A MAID IN MAYFAIR

Taranaki Daily News, 17 August 1933, Page 14

A MAID IN MAYFAIR

GOSSIP FROM LONDON TOWN. PRINCE OF WALES NOW FORTY. (From Our Lady Correspondent.) London, June 29. The most popular man, and in some respects the most interesting personality in Great Britain, celebrated a birthdaylast Friday. Next year the Prince of Wales will bid a final adieu to the sprightly thirties and enter on the dignified middle-aged • sector of the forties. Being Prince of Wales, with a deck of Christian names commemorating two great-grandfathers, a grandfather, and the patron saint of four countries, must be a big handicap in many ways. But the Prince has surmounted them successfully, and has captured the popular esteem as a thoroughly good fellow who is also a real live wire and a complete sportsman to boot. Able business people admire his quick grasp of realities. The proletariat likes his sympathetic reactions. The middle-class suburbs love his debonair charm. Ex-service men know him as their steadfast champion. Without any sloppy sentimentality, the Prince is an under-dogger.

KOYAL INTERLUDE.

One typical gesture by the Prince of Wales I witnessed not many weeks ago. It was not a theatrical gesture, but simply a natural impulse. He attended the rugger cup final at Wembley between teams heading the Northern professional league. After the usual preliminary introduction and handshake with the players, the Prince turned with Lord, Derby to regain his seat. A huge and eminently sporting' crowd, mostly from the North, was on tiptoe for the kick-off. But the Prince, as he stepped from the actual arena towards the grandstand, noticed a middle-aged man in an invalid chair. Without a word, and somewhat to the bewilderment of . his entourage, he turned aside, inquired about the obvious ex-serviceman, and spoke to him for several moments. The crowd had to wait for its kick-off. And, when it knew why, the crowd was content.

SHEER STUPIDITY.

Anything more irrational than the agitation •by some 'of the women’s societies against the proposal to ratify the convention on the nationality of women could hardly be conceived. The law of nationality is complicated to an extent that few realise, and the Government are, of course, powerless to secure that other countries shall have the same arrangements as ourselves. The main grievance which has to be met is that of .British women who marry Americans resident in this country. By their marriage they lose their British nationality. Unless they live a year in the United States, they cannot become naturalised Americans. Thus they have no nationality. at all. The convention will give them the right to remain British and, in doing so, will meet about nine-tenths of the hardships which now arise.

LORD ROSEBERY’S DAUGHTER.

Lord Rosebery’s only daughter, Lady Helen Primrose, had one of the simplest but at the same time one of the prettiest weddings of the London Season. Her bridegroom was Lord Antrim’s nephew, Mr. Hugh Adeane Smith, and members of both families were present in full force at St. Mark’s, North Audley-street, to see the ceremony. Anxious that her father’s racing colours, pink and primrose, should play a prominent part in her wedding scheme, Lady Helen chose a wedding gown of creamy satin in which ■ just a suggestion of pink was discernible, and she carried a sheaf of yellow arums. There were no bridesmaids but, primed in the porch by Lord Rosebery himself, little Lord Primrose his son, and a nephew of the bridegroom carried the bride’s train. . The Rosebery colours were seen again in their suits long trousers of pink linen and blouses of primrose yellow chiffon.

RACING FRIENDS.

The wedding reception, held at Lord Rosebery’s town house in Berkeleysquare, was reminiscent of Newmarket. Lady Derby, dressed in brown, was there with Mrs. George Lambton, and Sir William Bass brought his wife, Lady Noreen Bass, one of the keenest of women race-goers. Sir Brograve and Lady Evelyn Beauchamp represented the younger generation interested in the turf, and members of the de Rothschild family were rubbing shoulders with Lord and Lady Crewe and their daughter and Lady Susan Egerton. The Duchess of Marlborough, Katherine Duchess of Westminster and the present handsome Duchess of Westminster, the latter together, were in the crowded rooms, and Lady Cynthia Colville, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, was talking with Lady Lansdowne and Lady Beatrice Pole Carew. It was a very gay gathering, with Lady Rosebery playing hostess with all the charm and vivacity of which she is capable.

ROYAL WEDDING GUESTS.

