News

To see the News Archive from Year One of the Club (October 2006 to October 2007) click here.

To see the News Archive from Year Two of the Club (October 2007 to October 2008) click here.

To see the News Archive from Year Three of the Club (October 2008 to October 2009) click here.

To see many splendid daguerreotypes documenting the Club’s antics, click here.

24^th February

And On the Subject of Film Nights…

I can now report that, after the success of our first one at the new venue, The Compass,, we now have two more scheduled.

Oh Thursday 15^th April Count Martindt Cally Von Callomon will present two documentaries about eccentrics, The Moon and the Sledgehammer (1971) and The Knife Grinder (early 1980s). Of them he says: “In The Great Celebrity Revolution (1995–the present day) our eccentrics have become packaged, classifiable, quantifiable, commodifiable and available for hire at the drop of a TV contract. This was not always so. Though today’s demands are for cuddly outrageous anti-social losers that live out our own misery by proxy, there was a time when our ‘eccentrics’ were shunned or forgotten by their very nature at not being willing to fit the mould.”

Then, on Thursday 20th May, the Earl of Essex will treat us to the 1974 Oscar-winning adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s seminal American novel The Great Gatsby, starring Robert Redford, Mia Farrow, Bruce Dern and Nick Carraway, preceded by some shorts about 1920s flappers.

13^th February

Film Nights Rise Joyously From the Ashes

A hearty hurrah for Ms Evadne Raccat, who curated the first Film Night in our latest series. The main feature was Mr Skeffington, starring Bette Davis as a spoilt society beauty, teasing suitors while doting on her ne’er-do-well brother—until he embezzles money and she is forced to marry for the cash. Her ageing and the loss of her beauty are a central theme, one that, as Ms Raccat pointed out, crops up in a number of Davis’s films. Not only did she allow herself to be filmed without make-up during the diphtheria scenes but after that, irreversibly ravaged by the disease, she was made up with fake latex wrinkles to look even older. Her long-suffering husband is played by Claude Rains.

Two shorts were presented before this, both vintage cartoons. One was a strange snapshot of the nightspot Ciro’s, the place for movie stars to be seen at the time, in which animated caricatures of celebs goofed around with no plot to speak of. The game is to see how many you recognise. The other animation was What’s Opera, Doc? a glorious Bugs Bunny cartoon in which Elmer Fudd is Siegfried from Wagner’s Ring opera cycle—and yet still hunting rabbits, this time summoning thunderbolts as a weapon. Things take a strange turn when Bugs disguises himself as Brunhilde and Elmer is smitten. The film has been voted the best animated short of all time.

The new venue turned out very well so, assuming they’ll have us back, I expect that we be returning there soon. Thanks to Evadne for organising it: I think that she’ll be penning some observations on the films for the next Newsletter.

8^th February

One-Armed Bandit Steals Single Cufflink

A one-armed thief is being hunted by police for stealing a single cufflink from a jewellery shop. The thief was pretending to look for a gift when he knocked boxes of cufflinks to the floor and took one in the shape of a boxing glove. The gold cufflink from CJ Vinten in Leigh-on-Sea, Essex, is worth £120. PC Steve Wells said, “We hope the public will help us identify this man.” Mind you, in one report he is described at wearing a “dirty bomber jacket”, so it’s unlikely he’s a gentleman who lost an arm in the war (or a duel) and is desperate to impress a lady. He could even be about to detonate a “dirty bomb” and needed the gold from the cufflink to manufacture some devious relay for the device. (Mind you he may simply have crawled straight from the dirty bomber in which he crashed, and felt the need to spruce himself up a bit before presenting himself at the RAF Club. So many possibilities.)

7^th February

Gentleman Dissected At Club Night

The Club’s February meeting was an upliftingly well-attended affair; included in the throng were a number of guests, including a French photographer who had covered the Chap Olympics for Le Figaro, and also a couple of groups who just happened to be in the pub and were curious as to what was going on upstairs.

