The Chap Issue 97

ISSUE 97

AUTUMN 2018

EXPAND YOUR MIND, REFINE YOUR WARDROBE

Dandy Wellington “Dandyism is about being the best gentleman you can be; as educated, conscious, politically aware, well-read, accepting and inclusive as you can be.”

TIMOTHY SPALL

The actor on his new film Stanley, a Man of Variety, in which he plays all the roles

OLD SHANGHAI

Paul French on the days when decadence and opium ruled the Chinese city

CHRIS SULLIVAN

The 1980s Blitz club scene from a style setter at the centre of it

£5.99

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ISSUE 97

771749 966070 9 9 771749 966070

1944

In 1943 the Ministry of Defence sent a most urgent request to the watch industry for a non-civilian timepiece capable of performing under the rigours of the battlefield. It had to be accurate, reliable and durable, regulated to chronometer standard, waterproof and shockproof. The case had to be stainless steel, the dial black, Arabic numerals, luminous hour and minute hands, a railroad minutes track, shatterproof crystal and a 15-jewel movement. And they needed it as matter of great urgency. Vertex was the only British company capable of fulfilling the order at the time and within a few months 15,000 Caliber 59 Waterproof Wrist Watches were in the field. All testing had to be carried out live, in some of the most hostile and unforgiving locations in the northern hemisphere.

Extreme temperatures, exposure to magnetic fields, the corrosive salt water of the Atlantic, high altitude parachute drops, pressurised subterranean conditions, bombs, bullets and shrapnel. The Caliber 59 saw it all. Not every watch survived, and sadly neither did the brave men who wore them. In honour of those men and to mark a century since Vertex was founded, we are proud to re-issue the M100.

A faithful reincarnation of the Cal 59 but with over 70 years’ worth of mechanical advancement (and now fully tested).

Find out about the Vertex story and the M100 at Vertex-watches.com

THE VERTEX CALIBER 59 UNDERWENT THE MOST ARDUOUS TEST ANY WRIST WATCH HAS EVER BEEN SUBJECTED TO. WORLD WAR II. 2017

Editor: Gustav Temple Art Director: Rachel Barker Designer: Katie Moorman Picture Editor: Theo Salter Sub-Editor: Romilly Clark Circulation Manager: Keiron Jeffries Subscriptions Manager: Natalie Smith

CONTRIBUTORS

OLLY SMITH

LIAM JEFFERIES

PAUL FRENCH

CHRIS SULLIVAN

GOSBEE & MINNS

Olly Smith is an awardwinning wine writer and broadcaster. He has been International Wine and Spirits Communicator of the Year, and Drinks Writer of the Year at the 2017 & 2016 Great British Food Awards.

He is a regular on Saturday Kitchen and BBC Radio 2.

Olly hosts his own drinks podcast www.aglasswith.com

Liam Jefferies is The Chap’s Sartorial Editor, in charge of exploring new brands, trends and rediscoveries of forgotten gentlemanly fashions. Liam’s expert knowledge covers the dark heart of Savile Row to the preppy eccentricities of Ivy Leaguers. You can follow him on Instagram @sartorialchap.

After studying Chinese, Paul French lived in Shanghai for over a decade.

He is the author of the New York Times bestseller Midnight in Peking and City of Devils: A Shanghai Noir, a true crime set among the dancehalls, brothels and opium dens of the 1930s. Both books are currently being adapted for television.

Chris Sullivan founded and ran Soho’s Wag Club for two decades and is a former GQ style editor who has written for many others including Italian Vogue, The Times, The Independent and the FT. He is now Associate Lecturer at Central St Martins School of Art, specialising in ‘youth’ style cults and embroidery.

Peter Gosbee is a jeweller, antiques purveyor and keen disciple of the sartorial arts, often to be found at markets, briar in hand and suitcase brimming with treasures.

John Minns was brought up in what is commonly known as the rag trade. He cut his sartorial teeth working with ‘the King of Carnaby Street’ John Stephens.

ALEXANDER LARMAN

OLIVIA BULLOCK

DAVID EVANS

SUNDAY SWIFT

DARCY SULLIVAN

When Alexander Larman is neither poncing nor pandering for a living, he amuses himself by writing books, some biographies of great men (Blazing Star) and some examinations of greater women (Byron’s Women). He also writes for The Times, Observer and formerly the Erotic Review, back when it was erotic.

Olivia Bullock is an illustrator with a fascination for obscure youth tribes and musical genres. She is The Chap’s expert on snappily dressed youth movements from around the world.

Each issue, she will be turning her expert eye on another group of dandies whose brief existence fully deserves to be celebrated.

David Evans is a former lawyer and teacher who founded popular sartorial blog Grey Fox Blog six years ago. The blog has become very widely read by chaps all over the world, who seek advice on dressing properly and retaining an eye for style when entering the autumn of their lives.

The Dandy Doctor writes on dandyism, gender, popular culture and the gothic.

Her writing has appeared in academic journals such as Gothic Studies and in popular books on cult television. Sunday is currently working on a book about fictional dandies in film and television.

Twitter: @dandy_lio

Darcy Sullivan writes about comic books, aesthetes and algorithms. His articles have appeared in The Comics Journal, The Wildean and Weird Fiction Review.

He is a proud member of the Oscar Wilde Society and the curator of the Facebook pages ‘The Pictures of Dorian Gray’ and ‘I am Mortdecai’.

Office address The Chap Ltd 69 Winterbourne Close Lewes, East Sussex BN7 1JZ

Advertising Paul Williams paul@thechap.co.uk +353(0)83 1956 999

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THE CHAP MANIFESTO 1 THOU SHALT ALWAYS WEAR TWEED. No other fabric says so defiantly: I am a man of panache, savoir-faire and devil-may-care, and I will not be served Continental lager beer under any circumstances.

2 THOU SHALT NEVER NOT SMOKE. Health and Safety “executives” and jobsworth medical practitioners keep trying to convince us that smoking is bad for the lungs/heart/skin/eyebrows, but we all know that smoking a bent apple billiard full of rich Cavendish tobacco raises one’s general sense of well-being to levels unimaginable by the aforementioned spoilsports.

3 THOU SHALT ALWAYS BE COURTEOUS TO THE LADIES. A gentleman is never truly seated on an omnibus or railway carriage: he is merely keeping the seat warm for when a lady might need it.

Those who take offence at being offered a seat are not really Ladies.

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4 THOU SHALT NEVER, EVER, WEAR PANTALOONS DE NIMES. When you have progressed beyond fondling girls in the back seats of cinemas, you can stop wearing jeans.

5 THOU SHALT ALWAYS DOFF ONE’S HAT. Alright, so you own a couple of trilbies. Good for you - but it’s hardly going to change the world. Once you start actually lifting them off your head when greeting passers-by, then the revolution will really begin.

6 THOU SHALT NEVER FASTEN THE LOWEST BUTTON ON THY WAISTCOAT. Look, we don’t make the rules, we simply try to keep them going. This one dates back to Edward VII, sufficient reason in itself to observe it.

7 THOU SHALT ALWAYS SPEAK PROPERLY. It’s really quite simple: instead of saying “Yo, wassup?”, say “How do you do?”

8 THOU SHALT NEVER WEAR PLIMSOLLS WHEN NOT DOING SPORT. Nor even when doing sport. Which you shouldn’t be doing anyway. Except cricket.

9 THOU SHALT ALWAYS WORSHIP AT THE TROUSER PRESS. At the end of each day, your trousers should be placed in one of Mr. Corby’s magical contraptions, and by the next morning your creases will be so sharp that they will start a riot on the high street.

10 THOU SHALT CULTIVATE INTERESTING FACIAL HAIR. By interesting we mean moustaches, or beards with a moustache attached.

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CONTENTS 8 AM I CHAP?

Those who dare submit themselves to the ultimate sartorial assessment face admiration or opprobrium

14 T HOMAS MACE-ARCHER-MILLS

The New Yorker who posed as a British royal commentator and got away with it

18 P EACOCKS AND MAGPIES

The Chap’s antiques experts, Peter Gosbee and John Minns, give insider tips on acquiring objets d’art

FEATURES 22 KING OF THE UNDERWORLD

Chris Sullivan on how wearing monocles, Edwardian suits and spats made as much sense in the 1980s as it does now

28 D ANDIZETTE

Doctor of Dandyism Sunday Swift on 1980s style icon Princess Julia

34 I NTERVIEW

Gustav Temple meets Timothy Spall to discuss his new film Stanley, A Man of Variety

ISSUE 97

•

AUTUMN 2018

34 SARTORIAL FEATURES

LONGER FEATURES

44 PROFILE

100 B LITZ KIDS

47 FASHION PHOTO SHOOT

107 J ACK BUCHANAN

We raided the voluminous Hornets collection to photograph their tweeds, city wear and teddy bears in their natural surroundings

60 T HE CASE FOR THE MINIMAL WATCH

Liam Jefferies looks at two new British watch brands that have pared back timepieces to their purest form

65 S HOOTING CLOBBER

How to dress for a shoot that does not involve models or cameras, but does require an understanding of the rules

70 U NDANDY SHOES

A new footwear company that lets you design your own shoes from scratch is put through its paces

72 H OUSE OF NUTTER

Gustav Temple meets Tommy Nutter’s biographer to discuss the state of Savile Row then and now

Olivia Bullock on the emergence of a new kind of dandy during the 1980s nightclub culture at Billy’s, the Blitz and The Wag Club

Matthew Lyons on the man variously described as the Best Dressed Man in London, Mr. Mayfair, England’s Maurice Chevalier, the Richest Man in the Theatre and the Male Greta Garbo

112 D RIFTING WITH DEBORD

Ferris Newton wanders around Paris in search of the spirit of Situationist alcoholic Guy Debord and asks – what’s all the fuss about?

116 ENGLAND SPARKLES

Olly Smith visits the Sussex vineyard of Breaky Bottom to find out why British sparkling wine is a contender for Champagne

120 F IERCE TONIC

The herbalist who went from making herbal remedies in her apothecary to creating a whole new type of tonic

122 R ESTAURANT REVIEW

Gustav Temple and Alexander Larman visit the wilds of Eastbourne for lunch at The Mirabelle at the Grand Hotel

82 S TOCKINGS FOR SPIES

127 THE CHAP OLYMPIAD

84 G REY FOX COLUMN

REVIEWS

Wiggy Bamforth on how maps printed on silk during the Second World War ended up as lingerie for the Home Front David Evans dons suitably light attire to travel to Florence for Pitti Uomo and then back to Walsall to visit a leather factory

88 S TYLE ON THE NILE

Pandora Harrison joins a crew of immaculately clad voyagers to travel down the Nile in search of ancient treasures and a stiff gin and tonic or two

96 G ET THE LOOK

Matthew Geraghty on how to assemble the outfit of a country gentleman

A sartorial report from the best-dressed event of the year

136 B OOK REVIEW

Alexander Larman meets Anthony Quinn, plus reviews of King Con, The Overstory, The Colour of Time and City of Devils

144 O LD SHANGHAI

Noir novelist Paul French takes us back to the opium-steeped days of Shanghai in the 1930s

152 DANDY WELLINGTON

Darcy Sullivan meets the New York dandy, bandleader and impresario during his whistle-stop tour of the UK

162 CROSSWORD

Cover photograph: © Rose Callahan

Bill Hornets, ‘The Godfather of Style’ and doyen of London’s three best gentlemen’s vintage outlets

SEND PHOTOS OF YOURSELF AND OTHER BUDDING CHAPS AND CHAPETTES TO CHAP@THECHAP.CO.UK FOR INCLUSION IN THE NEXT ISSUE

“I hereby submit a picture of myself for your consideration,” writes Petter Bøckman from Norway.

“It was taken at the Flying Legends air show at Duxford last weekend. While perhaps a bit rough for conventional chappiness, I feel the general impression is of someone who might reasonably expect to be addressed as a ‘chap’.”

Absolutely – had you and your ‘full set’ been attending a Floating Legends Royal Navy sea show.

“I am pictured catching up on a bit of light reading (History of Western Philosophy, first edition, if this is of interest),” writes Cesaré Harradine. “I am enjoying a martini of my own concoction, named ‘The Bounder’ by a fellow Chap and subscriber.”

Sir, your choice of reading attire and beverages is exemplary; we can overlook the novelty socks and blue shoelaces as eccentric flourishes. The DVDs in your cabinet also reveal rather eccentric viewing tastes. Perhaps your socks were informed by Zootropolis or Despicable Me?

“Myself and my dog Doyle,” writes Stephen Thompson, “out in our drinking Tweeds at the Plough Public House St Johns, Royal Earlswood, Surrey.”

Sir/madam, one of you is a chap/chapette, and it’s the one whose coat fits properly and isn’t wearing skinny jeans.

“You may be interested to know,” writes Dr. Rose Jones, “that I proudly wear my tailored laboratory coat at work, as one has to keep up some standards when in pursuit of science (but not healing, as I'm not that kind of doctor, and yes I’ve heard all the comments before. Twice.)”

In that case you must be a homeopathic doctor, for there are tiny amounts of chap in your outfit but overall it has not been proven to be very effective.

English Utopia

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Dr Alistair Watson Morris gave us “PC” (below left) and “Non-PC” versions of his submission statement, so we did the same with our replies.

“Whilst showing our European brothers how a gentleman dresses for a hot climate, I consider whether to smoke my last cigar before or after dinner.”

The stripes on your tie go the American way, right to left, and they match your hatband and watchstrap.

Tsk tsk.

“I have recently started the 'Sartorial Scots' meet-up group based in central Scotland,” writes Scott. J. Simpson. “I'm wondering, if it's not considered too cheeky, if you would mind devoting a few lines in your magazine to championing Sartorial_Scotland on Instagram?”

Sir, at first we thought we detected matching tie and pocket square, but on closer inspection it seems all is well and we are happy to oblige.

“Whilst showing Johnny Foreigner how a gentleman dresses for a hot climate, I consider whether to smoke my last cigar before or after dinner.”

Follow the sign to the pool, sir, and jump in fully clothed.

Johnny Foreigner will almost certainly applaud.

“Here I am inspired by the delightful bronze of Sir John Betjeman at St Pancras,” writes Gary James. “During my interminable wait for the train back to Rye in East Sussex, I began to wonder if I dare consider Am I a Chap?”

Sir John was easily incensed by many things, and we feel sure one of them would have been a clip-on bow tie.

Alan Roberts: “Recently I happened to be adjacent to a rough fellow at our local emporium and noticed that we were similarly, and yet so very differently, attired from the waist down.”

Sir, if you choose to shop at emporia clearly designed for tradesmen, you have only yourself to blame for what horrors you witness there.

David Scott tried using the searing summer heat to make toast in his garden. His attempts to maintain sartorial standards while doing so were foiled by his tie missing its target of just below the belt – in Mr. Scott’s case a belt sorely in need of obscuring.

“Recently I have done a Peaky Blinders/1920s gangster style shoot in Black Country Living Museum,” writes Azadeh Brown, “with the male model Jay Lev and photographer Richard Wakefield.”

Peaky Blinders? Never heard of it. And you should unfasten the lower button on your waistcoat, sir.

Julian Colton wears “a vintage green tweed suit tailored

by Keith Mallinson of Rotherham, worn with a Viyella fine check wool shirt, a finely spotted green silk tie, contrasting hand block printed pocket square and tan leather brogue shoes. Outerwear: a vintage black and grey herringbone tweed overcoat worn with a herringbone tweed ‘doo-lichter’ (aka bakerboy) cap.”

We always wondered whatever happened to Robert Kilroy-Silk.

Kurt Haven went on holiday to Blackpool and stuck his head into one of those endof-the-pier holiday photo boards.

And all we got was this lousy photo.

“We are taking a show to Edinburgh this year called Josh & Lou: Working Classy” writes Louise Atkinson, “and we took this picture, where we feel we both look particularly Chap-like, or least half chap...”

Madam, while we fully approve of the non-binary cross-dressing idea, we cannot possibly condone the drinking of Lambrini Bianco from a champagne flute.

It should, of course, be drunk from a plimsoll.

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Society

THE COUNTERFEIT ARISTOCRAT Gustav Temple on Thomas J Mace-Archer-Mills Esq, the posh royal commentator who turned out to be Tommy Muscatello from New York

D

uring the royal wedding this May, a face kept popping up on television screens to pass expert commentary on the proceedings. Billed as Thomas J Mace-Archer-Mills Esq, the fellow cut the mustard on television, with his upper class accent, traditional British society attire and air of authority on all things royal. He was one of the most frequently seen faces on TV during the run-up to the wedding, giving insightful comments such as

“I think I encapsulate Britishness and have taken to the country in a way all people should when they want to come here and be part of society.

It’s something positive” 14

why Meghan Markle was right not to wear a shoulderless dress during the ceremony: “You are in a chapel which is a royal peculiar, which means it is not under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Canterbury, it is directly under the jurisdiction of Her Majesty the Queen. So therefore protocol must be adhered to at all times.” He concluded one broadcast with: “Mwah my darlings, clinkies to you all.”

But after some research, the bloodhounds of the gutter press dug up some background on the royal expert. His real name is Tommy Muscatello, an Italian-American who grew up in upstate New York. He developed a passion for all things British while still at school. He played Mr. Sowerberry in a school production of Oliver Twist, and took the role rather more seriously than most pupils, adopting Dickensian British as his own accent thereafter, moving to the UK twenty years ago aged 18.

Since then, Mr. Mace-Archer-Mills has fomented his love for the British royal family by founding the

British Monarchist Society and Foundation, described as “the leading organisation for not only British, but international Monarchists”. He is also editor-in-chief of Crown and Country Magazine, a bi-annual royalthemed luxury periodical, and the author of a book Their Majesties’ Mixers: A Royal Drinkology, subtitled ‘When they reign, they pour.’

During his twenty years in Britain, Thomas has racked up even more than a reputation as a royal expert. While loitering outside Buckingham Palace during the early years of his stay here, he struck up a conversation with one George Mills of Canterbury, who agreed to ‘be’ his grandfather. He later met, at one of his British Monarchist Society events, a woman named Mervyn Redding of Essex, who agreed to let him call her ‘granny.’ Redding doesn’t mind in the least, in fact pronounces Thomas to be “perfectly normal.”

Once he was revealed as a fake toff in American and British tabloid newspapers, Mr. Mace-Archer-

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Mills protested: “I’ve never made it a secret that I was born in America. I’ve never once been paid for any of my lectures or television appearances – it’s all voluntary.” In an interview with The Sun newspaper, he elaborated: “I think I encapsulate Britishness and have taken to the country in a way all people should when they want to come here and be part of society.

It’s something positive. I’m a fun person and that’s why I think I’ve been successful at what I do, because I can relate to the subject but not in a stuffy old way.”

The poor fellow has been hounded in the press, particularly across the Atlantic, while over in the UK there is a sense of embarrassment that he got away with pretending to be a 38-year-old of aristocratic heritage. If it’s that easy to convince the British and world’s media that one is ‘in the club’, that doesn’t say much for the club’s credentials. Besides, MaceArcher-Mills never lied to anyone or made any claims to be anything he wasn’t. He simply aired his passions with sincerity and conviction, while everyone was too

busy wondering what David and Victoria Beckham would wear to the wedding.

Someone should have asked this publication about Mace-Archer-Mills’ credentials. Practically every photograph of him could have been lifted directly from the pages of our Am I Chap? section. He was seen wearing brown in town on numerous occasions, even outside Buckingham Palace, while his attempts to dress in Morning Dress on the day of the royal wedding showed about as much style as your average Seceond Division soccer player at a wedding.

The Chap is all for people living fantasy lives and dressing in a way that has nothing to do with the social hand they’ve been dealt in life, purely because they prefer those clothes. Half our readership does precisely that. But there is no point in going half measures, working extremely hard on cultivating the right accent, only to appear in front of a microphone wearing a V-neck sweater with no shirt under a tweed jacket, as did Mace-Archer-Mills. n

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1847

“You are either in your bed or in your shoes, so it pays to invest in both.�

John Wildsmith

Available from www.wildsmith.com | www.herring.co.uk

Our roving hunters of antiquities take their immaculate outfits into the unpredictable waters of boot sale, antiques fair and street market in search of hidden gems. Photos by Dennis Merry

W

hile promenading along one of the high streets of our fair land, I found myself at the gates of possibility, a Heaven or Hades of unknown sartorial potential; to whit, a charity shop.

Something urged me to delve into this realm and, like Moses, divide the seas of polyester and Primark to discover the possible treasures concealed beneath.

Scuffing my brogues on boxes of broken children’s playthings, I cut a path through to that suspended nest of potential, the clothing rail.

I was immediately flanked by the enemy: to port, outmoded 1980s nylon suits baring their poorly-cut teeth; attempting to swarm me from starboard: menacing pairs of slightly stained yoga pantaloons, their ungodly neon growling with branded venom.

Then, like the glimmer of an oasis to the overwhelmed adventurer, I beheld: herringbone; sweet woollen herringbone! Rescuing this ambrosia from between its unworthy companions, I drew back its outer shell to observe what could be established regarding provenance. An employee of the establishment mentioned that this particular garment had only arrived in the shop some forty minutes prior to my arrival. He indicated that he would have purchased it himself, had there been present the legendary Harris Tweed Orb label on the lining. In my humble opinion, this appeared to be a bespoke tweed jacket, the lack of the aforementioned logo adding a puzzling but compelling twist to the discovery.

I took the liberty of inverting the inside breast pocket and there (together with the rapturous, holy choruses of Seraphim) was the hand-written label that always causes involuntary twitching within the male sartorial community. Not only was this a bespoke jacket, but also it had been made by reputably the finest tailor in England, if not the world.

H. Huntsman & Son, 11 Savile Row. The label was dated 1929. The jacket now resides in the private collection of Mr. P. Gosbee.

RECENT DISCOVERIES

THE INDOOR MARKETPLACE

Fantastic finds from the previous month’s rapturous rummagings include:

Indoor emporia can be welcome venues when the weather turns inclement. A wealth of opportunity awaits those hunters with chutzpah in theses grottoes of abundance

Ocular discovery

Upon noticing these spectacles, the author immediately recognised their unusual features, having researched the subject matter some years previously. The proprietor of the stall was most interested in understanding their nature and it was a pleasure to oblige.

1810-20 in period and referred to as ‘Martin’s Margins’, the horn rims surround handground rock crystal lenses, used to diminish the light and ease afflictions of the eye. The modest pricing of the piece had no bearing on their potential financial realisation and historical value, as they are in fact a rare museum piece.

A very experienced dealer (and even more experienced friend) had also noticed these a few days previously and failed to comprehend their importance. One should never assume there is nothing to be found under the gaze of the seemingly omnipotent dealers at these establishments. Find a subject that interests you passionately and start absorbing information on the matter, and soon you’ll start noticing these objects coming into focus, almost magically, upon your next outing to the marketplace.

Seeing Double

No need to put down the Martini, dear readers! You are indeed seeing double, and what a nice pair (of Tootals), if I may say so!

This fantastic company had its roots providing neckwear to the troops of the Boer war, though these rare examples date from the 1940s. Finding one 1940s Tootal in almost mint condition is a day for celebration, and indeed it was when it was dragged, damp with its own tears of relief and joy, from a box of polyester pretenders in a local secondhand store.

The story, as the picture suggests, is not however complete.

A few weeks later, while in a Lewesian flea market, a familiar pattern caught my eye. I casually peeked into the box, and there it was, beaming like a vision from Revelation. Identical. Period. Perfect.

Tootal.

1920s-1930s Officer-strapped and laced calf boots. Acquired from a collector in Hastings

1920 ‘four vices’ cufflinks. Printed on silk under glass depicting the finer things in life: wine, women , gambling and horses

Edwardian silk evening scarf with monogram by Noble Jones of Burlington arcade. (Discovered in a box of tired-looking gloves)

THE FLUMMOXER This edition’s flummoxer is a real perplexing piece of puzzlement. The ring attachment fits a finger, but poses practical problems due to its twinned poles. The terminals on these parallel bars represent acorns, the whole item collectively suspended upon a robust chain.

To the cunning individual who shoots closest to the mark as to the nature of the flummoxer, we will be gifting a pair of “out-foxing the flummoxer” cufflinks made by Mr. Gosbee’s own hand.

Lea Stein celluloid fox brooch.

Manufactured in the 70s and discovered in a Brighton antique market.

Last edition’s Flummoxer was cunningly out-foxed by one Mr. K. Seaton of Manchester. Indeed, sir, it was a 16-gauge shotgun cartridge-reloading tool. Congratulations and a pair of foxy cufflinks will be wending their way to you!

