A MAID IN MAYFAIR

Taranaki Daily News, 13 January 1932, Page 11

A MAID IN MAYFAIR

GOSSIP FROM LONDON TOWN. FEMINISM’S HIGH HEEL (From Our Lady Correspondent.) London, Nov. IS). There are not many Socialists left at Westminster now, but the few who survive have a big grievance. They are already tasting the bitterness of defeat, and learning the truth of Mr. Augustine Birrell’s maxim that suffering is the badge of all minorities. The Socialists were specially attached to their smokeroom at the House of Commons, overlooking the terrace at a pleasant spot. For twenty years it has been their peculiar Parliamentary haven and retreat. Now the new First Commissioner, Lord Londonderry, has summarily evicted them bag and baggage, and handed this beautiful apartment over to the exclusive use of the women M.’aP. 'The fatter have long complained of their inadequate and gramped quarters at the House of Commons, though these are better than the tiny boudoir improvised for the first woman M.P., Lady Astor, not so many 'years ago. I. fancy some of tho Socialists are less "feminist” than they were. 'NO WOMEN MINISTERS. There is rather heated talk in certain quarters concerning tho total exclusion of rue feminine element from Ministerial rank. It is suggested the omission is all tho more peculiar in view of Mr. MacDonald’s and Mr. Baldwin’s feminist sympathies, and of the fact that there have never beer, so many women membern to choose from. Curiously enough it was a clever and ardent pre-war suffragist who, at a dinner-party the other night, protested against the illogicalness of talcing umbrage on this account. Male Parliamentarians, she pointed out, have risen by very slow degrees to Cabinet eminence, serving long secretarial apprenticeships to Ministers and being subsequently promoted to junior .posts before the more glittering goal came in sight. Why, therefore, should women of little or no Parliamentary experience be accorded a sort of divine right of Ministerial precedence? LEGAL ANOMALY. It has been a longstanding feminine grievance that women of British birth, married to foreigners, lose their qualification as voters. By marriage they become aliens. It is a grievance all the more acute because of the eligibility of foreign-born women not’ only for a vote, •but actually for a seat in the House of Commons, if they are married to British husbands. Lady Astor, our first woman M.P., is an American -by birth-’., and and parentage as well as by her first marriage. There is now another woman M.P. at Westminster who, but for her marriage, would be debarred even from voting at an election in this country. This is Mrs. Ida Copeland, daughter -of the late Signor Camillo’Fenzi, of Dante's classic City in Italy, who is the wife of a well-known Midlands china manufacturer. VISCOUNTESS SNOWDEN. Labour's new Viscount and his Viscountess have witnessed a stirring succession of epic scenes in the national drama since the days when the Socialist movement, before it became a political game, was making converts of deeply cultured men and women to democratic idealism. The life-story of the exOhancellor and hie wife enshrines a mutual devotion to their cause and to each other. Even those most inimical to her views admit freely that Ethel Snowden has worn her wifehood like a crown, from the days when, on every occasion, she accompanied her physically disabled husband to the House, he leaning on her arm, to those later stages of his career when her equally unfailing spiritual support was more than ever at his service. Over and over again she has deputised for him brilliantly both on political and other platforms, when illhealth has compelled him to cancel engagements at the eleventh hour. SILVER WEDDING TRIBUTE. The new Viscountess, herself an amateur singer of great charm, in whose gift her husband takes a keen delight, has won many comradeships in the world of music, literature, and art, and with characteristic fervour champions the cause of British musicians. Her firsthand knowledge of just those social problems in which Queen Mary is profoundly interested constitutes a link of real friendship between them. Her flair for establishing the sincerest psychological contacts amounts to genius. But it is her devoted wifehood that is Ethel Snowden’s shinifig aura. Last year, on her silver wedding day, she wrote: “I remember with joy the day I met the man who has honoured me with hie name, the greatest leader in the movement of which I was the last recruit. 1 recall without any regret that the eve of our wedding was devoted to addressing separately two great public meetings . . . Were another life offered me, I would travel the same road With the same companion.” PRINCESS MARY’S NEW HOME. A week or so ago it was understood that Princess Mary would be engaged in London house-hunting negotiations when she was less busy with her manifold social activities of the moment. There were all sorts of rumours that the claims of this and that property were to be duly considered. It now transpires that the problem is happily solved. The new town address of the Earl and Countess of Harewood will be 32, Green Street, Mayfair, the house Queen Diary bought last March, when there was some idea that Prince George might eventually occupy it Standing on a corner site near Park Lane, in family proximity to the home of the Duke and Duchess of York in Piccadilly, the Green Street mansion is a distinguished brick and stone structure built for the late Lord Ribblesdale. A more recent owner was Mr. T. O. M. Sopwith, the well-known aircraft designer. Princess Mary and her husband will fake up their residence there shortly after Chrietmaa.

