Double infidel
Sir: Richard Cockett's review of Brooks's: A Social History (4 January) reminded me of an unedifying experience a few years ago of the club's complacency. Bidden to dine with a member, I arrived at Brooks's cold and weary after a winter train journey from Lincolnshire — and gave my host's name to the porters. I should add here that I was respectably dressed and did not bear the appearance of an importunate mistress, interfering wife or server of writs — all objects deserving of a porter's scorn.
The porters insisted (after a reluctant reconnaissance) that my host was not in the club, and evidently expected me to remove myself. I persisted, very mildly, and was permitted to sit in the freezing, draughty dog-kennel that forms the Brooks's porch. After about 20 minutes of waiting like a dog tied up outside a public house I recog- nised the guest of a member entering the club and greeted him; this exchange appeared to lend some weight to my renewed approaches to the porters, who performed another tour and produced my host, who had been sitting upstairs awaiting news of my arrival.
As a Spectator reader, I am a wholeheart- ed supporter of worthy traditions and an upholder of the right of the stronger sex to confine themselves to their own company if they wish; but my loyalty was severely shak- en by this demonstration of the Brooks's' employees' dismissal of the claims on their time and courtesy of a (doubly infidel) female non-member.
Jill Goulder
14 Buckmaster Road, London SW11
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