the free sample edition here

Contents
THE CHAP
MANIFESTO
Sample Edition
1 THOU SHALT ALWAYS WEAR TWEED.
No other fabric says so defiantly:
I am a man of panache, savoirfaire and devil-may-care, and I will
not be served Continental lager
beer under any circumstances.
CHAPPISH DISPATCHES
Beatniks Vs Hipsters, Viv the Spiv’s Joke Corner
6
AM I CHAP?
Readers are given helpful hints on being Chaps
9
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.
MEDIUM SIZED HADRON COLLIDER
How to build this splendid machine in your shed
12
REST IN SPACE
Michael Attree recalls meeting Sir Patrick Moore
16
THE BUTLER
Advice on buttons, business suits and shirts
22
LONG CUTS
William Smith on the correct cut of an overcoat
24
THE SIEGE OF SAVILE ROW
The Chap’s protest against Abercrombie & Fitch
28
When you have progressed beyond fondling girls in
the back seats of cinemas, you can stop wearing jeans.
LINEN JACKETS
Where to purchase this essential summer garment
32
5 THOU SHALT ALWAYS DOFF ONE’S HAT. Alright, so you
LADIES SMOKING PIPES
Photographs of ladies with their briars
34
THE ARTS OF THE GENTLEMAN
Tom Cutler on the art of seduction
38
INTERVIEW
Brian Blessed
42
FILM
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Diana Dors
47
MUSIC
Mr. B the Gentleman Rhymer on Edith Sitwell
52
CRICKET
Steve Pittard on Stalag fixtures during WWII
56
GROOMING
Shaving with a cut-throat razor
58
BON VIVANT
Neil Ridley on gin palaces and the perfect G&T
62
THE LIP WEASEL
Atters’ round-up of hirsute beauties and beasts
66
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.
4 THOU SHALT NEVER, EVER, WEAR PANTALOONS DE NIMES.
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, not beards.
SUBSCRIPTIONS & back issues
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a journal for the modern gentleman
i am dandy
baron carl
gustaf
mannerheim
jock
crombie
how
to be
witty
how
the actor got
spruced up
for his finest
role
Advertising
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66 Dec-Jan 2013
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a journal for the modern gentleman
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Please return to:
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tches
chappish dispa
Dresssing
DOWN
chap against chump
Beatnik vs Hipster
His facial hair is a
statement of rebellion
His facial hair is a
statement of fashion
He is studying Buddhism
He is studying sushi
He lives on the road
He lives on the Hackney Road
He is reading the great
American classics
He is updating his
Facebook profile
His freight train has no destination
His bicycle has no gears
He wears glasses because he
reads too many novels
He wears glasses because he
reads too many fashion blogs
He aspires to being a
Dharma Bum
He aspires to being a
bit of an ass
His belief system will
change society
His belief system will become an
article in the Guardian
He writes on a typewriter
on Benzedrine
He writes on Twitter
about Benzedrine
6
THE FOURTH GRAND
ANARCHO-DANDYIST BALL
This year’s decadent soiree sees the Chaps return to 2010’s elegant venue, the Grade-2
listed Bloomsbury Ballroom. The theme
of the Ball is “eccentric”, with the Gonzo
Dog-do Bar Band headlining – Britain’s
only tribute act to Vivian Stanshall’s surrealist
60s dada music-hall electro psychedelic outfit.
Other acts will include a real live flea circus,
tap dancing ladies, one-armed jugglers, birdsong impersonators and more. In the cocktail bar, the Flirtinis will teach you how to flirt,
Viv the Spiv will teach you how to smoke
contraband chocolate and our bartenders
will teach you how to drink 1930s cocktails.
The dress code is eccentric, eclectic, electric, esoteric.
The Bloomsbury Ballroom
Bloomsbury Square
London WC1B 4DA
Saturday 1st December 2012
Tickets: 0207 724 1617
www.nightof1000waistcoats.com
Viv the Spiv’s
JOKE CORNER
Out in the garden having a spit & a draw, I
peeped over my fence to see young Mary next
door, digging a hole in the flowerbed. Being
curious, as always, I asked what she was doing.
“I’m burying my Goldfish, Mr. The Spiv,” came
her tearful reply. “Oh, I am sorry,” I said, then
mentioned that it was rather a large hole for
such a small fish. “No it isn’t,” she replied.
“Because it’s in your cat.”
Coming out of my local Fish`n’
Chip shop the other day, I was
getting my gnashers stuck into
a piping hot Kate & Sydney
(Steak & Kidney) pie, when
an old Oil Lamp (Tramp) sitting on the ground looked
up at me and said, “I ain’t
eaten for three days
Guv’nor.”
“Well,” I replied, I wish
I had your willpower!”
The Pimlico Turkish Baths
WILL PATRONS
KINDLY REFRAIN
Am I Chap?
READERS ARE GIVEN A THOROUGH AND UNCOMPROMISING ASSESSMENT
OF THEIR CHAPPISHNESS. SEND YOUR PHOTOGRAPHS TO [email protected]
F ROM
INAPPROPRIATE
SWIMWEAR
SMOKING ANYTHING OTHER
THAN TOBACCO OR OPIUM
PETTING
LETTING ONE’S OCELOT
OFF ITS LEAD
WALKING EXCESSIVELY
BRISKLY
It isn’t quite clear
what this chap is
protesting against, but
he is wearing gloves to
hold his placard and
is almost impeccably
dressed. If he is a true
chap, he is most likely
protesting against the
dress code of his fellow
protesters, but in such
a subversive way as to
make them believe he is
on their side.
TALKING SHOP
These two ghoulish creatures
have been sent to us from the
future, to warn us that Human
Beings will, unless properly
informed on how to dress, end up
looking something like this.
THE USE OF
UNGENTLEMANLY SCENTS
EXPULSION OF
NOXIOUS GASES
“I live in the nineteen thirties,”
writes Stewart Vickers.
Well, sir, you had better move.
Ruben Baumgartner sent us this
photograph taken at our Grand
Anarcho-Dandyist Ball last
December. He seems as proud of his
waistcoat as of his lady companion.
In our humble opinion, they are both
a tad on the vulgar side. As to the
rest of Mr. Baumgartner’s outfit – we
didn’t realise they actually made
school uniforms in adult sizes.
The cursory glance that Paul
Wilson’s clothing merits is
immediately drawn to the
appalling collection of artwork on
the Anaglypta walls of his abode.
If his intention was to dress as an
homage to the china dog on the
mantelpiece, then Mr. Wilson has
been entirely successful.
Star Chap/Chapette
“I’m seated,” writes Jeff Gallo of New York,
“on my custom faux AJS Motorbike in tweed
1930s suit but lack the requisite hedgerow
and a Cotswold Cottage in the background.”
These Americans are obsessed with being
“cool”, aren’t they? Mind you, a chap who
thinks a hedgerow and a Cotswold Cottage
are cool can’t be all bad, and his tie is
knotted superlatively.
Amy Bland, on perusing our previous edition (issue 72)
thought one of the chaps in the Lip Weasel looked familiar,
and put pen to quill: “The ‘unnamed soldier’ in this month’s
edition is my handsome boyfriend, Capt. Jamie Glover.”
Then she sent us this photograph and our only course
of action was its publication in these pages, both on the
count of rectifying the anonymity of such a hirsute fellow
and also in celebration of such a splendidly dressed couple.
Mr. William Par Lintell entirely
proves our point above right.
“He is a teacher of English,”
informed the accompanying
letter from Matthew Lavery and
Meagan Lassaline, “and insists
on wearing matching coloured
shirt and socks with his suit
whilst educating the future
chaps and damsels of this fine
country. He enjoys reading
The Guardian of a Sunday
whilst sitting on a deck chair
in a gentlemanly fashion, cross
legged and smoking a cigar in his
back garden.”
The Guardian? No wonder.
“My name is Nikola T. Krastev and I am a 26-year-old computer
programmer living in London. In the photograph you can see me
leaning back on my little 1967 BSA Bantam and smoking Samuel
Gawith's ‘Fire Dance’. My crumpled, yet unadulterated, appearance
is due to my riding for 50 miles, in today's not so warm weather. I do
not remember an occasion in the past few years when I have been
in public without proper neck-wear. Usually my efforts in tying
bow-ties leads to better results than those visible in the picture.”
Bloody foreigners. Outdoing the home-growns by a long chalk.
Take this as a wake-up call, Chaps.
Patryk Fiedotow doesn’t even read
The Guardian. He reads skateboarding
magazines and lives in a shed.
The Chap met this extraordinary
fellow sauntering about Hastings
Old Town one fresh morning. He
goes by the name of River and
never wears shoes. Which, in
our view, is certainly better than
being called Patryk and wearing
horrible shoes (see left)
Medium-Sized Hadron Collider
THE
Gentleman’s
MEDIUM-SIZED HADRON COLLIDER
How to build a device that will answer some of the big
questions of the Universe in your garden shed or garage
by William Walker
G
entlemen! At something of a loose
end now the cricket season is over?
Washed the car and manicured the lawn
to within an inch of its life, and now find
you’ve nothing to occupy the old grey
matter this weekend? And to top it all
off, the good lady wife is away visiting
her Mother in Hull, and there’s no-one
about to cook your lunch!
Well, how about answering some of the
big questions of the universe? What
about seeing how matter behaved a tiny
fraction of a second after the Big Bang?
Not too bothered? Thought not ... but
then again, what about firing up the old
steam boiler and smashing a few lead
nuclei together? Now, that’s more like it,
now isn’t it, sir!
If you’ve ever put a shelf up or two,
making your own Hadron Collider
couldn’t be simpler, with these easy-tofollow, step-by-step instructions. Right
then, strip off the old tweed jacket, roll
up the shirtsleeves, square that knot in
your tie, and let’s get started!
YOU WILL NEED:
One (1) steam engine.
One (1) cwt. nutty slack – for the
burning of.
One (1) small tin of hadrons; or, failing
that; two (2) 2H lead pencils (not
graphite) – for the colliding of.
Pipes (4) bent billiard, churchwarden etc.,
– for the contemplation with.
Four (4) various tins of tobacco (2oz) –
for the relishment of.
One (1) pint bottle of Wainwright’s – the
whistle, for the wetting of.
One (1) ball of hairy string – for the tying
with.
Three (3) rolls of sticky (or Sello) tape.
Length of hose from vacuum cleaner.
One (1) Stapler + staples.
Two (2) grease guns, sans grease.
One (1) large hammer.
One (1) pound of six-inch nails.
One (1) flat-head screwdriver (just in
case).
SAFETY EQUIPMENT:
One (1) medium-sized tie clip.
Medium-Sized Hadron Collider
2.
1.
STEP ONE
Stoke the boiler and get it, and your pipe, lit and fuming.
While you are at it, put the kettle on.
4.
STEP FOUR
Into each of the grease guns, sans grease, insert a modicum
of hadrons. Fresh out of hadrons (and who isn’t?) and
pushed for time (and who isn’t)? Then do as I do and
substitute the lead of a 2H pencil (not graphite). Well, there
are surely some lead nuclei in a lead pencil, aren’t there?
Cut the vacuum cleaner hose in two (later to be invisibly
repaired with sticky tape, to ensure the trouble-and-strife is
none the wiser).
With the stapler, affix one half of the hose on to each
grease gun. Seal with tape.
STEP TWO
You should already have several parts of an
old steam locomotive in the back garden,
so nip out and bring in two pressure release
cylinders, the bigger the better.
3.
While the tea is brewing, contrive to
connect your steam boiler to the two
cylinders with the hairy string and sticky
tape, taking care that the joints are sound.
6.
5.
STEP FIVE
Arrange the sections of vacuum cleaner
hose in a circle, so the open ends are
opposite each other and approximately six
inches apart. Nail them to the floor.
Move on to pipe number three (possibly a
bent briar and a wad of Brown Study).
STEP THREE
Remove ends from grease guns.
Nail the grease guns, sans grease, one on to each of the
pressure release cylinders.
Move purposefully back into the house for your second
pipe of the day (possibly the churchwarden and the
Erinmore Mixture). Brew tea. Consume with digestive
biscuit and gusto.
Open the bottle of Wainwright’s beer,
pour, allow to settle, drink in one.
Position oneself approx. six inches from
the hose ends. Don’t worry, it’s quite safe.
If you’re concerned about safety, simply
squint your eyes; this should help in the
event of flying detritus.
STEP SIX
Throw the pressure release lever and send the lead
pencils hurtling towards each other.
Look on and gasp, as the very heart of ‘matter’ is
revealed. You may even catch a glimpse of the Higgs
Boson, in which case you have made scientific history.
Lean back and reward yourself for a good day’s work,
by packing your fourth pipe of the day with a goodly
wad of Old English Curve Cut. Well done, old Chap!
obituary
rest in
space
Michael “Atters” Attree on the experience of conducting what
turned out to be Sir Patrick Moore’s final interview on this planet
h
shirt-clad Patrick sternly penetrated me with his
e likes orchids...” squawked the costermonmonocle. “Hello, I’m Patrick”. Sir Patrick’s voice was
ger at the florists in the sunny Sussex vilcharacterful as ever, yet now had that dangerous ratlage of Selsey. She proved to be just nosey
tling quality of a man beyond his allotted years. “Sir
(rather than clairvoyant) as her eyes meanPatrick, this is exceptionally decent of you!”
dered from the copy of Patrick Moore on Mars
He gestured me to a chair “Just Patin my hand, up my plus-sixes and to rest
rick.” Thankfully my sycophantic
incredulously upon my moustache.
