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Salutary Stories no. 2
LUNCH AT THE SAVOY Michael Allen
This story was told to me by Jane McCullough, a lovely woman who would, I am sure, have lived to be ninety-nine but for theemphysema. I miss her.Jane had this story from her mother, who was an eye- witness, and it dates, I believe, from the nineteen-twenties.Jane’s mother was married to a doctor, by the name of Fyffe,and the family lived in Hove, on the south coast of England.Hove is the sort of town where well-off and respectable peoplego in retirement. It is, as any resident will tell you, a far superiorplace, in every way, to the adjoining town of Brighton. Hove isdignified old lady, with private means; Brighton is a blowsy oldtart.Jane’s father, Dr Fyffe, used to take his wife on an occasionaltrip up to London, where they would have lunch and thenperhaps see a matinee or do some shopping. And one day they decided to treat themselves to lunch at the Savoy Grill.In order to appreciate this story, you have to understand thatthe Savoy was then the most prestigious hotel in town, and theGrill was the outstanding restaurant of the day. The name Savoy stood for everything that was both top quality and expensive;and the services provided, both in the hotel and in the Grill, were of the highest order. Another thing you need to appreciate is that, in the nineteen-twenties, England was still very much in the age when a glimpseof stocking was looked upon as something shocking. Today, amen’s magazine can publish a photograph of an actress climbingout of a car and revealing the fact that she is wearing no knickersat all. But no one, some ninety years ago, would have believedthat such a day would ever come. It was unthinkable.On the day in question, Dr and Mrs Fyffe were seated near tothe entrance of the restaurant. They were halfway through theirmain course when Mrs Fyffe noticed a handsome and welldressed couple making themselves known to the maitre d’. Aftera brief check of his records to establish where they were to beseated, the maitre d’ led this couple to their table.
 
The table which had been allocated turned out to be at thefar end of the room. And, as the couple walked down the room,Mrs Fyffe, and just about every other person present, noticedthat something was terribly wrong.Before going into the Grill for lunch, the lady in question hadnaturally visited the restroom. She had doubtless checked hermake-up, and perhaps combed her hair. But she had neglectedto do one vitally important thing. She had not looked behindher. And now, as the lady walked beside her gentleman escortdown the full length of the Savoy Grill, every person presentcould see that the hem of her skirt was caught in the top of herknickers. The result was – and I apologise for plain speaking, but I have to convey the full horror of the situation – the result was that her knickers, together with her suspender belt andstockings, and the creamy thigh above the stocking tops, werefully exposed to the public gaze.I dare say that, even today, such a sight would give pause tomost observers. But in the Savoy Grill, in the nineteen-twenties,this spectacle caused all conversation to cease forthwith.Forks, with food impaled upon them, suddenly becamefrozen in mid air. The mouths for which said food was intendeddropped even more widely open than they had been hitherto.Every lady turned pale with shock, to be followed in many cases by a deep blush of embarrassment. For no one – absolutely noone, could doubt that what they were witnessing here was asocial catastrophe of the first order. A whole succession of thoughts flashed through every mind.Everyone knew that this poor woman would never again be ableto hold her head up in polite society. She would be treated, nodoubt, with silent sympathy, but her nerve would be shattered.She would never again be able to enter the Savoy Grill, or any other establishment of class. Her children would be teased beyond endurance – the girls especially. And the gentleman who was escorting her – why, his reputation would not count formuch either, for he had failed to protect her. Emigration might be a possible solution, but even in those days news crossed thecontinents in no time at all.More immediately, the thought that was uppermost in theonlookers’ minds was this: What is this unhappy soul going todo NOW – here and now, in the Savoy Grill – when she finds outthat she has exposed every secret of her underwear to the entire
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room? (Minor royalty are understood to have been present, notto mention a theatrical star and his mistress.)It would be wholly understandable, everyone was forced toadmit to themselves, if this woman collapsed in a screaminghysterical fit, and had to be carried out by men in white coats.Indeed it would be no surprise if she were renderedpermanently insane. Given the tenor of the times, such areaction would be natural and by no means disproportionate,and it would be deeply upsetting for everyone else, too. It wouldruin lunch. And so, not surprisingly, a deep hush fell on the room. Andevery eye, glazed with an agony of anticipation, followed thelady’s progress.However… We have already noted that the Savoy Grill provided the very highest standard of service, in every conceivable way. That beingso, there was naturally a waiter standing beside the tabletowards which this innocent couple, as yet unaware of any problem, were peacefully progressing. And this waiter – pausefor a moment and give thanks to whichever god you worship – was a man with a keen eye.The waiter had watched the approach of the guests whom it was his duty to look after on that particular day, and he hadnoticed a certain… shall we say, distortion… in the lady’ssilhouette. He was therefore forewarned.In accordance with his training, the waiter drew out a chairfrom the table and placed himself behind it. And, as the lady passed between chair and table, he reached forward, and with adeft flick of the hand he removed the hem of the skirt from where it was caught in the elastic of the lady’s knickers. Hepaused, for a fraction of a second, to allow the skirt to fallnaturally into position, and then he smoothly pushed the chairforward and allowed the lady to be seated.She noticed nothing amiss. And so it was that this both fortunate and unfortunate lady,preoccupied no doubt with happy thoughts of her forthcominglunch, never did know how close she had come to disaster.Neither did her escort. Through prompt action by a quick-thinking waiter, they were spared a lifetime of ignominy andshame. We must hope they left a good tip. With calamity avoided, conversation in the room resumed.Perhaps it was a little louder than was strictly necessary. And no
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uploaded a new revision for this document (#3)

01 / 19 / 2010

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12 / 29 / 2009
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