sunday sentiments Bespoke suits from Savileroy | Karan Thapar
In the early 1930s, when the future King Edward VIII was a rather popular Prince of Wales, there was a music hall favourite which claimed “I’ve danced with a man who’s danced with a girl who’s danced with the Prince of Wales.” This weekend I find myself in a similar sort of position. I’ve found a tailor who makes suits for Tony Blair and now he’s making one for me as well!
Known by the somewhat unlikely name of ‘Mr Savileroy’, he’s a Kashmiri gentleman called Abdul Majid Butt and his family has been making bespoke suits and ladies dresses since the early years of the 20th century. What’s more Mr Butt has an album of handwritten recommendations to prove his credentials. The oldest, from an English lady who lived in Sialkot (now in Pakistani Punjab), is dated September 20th, 1933 and was given to his father. “A. Salama has made me two tweed cardigans and skirts”, it reads. “I was very pleased with his work.” Six years later, Major Warriman of Queen Victoria’s Own Corps of Guides testified: “A. Salama has made me a coat and some pairs of shorts. His work seems very satisfactory.”
Over the years Savileroy’s fame — as the family shop came to be called — spread far and wide. In 1951, Count D'Aspremont Lynden, the Belgian Ambassador in Delhi, added his certification to its growing list of recommendations: “Mr Savileroy has made a tweed sports coat that fits me very well.”
By the 1990s the family enterprise, now run by Abdul Majid Butt and his younger brother Bilal Ahmed, had become a visiting point for British dignitaries coming to India. Jack Straw (as Foreign Secretary), Peter Hain (Northern Ireland Secretary) and all the three British service chiefs number amongst its grateful customers. In 2001, when Bill Clinton came visiting, members of his delegation ordered an astonishing 150 suits. Alas, the former President was not one of them and I daresay it shows.
Mr Butt’s pride is an autographed photograph of Cherie Blair. She’s standing beside him in a shell pink suit, wearing an Indian looking pearl necklace. The inscription reads : “Savileroy, best wishes, Cherie Blair”. Her smile says the rest.
Mr Butt says the picture was taken in September 2005 when the Blairs were last in Delhi. At the time Tony ordered two suits, Cherie several dresses and they also picked up an outfit for a son. Unfortunately, Mr Butt can’t say which one it was.
Today, the Butt family is based in Delhi. Their old Srinagar shop, near Residency Road, burnt down in 1994. Mr Butt doesn’t hide the fact that militants were to blame. But he still proudly displays photocopies of an old Berlitz India Pocket Guide which, on page 94, states that Kashmir can boast of “tailors with names like Savileroy”. “But now,” he laughs, “we are here. I’m a Delhiwala!”
My first point of contact with the Butts was Bilal. Last winter he made me a soft black leather jacket which attracted so much attention that, within days, the extended clan had ordered several more. We soon discovered that Bilal’s suede bandgala waistcoats were truly special. My sisters and cousins have taken them as far afield as New York and Botswana!
However, it was an accident that introduced me to the Butt family’s suit-making talents. Requiring an old dinner jacket to be altered for a nephew’s wedding I rang Bilal for advice. He was away but his brother Abdul Majid stepped into the breach. He did a superlative job and I started questioning to find out more. That’s when the story tumbled out. With a large beaming smile — but an oddly reticent manner — he brought out the letters of recommendation and told me about his famous clients.
“Let me make a suit for you,” he eventually asked. I hesitated but he could tell I was in two minds. “You wear fine clothes on television but I can do better.”
It was my turn to smile. I soon discovered that Mr Butt is a delightful salesman. His final argument was impossible to resist. “And I’m a lot cheaper too. Why do you think the English come to me? They recognize value for money.”
So that’s how it happened. I have still to receive the suit but now I’m hoping that one day I will get to meet Tony Blair. “I say Prime Minister,” I shall ask, “is that from Savile Row or Savileroy?”
In the early 1930s, when the future King Edward VIII was a rather popular Prince of Wales, there was a music hall favourite which claimed “I’ve danced with a man who’s danced with a girl who’s danced with the Prince of Wales.” This weekend I find myself in a similar sort of position. I’ve found a tailor who makes suits for Tony Blair and now he’s making one for me as well!
Known by the somewhat unlikely name of ‘Mr Savileroy’, he’s a Kashmiri gentleman called Abdul Majid Butt and his family has been making bespoke suits and ladies dresses since the early years of the 20th century. What’s more Mr Butt has an album of handwritten recommendations to prove his credentials. The oldest, from an English lady who lived in Sialkot (now in Pakistani Punjab), is dated September 20th, 1933 and was given to his father. “A. Salama has made me two tweed cardigans and skirts”, it reads. “I was very pleased with his work.” Six years later, Major Warriman of Queen Victoria’s Own Corps of Guides testified: “A. Salama has made me a coat and some pairs of shorts. His work seems very satisfactory.”
Over the years Savileroy’s fame — as the family shop came to be called — spread far and wide. In 1951, Count D'Aspremont Lynden, the Belgian Ambassador in Delhi, added his certification to its growing list of recommendations: “Mr Savileroy has made a tweed sports coat that fits me very well.”
By the 1990s the family enterprise, now run by Abdul Majid Butt and his younger brother Bilal Ahmed, had become a visiting point for British dignitaries coming to India. Jack Straw (as Foreign Secretary), Peter Hain (Northern Ireland Secretary) and all the three British service chiefs number amongst its grateful customers. In 2001, when Bill Clinton came visiting, members of his delegation ordered an astonishing 150 suits. Alas, the former President was not one of them and I daresay it shows.
Mr Butt’s pride is an autographed photograph of Cherie Blair. She’s standing beside him in a shell pink suit, wearing an Indian looking pearl necklace. The inscription reads : “Savileroy, best wishes, Cherie Blair”. Her smile says the rest.
Mr Butt says the picture was taken in September 2005 when the Blairs were last in Delhi. At the time Tony ordered two suits, Cherie several dresses and they also picked up an outfit for a son. Unfortunately, Mr Butt can’t say which one it was.
Today, the Butt family is based in Delhi. Their old Srinagar shop, near Residency Road, burnt down in 1994. Mr Butt doesn’t hide the fact that militants were to blame. But he still proudly displays photocopies of an old Berlitz India Pocket Guide which, on page 94, states that Kashmir can boast of “tailors with names like Savileroy”. “But now,” he laughs, “we are here. I’m a Delhiwala!”
My first point of contact with the Butts was Bilal. Last winter he made me a soft black leather jacket which attracted so much attention that, within days, the extended clan had ordered several more. We soon discovered that Bilal’s suede bandgala waistcoats were truly special. My sisters and cousins have taken them as far afield as New York and Botswana!
However, it was an accident that introduced me to the Butt family’s suit-making talents. Requiring an old dinner jacket to be altered for a nephew’s wedding I rang Bilal for advice. He was away but his brother Abdul Majid stepped into the breach. He did a superlative job and I started questioning to find out more. That’s when the story tumbled out. With a large beaming smile — but an oddly reticent manner — he brought out the letters of recommendation and told me about his famous clients.
“Let me make a suit for you,” he eventually asked. I hesitated but he could tell I was in two minds. “You wear fine clothes on television but I can do better.”
It was my turn to smile. I soon discovered that Mr Butt is a delightful salesman. His final argument was impossible to resist. “And I’m a lot cheaper too. Why do you think the English come to me? They recognize value for money.”
So that’s how it happened. I have still to receive the suit but now I’m hoping that one day I will get to meet Tony Blair. “I say Prime Minister,” I shall ask, “is that from Savile Row or Savileroy?”
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