PATRICK, HIS MIND,
fawning soon calmed down
As I strode towards Sir PatHIS WONKY HOUSE, HIS ALIEN PLANT
as “Just Patrick” (with
rick’s sunken medieval
AND HIS POWERFULLY CHARGED MEMORABILIA
a mischievous smile)
house (with matching
WERE OF COURSE ALL A VITAL EXTENSION
garden) the lolloping
beadily scanned his
one billionth guest. He
white orchid looked conOF EACH OTHER
and Ptolemy – his beloved cat –
fident.
paid particular attention to making me
Upon arrival, I was directed down
feel welcome.
a wood-panelled hall by a no-nonsense nurse
in uniform. She had already warned me by phone
Throughout the interview, Patrick proved to be a
that Patrick’s tuxedo would not be back from the dry
jamboree of incredible anecdotes. Gleefully I extracted tales of a 1963 encounter with the Beatles
cleaners and that I must not mention the war, his late
girlfriend or ask to be shown his telescope.
and countless Dr Whos: “Tom Baker is fun... interesting Chap... likes his drink.” Patrick’s
Stepping into Sir Patrick’s office, a psychedelic
16
My chosen refreshment of a dry sherry arrived
on a tray (courtesy of the beleaguered nurse). Patrick
surprised me by claiming to be a hardened drinker,
“Yet I’ve never been drunk in my life. Can’t seem to
get drunk! I like to be in control of everything.” We
chatted about British hellraisers (Burton and Reed)
and savoured our tipple. “It’s Chilean. The Chileans
make the best wine.” I naturally asked if he’d met
the notorious ex-despot. “I have, yes. I have a great
admiration for General Pinochet...”
“Can you admit that?”
“Yes I can!”
(My sycophantic laugh piped in) “Of course...
You can say what you like! And you do!”
Despite his pro-sherry tendencies, Patrick was
fervently against all blood sports. “I don’t enjoy killing. If you had seen inside a working German concentration camp, as I did...” Asked if he was there
to liberate it, he looked up (with a knowing smirk)
and muttered, “I was just pottering around.” I wondered whether this supposedly idle comment meant
something highly top secret, brave and probably controversial. “They didn’t catch me... can’t talk
everyday speech pattern was that of a scientist reciting facts – his formula being to choose key words
only. A recurring theme was his unconditional love
for his dear late mother. It struck me that for a confirmed xylophonist he was an exceptionally sensitive
and gentle man, despite his (almost whimsically oldfashioned) psychotic hatred of Germans.
Seemingly engaged in a continual battle of
wits with his nurses, at one point Patrick requested
his own book on the subject of UFOs, apparently
housed “second from top shelf, five books from the
right”. His nurse, however dismissed his request as
if he were a child demanding a lollipop. “I’ve never
heard of the book, Patrick.” Hunched and muttering
to himself, Patrick ran an arthritic fist over a ream
of titles within his opulent library index. “It’s here
somewhere… Oh where is it? Here we are: page 28!”
He rattled off what sounded like a Polaris missile
launch code. Seemingly deflated, the nurse reached
over to the allotted shelf and handed him the book.
To a cacophony of antique clock chimes he beamed
back at her victoriously. This man was as far from being senile as he was from being a Soho pole-dancer.
17
11! Track 2!” On and on went the patriotic musical
pomp; I was truly impressed, yet I sensed our flustered button-punching DJ (the nurse) had heard it
all before. A loud mechanical “Cuckoo!” heralded
a blissful period of silence.
Our musings switched to the likelihood of intelligent alien life forms. “I don’t think I’ll live to see it,
but I’d like to,” he wistfully sighed. Stating that we
could hear such news tomorrow, the topic switched
to his mortality: “I’ve lived the life I wanted and
done the things I wanted to do”. Thankfully Ptolemy walked in to save us from a morbid tailspin. Patrick’s eyes glistened with liquid love as he tummy
tickled Ptolemy and rustled a bag of cat treats.
Time was ticking on (rather noisily) so I began
arranging props around Patrick for some photographs. He made numerous attempts to re-attach
his monocle, tutting at its failing glued rim. We
quietly busied ourselves, pleasantly conscious of
each other like two resident old pets. Looking at
me curiously, Patrick launched into a sudden barrage of personal questions: “Do you have children?
Are you married? Where do you live? Do you live
alone? What do you do on New Year’s Eve?” Having concluded that I was a confirmed bachelor, he
then invited me to his New Year’s Eve house party.
With the photographs done, a new blonde
nurse entered, having taken over the shift. Cooing
“Hello, handsome man!” she kissed Patrick on his
expectant cheek. “I want to be Patrick Moore!” I
cried. Smacking his lips, he chimed to me, “I think
it’s time for our sandwiches now, don’t you?” Judging by the nurse’s general “Are you still here?” glare,
I deemed it time to go. Half way down the sunken
drive I paused. I felt that strange
pang one feels when leaving an old friend. Even
the alien plant looked
forlorn as it waved a
limp goodbye.
about the war... still bound by secrecy.” After the
interview I learned that, since his death, rumours
have been rife about Sir Patrick being a high ranking British Intelligence agent during the Second
World War.
I noted Patrick’s sunken silhouette against the
cranky angled architecture and watched what appeared to be a carnivorous garden plant tapping
at the leaded window. Patrick, his mind, his wonky
house, his alien plant and his powerfully charged
memorabilia were of course all a vital extension
of each other. As a privileged witness, I felt rather
melancholic knowing that one day – probably very
soon – both Patrick and his world would have to be
dismantled.
As if to remind himself of his pre-disabled
versatility, Patrick began playing me recordings of
his personally composed music. His joyous expression was periodically interspersed with waves from
his arthritic fists and angered cries of “I can’t do
it now!” Then in slightly calmer tones: “Can we
have track 3 please?” And, “Play the first track
on here...” (A Royal Command Performance on
the xylophone). “If we could have track 4…” (his
xylophone ballet). By now I had lost him. “Track
Sir Patrick
Alfred CaldwellMoore, 1923–2012
the chap
questionnaire
E d H a rc o
urt
Age: 35
Occupation: Singer/Songwriter
Birthplace: Wimbledon, London
Education: Fencing School
Early Career: Soux-Chef, Stuntman, Gigolo
Other Interests: Drinking, Taxidermy, Frowning.
What is your idea of absolute heaven?
A roaring fire, a never-ending supply of strong,
peaty scotch, some decadent company and a
game of strip charades.
And your idea of a hell on earth?
Waking up extremely hungover and accepting
that the world is just one gargantuan shopping
mall rammed to the rafters with clowns, wasps,
mosquitoes and Simon Cowell.
What three items of clothing would you
never consider lending to anyone else, under
any circumstances?
My black tailcoat, a three-piece grey suit that
belonged to my father and my grandfather’s Royal
Engineers military jacket.
Do you have any of your clothes made by
a tailor?
Yes. One is my father’s tailor who works on Savile
Row and tailored my wedding suit. My wedding
waistcoat however was made in Fulham by the
people at Old Hat and was tailored Edwardian
style at my request.
Who do you think is or was the greatest
dandy?
For me the great David Niven comes to mind. It
wasn’t just about the way he dressed, which was
exquisite, more his talent for hilarious anecdotes
and that equal balance of mischief and charm.
18
Can you name any men living today whose
dress sense you admire?
My eccentric chum Mr. Darren Berry, who plays
in the Penguin Cafe Orchestra, never fails to tickle
me pink with his outlandish attire. Bill Nighy’s
ongoing obsession with navy blue suits invokes
a slight thrill and I think the esteemed ‘Sapeur’
gentlemen from the Republic of Congo are
extreme sartorial trailblazers.
Is there any item of clothing you desperately
seek but have not yet managed to find?
A nice white suit that rejects all stains, especially
red wine. I have ruined too many to remember.
What item of clothing are you determined
never to wear?
‘Croc’ shoes.
What type of facial hair do you think is
suitable for a gentleman?
I would say the top lip should always be covered;
do not sport the ‘Abe Lincoln’ unless you are
actually dead or Amish.
How many different varieties of hat do you
own, and which is your favourite?
I have a couple of flat caps, including a Christy’s
newsboy; a white fedora, a Guatemalan
plantation hat I lifted from my brother and a large
Russian rabbit fur hat. But I think my favourite
has to be the menacing ‘Amran’ Fez that resides
in my dungeon. I only wear that on very ‘special’
occasions.
SHOP
A DISCREET GENTLEMEN’S EMPORIUM
Open for business 24 hours a day
dressing up
Departments: Grooming, Reading, Smoking, Listening, Gift Boxes
Our extensive new grooming department now stocks a vast range of
gentlemanly unguents, lotions, potions and lathers, as well as the hardware required
to remove stubborn bristles. Moustaches, obviously, are well catered for as well.
Our gift boxes provide the perfect introduction to Chappishness, via a collection that
will set any proto-gentleman well on his way to Niven-like Nirvana.
Back issues of our humble publication are available, stretching right back to the
early days, long before the advent of colour printing and before chunky
cardigans became fashionable.
THE BUTLER
Page 22
OVERCOATS
Page 24
THE SIEGE OF
SAVILE ROW
Page 28
LINEN JACKETS
Page 32
THE BOUDOIR
OF PERFUMED
LATAKIA
Page 34
www.thechap.net/shop
The Butle r
at your service
Mr. Bell is the Chap’s resident butler, whose sole desire
is to attend to your socio-domestic-sartorial conundrums
J. Collis: Living in a frightful ex-colony across the pond, I find myself often
required to attend meetings with those
whose companies adhere to ‘business casual’ dress codes. Unfortunately, wearing
a suit in such occasions often gives an
air of being professionally old-fashioned
and inflexible. As such, what do recommend wearing to maintain one’s chappishness while not intimidating those one
aims to do business with?
The Butler: Ah, Mr Collis. A
real pleasure to hear from you
once again Sir! Indeed, this is a
problem encountered on both
sides of the pond, you shall find.
Well, the sensible option for these
things is to keep it simple. A suit
two piece, nothing flamboyant or
over the top colour wise, for as you
quite rightly say, it can frighten
them, Sir! Also you may consider
not wearing a tie but rather a simple cravat; this again is casual but
at the same time smart and not
too regimented! I look forward to
Correct use of hair
tonic in the 1920s
Incorrect quantity
of undone buttons
the maximum length of hair a true chap
can have, before moving into unacceptably choppy waters chap-wise?
The Butler: A problem, you shall
be relieved to know, that not only
affects your good self, Sir, but a
good many other gentlemen! The
traditional method which most
chaps prefer is a simple short back
and sides, so that one may develop
a nice parting! For example, Sir,
Gentlemen’s hairstyles back in the
1920s were simple. The top layers
were left longer but were combed
back and greased with tonic to
provide a sophisticated look! This
picture I have found of a young
gentleman shows what can be
achieved, Sir, and looks more than
acceptable.
your visit again, Sir, to this country so that I may be of service
once again to you!
Mr. Parsons: I have a question of
the utmost importance to put to you, my
good man. Being somewhat young in appearance, I have discovered that I look
less youthful with longer hair, which is
of great value to myself in my profession. Yet I have some grave concerns regarding optimum hair length. What is
SHOE MAINTENANCE TROUSER PRESS ETIQUETTE LAUNDRY GROOMING
22
DINING
SMOKING
Ryan Tomlinson: When wearing
a casual everyday cravat, should one have
one or two shirt top buttons undone? I
have seen and done both, but I'm not sure
what is more acceptable? One seems like
a waste of cravat and two seems too rakish. What would your opinion be, sir?
The Butler: I would certainly
recommend the one button option, if the truth be told, Sir, alSEDUCTION
TELEPHONE MANNER
Correct quantity of
undone buttons
though it can depend on how
casual one wants to appear.
Sometimes subtlety can be more
favoured than allowing oneself
to expose too much of the cravat,
Sir. The cravat is not a replacement for a tie, neither can it be
worn sloppily and without some
thought, so you would be safer,
in my opinion, sticking to the one
button in most cases, unless you
feel particularly daring and wish
to – ahem – expose more, Sir!
T J Green: Where does one find trousers of the correct cut these days? There
are many types of leg attire available but
I am unable to find any that fit the bill.
Jackets, shirts, ties, socks there are plenty;
but with trousers there appears to be a
dearth.
The Butler: Indeed Sir! In an
ideal world, one would be able to
have suitably high-waisted, fish tail
back, button-fly trousers to hand
at any opportunity, Sir! However,
should that not be the case, may
I recommend the following establishments that would be able to assist you Sir! www.fogeyunlimited.
co.uk is an excellent on-line em-
INVITATIONS
COURTESY
23
porium which stocks a very decent
selection of men’s trousers for all
occasions Sir! Should you wish to
have a pair of pantaloons made to
measure, then www.spencers-trousers.com offer a very good service.
James Potter, RAF: I am struggling to find a supplier of long-sleeved
Wedgwood blue shirts. I intend to replace the godawful standard issue shirt
as supplied by the lowest bidder to her
majesty’s services. The current shirt is
ill-fitting, scruffy looking and has little or
no natural material used in its manufacture. Can you recommend a traditional
supplier that will allow me to look smart
and stay within the regulations for dress?