Our guest speaker was Mr Robert Brook, delivering a talk On Being A Gentleman, one which he had previously given last September at Interesting ’09, a symposium of, well, interesting discourses that sounds like a whole year of NSC Turns rolled into one. (Mr Brook has no prior connection with the Club; a friend of mine knew him and had heard about his speech.) His talk was really an exploration of the manifold meanings that the term can have: is a gentleman defined by birth, by behaviour, by dress? Then there is the obituary term—“yet he remained, above all, a gentleman”. The term can mean that despite having none of the appearance, manner, lifestyle, background or circumstances of a gentleman there can be an aspect of one’s personality that makes one one. Meanwhile someone else can mire themselves in all manner of shady dealings and frankly blackguardly behaviour, yet remain a gentleman precisely because of his appearance, manner, lifestyle, background or circumstances.

There was no real conclusion to all of this: it was really a celebration of this peculiarly English concept (Mr Brook gave examples of foreign observers who, in attempting to define the gentleman, seemed to accept that England was the spiritual home of the idea). Our speaker clearly felt that gentlemanliness was an ideal that very much still had a place-indeed that the 21st century had a strong need for it. He suggested that the people in the room were doing good work in keeping it alive, though he also commented that he was glad he could see the exit, so who knows what he really made of us? All in all a splendid and thoughtful talk and our gratitude goes to Mr Brook for taking the time to deliver it to us.

13^th January

Film Night Returns Yet Again

Following the loss of our previous venue (it closed down—we didn’t raze it), our regular films nights are, I hope, set to rise again, phoenix-like, as we have found a new venue. It is The Compass, 58 Penton Street (on the corner of Chapel Market), in London’s Islington, near to Angle tube station. We have secured the upstairs room, where there is a projector and screen for playing DVDs. The venue is a busy, tastefully decorated gastro-pub so we’ll be able to chow down in style. We have the place till 11pm.

Our first event is on Thursday 11^th February, and the programme is one that Ms Evadne Raccat was scheduled to present before the old venue shut unexpected. First up is What’s Opera, Doc? a 1957 Bugs Bunny ten-minute Looney Tune cartoon revolving around Wagner. Considered by many to be Chuck Jones’s masterpiece—and by some as one of the finest animated shorts of all time—it features Elmer Fudd as Siegfried, yet still fixated on hunting rabbits. The usual chase takes an odd turn as Bugs disguises himself as Brunhilde and Elmer is smitten…

The evening’s feature presentation is the 1944 Bette Davis/Claude Rains movie Mr Skeffington, in which Davis portrays a society beauty who, when her feckless brother is exposed as an embezzler, is obliged to marry for money. Ms Raccat describes the film as “a little-known picture that is rather modern in its approach to story-telling. Bette Davis allows herself to become a monster in a way that would merit an Oscar and the description ‘brave performance’ these days. It’s also quite funny and has a dark side too. Pre-figures Davis’ performance as Baby Jane and in later horror movies.”

9^th January

Rapier-Like Performance From Mr Krause

At our January meeting Mr Anton Krause treated us to a lecture on Duelling For Dummies: The European Sword in Personal Conflict. Mr Krause, as you may remember, was one half of the pair who demonstrated Bartitsu, the Victorian walking-stick martial art, at our last summer party, Tempting Fête—where I seem to remember that he was always on the receiving end of the gentlemanly violence. By day he teaches stage fighting, both armed and unarmed, and arranges fights (for stage, I mean, not just in pub car parks). To illustrate his talk he brought a number of stage swords (cunningly transported in a guitar case), although he lamented that his favourite rapier was not with him, having been half-inched by someone at the theatre. One pities the soul when Mr Krause catches up with him.