AN ARMISTICE ECHO. Though our thirteenth Armistice Day has now passed into tho annals of remembrance, I cannot refrain from quoting one little story of the Great Silence told me iby a doctor friend. At 10.45 he was attending a poor bedridden young charwoman, who obviously had something on her mind. Presently it became apparent that she could contain her anxiety no longer. “I don’t like to trouble you doctor, but if you’d just ask Sally not to forget to say ‘God bless Uncle Charlie’, I’d be able to lie quiet. He was killed at Loos, and her daddy’d be that upset if she didn’t remember to say her little bit for him. She’s only five, and last year she said it after me, ever so pretty. And if you please, doctor, would you tell her to put in a word for little Frankie—him as I lost when he was just turned two?” i IVAR SOUVENIRS. I wonderr how many families have a “war box,” like the one I was shown, yesterday by a well-known barrister, who was a temporary soldier during the war. It has been made to hold all the family souvenirs of the war, with the idea that it may become an heirloom, like the Crimean medals of the owner’s grandfather. It contains his tin hat, his medals, a German sword handle, and his maps of the Somme. There is also an almost complete set of his operation orders, including the secret orders for the first use of the tanks in July, 1916. The box has its feminine interest, represented by the wife’s ration cards, a book of revolting wartime recipes, and her V.A.D. badge. The “war-box” is kept locked, and is opened only on November 11, which gives it importance in the eyes of the children. GAY NOVEMBER. I have never known a November so crammed with social activities as thia present month. It is as if London’s unwonted share of belated sunshine was seeping into our social life, and stimulating joie-de-vivre to continuous revelry, both for its own sake and in the cause of charity. And at all the smartest dinner-tables one sees persistently increasing evidence of “buying British” and keeping the ball of national salvation rolling. Biritish linen —(the good old white°damask tablecloths—British china and crystal, and the utmost possible of home-grown produce, characterise the creme de la creme of hostess-ship in these days of resurgent patriotism. Every ex-

hibition of British craftsmanship is notably well attended and sales are most •encouraging. And now there is every si<rn that the Tudor Rose League is flourishing apace.

MAYFAIR’S MOTTO. That “buying British” has definitely become the watchword of (Mayfail is evidenced in the League's enrolments at the Buckingham Gate office, where they are rushing in at the rate of 1000 a day. The wearing of the red rose badge, which intimates to shop assistants that British o-oods must first be shown, is spreading like wildfire. Lady Winchilsea and Hermione Lady Blackwood don the rose on all their shopping expeditions. Elizabeth Lady is another staunch adherent of the cause, and Duchesses and Countesses sport the