The Butler: A pleasure to assist
you, Sir! Well, I must admit, after
doing some research into these
shirts, I can understand your situation – the fine line between comfort and regulation, Sir! This is one
of the more sensible places I have
found that stocks exactly what you
require and seem rather sensibly
priced: www.meanandgreen.com.
They stock the better manufactured variety and are entirely suitable for you in service Sir!
COLLAR MAINTENANCE
SUIT PRESSING
dressing up
LONG
CUTS
William Smith, newly installed as Head Cutter at
Douglas Hayward, incredibly finds the time to
pen an instructive tract on overcoats
A
field could be worn, whereas if one is on the field, a
s the nights draw in and the weather turns,
fuller cut such as the Raglan may be more the thing.
the annual ritual of retrieving heavy,
The Chesterfield, which takes its name from
woollen overcoats from their summer
the Earl, was the start of the modern overcoat. It
hideaways begins. The heady scent of
replaced in popularity the body-fitting coats such as
mothballs brings a feeling of impending frosty days,
the frock coat or paletot, both of which had lots
wrapped up against the elements; trusty tweed
of panels and a waist seam for extra supupon back and briar in hand. As well as
pression. This coat was cut along the
protecting a finely pressed suit from
THE BEST LINING
same lines as the lounge suit
the elements, the overcoat proFOR WINTER IS HEAVY COTTONand thus provided a more
vides further warmth and
BACKED SATIN, WHICH PROVIDES ADDED
comfortable garment.
is another weapon in
It is long, usually being
the sartorial armoury,
INSULATION; THIS OF COURSE ONLY IF THE
affording the wearer
worn midway between
BUDGET CANNOT STRETCH
the knee and floor and has
another opportunity to cut a
TO FUR
a deep centre vent. It can be single
dash. If this garment is missing from
or double-breasted and is most commonly
your wardrobe the question is not should
you buy one, but which one should you buy?
made in navy and charcoal coloured cloth, with
There are a number of styles to choose from.
a velvet top collar, although this is not compulsory.
The cross-pockets are usually straight with flaps. A
Whether single or double-breasted, tweed or cashticket pocket is often found on the right hand side at
mere, the clothes beneath are usually the governing
waist height and a breast pocket invites the flourish
force in the choice of over-garment. If one is dressof a silk pocket square. The cut is close but coming for work, a formal variety such as the Chester-
24
fortable, with enough swing over the hips to allow for
greater movement. When inspecting a single-breasted
variety, you will most likely observe that the buttons are
concealed by a fly front. They can, however, be visible.
A versatile style of coat, indubitably.
If the Chesterfield seems a tad stuffy, then you
could opt for a Crombie, whose cut is more boxy and
shorter in length. The style has been in production
for at least a hundred years and its name is derived
from the firm that first made them. A Crombie classically has three exposed buttons, is made from navy
coloured, heavy 20oz cloth and has a velvet collar. It
is usually worn mid thigh and was popularised by the
Skinheads and Mods of the 1980s. A true Crombie
is made in the Crombie factory and from Crombie
Cloth. I hasten to add that other styles of overcoat are
available from said firm.
A similar coat in both shape and length, although
admittedly slightly more waisted, is the covert coat.
This is another garment that is crafted from a cloth
that bears its name, which was derived from the particular use that it was most suitable for, namely riding and
stalking through the coverts of the English countryside.
This is due to its tight weave and therefore its hardiness
against bramble. It too is worn mid-thigh
and often with a velvet collar. It has
no cuff buttons but instead has
three rows of stitching that
run parallel with the cuff and
the hem of the coat. Some
firms vary the number of
lines but three is enough,
as they are there to stop
the edges from lifting
when wet.
The Raglan, which
is a cutter’s nightmare
due to the fussy alignment of sleeve seams
that start at the back
neck and culminate at
the bottom of the armhole, is ideal for walking
in the country. It can be
made in any overcoating,
but is most commonly seen
in tweed. It is cut very full at
the chest, waist and over the
hips, allowing for the maximum of movement and the
wearing of multiple layers of
Harris underneath.
The feature that gives the coat its name is favoured
for the ease in movement it gives the arms, while retaining an elegant line. A style as suited to commuting as it is to tramping. It is usually fly fronted, with a
high neckline and crowned by a Peter Pan collar. As
with most overcoats it is made with a centre vent. The
cross-pockets most suited are Welt, set at an angle to
allow easier access for the hands. It is is a comfortable
garment, providing both protection and a refuge from
the harshest of weather. It too is named after the nobleman for which it was first created, Lord Raglan, a
prominent figure at the Battle of Balaclava.
The Guards Coat is based on the garb worn by
the officers of the Guard. It is double-breasted with a
very generous lapel and collar, has swelled edges and
is characterised by the long, deep inverted pleat in the
back that is controlled by a loose half belt, which gives
the suppression needed. This is a supremely elegant
sartorial offering, often made from cashmere or camelhair. An excellent example can be seen worn by Robert Donat (pictured above) in his portrayal of Richard
Hannay in the 1935 version of The 39 Steps, directed by
Alfred Hitchcock.
If one is having an overcoat made, all manner
of embellishments are possible for the discerning
chap: from turn-back cuffs (both grown-on, which
allow the wearer to turn down the sleeves, gaining precious warmth, and laid-on, which are just
for show) to poacher’s pockets that no longer hold
a rabbit but rather the morning paper. Then there
are belts, as on the Polo Coat, a luxurious,
25
illegitimate child of the Guards Coat and the doublebreasted Chesterfield, which should be crafted from
the sumptuous pile of Vicuna, or its poorer cousin
cashmere. You can even request set-in sleeves, as featured on the Loden, a coat favoured by our Tyrolean
friends and again named for the cloth that it is hewn
from, a coarse fabric of deep forest green.
The best lining for winter is heavy cotton-backed
satin, which provides added insulation; this of course
only if the budget cannot stretch to fur. Double-faced
fabrics allow for an unlined coat, plain on the outside
with a dandy tartan as its interior; a feature often seen
on duffel coats.
As you can see, whether you are a budding Sherlock or even an imitation Arthur Daly, you will find a
plethora of overcoat styles to choose from. So why stop
at one? Have two. Or maybe three.
THE CASE OF THE MISSING OVERCOAT
William Faulkner in his Harris Tweed overcoat
with raglan sleeves, and pockets that easily
concealed two square bottles of bootleg gin
26
Despite being set in the modern age, the
BBC’s most recent production of Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle’s stories, Sherlock, has been
just as fastidious in the wardrobe department
as period pieces that smothered the sleuth in
tweed capes and deerstalkers.
Benedict Cumberbatch’s coat, the Belstaff
Milford, is the sole piece of costume retained
for the character from the original 2009
pilot episode, as chosen by original costume
designer Ray Holman and kept on by current
wardrobe incumbent Sarah Arthur.
The Belstaff Milford is made from
pure Irish wool tweed, bonded with a
sophisticated, ultra-light microporous film,
to make it waterproof without altering the
natural qualities of comfort and breathability.
Detailed with distinctive red buttonholes,
three Belstaff Milfords were originally
purchased from the Belstaff store on
Conduit Street, London: one for Benedict
Cumberbatch, one for the stunt man and a
spare. In addition, co-creator of the series
27
Mark Gatiss bought
one for Cumberbatch
as a gift. That was in
2009, but since then
Belstaff (clearly not
with its eye on the
publicity ball) have
ceased production
of the coat. They
reintroduced it
briefly in 2010, to
mark Sherlock’s
television debut,
but not in large
enough numbers
for the coat to
enter circulation.
Devoted fans now
have to resort to
inferior copies, as
there are no plans to
reintroduce the
coat again.
THE SIEGE OF SAVILE ROW
M
onday 23rd April 2012. Protesters from The
Chap assemble outside the proposed new
Abercrombie & Fitch store at number 3, Savile Row.
Colour photographs by
STEPHANIE WOLFF
Black and white photographs by
MICHAEL STERN
L-R: The Earl of Waveney, Pandora Pitstop, Torquil
Arbuthnot, the Chairman (in a safari suit modelled on
those peddled by the original Abercrombie & Fitch,
when they were a gentlemen’s outfitter)
The owner of the largest handlebar moustache at the protest expresses his feelings
about the proposed opening of the store
Michael “Atters” Attree, armed with a riding
crop and a Georgian bow tie, reminds the
locals what Savile Row is all about
Mark Hiley does a quick
protest in the morning,
before an entire day of
loafing about Soho
Miss Minna and Sarah Sewandsew
had lead weights in their handbags,
in case the CEO of Abercrombie &
Fitch happened to walk by
A journalist who lent his support
to the cause by filing a story for his
newspaper in the Dominican Republic
This chap took a break from protesting in the strongest possible terms by
taking a leisurely puff on his briar
Summer Jackets
FRENCH CONENCTION @
MOSS BROS
www.moss.co.uk
100% Linen, tailored fit, nice
textured finish and jetted
pocket flaps; extremely and
practically lightweight even
though fully lined.
£149
We sent Bill Coughlan and Charlie Kininmonth to an ordinary
British high street to see if a Chap can buy a decent linen jacket
£395
£54
Models: (left) Bill Coughlan, (right) Charlie Kininmonth
£39
£265
TU@SAINSBURY’S
www.sainsburys.co.uk
Cotton linen mix. Bargain basement price but
surprisingly well constructed and fully lined.
Probably won’t crease as much as pure linen,
which for some would be a disadvantage.
DARCY CLOTHING
www.darcyclothing.com
100% Cotton drill workman’s jacket,
available in beige or navy blue with
patch pockets. One could wear it equally
to fix the boiler or attend a picnic.
JIGSAW
www.jigsaw-online.com
Perhaps the raciest number, with its DB
lapels and Fitzcarraldo shade of off-white,
and seems durable enough to survive a
sweaty trip to the Amazon.
EDE & RAVENSCROFT
www.edeandravenscroft.co.uk
100% Italian linen, real horn buttons.
The priciest in our range but benefits from
300 years of tailoring experience from
London’s oldest tailor and robe maker.
Model: Millicent Binks. Pipe: Meerschaum
The Boudoir of
PERFUMED LATAKIA
W
e sent photographer Nick Mann and a clutch of handsome ladies to answer
that age-old conundrum: why do so few ladies smoke pipes? Hopefully these
photographs will encourage ladies across the land to pilfer their Chap’s briars and
perfume their own boudoirs with the scent of Latakia
Photography Nick Mann www.nick-mann.com
Models: Lydia Darling/Marianne Cheesecake. Pipes: The Chap’s Own Bent Briar/The Chap’s Own Straight Briar
Model: Banbury Cross. Pipe: Meerschaum
Model: Marianne Cheesecake. Pipe: Clay pipe
Model: Marianne Cheesecake. Pipe: BBB ‘Own Make’ Straight Briar
Model: Annette Bette Kellow. Pipe: Clay pipe
feature
The Arts of the Gentleman:
SEDUCTION
Tom Cutler continues his instruction in the gentlemanly arts
by giving some useful tips on seducing the ladies
W
But things were to change, for the mayor of
hen I was a boy, during the Middle Ages,
Dorsten had put on a party that evening in the town’s
my school band and I were invited to
Alte Rathaus to encourage a mass comingling of us
visit a North German town situated on a
minstrels and our German hosts. And so it was that
flat blanket of ploughed mud, sprinkled
under the rafters of this historic municipal erection
with snow-covered cabbages and the occasional
the svelte outlines of the rabbit-fancier’s cousin
stainless steel factory. In this desert of wind
caught my eye.
and brassicas, I was put up in a remote
I'M A BRUNETTE MAN
Now, I’m a brunette-man myself
farmhouse with electric shutters
MYSELF, BUT INGEBORG WAS A
but Ingeborg was a 17-yearand a basement stocked
17-YEAR-OLD BLONDE CORKER, SO I DECIDED
old blonde corker
like a good-size
TO PERSUADE THIS PNEUMATIC CREATURE TO
whose sultry credentials
Londis. One day, the
SHOW ME ROUND HER
were altogether unimfamily’s eldest son led me
POTATO CLAMP
peachable. I therefore swiftly
down the back garden to some
decided to forget my colour prejudice
wooden boxes on stilts. ‘I will show
and persuade this pneumatic creature to show
to you my hairs’, he announced startlingly.
me round her potato clamp.
I soon realized that he meant ‘hares’, or ‘rabbits’,
Even as a callow 15-year-old, I recognised the fewhich is what he was taking me to see. It was turning
male laugh as an inaugural index of surrender in any
out to be not the holiday for which one had been
seduction campaign – a kind of Maginot Line,
hoping.
38
tassel. “So, what are you named?” he oozed. We were
round the back of St Agatha’s Cathedral, where he
had ambushed Ingeborg and I, as he thought delicto,
though not exactly in flagrante. I affected indifference, and, with a stab at heroic disdain, told him my
name. Unfortunately, I chose this moment to allow
some punch to dribble down my shirtfront on to my
battered desert boots. He looked me over, expertly
knocking a particle of ash off the end of his cigarette.
