Among the commemorative notices published in 1979, on the occasion of the seventy-fifth anniversary of Rolls-Royce, there appeared one particularly arresting advertisement from Appleyard—the well-regarded motorcar purveyor whose polished showrooms graced both Leeds and Glasgow. It bore that familiar emblem, the Spirit of Ecstasy, poised as ever in her silent flight, accompanied by a headline as whimsical as it was reverent: “Keeping a beautiful lady in shape.”
What followed was no mere commercial enticement, but an ode, almost chivalrous in tone: “If you love her, you’ll bring her to Appleyard. Their knowledge of her anatomy is total. Their appreciation of her virtue, endless.” In such words, one glimpses not only a devotion to mechanical craftsmanship, but a bygone gallantry—an era when even the language of commerce could be steeped in grace.
Once, even the humblest artifact was wrought with beauty—formed with a reverence for symmetry, proportion, and soul. But today, if a man dares to speak with dignity or to write with flourish, he is regarded either as an eccentric or an anachronism.
We have not merely misplaced elegance; we have exiled it. One wonders—was it carelessness or cowardice that led us to discard the language of our forebears? And in so doing, have we not imperilled the very culture which once gave rise to such beauties?
