hurlingham [ profile ]
Taki Theodoracopulos Journalist and writer Taki Theodoracopulos was at the centre of the swinging golden era of Parisian polo. He recalls some of the colourful characters who made it happen illustration PHIL DISLEY
26 27
Back in the glory days of the City of Light, the best-known secret among the so-called Parisian upper crust was the Bagatelle Polo Club in the Bois de Boulogne. Situated on the western side of the Bois, near Le Pont de Saint-Cloud, the club was run by an elite twosome consisting of the president, Baron Jacques de Nervo, and the vice-president, Baron Élie de Rothschild. Both gents have now left us, but during the heyday of the club they managed to run a tight ship; namely by allowing their friends in and keeping the nouveaux and vulgar out. I joined the club in the early Sixties, and Élie took a shine to me because of the girl I was going out with. He told me to ‘stop this silly game you’re playing – it’s for girls – and try a real man’s sport: polo.’ I was a ranked tennis player at the time, and represented my country in the Davis Cup, as well as being somewhat of a fixture at the French Championships, having competed every year since I was a teenager. Although I declined to quit tennis, I took up polo immediately after visiting the club. The place was teaming with young and beautiful girls, and the married women – I was told – had an eye for hot-blooded South American players over for the season. I paid my dues, bought four horses, and signed up for winter lessons with Jacques Macaire, the head groom of the club and father of Lionel Macaire, who later became highly rated as a player. Lionel was an accomplished rider and taught me the basics well. This would have been the mid-Sixties. Just about that time, I found a beautiful farmhouse for rent just 15km west of Paris with the somewhat grand name of Flambertins des Crepieres. I took out a lease and began to live the life of a country gent. I would wake up, do some exercises around the garden – which involved
punching and kicking a bag hanging from a tree – then drive to the polo club a convenient fifteen-minute drive away. Once there I would stick and ball, and work the ponies, shower and then go to lunch with friends. Oh, I almost forgot. My best friend and mentor at the time was one Porfirio Rubirosa, the Dominican diplomat who was on his fourth wife, Barbara Hutton, by the time I met him in 1953. They divorced after 53 days of marriage, but not before after she’d gifted him with a string of ponies and, I believe, a cool million – quite a handy amount to be walking around with back in the Fifties. Rubi had previously been married to Flor Trujillo
Count du Bourg de Bozas could only canter like a 90-year-old, but chased young women around the club as if he were 20 (daughter of Dominican strongman Rafael Trujillo), Doris Duke, and the enchanting French actress Danielle Darrieux. After his divorce from Babs, he bought a house in Saint Cloud near my humble abode, married Odile Rodin – a young French actress whose looks and figure were far superior to those of Brigitte Bardot – and put together a polo team consisting mostly of his buddies. Rubi was the most popular of the club’s members: he had legendary charm, was a good racing driver and boxed well. He was even a keen dueller, and a ladykiller par excellence. He was a born entertainer and knew everyone there was to know. Obviously
I fell under his spell. We’d box together in the ring he had in his house, then work the ponies and follow that with a spot of lunch with our wives. After lunch the girls would head off shopping and we’d make our way to Paris’s finest gentleman’s clubs, often joined by Élie de Rothschild. For someone in his twenties, it was a dream life. We even managed to play some polo. Wednesday afternoons were reserved for practice matches, while on Saturdays and Sundays we played for the various cups. Many a French fat cat mounted teams with two professionals, which the rules allowed for. Count du Bourg de Bozas was one of the most colourful. He looked around 70, and although he could only canter like a 90-yearold, he chased young women around the club as if he were 20. He always had two good Argentinians playing for him, plus a so-so Frenchman, so his teams were hard to beat, despite the handicap of a cantering count. Jean Louis Hachette, of the publishing firm, was another team captain, as was Robert de Balkany, born Bobby Zellinger, who attended Yale after leaving Hungary. Balka changed his name, became a big real estate entrepreneur, bought a 13th-century chateau west of Paris and an enormous yacht. He and I didn’t get along – Élie de Rothschild wasn’t keen either. Balka liked to push his weight around, but that didn’t work for some. Although he rose to be a three-goal handicap, one of the pleasures of my life was taking him on while I was still a one-goaler, and driving him nuts by sticking some very hard and illegal elbows into his side. He would howl ‘foul’ like no other, but Balka knew his bullying didn’t work with me, and after an argument with Élie he took his team back to his chateau and started another polo circuit in his private field. Some chaps followed him www.hurlinghampolo.com
