Sea Wife is a 1957 melodrama, starring a young Joan Collins and Richard Burton, with the characters mainly called by their wartime nicknames, “Sea Wife” and “Biscuit.” Burton thought little of the script, and reportedly delivered much of his performance while heavily hungover.
The film opens in 1947, with “Biscuit” (Burton) returning from the Pacific after the Second World War and trying to track down the nun (Collins) he fell in love with at sea five years earlier, after the fall of Singapore. He places a series of cryptic classified ads in all the major daily papers, hoping she will see them. (“TO SEA WIFE. Home at last. Please get in touch. BISCUIT.”) The film has a twist ending, which I will not give away, but its main interest here is in its glimpse of post-war Clubland.
The brief establishing shot of the club exterior, after Richard Burton paces in.
The Club
On his return to London, Burton’s “Biscuit” is lodging at his club, the fictional St. George’s Club on Mayfair’s Grosvenor Square. At the time, Grosvenor Square only hosted one such establishment - the Sesame Club, a ladies’ club - though Mayfair as a whole contained a profusion of smaller clubs. We can probably infer from the name that it had some broadly patriotic if ill-defined theme - though there was no real-life St. George’s Club, what we see onscreen very much reflects the faded, tired clubs of the post-war era.
We see three parts of this club: a brief establishing shot of the front steps leading up to the main entrance; and a pair of interior scenes, one in a clubroom containing a bar, the other in “Biscuit’s” bedroom in the Club.
While the establishing shot of the main entrance gives little away, it appears to suggest an early-19th century building, most likely something not purpose-built as a clubhouse, but later converted into one. This was very common at the time. Grosvenor Square itself dates to the early 18th century, but many of the buildings standing there today date to an early 20th century reconstruction. There were, however, several early 19th century buildings on the west side at the time (which were demolished in the late 1950s, to make way for the US Embassy completed in 1960), so it is likely this fictional club lay on the west side of the square.
The main clubroom, containing the bar. Two members on the left are asleep in their chairs, while the members in the background on the right are swapping anecdotes, with one gessticulating wildly.
In the clubroom, the internal architecture is high Victorian, with neoclassical pillars, most likely the result of multiple renovations across several decades. The room is furnished with busts, oil paintings depicting classical scenes, and leather armchairs that look 1930s in style - a revealing point, because as we shall see, there are numerous touches to the decor which all have a 1930s aesthetic, hinting (as was often the case in many of these clubs) that this was the last time that any serious investment was made in the building.
The very presence of a bar is explicitly an inter-war touch - as I have noted elsewhere, the first London club bar was Buck’s in 1919, when this was seen as an exotic American import (and a somewhat louche one, with alcohol just in the process of being criminalised in the USA). The clubs of Georgian and Victorian London had readily dispensed alcohol which could be ordered from passing servants, but the idea that a member could go up to a counter for alcohol was seen in many quarters as a somewhat vulgar and daring innovation - numerous London clubs held out against having bars until the 1950s, with the Athenæum being the last to do so in 1961. Like many club bars of this type, it is clearly a later addition to the room, somewhat contrasting in style.
The bar itself seems well-stocked, with bowls serving nuts, and the barman has no trouble swiftly fulfilling “Biscuit’s” order of a whisky-and-soda. Since it is later indicated that this scene is set in the morning, it suggests that the members of the St. George’s Club make full use of their licensing arrangements to drink in the morning - which was not always possible in the pubs of the day, that could not open before 10am.
“Biscuit’s” bedroom in the club: spacious, but very sparsely furnished for a bachelor.
We later see “Biscuit’s” bedroom - a sparsely-furnished affair with a single bed, a small bedside table, a desk, a Victorian lamp and a washbasin, as he lives out of an open suitcase. A pair of heavy paisley curtains again suggest the room may have been redecorated in the 1930s, but not since. Despite the sparse furniture, the floorplan of the room is actually quite spacious.
The room also obviously has a view, for although we do not see it, “Biscuit” whiles away his spare time staring out of the window while smoking. Presumably it overlooks Grosvenor Square, rather than the back of the building.
The Club is respectful of members’ privacy, with a porter delivering a message, but first knocking on the door. (Unlike bedrooms in some traditional clubs, this one clearly has a lock on its door.)
The paisley curtains of the bedroom windows, which add to the idea that the building was last redecorated sometime in the decade before the war.
The Members
When “Biscuit” walks in, five members can immediately be seen. Two are visibly asleep in their armchairs, having daytime naps while clutching newspapers. The other three are deep in conversation, a middle-aged man with a handlebar moustache animatedly telling an anecdote to two older men, complete with wild gesticulations. We later see in pantomime a man writing what seems to be a letter at a small, solitary writing table (until interrupted by a porter presenting him with a paper on a silver platter), and there is also a bald man reading a newspaper by the fireplace while smoking his pipe. These are all stereotypical club scenes, out of any novel or cartoon. While they play no part in the film’s plot, they all evoke the Club’s atmosphere.
Despite the presence of at least seven members in the clubroom, things still look distinctly uneventful in such a large room, especially as several of the members are alone or asleep. “Biscuit” remarks, “It’s very quiet this afternoon,” only for the barman to observe, “Always is on Tuesdays, sir.”