Please write to chap@thechap.co.uk with your conclusions as to the purpose of this object

1930s-40s Brevet watch, engraved on the reverse with the original owner’s name and RAF number.

HANDMADE IN ENGLAND E T T I N G E R .CO.U K +44 (0)20 8877 1616

Features Chris Sullivan (p22) •

•

Dandizette: Princess Julia (p28)

Interview with Timothy Spall (p34) 21

Photo Š Derek Ridgers

I turned up in a three-piece Edwardian suit, spats, gloves, cravat and walking stick to underground gay club The Paradise Garage in the summer of 1980.

The largely black and Hispanic clientele were dressed in shorts and slashed T-shirts, even headbands, for goodness sake.

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Feature

KING OF THE UNDERWORLD Chris Sullivan founded and ran Soho’s Wag Club for two decades in the 1980s and was frontman for Blue Rondo A La Turk. He explains how his chappish look evolved during the 80s, at odds with the fashions of the time

A

while back, purely because I was very prominent in the 1980s and ran landmark clubs during the so-called New Romantic era, some chump on that social media malarkey would not accept that, at that time, I was not wearing copious amounts of make-up. I, of course defended my corner as, being 6 foot 2 and 14 stone with a noticeably broken nose and a few facial scars to boot, blusher and eyeliner were not entirely ideal. He also said that I must have sported frilly shirts and big shoulder pads. Luckily for us both, I didn’t know where he lived.

Yet this is a common misnomer about the 1980s: many pundits who were not there think that that utterly ridiculous portmanteau was de rigueur for anyone who went to any groovy club in the early eighties but, if truth be told, it was anything but. And yet, I don’t blame said inconsequential for assuming such untruths, as the epoch was defined by a few outrageous camp and entirely overt queens

who grabbed the limelight, struck a pose at the drop of a hanky and thus tarred us all with the same mascara brush.

The truth however is that, the likes of yours truly sported a look that was entirely ‘chap’ and

“VHS meant you could pause the recording at pivotal moments and check out the kit. You could check whether the jacket had a bi-swing or Bayer back, whether the pants had regular or reverse pleats and so on. Now you could get it 100% correct” 23

had no truck with such ladylike adornment. At times, I sported a monocle, jodhpurs, three-piece New Edwardian suits, spats and a boater (but not at the same time) and garnered influence from Bertie Wooster, D.W. Griffiths, Erich Von Stroheim and Fritz Lang, as well as Robert Mitchum, Yves Tanguy, Frank Lloyd Wright and James McNeill Whistler.

Indeed, I had no time for futurism, as I was still very busy dealing with the past, purely because there is so much of it.

I also emulated characters from British comics, throwing in a Desperate Dan or a Buffalo Bill from time to time, and on an off day I will admit to having recreated Plug. In fact, my whole raison d’etre came from a few years previously in 1977 when I and a few friends from Wales – Mark Taylor and Mark Stevenson, who lived in London – were so appalled by the uniformity that punk had become that we embarked on a style dictate we christened Boys Weekly Rockers, whereby we dressed as our favourite characters from British comics like the Hotspur and The Valiant. Of course, taking the Michael 100%, I’d turn up at punk gigs dressed as Biggles in flying jacket and helmet, goggles, breeches and boots, Mark Taylor dressed as Sinbad the sailor in flowing Eastern robes, while Stevenson looked like Dennis The Menace on rather strong LSD. Everyone thought we’d lost the plot.

Fast forward to the Blitz Club in 1979. I still had the kit. I still liked the look. And so I persevered.

But what was so useful back then was that, to further my endeavour, all I had to do was visit jumble sales.

I’d buy the Ham and High and The Camden Journal and methodically hit every jumble sale in the vicinity.

Lest we forget, this was 1979, so much of the mufti had belonged to men who had recently passed away aged, shall we say 75, so the kit was, if you were lucky, from the thirties, possibly postwar and almost definitely from the fifties and sixties. We’d chance upon military wear worn in India during the Raj, duffel coats sported in WW2 and collarless shirts that we’d marry up with stiff starched collars from Denny’s in Soho. On a good day we’d find Huntsman suits, Hawes and Curtis shirts and Lobb footwear, and on a bad day we’d get properly elbowed by old ladies, a prehistoric scone and a cold cup of cha.

Coming from Wales, where the riches were few and far between, I was overwhelmed by the sheer quality on offer, but the richest haul we ever had was when one of my fellow students at St. Martins announced that his mother – who worked

Left to Right: Chris Sullivan, Christos Tolera, Ceryth Wynn Evans, Robert Elms, Daryl Humphries

Photo © Rupert Phillips

at Charles Fox the theatrical costumiers near Charing Cross – had told us they were having a sale of ‘everything.’ So, as one would expect, we all – most of us St Martins Fashion Students resident at a Warren Street squat – went down there en masse and bought the bloody lot. Kim Bowen bought a floor length white fur coat; I, a complete Argentine Gaucho outfit plus many items that didn’t fit, Christos Tolera a beautiful Edwardian lounge suit, while George O’Dowd bought their whole supply of Leichner face paint, in an array of colours that kept him going for a decade.

Shortly after this day of days, the Blitz Club started going downhill, purely because too many blusher and lace types were getting in and dancing like simpletons to electronic music. It was the silly season. My reaction was to start my own night in the St. Moritz, where we played music that was deliberately old and decidedly decadent: Marlene Dietrich, Lotte Lenya, Billie Holiday etc, and it took off. Before you knew it, futurism was dead and looking like a silent movie star wasn’t. I recall two regular patrons who dressed like 17th Century English Puritans and sat nursing their bibles and water all night, while certain ladies dressed 100% Louise Brooks in Pandora’s Box or Theda Bara in La Belle Russe.

I was big on the look sported by the King of the underworld played by Gustaf Gründgens in M directed by Fritz Lang, which was bowler hat, leather

gloves and a leather coat. Undoubtedly, we were all hugely influenced by movies that we saw at The Academy Cinema in Oxford Street, as afternoon screenings were less than the price of a half of lager.

Then in 1980 I spent the summer in Manhattan and, thoroughly disenchanted with this camp two blokes in make-up behind a synthesizer nonsense, decided to start a big band that used real instruments to play funk and Latin, and I designed these big suits that I had made by tailor Chris Ruocco of Kentish Town. I grew a goatee, pulled out the beret and the pork pie hats and listened to jazz and Latin. Soon I saw a similarity between my suits and zoot suits and, considering that said suit had sparked riots and disorder in 1941, decided that I would sport them for the band that I named Blue Rondo a La Turk. A year later I signed a £500,000 deal with Virgin, had a Top 30 record, appeared on the cover of The Face, the NME, Sounds and every other music mag in the country, sparking a nationwide trend for 40s kit and all that went with it, causing Armani to copy it and make himself a fortune.

But films were an even bigger influence for that look, especially after 1982, when VHS recorders became affordable. I checked the likes of Vincente Minnelli’s Cabin in The Sky, Andrew Stone’s Stormy Weather and film noirs like The Glass Key and The Big Combo. Now, not only could you could record great movies, but also you could pause the recording at

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pivotal moments and check out the kit. You could check whether the jacket had a bi-swing or Bayer back, whether the pants had regular or reverse pleats and so on. Now you could get it 100% correct.

Another big effect on us UK style mongers in the early eighties was the cheap flights to the US of A. I’d fly to LA for a few hundred pounds and pick up hand painted ties for a buck apiece, Pendleton shirts for $5 and Eisenhower jackets for a score. Noone wanted them. Now, the supply of large-sized classic Californian leisure wear of the early fifties has almost dried up, apart from at huge gatherings like the Rose Bowl, where the likes of me almost pass out in delirious excitement.

Of course, one always remembers certain occasions when one was dressed to the nines. My favourite was when, in the middle of August 1980, I turned up dressed in a three-piece Edwardian suit, spats, gloves, cravat and walking stick to thoroughly underground gay club The Paradise Garage. The largely black and Hispanic clientele were dressed in shorts and slashed T-shirts, even headbands, for goodness’ sake. Thus, dressed as I was, I brought the place to a complete standstill. And then the legendary DJ Larry Levan played Do What you Wanna Do by T Connection and I took to the dance floor, pulled out a selection of my best moves, as perfected in Wigan Casino or the Soul Boy clubs of mid-70s London – fast steps sixteen beats to the bar, eight

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spins on the run, a back drop, the splits and back up for more absurdly fast footwork. While I was on the verge of a coronary, the crowd erupted into applause. Later as I, sweating like Giant Haystacks, sat down to nurse my thumping heart with a fruit juice and a downer, Levan came over with Frankie Knuckles and sat and just looked at me. I could see in their eyes that they thought that someone might have spiked their drink and I was just yet another apparition. Levan, perhaps lost for words, said, “I never knew Sherlock Holmes could dance like that!”

“Never judge a book by its cover,” was my reply but I instantly regretted saying it, as one really should. As Confucius said, at 3.37 am on the 22nd April 502 BC, “There is no greater giveaway than a chap’s kit and especially his footwear!”

I still carry the torch, wearing the clothes that I always want to wear, and have never felt the need to be either fashionable or trendy. This attitude has stood me in good stead through the years running my club, The Wag, as a style pundit and even now as I lecture at St Martins. As far as clothing is concerned, I have only one motto which is, ‘To Thine own self be true,’ while Oscar Wilde’s comment “Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months,” still has a place in my soul. n Rebel Rebel: How Mavericks Made the Modern World,

by Chris Sullivan, will be published by Unbound

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Dandizette

PRINCESS JULIA Sunday Swift on the 1980s fashion icon who defined the New Romantic look and still continually reinvents herself

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aybe you know Princess Julia’s name because you recall the Blitz Kidz and the New Romantics of the 1980s. Maybe you know Julia’s DJing because you frequent London nightclubs like The Glory, Retro Bar and Eagle. Maybe you’ve read her articles on fashion and culture in QX Magazine and iD. Maybe you happened to see her art in the Tate. Or maybe you’ve seen her picture in Foxes Magazine, modelling couture fashion for brands like William Dill-Russell, Pam Hogg and Peter Jensen. She’s also an LGTB Pride activist, so maybe you’ve bumped into her at London Pride. And even if you don’t know of Princess Julia, you’ll have seen her impact on music, fashion and culture, not just in the 1980s but every era since.

Born in Hackney, London in 1960, Julia Fodor declares that “every decade throws up something kind of fantastic and amazing.” For Julia, this is certainly true – she might have been a bit too young to appreciate the Swinging Sixties, but she was a

teenager at the tail end of Seventies Punk. But in the early Eighties, out of Covent Garden nightclub The Blitz, came a small group of teenagers who would become known as the New Romantics – Priya Elan, Boy George, Marilyn, Steve Strange, and Princess Julia, among many others.

Julia has written herself on the New Romantic movement style, describing it as “a reinvention of attitude far flung from the convention of the time, intended to be controversial and thought-provoking

“I get quite bored with my image, waking up every day with the same old face. So I’ll do something different. It’s quite subtle, though if you didn’t see me for a year, I’d look different” 29

compared to the norm.” It was a very DIY-creative inspired look, one that relied on “mixing historical pieces and tackling twisted versions of pirate, film noir movie stars with dandies of yore… there was nothing part-time about being a Blitz Kid.” Androgyny and asexual looks abounded, as did lace collars and cuffs, rockabilly quiffs, pompadours and exaggerated wedge fringes. “There were no boundaries except to delve into the dressing up box as much as possible… this was not ‘fancy dress’, more ‘dress fancy.’”

Part and parcel with the New Romantic style, as with Punk, was the breaking of gender stereotypes. “We were really ahead of our time,” says Julia, “and not really thinking that we were doing something really that extraordinary, but looking back it’s really apparent that the idea of gender fluidity was rife.”

As a woman DJ in something of an all-boy’s club, Julia has never been one to conform to specific standards of identity and beauty. Classic dandies might sneer at drag, but Julia, an LGTB activist, has a dedicated affection for drag queens – and drag in general – in fact, in one interview, Julia even explains that the dress she’s wearing had actually belonged to a drag queen. But who needs all these labels, anyway? Julia explains that ‘my theory on dressing is that it’s all drag anyway. Just the act of putting on whatever you’re going to wear for a day, it’s a kind of a look.”

Working as a DJ afforded Julia the life of an artist, the ability to travel and the company of fellow dandies in the New Romantic movement.

And, like all good dandies, Julia is acutely aware

of the identity she has created: “Hiding behind make-up became a lifestyle choice for me.” There’s a touch of the French Baudelairean dandy about the New Romantics, but rather than revel in the despair of it all, this form of dandyism celebrates struggle as a beautiful and uplifting occurrence.

Julia explains, “I like the crumblingness. You’re allowed to crumble. Drinking is a great anaesthetic, up to a point. I always say the answers are in the bottom of a bottle. In the greater scheme of things, you should be sad. I don’t understand the whole idea of trying to maintain a level of happiness all the time. I think things should have dips and highs.”

Curiously, unlike many dandies who create a specific look and stick with it (consider Louise Brooks’ iconic bob), Julia’s stylised look is one that changes frequently. “I get quite bored with my image, waking up every day with the same old face. So I’ll do something different. It’s quite subtle, though if you didn’t see me for a year I’d look different.” Her main style inspirations, funnily enough, are old ladies, and she insists that they “have the best style,” because “they always make an effort”. She seems particularly fond of Joan Collins (another fabulous dandy), and quotes Joan: “you get the face you deserve after 40.”

Princess Julia seems preoccupied with faces: “The face is a canvas of expression, inner and outer. I’m fascinated by the way you can change your face via various mediums, like the way some of us are compelled to alter the face we are born with and what it says about the person.”

So what does Julia Fodor’s face say about her?

She smiles often and laughs even more. She has

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You’re allowed to crumble.

Drinking is a great anaesthetic. I always say the answers are in the bottom of a bottle. In the greater scheme of things, you should be sad

a flair for the dramatic, but is a bit subtler than she may seem at first. Her eyebrows are shaved off (sometimes drawn in, sometimes not) and she tends to favour a choppy short black fringe, forcing the viewer’s attention into her eyes, often framed with a heavy winged eyeliner and smoky smoulder.

Sometimes she wears spidery, over-accentuated eyelashes, sometimes she doesn’t. In both cosmetics and dress, Julia’s style is a combination of the contemporary and something of the past: some 70s punk, some 80s New Romantic, and even some 90s Goth is evident. She doesn’t really seem to follow trends so much as create them.

But behind her eyes, there is an acute and intense intelligence – she may be beautiful, but she’s certainly not hollow. She’s a writer and editor – and this has also afforded her opportunities that not everyone has, such as interviewing Yoko Ono. Julia is also an artist. Her subject? Portraits, of course.

Like all proper dandies, Julia’s clothes aren’t what make her a dandy, but the way she wears

her clothes certainly does, as it’s evident that she is telling a story with everything she wears. Julia has said, “I definitely have this idea I will not go out of the house without lipstick, at least. It’s not artificial: it’s more about taking care of yourself, having respect for yourself, keeping this idea up just for yourself. You could walk down the road and not meet anyone… but there’s always the off-chance.”

As a dandizette, Princess Julia not only creates art to be hung in galleries, but also turns herself into a work of art – and has been the object of many artists’ affections: in 2014, Rebecca Thomas published a sort of photographic contemporary biography of Julia, focusing on a period of five years. Rebecca describes Julia’s look as a “kind of the embodiment of everything I love – club culture mixed with proper Hollywood glamour, along with all the coolest London designers.” Rebecca’s book explores Julia’s life in East London, including the time she spent with designers like Louise Grey, Jonathan Sanders and James Long. Piers Atkinson

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Dandizette

designed a pillbox hat with an ostrich trim overdose for his BFC millinery showcase, Headonism, and named it after Julia. Ben Ashton did a painting of her wearing Edward Meadham and Ben Kirchhoff.

She said she wanted these designers specifically because “the world they create on the catwalk is fantastical and heady, a story unfolding.”

And when it comes to Julia, everything about her tells a story. Like many dandies before her, Julia Fodor and Princess Julia are not necessarily the same person. Fodor cultivates and maintains the image of Princess Julia, inspired by different movements, aesthetics and people who have come before her. But one thing is for sure: Princess Julia certainly may have proven inspirational within the

art, music and fashion world, but she’s shown no signs of stopping now. She’s even been approached about turning her life into a musical.

Oscar Wilde once said that “Fashion rests upon folly. Art rests upon law. Fashion is ephemeral.

Art is eternal.” He also said that “Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear.” Julia agrees: “I don’t care if people say it’s a dirty word, because I think of fashion and place to be intrinsically linked, and it’s really how you put your clothes together and create your own look, and that’s really inspiring. I go and have a rustle through the rails of young designers, to see what they’ve been inspired by, and sometimes it’s me!” n

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Interview

TIMOTHY SPALL Gustav Temple met actor Timothy Spall, to discuss his new film Stanley, A Man of Variety, playing grotesque characters, the existence of ghosts and the actor’s admiration for Terry-Thomas, expressed via a spontaneous impersonation of the bounder

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n Stanley, A Man of Variety, you play a range of British comedy legends such as Max Wall, Tony Hancock, Max Miller. Were they your comedy influences?

They are people I grew up with, watching on the telly.

There were only two channels when I was a kid. On Sundays it would be The Big Picture, and some of them were 40 years old. As a child you don’t know that, but you know there’s something odd about it. So in the film it ties in with a sense of the feeling of those characters, as well as their performances. We wanted to portray the connection between so-called affable, charming, unusual, eccentric British characters, but a subversion of that and showing something more underneath. A connection with a period of isolation; the kind of world that postwar Britain was.

You did Alistair Sim but not Peter Sellers?

Were there any characters you originally wrote in and then ditched?

We did the ones I thought I could have a crack at.

When Stephen and I sat down and started to try and build this film, those characters introduced themselves. As the picaresque journey of the story evolved, the characters turned up to take Stanley on to the next thing. We didn’t want it to be a series of turns, like the Mike Yarwood Show. The story is about a man with no sense of humour, actually, and a man of very little character. A nobody who has all these people in him. The comedy characters are all part of his own guilt, his confusion.

They don’t seem like impersonations, more like interpretations of each comedy character?

Yes, all the stuff we wrote was inspired by the essences of their character. For instance, Tony Hancock talks about how he killed himself through drink, and Margaret Rutherford puts him on trial for killing John Wilson with a chamber pot. In real life, Margaret Rutherford’s father killed his own father with a chamber pot. There’s a bending of the affability of those characters.

I suppose the Indian doctor is the best example, as Stanley’s version of him verges on racist and the doctor then challenges him on that.

Indeed. He started as a kind of Peter Sellers in The Party, which now would be completely unacceptable but was very entertaining at the time. But we made him much milder, and when Stanley sees him, he accuses him of what he thinks he’s feeling, which is what he’s feeling himself. I’m glad you got that. It’s

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We wanted to portray the connection between so-called affable, charming, eccentric British characters, but a subversion of that showing something more underneath.

The story is about a man with no sense of humour, actually, and a man of very little character. A nobody who has all these people in him. The comedy characters are all part of his own guilt, his confusion.

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not meant to be a funny film, but if it’s uncomfortable, even better!

I thought the Max Wall scene was laugh-outloud funny yet verging on the terrifying. Do you see something macabre in music hall?

I love the fact that music hall characters directly link to that grotesquery, that grand guignol that goes right back to comedia del arte. Music hall is also attached to our English literature, Dickens in particular, and also the fairy stories of Hans Christian Anderson.

“There’s a fine line between wanting to show off and show what you can do, and trying to get inside other people and see where their quirks are” Do you think every actor yearns to do a Kind Hearts and Coronets, the type of film where they play all the characters?

I wouldn’t say it was a common desire. Possibly the desire of people who are driven to be other people.

There’s a fine line between wanting to show off and show what you can do, and trying to get inside other people and see where their quirks are. It’s more of a compulsion than a desire. I suppose you could say that getting up in the morning and walking about in the street and talking to people is one form of solipsistic egotism. Acting takes it much further, because what you’re doing is exercising this desire to understand why people want to be other people, like a novelist does. It’s all an offshoot of trying to work out what it is that makes people tick; what is the motor to the tapestry of their idiosyncrasies.

You have played a lot of characters who existed in real life. Is that easier than playing fictional characters or more challenging?

It’s both liberating, in that you’ve got a figure you’re aiming at, but it’s also restricting because you know that person is well known and that people have a view about them. So you’re making a rod for your own back, because people might say, oh, you didn’t get him; it’s just an impersonation. So you have a

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template for somebody you’re going into, and it’s your job to find out where those characteristics come from. So I always stare at pictures of them, and if I can find photos of them as children and then young adolescents, I can get a lot of insight into them.

When I played Ian Paisley, for example, this big, terrifying firebrand, I found this picture of him when he was about 16. He’d had a growth spurt, and his trousers were a bit too short for him; he was all clumsy and he had a huge head. There was something so deeply touching, seeing how he grew up around that. It showed a vulnerability, it makes you wonder what was the next slice of the gateaux of their life.

Because it’s still in there; you’re still that child.

As J.W. Turner, you seem to inhabit the role with a Dickensian glee and you look very comfortable in a top hat. Do you favour the Victorian period, or are those just the roles you get offered more?

I have a massive love of Dickens and the Victorian period, and the early 19th century. It was the golden age of English literature. It’s interesting that Britain at its most repressed gave birth to this amazing boiling up of what was going on underneath.

It’s a bit like when you go to New York and its defining period was the 1930s and 40s, with the Art Deco architecture, everywhere there’s a flavour of that period. Then when you walk around London we have these fantastic modern buildings. I live on the edge of the city and I’m very close to a 12th century church with a lump of steel and glass sticking out of it a thousand feet high. But there’s still a massive amount of Victorian buildings, because that was our period, and I think a lot of our literature and our attitude is defined by that.

I was brought up by the last of the Edwardians, and they were brought up by Victorians, so although I don’t identify individually with those people, I know that that’s where we come from and it does appeal to me. But people also accuse me of being an everyman as well. I’ve been typecast in about 17 different modes!

It sounds like you almost have to grow up with them, to get a sense of who they are when you’re playing them? That’s pretty deep research.

Yes, but once you’ve found out all you can about them, you have to take a massive leap of the imagination. And then there’s the extra thing, whether it’s right or wrong, where you try and connect your soul with their soul – and I don’t mean that in the profoundest way. Then it stops being an impersonation, and it becomes an almost abstract thing. It’s like when I did David Irving [in Denial, 2016]; it was part of my job not to judge him from an objective point of view.

In The Enfield Haunting you played ghosthunter Maurice Grosse. Did you ever get the heebie-jeebies during filming?

I got them seriously before I did it. I read the script and I felt very frightened, because I am easily spooked. I actually turned it down as it freaked me out too much. It wasn’t long after doing Turner and I was very, very tired. Then the producer said, ‘I’m sorry, we can’t accept that. Please ask Tim to read it again.’ And then I was reading it again and I had a sort of epiphany. I thought, as scary as it is, and as open as I am about ghosts, nothing can exist in the afterlife worse than what’s going on in the present.

People being slaughtered in Syria, constant starvation… I thought, why on earth am I worrying about dead people? It’s the living that are most terrifying.

What I loved about The Enfield Haunting was it was a journey about emotion, it wasn’t just a scareyou. It’s about a man who’s lost a child himself

Was David Irving the most morally horrible character you’ve played?

Well it depends where you stand. I’ve played lots of characters who aren’t deemed as horrible but a lot of people might consider them so. Somebody who’s become a pariah like Mr. Irving, who was an incredibly respected historian and became this mouthpiece for very unappealing and offensive ideals, then I’m fascinated by them. How the perceived view of them compares to what they’re actually like. What they become because of a cause-celebre of some description, and how much of their public persona that is seemingly vile is real, or is it an accretion of the thing they’re involved in, or did they become that because people want them to? It’s like Donald Trump: so many people look at him and loathe him and think he represents all that’s vile, and then there are a load of other people who think he’s the bees knees.

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I learned to paint for two years as well, before I even started rehearsing.

There’s nothing like the knowledge of being hanged in the morning to concentrate the mind wonderfully.

Spall as J.W. Turner in Mr Turner (2014)

Haunting, built in 1936 and think, Oh Jesus, what’s going on here? Is it a trick of the light, is it the lie of the land, the tilt of the horizon? As you get older you realise that so many things we do are driven by the subconscious anyway.

and was trying to find some solace in that. Maurice Grosse was a very dignified, ordinary kind of guy.