“I shall call you ‘Arse’,” he said, “because you are
an arse.” His grasp of English idiom was uncanny
and his pronunciation exquisite. I myself spoke only
a form of sporadic Schule Deutsch and, in any case,
would never have been able to trump his PrinceOscar-of-Prussia-esque refinement with my ungainly
Jim Davidson-ness. Things were going badly.
But Ingeborg was showing signs of resentment
at her brother’s attitude, so, embracing simplicity, I
seized my chance. “Do you realise what you look like
in those shorts?” I said. Fritz made a noise like a man
who has just taken a boot in the loins and Ingeborg
let out a muffled laugh. It felt like the Liberation
which the foot soldier must cross for any
hope of final victory. So I launched my
Ingeborg-invasion strategy with a round
of tactical small-arms badinage. Over
a glass of alcohol-free ‘punch’ ladled
out by a giantess in a commodious
dirndl, I began by pretending that
I believed Ingeborg to be called
‘Ironing board’. This seemed
frightfully hilarious to me but,
as a more practised lady-killer
might have explained, it was a
maladroit start and I succeeded
only in arousing the indignation
of Ingeborg’s impossibly sleek
elder brother.
Fritz cut a Teutonic dash as
he stepped from behind a tree,
dressed in Country Estate style
or what he called Landhausmode:
long white socks, lederhosen,
and a pointy hat with scarlet
39
HOW TO SEDUCE A LADY
1. Do pay attention to your body language: look
into her eyes and point your anatomy directly at
hers. Stand in a forthrightly masculine pose – not
like Frank Spencer in Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em –
your glance, voice, and dominant bearing exuding
sexuality. Your feet should be wide apart and
your thumbs frequently pointing towards your
‘gentleman’s area’. Standing like this raises her
temperature while saving on a lot of chat.
2. Don’t bother with intensive grooming – you
don’t want to look continental – neat and tidy
will do. Neither need you be handsome; this has
little to do with it, despite what you might think.
Better to be rich, actually.
about herself. ‘What’s your favourite sexual fantasy?’ is a good question, though ‘Are you a virgin?’
will tend to diminish your mysterious allure.
3. Be as tall as possible.
Read the tips on the right, so
that you'll look more like this
If this is more or less how you look
when confronted with a lady...
is that the people I meet who claim to have a GSOH
often turn out to have a remarkably BSOH or even a
FASOH.
But there is no doubt that women are sexually
attracted to men who can make them laugh – including Ken Dodd, apparently. Humour is a sign of
poise, aplomb and intelligence – a dodge by which
the refined gentleman can, nay, often does, dominate
the rippling hunk. And it’s so much cheaper than
flowers. So do not fret if you lose all the arm-wrestling
contests, for there is truth in the notion that a man
can laugh a woman into bed. Moreover, superior
seduction is commonly a slow-burn affair and the
connoisseur will often take pleasure in overwhelming
his subject unhurriedly. Tom Baker once said that ‘the
joy of seduction is the manipulation’, and how much
more gentlemanly is the measured inexorable engulfment than a drunken rugby tackle.
For those in search of tips, I have here assembled
a tear-out list of the best of the lowdown in this department. My book, Slap and Tickle: the unusual history of
sex and the people who have it, contains a good deal more
on the subject.
of Paris all over again, so I pressed my advantage:
“We’re going for a walk,” I remarked, encircling Ingeborg’s minute waist with my arm, “Why don’t you
push off.” It was not very gentlemanly behaviour but,
despite my gross tactical errors, the initial skirmish
in the seduction offensive seemed to have gone my
way. As we turned to go I noticed for the first time the
undue tightness of Fritz’s lederhosen, the mark, I felt,
of a repressed sex pervert.
The point of all this recherche du temps perdu is that,
when it comes to inveigling ladies, confidence can
trounce sophistication and experience. Indeed, for
many women a prospective mate’s personality will
override his physical shortcomings. Top of the list of
essential traits is a ‘good sense of humour’. So important is this requisite that ladies have boiled it down to
an abbreviation to be used in what used to be called
‘lonely hearts’ advertisements. A ‘GSOH’, if you’ve
got one, is a powerful romantic tool, and married
women who describe their husbands as ‘witty’ – which
is different from ‘humorous’, but let’s not split hairs –
say they are more satisfied with their marriage than
women who say their men lack a GSOH. The trouble
40
4. Don’t be too ‘nice’: being ‘nice’ will get you
nowhere. Being a bit of a bounder – though never
a cad – is the thing.
11. A chap may pay a woman the occasional compliment but should steer clear of disasters such
as, ‘I like older ladies; You don’t sweat much for a
fat lass; You disguise your heavy midriff cleverly
with that poncho; and, Do you want to see a trick
I learned in prison?’
5. Do be assertive, confident, and persistent –
but don’t be a boor.
6. Do touch her: don’t grab hold of her bottom
or pull her hair. Instead, touch her lightly on the
‘safe’ areas – forearms are a good place. You’ll
have plenty of time later for the other, unsafe,
bits.
12. Do keep your eye on the ball: you’ll know
quickly (within seconds, actually) how interested
she is. If you can’t spot this you’re lost, for now is
the time to kick chivalry into the long grass and
overwhelm her with the bold move.
7. Don’t try too hard: it shows you care, which
you shouldn’t. Indifference is much more alluring.
Maintain a cool, elusive intrigue.
13. As a final tip in the seduction game, I should
point out that you must never buy a lady flowers
from a petrol station, or anywhere like Londis.
Girls can sniff out cheap flowers a mile off. Incidentally, ‘Londis’ is an interesting brand name,
the origin of which is unusual. In an attempt
to glamorise his shops, the ‘inventor’ of Londis
seems to have conflated the Lond- of London and
the -is of Paris, just as 1930s marketers added the
NY of New York to the -Lon of London to concoct the word nylon. ‘Londis’ is not a very glamorous conjunction but is better, I suppose, than the
alternative, which would have been ‘Pardon’.
8. Do share danger with her: scientists have discovered that going on a fast toboggan ride with a
man causes a woman to become attracted to him.
Worth knowing. I mean, how much does a ride on
the ghost train cost? Just feel her cling to you.
9. Do be funny (if you can): after all, the guffaw is
the orgasm a lady is permitted to have in public.
10. Do shut up about yourself: instead, ask her
41
interview
BRIAN BLESSED
Michael “Atters” Attree met Barrel-voiced Thespian
Brian Blessed at Berystede Hotel & Spa at Sunninghill
near Ascot, to discuss luvvies, punch-ups, yetis, the
Dalai Lama’s sex life and climbing Everest in tweeds
L
actor! You must look at Basil! We’ll have to go again!”
I buggered up all the filming.
et’s start with a few warm-up questions first. Are you a luvvie?
Oh no! Can I just say, down the road from
here you’ve got Ken Brannagh. And he has a reputation of being a luvvie. Christ! He can’t stand the whole
luvvie thing. It’s counter-productive. I suppose I can
be objective about it, because 50 per cent of my life is
exploration and 50 per cent is acting.
When did the beard kick in?
It started in 1970, when I was doing a film called
Trojan Women, directed by Michael Kakkiyannis who
directed Zorba the Greek. I got the lead in the film,
because it was really a Brian Blessed character: a great
warrior with a heart. And I grew the beard for that.
You were on the Basil Brush show in 1984. Was
his tailor up to scratch?
Christ! I’m astonished at your questions!
They do get more intellectual….
I was doing Captain Hook to Basil Brush. And I was
talking to him…
Photographs by Russ Bell
Bravo! And you’ve kept it since then?
[Laughs uncontrollably for a long while] Oh, this is
wonderful… I love you – Oh thank God, you’re a hell
of a character! [puts his arm around Atters] I mean,
so many interviewers bore the arse off me…
When was the last time you engaged in a
genuine punch-up?
My last fight was when we were making the film The
Last Valley with Michael Caine. There were 60
Englishmen in that film, with all the stuntmen.
God, I actually remember this!
… and he kept saying “Brian!” and I kept looking at
the actor in the box instead of Basil, and the director
was saying, “Brian! You’ve got to stop looking at the
42
43
Mallory in 1924. Well, he’s dead. And the 14th Dalai
Lama was the one who re-enacted the ceremony. So
we went to Darjeeling and went on all the steam railways that Mallory went on. And eventually we got
to Everest and I suddenly turned round the corner
in Tibet after many months, and it’s just sort of…
there! And I said, “I’m 16 miles away and suddenly
Mallory is real. He’s just up there.” We weren’t going
there to find his body, or ghoulishly dig for graves,
but pay tribute to these great climbers and their great
ideals.
Reinhold Messner, the first man to climb Everest
without oxygen, said to me: “Brian, the last step
depends on the first step and the first step depends
on the last step. From this moment, you are now
climbing Everest. You must listen to your heart, you
must listen to your brain, you must listen to your
body, you will start to use instincts, you’ll start to use
things in your body and operate differently. Brian,
you will lose about 127 million brain cells. Do you
understand that? But you’ll get new brain cells. You’ll
never recover them, but others take over, and you’ll
develop a new kind of brain.” So as an actor….
I'll kick your teeth down your
throat and you'll never act again!
you can go. And therefore I have experienced outof-body experiences several times. And I’ve brought
myself back again. And I’m the oldest man to get to
that height without oxygen.
in Sama where the Dalai Lama was, the kids are all
flying kites, and I said, “Why is everyone so happy?”
The Dalai Lama said, “Well Brian, we teach them
about death! We almost make them experience death
as a child, and therefore they see they have no fear,
and that death does not exist; life does.” And so
they’re all happy. I used to find making coffins and
putting the bodies in rather farcical! I had to wash
the bodies, and they all belched and farted and God
knows what else!
We were all in a restaurant one day and the Germans came in – it was like the Second World War
– to have a go at us. I was at the door and as they
were being knocked out I stood by the door to give
them the last punch in the face! I think on odd occasions, I just thump people; I can’t stand people being
bullies in our profession. Even though people loved
Oliver Reed in character, when he was drunk he was
dangerous and nasty. He used to terrify people. Ken
Russell directed Prisoner of Honour and Jeremy Kemp
and I were in it, as well as Oliver Reed. Jeremy said
to me, “I’m nervous about this film, because Oliver
can be really violent and powerful.” So I remember
saying to Oliver, just before we started the film on
the first day, “Oliver, people say when you drink, you
get very violent, and I just want to say if you turn up
here drunk or you get violent here, I will kick your
teeth down your throat and you’ll never act again.”
Have you ever had an out-of-body experience?
Well, the thing is, on the giant mountains, there’s a
change at 5000 feet, it changes again at 10,000…
like on Mont Blanc. At 22.5 thousand feet, you have
18 days to live and when you die, you die of lack of
atmospheric pressure, cosmic rays, ultraviolet rays,
lack of oxygen etc… at 25,000 feet, you’ve got five
days to live. At 28,000 feet…
What was your first job?
I had to leave school when I was 14 because my
father was injured in the coalmines. I became an undertaker’s assistant and I made coffins. I’m going to
do a big television thing soon, a bit like the Tibetan
Book of the Dead, all about death and the body.
You see, it’s taboo in the West… when you go to die
You’re dead?
In the 1920s, it was called the lifting of the veil,
the point between life and death. So at 28,000 feet,
you have one foot in life and one in death. There is
now no oxygen, virtually, the cosmic rays are hitting
you…and you experience fluidity, and you know
44
You followed George Mallory in his Everest
adventure. How far did you take the
re-enactment in tweed?
At the age of seven, I read in the Hotspur comic about
Mallory and the Everest expedition of 1924, and I
resolved to follow in his footsteps. The years went by
and I went to drama school and I managed to get
a scholarship, but this dream remained there. And
then the mountaineers and other people said, “Brian
we’d love you to do it and tell the story and follow in
his footsteps.” Christ Almighty, it took ages to mount
it, because it was £500,000 and too expensive for a
documentary and too cheap for a drama. Eventually,
the BBC agreed to finance the whole thing. Alan
Yentob said “Oh, make the bloody thing!” because
we’d pestered him so much.
When they suddenly said yes, I thought, ‘Christ.
I’m 53.’ And the doctor said, “You’re fit, you bastard,
but there’s a good chance you’re going to drop dead
at any second.” And Chris Bonnington said, “Brian,
if you get to 21,000 feet on Everest you’ll never get
up the North Col. But get to the base of the North
Ridge, and you can probably finish the film then, but
you’ll probably never get any higher….and you’re
wearing tweeds? Christ!” Anyway, we got all the
tweeds, all the leather and furs and cotton underwear, and we discovered that they worked very well.
All our modern stuff was causing problems. Plastic
boots give people frostbite, because your feet sweat.
The 13th Dalai Lama was the one who blessed
Extraordinary! [With a mouthful of chicken
sandwich]
The director, David Breashears, said to me, “Brian,
this morning, move up on the north ridge. Early
morning, it looks magnificent.” And I thought,
‘F***ing hell, I’m on me own, I’m on the north ridge.
And I’m heading up the north East Ridge where
Mallory’s body is. And I started going up there. And
it was wonderful on film – my veins are pulsating, the
weather’s all right, so up I go: 24, 25, 26, 27,000 feet,
Breashears caught me up with five Sherpas, filming
away and I got exactly to the point where Mallory
disappeared. We weren’t allowed to get to the summit, the Chinese wouldn’t let us. We got right to the
point where he was last seen, so we could complete
the film. Jesus, it was marvellous. And of course all
the children in Tibet think I’m a yeti. Because you
see Tibetans and Sherpas can’t grow beards.
