One night last week the 1940 crop of 196 top-ranking British debutantes, all of whom
would have liked to have stuck Prince of Wales feathers in their hair and gone to
Buckingham Palace, stuck flowers in their hair instead and went to swank Grosvenor
House. For this war year there will be no court presentations of debutantes, and—at a
loss to London caterers, florists, et al. of $3,000,000—no individual debut balls. It was
all done at one whack at the Grosvenor, and it was the biggest social event in London
since break of war.

Instead of golden thrones on a dais, there was a Leap Year Birthday Cake four feet six in
diameter, with 196 candles. Instead of the Royal Family, patrons (and arbiters) were the
Duchess of Grafton, the Marchioness of Reading, Lady Lawrence, Mrs. Winston Churchill
and Lady Duncan. Instead of being on the Crown, as at Buckingham Palace, the party
cost each of the 1,100 guests a matter of 32 shillings sixpence ($6.37). And to emphasize
that Britain is grimly at war, men not in uniform committed what in peacetime London
would have been the most unpardonable faux pas—instead of coming in white ties, they
came in black.

Sixty post-debs of '39 and earlier vintages came in brightly colored ball dresses, but the
'40 debs wore demure Court gowns of white. Two ventured crinolines, Lady Cecilia
Fitzroy, cousin of the Duke of Grafton, Miss Mary Philippa Gary, niece of Viscount
Falkland. Since Britain is bent on making this a democratic war, privates in uniform did
not have to stay off the dance floor, as in 1914-8, twirled about the Great Room of the
Grosvenor on a social par with their officers. With healthy appetites, debs and escorts
gobbled large slices of the vast cake when it was finally and solemnly cut by the five
hostesses, but of whoopee there was almost none and only moderate quaffing of
champagne.

Big moment of the evening was when Debutante Mary Churchill, a glamor girl in anybody's
country, espied her famed father, the First Sea Lord, trying to sneak in like a tired bulldog
to an inconspicuous table. She promptly dragged him out to sit with her own café society
group, including the orchidaceous Marquesa de Casa Maury and brilliant carrot-haired
Editor Brendan Bracken of The Banker. Spotting "Winston," the whole party livened up,
everyone sang For He's a Jolly Good Fellow, and at midnight the Duchess of Grafton
permitted something about as daring as has ever been seen at a top-drawer Mayfair ball.
Each of the young men, fine apple-cheeked lads mostly and quick to blush, was given a
Leap-Year favor which he had to decide on the spot to wear either red side out or green
side out. On the red side was lettered, "Stop. Do not propose." On the green, "Go ahead,
you may propose." After no end of gay squealing and innocent chaff to the discreet
rhythms of Jack Harris, the party wound up at 3:30 a.m.—and many a drowsy deb was
up and in uniform at 7 a.m. to get on with her war work.

Title:	Instead of Feathers
Publication:	TIME Magazine
Publisher:	Time Inc.
Date:	Mar 11, 1940
Copyright © 1940, Time Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission.