"Private Pants"

Many a gallon of blue blood coursed through the veins of a snooty party delicately sipping tea one afternoon last week on the trim lawns of the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes. Here and there a peer, dangling a strawberry, gazed into the middle distance for a patch of white canvas against the blue of The Solent. In full swing was the Squadron's regatta.

The atmosphere of the R. Y. S. is more nearly that of a cathedral than of a club. Founded in 1815 by London yachtsmen "to promote seamanship and the improvement of sailing vessels," it has 250 members (including 19 women) who cheerfully pay 100 guineas entrance fee, 100 guineas a year, has headquarters in a turreted fortress built by Henry VIII, later used as a state prison. Rigidly hostile to "trade," the Squadron refused to admit the late Sir Thomas Lipton (tea) even though he had been proposed at the request of King Edward VII, had spent a fortune trying to win the America's Cup for Britain. Furious with the Committee, King Edward reputedly summoned the Commodore, asked: "Can't it be done?" Replied the Commodore: "It can, Sire,* but if it is, the R. Y. S. will have but two members--yourself and Sir Thomas."

Year ago this citadel of British aristocracy was shaken when an "unprincipled young bounder" from Cambridge University hoisted atop the Squadron's masthead a pair of frilly, pink panties.

Last week Squadron members received a second shattering blow. Serene and blonde Viscountess Hinchingbrooke, wife of a onetime secretary of Earl Baldwin, went tripping across the sacred lawn in bright blue linen trousers. Nothing so blasphemous had happened since the day few years before when a shameless hussy appeared without stockings. Horrified, popping eyes were turned upon the Viscountess who blandly sat down, ordered tea. Next day the Squadron Committee met to discuss the crisis, decided to authorize the gatekeeper to turn back in future any woman so dressed. To newshawks Lord Hinchingbrooke expressed himself laconically: "Private club. . . . Private pants. " . . . Private matter. So what the Hell?"

* Unlike Sir Thomas Lipton, Aircraft Magnate T. O. M. Sopwith, whose Endeavour II last week straggled valiantly in the wake of Harold Vanderbilt's Ranger (see p. 25), is not "first generation," is therefore a member in good standing.

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