It was interesting to investigate whether it was this child’s disturbed childhood and this man’s desire to summon up a ghost that made it happen, and is that what makes ghosts happen anyway? It’s like if you want God to be there, God is there. You don’t want him to be there, and he ain’t!

And it might not even be the room itself; it might be in the earth upon which the house was built.

Exactly. Where I live, just around the corner there’s a thousand people buried underground from the plague. Without getting too spiritual about it, who’s to say that these things aren’t recorded somewhere, even if it’s in a wisp of air that’s gone all the way around the earth a thousand times, for a thousand years? Then you hear someone like Dr. Brian Cox saying that in every living human being and every single thing on Earth there’s a tiny morsel of the Big Bang. And we think ghosts don’t exist?

Was that your view on ghosts before you made the series? That they are purely the product of the imagination?

No, I’m still not sure. Don’t forget that 22 years ago I had a life-threatening disease. I had to go very deep down into areas where I had to think about these things. Certain things happened; I was given signs and though I didn’t get any visitations, but, you know, ‘there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio’.

Look, if you can record your voice or a song, or take a photograph with an instrument and it can be there forever, why can’t a room, for instance, capture an event that might be there for evermore?

What is about a certain room that everybody feels? What is that? You can walk into an ancient house and think, this is lovely, or you can walk into somewhere like that semi-detached in The Enfield

Did you ever meet Terry-Thomas?

No, but I would love to have done. I did work with Dickie Briars, who was related to Terry-Thomas, and sometimes I could see it in him [does perfect impression of Terry-Thomas]: “I say, you absolute cad!” He started in the music hall, didn’t he, and became a great character. His performance in School for Scoundrels is just wonderful, and It’s a Mad Mad

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Spall as Maurice Grosse in The Enfield Haunting (2015)

Mad World… [Terry-Thomas voice] “You Americans are obsessed with women’s bosoms, what’s the matter with you?”

Do you think he was playing a caricature of himself in real life? He forced it a bit at the beginning of his career and then it became real?

I’m not sure, I don’t know where he was brought up.

He was brought up in North London, the son of a market trader. Lower middle-class background; nothing in his past indicated a career in film or a swaggering dandy.

It’s often surprising when you find out where people with these posh accents come from. Derek Jacobi is from Leytonstone or somewhere like that.

I remember reading a very touching interview with Terry-Thomas when he was very ill with Parkinson’s, and saying [Terry-Thomas voice] “The only part of me that doesn’t shake is my earholes.” So maybe people do end up becoming what they’re portraying, if they can keep it up, or sometimes you don’t know what they’re like at home.

When we interviewed Richard Briers, he said that at some point in his youth, TerryThomas, as a family member, suddenly started calling him ‘Ricardo’ and he never

went back to calling him Richard or the way he used to speak.

But there’s a kind of poetry in that, isn’t there? It’s more than just an affectation, that’s a poetic take on a persona. You could say it’s somebody pretending, but then again it’s somebody finding something that’s an expression of something they couldn’t express in another way. The classic example of that was Quentin Crisp, who unashamedly said he was a construct, like a sort of performance art. It’s what you feel makes you comfortable. Like this guy who’s just been exposed as an Italian New Yorker who was a royal commentator. He’s been on television commentating on royal weddings, purporting to be an aristocrat, while he’s actually from upstate New York. Is he a liar, or is he just getting in touch with something he feels he really is? It’s all an illusion.

As a character actor you’ve got a mild form of undiagnosed multi-personality disorder, but at least you get to exercise that in a safe place. As scary as I find it, I think I’d be deeply unhappy if I couldn’t do it. Once I was asked, when my wife was with me, “Does Tim ever bring his characters home?” I said, “Absolutely not,” and at exactly the same time she said, “Of course he does.” n Stanley: A Man of Variety is released on DVD in January 2019

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Hor nets

Men’s Vintage Classic British & Designer CLOTHING SHOES ACCESSORIES HATS Three shops in the heart of Kensington near the Palace 2/4 Kensington Church Walk, London W8 4NB hornetskensington.co.uk 0207 937 2627 hornetskensington

SARTORIAL •

Hornets Profile & Fashion Shoot (p44) • Minimal Watches (p60) • Shooting Clobber (p65) • Undandy Shoes (p70) • House of Nutter (p72) • Stockings for Spies (p82) • Grey Fox Column (p84) Style on the Nile (p88) • Get the Look: The Country Gent 43

(p96)

Profile

HORNETS KENSINGTON Bill Hornets is the elegant doyen of London’s (if not England’s) finest trio of vintage gentlemen’s clothing emporia in Kensington. We asked him to elaborate on how he runs his business and what makes a true gentleman

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wearing jeans, I was dressed in suits, jackets and trousers. I travelled in the Greek Islands with a white tux and white cotton three-piece 1930’s suit.

The shop in Brighton was an instant success and became the centre for secondhand men’s clothing in the town; it was the biggest and the best and soon had a reputation far beyond Brighton.

hen, how and why did the first Hornets shop come into being?

The first Hornets was in Brighton with a big hanging sign, a cutout red top hat saying ‘Clothes for Gentlemen’. It’s now on the front of one of our shops in Kensington Church Walk.

My personal and professional life was changing, and I needed something on the South Coast. I hit on old clothes, as this was something I knew about and found fascinating. I’d always had a reputation for being very well-dressed; when everybody was

What was your professional background before opening the first shop?

Before going into old clothes I was a successful actor (I gave it up, it didn’t give me up). I did theatre and a

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lot of television, working on most of the series of the time, The Saint, Avengers, Department S and many more. I starred as a Doctor in a series for three years and appeared in two other series as a leading character; my name then was William Wilde.

my room, so I put a suit and tie on went down to dinner.

The restaurant was large and the other passengers from the plane were all in a corner, all dressed casually, as they had been on the plane. They looked rather scruffy, but I went to join them. I was stopped by the head waiter and showed him my pink ticket.

He took me to my own table for one and quietly thanked me for dressing for his restaurant, and told me I was his guest, which had nothing to do with the ticket, which I found out later was for the set meal. I had a very good a la carte dinner, two half bottles of good wine and an old brandy with my coffee.

I have many stories like that, but, quite simply, if you look and behave like a gentleman it will get you around the world very smoothly.

You have been called “The Godfather of Style”. Are you happy with this title, and what for you defines gentlemanly style?

Some time ago Jojo of Rag Parade in Sheffield (a brilliant young dealer with very much his own style) called me ‘The Godfather of Style’ and it stuck.

When I first opened Hornets, all the men’s vintage shops in London were exactly that, selling vintage 30s, 40s, 50s, and not much after the 50s, also bricà-brac, calling it 20s/30s antiques, but it was tat really; in all there was nothing very original about the shops, they were a bit dull.

Hornets opened the first men’s secondhand shop that looked like a smart traditional gentleman’s tailor and outfitters that had been there for a hundred years, selling vintage, classic, Savile Row and modern, but they all had one thing in common: style.

You’ve met a lot of very well-dressed Chaps over the years. Which of them stand out as truly cutting the sartorial mustard?

Hornets is like a discreet Gentleman’s Club. It’s difficult naming the best-dressed men I’ve met socially, because the ones I don’t mention will be offended.

So I’ve picked three that are no longer with us.

Patrick Macnee of the Avengers, a very stylish man, who was very much like the character he played, with a charming easy manner about him and an impeccable taste: he was John Steed.

Peter O’Toole was an elegant man who was always well-dressed. Usually when he was popping around Soho, which he loved to do, he wore a singlebreasted bespoke suit, a beige raincoat thrown over his shoulders or on his arm, and a Lock brown trilby.

Peter Wyngarde was very well cast as Jason King.

Off stage he dressed in a rather theatrical style, not over the top like Jason King but beautifully done, velvets, silks and fine attire. It worked on him as he was masculine, like Jason King. Later in life he decided to dress down so he wouldn’t be noticed, but it didn’t work. Peter in jeans and workwear still stood out and he still looked stylish.

Can any man look like a gentleman if he wears the right clothes?

Any man can look like a gentleman if he dresses like one, but being a gentleman is something else.

You don’t have to have the right accent, you don’t have to have been to the right school. I knew a man who worked on the London Docks for forty years; he always wore a secondhand double-breasted suit jacket with a waistcoat and old brown cords – he had a natural style. He was polite, had good manners, treated all the fair sex like ladies, he listened to people, never raised his voice in anger and was sensitive to all around him. He got a lot of respect and was known as ‘Gentleman Jack’.

Can you give an example from your own experiences of a situation where possessing gentlemanly style made your life better?

I was on a flight once to Gibraltar. There was an electric storm over the Rock, so we couldn’t land and we were taken to Madrid as guests of the airline. It was out of season, so it was a big expensive hotel. I was given a pink ticket for my free dinner and the keys to

What do you think of chaps who dress from only a specific vintage period, like the 1940s?

If someone likes to dress in a particular vintage period, fine, but it is limiting and sometimes difficult to acquire the detail. But it is difficult to pull it off without looking like a film extra in real life.

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original and expressing my personality. My style started forming in my early twenties and has grown with me.

Do you think it’s alright to mix vintage garments with contemporary ones?

Designer clothes, chosen carefully, can complement a classic English wardrobe. Hornets recently sold a really tweedy bespoke suit and a Loro Piana suede jacket, the suede like silk, to the same Chap.

Hanging together, they belonged; it’s about quality of style and fabric.

Many of our customers like the mix of classic English bespoke with particular designers such as Gucci, Hermes and others. We select them very carefully, as we do with everything. We had a black brocade two-button dinner suit with a classic cut by Dolce and Gabbana (a red carpet piece); it looked great and fitted Hornets style perfectly.

Can a customer leave Hornets looking like a stylish gent, after a single visit?

A customer can walk into Hornets in T-shirt and jeans and leave looking like a gentleman. It’s always a question of size and his budget. But suppose he left still wearing his jeans and fitted up with a tweed jacket or dark blue blazer, both with a waistcoat, scarf, a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, classic leather shoes, a trilby or tweed cap, he’d look good and feel good. Visiting Hornets can be a day trip, with our shops, the local pub, The Ivy and other restaurants and cafes, the little park nearby, Kensington Gardens and the Palace all within walking distance.

Our watchwords are “Style, Not Fashion” and “See it, touch it, try it on”. n

Should men adapt their clothing as they get older, or stick to what they’ve always worn?

As I’ve got older my style hasn’t changed, but it has developed into a wider range. Basically it’s the same,

Hornets Kensington 2 Kensington Church Walk, London W8 4NB www.hornetskensington.co.uk

HORNETS PHOTO SHOOT We took Soulstealer Photography and four models to Kensington on a sweltering day in June, to soak up the clothes and atmosphere of Hornets

PHOTOGRAPHS BY SOULSTEALER PHOTOGRAPHY MODELS: LADY ECCENTRIK, OLIVIA BULLOCK, PETER GOSBEE, JOHN MINNS STYLING BY BILL HORNETS AND GUSTAV TEMPLE THANK YOU TO BILL HORNETS AND ORLANDO AT HORNETS FOR A WONDERFUL DAY WWW.HORNETSKENSINGTON.CO.UK WWW.SOULSTEALER.CO.UK

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PETER WEARS: VINTAGE TWEED COACHMAN’S COAT EDWARDIAN RIDING COAT, ORIGINALLY BLACK FADED TO GREEN EDWARDIAN SWALLOWTAIL RIDING WAISTCOAT WITH MOTHER-OF-PEARL BUTTONS 1920S DUNN & CO TWEED FLAT CAP 1961 BREECHES MADE BY THE GREAT-GRANDSON OF A CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE SURVIVOR 1920S BROWN BOOTS

JOHN WEARS: VINTAGE BURTON TWO-PIECE TWEED SUIT STRACHAN BROWN MOLESKIN WAISTCOAT WITH MOTHEROF-PEARL BUTTONS CROCKETT & JONES BROWN SUEDE SHOES VINTAGE SILK CREAM SPEARPOINT-COLLARED SHIRT

PETER WEARS: BLACK CHALK-STRIPE LATE 1950S TWO-PIECE WOOL SUIT BLACK HORNETS BOWLER HAT BLACK CHURCH’S HALFBROGUES FOX-FRAME BLACK UMBRELLA

JOHN WEARS: 1950S DARK BLUE PRINCE OF WALES CHECK SUIT FROM HAWKES OF SAVILE ROW CROCKETT & JONES BLACK OXFORDS VINTAGE SILK CREAM SPEARPOINT-COLLARED SHIRT

OLIVIA WEARS: HAND-MADE WOOL/ TWEED BOLERO JACKET AND CIRCLE SKIRT SUIT, CIRCA 1949-50 LATE 40S/EARLY 50S SILK PUSSY-BOW BLOUSE VINTAGE RED WOOL BERET ACCORDION – HORNETS

JOHN WEARS: VINTAGE BLADEN TWEED JACKET STRACHAN BURGUNDY MOLESKIN WAISTCOAT 1960S CREAM CHINOS PETER WEARS: 1950S DRESS SHIRT 1940S HARRIS TWEED KNICKERBOCKERS VINTAGE GREY BRACES ENGLISH 1920S CORESPONDENT SHOES DUNN & CO TWEED CAP TEDDY BEAR – HORNETS

LADY ECCENTRIK WEARS: DRESS BY FENN WRIGHT MANSON ACCESSORIES BY SPLENDETTE HANDBAG BY TRUE VINTAGE (GIFTED BY @BUBBLESARAH87) SHOES BY SHELLY LONDON VINTAGE HAT FROM EBAY

PETER WEARS 1950S DRESS SHIRT 1940S HARRIS TWEED KNICKERBOCKERS VINTAGE GREY BRACES ENGLISH 1920S CORESPONDENT SHOES DUNN & CO TWEED FLAT CAP JOHN WEARS VINTAGE BLADEN TWEED JACKET STRACHAN BURGUNDY MOLESKIN WAISTCOAT 1960S CREAM CHINOS CROCKETT & JONES BROWN OXFORDS

LADY ECCENTRIK WEARS: DRESS BY FENN WRIGHT MANSON ACCESSORIES BY SPLENDETTE HANDBAG BY TRUE VINTAGE (GIFTED BY @BUBBLESARAH87) SHOES BY SHELLY LONDON VINTAGE HAT FROM EBAY

JOHN WEARS: VINTAGE BLADEN TWEED JACKET STRACHAN BURGUNDY MOLESKIN WAISTCOAT 1960S CREAM CHINOS CROCKETT & JONES BROWN OXFORDS

OLIVIA WEARS: CREAM KID LEATHER GLOVES HANDMADE COTTON POLKA DOT DRESS, DESIGNED AND MADE BY OLIVIA’S DRESSMAKER AUNT CIRCA 1954-6 CREAM VINTAGE WOVEN PAPER HAT, CIRCA 1950S

PETER WEARS: 1950S DRESS SHIRT 1940S HARRIS TWEED KNICKERBOCKERS VINTAGE GREY BRACES DUNN & CO TWEED FLAT CAP EDWARDIAN SWAGGER STICK WITH HORN HANDLE

Horology

THE CASE FOR MINIMAL WATCHES Liam Jefferies on two new British watch brands that look back to classic, simple watches for inspiration

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“If you pilot a submarine or aircraft, you have licence to deck your wrist out like an air traffic control room.

However, for most folk, knowing the correct time should suffice”

here are a variety of aesthetic devices which frequently ebb and flow in the world of menswear. Classic staples such as the tie bar, the trilby and the pocket square, always a permanent part of a chap’s wardrobe, every so often reappear on the ever-spinning wheel of fashion.

It seems odd, then, that this trend has taken so long to come into effect for one’s choice of wrist wear. While mid-century style European tailoring continues to dominate the high street and off-thepeg fashion houses, with slim lapels and ever-tighter cigarette-cut trousers, the golden age of style sees its influence sadly lacking in the world of horology.

There was a time when a wristwatch was a thing of necessity, and, as such avoided any extraneous accoutrement or distracting features.

Nowadays, however, the prevailing trend seems to be towards voluminous, bulky beasts akin to the pressure gauge on an ocean-going submersible. If one does pilot a submarine, aircraft or other such feat of modern engineering, then one does have a certain amount of licence to deck one’s wrist out

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ago, he ran (and still runs) AMS Design Studio, a watch design and production studio. He and his business partner Anneke Short spend as much time on The Camden Watch Company designs as when they work for high-end Swiss brands.

Camden Watch Co. takes a vast amount of inspiration from their namesake, with Jerome and Anneke paying homage to the area’s Victorian heritage of horse hospitals, steam train yardsturned-gin warehouses, bareknuckle boxers and dead elephant circus owners.

The watches are named after bus and Underground routes which run through London. The seconds hand on the No.88 is based on the iconic Camden Lock Bridge, in the same turquoise hue.

The dial’s design is informed by those of historic steam trains, which by necessity had large, easy-toread indications, increasing the legibility of the dial.

The impression of turn-of-the-Century railways is reinforced by the crown, resembling the pushers found on steam trains. At a modest 39mm, the casing retains its old-world charm while rendering the watch a genderless appeal.

The construction of the No.88 is inspired by the very first wrist-mounted timepieces, which had fixed wire lugs comprised of a single wire soldered at either end of the case, with a gap for the strap, making them interchangeable. The straps themselves, available in genuine leather or nylon, are inspired by the NATO strap, a design first debuted in 1973 in the Ministry of Defence Standard (DefStan) 66-15. The strap has since been seen on many a timepiece, from Armyissued field watches to the Rolex Submariner, and even on a certain Mr. Bond in Goldfinger (although, as any film buff will tell you, his watch is not a true NATO).

The reverse engraving on the watch reads Non Sibi Sed Toti (Not For One But For All) – the motto on Camden’s town crest and the ethos by which the business is run: wellmade, quality timepieces

like an air traffic control room. However, for most folk, knowing the correct time should suffice.

The most common watch case size of yesteryear was a modest 35mm. However, recent ostentations have seen cases grow to in excess of 40mm, which, in this writer’s opinion, is the diameter of no return, and only suitable for the wrist of a hip-hop sonneteer. Thankfully, due to the resurgence of vintage menswear styles, the smaller, simpler watch is returning to the forefront of contemporary fashion.

Two new horologists purveying what we believe is a ‘minimal’ – or ‘normal’ – size and style of wristwatch are The Camden Watch Company and Harvey James.

The Camden Watch Company The Swiss may be connotative with watchmaking these days, but it was Great Britain who brought about some of the most important innovations in the field, and that is what the Camden Watch Company pay homage to in their designs. Cofounder Jérôme Robert was born and bred in La Chaux-de-Fonds, the watch valley of Switzerland, and has had watches in his blood from birth. Before launching the Camden Watch Company four years

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Camden Watch Co. No.88 Steel and Brown Leather £89

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Harvey James watches feature the minimalist design attributes of a classic watch, with a modern Japanese Quartz movement. The deliberately stripped-back design and face diameter size options of 36mm and 40mm give the watches a unisex appeal, while the interchangeable leather straps, which are a cinch to swap, allows the wearer to customise and accessorise at will.

While the founders’ modus operandi is to remove the boundaries of gender in wrist wear, the options of classic white or midnight black faces offer a sense of binary simplicity, while the aforementioned interchangeable leather straps allows for further customisation and, more importantly, the ability to match one’s watch to one’s shoes, braces or belt. Available in black, tan, grey, nude and white, there is a Harvey James watchstrap to correspond to each respective element of the wearer’s ensemble.

The watch itself is constructed from 304 stainless steel, a composition first developed in 1924 under the trade name Staybrite 18/8, available in silver, gold and rose gold. The lens is made from mineral glass, known for its scratch-resistant properties, while the inner workings contain a Japanese Miyota 2025 Quartz movement, considered a workhorse of the industry. The absence of a second hand delivers a virtually inaudible tick and a much simpler watch to service, without the price-tag.

Should you ever need it, all Harvey James watches come with a standard 12-month manufacturer’s warranty.

The founders spent over a year and many samples in order to refine their design. Every aspect appears considered, from the black feature minute hand to the width of the hour marks, with the only branding being the embossed initials on the buckle and the carefully selected typeface above the centre dial.

at a price that makes them affordable to the everyman. The watch is delivered packaged in handstamped, string-tied Kraft boxes, labelled with the watch number and design details, seamlessly blending the modern watch box with historically influenced packaging.

All of the watches are designed and developed in Camden, then manufactured in the Far East utilising the l’etablissage method, introduced by Swiss watch impresario Daniel JeanRichard and meaning that each part is produced in a separate factory, a more costly and logistical process, but one that yields a better finished product. www.camdenwatchcompany.com

Harvey James Born from necessity, the Harvey James brand began as recently as 2016, when Scott Donaldson and Tynan Stanyer travelled back to Australia to attend the baptism of their Godson, after whom the company is named. “When we got home we started thinking about how great it would be to have a classic clean and versatile watch that matches every outfit and occasion when on the move.”

Harvey James Classic Silver/Jet – £109 harveyjameswatches.com Follow

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@SartorialChap

They say clothes maketh man.

At Undandy we know it’s the shoes.

WWW.UNDANDY.COM

Sartorial

SHOOTING CLOBBER

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“Never fasten breeks over stockings – always under. An etiquette nono but alas a common misdemeanor. Another mistake is not to tie garters correctly – too often Guns are spied with tassels flapping and dragging through the mud”

ressing appropriately for the shooting field can be a minefield. There are dozens of different styles to choose, all with subtle but important nuances. Get it wrong and you could look a fool. When your first shooting invitation lands in your inbox, you want to be able to hold your head up high on the field, knowing that you are dressed correctly.

As a general rule, the shooting field welcomes flamboyance. In fact, peacocking is positively encouraged. Lurid pink stockings, matching gaudy v-neck and a novelty silk ties are a wonderful way of brightening an overcast day – as long as you can shoot like a demon. If, however, you are a newbie and shoot like a drain, steer well clear of this garish get-up and opt for more muted tones. Otherwise, the dreaded cries of ‘…all the gear and no idea’ will more than likely ensue.

Shooters are a bit like nerdy military battle reenactors. Essentially, they dress up in Edwardian clothing but with a modern edge. The main core of this quintessentially English outfit – a tweed suit complete with stockings and garters – has not

changed a jot since the early 1900s. Sartorial elegance on the shooting field is as important now as it was back then, and turnout is almost as critical as how many high birds (clay or otherwise) you fell on each drive.

Not only is it imperative that you choose the right garments to begin with, but you then need to understand how to wear them. For instance, one

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Photography © Sarah Farnsworth

Selena Barr provides a guide for the uninitiated as to how to dress for the shooting field

gun mounting and moisture and stain repellent Teflon finish.

Once you have sussed out the core of your outfit, it is then time to look at accessories. Le Chameau rubber boots are regularly photographed on the feet of the young Royals, including Prince Harry and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.

Together with Hunters, these brands are highly revered within shooting circles. Gloves are another essential. Opt for the type with a foldaway trigger finger. If you’re prone to chilly fingers, then also add a liner to the mix – it’ll keep you shooting for longer when the temperature in the British countryside plummets to subzero.

Turning to look at gunslips and cartridge bags, there are a plethora of designs available. In fact, the market is absolutely bursting at the seams.

Everything from ostrich leather, zebra hide, patriotic Union Jack designs or elegant plain leather designs from John Rigby & Co. or Croots are waiting for you. I always feel that it is worth splashing out in this department, as you’ll get what you pay for. Beware of poor-quality examples that end up too short and lack a generous turnover.

Perhaps the most important thing about your shooting outfit is that it reflects your personality. If you are a gregarious sort, I doubt you will want to blend in on the shooting field. This is only a rough guide but hopefully it will point you in the right direction. n

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Photography © Sarah Farnsworth

should never fasten breeks over stockings – always under. An etiquette no-no, but alas a common misdemeanor. Another mistake is not to tie garters correctly – too often Guns are spied with tassels flapping and dragging through the mud. Likewise, avoid buying a matching four-piece suit made entirely from the same tweed cloth, or you’ll look like a visitor from abroad. Everything matching except the flat cap or waistcoat is fine.

If this all sounds a trifle intimidating, don’t be put off – shooting folk are a friendly bunch, and there are plenty of specialist tailors and sartorial experts at outlets to help point you in the right direction. British tweed tailoring has been exported all over the world and will never go out of fashion.

The best sporting tailors have survived the revolution in outdoor clothing and there are still a fair number dotted around the country. Like all suits, the classic tweed shooting suit can be made-to-measure or bought off-the-peg. There are several iconic manufacturers that offer ready-to-wear shooting outfits, perhaps the best being from Schöffel Country and Cordings of Piccadilly.

