past stone creatures (little knowing they were symbols of China and Egypt).
