British Charitable Society :: Boston Massachusetts

By shortly after midnight there were only stained table cloths, strings of dejected raffle tickets, and members of the Executive Committee dancing solo to Sting. Guy Bennett burst forth from a pile of Glenfiddich bottles to wish the departing safe passage and the Harvard Club knew that it had had a ball. 150 ladies and gentlemen in a steaming cauldron of fun trod with delicate elegance the line between suave sophistication and fiery fiesta.

The suits were grand, the dresses chic, and the hairdos a testimony to what patience can accomplish in a world preoccupied by pace. The prewar grandeur of a British Charitable Society Ball was recreated in some style and in surroundings of such opulence and timeless majesty that P.G. Wodehouse could have set an entire series in them. High ceilings, towering columns, candlelight and an immaculate stone floor provided the perfect stage for an evening of fun in the name of compassion, charity and a classiness that it’s still ok to enjoy yourself in.

Those who had most carefully read their invitations were the first to arrive -- knowing as they did that scotch tasting and a complimentary martini bar would run for a good hour and a half before mealtime. A typical timeline began with a brief admiring glance at the regal Bentley outside, followed by a warm handshake of welcome from Society President Charles Platt and a light-footed trek upstairs to a King’s spread of hors d’oeuvres and gasps of “Oh hello there, so good to see you again,” or “Oh my don’t you just look gorgeous” or “What a beautiful venue, I’ve never been here before, have you? Oh you have. Well now that I think about it, I may have been as well. Yes definitely in fact.”A mark of the enthusiasm with which guests greeted the hospitality was that said martini bar exhausted its vodka reserves by 7.30pm – good news for gin lovers but bad news for this reporter’s date whose happiness depended on vodka, and for this reporter whose happiness depended on that of his date. Fortunately Boots the Chemist came to the rescue with a goody bag stocked to the brim with items that the gentlemen were as likely to spread on crackers after tea as on the body after a bath, but which made ladies go “Oooh” contently.

The instruction to descend the staircase for dinner came moments after eight and generated a final dash around the generously stocked silent auction offerings. From the Red Sox to artwork to go-karting to trips away, there was something for every taste and every budget. It has been said that silent auctions are viewed in most of the U.S. as either an opportunity to be benevolent or to show off, but in Boston as a bargain hunt. Well the generosity with which guests bid this evening put that notion to bed without any supper and fast.

A giant harp and a regularly sized harpist stroked the hungry to their tables for former Society President Tim Hunt to give thanks for the meal. A moment to reflect on how much we have to be grateful for and how grateful we should be for it -- and a theme that carried into the later remarks of keynote speaker, British Consul- General Mr. John Rankin. In endearingly few words for a diplomat never mind a Scotsman, Mr. Rankin first reminded the skeptical masses that God lived in Britain, and then reminded all of us of why we were at the Harvard Club that evening. “British people in New England who have fallen on terribly hard times depend on the assistance of the British Charitable Society and everyone in this room is contributing to that mission,” he said. Without mentioning individual cases the Consul stressed that the Society operates with near zero administrative costs in order that every precious donated dollar goes right to those families and those individuals who so desperately need it.

“This has been great fun,” said Society President Charles Platt afterwards. “But it is about so much more than that. It is about the family in Connecticut who can’t pay their heating bills in winter. And about the lady in Massachusetts who lost her job through ill health, and then her husband, and now doesn’t know how she will provide for her children. And about the dozens of other cases we try to provide help and hope to every year.”

Fine food and fine wine gave way to the fine music of Kahootz and to dancing which, in the main, was less than fine but laced with enviable enthusiasm and an absence of the inhibition that fuels so many British stereotypes. Couples and singles demonstrated dance from across the generations -- from Victorian rigidity through an Edwardian abdication of rhythm to ultra modern moves practiced by folk you feel might favor the abolition of lifetime peerages without blinking.

Some of the sharper ladies had by now realized that the gift bags were not all identical and so paired up and swapped with other married sorts in order to get both varieties in their coupling before leaving. On the one hand it was a little cynical perhaps, but on the other hand it was admirably resourceful and evidence still of that indefatigable British spirit that carried the women of empire through two world wars and the bad old days when you couldn’t just go to one big shop for all the groceries.

As closing time hove into view, something involving a woman’s scarf and a group of mixed gender and resembling a ‘how low can you go’ limbo was in full swing in the middle of the floor and it was clearly time to go.

“Even better and even more enjoyable than last time,” said Terri Evans MBE. “Very well organized and the whole evening flowed so seamlessly. If only raising money could always be this much fun.”