FROM A CLUBMAN’S CHAIR

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19807, 24 May 1934, Page 11

FROM A CLUBMAN’S CHAIR

BOTTLE PARTIES LOSE THEIR GLAMOUR A DRESS REVOLT AT OXFORD (Specially written for “ The Tima.ru Herald ” by Charles Martin.) LONDON, April 19, 1934. So "bottle parties” are legal after all. Appeal Judges have just decided that no crime is committed when a “guest” goes to one of these places, signs a wine merchant’s order-form, and has drinks served in the small hours of the morning. The decision, I imagine, will mean a big increase in clubs of this kind. Already there are scores of them in the West End, doing a flourishing business. Some of them, by way of protection against the law, get visitors to sign a paper saying that they have been invited to the “party,” but have lost their tickets. For being so careless as to mislay this imaginary “invitation” they are “fined” five shillings —and then have the inestimable privilege of ordering expensive refresh ment up to dawn. The Spice of Illegality: The night clubs, which used to be in the news almost daily a few years back, have quite vanished. The police were always raiding them; magistrates even became so harsh as to send their promoters to gaol; and in the end the night club was effectively crushed. Its natural successor was the “bottle party,” and the police again got busy. But now that these affairs have been declared legal, I wonder whether they will not lose some of their glamour. There is nothing so very magical about having a drink at 5 a.m. when it lacks the spice of illegality. Handsome Profits: Still, some of these places have been reaping handsome profits, and there is no doubt that many more will open now that they have no need to fear the visits of detectives “disguised" in evening dress. I heard of one “bottle party” club which made a clear profit of £B,OOO on its first year’s working. Another ruse that is paying its promoters well goes by the name of a “locker club.” In this case the guest pays a weekly rent for a locker in which he keeps a supply of liquor for consumption after legal hours. “Miss Glad Welcome:” The Prince of Wales Theatre has hit on the admirable idea of providing its patrons with the services of the first theatre hostess. They call her “Miss Glad Welcome," and she sits at a desk in the lounge, looking . very friendly and decorative. Her duties are vague and general. She is there to help anybody in search of information or advice. She will tell you the time of the last train home, suggest a supper restaurant, advise you about seats for the next show, or help you find that cigarette case you dropped in the foyer. An American Idea: The helpful Miss Welcome reminds me of those young ladies of the “Ask Mr Foster” service in America, who sit in the lobbies of the big hotels. They will tell the stranger all about the city and its facilities for pleasure, book his theatre and rail tickets, recommend hotels in any one of the forty-eight States, or work out a route for a trip from coast to coast. Mr Foster’s girls are never at a loss—and their advice costs you not a cent. The same is true of Miss Glad Welcome: and, incidentally, she comes from America herself. Her real name is Miss Sparks, and she is the daughter of Sir Ashley Sparks, the Cunard Line’s resident director in New York. She was born and educated in the States, and has come here to teach us what American “service” means. Drinking More Cider: While the consumption of beer has been declining in recent years, there is quite a boom in cider-drinking in England. Home-made cider used to be the farmer’s drink in the West Country, and you had to go down to Devon or Herefordshire to sample it at its best. Now it is becoming “respectable.” From being the countryman’s home brew it is growing more and more into an industry, and fresh orchards are being planted to meet the rising demand of the towns. The growers estimate that 30,000 acres of new orchards are needed immediately. But let us hope that Britain’s eider will not all find its way to bottled respectability. Let us hope there will still be little Devon inns where the traveller may have the thrill of discovering for himself the strange potency of “the wine of the West.” Oxford Beaux: The typical university undergraduate is certainly no glass of fashion. Indeed, he has often been criticised by his elders for a certain studied carelessness in dress—not to say shabbiness. Now certain circles in Oxford have resolved to retrieve the University’s reputation. I hear that next term a club is to be formed which will encourage its members to pay some, attention to sartorial matters. Shapeless sports coats and baggy flannel trousers will be banned in favour of smart lounge suits. Oddly enough, the shabbiest undergraduates are often the wealthiest. The smartest, on the whole, are the students from Overseas. A Club’s Chapel: One does not associate the average West End Club with religion; yet there was until a year or two ago a fashionable club in Piccadilly which possessed its own chapel, where daily services were held. This was the Cavendish Club, which disappeared in the stress of difficult times about three years back., It was founded just before the war by the Duke of Devonshire and a group of his friends. Though the Cavendish was a social club like any other, it had this distinguishingfeature—that its members were encouraged to take up social work of some kind. “Dick” Sheppard, the famous preacher of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields was chaplain of the Cavendish for a number of years. Roehampton’s Pools: Those who are lucky enough to belong to Roehampton Club are immensely proud of the new swimming pools that will be opened there next month. The pools will be surrounded by paved terraces, refreshment loggias and flower-beds. Even the dressing-rooms will fit into a general colour scheme of cream, blue and silver. The pampered swimmers of Roehampton will bathe in water that is changed every six hours; and even the sudden chills of an Englsh summer will be defeated. The temperature of the water and of the dressingrooms will be kept pleasantly warm, whatever rough winds may ruffle the flower-beds at the brink.