Jonny McCambridge: The knotty issue of tying a tie – passing my wisdom down through the generations

They were proper ties too, pointed lengths of cotton which had to be knotted rather than looped or clipped on.

While I have no memory of it, I presume there was a period early on where I was helped with the technique before picking up the skill myself. In addition, while I often observed other pupils removing and putting on ties with the knot still fastened, I have never taken that short cut. When I wear a tie, it is always freshly knotted.

During my (ahem) research for this column, I discovered there are more than 30 ways to tie a tie. I know one. It has always served me well and I’ll stick with it.

I’ve worn a tie through all of my years of education and much of my professional life. At secondary school my preference of having the top button of my shirt undone when wearing a tie often brought me into conflict with the headmaster. In my journalistic career, I’ve worked in offices which I would not have dared enter without a tie.

I’ve also observed sartorial rules becoming much more relaxed in recent years. Where once I wore a tie every working day, now it is reserved for more important and formal locations. Last year I sat on the panel during interviews for a job.

Among the candidates were four young men and none of them wore a tie for the interview. This surprised me but seemed not to raise an eyebrow elsewhere. My career has long been on the downward slope but I’m still not sure I’d turn up for a job interview minus a tie.

Until the past week my son had never worn one. His primary school uniform for the past seven years has consisted of a functional polo shirt and jumper. There has never been an occasion which has required us to dress him formally (although I did accede to his request to be bought a bow-tie and top hat to wear on Christmas Day).

Over the summer holidays he is always most comfortable wearing tracksuit trousers (when we can persuade him to change out of his pyjamas).

But the process of kitting him out for big school has begun. We started by buying the rugby kit (the prospect of readying my non-sporty son for the ordeal of rugby is something I’ll speak about on another week).

This consisted of taking him to a hatch at the school at an appointed time where we placed orders for jerseys, socks and shorts and where small tents had been erected to allow the new pupils privacy when trying on the outfits.

Then the uniform. The department store we visited is the same one at which we have been buying my son’s uniforms since he was in nursery. The helpful girl who works there told us she was still at school herself. She measured my son by placing a tape around his chest and neck.

We selected a dark navy blazer that was bigger than required so as to get two years of use. The shirts were freshly creased and the pullover for now retains its smooth sheen. We left the store weighed down with a heavy carrier bag but with my wallet significantly lightened.

We waited until we got home before trying on the whole ensemble. This was partly because my son was shy about getting changed in the shop, but perhaps more because I feared a public loss of composure at seeing my boy dressed in a shirt, tie and blazer.

He began to get dressed in his room and fought gamely with the unfamiliar buttons on the new shirt. The trousers seemed too long and the blazer over-sized but we mumbled reassuringly, "You’ll grow into them.”

Then it came to the tie. My son held it up with an uncertain look on his face. He had a couple of forlorn attempts at looping it around his collar before I came to his assistance. I got him to stand facing me, and then turned the stiff collar of his new shirt upright. I put the tie around his neck…and then completely butchered my first attempt to knot it.

It was only now that an obvious realisation slapped me hard. While I can tie my own tie in seconds, doing it for someone else, with all of the actions reversed, is a completely different proposition. My son has never tied his own tie and I have never tied someone else’s. Also having to think about something which is usually automatic tends to bring confusion.

I had a couple more aborted attempts. I could feel my son’s best ‘I thought you were supposed to know what you were doing’ gaze upon me. I concentrated hard.

Adjust it so the fat end is longest, wrap the long length around the short one twice, up round the back, over the top, insert into the knot, pull down the front, and tighten. It wasn’t my best effort, and would certainly not win any elegance awards, but it did look remotely like the knot of a tie.

I adjusted it and smoothed the blazer and looked at my son in his new uniform. As I continued to seek perfection with the tie, I had another thought. I was not looking downwards as I fiddled with the knot, not working with someone diminutive. My son’s gaze was close to level with my own. Once I was able to hold him inside one hand. Soon he will be gazing down on me. He met my gaze briefly before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. I stopped fussing.

"Will you teach me how to tie my own tie daddy?” he asked. “Yes son, yes I will.”