A MAID IN MAYFAIR

Taranaki Daily News, 18 August 1932, Page 12

A MAID IN MAYFAIR

GOSSIP FROM LONDON TOWN. THE ALEXANDRA MEMORIAL. London, Juno 16. What struck me most at the unveiling of the Queen Alexandra Memorial was the amazing clearness of the King’s voice. Though I was standing more than a hundred yards away, every word could be clearly heard —with far more clearness, indeed, than in the more restricted space of the House of Lords when His Majesty speaks from the throne.. There was no mistaking the keen interest taken in the occasion. Literally everyone seemed to be there. I noticed Mr. Stanley 7 Baldwin and his wife; the Duchess of Devonshire, the Duke of Rutland, the Earl of Crawford, and a host of others. It was happy thought to let the unveiling coincide with Alexandra Day. Wherever you went in the West End, or, indeed, anywhere in London, pretty girls were selling the tiny pink blooms. As everyone you niet seemed to be wearing one, the hospitals should gain benefit substantially by the collection. A ROYAL SECRET. The secret of perennial youth seems to belong to our English Queens. The late Queen Alexandra retained her slim figure and youthful vivacity of movement, despite deafness, till the very last. At the Duke of York’s marriage, not very long before her demise, she looked no more 3 than middle-aged, and poked the best man in the ribs of his Guard’s tunic with her umbrella as gaily as anything. Even the Abbey could not subdue her animation'. Queen Mary, who has now announced that she has given up dancing, certainly does not look 65. Any close observer would put Her Majesty down, at being not a day more than the early fifties at most. That is the. more remarkable since ' Qgeen Mary; never follows the extremes 'of modern fashion, but retains still just a touch of the Victorian style. DEAD AMBASSADOR. Everyone sympathises with Donna. Diana Bordonaro, the beautiful wife of the Italian Ambassador, in the bereavement she has so suddenly suffered. She and her husband were to have given one of their famous dinners —a dinner to which Sir John and Lady Simon, nearly all the Ambassadors accredited to the Court of St. James’, Lord D’Aberiion, and many others had been invited.. Only an hour or two before the dinner the Ambassador had a seizure, and though he was rushed quietly to a nursinghome, he .died almost immediately. He and his' wife, Donna Diana, had been planning great changes and improve- ■ meats at the new headquarters of the Italian Embassy in Grosvenor Square. During their, honeymoon in Italy they had arranged for many famous pictures, tapestries, and other Italian objets d’art to be sent to London. Donna Diana is one of the most popular and most beautiful hostesses in London,, and it is tragic, indeed, that her dreams should have been so rudely and abruptly shattered. PLACKET GOSSIP. The best seller of the year, so far as Mayfair and Belgravia are concerned, must be “Discretions and Indiscretions,” the piquant book written by Lady Duff Gordon, sister of Elinor Glyn, about her experiences, as a fashionable West End dressmaker. Every smart woman wants to dipcover whether -w not she and her friends appear in its pages. Evir dently women regard a dressmaker aS a sort of sartorial mother' confessor. It is difficult to imagine men being so confiding to a Savile Row tailor, and still more difficult to imagine the latter making a book out of their confessions. But perhaps Lady Duff Gordon’s patrons overlooked the fact that she had a sister who is a novelist, and probably shared her literary flair. Otherwise they would not have been quite so intimately confiding. WOMEN’S WORK. One really charming personality in the book is Ellen Terry, whom Lady Duff Gordon describes as the untidiest woman she ever knew, but the one who attracted most affection from her own sex. She quotes a remarkable piece of shrewd philosophy uttered by the famous actress. Ellen Terry declared that no woman is ever completely satisfied with a .career, however well she might do in it. “There is an awful morass waiting for us all to fall into,” sl.e said, ‘/when we realise that what we have alw-ys called our life’s work is of no importance at all.” What really o'—its in a woman’s me, according to Ellen Tfry, is love and children, and the happiest woman is the one with a 1. rge family round her. “Physical creation,” she concluded, “alone gives a woman any lasting satisfaction.” WRONG. They have “At Home” days occasionally at Greenwich Observatory, and visitors take the precaution before arriving to set their watches meticulously right. Everybody knows Greenwich Observatory is the time factory of the world, and it is only fitting that visitors should make their wrist-watches pay tribute to the fact. It saves them from developing an inferiority complex in the presence of august scientific accuracy. But just now it is precisely where they go wrong. It enables the observatory staff to make them look very small. Conversation is adroitly turned on time, and the visitors glance confidently at their watches. But they find they are all just an hour fast. Greenwich keeps world time, not summer time, and it puts the most punctual visitors completely out of gear. WATCHING EARTHQUAKES. One well-advertised West End shop has introduced what must really be “something new.” It has on view, for customers to gaze at, a full-fledged scientific seismograph. You can watch the needle, or rather the pen, tracing on a chart the exact-to-Scale earth tremors even at the farthest circumference of