Many modern Guns now choose to augment their wardrobe with 21st-century options – they are designed to be lightweight and breathable, yet practical and durable. Options include GoreTex interliners and technical waterproof tweeds.

Schöffel Country offers superb technical coats in its Ptarmigan range, with a sporting cut for smooth

THIS SEASON’S HIGHLIGHTS:

Dressing Up

SCHÖFFEL PTARMIGAN TWEED COAT The peak of traditional country attire – smart, practical and seriously comfortable.

RRP: £599.95 www.schoffel.com MUSTO GORE-TEX TWEED BREECHES Made with love from Lovat Mill tweed – lightweight, machine washable and exceptional quality.

RRP: £300 www.musto.com

LE CHAMEAU CHASSEUR The crème de la crème of rubber boots specifically designed for use in the field.

RRP: £340 www.lechameau.com/gb

RIGBY HIP FLASK Handmade using premium calf-leather and perfectly sized to fit in your pocket.

A shoot day essential and a sure way to make friends.

RRP: £99 www.johnrigbyandco.com

SCHÖFFEL COUNTRY HERRINGBONE SOCK The perfect accessory to complete your shoot outfit, it even comes with matching garter strap – made using a soft merino blend with a reinforced heel and toe for extra durability.

RRP: £59.95 www.schoffelcountry.com SCHÖFFEL COUNTRY TWEED CLASSIC CAP If you want to get ahead, get a hat – just remember to opt for a different tweed to the rest of your attire.

RRP: £49.95 www.schoffelcountry.com CORDINGS NAVY SELF DEFENCE SILK TIE ‘All men are equal. All men, that is, who poses a tie.’ This is the perfect opportunity to add a bit of colour in to your outfit RRP: £65 www.cordings.co.uk

BOOT COMPETITION In association with Fife Country (est. 1888), we are offering a pair of Rannoch Veldtschoen Country Boots to one reader who can answer this question: What name did Fife Country trade under in 1955?

Send your reply to chap@thechap.co.uk All entrants will receive a discount voucher for Fife Country products www.fifecountry.co.uk

Footwear

UNDANDY Gustav Temple on a clever new shoe company that uses web technology to turn your footwear fantasies into reality

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“I was left with a burning desire to have a similar pair of shoes, and nothing to go on. Searches on footwear emporia and Internet auction sites yielded nothing; I may as well have been searching for something I saw in a dream”

t starts like this (a no-doubt familiar scene for Chaps, and indeed Chapettes): you’re wandering around Hastings Old Town (or anywhere else in the world), idly wondering where to stop for tea, when something catches your eye.

It is a pair of shoes on a stranger. Not just any pair of shoes, but the most perfectly designed, colour-co-ordinated pair of trotter-covers you have ever seen. In this case a pair of green and cream half-brogue co-respondents, on a fellow whom I have never set eyes on before. He happens to be exceedingly well-dressed, which is to be expected on anybody with a pair of shoes like that.

Then the dilemma. Do I simply march up to him and ask him where he got them, which always seems a trifle vulgar, sounding more like saying “I want your shoes now”. Besides, on the few occasions when I have made such an enquiry, the response is inevitably that they came from Japan/a mysterious now-deceased cobbler in Uruguay/eBay.

My hesitation gave the chap time to disappear into the crowd and I was left with nothing but a

burning desire to have a similar pair of shoes, and absolutely nothing to go on. Searches on footwear emporia and Internet auction sites yielded practically nothing; I may as well have been searching for something I saw in a dream.

Then along came Undandy. This remarkable new concept in footwear consumption uses modern technology to provide a unique service that it seems

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incredible no-one has thought of before. You visit Undandy’s zippy, efficient web site and, starting with a few basic building blocks, become a master shoemaker in a few moments with your computer mouse.

There are three different last shapes to choose from, two of which are eminently suitable for Chap tastes. Then you choose the model, with a decent range of Oxford, brogue, monkstrap, loafer and chukka boot. Within these choices you can then select details such as broguing, before it’s time to select your material – calf leather, suede or patent leather – for each section of the shoe. With brogues, this leads to endless combinations of wingtip, vamp, quarter and counter. Open and closed lacing is also an option. I was relieved, in a sense, to have the firm intention purely of recreating what I had seen in Hastings. Given these vast choices, one’s imagination could run riot and you could end up with a pair of shoes best kept inside a dream.

Every stage of the design process gives you a graphic image of your finished shoe from various angles, leaving nothing to chance or foolhardiness.

You can even choose from various colours for the stitching and the laces. 2-4 weeks later, your creation arrives from Portugal, where the shoes are made in one that country’s reputable shoe factories. The moment of unpacking is quite unlike any other Internet

purchase, because, for the first time, you are seeing the results of your wild imagination in physical shoe form. Because I only wanted to reproduce something I had already seen, the pair I’d designed was not too much of a shocker. In fact, I was surprised at how accurately they resembled what I had glimpsed for only a few seconds on another man’s feet.

Quality-wise, one is naturally well-versed in looking for the signs of Goodyear-welted standards in all footwear. Undandy shoes make no claim to be Northampton-made and you are not going to get a pair of Trickers for their prices (ranging from £150£200). The quality of Undandy shoes is roughly what you would expect from a decent high-street shoe shop, or from a mid-priced Italian shoe. The calf leather is good but rather on the thin side for those used to the sturdier leathers used in Northampton. But the welts and the stitching and the overall craftsmanship are excellent.

To conclude, the Undandy service is brilliant if you want a pair of shoes that has never existed and never will unless you design it yourself. The finished shoes will serve well for special occasions but probably would not survive long-term daily use for more than a year or so, compared to the ten-plus years one expects from a pair of Northampton-made shoes. n www.undandy.com

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Interview

LANCE RICHARDSON Gustav Temple met New York-based author of House of Nutter, a biography of Savile Row legend Tommy Nutter and his photographer brother David

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hy are there so few books about Savile Row? There have been a few books about Savile Row, but they’re generally stodgy histories and not really readable.

“Tommy Nutter’s suits were stitched together from different types of material, and I wanted the book to reflect that, by stitching together different styles to creating something that adds up to an elegant whole, like a Nutter suit does”

The last one of those was in 1988!

Right, The Illustrated History of Savile Row by Richard Walker. It’s good, but it’s pretty niche and thirty years out of date. I thought it would be interesting to write a book about that but about so much more.

The reason I was drawn to write about Tommy Nutter is that his life touched on so many other

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things: the mods, the swinging sixties – a phrase I deliberately never use in the book – the sexual revolution of the seventies in New York, AIDS. I could write about this incredible sweep of history through this one man, and this very interesting craft, which has never been written about in a way that I’d want to read about it.

It was published in 1971, so perhaps Tommy was fresh on the scene and hadn’t established himself yet? What was the first thing you heard about Nutter that drew you into his life?

A few years ago, a friend told me this story about a Savile Row tailor who’d gone with a group of friends to the launch of an Andy Warhol retrospective at the Tate Gallery. Tommy Nutter wasn’t on the list and he didn’t get in, so he reacted by running across Milbank and throwing himself into the Thames. I’d not read anything about him before, but as I started to read about him, I remembered an exhibition in New York on Queer Fashion.

And why do you think that is?

It’s a closed world, it’s so niche, with a reputation for being so stuffy that it hasn’t interested many writers – unjustifiably, as I think it’s fascinating.

I noticed in your bibliography you referenced Today There are No Gentlemen by Nik Cohn.

Did you find it hard to find a copy? It took me 15 years, but it was worth the wait.

The New York Public Library has one copy. Young Meteors by Jonathan Atken was another good reference; a great insight into the 60s written at the time.

But Nik Cohn’s book is quite dismissive of Tommy.

Isn’t all fashion queer fashion?

You’d think so! But this was explicitly queer fashion.

So they had a couple of Nutter suits that were owned

by Peter Brown. So I got in touch with Peter, who’d been Brian Epstein’s assistant, and went to see him in

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1944

IF YOU SURVIVED A PARACHUTE JUMP INTO OCCUPIED FRANCE THROUGH ANTI-AIRCRAFT FIRE, FLAK AND SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES, YOU’D BETTER HOPE YOUR WATCH DID TOO.

Completing the mission and executing a safe extraction with a broken ankle was difficult, with a broken wristwatch it was impossible. Assuming you'd managed to avoid bullets, shrapnel and your parachute had deployed under the weight of all your equipment, you might be behind enemy lines for several days, weeks or even months. A fully operational wristwatch would be critical for accurate navigation, communication, synchronisation and making rendezvous. By 1943 the British Ministry of Defence concluded that if these daring missions were to be successful it would need to equip its special units with watches equal to the task. And so the robust and reliable Vertex Caliber 59 Waterproof Wrist Watch came into service. Its durable 15 jewel, chronometer certified movement protected by tough stainless steel and a shatterproof crystal. A watch made of the same sterner stuff as the men who wore it. To mark 100 years since Vertex was founded, we are proud to re-issue the M100. A faithful reincarnation of the Cal 59 but with over 70 years’ worth of mechanical and material advancement.

Find out about the Vertex story and the M100 at Vertex-watches.com

2017

the Hamptons to speak about Tommy. Then I found Tommy’s brother David on Linked-in, of all places.

No-one actually uses Linked-in, do they?

No-one uses it, no! But David does, so we met in a coffee shop in New York, and he was very eccentric. In my original notes from that meeting I had written ‘Is David going to be a problem?’ Initially I viewed David as purely a source of information about his brother. In my original pitch for this book he wasn’t even mentioned, yet his life went on to form an entire half of the story.

At that first meeting he turned up wearing a crumpled Rolling Stones T-shirt. The first pitch for my book was about this tailor who revolutionized an ailing trade and led an interesting life. It was only in the writing process that I realised how significant his brother was, and the life that David Nutter had led. I had to go back to my editor and say, you know that small book about a Savile Row tailor? Well now it’s about two people and it’s 40,000 words longer. I wanted to write something that had more of the pace of a novel, instead of a standard 600-page biography.

So there are a few sections where the narrative becomes a little unreliable, because I couldn’t pin down what happened, say in 1976 when Nutters falls apart. So I used a series of quotes from people who were there, saying what they think happened. Tommy Nutter’s suits were stitched together from different types of material, and I wanted to write a book that reflected that, by stitching together different styles, different pieces, creating something that is a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster, but hopefully adds up to an elegant whole at the end, like a Nutter suit does.

“Tommy and Edward Sexton never made up, but they had a moment when they were regretful. They acknowledged that a really sad thing had happened. If you talk to Edward today about Tommy, he only has nice things to say. There were personality clashes: Tommy was an artist, Edward is a very good tailor and businessman”

Let’s talk about Edward Sexton. Did he and Nutter really never see each other again after Tommy left, despite both working on Savile Row for decades afterwards?

After they had their break in 1976, they only spoke once more at the end of Tommy’s life in 1989. They never made up, but they had a moment when they were regretful; they acknowledged that a really sad thing had happened and an opportunity had been missed. If you were to talk to Edward today about Tommy, he has only nice things to say. He’s deeply

sad that the collaboration ended. I don’t think either of them wanted it to. There were personality clashes; Tommy was an artist, Edward is a very good tailor and businessman.

There’s a lot of speculation as to whether the ‘Tommy Nutter look’ is actually the Ed-

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ward Sexton look. When Tommy left House of Nutter, did the firm keep making clothes in the same style as when he was there?

Edward was moonlighting on the side and already doing hacking jackets with a long skirt. Tommy came along with very definitive ideas of what he wanted – exaggerated lapels, mixing colours and patterns – and Edward would have to work out how to make it work in cloth. He is a supreme craftsman.

ward Sexton didn’t carry on with the original Nutter silhouette, he went on to do his own thing.

When Tommy was at Kilgour French & Stanbury, he was very conscious that he wouldn’t get off on the wrong foot and get pushed out again. So he would talk about their old style being the new style, and put his own spin on what Kilgour French & Stanbury were famous for. He was something of a cash cow; they put him in the window and knew that everyone would come in after him.

So did Tommy take all that with him when he left House of Nutter?

After he left, he was in the wilderness for a year, and then he went to work at Kilgour French & Stanbury.

By that time the famous Nutter silhouette had kind of evolved through several iterations anyway. Ed-

They knew that the big new money was coming from rock stars and not the old guard, and that says a lot for Nutter’s instinctive, rather than cultivated, eye for what was happening in fashion.

Absolutely. He was all instinct. It came from his in-

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nate sense of style. He wasn’t really trained, except in the rudiments of tailoring.

Tommy made that connection between his style and Christian Dior’s New Look in the fifties, sweeping everything aside and making a completely new silhouette. Nutter was copied everywhere, wasn’t he?

He’s still copied! At American Fashion Week in February this year, the American designer Tom Schneider had a catwalk show that openly acknowledged the influence of Nutters of Savile Row.

“American designer Tom Schneider had a catwalk show that openly acknowledged the influence of Nutters of Savile Row” I found a photo of Mark Gatiss as Mycroft Holmes, wearing a suit by Crombie described as ‘inspired by Tommy Nutter’, but it didn’t look anything like the classic Nutter cut.

It’s really convoluted. If you go to Savile Row today, there’s a shop that says Nutters on the window.

That’s Joseph Morgan, who used to work with Tommy at Nutters of Savile Row; he was one of the assistant cutters under Edward. When Tommy left, Joseph continued with Edward, then Edward left and Joseph kept the name. So that sign on the window is the last vestige of Tommy Nutter on Savile Row. In 1982, after Tommy left Kilgour French & Stanbury, he went to work for Alan Lewis. He started Tommy Nutter of Savile Row, at the other end of the street. When Tommy died, Alan Lewis still owned his name, and Lewis owns Crombie. So if you go to the Crombie web site, there’s a whole range of clothes they sell under the Tommy Nutter label. The archive they own is from Tommy’s late period in the 1980s, so nothing from Nutters of Savile Row with Edward Sexton. When they sell

something ‘inspired by Tommy Nutter’, it’s inspired

by Tommy in the eighties, which was a less distinguished, less interesting cut. But when it comes to the stuff that Tommy was most famous for, Crombie doesn’t have any proprietary rights to that. They just own his name. It’s all very confusing. Imagine when he was actually working on Savile Row, he had Tommy Nutter, then down the road there was Nutters of Savile Row. So who owns that archive of the Tommy Nutter high period?

David Nutter owns it all. In fact it’s all at my place in boxes; I have to return it to him.

House of Nutter is published by Vintage

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Beautiful vintage-inspired lingerie, corsetry and seamed nylons

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ESCAPE

and EVADE!

Wiggy Bamforth on how maps printed on silk during the Second World War ended up as lingerie for the Home Front

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t was MI9 British Military Intelligence Office Clayton Hutton who came up with the idea of printing escape maps on silk during the Second World War. ‘Clutty’, a well-known eccentric, was a man who made a case for the necessity of standard-issue maps, by persuading the British Museum to compile a selection of First World War escape stories and then recruiting the Sixth Form of Rugby School to comb these tales for the evidence he needed.

The result? All the stories indicated that to pull off a successful escape from the enemy, it was helpful to know where you were going next.

The first question was how to design these maps so they would still be of use once their owner was in a state to require their services.

Being shot down behind enemy lines did usually result in the map (and the map’s owner) being subjected to close acquaintance with fires, smoke, the sea and a less than friendly greeting from one’s hosts, so durability was key. Printed with waterproof ink, silk maps didn’t rustle, tear or take up too much room, and could also be hidden in the lining of a jacket, the hollowed-out heel of a boot, or even inside the pieces of board games at POW camps.

Getting these charts printed, however, did require Clutty to use his particular brand of eccentric charm. With the help of what he termed “A short circuit of the official system... and certain commodities acquired during the pre-war period, amongst them dozens of cases containing marmalades and jams,” (The Hidden Catch, C. Hutton, Digit Books, 1957) Clutty managed to lay his hands on a few rolls of parachute silk to put his maps into production.

While rationing was in place, silk remained an incredible luxury. As a result, after the war many of these silk maps found their way back into the hands of thrifty ladies who turned them into dresses, blouses and undergarments. Possibly the most famous example of these is a set of silk map lingerie on display at the Imperial War Museum. Made from charts of Italy showing the cities of Trieste and Milan, it belonged to the Countess Mountbatten and was made from a silk escape and evade map given to her by an RAF boyfriend. More recently, in 2016, a whole dress made of silk maps dating from 1945-50 was put up for sale in Harrogate, where it was snapped up by an eagle-eyed escape and evade aficionado.

If you’re eyeing up your own set of escape and evade scanties, you would be right in thinking such a thing is difficult to come by. True vintage lingerie, even if it’s never been worn, is usually not the right size or shape for the modern figure, or has perished in the intervening years.

Silk maps themselves are becoming scarcer and scarcer (so do snap them up if you find them!).

As luck would have it, however, the cunning ladies at What Katie Did have the answer.

Recreated in luxurious satin, they’ve designed their new 1940s Map Print Lingerie in homage to the austerity-luxury sets of the Second World War, so you can now indulge your whim for luxuriously unconventional lingerie in absolute comfort and style. n

Photography: Richard Thomas Model: Lydia Pearson

1940s Map Print Lingerie

by What Katie Did www.whatkatiedid.com

Mature Style

THE GREY FOX COLUMN David Evans dons suitably light attire to travel to Florence for Pitti Uomo and then back to Walsall to visit a leather factory

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“The Italian look remains unchanged for some years, while British style has, over the last year or two, embraced vintage-style looser fits, high-waisted trousers and more classic cut jackets – looks which owe much to The Chap”

owadays I find that I wear hats a lot more. Whether it’s the thinning crown that demands protection, or the development of a new-found sartorial sense that requires me to wear a headpiece, I don’t know. While I sometimes wear a linen or light cotton cap (never a baseball cap of course) I find that a brimmed hat such as a Panama is more effective at keeping the sun off. While age has given my skin a certain leathery toughness, I have a horror of looking like a fake-bronzed antique dealer. Two hours a day walking Harry, my exercise-loving Labrador, exposes me to all weathers and even overcast days seem to top up the tan. A brimmed hat slows this process, helped by a splash of sunscreen of course.

My latest acquisition is a Laird Hatters Alfred snap-brim Panama, made in the UK from toquilla palm. With a rather tasty coffee-brown ribbon, it goes well with my W. Bill tobacco linen suit, now completed by cutter Tristan Thorne at Dege & Skinner. Made in Irish linen from W. Bill, the suit has

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proved to be ideal for the heat, especially in Florence where I was earlier this summer (more in a moment) and the Panama hats completes that rather satisfying ‘British gentleman abroad’ look, which I like.

I mentioned the suit in my last column, so I won’t bang on about it here, other than to say that linen is an ideal and comfortable cloth for warmer climes. Its loose weave makes it cool and the rather crumpled effect is perfect for holidays and the more relaxing summer days.

While on the subject of linen and that gentleman-on-holiday look, my longstanding hankering for a cream suit was at last satisfied by a two-piece Edmondton suit from New & Lingwood. They describe the linen as ‘exactly as used in suits worn for The Grand Tour by gentlemen travellers in the 1920s and 30s. The cloth has a reassuringly luxurious weight which give an elegant drape but remains cool in wear’. It is too, and wearing it (above) I feel I should be strolling along the Promenade des Anglais on my way to play croquet.

So to Florence, where I spent a few days at menswear trade show Pitti Uomo, as a guest of Ettinger, who make very fine leather goods in their workshops in Walsall. They kindly asked me to do some social media work around the launch of their first goatskin range for many decades, but I had the

chance to look round the show too. This was my second visit to Pitti. You may have seen images of improbably dapper men on the walls of the piazza in the Fortezza da Basso, the operatic backdrop to the event.

They range from the showy, through the dandyish to the supremely well-dressed. However, they are a side-show to the wonders on display in the halls of the Fortezza. Most of the brands showing menswear and accessories are, of course, Italian, but this year the second largest contingent was the British, with 104 brands showing; ahead of the French in third place.

Walking around Florence is a feast of dashing dapperness. Italians dress very well indeed.

As a reader of The Chap, you may not like short, brightly coloured blazers, slim, ankle-length chinos or brogues worn without socks: structured tweed or linen jackets and thick woolly socks will be more your style. However, Italian men wear their clothes with panache and confidence. Italian style has influenced modern tailored menswear, because its softer lines and unstructured shapes are more acceptable in these casually comfortable times. However, ask any Italian and they will quote British tailoring style as a major influence. This has meant a certain movement of each style towards the other, but there is still much that distinguishes Italian style from British style.

The British brands at Pitti Uomo bring fresh

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Vintage style menswear

air, in the sense that they offer a stylish alternative to Italian dash. More restrained certainly, and less derivative, and perhaps more creative and original. I say that because the Italian look of short blazers with slim-cut trousers rolled up to reveal bare ankle with brogues or loafers has been around unchanged for some years now, while British style has, over the last year or two, embraced vintage-style looser fits, high-waisted trousers and more classic cut jackets – looks which owe much to The Chap (I suspect our editor would be surprised to learn that his journal were at the cutting edge of men’s style, but it certainly is influential).

Moving reluctantly from Florence and back to Walsall where Ettinger is based, this area of the English Midlands has a long tradition of leather working. Most of it was the manufacture of horses’ bridles and saddles, and many factories were needed to supply the tens of thousands of horses working in town and country until well into the 20th century.

The Ettinger factory was originally in London but moved up to Walsall some years ago to tap into the leather skills of the area. The company’s workers had to refine their skills, as making the finest luxury bags and wallets is different to the coarser work needed to make horses’ bridles. I was shown around the factory recently and everything from the selection of the best quality hides to the cutting, stitching and final detailed checking of the products is carried out with the greatest care. Their products sell well in Japan where the most sophisticated and demanding consumers anywhere in the world are to be found.

An out-of-place stitch or slight imperfection of the leather and the product is rejected. To sell well in Japan suggests that you make the very best available.

Before I sign off, I want to tell you about a couple of recent finds, both manufacturing interesting clothes in the UK. I mentioned the benefits of linen earlier. A new and young business, Flax London, makes shirts from slightly heavier weight Irish linen. I wore one in Florence and found it cool and

comfortable and, being heavier weight than most linen shirts, less crushable. They are beautifully made in a well-known shirt factory in Gloucester and I highly recommend you take a look. The second brand, Yarmouth Oilskins has, unlike the very new Flax London, been around for many years, since 1898. You may not be surprised to learn that it’s in Yarmouth and, yes, it used to make oilskins for local fishermen and sailors, and they manufactured other clothes as well. They now make cotton twill workwear and I particularly like their Driver’s jacket (above left). While I believe it’s based on a bus driver’s coat, in its navy version it reminds me of an engine driver’s jacket.

What red-blooded man wouldn’t want to wear one and dream that he’s pushing Mallard to her limit on the East Coast route to Edinburgh, while the fireman furiously shovels the best Welsh coal into the firebox beside him? Cotton twill is a robust cloth that only improves with age as it softens and the colours rub and fade slightly. You can’t beat a good patina. n Laird Hatters www.lairdlondon.co.uk For a slightly different twist on the Panama, try Tom Smarte Hats www.tomsmarte.com Dege & Skinnerdege-skinner.co.uk New & Lingwood www.newandlingwood.com Ettinger www.ettinger.co.uk Yarmouth Oilskins www.yarmouthoilskins.com Flax London flaxlondon.com

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Sartorial

STYLE ON THE NILE Pandora Harrison joins a crew of immaculately clad voyagers to travel down the Nile in search of ancient treasures and a stiff gin and tonic or two

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he moment I heard of an expedition to the Pyramids and down the Nile, reminiscent of the golden age of Thomas Cook Nile Tours, I immediately entertained thoughts of robbing the nearest financial institution to fund my participation in such an excursion. A rather extravagant way of commemorating one’s 20th wedding anniversary I know, but I’m worth it. The expedition is the dreamchild of veteran adventurer Matthew Moran of Goodspeed and Bach (New York based bespoke travel consultancy) and was designed with the assistance of renowned Egyptologists Profs John and Colleen Darnell (The Vintage Egyptologist).

We would follow in the footsteps of the likes of Agatha Christie and Howard Carter, experiencing transportation and accommodation in a similar vein, while enjoying the expertise and personal touch of the Darnells. A rare opportunity indeed and one not to be missed. There follows a highly edited version of our travel diary.

“Ms Faith and her DJ chums serenaded us till the wee hours, causing our bed to vibrate like a Magic Fingers 25-cent massage in a Motel 6. How do I know?

