Artist's Resale Right ("Droit de Suite"). Artist's… Read more

ANNABEL'SBy NICK FOULKESIt was without doubt the best excuse I have ever heard.“I am afraid that Mr Birley cannot come to the phone because he is busy relaxing.” I had rung Thurloe Lodge to speak to Mark Birley. Elvira his housekeeper had answered and explained that he could not be disturbed. Mark Birley was a man who elevated comfort and relaxation to the level of an art form and Annabel’s was his masterpiece, his ‘Making of Adam’, his ‘Last Supper’ his ‘Demoiselles d’Avignon’.Son of Society portrait painter Sir Oswald Birley and Society beauty Rhoda Pike; Mark grew up in a unique aesthetic microclimate, a cocktail comprising equal measures of culture and comfort. Sir Oswald was not a painter to starve in a garret, he was famous for the good lunches he would give those who sat for their portraits in his studio; and some of Mark’s earliest memories were of going for ice cream at the famed Berkeley Square tearoom Gunter’s, founded in the 18th century. Fitting then that with Annabel’s chocolate ice cream he would uphold the reputation of Mayfair’s town square for excellent ices well into the 21st century.At first it might have seemed that young Mark would drift through life. University College Oxford, where he attended more race meetings than lectures, did not encourage him to return for a second year. For a while he pursued a career in advertising. But then he stumbled across the perfect job: being himself. Today one would say that he was a ‘brand’ or a ‘tastemaker’ but caricaturist and wit Marc Boxer put it much more elegantly, giving him the sobriquet ‘Warrant Holder to the Upper Crust’.His initial foray into this vocation was to open the first Hermes shop in London on Piccadilly Arcade where lunch of smoked salmon and lobster was sent around from nearby Wilton’s. He once explained to me that the secret of great retail was simple: a sofa. Customers would come in after lunch sink into the sofa where they were, literally, sitting targets for the pretty vendeuses who sold them belts and ties.Sofas, which swallowed their sitters whole, the comfort of which induced a Lethe-like, lotophagous narcosis were also at the heart of Annabel’s, which he named after his wife and described to prospective members in 1963 as a ‘new kind of Night Club in London. One which is international in character, and more of a club in the true sense than any other’. With characteristic restraint he talked of ‘a small American bar and comfortable sitting room’ in ‘the vaults of 44 Berkeley Square’, under the infamous Clermont Club. There was also a second bar, a restaurant serving supper and dancing to music ‘reproduced by high fidelity sound equipment.’ And thus, the legend was born.It may have been a basement but it was a basement of a million stories: the time Lady Di (as she is known to my generation) and Fergie turned up dressed as policewomen for Prince Andrew’s stag party: the time John Wayne had to be asked to refrain from intimate antics; the time the Queen came for a party; the time the Beatles were turned away for not wearing ties (although Former Manager Gavin Rankin insists they were shoeless not tieless); the time Prince Andrew was turned away for not wearing a tie – one assumes he was not barefoot; the time… It managed to be grand but groovy – a perfect combination for the social fluidity of the times. “All those different worlds were starting to collide” said Anna Wintour of the bubbling social cauldron that was London in the Sixties. “Hairdressers were suddenly as famous as duchesses and to the outside eye, Annabel’s was where all these people went.” For Society it was a way of understanding a new nightclub culture where orchestras, bands and singers were replaced with records. It was such a novelty that Queen magazine, chronicle of the upper crust, regularly printed the Annabel’s Top Twenty. But although much was made of the high-fidelity sound equipment, over five decades the vaults under Berkeley Square welcomed live acts of international fame, Ray Charles, Ella Fitzgerald and The Supremes among them. When Lady Gaga performed her set here, she began with the words “Hello rich people”. Indeed, Annabel’s was expensive. Alistair McAlpine once told me that when he was Tory party Treasurer he found the bar at Annabel’s the best place for fundraising: if they were there, potential donors could hardly plead poverty. Sometimes in order to explain its unique appeal, Annabel’s was described as a country house into which a discotheque has been inserted, which is not entirely accurate. Country houses in those distant days were hardly havens of warmth, comfort and exquisite food. No, this was a Carlos de Beistegui idea of country house chic, cashmere that only looked like tweed. It may have opened in the 1960s but it was not really of the period – in fact it was not of any period, it was truly timeless, it defied taxonomy, it was equal only to itself: a nocturnal manifestation of its founder’s taste and vision. It was created out of thousands of tiny details brought to perfection: whether the little cross-hatched spheres of butter that appeared with the Melba toast; or the exacting standards to which the brass-clad pillars in the restaurant were polished every day – you had to be able to read the reflection of a menu in themAnd it is true that in the suffused glow of tabletop oil-lamps reflected in the forest of brass, Annabel’s looked beautiful in the shadowed hours when the low light flattered men and women alike and the flare of a match might momentarily illuminate the lower half of a beautiful or famous face. It is also true that the care taken with the design deserved to be appreciated with the lights on.Paintings smothered the saffron paneled walls of the sitting room in a carefully planned pictorial patchwork. Landseerish dogs abounded, arranged around the fireplace in some form of canine votive arch, elsewhere there were works by Alfred Munnings, Augustus John, Glyn Philpott and William Orpen. The inner bar and restaurant had a more Art Deco feel although Mark never allowed one style to take over completely. Instead it was unmistakably le goût Birley. Modernist posters, as well as Paul Colin dancers, jazz musicians and nightclub scenes, were balanced with, say, a corner of maritime paintings and ephemera that evoked the quarters of a retired admiral circa 1860 and an alcove hung with horses and