"A brandy glass as an orb and a cigar for a sceptre." That was the description of my father, a general and respected clubman back in the early 1940s.
While still recognizing the club of today, he would, I am afraid, be far from happy with our new state of affairs. For a start, the absence of the cigar as a manly prop would send him cursing about the place, for in his mind, what was a club without the Churchill Havana?
As for the presence of women, that might well push him completely off the dock, for to his way of thinking, one could not be oneself around the weaker sex. I am sure that if he ever clapped eyes on Mrs. ffrangingtonDavis or Mrs. Hynde-Quarters, he might have to adjust his thinking as far as "sex" or "weak" is concerned. Strong woman have always frightened we Smythe-Browns down through the ages, and my late father and I are no exception.
Today's world has stretched its veiny arms through our bay windows and choked out any resistance to change within. It has succeeded, which is a shame. I have written before in this space on the subject of women in men's clubs, and I have always been clear, as in "No."
If women may have clubs - and they do - why is it that men cannot enjoy the same rights? My wife Kitty belongs to several such organizations exclusively for the pinker shades, such as gyms, business and reading clubs. When queried by your Major on this dichotomy, she simply replies: "Men just get in the way and we cannot be ourselves."
Well, blow me over!
There is a women's club nearby called The Disappointed, which I take exception to as I see it as grapeshot across the prows of all men.
The old games such as Toss the Waiter are gone from the club, since women always seem to frown upon them, which takes the fun out of things. Not only that, they reported us to the authorities, which led to mass arrests. Several bugeyed mems caught by the flashbulbs of cameras made the front page of the sa国际传媒 being escorted from the home of homes towards the yawning paddy wagon. Without the opportunity to explain that the waiters did not seem to mind, especially after being slipped a fiver or two, we became the butt of censorious editorial writers and socialist radio hosts.
In a matter of days, woman members were allowed into our keep, starting with four mustachioed grief counsellors, one of whom tore a cigar from a startled colonel's mouth with his teeth still gripping the wet end. It was downhill fast after that.
You might ask whether women's club doors were thrown open to men in a reciprocal gesture? Not a bit of it.
Other changes that would have raised my father's large eyebrows include personal technology such as computers and smartphones that vibrate incessantly. Business meetings are held openly with little embarrassment, but it is the clothing that would most trouble the general. Not so long ago, the lounge suit or blazer would have been the only choices available, which gave the home of homes a sense of style and sophistication not found elsewhere. Now what some mems are wearing in the confines of the "new" club would draw comment from a down-on-his-luck gondolier. A plethora of stripes and shades barely covering bulbous shapes creates a baroque excrescence out of our once-proud environment.
I do not want to overstate the decline at the club, and to be fair, the women mems generally dress far better than do the men. I suppose I am just complaining about life in general.