Don’t ask. I delighted in wishing ‘Pharaoh’s Revenge’ upon Paloma” Egypt Air to meet our fellow adventurers flying in from New York. Our group, consisting of 22 souls, was as great a cross-section of lifestyles as that of the SS Minnow’s manifest in Gilligan’s Island. We, however, benefited from having no less than three professors, an author doing research for her latest novel (a less boozy Salome Otterbourne) and in place of a movie star we had the alluring burlesque artist Miss Dandy Dillinger.

Behatted, brogued and immaculate in linen, we started as we meant to go on, and by the time

TUESDAY 8TH MAY 2018 Our adventure began with my husband Andrew and I travelling direct from London to Cairo with

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Temple of Ramesses III

we landed at Cairo International, the first-class treatment really began. Here we were met by our ‘fixer’ Ahmed, a delightful gentleman who took care of everything (our own personal Jeeves) thus ensuring we sailed through all the formalities with merely a nod and a smile. Such care of duty guaranteed that I ‘baksheeshed’ heavily, of course.

Duty Free One has 48 hours to acquire one’s allocation, so I purchased sufficient quantities of gin for warding off malaria and treating mozzie bites (medicated from both inside and out).

Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle stayed. Our suite was pleasant, overlooking a communal open space, but there was a distinct lack of pyramids on view. No matter, 200 yards away a stage was constructed for a private Paloma Faith gig. We had noticed the popular chanteuse on our flight, but we hadn’t expected her to follow us here. Ms Faith and her DJ chums serenaded us till the wee hours, causing our bed to vibrate like a Magic Fingers 25-cent massage in a Motel 6. How do I know? Don’t ask. I delighted in wishing ‘Pharaoh’s Revenge’ upon Paloma.

WEDNESDAY 9TH MAY At midday we met Matt, tourist wrangler extraordinaire, with the rest of our group. Our first port of call was the historic Mena House Hotel at Giza, in the shadow of the Pyramids. Regretfully it is going through a major renovation and all the historic parts were off limits; an unforeseen disappointment for us all. The hotel is a former hunting lodge built in 1869, converted to a hotel in 1886 and where Agatha

THURSDAY 10TH MAY A lack of sleep dampened our enthusiasm slightly, but being with our fellow adventurers suffering a spot of jet lag, we blended right in. The men were sporting linen and panama-style hats, while a few ladies were in elephant-ear jodhpurs. Throughout the trip we were complimented for our sartorial efforts and had many photos taken, though I did despair at T-shirt clad tourists who asked, “Why

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Warren Beatty wears a brown herringbone three-piece tweed suit in Bonnie and Clyde, 1967

John and Colleen Darnell reading The Chap beneath a statue of Ramesses II in Luxor Temple

John Darnell in the Temple of Hathor

Pandora at Kom Ombo Temple of Sobek

are you dressed like that?” The irony is wasted on them completely. We commenced with an excursion to Saqarra, South of Cairo, to explore the Step Pyramids. The early start meant we were first on site and received the full and undivided attention of eager costermongers. Like ‘chuggers’, one must try not to make eye contact with them, keep moving and, if needs be, just politely say ‘la shukran’ (no thank you); it was a pantomime we performed at each of the sites we visited.

The law in Egypt requires tour groups to be accompanied by a local guide. Crouching down among the sand and grit, we gingerly entered our first tomb and were given a highly detailed explanation of the hieroglyphs and artwork within by our guide. Our first hands-on experience of ancient Egypt at last! After, we visited the Apis Tombs, housing unfeasibly large granite sarcophagi once containing mummified sacred bulls, and marvelled at how the Ancients managed such feats of engineering. Finally we made a de rigueur visit to

the Pyramids; Sphinx and the Solar Boat Museum just a stone’s throw from the hotel, which also meant a stone’s throw from the duty free.

FRIDAY 11TH MAY We had a full day exploring two of Cairo’s delights, the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities and The Souk. The new museum building will apparently take longer to complete than a pyramid, so we were still able to visit the old museum, built in 1902. It was an architectural delight, chock full of beautiful (if a bit dusty) mummy cases and Tut’s impressive treasures. After lunch we tackled the Khan el Kalili souk, a vast labyrinth of several markets dating back to medieval times. Last on our list was the tarboosh (fez) shop owned by Ahmad Al Trapiche, reputed to be the last remaining traditional fez maker in Cairo, and possibly the world. Hidden deep within the bustling souk, the shop is run by the great grandson of the original proprietor. He still makes wool-felt fezzes on the original heated brass

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Matt Sanderson and Matt Moran in their new fezzes on the SS Sudan

presses. A fez is the ultimate souvenir of Egypt for a gentleman and well worth the quest.

That night, we were on the sleeper train to Luxor, aka the Disoriented Express, which is one experience to be missed. After being allotted a broom cupboard, complete with exotic stains on the seats, we were alerted that various items of our luggage were missing. This included someone’s insulin, but he assured us he wouldn’t expire for a few hours and that we were not to worry. Hand sanitizer gel was reassuringly always within reach.

We bought soft drinks as mixers and accessed the duty free to take the edge off the journey. The lack of ice was barbaric, but needs must when avoiding the dreaded ‘Cairo Cough’. We were to arrive in Luxor at the preposterous hour of 5.45am.

nothing was too much trouble. His serving staff were polite, efficient and neatly dressed in traditional gallibayas with a fez. The ship itself was resplendent in polished dark wood, gleaming brass fittings and antique furniture. We were spoilt rotten by a French chef, complimentary soft drinks and a fully stocked reasonably-priced bar. I now know paradise.

Nearby in Luxor is the notable Winter Palace Hotel, where Howard Carter announced the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb in 1922. Its Edwardian elegance was undeniable, but sadly there was no time for tea, as we were due to see the Temples of Karnak and Luxor dedicated to the deities Amun, Mut and Khonsu. The Karnak temple complex is the largest religious building ever constructed and its scale and beauty must be seen to be believed. Numerous carved pillars with the finest examples of original painted decoration towered above us. That night we started our cruise down the Nile towards Qena.

SATURDAY 12TH MAY Luxor, the ancient city of Thebes and capital city of the pharaohs. Waiting for our pleasure was the star of our odyssey, the SS Sudan, an Edwardian firstclass tourist paddle steamer commissioned in 1914 as part of the Thomas Cook Nile fleet. It is featured heavily in the 2004 Poirot TV movie of Death on the Nile but renamed as the Karnak. We were warmly greeted by the ship’s manager Amir, for whom

SUNDAY, 13TH MAY A coach trip to Abydos, the Theban Necropolis and gateway to the underworld. Dedicated to Osiris, Lord of Abydos and god of the dead. The journey took us through small towns and villages where life is very slow of pace and shockingly basic. We

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Pandora and Andrew Harrison in the Valley of the Kings

explored the mortuary Temple of Seti I, where the ritual re-enactment of Osiris’ death and resurrection once attracted pilgrims from all over Egypt. We then travelled to the edge of the desert at Dendera to view the Temple of Hathor, goddess of love, joy and motherhood. The ceiling of the temple, cleaned of centuries of soot, revealed spectacularly colourful paintings. The evening highlight was the mock wedding of Don Spiro (editor of American vintage lifestyle magazine Zelda) and his partner Rachel on the sundeck at dusk. Our fearless leader Matt officiated, using the powers vested in him while upon the sacred Nile. We paddled elegantly back to Luxor.

secrets are hidden beneath that desolate landscape.

Then we were off to the Mortuary Temple of Ramesses III at Medinet Habu. Like so many temples, you see a lot of vanity driven carvings of ‘Pharaoh smiting the enemy’ depicted on the outer walls. On our return, Andrew and Matt took to the wheel of the Landy with an almost childlike glee.

Back on board, our group continued to disgrace the other passengers by dressing for dinner and generally lounging about the place as if part of the scenery.

TUESDAY, 15TH MAY By dusk we were docked at Kom Ombo and, dressed in our finest evening wear, climbed the steps to a floodlit temple honouring the crocodile-headed god Sobek, finding ample photo opportunities in the dramatically lit temple. After a look around the crocodile mummy museum, it was back to the ship for a wedding vow renewal ceremony with my husband Andrew, with Matt once again doing the honours.

MONDAY, 14TH MAY An excursion to the Theban Necropolis, The Valley of the Kings. To my delight I was transported in a Series 3 Land Rover belonging to our Egyptologists. We visited several royal tombs, including the beautifully decorated tomb of Seti I (KV17), which puts all others to shame. So many

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The Harrisons disembark from SS Sudan

Colleen and John Darnell

WEDNESDAY 16 MAY This was truly decadence day, all of our party taking breakfast in stylish pyjamas, from Chinese silk and Tootal brand to vintage 50s housewife and beyond.

The Sudan paddled onwards to Aswan on the edge of Nubia, the southernmost point and the end of our voyage. We visited by felucca (a traditional wooden sail boat) Philae’s temple of Isis, which was almost lost forever under Lake Nasser, before being relocated to Angilka Island in the 1960s. Aswan’s heat is the Devil’s own thermostat at a stifling 44c (I function best at 23c and partially cloudy). One cannot imagine suffering from the dreaded ‘Nile Smile’ in that heat, and thankfully we did not.

the Nile, and had a balcony upon which you dare not go for fear of spontaneous human combustion.

The cool of our minibar provided refuge in more than one way. That evening we dined in style at the splendiferous 1902 restaurant.

FRIDAY 18 MAY 4am wake up call for our 6am Egypt Air tourist flight to Abu Simbel, to view the famous temples of Ramesses II and Nefertari. Both were relocated (like Philae’s temple) in their entirety in 1968. An incredible undertaking, considering the size of these monuments, but essential to preserve their history for us all. At vespers the congregation converged one last time for a bittersweet farewell cocktail soiree.

THURSDAY 17 MAY A morning jaunt by boat taxi to the Necropolis of Aswan Qubbet el-Hawa, with tombs dating mainly from the Old Kingdom before departing the Sudan.

We mourn this day, having to leave our floating palace behind. I eagerly sought the air-conditioned sanctuary of our final accommodation at the Old Cataract Hotel, a British colonial era structure from 1899 built by Thomas Cook. It is here that Ms Christie is said to have penned Death on the Nile. Our suite overlooked picturesque sailboats on

SATURDAY 19 MAY Back to Blighty, where we are greeted with a refreshingly cool light rain. My thoughts still occasionally drift back to the romance of the SS Sudan.

With thanks to The Profs Darnell, and Matt from Goodspeed and Bach for a unique experience of a wonderful place. For details on Vintage Egypt 2019, visit www.goodspeedandbach.com

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Sartorial

Get The Look

THE COUNTRY GENT

By Matthew Geraghty

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he bucolic urge, which draws one’s gaze from the unforgiving city streets towards greener pastures, is powerful and unflagging. Should one foolishly observe the needs of one’s shanks and trotters, it would be easy to get lost in the outdoorsy world of luridly coloured technical attire.

£58.00

Yet, with prior planning and unclouded thought, a Chap can ease into Arcadian life without causing so much as a sartorial ripple, and easily cut the mustard as a fellow who could bring a partridge to ground with a well-coiled finger, and fall in with the rustic conversational trinity of guns, hounds and horses as if to the manor born.

HUXLEY GREEN HERRINGBONE FLAT CAP

£470.00

A bucolic cliché perhaps, but one that allows you to blend in with grouse beater or baron, without causing a disturbance in the class waters. A simple design that looks good while fulfilling its duties in all weathers. www.kempadoo.com

£59.95

BAKEWELL WINDOWPANE CHECK SHIRT

FIELD COAT

Part of a collection of traditional country shirts named after Brocklehursts’ home town of Bakewell. It’s made in soft cotton with a classic collar, including removable stiffeners, and works with or without a tie. A shirt at home in every rural setting. www.brocklehursts.com

The classic country coat would add a dash of style to even the most incorrigible day. In Scottish mid-weight, dry-waxed, canopy cotton – which bestows the weatherproofing benefits of wax minus the drawbacks – and plenty of useful features, it’s made for outdoor life. www.sehkelly.com

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BARLEYCORN TWEED JACKET

£83.95

Good jackets are an investment for the long haul, and the Barleycorn is just that, a jacket that should withstand all that life can throw at it. Made in the same Scottish 16oz tweed as the trousers, when paired together they create an arresting couple. www.cordings.co.uk

THE HARDWICK SWEATER Made in 100% pure new British wool and perfect for country pursuits, this is a classically styled V-neck pullover. Knitted to a high standard, as are all Outdoor Knitwear’s products, it’s sure to become a firm favourite.

Warm, robust and easy on the eye. www.outdoorknitwear.com

BOG OAK AND AMBER LAMBFOOT POCKET KNIFE

£435.00

BARLEYCORN TWEED TROUSERS

£115.00

No man should make a foray into the countryside without a tool that shows he’s at ease in this world, and nothing demonstrates this like a classic pocket knife. Hand made to order in Sheffield with a hand-filed back, it’s as good looking as it is useful. www.michaelmayknives.com

£175.00

A pair of slacks to catch even the most calcified eye, these handsome Scottish 16oz tweed trousers bestow that quintessentially English country look to all who wear them, transforming even the most withered shanks into things of rustic beauty. www.cordings.co.uk

POACHER’S BAG Something in which to store a brace of wood pigeon (or your copy of The Chap), this handmade poacher’s bag in Scottish hide leather will make for a handy companion while undertaking (illicit) moonlit forays on his lordship’s land. www.bradleysthetannery.co.uk

RANNOCH VELDTSCHOEN BOOT Whether you’re gelding sheep or slaking your thirst in some hillside retreat, these British-made, Veldtschoen constructed, country classics with Zug grain leather uppers and commando sole should see you through a lifetime £270.00 of outdoor pursuits. www.fifecountry.co.uk

£125.00

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See page 69 for your chance to win a pair!

LONGER FEATURES Blitz Kidz (p100) • Jack Buchanan (p107) • Guy Debord (p112) • Breaky Bottom (p116) • Fierce Tonic (p120) • The Chap Dines (p122) 99

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Style Tribes

Blitz Kidz Olivia Bullock on the emergence of a new type of dandy during the nightclub culture in the 1980s at Billy’s, the Blitz and The Wag Club Illustration by Olivia Bullock

“The hard-edged, anarchic deconstruction of punk was replaced with dandyism, and a vivacious sensuality and a confident new androgyny defined these self-styled exquisite poseurs”

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y the end of the 1970s, the vibrancy and novelty of Punk was creeping towards nihilism and intolerance. An economic downturn in Britain saw massive unemployment; even graduates were faced with little or no job prospects. The appointment of a new Prime Minister gave some hope, although there are few who recall the good old days of Thatcherism.

The record industry had stalled, sounding the death knell for clubs and music venues in the cities.

London was crippled. The vestiges of a vibrant youth scene were but a distant memory. For now

there were no style gurus, no idols, no-one to lead the crusade for the next generation.

But despite this chasm of despondency there existed a glimmer of hope, if you knew where to look. Societal gloom hadn’t destroyed the creative energies that continued to simmer within the vicinity of St Martins School of Art. This melting pot of creativity had nourished a hub of innovation and originality in this small pocket of London.

Avant-garde clothing boutique PX took advantage of this then-unconventional neighbourhood, when it opened in 1978 on James Street in

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RUSTY EGAN I lived with Steve Strange for five years.

He had so many styles, it changed every week or even every day. I liked my own Film Noir/40s style suits; by the mid-80s I was going to Mark Powell, and wearing designers who I knew personally like Anthony Price, and Thrift Shops saved stuff for me. Other places for clothes were Jones on the Kings Road, Johnny Moke and Johnsons.

Covent Garden, hot on the heels of Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm Maclaren’s SEX in the King’s road.

PX’s owners Helen Robinson (interviewed overleaf) and Steph Raynor provided a unique identity for those with idiosyncratic tastes. The store’s proximity to St Martins ensured a regular clientele of students and kindred spirits who sought something new. Its military inspired garments heralded the ‘Toy soldier’ look, alongside the flouncy fantastical garb of the New Romantics. While bondage trousers and safety pins were now mainstream, PX’s innovative and pioneering creations formed a new youth culture that would not only shape the look of the decade, but also initiate a crucial shift in music, art and the beginning of club culture.

It was in the same year that newly-appointed shop assistant Steve Strange and close friend and ex-punk Rusty Egan, both discouraged by the prevailing cultural void, organised a regular Bowie night in a subterranean cellar bar called Billy’s.

This underground venue beneath the Golden Girls brothel in Soho embodied the city’s murky and clandestine nightlife.

These exclusive Tuesday night gatherings began to cause a stir, and in just a couple of months they had a regular clientele of glamorous and eccentric individuals, many of whom would go on to personify

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the 1980s. George O’Dowd, (later Boy George), Gary Kemp, Midge Ure, Marylin and Chris Sullivan, names intrinsically linked to 80s pop culture, cut their teeth in the maelstrom of creativity that was unleashed at Billy’s.

Sartorial provocation was obligatory. For those who could afford it, PX was the superlative go-to outlet that provided the non-conformist with suitably outlandish attire, but others expressed themselves with outrageous homemade costumes and excessive make-up. The dress code was deliberately indiscriminate. Pantomime, theatrical parody, camp romanticism; in fact anything went. Fashion was the new cultural doctrine and to maintain it required commitment. Fantasy and romanticism defied the doldrums of daytime reality, and transformation was key. You could become a living sculpture, a work of art, something that required hours of application and became a performance of hedonistic indulgence played out in the dark hours.

The hard-edged, anarchic rebellion of punk was replaced with dandyism, and a vivacious sensuality and a confident new androgyny defined these self-styled exquisite poseurs. Make-up became a transformative tool for both sexes. Gender distinctions were blurred; beauty and spectacle was paramount. The ‘Gender Benders’, a nickname accredited to them by a mainly favourable media,

presented a novel curiosity. These New Romantics seemed to be finishing off the job begun by Glam Rockers in the 1970s.

Three months after Strange and Egan’s night at Billy’s, they decided to change the venue to avoid stagnation. The new location was the Blitz Bar in Great Queen Street, a stone’s throw from Billy’s. This weary and rather stuffy WW2-themed bar, conveniently positioned between St Martins and Central Schools of Art, was to become a testing ground for influential fashion designers such as John Galliano, Stephen Jones and David Holah. It forged an elite corps of youth style that attracted a clientele including Vivienne Westwood, Malcolm McLaren, Kim Bowen and Julia Fodor (later known

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PX Helen Robinson, co-founder of PX, spoke to The Chap about how the shop was founded in the 1970s.

There was a group of us in Leicester who dressed in a rather odd way.

I met a guy called Steph Raynor, who sold and collected old tin plate toys and robots. We went around the country buying old stock from weird, forgotten shops that hadn’t changed since the fifties.

Steph met John Kreivene, who sold fifties juke boxes from a stall in Antiquarius in the King’s Road. They started selling clothing from a stall in the basement of Antiquarius, then Don Letts became a sales assistant and it became Acme Attractions. I was running the workshop at Acme Surplus in Portobello Road, making new clothing out of vintage fabrics. We had the shoes made in Rushton in Northamptonshire.

John wanted to open up a shop on the King’s Road, where Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood had their shop SEX. So they opened BOY on the King’s Road.

John and Steph parted company and John kept BOY, and Steph and I went on to start PX a year later. Andrew Jaworski offered us a shop in James Street in Covent Garden, which was a wasteland then; there was nothing there. The central market building was boarded up, everything was owned and run by the GLC. There was only a pub and a greasy spoon café and the tube station didn’t open at weekends.

The name for our shop came something Steph had heard about – Post Exchange on US army bases, the places you went to get things from back home that you couldn’t get abroad. We fitted out the shop with discarded stuff we

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found outside the old MI5 building in Curzon Street, when it closed and moved to the new building on the Thames – all this tubing and ducting and wire cages and an old clock, which was perfect because we wanted PX to look like a boiler room in a ship, a sort of Cold War chic.

I met Steve Strange in a queue at the Embassy Club and he said, “Are you looking for a sales assistant?” He looked pretty bonkers, in Day-Glo orange with a gold headband. So he and Princess Julia came to work at the shop.

Steve started wearing clothes from the shop; he was a good model and got everything for free.

Steve came to me after he’d started Billy’s and said he couldn’t do his club there anymore. I knew this place on Queen Street called Blitz and I knew the guy who ran it, so I put Steve in touch with him.

When the Blitz club started taking off, we’d moved to new premises on Endell Street and we were mobbed every day; we had to operate a one-in, one-out policy, as it was quite a small shop.

There were other shops like Demob that people went to, but we didn’t talk to them. Everyone else was the enemy. The Blitz thing grew and grew, but we got a bit more detached from it and started doing our own look. We had a factory and machinists; everything was made in the UK. Then in the 90s I independently opened a new shop in Hoxton Square, before it was hip. When I closed that shop in the late 90s, people said to me, ‘How can you hang up your shears?’ and I said, ‘Just watch me.’ This industry sucks you dry, it’s bloodthirsty.

Being part of that club scene, it’s really hungry and greedy.

It’s like a capricious child that always needs to be fed.

If you’re not giving it what it wants, they just say, ‘Oh, we don’t shop there any more.’

Helen now runs a lifestyle store in East Sussex SHOP 32-34 Norman Road Saint Leonards on Sea, East Sussex TN38 0EJ

‘Romantic Rebels’ and ‘The New Romantics’.

Such Publicity was quickly diffusing the enigma. What had been a groundswell phenomenon was becoming the vanguard for stylists, designers, trendsetters, pop stars and music videos. As soon as ‘the New Romantics’ made headline news in mainstream music paper Sounds, it rapidly dissolved, with many original Blitz kidz denying membership. The club had become little more than a publicity machine, and as such the queues outgrew the venue.

In 1982, Strange and Egan decided to relocate to the 15000 capacity Camden Palace, but this became little more than a sinking ship, as the pressures of maintaining profitability in such a large venue took its toll on Strange and Egan’s relationship. The excesses of the era had weighed heavily on Strange, who was by now struggling with drug and mental health issues, exacerbated by the break up of Visage.

The club finally closed a year later. Steve Strange died of a heart attack in 2015.

By now London’s nightlife had been kick started, with other legendary clubs such as The Wag (formerly the Whiskey a Go-Go) opening in 1982, welcoming a new wave of fashion mavericks as well as ex-Blitzers. Celebrated muse, exhibitionist and Wag regular Divine went on to host his own notorious Taboo club in 1985.

By the end of the 1980s, the New Romantic scene was being maligned as trivial, egocentric and irrelevant to the current social climate. For a generation eclipsed by decades of provocative youth movements, it was an inevitable consequence. But for a few glorious years, the Blitz Club had extracted the romanticism and excess of the past and veiled the mundanity of the present, providing the ultimate antidote to life’s dull demands. Eventually, life had faded back to grey. n

as Princess Julia). The club reached its zenith when David Bowie plucked a group of Blitz kids, including the enigmatic Strange (who by now had formed the seminal 80s band Visage) to appear in his music video for Ashes to Ashes.

Strange’s ruthless door policy was notorious.

Any suggestion of apathetic commercialism, or indeed anyone over 25, was met with his acerbic dismissal.

The only ones admitted were those who successfully cultivated a hyper-reality, as fanciful pirates rubbed shoulders with Marie Antionettes and Pompadour princes. Boys in stockings and ballet shoes and frilly shirts rubbed shoulders with Elizabethan gentry; painted Adonises in bejewelled militaria danced with dazzling screen sirens. Future GQ (and Chap) journalist Chris Sullivan acquired the epithet of ‘Renaissance Man’ due to his caricatural Zoot suits.

Rusty Egan’s playlist was as eclectic as the clientele who danced on the same spot each week, with stiff upper bodies and waist high knee skips.

Bowie featured heavily on the turntables, alongside Euro disco and synth pop. Spandau Ballet was the resident band before they hit the big time.

There was, inevitably, a propensity for narcotics and promiscuity, in spite of the public information regarding the AIDS epidemic. But this only heightened the myth and appeal of The Blitz. The media was by now captivated by this extraordinary coterie and enthusiastically embraced them. Other clubs across the country such as Rum Runner in Birmingham sprang up. Former St Martin’s student Perry Haines launched the fashion magazine ID, in which he reported specifically on this burgeoning youth culture. And those who courted publicity inevitably made headlines. In March 1980 the Daily Mail labelled its colourful devotees “The cult with no name”. Other media quickly followed suit with names like ‘Dandy Dilettantes’, ‘New Dandies’

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1944

IN 1940 THE LUFTWAFFE DESTROYED OUR FACTORY. 4 YEARS LATER OUR FACTORY HELPED DESTROY THE LUFTWAFFE.