Oh, I see!
When Sir John Everett was sending out several Generals, orienteering, mapping the country, of course
they were in tweeds and their hair goes to here.
45
Their beards go to here because they’ve been out in
the wilderness for three years, and they come into
a village saying “Hello, hello, hello!” and the lights
go on and there’s a f***ing yeti! They’ve never seen
anyone like that in their life! So many westerners
have been shot as a yeti!
Tell me more about meeting the Dalai Lama.
The Dalai Lama was amazing. I mean, we talked
about his sex life and everything. He shocked his
translator! He believes in reincarnation and all that,
he’s a God King… but he said, “Sometimes I do
miss a beautiful woman.” And then he said, “I do my
mantras louder and then take a cold shower.’”
Out there, with BBC cameras and Breashears
and all that, we started filming and when you’re with
him you’re utterly honest. We lie in silence, we lie
in noise and he’ll be out there in his big villa and I
was going, “Out! Out! Out! Stop being so impatient,
your holiness! You’re the Dalai Lama, self realized
and you’re a human Buddha and you’re so impatient! Out out! We’re not ready.”
And he loved all that. And at the end of it all,
I said, “You know, your holiness… (when you’re
with him, it activates things inside your head) “You
make me sick! You’re so bloody good! And look at
me: I’ve chinned a few and all that. Don’t you ever,
ever get mad?” He says, “Yes, the other day I was
going abroad, and the Doctor had to inject my arm
and he stuck it in too deep and it hurt and I thought
‘I hate that Doctor! He was a terrible doctor, he
was fatter than…” And I said, “You were going to
say he was fatter than me, weren’t you? I am hurt,
your holiness!” And he says, “Forgive me!” And the
camera crew couldn’t believe it, they filmed it all. I
said, “On your knees!” and the Dalai Lama went on
his knees and I said, “It’s ok, I’m a forgiving man,
get up.” “Oh, thank you so much!” he replied. He’s a
wonderful f***ing comedian! And he’s got Joe Louis’s
boxing gloves!
A lovely, lovely man. I said to him, you’re the
most fortunate of all the Dalai Lamas, but you’re
also the most unfortunate because you lost the kingdom. And he went, “Yes, yes. Love enemy. It’s easy to
love, but loving your enemy is the acid test, Brian.”
So I said, “So you love the Chinese?” “Yes.” “You
do realise, as I talk to you, they’re in Tibet. Tibetan
women have got their legs wide open and there’s
46
nurses and doctors sterilizing them. They’re going to
wipe you out. You still love them? He says, “Yes, they
are unhappy, Chinese here in Tibet. It’s too high
for them.” He was so impressive. Nothing negative
about him. He really genuinely loves all.
What in your opinion is the best part of your
body?
Oh I love that I’ve got a huge 53-inch chest! And I
can bench-press 400 pounds and I’m 76 years old.
My feet! I’ve got deformed feet from my parachute
jumping. People ask how I climb mountains and the
thing is that I did 76 parachute jumps, and one day
we missed the airfield and landed on concrete. Some
broke their necks and backs and legs but I smashed
my right foot. So therefore I have a bit of a wobble
when I walk. In films you’ll notice it a bit; people
think it’s a character thing but it’s not, it’s me!
Have you ever followed any fashions?
No, but I’ve always loved a blazer. I like f***ing
blazers [gestures to the one he’s wearing]. I’ve got
different blazers. I mean, the point is, that I’m only
half-dressed, and I’ve not got it down below, you
see [points to his unironed navy blue trousers]. The
thing is, I’ve got plenty of underwear, about five
blazers, a few shirts and that’s it. Because I’ve got so
many animals, and there’s so much hay everywhere,
that all my money goes on looking after all those
animals.
Right! Where’s my present?
I didn’t realize [said rather sheepishly]. I’d have
brought something. I’ll tell you what - I have something quite esoteric for you and I’ll make sure you
get it. On Everest, at 27.5 thousand feet, Mallory
was found on something called The Yellow Band. It’s
kind of this lovely yellow ore. I will send you a piece
of the yellow band
from 28,000 feet.
It looks like gold.
When you see
it, it flashes.
CELLULOID
Film Reviews
By Robert Chilcott
THE LIFE AND DEATH
OF COLONEL BLIMP
ITV Studios Home Entertainment, 12.99
Now considered to be the first of their five-year run
of masterworks, and indeed claimed by many as
Blighty’s very own Citizen Kane, Powell and Pressberger’s 1943, nearly three-hour-long Technicolor epic
was in fact butchered into a 90-minute version after
its initial release and left unrestored until the 1980s. In
this new Blu-ray version of The Life and Death of Colonel
Blimp, even more of the dirt has been scrubbed up,
though, like its battle-scarred hero, every classic needs
its scratches, lost frames, lens flares and blemishes.
While referencing the comic strip of Colonel
Blimp by David Low, it was actually a deleted scene
from their previous film, One of Our Aircraft is Missing, that provided the inspiration, the line “You don’t
know what it’s like to be old”. This movie version traces the 40-year journey of Major General Clive WynnCandy, from the Boer War through the trenches and
up to the Blitz, and the friendship he maintains with
a German officer, who is portrayed as more down
to earth and realistic than his British counterpart.
Having worked their way up through the system,
Powell and Pressberger, under their nom-de-plume
“The Archers” and with their own five-point manifesto, including: “No artist believes in escapism. And
we secretly believe that no audience does. We have
proved, at any rate, that they will pay to see the truth,
for other reasons than her nakedness”, ensured their
idiosyncrasies and their romantic pessimism were at
odds with the mainstream. In satirising the British
army, they could just as well be mocking the local film
industry and its bureaucratic heads of department.
Original choice for the lead Laurence Olivier
wasn’t allowed leave from the Navy, so the main role
went instead to the wonderful Roger Livesey, in the
first of many collaborations with the filmmakers. In
a vigorous mix of pomp and bluster, all “Me auld
’orse, me auld steeplechaser”, his Blimp, too fair
47
Entertainment
as he won’t concede to Nazi methods, nor is he able
to declare his love for his dear Edith, letting her
marry his Prussian stiffneck pal, he spends the rest
of his days attaching himself to those that resemble
her (all three parts are played by Deborah Kerr).
Perhaps the film is more a love story, an elegiac
hymn to memory and loss. Even though Walbrook gets
the dame, war becomes the enemy of love for both
men – the gallant German officer finally arrives in the
UK as a sad refugee from the Nazis. Powell and Kerr
were lovers, though he refused to move to Hollywood
when her MGM contract beckoned. They shared a
birthday and every year on 30th September, right up
to the year before his death, he sent her a bouquet
of flowers with the note: “Happy Birthday, Darling.”
For trivia chaps, there is a reference early on in
the 1902 sequence where Candy claims to have met
Arthur Conan Doyle, then publishing The Hound
of the Baskervilles in installments in The Strand magazine: “A bit of a facer for poor old Watson, sir”.
The actor playing the subordinate Major Plumley
in this scene had himself played Dr. Watson in a
series of early talkies at Twickenham Studios a decade earlier, and the actor who played his Sherlock
Holmes also appears in a small role later in this film.
to hit back, stands stubborn in his belief that good
manners are the most important thing. After a dispute
in a café with the German Kaunitz while on leave in
Berlin, he is ordered to a duel with a randomly chosen officer (Anton Walbrook). The camera pans away
from the swordfight, perhaps realising its futility, and
we next see them in a convalescence home where
they recover from their wounds, and where they become firm friends (Blimp’s subsequent moustache
covers up the permanent scar on his stiff upper lip).
The film was heavily scorned by the Sidneyan
Society, a rightwing Presbyterian Scots outfit, in an
extended propagandist pamphlet: “A highly elaborate, flashy, flabby and costly film, the most disgraceful production that has ever emanated from a British film studio.” Even Churchill considered banning
it, and Powell was informed that if it was screened
he would not receive a knighthood. Powell’s gravestone read ‘A Film Director and an Optimist’ – and
while the film explores that incurable condition of
what it means to be English, Powell points out that
this 100%, arguably Great, British film was photographed by a Frenchman, written by a Hungarian,
scored by a German Jew, costumed by a Czech, and
the leading players Austrian, Scottish and Welsh.
Often suggesting that Britain needs to fight dirty
in the face of such an evil enemy, our hero, unable
to accept change, stands firm: “The Germans have
bombed hospitals, sunk ships, used poison gas, and
we won – clean fighting, honest soldiering, have
won”. While Blimp himself is sometimes a reactionary old buffoon, the film is sympathetic, paying
tribute to the irascible obtuseness of a certain type
of upper-class Englishman, and the paradoxical nature of the British character and resolve. Pompous
but proud, Blimp is ultimately defeated by his own
common sense and reserve: “Nobody starts to fight
foul until he sees he can’t fight any other way”. Just
48
Film Reviews
By Robert Chilcott
Adelphi Diana Dors Double Bill
The Great Game
Miss Tulip Stays the Night
BFI, £16.00
Continuing its noble commitment to rewriting a
parallel history of British Cinema, the BFI brings
us another double bill of second-run features from
the family-run Adelphi stable. The Great Game
gives Diana almost top billing, though she’s only
in a handful of scenes, playing a second fiddle secretary to Thora Hird. Clad in a tight black dress
throughout, the only significant contribution she appears to make to the drama is to ladder her nylons.
Miss Tulip Stays the Night stars Patrick Holt, a
fellow graduate of Rank’s Company of Youth, playing a successful crime writer, with Diana as his doting wife. As always, Dors is introduced with an opening shot that caresses her calves, and in the first reel
a clumsy plot diversion with a flat tyre affords her
the chance to fall flat on her back in a muddy ditch.
The remaining hour has the couple holed up
in a country retreat with a dotty old lady who mysteriously turns into a corpse by the morning. With
cardboard sets, screen wipes, a flimsy drawing-room
plot, bungling village bobbies on bicycles and a
crackling microphone, it’s a technically incompe-
tent effort. Shot at Nettlefold studios in Walton-onThames, its ‘hilarious’ set piece involves the copper,
a Dixon of suburbia, slapsticking around with a
faulty kitchen tap splashing water all over his face.
Never allowed to aspire to anything more than
quite good entertainment, it is of curiosity only as
a time capsule artefact typifying the ‘also-ran’ production assembly belt of the time, prohibited from
thinking outside the box or getting ideas above its
station. “It isn’t honeysuckle, it’s wisteria.”
49
The Bullet Bra of
Suburbia
dits for her role in Yield to the Night as a woman sentenced to hang for murder. Dors would later count
executioner Albert Pierrepoint as one of her pals. During the filming of Lady Godiva, Diana met
and married sleazy publicist Dennis Hamilton at
Claxton Hall. She had forged her parents’ signature
of consent, and when the registrar challenged this,
Dennis threatened to knock his teeth down his throat.
Dors was clearly attracted to criminal glamour – she
and Hamilton would become friends with property
con-man Peter Rachman and The Krays. Somewhat
inevitably, Hamilton became her agent-cum pimp,
setting up Diana Dors Ltd. Billing her as the English Marilyn Monroe, Hamilton ensured she had the
lifestyle attachments of a sex-symbol – she was the
youngest registered owner of a Rolls Royce at 20, even
though Hamilton had got it on HP and smooth talking.
At their Thameside residence they would host
sex parties, with cine cameras concealed behind
two-way mirrors, setting up starlets with producers in order to ‘influence’ them with some mutual
benefits. One victim of the set-up was a 24-yearold Bob Monkhouse, who rumbled their game early on and chickened out – though he did have his
own moment of privacy with Dors a few years later.
Hamilton discouraged Dors from serious dramatic
roles, claiming that art films wouldn’t break her in Hollywood. Deferring to his judgment, she turned down
a role with Laurence Olivier in The Beggar’s Opera.
While her film work remained on the modest side of tit-
Robert Chilcott finds out what prevented Diana
Dors from becaming the British Marilyn Monroe
Born in Swindon in 1931 to a railway clerk and a housewife, the young Diana Fluck’s interest in cinema began
at the age of three with regular trips with her mum to
the cinema. A pampered child, at private school she
wrote of her desires to be a Hollywood film star “with a
cream telephone and a swimming pool”. After a year at
LAMDA she got a break as one of the earliest signings
to the Rank Charm School, where pupils were trained
in the techniques of cinema acting and handling the
public, and how to behave themselves on and off set.
Uncredited walk-ons and bit parts followed,
racking up a half dozen appearances as assorted
dancers, delinquents and other pouting jailbaits.
Her talent was swamped in an image, and the
narrative of her private life would prove far more
interesting than the films she made. She lost her virginity to Norwegian 19-year-old Gil Gynt, and took
fellow actor Anthony Newley’s virginity soon after.
In Lady Godiva Rides Again, Dors plays Dolores
August: “Christened ‘Doll’, but the ‘ores’ was added
just to give it class”. The film itself is largely forgettable, but notable more for the debut appearance ofJoan Collins as a fellow beauty queen, and also, in her
only film screen appearance, Ruth Ellis. Dors struck
up a friendship with Ellis, who had been groomed by
Stephen Ward, and five years later would gain plau-
50
By the 1970s, the image of Diana that most endured
was that of the brassy old trollop, a Hurricane in Mink,
first in the short-lived sitcom Queenies Castle, then via
illating, Hamilton did cash in on the first 3D boom and
a slew of inept sex comedies – Keep it Up Downstairs,
produced a nude booklet of Diana. They moved to
The Amorous Milkman – and some less softcore ones,
Hollywood in 1956, and a five-picture deal was secured
such as her brothel madam in Jo Sarno’s exploitica
with RKO, but this was cut short after a launch party
Swedish Wildcats. In the 1980s she turned up as the
ended up with Hamilton beating up a photographer.
