Would you be so kind as to direct me to BURBERRY'S?
Written: Mar 02 '00 (Updated May 08 '01)
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Product Rating:
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Pros: Famous make, fabulous quality, unmatched service.
Cons: Recent styles do not stand out, except for the trademark plaid lining.
The Bottom Line: If you have an old Burberry, it's almost worth a trip to London for repairs. Just leave it with Burberry's and have them send it back to you restored!.
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| macresarf1's Full Review: Boutiques |
Many things change. Burberry's has not.
When in the U.S. Army as a young man, I was stationed north of London. Several weekends a month, I boarded a train in the little town of Brandon and came down to Liverpool Street Station to visit what then was (just) the largest city in the World. A smalltown Ohioan, newly out of University, I had a wonderful time at little restaurants in Soho, going to the great theaters, museums and libraries. I found a gorgeous girlfriend, who, when she was not attending Teatro Conti, worked at Keith Prowse Ticket Sellers in Baker Street.
My mother, a Scot from Isle of Skye, somewhat on the other hand, had one great ambition for my sojourn. I was to contract for myself a custom made Trenchcoat at the shop which, more or less, invented them: Burberry's in the Hay Market.
I well remember asking this person and that, for several months, in a rather arch but entirely un-self-conscious imitation of old British movie characters: "Would you be so kind as to direct me to Burberry's?" Everyone seemed to know where it was, but I kept managing to become lost.
At last, I found it, an imposing castle-like structure, with an old uniformed doorman, who wore, I imagined, every military decoration given by the British Army from the Boer War through World War II. He saluted me and twirled his Guards moustache as he listened to my mission.
"Ah, yes, young Sir," he said at last. "You shall want to take the lift right to the top."
I did as he advised me. A lift operator gave me a benign smile and turned a large dial, much like a wheel. (I fancied it once adorned the controls of a submarine or dirigible.) We rose at a stately rate; he pulled back a grated door; and I stepped into a spacious dusty room redolent of good English cologne and expensive dry goods yardage.
The room was furnished with old desks and tables. Every few yards, bolts of cloth were laid out haphazardly on the floor. Several well dressed men pondered immense ledgers and catalogues. Others were being fitted by "cutters" with tape measures around their necks and straight pins in their teeth. In one corner, an elderly gentleman, in an immaculate black suit and grey gloves, balancing a homburg hat on his knee, was pawing at sheaves of Tartan with a black, gold headed cane.
Presently, a polite vested tailor, his shirt sleeves restrained by dark elastic garters, helped me.
I told him that I wanted an "authentic British Trenchcoat."
"Well, Sir," he replied, "all our trenchcoats are . . . authentic."
"I mean, my mo -- I want the real thing!"
"Yes, Sir." He returned shortly with several yellowed pages, as if cut from very old magazines; one showing an officer bearing a neatly clipped moustache, and another with a downturned pipe clenched in his teeth. "Perhaps something like this?"
"Exactly."
Thus it was, after three return trips to that top floor room, I purchased a "bespoke trenchcoat" for about 20 pounds ($56 at the time). I was a little disconcerted that it resembled a tent with a belt, but I was assured it was "authentic" and "the real thing" cut on a model favored by British Officers since 1916. However, the coat was replete with nifty concealed pockets for packs of cigarettes and silver whisky flasks. And, as a matter of fact, it lasted me over 15 years, until my second wife Grace, on our honeymoon, persuaded me to buy a new one, again at the venerable store in the Hay Market of London.
This purchase was casual, "off the peg," and cost $75, but the coat was much more stylish, although with fewer secret pockets.
Twenty-five years later, I was still wearing the coat. I had lost a couple of the bone buttons, the leather buckles were worn, the button holes a bit ragged. A fancy Burberry's outlet in San Francisco did not want to be bothered replacing buttons or buckles.
And so, two years ago, one cold November night, I found myself, almost by chance, in front of the "authentic Burberry's" in London. Much had changed in London. Burberry's had not. A uniformed doorman pointed to the lift. "Housekeeping. Third Floor," he said.
A trim, efficient young woman gave me handfuls of buttons and buckles, as she looked at my coat with a practiced eye, She asked me if I were staying in the UK long. No, less than week now, I replied.
"What a pity," she said. "You know we have a program to redo our older garments to their original condition. We maintain stocks of replacement goods for each style, dating from early in the Century. It would cost 20 pounds, a little over 30 of your American dollars. Our tailors would resew these button holes, replace that stained collar, fix everything like new. Take about six weeks, if you want to give us a try."
She gave me a card.
On my return here, I thought about the several hundred dollars I would pay for a new coat, and wished I had taken up her offer. Eventually, I did send the coat away to Burberry's with her card. It cost much more for the postage and insurance than for the repairs, about $100 all told, but, in less than six weeks, I received my completely cleaned, waterproofed, refurbished Burberry Trenchcoat. What amounts to a new garment.
Hard to get that kind of service any more, certainly in America.
Recommended:
Yes
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Epinions.com ID:
macresarf1
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Location: San Francisco, Ca.
Reviews written: 557
Trusted by: 376 members
About Me:
11/5: Farewell, Bush. Hello, Obama! Press Senators and Representatives for criminal investigations of Bushies.
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