It was interesting to find Princess Alice and Lord Athlone at Lady Joan Villiers’ wedding on Tuesday. Lord Clarendon, the bride’s father, succeeded Lord Athlone as Governor-General of South Africa, and the necessary meetings between the two men have resulted in a firm friendship, which is shared by Princess Alice and Lady Clarendon. The wedding was a very prettty one. At the request of her parents, Lady Joan arranged for it to take place at Hampstead parish church, not far from the historic Pitt House which is their home, and their hundreds of friends walked across to th? Pitt House gardens afterwards to congratulate the bride and bridegroom and drink their health. The bridesmaids were in frocks of mimosa yellow, and as they grouped themselves about the bridal couple in the sunshiny garden at the reception they made a charming tableau.

MEMORIES OF ’97.

Until I saw mention of the fact in one of the newspapers I forgot that last Thursday (June 22) marked the thirtysixth anniversary of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. How time flies I We may be having a wonderful season this year, but its splendours are as nothing to the splendours of 1897. All the Crown Heads of Europe were there, and no one who lived through those times will forget

the almost pathetic figure of the Queen as, dressed all in black, she ‘ showed herself to her people” by driving in her open carriage through the streets. Foi sheer splendour, too, the scene when the Oversea troops were entertained at the Lyceum Theatre was hard to Sir Henry Irving gave a rendering of “The Bells” and “A Story of Waterloo." I suppose there were only half-a-dozen civilians in the whole theatre. I shall never forget the spectacle when someone in the dfess circle called for “three cheers for Corporal Brewster.” The whole of that vast gathering of multicoloured uniforms from every quarter of the globe sprang to its feet in response with such a clattering of swords and accoutrements as surely had never been heard in a theatre before.

A WONDERFUL SEASON.

When we live close up to things it is sometimes difficult to see the wood for the trees. For the average Londoner, therefore, it is a little startling to learn that we are enjoying the most wonderful season for years. So, at least, it is asserted in Continental capitals and business people and holiday-makers back from Paris, Vienna, Berlin and elsewhere our gay doings in London. No doubt the crowd of delegates over for the Economic Conference has a great deal to do with it. Members of the Royal Family, too, have done their utmost to give a fillip to the season and one big function follows another with almost bewildering rapidity.. Last week theie was ! the visit of King Feisal to the City and hard upon its heels came the formal opening of South Africa House which threw the traffic “circus” round Trafalgar Square into a veritable vortex of confusion.

THE SOFTER SEX.

Boxing promoters are building their hopes on v the remarkable and growing popularity glove fighting is now exerting among women. At the last big championship display at Olympia about one in five or six of the huge crowd present were women, and few of the ladies could be persuaded to leave their seats before the last bout in the ring was concluded in the small hours of the morning. In London boxing seems to attract women of every class, from the ultra-fashionable Smart set, who attend in evening dress gowns, to quietly dressed women from the demure suburbs. Ardent pacifists, who place their Geneva hopes especially on women, should ponder the fact that the woman boxing fan is usually far less moved by a sanguinary encounter in the ring than her male escorts. She revels serenely in a fierce fight.

MUM’S THE WORD.

It is asserted, with how much truth I do not profess to say, that once in history a woman managed to get elected as Pope. Part of the ritual of a Pope’s election by the assembled cardinals in Rome is understood to safeguard a recurrence. Similarly it is recorded, truthfully or otherwise,, that one woman succeeded in becoming a Free-mason. This daring lady was the Hon. Mrs. Aidworth, and her father, the first Lord Doneraile, was a prominent officer in the secret craft in County Cork. Before her marriage she hid herself in a grandfather’s clock to overhear a lodge meeting, and on the fact being discovered, her father and fiance decided the best thing was formally to admit her as a full member. She lived to over' TO, but kept her secret. Her portrait, by Kneller, was up for auction this week at Christie’s.

AS WORN BY GRANDMAMMA.

Feminine fashions have changed a lot since that which may be termed the Early Victorian red flannelette period. This fact has been ingeniously brought home to the post-War generation by an exhibition planned by a West End stores. This was called “Hose Through the Ages,” and covered a period of about two centuries. The piece de resistance was undubitably an exhibit dating to 1789, which consisted of two narrow woollen bags, shapeless in design, but left to be moulded by the wearer’s nether limbs. In 1856 there were hygienic hose, made of wool, of course, and recommended, owing to double feet, as “suitable for delicate young persons.” But the spirit of coquetry was not entirely absent even in great-grandmamma’s day. There was a white stocking, with black stripes, dated 1800, and, fifteen years later, a most giddy yellow one with blue rings. What a sensation a pair of those stockings would create to-day.

