by Ben Fogle
Henley is almost a character of Englishness. It is an essential fixture in what’s known as the English Summer Season – or simply The Season, to those who are involved. I got my first taste of this annual upper-middle-class jolly after landing a job at Tatler, that quintessential English magazine. By a complete fluke I ended up being picture editor there, having started as PA to Giles Coren and the late A. A. Gill. Tatler covers The Season avidly and I had a year of attending all the main events.
The Season originated in the eighteenth century, when members of the aristocracy traditionally kept a house in London. Fans of Downton Abbey will know that the Crawley family would regularly decamp to Grantham House, their grand townhouse in St James’s Square. The purpose behind The Season’s calendar of events – which started in April and went on until 12 August – was to entertain the families of the well-to-do while Parliament was sitting. As a result, most of the ‘fixtures’ were within a carriage ride of London and the organizers, in that very English way, collaborated to make sure that there were no date clashes.
Historically, The Season provided celebrations of the arts: opera at Glyndebourne, music at the Proms concerts, fine art at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition and drama at West End theatres. It included horticulture with the Chelsea Flower Show (to ensure landowners were up to date with the latest hothouse plants and fashionable shrubs). It celebrated equestrianism with a full line-up of showpiece events featuring flat racing, National Hunt racing, three-day eventing and show jumping: Royal Ascot, the Cheltenham Gold Cup, Badminton, the Grand National, the Royal Windsor Horse Show, the Epsom Derby and Glorious Goodwood. The jewels in the crown of the calendar were of course Trooping the Colour in Horse Guards Parade and the Order of the Garter service in Windsor.
In addition there was a huge variety of traditional upper-class sporting events, which provided days of jollity and plenty of excuses for partying as men competed in the Boat Race, Henley Royal Regatta, Guards polo, the lawn tennis championships at Wimbledon, Cowes Week and the Lord’s Test match. The traditional end of The Season was the Glorious Twelfth of August, which marks the beginning of the grouse shooting season. Society would retire to the country to shoot birds during the autumn and hunt foxes during the winter, before coming back to London again with the spring. For many years The Season ran like that, requiring huge household expenditure on the latest fashions and armies of cooks to provide exquisite feasts and picnics.
The clothes are still a vital ingredient, and the dress codes for the events add an interesting dimension – and some confusion. At Wimbledon, players must still conform to strict rules regarding clothing:
The following refers to all clothing, including tracksuits and sweaters, worn on The Championship courts both for practice and for matches.
Competitors must be dressed in suitable tennis attire that is almost entirely white and this applies from the point at which the player enters the court surround.
White does not include off white or cream.
There should be no solid mass or panel of colouring. A single trim of colour around the neckline and around the cuff of the sleeve is acceptable but must be no wider than one centimetre (10mm).
Colour contained within patterns will be measured as if it is a solid mass of colour and should be within the one centimetre (10mm) guide. Logos formed by variations of material or patterns are not acceptable.
The back of a shirt, dress, tracksuit top or sweater must be totally white.
Shorts, skirts and tracksuit bottoms must be totally white except for a single trim of colour down the outside seam no wider than one centimetre (10mm).
Caps, headbands, bandannas, wristbands and socks must be totally white except for a single trim of colour no wider than one centimetre (10mm).
Shoes must be almost entirely white, including the soles. Large manufacturers’ logos are not encouraged. The grass court shoes must adhere to the Grand Slam rules (see Appendix A below for full details). In particular shoes with pimples around the outside of the toes shall not be permitted. The foxing around the toes must be smooth.
Any undergarments that either are or can be visible during play (including due to perspiration) must also be completely white except for a single trim of colour no wider than one centimetre (10mm). In addition, common standards of decency are required at all times.
Medical supports and equipment should be white if possible but may be coloured if absolutely necessary.
In 2017, three players were instructed to change their underwear because they contravened rule 9. The All England Club even provided suitable attire for two of the competitors. The all-white dress code is so instilled in the minds of the tennis-loving English public that a confused ticket-holder telephoned the Championships’ public relations office one year to ask if it was all right for her to come as a spectator in a sundress made of white fabric with ‘just a few light sprigs of flowers’.
