GREAT BRITAIN: Chemmy Parties

Noe manner of persons of what degree, qualyte or condicion . . . by himself, factor, deputye, servante or other person shall for his or her gayne, lucre or living kepe, have, houlde, occupie, exercise or maynteyn any common house, alley or place [for gambling).

This law, established in 1541 by King Henry VIII, who wanted his subjects out practicing archery, not sitting around in stuffy rooms losing money at cards, is still one of the basic statutes governing gambling in Britain. But in London last week, it was up against a new upper-class passion for gambling parties. Police went to the courts to get a clearer reading of Henry VIII’s 400-year-old prohibition.

Gulls’ Eggs & Boar. What upset the police was the rash of “chemmy” parties that take place nightly in socialite Mayfair and bohemian Chelsea. Organized in the beginning by people with aristocratic pretensions, the gambling parties begin at 10, are limited to the game of chemin de fer.* The setting for top-grade parties, which are never held at the same address two nights running, is as lavish as for a diplomatic reception. In fashionable apartments white-coated waiters offer guests free champagne and Havana cigars, lead them to buffets loaded with caviar, gulls’ eggs, roast wild boar. Said one Mayfair guest: “To get to the first party, you must know someone who is going and will take you along. After that, invitations just tumble through the letter box as frequently as bills.”

An average chemmy party has from 20 to 30 players, most of them young men, many titled, who gather around a green baize horseshoe table. The play is high, and one gambler says, “I’ve seen thousands of pounds lost in an evening and paid for with a check postdated for one week.” The fad has become so popular that cut-rate games are being started for the not so top set, where stakes are modest and the gamblers serve only cold salmon and allow a single free bottle of champagne—usually Spanish.

All Sorts of Weather. Last week the police hauled into court Old Etonian Nicolas Boord, 22, a company director, Old Harrovian Peter Scaramanga, 25, described as a horse dealer, and Old Harrovian Peter Sterry, 29, also a company director. The main charge: that Sterry’s Chelsea flat was being used by the three as a common gaming house. The prosecution alleged that on the night of the raid there were 20 people in the room, “nine at the gaming table, with chips in front of them.” After five hours’ wrangling, the judge ruled that it had not been proved that Sterry’s flat was “habitually” used for gambling or that the card playing that went on there was for profit. Cried jubilant Defendant Scaramanga: “I’ve been playing chemmy since I left Sunday school.” The decision was received joyfully by Mayfair’s gamblers, and the police expect that the average of 40 chemmy parties a night will soon be doubled.

*A relative of Twenty-One or blackjack, chemin de fer (literally “railroad”) requires a player, on a two-or three-card draw, to score nearer to nine than his opponent. Face cards and tens count as zero. Part of chemmy’s appeal lies in the fact that it requires no card-playing skill. The London Times testily describes it as a game of “monumental pointlessness.”