Sorority day out celebrates women, re-kindles appreciation for forgotten connections

From 1982 to 1986, my sorority was one of the most important things in my life. Chi Omega was where I lived, who my best friends were, and the identity that made me more than just another Northwestern student. Then I graduated ... and its influence disappeared as quickly as it had come.

My dearest university friends remained my "sisters". We regularly re-united in Chicago. But as time passed it was the bonds of our shared history, more than a couple of greek letters, that held us together. I ventured to a Chi O event once while living in Texas, where a group of terrifyingly beautiful, exquisitely-coiffed Stepford Wives with languorous Southern drawls made me suspect that my bond with my "sisters" had more to to with Northwestern than our sorority. I hadn't thought about the organisation for years. Then I got an invitation to Chi Omega's first-ever European annual gathering at Blenheim Palace. There'd be a private tour, a lecture, and a chance to meet up with a marquess. Why not, I thought, give it another try?

I'm so glad I did. It was a life-affirming day to celebrate female achievement, and it turns out that Blenheim is the perfect English venue in which to do so.

I knew that the dukes of Marlborough held one of the few hereditary peerages able to pass down the female line if there's no male heir. I appreciated that this, and the monumental palace the dukes call home, was heavily due to the dynamic Sarah, the first Duchess. I'd always loved the story of Consuelo Vanderbilt, the 9th Duchess whose American fortune saved the place ... and set a pattern for American heiresses bringing new blood and financial salvation to some of Britain's oldest families. But a spellbinding lecture from one of Blenheim's staff historians showed that this was just the tip of a formidable female iceberg.

The first duke wouldn't have gotten his foot on the career ladder if it hadn't been for his sister Arabella. Eldest child of impoverished nobles, she knew that becoming a rich-man's mistress was a solid route to money and connections. Deciding to go big or go home, she snagged the Duke of York (who was also heir to Charles II's throne). John and Sarah's daughter Henrietta ... who became duchess in her own right ... shocked society by leaving her well-meaning husband for the writer William Congreve, and further scandalised the world by insisting on a lavish memorial for him in Westminster Abbey when he died. A previous Lady Diana Spencer (the Spencers of Althorp and Spencer-Churchill's of Blenheim are two branches of the same family) dealt with a horrible marriage and financial difficulties by becoming a proficient portraitist who deserves to be better known.

The seventh Duchess ran a social welfare network across the family estates (most of Oxfordshire) that would put many modern health and social services departments to shame. Finally there was the tragic story of early plastic surgery gone wrong in Consuelo's successor. Duchess Gladys wanted to perfect her already-legendary beauty by smoothing out a bump in her nose. She had some wax injected there to plump things up. The result was perfection, until one particularly hot summer when the wax melted, leaving brown rivulets and lumps permanently scaring her face. The trauma drove the poor girl mad.  (Botox fans, take note.)

Later in the day, we moved on to our very own Chi Omega connection to the English aristocracy. From 1930 to 1958, the sorority was the engine behind a National Achievement Award for women, designed to redress the balance of male-dominated schemes like the Pulitzers and the Nobels. Stella Isaacs, the first Marchioness of Reading, was one of just two non-Americans to be given the honour. In a remarkable life that included holding traditionally male jobs, travelling extensively, taking diplomatic posts and making famous friends like Eleanor Roosevelt, her biggest lasting contribution was the establishment of the British organisation now known as the Royal Voluntary Service. (You can read more about her here; she really deserves to be better known.)

The current (fourth) marquess of Reading is her step-grandson. It sounds a distant and tenuous connection, but because she was a second wife much younger than her husband, Lord Reading not only remembers her ... but served in the house of Lords with her very early in his own career. He regaled us with family memories and inspired us with stories of her sense of political leadership as service. A philosophy, be bemoaned, that's too rare in the current world. Few could disagree.

After a day at the palace we retired to the home of one of the sisters who lived nearby, taking time to

get to know each other. It was a diverse group. There were 20-somethings up to a woman celebrating 50 years since she'd initiated. Mostly American expats, but one Brit who'd gone to Missouri's William Woods College on a golf scholarship. We were articulate, successful and represented a wide range of professions from lawyers to military officers to a Church of England priest. I suspect that, if the founders of that award could have dropped in, they'd be content that their efforts had triggered the sort of female parity of achievement they were aiming for.

It's ironic. At 17, the main reason I joined a sorority was for the social life. Which, at 17, actually meant: to meet boys. Picking the connection back up more than 30 years later, I realise it's really about meeting, encouraging and celebrating successful women. As a university student, I suppose I took that for granted. These days, after a career in male-dominated industries, looking up to male-dominated boards, I'm far more aware of just how important that is.

Coming in my next entry, more on Blenheim Palace itself, and its alter ego Stratfield Saye.