Many events of the Season have traditional expectations, if not diehard rules, with regard to dress for ladies and gentlemen. At Royal Ascot, for example, hats are obligatory. If permitted to enter the Royal Enclosure (there are also, of course, strict regulations qualifying entry to that most exclusive enclave), gentlemen are required to wear either black or grey morning dress, including a waistcoat, with a top hat. There are also rules about how to handle the hats: another rule states that a gentleman may remove his top hat within a restaurant, a private box, a private club or that facility’s terrace, balcony or garden. Hats may also be removed within any enclosed external seating area within the Royal Enclosure Garden. Ladies must wear hats and not show bare midriffs or shoulders.
In the stewards’ enclosure at Henley Royal Regatta, gentlemen must wear a jacket and tie. A lady’s skirt hem must reach below the knee and is checked before entry by the stewards’ officers. Hats are encouraged but ‘not required’ for ladies. When a student protested at being denied entry to the stewards’ enclosure for failing to meet the dress code, saying she had worn the dress ‘in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot and nobody said anything’, a spokesman defended the dress code by saying, ‘The intention is to maintain the atmosphere of an English garden party of the Edwardian period by wearing a more traditional dress.’
Not all dress codes are about showiness. At polo matches, for example, it is usual for gentlemen to wear a blazer and white trousers, but ladies should wear sensible flat shoes, as the tradition of ‘treading in the divots’ precludes the wearing of heels. The tradition, by the way, is that at half-time in the match, the spectators are allowed onto the field to stamp down any ridges and divots created by the ponies’ hooves so that the ball will travel smoothly in the second half.
The Chelsea Flower Show, the Royal Horticultural Society’s flagship garden show, held over five days in May in the grounds of Chelsea Royal Hospital, is an annual favourite of the Queen’s. She has only missed the show twice during her reign. The event attracts the world’s specialist horticulturalists, celebrity garden designers and vendors of every imaginable (and never before imagined) plant-related accessory. Visually beautiful and laden with a thousand floral displays, the show makes a lovely day out, embracing artistry and practicality, the elite and the cottage gardener. Where else do you find fanatics of the hosta, of carnivorous plants from around the world or of esoteric specimens of the bearded iris; or discover the latest in luxury pergolas, garden clogs and wind-powered kinetic sculptures? The Chelsea Flower Show is said to attract more FTSE 100 chief executives than any other of The Season’s social events, but the only formal day requiring something dressy is Monday, the day of the Queen’s visit. Otherwise women tend to wear a flowery dress to mark the occasion, offset with sensible shoes – especially necessary at 4 p.m. on the last day when the Chelsea Bell signals the ‘sell-off’ and visitors stampede to buy from the show displays.
Glyndebourne Opera has also become a summer institution. The English country house, dating from the sixteenth century and occupying a site of bucolic beauty near Lewes in Eas
t Sussex, has hosted an annual opera festival since 1934. Anxiety about what to wear is part of the fun for women, though the English summer chill often means a picnic rug around the shoulders is a popular accessory. Initially, the productions were staged within the house, but in 1994 the much-loved and homely auditorium was replaced by a state-of-the-art, acoustically impressive free-standing opera house bolted on to the side of the main building and seating 1,200 people in comfort.
The origins of the festival are worthy of an operatic score themselves. John Christie, grandfather of the current custodian Gus Christie, inherited the estate in 1920. In the course of renovating and doubling the length of the south façade of the house, he added a vast room to accommodate one of the largest organs in the country outside a cathedral. After the Second World War, Christie gave sections of the soundboards, pipes and structural parts to the rebuilt Guards Chapel at Wellington Barracks in Birdcage Walk, which had been destroyed in the Blitz; the case and console remain at Glyndebourne. Christie loved music and regularly held amateur opera evenings in the organ room. At one of these soirees in 1931, he met his future wife, the Sussex-born Canadian soprano Audrey Mildmay, a singer with the Carl Rosa opera company. After a whirlwind romance, they married on 4 June 1931 and returned from honeymoon – where they had attended the Salzburg and Bayreuth festivals – with the notion of bringing professional, small-scale opera to Glyndebourne.