A 250kg bomb dropped from 10,000ft can cause unimaginable damage in a watchmaker’s workshop.

In fact, the Blitz reduced Vertex’s Hatton Garden HQ to a smouldering ruin. Fortunately, nobody was on the premises at the time and so together with his trusty horologists our founder, Claude Lyons, quickly set about rebuilding the business. It wasn’t long before Vertex was fully operational again, and the timing could not have been better. When the Ministry of Defence sent an urgent call out to any companies willing and able to manufacture a new military spec field watch, Vertex was the only British supplier capable of fulfilling the order. And so the legendary Caliber 59 WWW (Waterproof Watch Wristlet) came into service. Issued to special units whose precise calculations and timings would prove decisive in the final stages of the War. No doubt Claude felt a great sense of pride that Vertex was able to play a small part in hastening an end to the war. And, a quiet satisfaction that he’d contributed to the demise of the regime that had bombed his beloved factory. To mark a century since Vertex was founded, we have created the M100. A faithful re-issue of the Caliber 59 WWW with over 70 years’ worth of material and mechanical advancement.

Find out about the Vertex story and the M100 at Vertex-watches.com

2017

Biography

JACK BUCHANAN Matthew Lyons on the man variously described as the Best Dressed Man in London, Mr. Mayfair, England’s Maurice Chevalier, the Richest Man in the Theatre and the Male Greta Garbo

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“Fred Astaire, for one, was captivated.

Buchanan’s was the first show he saw on his first trip to London, in 1923.

“Jack was always an idol of mine,” he later wrote. “He had a style and method all of his own.

I was captivated by his personal charm”

t’s February 1954 and the Sunday Express has a scoop. Sir Laurence Olivier is learning to dance. More, he is planning to dance with a partner as part of a charity event at the Palladium, organised by Noel Coward. His dancing partner – and teacher – is Jack Buchanan, who the paper finds putting Olivier through twelve hours of rehearsal for what will be a two-minute routine which Buchanan last performed with Fred Astaire in The Band Wagon, released the previous year. “Fred Astaire and Jack make it look so simple, but it’s not in the least,” Olivier complains to the reporter.

“Playing Hamlet is easier.”

Buchanan, a few weeks short of his sixty-third birthday, is immaculate as always: pearl grey trilby, double-breasted suit, Malacca cane. He has been making style look simple since around 1917 – it is, in large part, what he is famous for. And famous he

is; it’s his name that leads the paper’s headline, not Olivier’s.

But who was Jack Buchanan?

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Jack Buchanan was, quite simply, the biggest star Britain had for thirty years. He was a dancer, a singer, a comic actor, a romantic ideal, an impresario, a fashion god. Men wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him. It was a fully-fledged cult called Buchananism. By the end of the twenties, when Astaire was still dancing with his sister Adele on Broadway, the New York Times was saying: “Buchanan is easily the best all-round musical comedy actor in show business. He can dance, sing, act, is a talented comedian and an actor-manager of consequence. New York has no-one to match him.”

The press had endless epithets for him. He was the Best Dressed Man in London; Mr. Mayfair; England’s Maurice Chevalier; the Richest Man in the Theatre; the Male Greta Garbo. So many labels, which – like all labels – offer little sense of the man.

If he’s remembered at all now, it’s probably for that role opposite Astaire in The Band Wagon, hamming it up joyously as theatrical tyrant Jeffrey Cordova (above right). It’s very funny and it’s great entertainment, but it isn’t by any measure the best of him.

People watch the two men dancing together and compare Astaire’s jazz-inflected style with Buchanan’s

English savoir-faire. Buchanan holds his own, it is said, but no more. It is forgotten, though, that Buchanan was a decade older than Astaire at this point – and suffering from spinal arthritis, a precursor of the spinal cancer that killed him.

In his prime, though, it was a different story. Jack Buchanan was a loose-limbed, elegant dancer of great charm and precision. Nonchalant, to be sure, but moving with a fluidity and grace that always looked effortless but which, like all style, was actually hard won. Astaire, for one, was captivated. Buchanan’s was the first show he saw on his first trip to London, in 1923. “Jack was always an idol of mine,” he later wrote. “He had a style and method all of his own. I was captivated by his personal charm.”

the Glasgow music hall – specifically Pickard’s Panopticon in Argyle Street, known colloquially as the Pots and Pans. (Stan Laurel made his stage debut there too, a couple of years earlier.) He went on four times a day for a week and bombed every time.

He made his first appearance in the West End in 1912. Whatever money he earned, he spent on clothes, rather than, say, food. Looking good in public was almost a moral code. Later, when he was producing his own shows, he would dress all the men, including the chorus, in Hawes and Curtis, his preferred tailor. Ironically, Buchanan’s dedication to style would stand him in good stead when war broke out in August 1914: he was declared unfit for military service thanks to years of malnutrition.

His breakthrough came in 1917 in one of André Charlot’s revues, which also launched the careers of Beatrice Lillie and Gertrude Lawrence. When they took one of the revues to New York in 1924, Buchanan became a star there too, his name a synonym for male elegance. By this time, he had started producing his own shows in London, romantic musical comedies built around his skill as a dancer, singer and comic actor: his productions

THE LIFE OF JACK

Buchanan was born in Helensburgh, a quiet town on the banks of the Clyde, in 1890. The family was well-to-do, but the early death of Jack’s father in 1902 was catastrophic financially as well as emotionally: what money the family had was spent paying off gambling debts. Jack began his career inauspiciously in 1911 in that graveyard of careers,

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you might expect a dancer to be. In some ways, this predilection gives some of his films an odd, erratic tone, careering as they do through boilerplate romance, repartee, musical numbers, knockabout farce, and even a very British kind of camp burlesque, complete with occasional cross-dressing. What kept the films together was Buchanan himself: the persona of the essentially unruffled gallant, who – however ridiculously ruffled by circumstance – charms his way out of the most implausible situation, navigating the complex hierarchies and rituals of interwar society with the same grace and warmth he brought to his dancing.

His film’s titles feel perfectly on-trend for the years between the wars: This’ll Make You Whistle, That’s a Good Girl, and – my personal favourite – the unimprovable Come Out of the Pantry. Contemporary reports suggest some eight million people saw them in the UK alone. Most are sadly unavailable commercially, but of those that are, Smash and Grab – a fast-paced comedy thriller – is probably the best.

He was a hugely successful recording artist too, with the quirky habit of prefacing his songs with snippets of dialogue, which was arch even for the 1930s, but always reinforced the nonchalant image upon which he worked so hard. There is something of Noel Coward, perhaps, in some of his singing, but there is also a huskiness that modern ears find more appealing, tinged as it is with melancholy. When Cambridge spy Guy Burgess fled to Moscow, he only took two things: one of them was the Jack Buchanan 78, Who (Stole My Heart Away?).

What you saw in Jack Buchanan was what he wanted you to see: self-assurance, charm, class. In the days when the London phone directory meant something, he ran an ad on the back page that had two words on it – Jack Buchanan. But being Jack Buchanan was a performance all of its own. The pearl-grey trilby he wore at rehearsal with Olivier was no fleeting affectation. He wore it everywhere, even in the office. “I feel protected under it. It gives me confidence,” he said. In his last years a journalist asked him why he had never followed Noel Coward into the one-man cabaret show. “The trouble is, I’m scared,” he replied.

When Buchanan died in 1957, a part of British culture and an ideal of British male elegance died with him. But he probably left at the right time: he would have been horribly out of place in Swinging London, where fashion expressed ideas about identity and authenticity that would have been alien to him.

He had, said WW Macqueen-Pope (the splendidly-named doyen of the interwar London theatre scene), “a charm that could not be beaten down”. n

dominated the West End for nearly two decades.

At different times he owned the Garrick Theatre in central London, the King’s Theatre and the Riverside Studios in Hammersmith, and the Imperial in Brighton. He built the Leicester Square Theatre (later the Odeon West End) and lived above it in a purposebuilt two-storey penthouse.

In the 1930s, he went into film production. He had starred in a couple of films in Hollywood at the turn of the decade, including Monte Carlo by the legendary Ernst Lubitsch, but decided it wasn’t for him: he could make more money in Britain as a big fish in a smaller pond.

THE FILMS OF JACK

Buchanan’s best leading lady was Elsie Randolph, a superb dancer and brilliantly funny comic actress, always happy pushing scenes to their absurdist limits.

If Ginger Rogers made it look as if dancing with Astaire was easy, Randolph makes it look like dancing with Buchanan was fun. The two dance together the way William Powell and Myrna Loy act in the Thin Man movies: with the easy, light flirtatious intimacy of a couple who know each other too well to take each other seriously, who want nothing more than to delight and be delighted by each other.

Buchanan hated playing the romantic lead. He told director and business partner Herbert Wilcox, “I love to hear them laugh, old boy.” His preference was for foot-to-the-floor comedy, especially physical comedy, at which he was exceptionally adept – as

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Situationism

Drifting with Debord Ferris Newton wanders around Paris in search of the spirit of Situationist alcoholic Guy Debord and asks – what’s all the fuss about?

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ike many chaps, I have an unhealthy obsession with Guy Debord. Why? Perhaps it is a ’68 fantasy: throwing bricks at les flics whilst wearing a velvet suit and a rather fetching short mac; or smoking Gitanes and talking till dawn in cheap cafés; living in a flea pit hotel in the Quartier Latin; flaneuring with a silk cravat and a dirty collar. Guy Debord is a personification of this intoxicating mix of philosophy, neckwear, booze and creative trouble making. However, one thing is for certain. Being Guy Debord is not a successful life choice (unless you are Guy Debord, of course). Guy, like Elvis, ended up unable to fit into his jumpsuit; a salutary warning of what alcohol can do to a man’s youthful good looks.

Why, then, does Debord continue his hold? Sure, he made some films, but none as good as Under Siege II or Carry On At Your Convenience. Yes, there are a

couple of fairly interesting books –but surely there is more to Guy than a surprisingly classical French prose style. Is it simply that Guy, king of the vipers, offers a life of danger and surprise?

It is also, of course, something to do with

“As a young man, new to Paris from Cannes, Debord would begin with two litres of wine (one white, one red) drunk on a doorstep in the Cour de Rohan while talking about Marx and Lautréamont with his buddies” 112

Paris; a Paris that no longer exists but still calls to a chap’s sense of seedy glamour and adventure.

This is the Paris of legendary cafes, boozy dives like Le Mabillon, le Club du Vieux Colombier, Chez Moineau and the Old Navy. One can follow the exemplary traces of Debord through this ruined city. This, inconveniently, requires a massive investment of time, effort and Euros. No way, monsieur.

The barricades on Rue Gay-Lussac are long gone.

Word is that chaps in search of Debord’s Paris have fallen victim to a variation on the dreadful disease that has afflicted Japanese tourists seeking a Disenyfied city, only to find awful plumbing, surly waitrons and aggressive beggars. The flaneur likewise soon realises that O-level French does not allow him to converse with colourful street people; there is no cheap accommodation within walking distance of the Jardin de Luxembourg.

Booze was very important to Guy. This is key to the hold that he has on the chappish imagination. Chapter III of Debord’s ‘autobiography’ Panégyrique contains a fine piece of writing on the terrible joys of drinking. This dark phenomenology of drunkenness suggest that the right amount of Ace can slow down time itself and deliver one to a peace that surpasseth understanding. Guy’s ‘rapidly acquired’ passion for drinking bears some scrutiny.

As a young man, new to Paris from Cannes, his technique was to begin with two litres of wine (one white, one red) drunk on a doorstep in the Cour de Rohan while talking about Marx and Lautréamont with his buddies. With his palate cleansed, Guy would move on to 50/50s – rum knocked down with beer. He was a regular at Chez Moineau. Notorious for its clientele of crooks, mercenaries, out of work Surrealists, no good boyos, dandizettes and

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“It’s all very well being oiled most of the time, but the thin line that distinguished Guy from that chap drinking White Lightning outside the station was authorship of a couple of good books”

being behind the student revolt of ’68 (probably).

So, we need to deal with The Society of the Spectacle.

Try pronouncing this title when you’ve had a drink or two. Better still, try reading it. Ideas as dizzying and explosive as a bucketful of Pastis on an empty stomach. You can score some good points in any discussion of Debord by referring to the book by its French title, which is conveniently similar to the English: La Société du Spectacle. You can also score easy points by pronouncing Guy’s name correctly.

Its Guy – like Ghee (you know, what you cook curry in). Roll the ‘r’ in Debord a little. And don’t pronounce the ‘d’. Good, now you are ready to order a round of 50/50s in Chez Moineau. Don’t forget the nuts with extra cat’s hair, please. I’m hungry and we are due at Les Halles at 4am.

How to understand Ghee Deborrr’s ideas?

For all the guff talked about Ghee and Situationism, there are a couple of things to remember. Debord was something of a romantic, obsessed with life on the road and living well without money. He loved George Borrow’s books. Check out Borrow’s Lavengro: the Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest’ and you can get as good an insight into Debord’s sensibility as any. Also Alice Becker-Ho’s Paroles de Gitans, a book

Belles Lettristes, the place never shut and specialised in plates of cheap couscous covered in cat hair. If the scene was sour in Chez Moineau, there were early morning bars in Panthéon or Sénat, then on to the Rue du Bac. Alternatively, Guy and his pals would head down to join the market traders at Les Halles – a stinking morass of rotten fruit – and, according to Blaise Cendrars, the haunt of “rakish looking geezers refined to their fingertips but not well dressed”.

It’s all very well being oiled most of the time but the thin line that distinguished Guy from that chap drinking White Lightning outside the station was authorship of a couple of good books. And

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about gypsy slang, not cigarettes) which contains such nuggest as this:

“Canna marel o manus chivios andé puv

Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi”

Quite, dear boy; spot on. Another 50/50?

There is, of course, the parlour game – played by those whose parents were wealthy enough to pay the course fees at the Sorbonne, Harvard or Manchester Poly, a game that can help us in our understanding of Debord. First, obtain a box of matches, a couple of bottles of wine and sufficient players. Each player takes a turn striking a match.

While the match burns, the player must offer a summary of La Société Du Spectacle before the match singes his/her fingers.

Let’s have a go: “In a world where everything is exchangeable or reducible to a quantity of money (the Spectacle), one must seek the singular: qualitative experiences of joy”

Oh dear. Burnt my fingers.

The tyro is often stuck between those who know too much about La Société du Spectacle and those who know too little. The former will regale you with their understanding of the influence of Hungarian Marxism on Guy’s work; while the lat-

ter will mention Tony Wilson, the Sex Pistols and the Justified Ancients of Mu Mu. Not that useful.

So here is thesis II on La Société du Spectacle:

Like Wittgenstein’s book of ethics, which would (if it could be written) explode and destroy all other books, La Société is a book that, once understood, must be destroyed. You cannot ‘live’ Debord’s ideas. There is no path to follow. The only person I know who is a proper ‘Debordian’ is a guy called Dave who keeps a pretty tidy allotment and reads a lot of Anna Akhmatova (in the original). Dave knows that ‘allotment time’ is outside Spectacular time; allotment time is living well. Growing your own food; listening to radio 3, following the seasons, planting fruit trees under a huge white moon; watching the arc of water from the hose playing over the green beans on an August afternoon. Drinking rum in the potting shed and smoking a rollie. Dave is outside of work; or, rather, has created work that has meaning for him. He also works without his shirt on. Even in the winter.

So, forget Debord. George Borrow gives some good advice (in Lavengro) to those who hunt snakes.

Give it up: read books and learn languages.

Life is sweet, brother. n

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Drink

England Sparkles Olly Smith pays a visit to the East Sussex vineyard of Breaky Bottom to inspect the terroir and enjoy the company of owner Peter Hall

“As you trundle your wheels to the peak of the Downs, there’s a suspicion that the place doesn’t exist. But, like the Moon’s reflection on the sea tricking you into thinking the orb lies deep beneath, the vineyards sneak up beneath your frame of vision”

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“

aaaah filthy!” These were the words I growled joyfully on all fours while sniffing the earth beneath the vines at Breaky Bottom. It was my first visit to Peter Hall, the enigmatic twinkling wizard who first planted vines in his East Sussex vineyard in 1974, the very same vintage as me. His vineyard and my life are contemporaneous, but more than that, I owe my career to that specific moment of filth, revelling on

all fours with Peter chuckling behind the camera.

I’d entered what could loosely be described as a reality TV show called Wine Idol and one of the challenges was to make a short film about wine. Breaky Bottom was the nearest vineyard to where I was living, near Lewes in East Sussex, and I was already a huge fan of the sparkling wine that was produced there. But I knew precisely nothing of the hands behind the vines. So I took soundings and was advised

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to make an appointment with Peter. And I should just interject here for your own personal safety, never turn up to Breaky Bottom without an appointment – always call ahead, lest Peter is engaged in some act of sorcery, calling down the powers from the imaginary sky-gods to ripple force and nourishment into the spirit of his natural engine room. (I’ve never actually seen this happen, but I fully suspect that somewhere up in that Downland realm, Peter probably has a gnarly staff with an ancient name, capable of works to make Gandalf himself look like a ruminating chimp).

Appointment made, I turned up at, in my view, Britain’s most picturesque vineyard. As you trundle and bundle your wheels up the track to the peak of the Downs, and the vineyard, there’s a suspicion that the place doesn’t in fact exist. But, rather like the Moon’s reflection on the sea tricking you into thinking the orb lies deep beneath, the vineyards sneak up beneath your frame of vision, and the force-field of sheer goodness subsumes you into another realm.

Peter gave me the once-over the first time we met,

and told me I could film among his vines on one condition:

“You’re going to win”.

It was as much a condition, a statement and a command and I’ve never forgotten quite how much he meant it. And that’s what I love about the wine he makes. You can talk about flavour all day long, about grape varieties, secondary fermentation and ageing the wine on the lees. But the real point is that Peter means it. There’s a lot of talk in wine about a sense of place, and with most wine you can draw a line between how it’s made and where it’s made to explain this. But with Peter it’s on a different plane.

He is Breaky Bottom as much as Breaky Bottom is his. And his beloved Christine is with him every step of the way; Toto the cat wreathes in playful riddles around them both and they are collectively supported and loved by the hands of a fair few who become as entranced as the place is entrancing.

And, as the seasons ebb and flow with the coming and going of the swallows, lambs and various wine fans trudging down the path, the orbit’s origin

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“English wine is winning accolades left right and centre; Peter is one of the real founding fathers and I’m thrilled to see him receiving more and more recognition for his talismanic work”

of all these is a pioneering grit, a determination to make wine that has a ruddy good story to tell. I filmed the first episode of my Channel 4 series The Secret Supper Club at Breaky Bottom and it remains my favourite for many reasons, but most of all it’s the generosity of every person, contributing in some way to a moment we all shared deep in the Downs. And of course the wine is an emissary of the mood – and you really ought to taste it, especially Cuvée Gerard Hoffnung, which you can find at breakybottom. co.uk. English wine is winning accolades left right and centre; Peter is one of the real founding fathers and I’m thrilled to see him receiving more and more recognition for his talismanic work.

He names his wines after people he’s connected with – Hoffnung was a family friend, his great great uncle graces the bottle of Cuvée Koizumi Yakumo (born Lafcadio Hearn, who left for Japan in 1890 and assumed a Samurai name). A cartoonist, a literary legend, or how about Cuvée Sir Harry Kroto, Peter’s dear friend, wine-lover scientist, educator and artist, who was awarded the Noble Prize for Chemistry in 1996. He lived in Lewes and died in April 2016. These bottles are Peter’s signature, his rhythm, like the roll-up cigarettes, anecdotes, faraway closeness, warmth, performance and all the

cups that pour into his source. He is inspiring the next generation of winemakers, such as the prodigiously talented Dermot Sugrue, whose alchemical touch graces the wines of Wiston Estate and his own Sugrue label, The Trouble With Dreams. And, over the years, more and more English fizz has planted itself in my collection: Camel Valley from Cornwall, Gusbourne from Kent, Furleigh in Dorset, Hambledon in Hampshire and many more. But if there’s an Elrond on this earth, being a secret Elvish King, a realm where things are just as they should be and where time pools in eddies and melts into a different dawn, make the call, pop a bottle, and find your way to the world’s finest filth, right here in England. n

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Drink

FIERCE TONIC Amanda Saurin has used her immense knowledge of natural herbs, seeds and flowers to create Apothecary Tonic No 1. She told The Chap how she went from making herbal remedies at A.S. Apothecary to creating a whole new type of tonic

W

hat’s interesting about quality tonics on the market today is that they seem to be variations on the same theme.

When you go on tonic websites, you see people shouting about their botanicals – “We get our quinine from the Congo” – and I’m sure they do. But the truth of the matter is that quinine, or the bark of the Cinchona tree, is brown. So if you use the whole bark, the tonic has to have colour. If it doesn’t, it is either an extract or a synthetic quinine.

The process involved in extracting the quinine from the bark has to be done on an industrial scale to meet the needs of the big companies who produce tonic water. The standard industrial chemical extraction method used by Buchler and co, who produce vast quantities of quinine extract from Congo, involves

the use of Sodium hydroxide, Toluene and Sulphuric acid, followed by a several step purification method.

At Fierce we prefer family sourced unprocessed Cinchona bark.

Schweppes has been the go-to tonic for as long as I can remember and it tastes really sweet to me.

Fever Tree came along and they reduced the sugar and changed the flavour profile but they still use a quinine extract. And they have bigger bubbles than Schweppes. When you’re a tonic-maker you become obsessed with bubbles! I personally like a lot of tiny bubbles – like champagne – rather than fewer bigger bubbles.

I was working with Harris Gin on the Isle of Harris, and at the launch this beautiful gin was put in a glass with a basic tonic, and I thought, ‘all this

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effort and it doesn’t make the gin sing’. I thought, let’s take this all the way back, because my work is with plants. Let’s think about the plants that go into tonic. The first thing is Cinchona bark – where can I source that? As it happens, my sister-in-law Jacqui lives in Ecuador, where they say that if you sit with your thumb in the soil it will sprout. Anything grows there and the Cinchona from Ecuador is particularly good.

So Jacqui sourced some Cinchona bark and has since planted some on her hacienda in Ecuador.

When she brings it over it’s still quite damp, and as it dries it rolls up into quills, like cinnamon, and it tastes amazing.

Quinine itself is really quite toxic and you must be careful only to use very small amounts. The critical quantity is 83ppm and ours regularly measures 12ppm; most tonic comes in around 50ppm, so we’re well within the tolerance. So then I started thinking about what we grow here in Sussex that I could use in the tonic. I have 200 organic rose plants on my farm and people think rose tastes like, well, rose. But in fact the scent and taste profile of different roses is astonishing. I found that, by blending five different varieties of rose, I could get the most amazing taste – that went into the mix as well.

The most basic tonic would have juniper, citrus, Cinchona and sugar. I thought ours would need a resin note, a spruce or pine resin. We chipped our Christmas tree and that gave us a beautiful resin note. On the sixth day of advent it’s perfect – not too dry and not too fresh. How great to drink a Christmas tree all year round! Then we needed citrus, so I played around with grapefruit and lemon, as well as adding juniper.

What I wanted was to make a tonic that was uncompromising and complex, because I’m really bored of the single bitter/sweet hit you get from most tonic. It smothers the taste of the gin. With Fierce, I wanted a bitterness that goes on and on while you drink it. So for us, one of these was the Cinchona, one is from a plant I found in a bog I fell into in the Outer Hebrides, the third is from a root that we use from a genus called Gentianaceae, which gives a really long, earthy, bitter note.

We spent two years trying different iterations. I wanted to make a tonic that was sufficiently complex that it was worth drinking on its own, but not so strong that it would kill whatever spirit is added to it.

It’s also got a tannin note, so that even if you drink it on its own it feels like you’re drinking alcohol. n

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TASTING NOTES Gustav Temple

First you notice the colour – golden brown, like the sunset over a tropical city. Then the bubbles – tiny and prolific, closer to champagne than ordinary tonic. The taste is darker, more rounded and woody, and it doesn’t froth in the glass, promising to murder the gin as soon as it arrives in the glass like other tonics. I sampled it with Brighton Gin, another East Sussex newbie taking on the larger gin companies.

Brighton Gin, by cutting back on aromatics and using locally-sourced milk thistle – conveniently renowned for its liver-cleansing properties – has distilled a classic gin that pares the flavour back to how you’d imagine gin would have tasted in Hogarth’s day. The bottle looks medicinal, hand-sealed with blue wax, and the flavour too feels like it will cure some ancient gentleman’s ailment – perhaps simply thirst for a G&T. They pair together well, Fierce Tonic providing the taste complexity and Brighton Gin the simplicity.