badge with equal enthusiasm. Th© great schools are likewise being drawn into the movement, the girls wearing the red rose brooch and the boys cuff-links or tie-pins of the League’s design. All classes are signing on in every imaginable walk of life. PRINCESS PRIZEWINNER. A friend on the staff of a well-known children’s magazine tel Us me (that a regular entrant for their literary and art competitions year after year was the ! Princess Durru-Shehvar, only daughter of the ex-Caliph of Turkey, who is now I the wiie of the Nizam of Hyderabad’s son and heir. Her father’s delight and pride when his daughter in 1928 won the silver medal for the highest number of awards received during the year were as eloquently expressive of his sympathies as was his early choice of an English governess for the little Princess. Her early training is brilliantly apparent in her truly remarkable fluency both as a speaker and a writer in the language of her adoption. STAR WHO SCINTILLATES. It is no use being a film star if you fail to live up to the role outside as well as inside the studio. Beautiful Lupe Velez, who somehow managed recently to spend a whole week in- London without being boomed, is now electrifying Parisians with her wonderful ear-rings. This fortunate lady possesses over a hundred pairs, and has just added one more to her collection. These are miniature lanterns made of platinum, with diamonds inside that give the effect of a lighted lamp when they catch the sunshine or the electric light. One needs to be an exotic star of filmland to carry off ornaments like these in one’s dainty lobes. I hope the Parisian apache is keeping off that. ■ horrid “smash-and-grab” habit, otherwise the incomparable Velez had beter insure her ears as docs Mistinguette her shapely legs. ARTIST IN TEARS. Mrs. Clare Sheridan, the beautiful and gifted cousin of Mr. Winston Churchill, was so keen on adding the bust of Gandhi to her unique colcction of celebrities, including Lenin and Troteky, that she made a special trip to London from her African farm to persuade the mahatma to sit for her. She spent many hours kneeling Iby his side in order to make a lifelike model of his head. On getting the almost completed work back to her studio, the head collapsed, and flattened the features on the studio floor. Where a male sculptor would probably have found relief in language, Clare Sheridan burst into tears. But Gandhi, with a characteristic laugh, consented to let her renew the modelling of his face. His infinite patience makes him almost the perfect subject for the sculptor’s art. EAR-PIERCING. ■So prevalent.is the ear-ring vogue that many women who for yeans have worn the screw-on type of eai - ornament have decided to submit to the painful process of ear-piercing. The frequent loss of really valuable gems is the reason for this overtime work in jewellery establishments that make a speciality of this little operation. For a long time, it appears, many customers refused categorically to entertain the idea, until they discovered their friends were consenting to the process, albeit reluctantly, rather than run the risk of losing expensive and beautiful ear-rings. One well-known jeweller hazards the prophecy that the old-time fashion of having the small girl’s ears pierced as a matter of course will he resuscitated, so universal is the revival of the ear-ring mode. BADMINTON ENTHUSIASTS. At Brooklands, a pleasant country club in London’s Rugger subui’b of Blackheath, I watched some thrilling championship badminton lat<t night. In a subsequent talk with a well-known Middlesex player, Miss Brenda Speaight, I realised what intense enthusiasm prevails among women amateurs, who play night after - night at the end of a hard day’s work. She herself is typical, being gymnastics mistress at a secondary school by day. and rushing off for strenuous practice every evening at Alexandra

Park, with tournament play at the weekend in various parts of the country. She assures me she is only one of a host of women workers with international - badminton ambitions. But it is a goal most difficult of attainment, since only three women may reach it, and wage-earning players find themselves up against the competition of non-wage earners, who, as Miss Speaight put it, “can simply live for the game.” . SHOPPING THRILLS. There is a always an added thrill about Christmas shopping in the big London stores, for there is always the delightful possibility of happening across Her Majesty the Queen, making her purchases ■ like ordinary folks, in one or other of the crowded departments where the big Yuletide push is in progress. A day or two ago I was beholding and admiring in the gift hall of a great Kensington emporium when I became aware of the Royal presence. Queen Mary never seems to lose her zest or her happy gi f t of inspired selection. She bought heaps of toys, and every one of them was chosen with the same affectionate regard for the predilections of the lucky prospective owner. All-British china also attracted her attention, and more orders were placed. Altogether, Her Majesty spent the best part of an hour in the store, setting once again the Royal buy-early-and-buy British example to the people. Japanese filling: Ingredients—l cup orated coconut, 2 cups sugar, 2 cups water, i teaspoon salt, 1 cup cornflour, and one-third cup lemon juice. Method: Cook coconut, sugar, water, salt and cornflour for 45min in double boiler. Add lemon juice and spread while hot between layers of cake.

A delicious trifle: Cover the bottom of a glass dish with |lb of macaroons, cut. six penny sponge cakes in halves and spread each slice with raspberry jam and place on the biscuits; now strew over 3oz of ratafia biscuits, pour over a glass of sherry or raisin wine and a glass of brandy, if liked, and leave it” for a while to soak. Prepare a pint of custard and while hot pour it over the cakes. Blanch and chop 2oz of sweet almonds and strew over the top of the custard. Leave until cold. Beat up a gill of cream with one tablespoonful of castor sugar, whip tho whites of three eggs to a stiff broth and mix with the cream. Heap lightly over tho top of the trifle. Decorate with silver beads and email pieces of crystallised fruite. .