The combination of amazing music and a beautiful setting, complete with formal gardens, a large water-lily pond and sheep grazing in the surrounding fields, is glamour incarnate, but not without some eccentric English touches. Most opera-goers travel between Lewes train station and Glyndebourne in a double-decker jalopy provided by the festival, often joined on the way back by members of the cast and orchestra to catch the last train.
It is perhaps a sign of the times that Debrett (‘the recognized authority on etiquette, influence and achievement since … 1769’) now runs a half-day programme called ‘The British Social Season Course’ for … corporate hospitality. How best to impress your VIP guests? A day at Ascot, Wimbledon or Henley is the answer. ‘Brand ambassadors are often expected to know the intricacies of the British social Season – the events, traditions and dress codes,’ runs the Debrett blurb. ‘As a result of this programme, you will be able to share subtleties and insights with your clients, facilitate confident conversations and put them at ease. It will also enable you to assess a client’s need for guidance and impart advice with grace and discretion.’
As well as headaches about what to wear, the other perpetual cause of anxiety is, of course, the weather.
The Season brings extreme weather pressure points. There are certain days of the year when concern about the likelihood of fine weather reaches a hysterical peak: will rain threaten the immaculate preparations of garden designers showing at the Chelsea Flower Show? Will the sun shine for the traditional 2 p.m. Royal Procession of four open carriages that carry the Queen and her family to the Royal Enclosure at Ascot? Will stilettos and suede brogues bear up to a day on the grassy riverbanks of the enclosure at Henley Royal Regatta? There is frantic checking of forecasts and weather apps in the weeks, days, hours and minutes before each event; essential clothing adjustments are made right up to the last moment.
For top designers planning the ultimate garden display, the weather at Chelsea is a key factor. Even in a year of average conditions, horticulturists suffer nightmares as they nurture and coax flowers that normally bloom in summer to reach show-stopping perfection in May. In recent years, 2012 probably ranks as the worst on record, with the run-up blighted by torrential downpours, night-time frosts and an unusual lack of sunlight; growers warned of a shortage of roses, tulips, irises, geraniums, foxgloves, rhododendrons, wisterias, azaleas, peonies, delphiniums, lupins and euphorbias. The Evening Standard reported that ‘One designer admitted she’s “having a nervous breakdown” as her roses and irises refuse to bloom. Another fretted that a trailing nasturtium, supposed to be the centrepiece of a display, is three feet shorter than intended.
‘Former gold medal winner David Domoney, working this year with Alan Titchmarsh on a new series of ITV’s Love Your Garden, said entrants should try everything from hairdryers to heat lamps to keep plants in good health. Growers are resorting to swathing plants in protective fleece at night and faking sunlight using sodium lamps …’
Of course Wimbledon, or The Championships at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, to give the world’s most prestigious tennis tournament its full and proper name, is arguably the most weather-wary sporting event in the world. This is because its USP is so wholly reliant on the weather. It is the only one of the four major tennis tournaments known as the Grand Slams to be contested on grass, so play on its much admired, immaculate emerald sward can only occur when there is not a single drop of drizzle, rain or precipitation falling on the ground of this very English corner of London.
In a world of all-weather surfaces, acute psychological rivalries and punishing professionalism, Wimbledon gives equal billing to its traditions of strawberries and cream, Pimm’s, an English garden party atmosphere and all-white clothing rule. The addition of a retractable roof on Centre Court – with one due to be added to No. 1 Court – has reduced stress about rain preventing play, but Wimbledon wouldn’t be Wimbledon without the daily greeting: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? May I have your attention please? The latest update from the Met Office indicates a band of cloud …’
For an immediate immersion in quintessential Englishness, a visitor should join the Queue at Wimbledon. And yes, it must have a capital ‘Q’, for it is not only a proper noun but a proper institution, a social event in itself that incorporates overnight campers and dedicated tennis fans intent on a fun time, rain or shine. It snakes up Church Road and around Wimbledon Park, overseen by a benign army of honorary stewards. The Queue has its own set of rules, and you can bet your life there will be much tutting if you transgress any one of them.