The Chap Dines

THE MIRABELLE AT THE GRAND, EASTBOURNE Reviewed by Gustav Temple and Alexander Larman

T

he Sussex seaside town of Eastbourne is no place for a gentleman, especially two chaps dressed as if auditioning for a regional theatre production of Death in Venice. My dining companion and I shuffled along the seafront, bright linen suits attracting the glare of the sun; the confused glances of the mostly octogenarian citizens making us eager to reach our destination.

Upon sweeping into the elegant gardens of the Grand Hotel, built in 1875, we immediately felt safe in the lee of bright white Victorian architecture and bustling concierges. The pound shops and sinister wine bars (more on those later) of Eastbourne sud-

denly seem as far away as Venice. The Mirabelle is The Grand’s principal in-house restaurant for guests and also a destination eaterie with its own entrance at the side. The hotel’s looming Corinthian columns and vast rooms, full of Queen Anne armchairs and potted palms, give way to the slicker, glassier interior of the Mirabelle.

Diners are immediately put at ease by Maître d’ Benjamin Warren, whose air of Jeevesian efficiency is heightened by a dapper (and definitely untrendy) beard. According to the in-house literature, Benjamin originally trained as a chef and then worked in a Swiss casino, which suggested a mysteri-

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ous and glamorous past that endeared him to us.

The dress code stating, “Gentlemen are respectfully requested to wear a jacket or collared shirt; please no T-shirts or sportswear” provided further reassurance that we were in suitable surroundings.

The barely discernible swishing movements of Benjamin take place, and suddenly the table is laden with the first round of our repast. We are intrigued as to how new chef Stephanie Malvoisin compares to the previous incumbent, Gerald Roser, a man who served the Mirabelle nobly for more than two decades and understood the demands of this kind of old-school tradition about as well as anyone cooking today.

Matters start extremely well. The house champagne is Louis Roederer – always an excellent choice – and the £14 price tag is comparatively kind compared to some similar establishments. The bread that we’re offered is rosemary, and is delicious.

We talk between ourselves of matters cultural and Chap, but we are exceptionally impressed so far. The shine does not fade when our starters arrive. Gustav’s smoked haddock ballotine is a triumph, especially the Jerusalem artichoke vinaigrette; Alexander’s quail breast has been slightly overcooked and so in consequence feels gameier than it otherwise should.

He also noted that the promised ‘crispy quail’s eggs’

are an egg, singular, and although very fine it’s slightly insubstantial. A couple of glasses of Chablis and Pinot Gris keep sobriety at bay for a moment.

The meal trundles on. Gustav, continuing a winning trend, pronounces his rosemary infused lamb rump, direct from Romney Marsh, exceptional, though he raises an eyebrow as to the ratatouille, which is quietly damned as being ‘tricky to get on the fork’, and he seems more than usually interested in how, exactly, the pomme duchesse was put together; ‘I think that the blighter’s been at it with a blowtorch!’ Alexander’s slow cooked feather blade of beef has indeed been slow cooked, to a point that it looks once again rather over-indulged at the stove; it is rescued by a delectable bordelaise sauce, which adds a much-needed moisture and vibrancy to it. We chink glasses of a very decent house red, the Rothschild Cabernet Sauvignon, in quiet approval.

And then pudding. (It’s worth noting that, at lunchtime, the meal comes without the frimmeryfroppery of amuse bouches and pre-desserts that one might expect; the inevitable result of a very generous £28 for a three-course jolly). Alexander’s attempt to take the high ground with his ‘exotic Eton Mess’ – cue bawdy jokes about what an ‘exotic Harrow Mess’ and its ilk would look like – is once again soundly defeated by Gustav’s chilled chocolate fon-

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Huw Prall charts the magical career and story of Diana Dors in this comprehensive study!

w w w. b o o k g u i l d . c o . u k

dant (a mousse by any other name, in fact), of which the only minor disappointment is that the promised salted butter caramel sauce is dabbed around the plate rather than smothering the pudding. Teas and coffees are had, along with excellent petits fours, and, eschewing the invitation to take post-prandial refreshment in one of the Grand’s various lounges, we laid our well-used napkins to rest and planned the next leg of our exploration of Eastbourne’s watering holes. We asked Benjamin for intelligence on a suitable wine bar (as opposed to a pub) and he gave us a paper map with the route to a pair of nearby oases that might suit our needs.

This led to a heated, even vigorous debate in the street on paper maps v Google Maps, partly influenced by the shock of seeing the first “wine bar” on our map. This was either a 1980s-themed cocktail bar, or just a terrible place that no gentleman should ever enter. We took the latter course and pressed on.

The second establishment, Broadway, had probably intended to bring a slice of New York action to downtown Eastbourne, yet its velveteen perches and unsavoury-looking customers said otherwise.

We opted instead for the Eagle pub, where the discussion centred around Benjamin: had his days at Swiss casinos led him to play a mischievous trick on us, by sending us on a wild-goose chase into uncharted waters? Or was he merely a man with the sensible opinion that wine bars are generally neither necessary nor desirable, especially in Eastbourne? In either case, pints of ale aided our discourse. Lunch,

and the highlights thereof, dissected; and a pair of thoroughly decent linen jackets remained largely unbesmirched. For which, we quietly gave sartorial thanks, as we planned our next foray into the world of fine dining for future japes and jollity – all of which, of course, will be covered in The Chap. n Readers who would like to recommend suitable dining establishments for review are welcome to write to chap@thechap.co.uk

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Cha e h T

p Olympiad

This year’s Chap Olympiad took place on 14th July in Bedford Square Gardens

The new format – more like a vintage village fete than previously – had mixed responses from attendees, with the raised Olympiad track noted for its absence. So next year we shall be raising high the Astroturf once again, in a bid to mollify those who like their Umbrella Jousting, Tea Pursuit and Butler Baiting on a raised surface.

Nevertheless, the sartorial standards at this year’s event exceeded even The Chap’s high-water mark, with guests arranged in the loveliest of outfits despite the 30-degree heat.

Photography by Soulstealer Photography www.soulstealer.co.uk @sstealer

Holly Rose Swinyard, adapting well to the heat

Our host and master of ceremonies, Mr. Ben Shires

Bunny, winner of our best-dressed male award

Ida Cathrine, winner of our best-dressed female award

Telombre, currently in Saint-Moritz

Eva Leigh (left) and Bethan Garland, events mistress for The Chap Olympiad

REVIEWS •

Author interview: Anthony Quinn (p136) Book Reviews (p140) • Travel: Old Shanghai (p144) • Music: Dandy Wellington (p152)

Author Interview

BOOK REVIEWS Alexander Larman meets the author of several novels whose settings range from Victorian London to Second World War-era Home Counties

ANTHONY QUINN

A

sked to name the best writer working today who isn’t quite a household name, my ready answer is always Anthony Quinn. The former film critic for The Independent, Quinn has just published his seventh book, the latest in a line of immaculately observed and effortlessly written novels, dealing with subjects as diverse as the suffragettes, amateur cricket, Victorian poverty, Sixties psychedelia and fifth columnists in war-torn England. Imagine the readability and erudition of a William Boyd crossed with the wit and inventiveness of an Edward St Aubyn; high praise indeed, but one that Quinn merits.

We meet at his impeccably tasteful Victorian house in Islington, where he lives with his journalist wife Rachel Cooke. Warm and hospitable, he arranges himself on a purple sofa in his drawing room, as if about to undergo therapy, and over the course of 90 minutes discourses on life, literature and creative liberty.

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Photo © Jane Bown

CHAP: Our Friends In Berlin’s quite a shift for you, isn’t it?

AQ: Yes. I wasn’t planning on writing a thriller, or a spy story, but I’ve always been interested in WWII. I then read a really fascinating article in The Times

by Ben MacIntyre in 2014, after a lot of declassified MI5 files had been released, and it led me to Jack King, an MI5 mole who infiltrated crypto-fascist circles during wartime, and uncovered a hotbed of fifth columnists. It wasn’t just crazed loners – these were people going about their daily business, the sort who’d probably vote UKIP these days, and they told their handler King, who they believed to be the top Nazi agent in London, information about missile factories, radar and what have you.

questions to ask. How was King not rumbled? How did he convince everyone that he was the Gestapo’s man in London? That’s what I had to deal with to make it dramatic and engaging.

CHAP: The female protagonist, Amy, works in a matchmaking agency. Where did the inspiration for that come from?

AQ: I was inspired by a book called Marriages Are Made In Bond Street. I liked the idea of a woman setting up matches for others and couldn’t meet anyone herself, so when she falls for a plain-spoken, plain-looking fellow, it’s a surprise. But then there’s someone out there for everyone, or so I’m told.

CHAP: This book, and the others, all feature thinly disguised real people; for instance, Kenneth Tynan pops up as ‘Nat Fane’ in Eureka and Freya, the theatre critic James Agate becomes ‘Jimmy Erskine’ in Curtain Call, and obviously King is Hoste. What are the challenges of this semi-biographical approach?

AQ: The characters cleave to their counterparts in various ways. I have no idea as to what the real Jack King was like – although a book’s coming out about his life in September – but Nat Fane was me trying to write a ‘happy Tynan’, whereas the real man was

CHAP: And what happened to these people?

Imprisoned, executed…?

AQ: Neither, actually. They were just kept under observation, as to arrest them would have broken the whole thing. The model for my book’s antagonist Marita was paid every week until the end of the war, still unaware of who Jack King actually was; this was pretty true for most of them. She was last heard of living in Australia, living off the grid. So while I was writing the book, I had lots of

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Photo © Mark Vessey

desperately unhappy and conflicted. I adored him, and loved his bons mots and dazzling wit. Also, Kloss in Eureka is a version of the director Reiner Fassbinder, but again a cheerier, less downbeat one, because I didn’t want to be around a horrible man and I don’t think the reader did either.

tions of his work. If I had read him, I think I’d have been looking over my shoulder and thinking ‘am I barging into his study here?’ I suppose that, although it’s well-trodden terrain for many, it’s new to me, and I hope I brought something fresh to it.

CHAP: It’s your fourth book in four years…

AQ: God. Yes, sorry about that. Curtain Call took a while to come out, publishing being slow, but Freya, Eureka and this one all came quite quickly. But I can’t do anything else – I was, I fear, meant to be a writer.

If someone could come up with something else I could do, I probably would, but nobody has yet.

CHAP: Your books tend to feature very flamboyant, charismatic characters, but you’ve dialled that down in the latest?

AQ: I hope that Amy and Marita were the characters who’d carry the book. Jack is blank, almost disfiguringly so, and although [the MI5 spymaster] Traherne is a bit more flamboyant, I wanted the women’s story to be of the most interest.

CHAP: What’s your biggest success been?

AQ: To date, Curtain Call. It had great reviews, was picked up by book clubs and Radio 4, and it seemed to sell, whereas few of my others have. It was gratifying, and it’s also going to be adapted into a two-part BBC series, all being well, by the great Patrick Marber. I actually asked for Marber – his Notes on a Scandal adaptation was so good – and he’s very busy with plays and directing and what have you. We have our dream cast – Simon Russell Beale as Jimmy Erskine and David Tennant as our lead, Stephen Wylie – but it’s all beyond my control.

CHAP: The book looks as if it’s going to have a subplot about a mole, but this is largely brushed under the carpet. Why was this?

AQ: I did intentionally make it slightly ambiguous as to who the mole is – although it should be clear to a careful reader – but I suppose that my faint disinterest in the mechanics of this side of the plot are because I’ve never been a great spy thriller reader.

I’ve never read any le Carré, for instance, though I have read Greene and Boyd and seen the adapta-

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Author Interview

CHAP: Who are your biggest influences?

AQ: The two who come to mind straight away are George Gissing and Patrick Hamilton. Gissing wrote incredibly well about poverty and ‘the struggle’, and Hamilton – who was born a few weeks after Gissing died, oddly enough – is wonderful about lowlife London in the twenties and thirties, and there is a lot of drinking in his books, as there is in mine. My favourite book is Middlemarch – ‘the whole pudding trolley’ – which has a great cast of characters and is so damned enjoyable. George Eliot is a stern moralist, but quite forgiving, apart from the terrible Casaubon, who I’ve found myself making jokes about in several of my books.

means Y’ and so on. It’s not at all premeditated.

The only motif that I can think of that recurs throughout my books is that of an empty house, as there’s nearly always a scene set in an abandoned or disused dwelling.

CHAP: How did your literary career begin?

AQ: I started writing books after I was a Booker Prize judge in 2006 – although not out of ‘I could do better’ hubris, I should point out. The germ of The Rescue Man was reading a Pevsner guide to Liverpool, where a real-life and obscure architect from the Victorian era, Peter Ellis, was described as having a ‘shadowy existence’. And I leapt on those words, thinking ‘what a gift’, and it was an interesting way in. Since then, it’s been a case, as Martin Amis put it, not of choosing your subject, but recognising it. Sometimes you have to wait around for it, and stroke your chin, but it doesn’t just come overnight. I’m interested, for instance, in fighter pilots of WWI, but I wouldn’t have a clue how to write a book about them. Otherwise, it’s a character – as in Our Friends, it was Jack King who interested me, and started the ball rolling. My research, incidentally, is much less than it used to be; I sit at my desk in my study and read, and then that feeds into the book. So when people say ‘I love your books, because of all the research you’ve done’, I feel like a fraud and a failure. But I always like to quote Voltaire: ‘I do not count my borrowings, I weigh them.’

CHAP: Several of your books are partially or entirely set in WWII. Where does your interest in the period stem from?

AQ: I suppose that it’s the defining thing in my life, even though I was born two decades after its end, because it still reverberates. Even if our parents didn’t fight in it, their parents did, and it just seems endlessly enduring and fascinating to me, not least the idea that something was actually at stake.

People lived miserable lives in fear of invasion – at least up until late 1940 – and if we hadn’t won the Battle of Britain, who knows what would have happened? It was bad tactics on Hitler’s part, and thank God for that.

CHAP: Are any of your books the metaphorical red-headed stepchildren?

AQ: I couldn’t possibly say! The one I feel that doesn’t quite come off is The Streets [a Victorian-set social thriller], for reasons I can’t wholly articulate, but they’ve all got their flaws. The one I can see the problems with most clearly is my debut, The Rescue Man, which is too long and very much a first novel, being overwritten in parts. And yet they’re my children, and I’m proud of them.

CHAP: What’s next?

AQ: I’m writing these short stories, some of which are set in the present; I always said ‘I can’t write a book in which someone answers a mobile phone’, but in fact I can, I have discovered. And there’s the germ of a novel about the Winter of Discontent in 1978, but that’s really only just begun.

Eventually, the time has come for me to go and – in one of Quinn’s character’s words – become ‘squiffy, rather than stinko’, and he has to return to the study, and his imagination. As we part, he grins. “It’s the best thing, writing. It really is.”

Based on his increasingly incomparable oeuvre, it is impossible to disagree. I don’t expect it to be long before I can no longer name Quinn as a not-quitehousehold name; if all is right in the publishing world he’ll soon join the pantheon of his heroes. n

CHAP: Do you think that your books have consistent themes? The sense of people not being themselves, and in disguise, for instance?

AQ: I think that’s the key to all of my writing.

There are always levels of deception, especially in Curtain Call and Freya, where the characters are keeping secrets from one another, of longing and sexuality and past sins. But a critic – such as you – might find it easier to point out ‘well obviously X

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Book Reviews

Her surname might suggest a Harry Potter character, but Powers depicts her, a bored college student who finds herself fascinated by ecology after nearly dying due to a drug-induced misadventure, with remarkable empathy and interest. Even her romance with a fellow activist who happens to be one of the Hoel boys, which in a lesser book might have seemed like a cheap attempt to reconcile two disparate narratives, is written with a freshness that belies the well-worn subject matter.

As befits a book that spans centuries, there is a richness and allusiveness to the prose that reaches back as far as Thoreau’s Walden, and Emerson – who supplies a wise epigraph, musing on ‘a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me’, when confronted with the interrelation between man and nature – is an acknowledged touchstone. The Overstory is high-minded but never precious, although it is a pity that Powers does not acknowledge Larkin’s poem The Trees, which, in its final verse, almost anticipates the themes discussed here – ‘Last year is dead, they seem to say/Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.’

Yet it would not work as a narrative if the protagonists were not richly detailed. There is always a risk with a book of this sort that at least one of the strands can feel somewhat redundant – dead wood, if you will – and unfortunately there are some longueurs from time to time, not least in the character of Neelay, a paraplegic who is master of all he surveys in his virtual world (named, appropriately enough, Mastery) but fails to realise that far greater riches can be obtained from the wonders around him. Here, Powers becomes more didactic than elsewhere in the saga; he seems to write with distaste for Neelay’s ‘swollen, snapped claw’ and how ‘he’s grown so gaunt he’s set for sainthood’, and the sympathy that he extends to his other creations seems to be in shorter supply here.

There are other, minor, criticisms that can be made as well. The book is undeniably long, and could perhaps have done with a minor edit, thereby reducing the number of trees that will be cut down to produce its no doubt considerable print runs.

And Powers’ ecological message, heartfelt though it is, might strike some readers as on-the-nose in places; his obvious identification with ‘Plant-Patty’ and others means that, as one character muses, the ‘burning down the library, art museum, pharmacy and hall of records, all at once’ cannot be seen as

THE OVERSTORY

By Richard Powers (£18.99) Reviewed by Alexander Larman

“The book is undeniably long, and could perhaps have done with a minor edit, thereby reducing the number of trees that will be cut down to produce its no doubt considerable print runs.”

N

o lesser a writer than Margaret Atwood has said of Richard Powers that ‘it’s not possible for Powers to write an uninteresting book’, and on the evidence of The Overstory, he is continuing a remarkable run that began when he came to public prominence in 2006 with the award-winning The Echo Maker. This is, as befits its subject, a mighty, at times even monolithic work that combines the multi-narrative approach of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas with a paean to the grandeur and wonder of trees that elegantly sidesteps traps of pretension and over-ambition. Early comparisons to Moby Dick are perhaps unfairly lofty, but this fine book can stand on its own.

Powers marshals a diverse central cast of nine characters, casually dealing with the history of immigration to America from the opening chapters.

Among others, we meet a plant biologist named Patricia ‘Plant-Patty’ Westerford, whose research into the world of trees is controversial and groundbreakingly bold; the Hoel family, a set of Norwegian immigrants whose dedication to a great chestnut tree comes to represent the passing of time; and, perhaps most strikingly of all, Olivia Vandergriff.

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anything other than a crime against nature, but it is unlikely that any reader would ever think otherwise.

Nonetheless, when set against Powers’ greater achievements, these are but woodworm compared to the majestic redwood of a novel that he has constructed. And it is fitting that it ends not with despair, but with hope: as with Larkin, a belief that humanity, too, is capable of redeeming itself and beginning ‘afresh, afresh, afresh.’ n

than editorial, it is easy to see that proposals have shifted.

Thus, the pressure now is on the ‘new and exciting’ part, rather than whether the book needs – or even ought – to be created. And reading the British writer Paul Willetts’ biography of Edgar Laplante, the so-called ‘King Con’ himself, it is tempting to wonder whether this is in fact the birth of a new mini-genre: the proposal as book.

It takes a little while to digest while reading it, but it soon becomes entirely clear what Willetts has done; essentially create a near-300 page proposal for a volume that hasn’t quite been written. It’s an experience not unlike watching a two-hour trailer for a film. The interest is certainly there, initially at first, but the repetitive, attention-seeking style soon wanes, and the suspicion remains that the subject matter isn’t interesting enough to merit writing about at such length.

It certainly starts arrestingly, no pun intended. In the last years of WWI, ‘Tom Longboat’, ‘Chief Tewanna’ and many of Laplante’s other pseudonyms tour America, as he pretends to be a patriotic Native American, blessed with a remarkable singing voice, who can captivate audiences with a mixture of homespun philosophy, patriotic and sentimental songs and recruiting pitches.

He was also a bisexual drug addict who was permanently in debt, and who fled states – and eventually all of them – in order to set himself up in Europe, where he resumed his old tricks on a new and wider canvas. Yet, unsurprisingly, the life of high-stakes tomfoolery soon wore him out, and Laplante died a miserable and obscure death in his mid fifties.

It has all the makings of a great story, but Willetts – who has written well in the past about Julian Maclaren-Ross and Paul Raymond – deals with it in a curiously muffled fashion. The major problem in the book is that he offers little insight into why Laplante ended up the way that he did, meaning that all of his picaresque adventures take place with little context or explanation. A half-hearted attempt to explain it is that Laplante was bored of a career working in vaudeville and wanted to expand his horizons, yet it seems bizarre that a man as obviously talented and quick-witted as him was not able to take his skills and accomplishments and divert them into more legal areas. Rather more psychological insight, and considerably less breathlessness, would have made this a far superior book. But I’d love to see the proposal; now that, at least, would be a brilliant document.

KING CON

By Paul Willetts Crown (£20.00) Reviewed by Alexander Larman

“Reading the British writer Paul Willetts’ biography of Edgar Laplante, the so-called ‘King Con’ himself, it is tempting to wonder whether this is in fact the birth of a new mini-genre: the proposal as book”

A

nyone who has ever published a work of non-fiction knows that there is a very specific procedure that any author has to undertake, in order to stand a chance of being accepted. This involves coming up with a proposal, a document of varying length – in the thousands, rather than hundreds or tens of thousands – of words, which seeks to explain what book the writer wishes to create, what is new and exciting about it, what its market should be and, by inference, whether the publisher is going to make any money out of it. Many of these proposals are written; some are even commissioned. But, given the changes in the world of publishing, with the power now lying more with sales and marketing

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Book Reviews

THE COLOUR OF TIME

By Dan Jones & Marina Amaral Head of Zeus (£25.00) Reviewed by Alexander Larman

“The breadth of research here is staggering; even if some of the anecdotes are familiar, many are not, and its focus on both legendary international figures and ordinary people means that this remains accessible, engrossing and hugely readable”

C

painstakingly colourising them, manages to bring them to wholly unexpected and vivid life. Thus, one encounters Lewis Powell, the Lincoln assassination conspirator, posing as if he’s modelling for a glossy magazine, and a 1922 version of Adolf Hitler, looking ridiculous in shorts and white socks.

We see Amelia Earhart preparing to fly across the Atlantic, and Gandhi on the Salt March. Over and over again, one is made aware of the shocking relevance of events that it is easy to dismiss as having taken place in the distant past; an image of the Hindenburg Disaster, as seen here, has all the visceral shock of the destruction of the Twin Towers.

The book would, however, be considerably less effective without Jones’s contributions.

Although he is best known for his work within medieval history, he is an unusually thoughtful and perceptive guide, whisking the reader from country to era to war. The breadth of research here is staggering; even if some of the anecdotes are familiar, many are not, and its focus on both legendary international figures and ordinary people means that this remains accessible, engrossing and hugely readable. It is not hyperbole to describe this remarkable book as a towering achievement, and one that everyone should own.

ollaborations between writers and artists can be hugely effective – one thinks of Ted Hughes and Fay Godwin’s Remains of Elmet – but there is often the intrinsic difficulty that they can often work against one another. Half the time, a distinguished writer’s work can simply feel interrupted by ill-chosen or irrelevant photographs; the other half, a beautiful book can have pointless and pedantic text inserted virtually at random.

All hail, then, this new collaboration between the bestselling historian Dan Jones and the Brazilian colourist Marina Amaral, which does a brilliant job of bringing the past back to life in the most vivid of ways. It deserves to be as standard a presence on bookshelves as Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation or, indeed, Jones’ own The Plantagenets.

The idea behind it is deceptively simple.

Amaral has a rare gift for taking archaic 19th and early 20th century photographic images and, by

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slippery characters ended up drifting into Shanghai, essentially with nowhere else to go. If you dipped straight into City of Devils you’d assume it was crime fiction, the language bringing to mind Raymond Chandler, Jim Thompson and Charles Willeford.

However, this is fact disguised as fiction.

French has taken the dodgy racketeers, Chinese casino nabobs, the fast-paced events and political turmoil of Old Shanghai, and told the tale as if he’d made it up. If he had it would be a doubly impressive yarn and you’d marvel at his imagination, though the feat of turning historical facts into a rollicking yarn is even more impressive.

