GREAT BRITAIN: Sighting the Stars

Britons, it has long been said, take their pleasures sadly. From London last week came news that this axiom is as true in a British burlesque house as it is in a county drawing room. At the tiny and prosperous Windmill Theater near Piccadilly, long a favored hangout of U.S. soldiers, sailors and marines, London’s lovelies prove as deciduous as the Minsky variety, but their nudity must stand on its own without bumps or grinds. Perambulant stripping is taboo, and a prim sign in the lobby warns customers that “any additional aid to vision is not permitted.” Forbidden the use of opera glasses under this rule, a seagoing burlesque fan recently did his best to provide a substitute. Navigational instruments are usually equipped with telescopes, so the sailor brought along his sextant. The Windmill management promptly sent him home.