the globe. There are, I am informed, no more than three such instruments in this country, and the two others are private ones, not open to public inspection. The West End seismograph seems a big draw. Women study its fain Lest gyrations with absorbed, interest, <»nd speculate as to what precisely tuvy imply, and where the particular earthquake may be located. One lady, who was in the shop just about the corresponding time, is much thrilled by the belief that—in between buying hats — she actually saw the seismograph record the terrible Mexican upheaval. SHY HEROINE. I take tea, when I am in town, at a quiet little teashop, near Temple Bar. It is a restful place, run and staffed by ladies with cookery diplomas and no lipsticks, and is a great rendezvous for lawyers, literary folks and journalists. To-day I noticed taking tea there a good-looking slim young woman, whose features seemed somehow familiar. It was difficult to make sure, because she kept her head down, as though avoiding recognition, and the light was not good. But when she came to settle her bill aiid leave, I had no difficulty at all in

recognising Miss Amy Johnson, though nobody el&e appeared to recognise her. What interested me particularly, in view of her engagement to Mr. Mollison, was the beautiful, diamond ring glittering on her left hand. A DUCHESS’ SKETCHES. It was a happy thought of Violet, Duchess of Rutland, to put on view a collection of her latest drawings to help the various charitable works on which she is engaged. Hei - own charming little house* in Chapel Street was not large enough for the purpose, but the Duke of Westminster lent his nearby residence for the piiropse. The drawings include many studies of actors and actresses made in “The Miracle” at the Lyceum. Many of them were made in the dressing-rooms, and though they bear the imprint of rapid work, some of them are quite extraordinarily true to life. It is characteristic of the Duchess that she should have accorded a place of honour in the collection to a work, not by herself, but by Marjorie Weatherstone — <i painting of the Duchess’ own drawing room in Chapel Street. The plainting was submitted to the. Royal Academy but was rejected—mainly, I imagine, because the subject does not lend itself readily to treatment on canvas. A VERY NICE MAN. To-day at lunch a business woman of my acquaintance confided to me that she had had quite a thrilling adventure. She was coming up to town, seated, inside a crowded bus, occupying her time by studying attentively the racing tips in an early sporting edition. Next to her was seated a little old gentleman, dressed like a' country solicitor, and with a bunch of official-looking documents under one arm. '“‘Excuse me, madame,” said the little old gentleman in most cultured tones, “but are you looking for a winner?” My business friend admitted, with a laugh, that she was, but had little hope of finding one. “There’s a horse in the first race today,” said her neighbour, “that has run in several races, but so far done nothing. I happen to know it will run in the first race to-day, and that it will win.” My friend expressed her gratitude to the nice old gentleman, backed his tip, and—-I am sorry this is where the story goes all wrong-lost her money. DATED! There are few callings of which, despite its publicity, outsiders know so little as the theatre. Last week the play, “While Parents Sleep,” celebrated its 150th performance. This is almost a staggering achievement for any West End production in these lean times. But the point that interested me about “While Parents Sleep,” -which is a modern play dealing with contemporary events, is that its 150th birthday was signalised by a general “redressing.” This means, of course, that a further run of many weeks is still anticipated, otherwise the expense would not be worth while. B't I gather that the dresses worn by the lady members