Richard Burton engaging in his favourite pastime, drinking alone.
When he arrives in the clubroom, “Biscuit” sits opposite a familiar fellow member, Teddy, who is simply credited as “Clubman.” (He was played by Ronald Squire, who had already portrayed a clubman on the big screen the previous year, as one of the Reform Club members placing the wager with Robert Morley, Trevor Howard, Finlay Currie and Basil Sydney in the 1956 version of Around the World in 80 Days.)
Teddy noticeably is not wearing a tie in the bar. This detail is entirely in keeping with the period: most London clubs did not have formally-defined dress codes, with stipulations for jackets and ties not generally introduced until the 1950s; indeed, the first club to adopt such a strict requirement was Brooks’s in 1947 - the year this film was set. It is therefore entirely in keeping with how these clubs were primarily seen as places of leisure, that some members dressed for comfort, rather than formality.
A tie-less Teddy (Ronald Squire) tries to pick up racing tips, while a pipe-smoking member reads the papers by the fire in the background.
The conversation between “Biscuit” and Teddy is far from enlightening - it is characterised by Teddy being preoccupied with trivia and getting the wrong end of the stick throughout; and it suggests that the members of this club are rather vacuous:
Biscuit: Hello, Teddy. Still looking for the winner?
Teddy: That’s right, old boy. As a matter of fact, I think I’ve got a red-hot tip for the big race.
Biscuit: Well, you might share it?
Teddy: Well, as a matter of fact, I’m not quite sure which horse it is, old boy.
Biscuit: That’s not much of a tip.
Teddy: Well, it’s all this stuff that’s been appearing in the papers in the last fortnight. This “Sea Wife” and “Biscuit” business. You’ve seen it?
Biscuit: [Looking uncomfortable; wanting to change the subject.] Yes. What’s that got to do with the big race?
Teddy: Oh, it’s obviously a tip, isn’t it? I mean, it’s bound to be!
Biscuit: Well, I suppose it might be.
Teddy: What do you mean, “It might be?” What else could it be?
Biscuit: Well, I know this will come as a great shock to you, Teddy, but there are other things in life than horse racing, you know.
Teddy: No, no. Now listen, here are the list of runners. There’s nothing about “Sea”, unless you count “Permanent Wave.” There’s nothing about “Wife,” unless you count “Little Pest.” Absolutely nothing about “Biscuit.”
Biscuit: Well, it may be something subtler than that.
Teddy: Yeah…yes, wait a minute, wait a minute…Of course! Crusted port!
Biscuit: Crusted port?
Teddy: Yeah! Don’t you see? Port! Sailors have sea wives in every port! Crusted! Biscuit!
Biscuit: Well, it’s certainly very ingenious, Teddy, but do you really think they’d go to all that…?
Teddy: A hundred to one! A hundred to one! Let me get that telephone… [Cackles, and walks off to place a large bet.]
After their exchange, “Biscuit” drinks up and the barman asks if he would like “the other half” of his whisky; but he replies, “Er, no thank you. I’ll go to my room.” This suggests that the members are not particularly sociable, and that rather than trying to talk to any of the other members in the bar, a preferable alternative is isolation in one’s bedroom. This is not a very “clubbable” club.
Pigs fly, as Richard Burton declines another drink from the barman.
The staff
We see three members of staff in the St. George’s Club: a barman, Henry (Roddy Hughes) and two unnamed porters (one played by Gibb McLaughlin, the other uncredited). All three of them don traditional club uniforms.
“Biscuit” greets the barman with “Good afternoon, Henry,” suggesting an element of personal familiarity, with the barman at the heart of the Club - though the barman’s more reserved reply of “Good afternoon, sir” may hint that he does not know (and/or is not expected to know) all of the members’ names. There is also noticeably little conversation between the two, beyond “Biscuit’s” observation as to how quiet the Club is.
The two porters are rather more anonymous figures in their brown livery with gold-and-black highlights. One silently delivers a letter to a member in the clubroom, the other visits Burton in his bedroom to deliver a telegram. The conversation is curt and practical, with the latter porter greeting “Biscuit” with “Good morning, sir” as he hands him his telegram, and “Biscuit” simply grunting, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
(Incidentally, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it insert shot of “Biscuit’s” telegram reveals his character’s name to be Michael Cannon - a detail not spoken in any of the film’s dialogue. The telegram is also what reveals the Club’s address as being on Grosvenor Square.)
Conclusion
While Sea Wife is a fairly mediocre film, its observations on post-war London club life are acutely well-observed. The St. George’s Club could have represented any number of London social clubs that had grown stale after the war. Not a particularly convivial environment to begin with, the members seem aloof or uninformed, and the staff rather stiff and formal. While the Club’s Grosvenor Square location is in the heart of Mayfair, the impression given is of modest luxuries of another era that have long since faded. For “Biscuit”, it is a convenient lodging point on his return to London after many years abroad, rather than something to which he shows any great attachment. The singular lack of any theme to this club makes it look very much like the social clubs that boomed in the Edwardian era, but had closed down in large numbers by the 1960s and 1970s.
You can view the full and varied backlog of Clubland Substack articles, by clicking on the index below.
Index
Articles are centred around several distinct strands, so the below contains links to the main pieces, sorted by theme.