Much like actors who often find the challenge of playing an existing character from real life more difficult than playing an invented one, French has had to do the work of a historical biographer and a fiction writer simultaneously. Added to that is the task of maintaining the American hard-boiled crime voice, which never lets up, with most passages reading like this one:

North Szechuen in Hongkew is marginally classier than Blood Alley, though far from top drawer. Jack taps Nellie to get in some dancers who didn’t quite make the cut for the Follies; Joe finds him a band looking for a gig who can work up a few ukulele tunes to fit the theme. Hongkew is mostly out of bounds to squaddies and leathernecks, but not to officers. And so Jack covers the bases – the Manhattan coins it in from the leathernecks and the ranks; the Bamboo Hut gets the NCOs and the brass.

CITY OF DEVILS

By Paul French (Riverrun, £16.99) Reviewed by Gustav Temple

“French has taken the dodgy racketeers, Chinese casino nabobs, the fastpaced events and political turmoil of Old Shanghai, and told the tale as if he’d made it up”

R

eaders who enjoy Paul French’s elegant ramble through Old Shanghai on the following pages might turn to this book for more of the same.

But French is a master of disguise; a man of a thousand literary voices. He has written serious political insights into Far Eastern countries, a biography of Kim Jong-Un, a book about why Chinese people are getting obese and an A-Z of Shanghai. Clearly there is a theme here, but one might not expect this author to then turn his hand to a hard-boiled nonfiction crime narrative that appears, at first glance, to be a novel.

City of Devils opens like this: ‘Shanghai is not the city it once was…’ She heard it over and over again, repeated so often it had become received wisdom.

At the still-swank cocktail parties just off the stunning waterfront Bund; at dinner parties in the still-elegant apartments and villa houses of the French Concession… Since August 14, 1937, Bloody Saturday, Shanghai was not what it once had been.

The pace soon quickens, introducing a cast of characters straight out of a hard-boiled crime novel – ‘Lucky’ Jack Riley, ‘Dapper’ Joe Farren, Babe Sadlir. They duck and dive in seedy hangouts in the Shanghai of the 1930s, they run rackets, import illegal booze from Prohibition-era America, murder rival nightclub owners, etc. The story looks back to Depression-era America, to see how some of these

“Much like actors who often find the challenge of playing an existing character from real life more difficult than playing an invented one, French has had to do the work of a historical biographer and a fiction writer simultaneously”

The result is a quickfire romp through the Shanghai of legend – an opium-laced Valhalla of key interest to Chaps of course – with language that leaps off the page and steeps the reader in the decadent stew of this Far Eastern haven for dropouts and grifters. n

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Tr a v e l

OLD SHANGHAI

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Paul French, author of City of Devils, takes us on a walking tour of Shanghai, recounting steamy tales of decadence, opium and freebooting of the 1930s.

City of Devils is published by Riverrun the Pacific began. But that was later… in the 1930s Shanghai was a must for any chap on a tour of the Far East, an essential disembarkation for Orientalbound sojourners, at a time when Hong Kong was nothing more than a garrulous and pestilential Navy

n its heyday, Shanghai was the real deal when it came to anonymity – a chap could walk down the gangplank from his ocean liner, step onto the majestic sweeping Bund waterfront, stroll nonchalantly over to the disinterested customs man and proffer any name he cared to. No-one in Shanghai wished to see a passport, nor did they require a visa, nor could they care less if you gave a false name. The supposedly visa-free Casablanca of popular legend is largely a Hollywood invention; the International Settlement of Shanghai was actually the most open city in the world during the 1930s.

Secured by gunboat-enforced treaty from China after the First Opium War in 1842, Shanghai grew and prospered for 99 freebooting, cosmopolitan years, until the Japanese occupied the city moments after their attack on Pearl Harbor and all-out war in

“1930s Shanghai was a must for any chap on a tour of the Far East, at a time when Hong Kong was nothing more than a garrulous and pestilential Navy town and Singapore a notoriously boring place under the sway of prim missionary wives” 145

explore the Bund and the streets close by, but we won’t be short changed for choice and sights to see…

THE SHANGHAI CLUB

“The Long Bar at the Shanghai Club was the world’s longest continuous bar – Noel Coward, visiting in 1930, wrote of the Long Bar at the Shanghai Club that as he lay his cheek on it, he could see the curvature of the earth” town and Singapore a notoriously boring place under the sway of prim missionary wives.

By contrast, Shanghai stood for modernity, boasting world-class hotels with lifts and central heating, movie theatres, motorised taxi cabs and art-deco cabarets on nearly every street corner; neon light, jazz, opium. It was a city that attracted the raffish adventurer as well as the chap-on-themake and the chap on-the-lam. It was cosmopolitan beyond belief, inhabited by over three million Chinese with several hundred thousand foreign residents – “Shanghailanders” – as well as 140,000 White Russian émigrés from the Bolshevik Revolution and a newly arrived 40,000 Jewish refugees from fascism in Europe. It was the world’s fourth largest city (after London, Paris and New York) in 1936 and by far the most densely packed.

Shanghai’s legal light touch meant closing hours were never even considered and bordellos licensed. You could, literally, drink and dance till dawn. We don’t have long, just a night ashore to

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A man of distinction, of some standing in life, a degree of wealth and success (real or imaginary) would not consider anywhere else but the Shanghai Club for their first drink after disembarkation. The Shanghai Club was a couple of minutes walk from the Customs House at No.2 Bund. Upon entering, he would take his place at the famous Long Bar (above and right). Where exactly he stood along the L-shaped bar (111 feet long and then a further 39 feet to form the L-shape) would be determined by his status. New arrivals were customarily served at the far end of the main length of the bar; those with some social rank and time served in the East closer towards the entrance; the veteran Shanghailanders and tai-pans (big bosses) of the largest foreign firms sat at the shorter arm of the bar facing out over the riverfront. It was the world’s longest continuous bar – Noel Coward, visiting in 1930, wrote of the Long Bar at the Shanghai Club that, as he lay his cheek on it, he could see the curvature of the earth.

Wherever a chap found a space at the mahogany bar, the drink he would order would invariably be a ‘stengah’. The stengah features regularly in Somerset Maugham’s Far Eastern tales and derived its name from the Malay word for “half ” – half whisky and half soda. Famously the beggar boys of Shanghai cried: "No mama, no papa, no whisky soda..."

Locally brewed beers were never much cop; wines invariably spoiled on the long hot voyage via Suez and so spirits and cocktails were de riguer. Whisky was the spirit of choice; the stengah was helping to fuel Shanghai’s reputation as the Paris of the East.

In 1941 the Shanghai Club, like the rest of the city, was occupied by the Japanese. They cut down the legs of the billiard tables to better suit their height. After the communist revolution in 1949, the mahogany bar was put in storage, the Shanghai Club became an austere Maoist International Seamen’s Club and then, in 1990, it was turned into Shanghai first Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant – the very definition of how the mighty have fallen.

However, it’s a riches to rags to riches tale. The

Tr a v e l

The Bund, Shanghai today

Shanghai Club is now the Waldorf Astoria, which has restored the Long Bar with seafood flown in from France, live jazz and a suitably excellent whisky collection. The Long Bar is back – though sadly considerably shorter than originally – but well worth a visit.

carvery, the Chop Chop Club; Canton Table serving dim sum; the renowned Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s eponymous Jean-Georges, mixing classic French dishes with Shanghai twists; and, for the discerning late night tippler, the excellent cocktail bar Whisper (below), where you can settle in among the original 1916 fireplaces. The distinctive cupola of the building, accessible only by a winding staircase features a table for two, a fantastic view down the Bund and across the river, a private butler and one’s own chef – it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, Shanghai’s most celebrated place to pop the question.

THE BUND Nowadays the Bund is less commercial than the 1930s but offers some excellent dining for the visitor.

No.3 was once home to a host of insurance companies but is now “Three on the Bund”, a building which contains a number of places to dine and gaze down on the old Bund or across the Huangpu River towards the futuristic skyscrapers of Pudong on the other side – a vista that has spurred so many Blade Runner comparisons that to mention it would be a social faux pas, marking you out as a newly arrived hick among today’s Shanghailanders. In the 1930s the view would have been across to a few one-storey warehouses known as “godowns”, endless chicken farms and market gardens as far as the eye could see. Three on the Bund today includes the brasserie Pop, celebrating Shanghai’s art-deco heritage; long time Shanghailander French chef Paul Pairet’s new

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The Bund, Shanghai in 1935

Auden and Christopher Isherwood sipped cocktails at the nightclub in the hotel’s tower, the Tower Club. The hotel became the “Peace Hotel” in the 1950s after the Chinese revolution. It got a bit run down during the dark days of Maoism but has now been completely refurbished. Today the famous Jazz Bar, replacing Sir Victor’s Hare and Hounds, is going strong, with a jazz band of aged Chinese musicians who learnt their instruments pre-1950s before jazz become verboten under the no-fun communists. The hotel’s premier Chinese restaurant Dragon Phoenix is a great place to sample a proper banquet of classic Shanghainese dishes, while the Cathay Room offers French cuisine in chic surroundings that Sir Victor would have heartily approved of. Sassoon married his nurse “Barnsie” in later life and built the largest collection of Chinese ivory carvings, which he then donated to the British Museum.

The House of Roosevelt is housed in No.27 Bund, the former Shanghai HQ of Jardine Matheson (the biggest British opium dealers in nineteenth century China), now beautifully restored. The roof

THE CATHAY HOTEL Today No.20 Bund is the Fairmont Peace Hotel; back then it was The Cathay Hotel. The building stands mid-way along the Bund, occupying an entire city block and with marvellous river views. It was built to the specifications of Shanghai’s most legendary chap – Sir Victor Sassoon. Sassoon was the genuine article – born into a Baghdadi Jewish family of enormous wealth (thanks in part to the opium trade) he walked with a limp sustained while serving in the Royal Flying Corps in WW1. He was Shanghai’s most prolific property developer and many stand out art-deco buildings were owned by him. He hosted the best dinner parties in town, where guests included Emily “Mickey” Hahn, socialite and New Yorker correspondent in Shanghai, who always attended with Mr. Mills, her pet gibbon, on her shoulder. But he is best remembered for building The Cathay, Shanghai most luxurious hotel that dominates the Bund skyline still.

Noel Coward wrote Private Lives in The Cathay; George Bernard Shaw drank in the hotel’s basement pub, the Hare and Hounds; in 1939 WH

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SHANGHAI COCKTAILS DD’s Downtown on the old Bubbling Well Road (now Nanjing West Road) was once the place to go for cocktails. Sadly it was closed in 1941, never to reopen. But they left behind their famous cocktail recipe book, published in 1939. Shanghailanders worshipped the cocktail and liked to mix them strong. Here are three local recommendations from DD’s bar staff, entirely made up from emigré White Russians, with an original illustraton above from the book itself.

Sir Victor Sassoon and friends at The Cathay Hotel

top bar provides an excellent night-time view of the Bund and the skyscrapers of Pudong opposite. It also houses the library of the Royal Asiatic Society in China (easy to visit by appointment) and the city’s largest wine cellar.

It would be churlish to leave the Bund without visiting the old British Consulate at No.33, the last building along the Bund before you cross Suzhou Creek via the Garden Bridge. The former building remains but is now incorporated into the Peninsula Hotel Shanghai, which is the best place for afternoon tea, while the rooftop terrace, Sir Elly’s (named after Sir Elly Kadoorie, another dapper chap, Baghdadi Jew and multi-millionaire of old Shanghai) provides great cocktails and a vast selection of whiskies.

And that’s the Shanghai Bund. Its dockside once teeming with ocean liners newly arrived from San Francisco, London and Marseille and a million rickshaws vying for trade along its length, now the river frontage is crowded with tourists, but the rooftops of the Bund provide an unparalleled view of this once most famous street in the Far East. n

•D D’s

Shanghai Cocktail – place one lump of sugar and the juice of a half lemon in a cocktail shaker, add a double shot of Canadian Club and a dash of grenadine. Throw in some ice and shake.

Pour into a cocktail glass and add a piece of orange peel.

•T he

DD’s Special Cocktail – a measure of vodka, half a measure each of French vermouth and Italian vermouth, a teaspoonful of grenadine and the same of white Curacao. A dash of sugar syrup, ice and a good shake. Serve with a cherry.

•T he

DD’s House Cocktail – a measure of brandy and another of Italian vermouth, a dash of absinthe and another of Angostura Bitters. Ice and a shake before squeezing a piece of lemon peel on the top.

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Photo: © Nina Galicheva

Music

DANDY WELLINGTON As he took to the London stage in Club Swizzle this summer, the jazz bandleader and style icon spoke to Darcy Sullivan

W

“For many, dandyism a sort of layabout elegance, a self-centred decadence, not a political statement about anything other than your own self-obsession.

To me, dandyism is also about being the best gentleman you can be”

hen you think of dandies and dandyism, you probably don’t picture a smile, and there’s a reason for that. As exemplified by Beau Brummell — and codified by French writer Jules Barbey D’Aurevilly — dandyism was as much about attitude as about clothes, and that attitude was sangfroid. Dandies stood apart from society, from their fellow men and women, even from love. They turned a critical monocle on life, and found it disappointing.

There is, however, another kind of dandy.

One who finds dressing well, or dressing up, to be a celebration of life. One who, unlike Mr. Darcy, dances.

Dandy Wellington is this kind of dandy. Ever

since Rose Callahan photographed him for the Dandy Portraits blog, and he appeared in her book I Am Dandy, his Instagram feed has been a pick-me-

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Photo: © Jane Kratochvil

up for style-watchers. A jazz singer and bandleader, he aims to delight his audience, whether they’re listening to him or looking at him.

“A big portion of jazz music is escapism,” Wellington says. “It had its youth in the ‘20s when things were great. Then the Great Depression hit.

But when times are tough you can either fall prey to that or you can look to optimism and better days.

The fashion of the times reflects that.”

This month, Wellington brings his happy feet to London as part of the cabaret revue Club Swizzle at the Roundhouse. British audiences have the chance to see an American original whose joyous approach to entertainment is needed now more than ever.

“I’m a performer, an event producer, a singer, a dancer, and someone who appreciates style and tries to be the best person I can be to those around

“A big portion of jazz music is escapism. It had its youth in the 20s when things were great, then the Great Depression hit” me, whether I know someone or don’t,” Wellington says. “In this weird, often shitty time, where leaders are just going a little crazy, we all need to have a reason to smile and be kind to each other.”

BECOMING DANDY WELLINGTON Both jazz and style were in Wellington’s blood. His mother was a jazz fan from Jamaica, her mother a seamstress and tailor. Born in Harlem, Wellington

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studied theatre at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, and gravitated toward musical theatre. The first time he came to the UK was as part of a theatre camp.

“When you think of the history of American music, all the greats associated with musical theatre wrote tunes that were co-opted by jazz musicians,” he says. “When I started to create my band, some of the first inspirations were the RKO films Fred and Ginger did in the 1930s. I still do songs from Follow the Fleet, The Gay Divorcee and Top Hat, as well as songs that Fats Waller and Duke Ellington recorded or wrote.” (Given its similarity to Ellington, you might think Dandy Wellington is a stage name, and you’d be half right – but Wellington is actually the man’s genuine surname.)

“I employ between 70100 musicians; I have to have lists and lists of guitar players, sax, drums, piano, etc. In New York there’s a huge community of people who play together, which creates an interesting dynamic”

Rather than a set band, Wellington relies on a flexible set of musicians. “To understand jazz is to understand the industry as well, which is largely a freelance industry,” he says. “I employ between 70-100 musicians; I have to have lists and lists of guitar players, sax, drums, piano, etc. In New York there’s a huge community of people who play together, which creates an interesting dynamic. Rock and roll has a different dynamic — to have Roger Daltrey sing with Paul McCartney would blow people’s minds.”

As prolific as he is on social media, it’s no surprise that Wellington takes a 21st-century approach to releasing his music. He tends to release songs and videos one at a time, the latest being “Four Eyes”, an uptempo number about girls who wear glasses, which premiered in July. There is still no Dandy Wellington CD on Amazon.

“In the age of social media, with an overabundance of content, and a music industry that is often not about the artist but about trends, it

Photo: © Prudence Upton

Music

Photo: © Anne Hugus

Photo: © Anne Hugus

Photo: © Rose Callahan

doesn’t serve me to release an entire album, because then I give up my bully pulpit,” Wellington says. He prefers what he calls “the continuous narrative. I put out an idea or a song and have conversations around that, that’s how we communicate. Somebody else puts something out, I respond to that. It’s the community of ideas that helps us build.”

of black dandyism.

“Being a dandy and being African-American has its own narrative for me,” Wellington says.

“Having that word attached to me is almost a challenge, a daily affirmation.

“For people of African descent, there is always a conversation between colonialism and our own identities. We often came to know classic men’s style through colonialism, but our own identity takes over. The Sapeurs in Africa and people of colour throughout the world, who may or may not identify with dandyism, find a way to bring their own cultural history into their clothes. Multiculturalism wins out.”

This goes for Wellington as well. “I am African.

That’s a proud part of my life, and I like wearing prints from Ghana or South Africa. But at the end of the day, I dress the way I dress because I love it.

You have to dress for the world you want to see.”

BLACK DANDYISM Wellington was also one of the first men photographed for the Dandy Lion project, which spotlit black men from all over the world who choose elegance or creative dress as a way of fighting stereotypes and forging a new identity. Is dandyism a political statement?

“A lot of people have different interpretations of what dandyism is,” Wellington answers. “For many it’s a sort of layabout elegance, a foppish non sequitur, a self-centred decadence. That’s not a political statement about anything other than your own self-obsession. To me, dandyism is also about being the best gentleman you can be. Being as educated, as conscious, politically aware, well-read, as well-versed, accepting and inclusive as you can be.”

In Brummell’s day, dandyism represented the triumph of style over birth – the Beau set fashions for le bon ton but was born middle-class. Today, issues of class and social mobility are at the heart

FULL COLOUR What makes Wellington stand out on the street — or, well, anywhere — is his combinations of color, patterns and vintage flash. You’ll never see him without a hat, which he wears at an angle so rakish you worry it will fall off.

“I like a higher crown, for fedoras and Stetsons,” he says. “I also like wider-brimmed boaters,

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NEW SUITINGS FROM THE

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ade especially for The Chap by Edinburgh tweed merchants Walker Slater. This three-piece suit is made in a medium-weight Shetland wool with a distinctive ‘birdseye’ weave, in brown or blue, and each of the three elements are also available as individual garments.

www.thechap.co.uk

Photo: © Joseph James Francis

which some people call skimmers. I have 16 — it counts as an addiction in a strange way! But a new boater is almost never what it should be – it will have a narrow brim, and they’re not laying the straw the way they used to. When look at vintage clothes, lot of materials and techniques have fallen by the wayside.

“Whenever you’re buying vintage, if you see something close to what you want but not exactly, you’re going to buy it, because the chances of finding it again are so slim. It bothers me when I hear about fashion houses that buy a vintage jacket, but want to replicate the fabric or weave, and so they swatch the fabric in the middle of the jacket. They have ruined this garment that somebody crafted, which someone could wear and breathe new life into. Some designers that do care will swatch a corner or inside lining.”

For tailoring, Wellington goes to Mustafa at Laura & Melinda Tailors on Rivington Street in New York’s Lower East Side. “I don’t currently have a custom tailor,” he says. “I used to use Natty Adams at Against Nature, but he has his own suit company now.” Adams, incidentally, is author of I Am Dandy, in which Wellington is warmly profiled: ‘There are few as generous, hospitable, and unaffectedly sweet as Mr. Wellington.’

CLUB SWIZZLE The show that brought Wellington to London this time is the sister show to the recent West End show La Soiree, and features cabaret MC Reuben Kaye, burlesque artist Laurie Hagen, aerialist Yammel Rodrigueq and acrobatic bartenders The Swizzle Boys. Wellington has already performed in the show in Adelaide and Perth, and even did two months at the Sydney Opera House.

Wellington’s role in the show? “I’m a classic song and dance man. A little bit of Fred Astaire, a whole lot of Harlem.”

You can bet that while here’s here in London, Wellington will be collecting some comments on the street — he doesn’t dress up for the stage, he dresses up for everything. What’s the best compliment he’s had?

“There’s nothing better than the way people do it in Harlem,” Wellington says with a smile. “It’s understated. You pass that older woman on the street, and she goes, ‘Mmm-HMMM.’ Or ‘Alright now.’ You can’t bottle that.” n Club Swizzle is at the Roundhouse in London until August 26. www.roundhouse.org.uk

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NEW GROOMING PRODUCTS FROM THE

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new addition to our online gentlemen’s accoutrements store is a grooming section, in which one may purchase the essential tools for a chap to make his fizzog beautiful, including badger-hair shaving brushes, safety razors, shaving soap in wooden bowls and shaving gift sets.

We are also now offering a special Chap Gift Set, which includes a lapel badge, cufflinks, a cravat, pocket square and a copy of the latest edition.

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Roger Moore “I’ve never received an Oscar – and after I went to the trouble of learning two more facial expressions.”

NICKOLAS GRACE

The Brideshead Revisited Actor on playing one of the louchest characters in fiction

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Irritating ice-queen or damaged dandizette? The two sides of the princess who loved to party

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The Egyptologist who always digs in vintage clothing

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The actor’s second outing as Oscar Wilde, in his new film The Happy Prince

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ISSUE 96

771749 966070 9 9 771749 966070

CROSSWORD 1

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By Xeno

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Solutions to crossword Issue 96 Summer 18 For help with the current one: crossword@thechap.co.uk

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I A D E F I A E A C R O O S U B L G C H E E M O R E E L R P O R I G T R A M U S S L

S N O B B I E R S T A V E S

S C S I T E A R T I A T A A N G U A T U L E S H M E L Y S T H E A I O U M T E S T I M L K S M I I N S U N R A M E N T A R C S S Y

A C T I V I S T O R E A M

R L E P S H R V A S R E A N Y G E D E D E D

ACROSS

DOWN 4 IArtistic figure 1. T hought would listen, cockneytakes said. (4)(third) time off from act (6) 2.

Fliers sent up to first class from a distance. (4) 10. 9Gymnast and actor working around degree.

(7) Maybe the Express write-up? (8,7) 3. More elitist misplaced no bribes. (8) 12. An exchange of hugs with one suffering. (7) 5 Livestock inventory for the auditor's 10 Excellently Gymnast actor working 13. and and delicately using citrus fruitaround for taste degree4. Artistic figure takes (third) time off from act. (6) agent (8)expedition agent. (8) 5. Livestockexpedition inventory for the auditor’s of (7) tequila. (9) 6. Platforms for performing parts. (6) 14. Maharashi Valmiki channels a deity. (5) 6 Platforms for performing parts (6) 12 Parting An exchange of hugsgoing with one suffering (7)7. Advocate for change wants act four first. (8) 15. word of revolutionary to eastern 8. Again 7 playing E sharp but it clearer.

(8) act four first (8) Spanish river. (7) Advocate formake change wants 13 Excellently and delicately using citrus fruit11. Ahem, confess!

(5) 18. The alternate Battersea music hall. (7) 8 Again for taste of tequila (9)to folk music. (5) playing 15. Superior to a private physical.E(8)sharp but make it clearer 21. Drunkenly staggers and dances (8)having retired, with fantastic suite over 23. a variety ofValmiki it on my set!

(9) 14 Witness Maharashi channels a deity (5) 16. Honoured, French sea. (8) 25. Sculpture built on valleys and mountains. (7) 11 Ahem, confess! (5) 17. Off script sketches. (8) 15 Fashionable Partingcommunist word ofwith revolutionary going to 26.

Soviet Union at heart 19. Diplomatic representative May’s rise. (8) getseastern protected.Spanish (7) 15 Superior river (7) to acomplicated private physical (8) 20. Variety resonated with England. (5) 29. Where the penny drops, hopefully! (9,6) 18 The alternate Battersea music hall (7) 16 inHonoured, having retired, with fantastic 22. Breaks musical lines. (6) 24. Avoids comedy sketches about monarch.

(6) suite over French sea (8) 21 Drunkenly staggers and dances to folk music 27. Leaders of religious event admit mislaying (5) Off (4) script sketches (8) pile17 of paper.

28. Act seen from the gods and the stalls. (4)

Across 9. Maybe the Express write-up? (8,7)

23 Witness a variety of it on my set! (9)

25 Sculpture built on valleys and mountains (7)

19 Diplomatic representative complicated May's rise (8)

26 Fashionable communist with Soviet Union at heart gets protected (7)

22 Breaks in musical lines (6)

20 Variety resonated with England (5)