SUMMER HOLIDAY FASHIONS.

Last year holiday beaches were swarming with women in sun-bathing pyjamas. This year only old-fashioned folk will wear them. For they are voted demodee. Instead, there are ankle-length frocks of gaily striped and checked cotton,

itiiiiiunitniiiiiiiitiiiiiqiiiiiiintiiiiiittnnniiinniniiiiiiiiiu

backless so that sun-bathing can still go on, but having complementary little jackets that may be slipped on between whiles. Bathing outfits, too, are more discreet. The best comprises a swimming suit of fine black or navy wool, a wrap-round skirt, and a smart little jacket. The skirt and jacket are to wear, of course, on the way to the bathingbeach, and they are so neat and trim, that the wearer might easily be going out on a little shopping. On the other hand, tennis frocks are more daring this year than they were last. Many of them are almost backless—again a hopeful gesture to the sun—and some of them have “trouser-skirts.” The trousers are very full, so they are not conspicuous, and I am told they are infinitely more comfortable to wear on the courts.

MISS BALDWIN’S GREYHOUND.

Miss Betty Baldwin, the Conservative leader’s youngest daughter, has got a new pet in the form of a brindled greyhound. It is rather a hefty animal for the restricted accommodation of 10 Downing Street, but Miss Betty sees that it gets plenty of exercise. There is a sort of unwritten law in Downing Street that animals shall not be kept, and this rule was always strictly observed by Lord Oxford when he was in residence at No. 10. But if I remember aright, Miss Megan Lloyd George put the tradition to rout. When her father was Prime Minister she had not one, but two, beautiful chows, who used to accompany her on all her walks abroad. Greyhounds nowadays are so much associated in the public minds with track-racing that they have rather fallen out of favour as domestic pets. Probably this is on account of their inflated value, since hundreds of pounds can be obtained for a pedigree animal that gives genuine promise of speed.

LADY ASTOR’S “BAFFY.”

.The match between the Prince of Wales and Lady Astor in the semi-final round of the Parliamentary golf handicap has been exciting as much anticipatory chatter as though the fate of a nation were at stake, and no Cabinet secret has been more rigidly kept than the secret of the course selected for the play-off. Why there should be all this mystery passes my comprehension, because the Prince is most insistent that these matches which he plays in the Parliamentary shall be regarded as strictly private affairs, and the police have insructions to keep away anything in the nature of a “gallery” of spectators. Lady Astor has been playing very good golf this year. She is not a very long driver, but she hits straight down the middle, and at this time of the year, when there is a lot of run on the ball, there are few greens she cannot reach in two, and she achieves marvels with the baffy which she calls her “Mary Pickford.” Added to all this ■ she is a good putter.

FOUR REVOLUTIONS.

There can be few people amongst us who had first-hand experience of the Spanish Revolution, of 1868, the French Revolution of 1870, the German Revolution of 1918, and the Spanish Revolution of 1931. That, however, is the record of Princess Ludwig Ferdinand of Bavaria whose reminiscences will be published shortly by John Murray. The Princess was bom with the ambition to be a writer, and has kept a diary ever since she was twelve years of age. She writes of what she has seen, known and felt, and does so in an unpretentious modest style. Incidentally, the book will be found to throw a new light on some of the outstanding figures of the time. There are three or four letters in the book from the Emperor William II which reveal him as possessing simplicity, charm and courtesy—qualities which it has long been the fashion to deny him.

BEATEN BY THE SUN.

Sir Walter Gilbey had so much success last year, when he ventured to assert himself as a critic of equestrian sartorial form, that he has naturally returned to the attack again this year. He has declaimed against the unorthodox and neglige attire of Hyde Park riders, and specially singled out qne lady who wore silk stockings. If he hoped to see any practical results of his renewed outburst, I fear . Sir Walter must be grievously disappointed. Never has the riding attire in the Row been so “advanced” and heterodox as during the past week or so. The truth is that riding is hot work, and Sir Walter’s admonitions have been completely countered by the sun. These beautiful hot mornings it was more than postWar human nature could stand to turn out on horseback arrayed as for a fashion parade. Girls. i/'/e discarded hats and worn jumpers and Jodhpores. Men have done without coats, and even worn flannels !