Duels, we learned, are almost always illegal, and that this law is almost always ignored. While they are seldom fought specifically to the death, they are seldom fought specifically just to “first blood”—except in France, where duelling seems to have been more of a fashion accessory than a defence of honour. Mostly they are fought till one party cannot continue. And they were still going on in the early 1900s. Mr Krause took us through the development of the weaponry: and it seems that the message is that speed is of the essence. Duels started with lumbering medieval fights with broadswords or hand-and-a-half “bastard” swords, moving to the use of the rapier—actually heavier and slower than you probably think, leading to the partnering of it with a dagger in the other hand for parrying. We heard how, in unplanned street fights one’s cloak could be put to use as a parrying device (hence “cloak and dagger”). The rapier developed into the small sword, the ultimate duelling blade. It had been realised that slashing strokes were slower and more telegraphed than thrusting moves, and the small sword was all about thrusting. It was light enough to be used for attack and defence and would develop into the foil of modern-day fencing.

The rules seem to have been quite complex. You can only challenge someone to a duel if they were your social equal. Contrary to popular belief you do not challenge someone by slapping them round the chops with your gloves. Instead you throw you gloves at his feet (“throwing down the gauntlet”) and if he wanted to accept the duel he picked them up and slapped you round the chops. For all that, once the fighting started more or less anything goes: punching, kicking, gouging… Because duels typically took place at dawn (when other people were less likely to be about) the duellers sometimes held lanterns—which could be deployed as weapons too.

I would like to thank Mr Krause for a fascinating and well-received lecture.

11^th December

Monocles making a come-back?

The high street optician Vision Express is to start stocking monocles, at least in its central London stores, following a surge of requests from young men. Management sound perplexed about the trend but are prepared to roll them out across the country (not literally) if the interest is there. Monocles have never been entirely unavailable; you can buy an optical eyeglass from Dead Men’s Spex, Daniel Cullen or Peter Christian. They were highly popular before the war (despite, or perhaps because of, a 50% tax hike on them by the Irish Free State) and armed forces regulations restricted them to officers until 1943, but their popularity with German infantry officers apparently dented their appeal after that.

Writing in the Telegraph, eyeglass-wearer Gerald Warner opines: “An Englishman traditionally favours a gold-rimmed eyeglass with a gallery to hold it in place, attached to a black cord (my own practice). The degenerate French seducer will most likely sport his on a broad ribbon. Rimless eyeglasses are Prussian or Ruritanian. The Emperor Franz Josef of Austria, who wore the much more civilian-style pince-nez all his life, disliked monocles so intensely as symbols of strutting Prussian arrogance that he once refused to promote an Austrian general who sported one. P G Wodehouse himself set out the rules for eyeglasses in fiction: “Monocle: This may be worn by (1) good dukes (2) all Englishmen. No bad man may wear a monocle.” Warner also points out that Nancy Mitford declared the term “monocle” to be Non-U while “eyeglass” was U.

10^th December

Chaps, stuck for a Christmas gift for a lady?

Ladies apparently like to be showered with gewgaws, so if you’re trying to impress a filly that might be a good strategy. Of course, being a gentleman you haven’t a clue about jewellery—hence the appeal of the moustache ring. It is technically jewellery but, featuring as it does a splendid tash, you can feel you’re on familiar territory. And while she’s wearing it it’ll remind her of you (assuming you have a similar moustache—and if not, how come you haven’t skulked off to join the Foreign Legion yet?). Don’t attempt to style, wax or trim it, however. It is made of acrylic. It is available from Tatty Devine (who also sell a moustache necklace) or In All Her Finery for a recession-busting £9.

6^th December

Anarcho-Dandyism Celebrates Ten Years

Saturday 5^th December saw a rare thing—a party hosted by The Chap magazine (the last one was five years ago). The occasion was the magazine’s tenth anniversary and the setting was Conway Hall in London’s Red Lion Square. It was an apt venue, its 1940s style perfectly complementing the Chappist tone, and a good size to accommodate the hordes of revellers. In the main hall we saw dancing duo The Bees Knees, swingsters Twin and Tonic and the Zen Hussies, plus the inimitable Mr B. the Gentleman Rhymer who had the crowd roaring for more. In Louise Quatorze’s oriental Mao Tse Tung Lounge we were treated to Atters’ splendid paranormal lecture and the crooning of Antony Elvin. And of course Gustav Temple himself addressed the masses at ten o’clock; his message seemed to be that Phase One of the glorious revolution—the spreading of the sartorial word—was going well and the time had come for Phase Two. Which seemed to involved the removal from society of Chris Moyles, Katie Price and Elton John. Oddly specific. One wonders if there was something in the gin which, combined with cunning hypnotic tricks, might mean that all over the country revellers are waking up today with an inexplicable urge to go out and do murder. I must switch on the noctovision and see if a mysterious well-dressed crowd has gathered outside Moyles’ house waving candlesticks and cut-throat razors menacingly.