a 19th century painting of a flaneur – all tumbling auburn hair and a white three-piece suit - bought for the sound artistic reason that Mark thought he looked ‘like such an absolute shit.’The Buddha Room is, probably, the most famous feature of the club. Its eponymous sculpture was the backdrop for a particularly good, melancholic Snowdon portrait of Mark. Yet it was a relatively late arrival, installed in 1979 and replacing a bar; the Leon Bakst costume designs that studded the room’s carmine walls evoked the world of Les Ballets Russes, not necessarily the most Buddhist of organizations but coexisting very well nonetheless.It all works well because in spite of their differences, whether watercolours by John Ward or vintage skiing posters, art and objects were assembled and arranged under the gimlet eye and sure hand of Mark Birley. And it was against this beautifully prepared backdrop that the half century long roman fleuve of life underground in Mayfair was written. Now a new chapter has opened. Annabel’s has moved up the road and the vaults under Number 44 have fallen silent: but while I daresay the contents of the old Annabel’s will find a new home with ease, the legend left behind will perhaps never disperse.NICK FOULKESA HEADY COCKTAIL OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDSBY DAVID SNOWDONI had heard of Annabel’s from my early youth, even if my parents disapproved of my visiting! Tales of exotic dinners, fascinating people and hedonistic parties that went on into the early hours emanated from within – always with a sense of fun tinged with a hint of danger, set against the beautiful and enticing theatrical backdrop of 44 Berkeley Square. I actually didn’t go to Annabel’s until the mid 1980s, when I was invited to a private party, and I remember the excitement of being greeted by two impeccably dressed doormen in dark green ushered me and my friends down the striped staircase into that fabled basement. On arrival downstairs, I was greeted like a long lost friend by the impeccably polite Louis Emanuelli, manager of Annabel’s from the outset, who welcomed me to the club. Passing through the narrow corridor, I met my host, whilst to my left, the bar was already teeming with people trying to catch the eye of John the barman. To the right, the small, elegant and sophisticated drawing room designed by that purveyor of good taste, Mark Birley, was bursting with energy and merriment. And so began the first of many unforgettable evenings.Mark Birley always said that decorating Annabel’s was 'an intuitive thing’, buying pictures 'in a very haphazard way – I just bought things that appealed to me’. But somehow, with his attention to detail, artistic pedigree and instinctive eye, he gathered a fabulous concoction of pictures to delight and amuse the eye. His ability to strike exactly the right atmosphere was evident everywhere, from the highly-polished pillars in the dining room to the private room lined with wall to wall wine bottles – many of which were reputedly signed by the likes of Elizabeth Taylor and Lady Gaga. I will never forget the miraculous good taste and attention to detail in everything – and always admired the way that all the chairs had handles to make sitting down a pleasant experience. Lighting was paramount – and Mark Birley understood better than anyone precisely how the small lights on the table reflected off the immaculately starched table cloth to enhance the complexion of all of the guests. With its heady cocktail of the 'old’ and ‘new’ worlds of post-war London colliding, sprinkled with the stardust of the international jet set and glitterati, all set against the unique intimacy of the club – Annabel’s never failed to deliver. And the whiff of danger was ever present as the prowling paparazzi outside ensured your attendance in perpetuity – although the kitchen exit in the mews behind saved many blushes, no doubt. Whilst there are undoubtedly some who might consider a nightclub a self-indulgent and narcistic place at times, I found it to be entirely the opposite thanks to the extraordinary generosity of its present owner. Richard Caring was the first to recognise the unique place that Annabel’s - and all of Mark Birley’s establishments - held in the hearts of members and guests. And after he acquired the Birley group in2007, it was Richard who, tired of hearing me raising money for my Mother’s charity by riding a bicycle, instead hosted a party to raise money at Annabel’s. Thanks to the generosity of both members and friends, this was the most successful charity evening I have ever been involved with. So what I have discovered over the years is that Annabel’s stands as a beacon for impeccable standards, supreme good taste – and a place of overwhelming generosity and fun. How wonderful that the true spirit of Annabel’s lives on and flourishes in its new home a few doors down.David SnowdonMARK BIRLEY & JOHN WARD, R.A.Mark Birley forged many friendships with artists and illustrators several of whom are represented in the sale, such as Nicholas Garland, Neil Forster and one of his closest John Ward. Birley had met Ward in the fifties while working together at advertising agency J. Walter Thompson. Ward went on to have a successful artistic career, receiving many high-profile commissions including Princess Diana and the christenings of Prince William and Prince Harry. Birley commissioned Ward on various projects at Annabel’s, including a triptych of The Founding Members to celebrate the club’s 20th anniversary in 1983. A copy of this is included here together with several studies of the interiors and staff of Annabel’s, Harry’s Bar and Caffé Florian in Venice.

John Stanton Ward, R.A. (1917-2007)

Monday Morning Annabel's, Doing the Flowers

Details

John Stanton Ward, R.A. (1917-2007)
Monday Morning Annabel's, Doing the Flowers
signed and inscribed 'Monday morning Annabel's/Doing the Flowers/John Ward' (lower right)
pencil, ink, watercolour and gouache on buff paper
10 7/8 x 16¾ in. (27.9 x 42.5 cm.)

Special notice

Artist's Resale Right ("Droit de Suite"). Artist's Resale Right Regulations 2006 apply to this lot, the buyer agrees to pay us an amount equal to the resale royalty provided for in those Regulations, and we undertake to the buyer to pay such amount to the artist's collection agent. VAT rate of 20% is payable on hammer price and buyer's premium

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