Just before Wimbledon in The Season comes Royal Ascot. It was founded by Queen Anne in 1711 and boasts excellent horse racing, but the real sport lies in spotting how flamboyantly the challenge has been met of wearing the most eccentric hat or providing the most indulgent car-park picnic. Those attending for the first time can never quite believe the daily fairy-tale frisson of watching the Queen, her family and distinguished guests arriving in a procession of horse-drawn open-top carriages. The raising of the Royal Standard signals the start of each race day. Bookies take bets on the Queen’s hat colour, and wardrobe etiquette is scrupulously observed. In the Royal Enclosure, morning dress is required but ‘no cravats’. They are for weddings, don’t yer know!
The Season brings out the eccentric customs and fashions of upper-class society. It includes some of the most famous of our sporting and cultural events and, if you want to be exposed to extreme Englishness, or have three months of living Englishly, you’d be hard pressed to find a better means of doing so.
As the Summer Season comes to an end, we enter the so-called Silly Season: where the English love of a good headline collides with a beautiful storm of ridiculousness. News stories about saucily shaped vegetables and silhouettes of religious leaders appearing on pieces of toast feature daily.
WOMAN FINDS A HAT IN A TREE
SHOCK AS POPE STEPS DOWN TWO YEARS AFTER BRUM VISIT
NEW FOOTPATH GATE ‘TOO NOISY’
WARNING OVER DANGEROUS CUPCAKES
WHITSTABLE MUM IN CUSTARD SHORTAGE
GRASS GROWING FAST AFTER RAIN
POODLE HOLDS CLUE TO DEATHS
POSTMAN BEATEN BY LAVENDER BUSH
BUILDERS THWARTED BY FISH-EATING SPIDERS
CHEEKY SEAGULL NABS CRISPS
YAWNING ALMOST KILLED A MAN
PATIENT GETS PILLOW CASE INSTEAD OF GOWN
The Brighton Argus once carried the cover headline KITTEN CHOKES ON MOUSE. But my favourite is from the Cambridge Evening News: KITTEN THAT LOOKS LIKE HITLER
– pictures.
So consistent are the August Silly Season news stories that it is possible to guarantee a number of topics including sharks spotted off Cornwall, crop circles in Dorset, photographs of – depending on what kind of weather we’ve been having – an empty or overflowing reservoir, a story titled ‘Who’s running the country’, accompanied by photographs of our MPs on holiday, and some animal story.
There was much mourning, both in fishing circles and beyond, in August 2009 when Benson the carp passed on. Britain’s largest specimen was a star in the carp world and had been caught and returned to the water sixty-three times. So named because of a hole in her dorsal fin shaped like a cigarette burn, she was found dead at the tender age of an estimated twenty to twenty-five years old (carp normally live for around four decades). The tabloids were joined by the posh papers in asking who killed Benson. ‘Even the Wall Street Journal has been in touch,’ said Tony Bridgefoot, owner of Bluebell Lakes near Oundle, where Benson lived and died.
In August 1998, under the headline DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!, a Tynemouth policeman told the papers about the dive-bombing herring gulls that were driving his family to distraction. ‘We had almost become prisoners in our own home,’ Robert Lephard reported. ‘Sometimes it was like a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds just trying to get to the car.’
In 2009, killer chipmunks were all the rage in Fleet Street, invading Britain from mainland Europe. The Sun reported that young mum Roxanne Whelan was attacked by one in her garden when she popped out for a smoke, and the Daily Star even managed to shoehorn a bit of anti-French sentiment into its coverage, reporting that ‘Dodgy French street sellers are flogging them to unsuspecting Brits at £10 a go as pets. But the rodents are actually vicious Siberian chipmunks that can kill.’ Expert Guy Bruel advised: ‘The public must be on its guard.’