Word: jermyn
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...Fonda turn up to Hully Gully. London's discotheques range from the superexclusive Annabel's in Berkeley Square, where Guardsmen, debutantes and top-drawer jet-setters can order an excellent full-course dinner as late as 3 a.m., to the come-one-come-all Crazy Elephant in Jermyn Street, where the beat is blue, the mood frenetic, and the Shake is the thing...
Though the signs outside identified it as a hotel, the Cavendish was no place for the unsuspecting tourist. Most strangers who ventured into the dim, cluttered lobby at 82 Jermyn Street were sternly told to try elsewhere. Others, if they were lucky enough to remind the proprietress of some long-vanished Victorian buck or Bostonian pooh-bah, would be clasped to her shapely bosom and regaled with surrealistic reminiscences about old Lord Droopy Drawers and Lady You-Know-'Oo, or "the time we went to Ireland on roller skates...
...over its revels, liked to think it was "not an 'otel but an 'ome away from 'ome for my friends." To addicts, "Rosa's'' was not so much home as a Mad Hatter's champagne party. They called Rosa the Duchess of Jermyn Street, and rated her and the Cavendish itself as two of the three most rewarding landmarks in London (with the Tower, which has not taken many boarders since the 16 century). The mid-Mayfair hotel remained for decades one of the last places in all England where, as Evelyn Waugh...
...Jeffrey, never fully recovered from World War II, when a German bomb wrecked the front of the four-story building. Rosa, who refused to take shelter, was pulled out of the wreckage, but her precious stocks of champagne were gravely depleted. "Don't ever die," the Duchess of Jermyn Street told a friend when she recovered. "I've just been right up to the gates of heaven and 'ell, and they're both bloody." The fabled food and demented dialogue were never the same after Rosa finally made it through the gates...
Afterward in his private car King Edward and his aching leg muscles reached London early, drove not to St. James's Palace but to Mayfair's swank Turkish Baths in Jermyn Street where almost every employe is his oldtime friend. Calling to them: "Good morning! Good morning!" the Sovereign bathed Turkishly for 90 minutes, emerged daisy-fresh to find Jermyn Street almost obstructed by a curious throng of his subjects who cheered as his United-Kingdom-built car drove...