Club Bathed in Hellfire

Lord Rupert addressed a packed room at our last monthly meeting of the year on 2^nd December. His subject was Sir Francis Dashwood and Rupert’s thesis is that an incident on his Grand Tour, when he was scared witless by a “demon” which turned out to be a cat, and the subsequent publicising of this embarrassing affair by a clergyman, was what turned Dashwood against all things to do with the Church. There followed a period of partying designed to outrage good folk with its decadence, often in the cave complex Dashwood had constructed, wherein revellers were allowed to penetrate deeper in accordance with their acceptance into the inner diabolical core. In the end, after one scandal too many, his Hellfire Club fell foul of internal politics. Its secrecy compromised by public accusations, the whole thing fizzled out. To what extent Dashwood was really into deviltry, rather than just partying, is difficult to tell for sure, but Rupert clearly revels in the demonic possibilities. Many thanks to him for his talk.

‘Yes We Can-Can’ Really Can

The famous English sense of fair play got a good airing on Saturday 21^st November when the New Sheridan Club chose the French—our natural enemies—as the theme for the latest of our biannual parties. (It was what in the past would have been billed as a “Christmas Party”, but no date in December seemed suitable and I don’t think it’s on to use the C-word for any event outside of that month.) Many guests commented afterwards that they though it the best party yet.

We were back at the Punch Tavern on Fleet Street, scene of the Kredit Krunch Kabaret last year. But all Teutonic hints had been banished and the place decked out in red, white and blue, the tables strewn with garlic cloves and snail shells. Guests rolled up as auteurs and onion sellers, aristocrats and revolting peasants. The 1952 film Moulin Rouge played silently in the background while a programme of Gallic music, specially prepared by International DJ MC Fruity (Hatfield-Peverel), crooned from the tannoy.

Spicing up the evening were live performances from chanteuse Mademoiselle Maria (bearing a suspicous resemblance to Fraulein Maria from last Christmas…), and stand-up comedian Marcel Lucont, the embodiment of French charm, hauteur and misanthrophy who was bemused to see so many people dressed as the French without one genuine Frenchman in the building. (Afterwards, as he dashed off to another gig, he told me how nice the party was and how he regretted having to leave—you can imagine how preferable the refined and affable NSC crowd must be to the average late-night comedy audience…)

Our first game was Pin The Legs Back On The Frog. One might have guessed that our players were expressing their Frenchness by finding this concept alien—yet the best attempt actually came from Marcel himself. Of course being a performer, and French, he was not allowed to win.

Then came Onion Battle, derived from the game Orange Battle believed to have been invented, or at least recorded, by Sid G. Hedges (1897–1974), author of many books and articles on swimming, games and wholesome home entertainments for young people. Each player must balance an onion in a spoon held in one hand, while using another spoon in the other hand to unseat his opponent’s onion.

And of course there was the Grand Raffle at the end of the evening, plus the usual Snuff Bar and selection of soaps, colognes and hair dressings in the bathrooms—untroubled by looters this time, I’m pleased to say.

A big thank-you to all who came and helped make it such a splendid evening.

Maigret Considered

At the monthly Club meeting on 4^th December historian Mr Sean Longden made his second trip to the podium, this time to deliver a fond appreciation of Inspector Maigret, the pipe-smoking crime-solving creation of Georges Simenon.