Kommandant in The Two Ronnies’ cross dressing
Following an alleged affair with Rod Steiger, RKO
yarn The Worm That Turned, and her iconic status
cancelled her contract. Hamilton later held a shotgun
was immortalised as Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother in
to Dors and demanded she sign over all assets to him.
the pop video for Adam & the Ants’ Prince Charming.
Complicit with the tabloids in controlling her meFinally finding love and happiness with third husdia image, Dors, in order to pay off the taxman for her
band, alcoholic actor Alan Lake, Diana wrote several
extravagances, serialised open and frank interviews, demore volumes of sensational autobiography before settailing all the real and fake celebrity participants in her
tling into the role of agony aunt on TV-am, also offering
engineered Babylon of orgies. The mayor of Swindon
dieting tips. Anne Diamond recalled that she would
denounced her for bringing shame on the town.
shed pounds of weight merely by removing
A career in America did come to frui“THEY ASKED ME
her jewellery. For her last film role, she
tion a few years later, though it was
TO CHANGE MY NAME –
finally went topless for director
the Vegas cabaret circuit and
Joseph Losey’s Steaming,
THEY WERE AFRAID THAT IF MY REAL NAME
small screen variety
alongside Vanessa Redshows that exploited DiDIANA FLUCK WAS IN LIGHTS AND ONE OF
grave
and Sarah Miles, as
ana, doing comedy skits
THE BULBS BLEW...”
a group of women who protest at
with her second husband, cothe closure of their local sauna. Never
median Dickie Dawson. Returning to
the best friend of HMRC, a Channel 4 docuBritain in the mid sixties, her hourglass figure
mentary asked viewers to decipher a coded sheet of
and seaside postcard cleavage had become anachropaper that may lead to an estimated £2 million fortune
nistic, with the new youth of Biba twiglets and mop
hidden in banks all over Europe. The Kinks paid tribute
tops. While the majority of her films were forgettable,
to Diana in the lyrics to their 1984 song Good Day:
her prolific diversity, perhaps more by accident than
“She couldn’t act much, but she put on a show/
design, ensured her a place in some recently rediscovShe always smiled, even when she felt low/I used to fanered gems, including Jerzy Skolomovski’s Deep End,
cy her a long time ago.”
with Jane Asher, also released on the Flipside label.
51
music
EDITH WITH ATTITUDE
Hip-hop was invented by languid 1920s socialite
Edith Sitwell, argues Mr. B the Gentleman Rhymer
H
In the beginning, the
disc jockey was king.
Clive, or to give him his
nom des disques, DJ Kool
Herc, would isolate the
part of each carefully
selected ditty that he
observed would create a
frenzy of dancing and,
using two copies of said
gramophone disc, loop
said section to create a
continuous piece, thusforth keeping the audience on
their toes and generally having a splendid do of it.
After a time, disc jockeys would invite their
chums along to M.C. at these events. These masters
of ceremonies would generally have been rambunc-
ip-Hop,
that much
maligned
and derided
of cultural phenomena, officially turned
40 years old last summer. In August 1973,
a chap called Clive
played some records
at a party in a recreation room on Sedgewick Avenue in the Bronx, to raise some money for
his younger sister to buy a school uniform. It seems
an awfully long trek from those altruistic beginnings
to the hedge-funded, greed-and-lust-fuelled behemoth that hip-hop appears to be today.
52
tious types, who would invite the party-goers to join in
singalongs or occasionally raise a toast to guests and
generally keep the spirits up.
The M.C.s rapidly became the focal point of said
soirees, often to the chagrin of the disc jockeys. The
natural conclusion of this was The Sugarhill Gang’s
Rapper’s Delight, the first ever ‘rap’ 45 single, which is
understood by some to have left old Clive in something of a miff, being of the opinion that hip-hop was
the realm of the DJ rather than the rapper. Whether
this was true or not, Rapper’s Delight was a huge hit and
commercial hip-hop was born.
So there’s a little potted history of the birth of
rap. Over the 40 years hence, scholars have pontificated upon its influences and where it all sprang up from.
The obvious and most widely held beliefs are that its
furthest back influences were African tribal rhythms
and chants, then later the early jazz-era scat singing of
Cab Calloway and Slim Gaillaird. The 1960s brought
James Brown and his staccato funk howlings, shortly
followed by the more righteous beat poetry of the Last
Poets and Gil Scott-Heron.
I would like to propose an alternative hypothesis:
Hip-Hop was invented by Dame Edith Sitwell. At a
recent dinner, her Grandson, William Sitwell, who
currently edits Waitrose Kitchen, a rag extolling the finer
points of cooking from tins, declared as much and
told fellow diners that his granny was “better that 50
Cent”.
Edith, who along with her brothers Osbert and
Sachaverell formed a literary and artistic group
around themselves in the early 20th century, wrote
Façade-An Entertainment in 1918. A series of poems to
be recited over music written by William Walton, a
friend and protégée of hers, it was first performed in
1923 at a recital arranged and promoted by this group
of siblings.
The performance proved a controversial one, as
many critics of the day saw it as something of a ‘highbrow jape’ and considered the Sitwells to be nothing
but attention seekers. This use of poetry, performed
rhythmically over music, was seen as too radical for
many, as did much early (and indeed later) rap.
Upon listening to the piece, be it the BBC’s 1930
recording featuring Constant Lambert and Sitwell in
the M.I.C as it were, or the (now considered ‘definitive’) performance from 1951 featuring Peter Pears,
the staccato rhymes and time signatures of the ‘readings’ are unmistakably hip-hop-esque. The words
within, although seemingly nonsensical, appeared to
allude to Dame Edith’s unhappy childhood. Although
brought up within an aristocratic family (her mother,
the former Lady Ida Emily Augusta Denison, claimed
descent from the Plantagenets and her father was
the 4th Baronet of Renishaw Hall, in the splendidly
northern sounding Eckington, Derbyshire), or perhaps
because of it, she had little time for her parents,
largely due to their having locked her into an iron
53
Barry Hump
frame to ‘help’ her apparent spinal deformity.
When asked by her parents what she wanted to be
when she grew up, she replied simply ‘a genius’.
She was banished to her room without any supper.
The similarity with rap didn’t end with the
cadence of her rhymes and the controversies of her
performances. Sitwell was an unusual dresser, wearing velvet or brocade gowns, often topped off with
a turban. She was also an early advocate of what
would become known as ‘bling’, adorned with large
amounts of jewellery, with a particular penchant for
wearing many rings. She was also, like her modern
hip-hop peers, not averse to the odd ‘beef ’. Being
the chap
questionnaire
hries
Age: 78
Profession: Comedian, Dadaist, author, bon vivant
Education: Camberwell Grammar School, University
of Melbourne
Early Career: Philip Street Review Theatre, various
dada pranks, Dame Edna Everage
Other interests: Bibliomania, avant-garde music, collecting art, not drinking
What, for you, epitomises the very essence of
Englishness?
Tweed. A Devonshire tea. A felt hat.
What is your idea of a perfect English
gentleman?
A well-educated, amusing man who removes his hat
in lifts and wears clothes that are so good, you don’t
notice them.
What is your idea of absolute heaven?
My answer would be too impolite for this
magazine but would involve several members of the
opposite sex.
Can you name an example, living or
deceased?
The late Mark Burleigh, creator of Annabel’s nightclub.
And your idea of a hell on earth?
Loud music in a restaurant.
And his female counterpart?
A girl who wears hats and gloves (but little else).
What three items of clothing would you rescue
in the event of your wardrobe being invaded by
a swarm of moths?
A purple cashmere sweater, a pair of bespoke silk
pyjamas and my favourite collection of ties.
Have you ever found it necessary or
appropriate to wear a pair of flip-flops?
I wear flip-flops a lot but they are minimalist, made
of leather and made for me.
“My kingdom for a horse!” declared Richard
III. What object have you ever craved with
such intensity?
A painting by the Edwardian artist Charles Conder.
Are you happy with the way in which modern
society is heading, or do you see room for improvement in any particular areas?
I do not like modern life, I prefer to live in the past –
it is more dependable.
What items of clothing are you determined
never to wear?
A tracksuit and crocs.
Where and when have you ever pined for the
services of a good tailor?
I enjoy the services of a good tailor but I have longed
for members of my audiences in Australia and
America to share them. If theatre audiences buy
good clothes, when do they wear them?
How many different varieties of hat do you
own, and which is your favourite?
I own hats in every style and my favourite is a Fedora,
made in Paris of dark green velours.
54
a woman who both thought and dressed in an unusual manner, at a time when women were rather
strenuously encouraged to toe the line, attracted its
share of detractors, most of whom she was more
than happy to engage in a bout of sniping with.
One of these was Noel Coward who, after deriding
Edith and her brothers in a skit, was not spoken to
again by Sitwell until her 70th birthday.
Coward is, of course another of whom it could
be said was a precursor to hip-hop. His half-spoken,
half-sung songs such as Mad Dogs And Englishmen
display a similar joie-de-vivre to early B-boys the
Funky Four Plus One or The Jonzun Crew.
In 1948, the Sitwell siblings had toured America, two years before Dylan Thomas arrived in New
York and staked his own claim in rap’s unwritten
history, making recordings of his poetry at the same
time as the first be-bop records were being made
and living in a style befitting a be-bopper. His
recitals were unpredictable affairs, his audience
unsure in which state of inebriation the speaker
would appear, much in the same way that audiences
fifty years later would wonder how many members
of the Wu Tang Clan might arrive at any given
show and how long they might bother playing for.
These recordings had none of the rhythmical
zeal of Sitwell’s Façade though. At the time of her
death, her name was said to have been associated
with ‘snobbery, self promotion and literary feuds’.
What could be more hip-hop than that?
To view the entire recital of Façade, visit
YouTube/users/thechapmagazine
CRICKET
stalag
fixtures
Steve Pittard on the lengths taken by prisoners
of war in camps such as Colditz to ensure their
games of cricket were uninterrupted
t
a substitute. Annoyingly, some
he lack of games fabats became further weakened
cilities in an all-British
by well-meaning M19 boffins
camp is a disgrace,”
who inserted covert screwdrivbemoaned
Charles
ers as escape aids into the han‘Lucky’ Lockett on first enterdles. Pads and boxes were also
ing Colditz. He spent much of
scarce but cable knit sweaters
his leisure time in the attic with
abounded. Such items were
the Colditz Cock (the legendpractically de riguer among
ary glider), though his right to
British airmen, whether enplay cricket should have been
gaged in playing cricket or not.
covered by the Geneva ConvenChaps incarcerated in
tion. Captors were duty bound
Spangenberg Castle (Oflag
to ‘encourage as much as posBritish officers at Oflag 4C, Colditz, in 1941
IX A/H) found it virtually
sible the organisation of intelimpossible to find a suitable
lectual and sporting pursuits’.
spot to pitch wickets, but remained undaunted. The
PoW camps received a standard Red Cross sports
only viable area appeared to be a curved section within
parcel, which contained numerous soccer and rugger paraphernalia but only two cricket balls (often
the dry sunken moat, about 40 feet wide. Though littered with rubble, tin cans and debris, Major-General
composite). Sometimes the string proved more useFortune soon organised the levelling of the undulating
ful than the contents. At Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf
surface and topped it off with three inches of soil. Havit was used to fashion cricket nets. Cricket balls soon
ing pounded the pitch into shape with croquet mallets,
became damaged or irretrievable and some individuals
to keep it in good order, a by-law made it verboten for
became adept at winding string around a pebble and
then applying varnish to produce a serviceable cricket
players to wear anything other than rubber-soled shoes.
The wicket consisted of plywood boards trimmed to
ball. Stumps and bats would be included in later Red
meet MCC specifications and propped up by stones.
Cross sets. With Linseed in short supply, bats became
Tennis balls were used but needed fine tuning because
brittle, though at a push oil from sardine cans acted as
56
Nets fashioned from unwound cricket balls at Stalag
VIIIB in Lamsdorf, Germany
A standard issue WWII Red Cross cricket ball
of their steepling bounce. In overt ball tampering shenanigans worthy of a Pakistan Test bowler, Elastoplast
patches were sewn on either side to provide a better
weight. This refinement also aided spin and offered
some protection against the rough-hewn stone walls.
A couple of Old Harrovians, familiar with the
confines of house-yard cricket, adapted the rules to
accommodate the idiosyncratic playing arena. On one
side, a 4-foot high grassy bank sloped up to the 30-foot
high curved castle wall and any rebounds remained in
play. The unpredictable angle of the ricochets often
made monkeys out of the fielders. Third man region
contained a flowerbed. It was designated a boundary,
though awarded only one run, to discourage hits there.
Another allotment received similar dispensation, after an irate Colonel protested that reckless off drives
played havoc with his tomato crop.