of the cast are by no means worn out op jaded even. What has happened to them—such . are the swift vagaries of modern fashion—is that in a brief five months they are already “dating.” CLOAKS FOR MEN. Cloaks -are definitely coming into fashion for men’s evening wear. The Prince of Wales has not yet set his seal upon them, but the King has worn one more than once when visiting the theatres recently. They are not the long, heavy cloaks of the Inverness variety, but much lighter in weight, black in colour, and invariably lined with silk or satin. They are worn rather after the fashion of. the magnificent crimson cloaks which Italian officers; set off to such advantage when they go for a stroll through the streets of Rome or Naples. The tailors recommend them as ideal wear for summer evenings, since they fit much more loosely to the body than the normal overcoat. HOW TO KEEP FIT. The Prince of Wales’ passion for the tango is, I am told, merely one of many recreations that he sets himself in order to keep thoroughly fit. Ever since he grew up he has had a horror of growing stout, and the running and swimming exefeises he takes in the morning, °followed, it may be, by squash or a round of golf, ar,e all designed to ward off any such possibility. As a matter of fact, the Prince is aS lean and athletic as anyone could wish. He is, too, extremely abstemious in everything he takes. Very frequently he has no solids at all for lunch, but contents himself with a single cup of China tea. His supper, moreover, frequently consists of nothing morp substantial than a plate of bread and cheese and a glass of ale. <MY LORD’S CAR. I hdard a good story yesterday of a well-known peer who happens still to possess an ancient motor-car, which his father gave him well over 20 years ago as a wedding present. It is, of course, a terribly old crock now, but there is still any amount of good work in it. Some time ago he decided to ride up to town with it from his estates in the north of England. The car acquitted itself splendidly, and when its owner arrived in London he garaged it at one of the well-known mews in the West End. The man looked at it superciliously. Then the light of intelligence spread over his countenance. “I suppose you are taking part in the ‘old crocks’ race, sir?” he said inquiringly. Only then did it occur to the noble lord that the famous anniversary run to Brighton was due to take place on the following day.

RIVAL HATS.

Of far rndre importance to fashionable dames than the result of the Gold Cup race will be Ascot’s verdict on a thrilling neck-and-neck contest between rival flats. We had quite a smart crowd at Epsom for the Oaks, and it was remarked by the truly observant that fashionable women were divided in their sartorial allegiance. All of them wore either the chic boater hat, or else another creation technically known as baby boy. Patronage was pretty equally divided between these two favourites. Now at Royal Ascot, when a comprehensive view of the select enclosure is obtainable, it will be seen which, way fashion has cast her fickle vote. Either the boaters will outnumber the baby boys, or vice versa, and the result is of an importance beyond masculine comprehension. The betting, lam told, distinctly favours the baby boy.

Summer frocks for Princess. The Queen recently spent a morning in the saleroom of the Working Ladies’ Guild, choosing summer frocks for her little granddaughter (states the Daily Telegraph). So delighted was the Queen with the stitching of the workers that three frocks were at once chosen for Princess Margaret Rose, one an unusual design in white checked organdie muslin with ‘‘buds” of pink ribbon at neck and waist. One was of white organdie with deep vandykes of blue, and one of palest blu-> organdie. All had dainty little puff sleeves and ribbon at the .waist. Suitable for morning frolics in the park whs the blue and shrimp pink flowered dress, with demure white collar and cuffs, for Princess Elizabeth. For Lady Mary Cambridge, the Queen’s niece, and quite a big girl now, the Queen bought an apple'green washing silk frock with knickers to match; French knots ornamented the creamy silk collar and cuffs. Among the other purchases made by the Queen were a number of speedwell blue georgette handkerchiefs, each with its applique posy in the corner. With a black ensemble the Queen wore black and grey patterned kid shoes and grey stockings and gloves.