Sadly our projection facilities were once again dogged by gremlins and the babbage device was unable to read Mr Longden’s compact disc (probably just needed more coal). But Mr Longden nevertheless painted an admirable word-portrait of a man who spends as much time deciding which coat to wear or what hat to buy as he does solving crimes. Which is just as well as he doesn’t seem to deduce the solutions—he just seems to know who the villain is. He is also fond of a drink and resists such insidious innovations as central heating.

11^th November

Yes We Can-Can!

The Club’s winter party is with us in just ten days! Come and relive the giddy splendour of the Moulin Rouge ofToulouse-Lautrec, an absinthe- and Champagne-fuelled orgy of high kicks and low moral standards.

The party is a celebration of all things French. It’s earlier than usual, on Saturday 21st November (so could not really be called a Christmas party as such) though we are back at the ornate Punch Tavern, site of last year’s Kredit Krunch Kabaret.

We’ll have musical delights from chanteuse Maria Trevis and some Gallic accordian noodling, French-themed food, plus the usual tomfool games with highly desirable prizes. Try your hand at Pin the Legs Back On the Frog or the sinister Onion Battle. (We’re also working on a game that involves blockading a port and preventing free trade at all costs.) There will be prizes for the best costumes and perhaps a sudden blitzkrieg prize for the first person to surrender to something or someone.

Our famous Grand Raffle will be in evidence, of course, with prizes including some absinthe, some oil paints and an easel, a beret, some garlic, cheese and snails, a model of the Eiffel Tower, a set of boules, Asterix comics, French-flavoured books, CDs and DVDs, plus a white flag and a packet of Gaulloises.

As usual entry is free to NSC Members, including anyone who joins on the night, and entry to the raffle is free but open to Members only.

Old Soldiers Spotted in Club Tie?

On Monday 26^th October members of the Normandy Veterans Association gathered for a service at Westminster Abbey, to mark the 65th anniversary of the D-Day Landings. Gordon Brown and Defence Secretary Bob Ainsworth were apparently lurking in the background. Many think it will be the last significant anniversary gathering of this kind, as the veterans’ numbers are gradually depleted.

But we say there is clearly life in the old dogs yet: in the picture below two of them appear to be sporting Club Ties, a sure sign that they have the energy to get up no good. I also see that they’ve awarded themselves almost as many medals as the NSC Committee have done.

(As an addendum I have subsequently been informed that the regimental tie in question is that of Her Majesty’s 17th Regiment of Foot, The Royal Leicestershire Regiment. Thanks to E. W. Hutchings for the gen.)

Along Came a Cider…

Mr Ian White is a Member not only of the New Sheridan Club but also of the Campaign for Real Ale, in which capacity he has organised a number of educational pub crawls around hostelries of note for the Club. On Saturday 3rd October he once again led a band of Sheridanites on an ale trail—except this time, in keeping with the season, there was an emphasis on real cider as well as real ale.

I missed the beginning of the migration, so I did not glimpse the Harp in Covent Garden. By the time I joined the group they were preparing to leave the second pub, Doggett’s Coat and Badge by Blackfriars Bridge—a fairly unprepossessing modern building which I could not bring myself to photograph. The next stop was altogether more interesting: the New Forest Cider Bar is a stall in Borough Market, a mecca for anyone after artisanal foodie fayre. Their cider on tap came in dry, medium and sweet varieties—the medium was pretty tart and the dry was guaranteed to rid you of that tiresome tooth enamel. We stood around supping from plastic pint glasses and ogling the lobsters on the seafood stall opposite.

Next stop was the Market Porter, a proper indoor pub scarcely 50 feet away. Clearly it’s an establishment that is proud of its guest ales, as the ceiling is studded with beer mats from past guests.

The Spanish tapas bar Brindisa was to have been next on the itinerary but it was declared too crowded so we sloped on to the Wheatsheaf on Southwark Street. This subterranean drinking den was once, I believe, a Davy’s Winebar, and the layout certainly seems reminiscent of one. We supped ale and lobbed darts at a dart board. After that it was time for me to melt away to another engagement, but the posse carried on to the last stop on the route, the stalwart Royal Oak on Tabard Street, clearly a favourite of Mr White’s as his trails usually seem to end up there.