Matches consisted of two innings each, limited
to fifteen overs, and took place between two and four
o’clock. Thus nobody need bolt their lunch or be
late for tea. Batsmen retired once they’d reached 20,
though some bounders deliberately nudged singles
when nearing this landmark. Then on 19 they would
attempt to slog a six and depart with a score of 25.
With all the rules finally ironed out, a team tally of
50 was considered par. No side exceeded 100, with the
Highland Brigade capitulating to all out 0.
Officers bagged the pitch on Sundays for encounters against NCOs. Also rival huts challenged each
other and ‘club’ fixtures took place between Gunners,
Greenjackets, Commandos, etc. Though a terribly
unreliable team player – he kept escaping – Terence
Prittie sent a detailed account to Blighty documenting
the queer cricketing arrangements. German censors
intercepted the report and, thinking it must contain a
secret message, spent days trying to crack the hidden
code. Completely stumped, they resorted to sending it
to Lord Haw-Haw, whose department concluded that
the text contained a perfectly ordinary explanation of
a most irregular cricket game.
Many PoW cricket rules anticipated modern oneday regulations. At Spangenberg, any delivery passing
even a whisker outside leg stump was signalled ‘wide’.
Lamsdorf introduced neutral umpires, resplendent in
hospital white coats. This extremely well-organised
camp hosted a triangular ‘Test’ tournament in 1943
between England, Australia and New Zealand, which
often attracted an audience, admittedly captive, of
2,500. England failed to reach the final, leading to
the selectors being sacked. For the following summer’s
competition, South Africa replaced the Kiwis and
boasted ‘Billy’ Wade, a Test wicketkeeper, on the team.
Pitch invasions sometimes marred proceedings.
Germans failed to respect boundary lines – notably the
Polish border – and one goon trespassed on the outfield
with his bicycle and German shepherd in tow. Another
jackbooted Kraut received a volley of abuse and demanded to know the exact meaning of ‘stupid bastard’. He was assured the English expression referred
to ‘a person who walks across cricket pitches instead
of around them’. Sir Francis Lacey, a former MCC
secretary, blamed the war on Europeans not playing
cricket: “Had Hitler and Mussolini been cricketers, I
do not think we should have had all this trouble that is
going on in Europe today”. Hitler did toy with cricket
but considered the sport insufficiently violent for the
tastes of German Fascists. To make it more appealing/
sadistic, he advocated the removal of pads.
57
Grooming
and shave downwards below them with impunity. Remember, though, to change how and where you stretch
when you change the direction of the shave: it should
always be in the opposite direction to the pass. Do not
attempt to carve yourself a new face; you may wish to
look like Cary Grant but self-administered cosmetic surgery is not the way to do it. As with one’s fly fishing cast
or golf swing, it is well worth getting professional lessons
as self-taught bad habits learned early can set, harden
and prove difficult to shift (and slicing a stroke in golf is
nothing compared to slicing a stroke with a straight razor). Good luck and remember to have your blood group
tattooed on you somewhere it will be seen – assuming
they find you in time. With that in mind, you might want
to leave the bathroom door unlocked.
The Last Stroke
The Reverend Oliver Harrison on the
intricacies of a flawless straight shave
S
o let us assume you have your straight (also
ever is comfortable for you. Hands and razors all difcalled open or cut-throat) razor and you
fer in size). With your thumb in the heel of the blade,
have your strop on which to buff the blade.
press the tang against the inside of your fingers, more
All is ready. First, let’s look at the hold. Open
or less across the top joint below the soft fingertip
the razor so that the part of the tang which is on
pads. Hold it firmly but be careful not to put any stress
the other side of the pivot pin from the blade passes
on the pivot pin joint or you will crack the scales – and
right through the scales. The scales, you will
have you attempted getting hold of any ivory lateremember, are the two panels comprising
ly? Troublesome even at the Elephant and
the handle. The tang is the lowest,
Castle – trust me, I tried! (Although
and unsharpened, part of
they did offer to fix any other
THE BLADE IS NOW FACING YOU,
the blade; the pivot pin
crack related problems I
THE HANDLE OUT OF THE WAY BETWEEN YOUR
is typically halfway
might have).
FINGERS ... EASY! NOW TO PUT COLD, HARD
along the tang and
The blade is now
STEEL TO YOUR WARM,
therefore bisects it.
facing you, the handle
SOFT SKIN
You’ve now effectively
up and out of the way between
turned the razor inside out, through
your fingers and your thumb is pressing
about 270 to 300 degrees (a normal penknife
down in the heel of the blade holding the tang
opens to 180 so the blade come out level with the
against the inside of your fingers. Easy! Now to put
handle; we’re going further, right through the handle).
cold, hard steel to your warm, soft skin.
Now hold the tang either side of the pivot pin and
Shaving is done in a series of passes, in between
place the handle (the scales) up between your fingers
which we must re-lather. For the first pass, aim to have
(usually between the fourth and little finger, or whatthe razor at 30 degrees to your face and shave
58
with the grain (WTG, i.e. in the direction that the hairs
of your beard grow); for subsequent passes, use progressively shallower angles and shave first across the grain
(XTG) and finally against the grain (ATG). Keep pressure to an absolutely minimum and your strokes short.
Practice on your shin (no need to lather) first, with the
razor flat against the skin; shave up towards your knee,
with so shallow an angle it should simply glide over the
hairs, pushing them down and under the blade without
cutting them; next put the blade at ninety degrees, perpendicular to the skin: it may scrape but again, no cut.
Come back to flat position we used in the first exercise
and slowly raise the elevation with each successive pass
– et voila! Observe (not to mention feel and hear) the
scything of follicles.
Last point: skin stretching. You want your hair to
stand proud and your skin to be tight or you risk shaving
your face off. So pull the skin taut in the opposite direction to the shaving stroke. This is where sideburns come
in handy; a chap can simply pull up on his mutton chops
59
04 Old Colonial
02 Tabac Shaving Stick
Grooming
lather nice
the top five
rison reveals
ar
H
er
liv
O
and creams
The Rev ’d
aving soaps
sh
n
te
p
to
s
of hi
01 Martin de Candre:
Le Savon à Raser
An old joke: where do you hide your money from a
Frenchman? Answer: under the soap. But not in this
case, because you won’t have any money left to hide.
This is a seriously expensive soap and, oddly, as shaving soaps go, not even the best performer out there
and yet… I love it. The lather is good – not great,
but certainly stable enough to be whipped into stiff
peaks, much like egg whites on their way to becoming
meringues. Again, the slide and glide it offers to the
blade is good enough but not excessive; others offer a
more lubricous and cushioning layer between steel and
skin. And yet, from the moment I unscrew the lid of
the heavy glass jar and smell the incredible aroma of
French lavender with a hint of rosemary and the merest suggestion of the astringency of mint, I am undone.
I am in love. The scent explodes as the lather is worked
and remains close to the skin all day, like a private joke
shared between lovers before breakfast. The skin is left
soft and smooth and one feels one has had a brush –
forgive the pun – with royalty, genius, celebrity, holiness
and beauty. Ah, Martin, marry me – I’ll change my
surname to de Candre and we’ll live together forever in
a small French farmhouse with a watermill and a
trout stream. Je t’adore.
60
The original ‘tallow marshmallow’, first made in
Germany in 1936. (Where
were Germans getting
their tallow from in the late
1930s? Perhaps best not
to ask.) A very forgiving
soap, hard either to overor under-hydrate, perfect for beginners still learning
the art of adding water via the brush to build the
lather. And what a lather: very rich and thick, uberlubricious and therefore tolerant of poor technique.
However, a word of caution: some chaps detest the
smell, likening it to decaying wreaths of funeral
flowers. Personally, I find it merely at the extreme
end of the ‘soapy’ – a masculine, leathery bittersweet
blend that includes geranium, lavender and lots of
oakmoss. But if you really can’t stand it, the same
product is available with a different scent under the
rather surreal name of ‘Sir Irisch Moos’ with a fresh,
‘green’ fragrance (although I personally think it smells
of Poundland toilet cleaner blended with market stall
air freshener, but there you go).
A toss-up for number
4, so a joint entry: Old
Colonial, The Chap
Magazine’s very own exclusive brand of shaving
soap, with the new improved version featuring
strong lime notes on a
base of sandalwood and
tobacco. It also now comes in an attractive screw-top
tin. Sharing the honours in this double-header is
‘Nanny’s Silly Soap’ – a vegan soft soap made from
all natural and sustainably sourced materials. Nanny
is an artisan soap-maker
who consulted with wet
shavers to make a soap
from scratch designed
around their needs. Quite
apart from the ethics, the
lather is top notch and
the scents are amazing – a
wide range of imaginative
new creations and innovative twists on old favourites. Like other soft soaps, this
has the consistency of fudge or putty; unlike others,
these are available in 10g samples for under a pound
each – well worth ordering a variety pack to try all
of these fantastic fragrances. And it’s only available
via Nanny’s website.
03 The Three Ts
Geo F. Trumper,
Truefitt & Hill and
Taylor of Old Bond
Street are collectively
known, in grooming
cirlces, as The Three
T’s, forming the
heart and home of
English shaving. Their shaving creams are, I believe,
all made by Creightons in Peterborough and are all
of a consistently high quality. Indeed, it’s a tribute
to everyone concerned that, although all three
outsource the manufacturing of their creams to the
same subcontractor, it does not make their products
indistinguishable. Individual formulae are strictly
adhered to and therefore each cream is unique. The
best? Personally, I adore all of Trumper’s creams –
especially the coconut (although, oddly, I’ve never
been a fan of their hard soaps). Best value? Taylor of
Old Bond Street. But for sheer luxury and hang the
expense, try any of Truefitt & Hill’s range of soaps in
turned wooden bowls: lovely stuff.
05 Proraso
On certain mornings after a heavy
night, Jeeves
would make
Bertie Wooster
a ‘bracer’ – a
kind of reviving
tonic. This venerable Italian eucalyptus
& menthol barbershop
cream is just the thing to wake
up a chap on a dark and cold winter morn, although
personally I find its cooling properties also perfect
for a warm summer’s day or a sticky tropical clime.
Oodles of luscious lather with a big menthol “hit”.
An instant classic. Often imitated, never equalled.
61
BON VIVANT
gin
palace
Neil Ridley offers the definitive guide to
creating the perfect gin and tonic
A
Had the tasting been scheduled for, let’s say February, a
greying outlook smothering
the rest of the year would
have no doubt descended on
the tasting – and the senses
of those involved. Here,
with the chimes of Big Ben
smoothly sounding in the
background, I was even required to don my Martini
blazer and rifle through my cocktail valise to stir up
some classic G&Ts, for a group of people who would
usually consider this most elegant of cocktails to be a
bit of a departure.
When the sun shines in the UK, it does something to us. Yes, for a certain tier of society, it means
bare chests and smouldering, lobster-red burns after
overindulging on cut-price Continental lager. But for
many, the sun brings the opportunity to explore their
bon vivant side, which, let’s face it, save for a few days
at Christmas, is safely locked away in the attic for
much of the year.
Fortunately, a large number of spirits producers,
from the established, well-respected, time honoured
round this time
of year, I usually
start to have the
same thoughts
about just how lucky we
are here in Britain. Our
summer, as gloriously
unpredictable as it may
often seem, tends to divert
our attention away from the more prosaic and drab
aspects of our lives, throwing us well and truly into a
more liberal state of mind – especially when it comes
to booze.
To highlight this, last month I was asked to host
a tasting of different gins for esteemed members of
London’s Southbank Centre. With the sun blazing
through the glass panelled walls of the St Paul’s Pavillion on the 6th floor of the Southbank Centre, no less
than 50 willing participants threw themselves into
the arduous task of nosing and tasting six neat gins;
unlocking their distinct flavour profiles with aplomb,
without the slightest waft of Indian tonic water
anywhere, except for the welcoming G&T I had
prepared for them.
62
and – some would say – far from traditional flavours,
to influence their gin in a way that opens the spirit up
to new drinkers.
Of course, everyone has their particular favourite
way to enjoy gin: from the confines of a highball glass,
under an icy burial mound and drowned in tonic
(no, I am not the biggest fan of the G&T which is
too often just thrown together), the subtle harmony
of a Martini, which allows the spirit room to spread
its botanical legs, neat (yes, neat gin, sipped in a tulip
shaped glass) and in a number of other classic cocktails (the Negroni is almost as perfect as the Martini).
What’s worth considering, aside from the price of
each gin, is just how the spirit has been designed to be
consumed. Some distillers specifically aim their gins
towards mixing with quality tonic water, others for a
purer, cleaner and unfettered style drink.
companies to brand new ‘of the hour’ craft distillers,
have realised that summer brings out a dare-to-discover element to the consumer and right around now,
there is no better place to start than with a good old,
full-frontal rummage around the world of gin.
We covered the hallowed (and almost tragic)
history of gin in these pages a few years ago, which
demonstrated how London was undoubtedly the hub
of gin production for countless decades, despite its
origins being based in Holland. To cut that particular story short, around the mid 18th century there
was so much gin being produced in London that
around 11 million gallons was being consumed every
year – roughly equating to 90 bottles per adult (and
sometimes juvenile) drinker. Something had to give
and fortunately a catastrophe was narrowly avoided,
with legislation meaning that only properly licenced
and distributed distilleries could continue, forming
some of the most enduring brand names that are still
with us today, such as Gordon’s and Tanqueray.
After years in the doldrums, gin has recently
been catapulted back into the spotlight, thanks to
the meticulous work of a number of craft distillers,
each looking to do something different with the spirit.
Some harked back to the more simple flavours of
classic ‘London Dry’ gin (which, despite its geographical tether, can actually be made anywhere in the
world) relying on few botanicals save for a healthy
swathe of juniper at its heart. Others have thrown the
botanical net wide, seeking out unusual, outlandish
BOTANICAL WHATNOT
The significance of botanicals in gin is like the
profound effects on flavour that long, subtle ageing
in quality oak casks can have on a malt whisky. Too
much intensity will give you a very one-sided gin; too
many botanicals will turn your palate a rather turgid
brown. What’s clear is that juniper, the distinct, musty,
almost earthy note in gin has to be the most predominant flavour in the spirit. After that, the distiller can
have as much fun has they so desire.
A classic botanical mix will usually include
cardamom pods or seeds, citrus peels, cassia bark
(which gives warming spice notes) bitter angelica root,
liquorice root and coriander. Several newly released
gins (as you will discover overleaf) are hell bent on
bottling the botanical equivalent of the kitchen sink
in their gin, with varying degrees of success. Others
have taken the idea of maturing, or ‘resting’ their gin
in oak casks, producing a gin which is no longer as
aggressive in flavour, offering a more rounded and
textured experience.
63
A GINTRODUCTION OF SORTS:
Here’s The Chap’s guide to the best gins to discover, whatever your drinking tastes. While it is easy to group
gins into categories such as standard, premium, and niche/craft, often based on price, our aim here is for you, the
reader, to consider the types of flavours you enjoy – and, more importantly, just how you intend to drink the gin.
THE BEST GINS FOR MIXING:
(particularly in the ubiquitous G&T)
Beefeater Original 37.5% £15
www.beefeatergin.com
Still one of the most enduring names in
the world of gin, but do not mistake its
ubiquity for anything other than a sign
of its supreme quality. Beefeater Original has a simple mix of botanical flavours, from heavy juniper to an elegant
citrus note, which works wonderfully in
a G&T. The distillery, based a cricket
ball’s throw from The Oval, also has a
visitors’ centre, which is well worth a
saunter over to.
City Of London Distillery Gin 40% £30
www.cityoflondondistillery.com
The City’s newest spirited inhabitant,
City Of London Distillery (or COLD)
produces its gin in very small batches,
using tiny stills, based in a wonderfully
laid out subterranean location that
includes a cocktail bar. Classic notes
of juniper, alongside fresh citrus peels
(Head Distiller Jamie Baxter peels boxes
of fresh lemons each morning before the stills are
fired up) and some hearty, earthy spice to boot.
Plymouth Navy Strength Gin 57% £27.75
www.plymouthgin.com
Plymouth stands as one of the
classic distilleries in the rich heritage of
gin production, first opening its doors
in 1793. Their Navy Strength gin is the
traditional strength required by the British Royal Navy, as it was the benchmark
strength at which a spirit could be spilt
on gunpowder and still ignite. Lots of zest
and powerful juniper aromas confront
the nostrils, followed by some dry woody
spice. The extra strength gives this gin a hugely
rugged character, perfect for a G&T, but the alcohol
does not overpower the delicacy of the botanicals.
JUST THE TONIC:
Four of the best mixers
The key to a great G&T is not just
about the quality (and amount)
of gin used, but also the amount
of ice and the type and integrity
of the tonic water used. More
often than not, we are burdened
with a previously opened bottle
of tonic left idling in the fridge, long since freed of
its zeal and panache, which will only produce sloppy,
second-rate results. If this sounds familiar, consider
this simple option. Rather than buying traditional
one-litre bottles, purchase your tonic in miniaturecanned form. Not only will you have a constant supply of tonic full of vitality, but also you will never
again hear that depressing, lifeless ‘phhuff’ sound
when you most need a G&T. Also consider keeping
a bag of ice in your freezer as a permanent fixture,
and fill your glass liberally, rather than using just
one or two cubes.
Below are several brands of tonic worth seeking
out, to extract the very most from this classic combination drink.
Fever Tree: Lacking the saccharine sweetness of
most mainstream brands of tonic, Fever Tree
harnesses the biting astringency of quinine, giving
your G&T a more traditional pep talk and creating
the perfect colonial sundowner.
Thomas Henry: Much like Fever Tree, Thomas Henry
embraces the natural bitterness of quinine, creating
a tonic water that is rugged and uncompromising in
its flavour.
Fentimans: Using milled quinine bark and lemongrass
from Asia, Fentimans is sweetened using cane sugar
as opposed to saccharin, giving the tonic a much
more natural woody taste.
1724: Taking its origins from high up in the Andes
(1724 metres high, to be precise) where quinine bark
was supposedly first discovered, this is a masculine,
woody tonic that pairs very well with robust gins
(such as Plymouth Navy Strength) for a particular
heady combination.
64
THE BEST GINS FOR A CLASSIC MARTINI:
THE BEST GINS FOR DISCUSSING WITH
YOUR DRINKING ACQUAINTANCES:
No. 3 46% £31.95
www.no3gin.com
Made in Holland to a specific
recipe designed by Berry Brothers
& Rudd of St James’s Street, No.3 is
predominantly juniper heavy, with
strong cardamom notes and a hint
of lemon peel. It is simplistic and
heavy, making it ideal for Martinis.
One of the best ‘expressive noses’
for a gin, with masses of cardamom
on the front palate, followed by
citrus creeping in, then some drying
bark notes. Back to lemon and lime
peel on the finish. Excellent and well
balanced. Serve with a Lemon twist
every time.
Monkey 47 47% £40
www.monkey47.com
When it was mentioned above that
some distillers throw the kitchen
sink into their gin stills, Monkey
47 was clearly one of the spirits
in mind, containing a purported
47 different botanicals, ranging
from juniper to almond, hibiscus,
elderflower, dog rose, lavender, bitter orange and lingonberries. While
it won’t be to everyone’s taste, it
just about manages to balance the
sheer weight of flavours without
becoming too muddied.
Cornelius Ampleforth’s Bathtub Gin 43.3% £32.95
www.masterofmalt.com
Some gin connoisseurs have often
belittled gins which are derived
by ‘compounding’ the botanicals
(basically allowing them to steep
in alcohol to impart their flavour)
rather than actually distilling them.
This gin redefines the category and,
with a slew of recent awards, has
also silenced the critics. Possibly the
most aesthetically pleasing bottle of
gin on the market too.
Gin Mare Mediterranean 42.7% £33.95
www.ginmare.com
A highly unusual experience in
gin that defines its own flavour
category. Gin Mare uses Italian
and other Mediterranean-influenced botanicals, with notes of
rosemary/olive saltiness on the
nose and citrus peel, with cardamom, rosemary and a perfumed
note on the palate. Bold enough
to make a flavoursome Martini,
superb with an olive garnish and
a dash of bone dry vermouth,
such as Gancia or Dolin.
Burrough’s Reserve 43% £60
www.pernod-ricard.com
Burrough’s Reserve explores
one of the current trends of
‘resting’ a gin in oak casks,
to impart additional flavour,
rather like a whisky or tequila. It is produced by Beefeater in very small batches
by Master Distiller Desmond
Payne, who specifically chose
to age the gin in casks once
filled with Jean de Lillet vermouth, (rather than
more readily available bourbon or sherry casks)
which Payne felt would best suit the subtle balance
of botanicals used. It is intended to be sipped neat
and savoured and demonstrates a subtle vanilla
richness on the palate, alongside better-known
flavours of juniper and lemon zest.
Dodd’s Gin 49.9% £30.79
www.thelondondistillerycompany.com
Another brand-new craft distillery, this
time based in Battersea, west London.
Rather like COLD, Dodd’s, made by
the London Distillery Company, has
gone for a well-balanced but classical
twist on the botanical list, with juniper,
cardamom, angelica and fresh lime peel,
but also throwing in more unusual flavours such as raspberry leaf, bay laurel
and London honey for good measure,
creating a very precise palate, perfect
for an elegant stirred Martini.
65
Michael “Atters” Attree with his round-up of all things hirsute and occult
THE HIRSUTE HALL OF INFAMY
Here Be Beauty
Haiku
teenage dandy
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Wicked Duster? No!
Silken lip-kisser? Yes!
My tache is a softy.
If you’d like a haiku review of your
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Atters, The Chap, 2 Mount Place,
Lewes, East Sussex BN7 1YH
Mr. Alan Wicker Man
civilised each corner of
our pagan globe with
his hair oils and British
“quiff upper-lip”. Alas,
his recent passing has left
a gaping patch of alopecia
barbae at the BBC.
Ryan Pike chirps: “What
ho, Atters! Being on the
committee, you will appreciate how my waxed English
moustache has changed my
life in gaining me entry to
the hallowed HBC.” And
made you relocate from East
Barnet to the jungle?
“David from Hertford”
was also submitted by Mr.
Pike, heralding him as
“very genial and genuine
fellow”. One can only hope
that, should a new BBC
globetrotting moustachioed
presenter now be required,
he’d successfully apply.
Here Be Monsters
If this retro fellow ever
sired a son (or daughter)
and IF this evident
genetic experiment
were to continue (in its
intensity), then one can
only marvel at what
the scientists must have
come up with.
De Meulder writes,
“My friend Paulus The
Woodgnome from the
Netherlands” (one can
only marvel at what those
lands must look like, too).
To nurture a look like that
yet not shave one’s chin is
frankly unforgivable.
Hugh Proyas proudly
displays a waxy
growth here. However, instead of my
imagining the fresh
scent of shaving soap
on a string, all I can
muster is the pungent
scent of a dog on one.
Diary of a
the pentagram
of atters
Alan Moore reveals the
astonishing story behind my
“gift” (See p.42). Bauhaus
musician David J attended
record producer Rick Rubin’s
mansion, where a gatecrasher
had pushed a voodoo doll
down Genesis P. Orridge’s trousers. Becoming ill, Mr. Orridge
retired to his bedroom and,
fearing a curse, left the doll in
the hallway.
Mr. Orridge awoke to a fire
outside his door. The other
Bauhaus members jumped
from windows on to grass but
Orridge fell on concrete. David
J witnessed Genesis lying
injured in a horrible state, as
light shone through a rotating tape spool, forming an
upside down pentacle. The
one thing that survived was a
Robert Crumb-designed Devil
Girl chocolate bar that hadn’t
melted. “That can be my present to you...” Thanks, Alan.
18-year-old Zack Pinsent shares the trials
and tribulations of being the best-dressed
boy at a modern school
Photograph by Oscar Ashton-Konig
LIP
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s
a
We
the
product
review
G
reetings to all you young wide-eyed chaps
and chapettes out there, fighting your way
through the horrors of modern society.
Never fear, a helping hand is here. My name
is Zack MacLeod Pinsent and I have been dressing in
vintage clothing since the age of 14. The only place
this has ever caused problems has been at school and
college, where strict sartorial rules must be adhered
to – well at least “strict” to those who don’t break the
rules in the same way as everyone else. It seems that
when one does bend the rules, even to the same degree
as everyone else, with their earrings and tattoos and
so forth, towards a more formal adaptation of the
uniform code, one is ultimately punished.
I began my mission to dandify my schooldays by
making a meticulous study of the uniform guidelines
of my college, which was founded in 1849, to see what
I could get away with. I began, subtly and stealthily
at first, to make my own adaptations over a period of
time, hoping to sneak the results past the dogsbodies,
killjoys and Kamp Kommandants at the school gates.
I started by wearing stiff collars and cufflink shirts in
the 4th and 5th forms, but I would really come into
my own in the Upper 6th.
In Upper 6th you are supposed to wear ‘office
attire’ – basically a ghastly, drab suit, the main proviso
being that the top and bottom halves have to match.
The rules say nothing about matching waistcoats.
This is where I had the perfectly legal opportunity
to go all out displaying my enormous collection of
waistcoats (some dating back to the Regency Period),
cravats (tied as ties), pocket watches and properly
made 1920s suits. This, of course, caused an uproar,
but I asked my critics to point out where I had actually
broken the rules.
However, eventually the authorities stopped me
doing some things, like wearing hats, two-tone shoes,
pince nez, stiff cuffs and moustaches. I know – even
the dear moustache! I did my best for Movember,
but was told to shave it off immediately, which is not
just disrespectful to the Chappist world but also the
charitable purpose of Movember. The moral of all
this is that you should stick to your guns and never
give in on your individual style, no matter how loudly
the hoodie-wearing, derriere-showing, foot-dragging
youths of today may jeer or disapprove. At least
someone dressing like me knows that their style has
been tried and tested for several hundred years, and
consider this other crucial point: in the future, you’ll
have photos of your youth to look back on with pride,
instead of embarrassment and shame.
A few tips for aspiring chaps. Firstly, you need
to sort out one outfit in your chosen era or style to
a decent standard. This shall be your springboard
of sartorial successes; for me it was my great, great
grandfather’s black three-piece suit. Then hunt
around in charity shops, car-boot sales, vintage fairs,
vintage shops, eBay, graves and costume sales. Some
reproduction items can be acceptable, but then it
brings about the same problem as shopping on the
high street: hundreds of other people will have it, yet
you think it is ‘cool’.
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