Many thanks to Mr White for organising yet another enjoyable and enlightening tour.

Conkerer Conquered

At the October meeting the original scheduled talk by Matthew Howard, on The Big Siam: Oriental Excess in the East Indies, was hastily shoved aside (and I’m not saying it was on the advice of the Commision for Racial Equality) to make way for an impromptu conker tournament. In the pursuit of complete fairness, Mr Scarheart sourced, drilled and strung all the conkers himself. I myself missed most of this as I didn’t arrive till about 9.45, but Mr Howard tells me that the official winner was Lord Finsbury Windermere Compton-Bassett. (Mind you, I am pretty sure that Jessie challenged Compton-Bassett to a bout at the very end and beat him, arguably making her the champion.)

The longest bout was conducted between Torquil and Curé Michael Silver, possibly because of equally matched doggedness, determination and self-belief, but equally possibly because of mutual languor and endless breaks to mix fresh cocktails. William Smith was instantly dubbed William the Conkerer but in battle sadly failed to live up to this name.

Despite the brutal reputation that the game of conkers holds—it makes cage fighting look like a pillow fight—the only injury of the evening was sustained by Robert Beckwith who bellowed for ice for his hand (not his cider, as some supposed).

The dageuerreotype shows Fruity (sensibly wearing goggles) attacking Luke, while in the background the epic battle between Torqui and the Curé rumbles on.

Hackett Steals NSC Logo

Imagine the Committee’s horror when we passed the windows of the Hackett emporium on Jermyn street to see, winking at us from a polished vitrine, the tie and scarf displayed below. It was a cue for synchronised monocle-popping, as you can imagine. The items are part of Hackett’s Mayfair range for Autumn 2009 that “takes the modern gentleman from day to evening with seamless ease”. At the expense of the NSC’s intellectual property, it does.

It is just about conceivable that the Hackett designers came up with the concept all by themselves but I think it far more likely that they spotted our noble Brolly Roger design and decided to purloin it. Needless to say, a stiff letter is on its way to Mr Hackett’s in tray.

Mr Graves Steals the Show

Harold Hereward Graves, known in his professional capacity as Paul Gazzoli, scored a point recently with a letter to The Times.

I shall reproduce the full text:

Sir, If you examine the pictures of the Anglo-Saxon hoard from Staffordshire (report, Sept 25), you will note that the Latin inscription on one of the objects [see daguerreotype above] reads “surge domine disepentur inimici tui et fugent qui oderunt te a facie tua”, which should read “surge domine et dissipentur inimici tui et fugiant qui oderunt te a facie tua”.

This is taken from Numbers 10:35, “may they who hate Thee flee from Thy face”, fugiant being the third person plural present active subjunctive of fugio, “flee”. Fugent, however, is third person plural present active subjunctive of fugo, “put to flight, rout, cause to flee”, thus altering the meaning of the phrase considerably, to “let they who hate Thee rout” — the object is lacking, so we might fill in “Thee” or “us” or “Thine army” in place of “from Thy face”. Thus the Christians from whom this was putatively plundered by pagans were, through their incorrect grammar, asking for it. This only goes to show the danger posed by poor Latinity, as King Alfred recognised only too well.

As our Government threatens further cuts in education and the elimination of so-called pointless studies, this small piece of bent metal should stand in our minds as a grim warning.

Paul Gazzoli

Department of Anglo-Saxon,

Norse and Celtic,

University of Cambridge

William IV In Trouble

Not the monarch, who is doubtless past caring but the public house where we have been having our highly successful new run of Film Nights. I had a phone call from Henry the landlord to say that he’d basically gone bust, so he’d have to cancel our booked nights. However, he confidently predicted the place would be up and running in no time and we might well be able to resume our use of the Geography Room upstairs. Sadly at time of writing there has been no response whenever I have telephoned the place.

Eventually we may have to find a new home for our screenings, but I am inclined to persist with the William IV if we can as I have encountered no place that is its equal, especially not for no hire charge.