The Sandpit may be so called because of a slippery snooker room floor in the old house and the suggestion, possibly by Robert Louis Stevenson or possibly not, that sand be laid down; or because the floor was a sandy colour; or because of a ritual involving emptying pipes and sand; or because of the conversational playfulness of the group that inevitably encircled the fire; no one really knows. Over the years the after-lunch crucible of conversation where one was, apparently bound by Club honour to tell the truth, has drifted to the bar, but the Sandpit still remains a focus of activity and a jolly place to sit, talk and watch comings and goings.
Expired members jostle for space on the walls as they doubtless did for conversational prominence in the past. The portraits which the Club has been accumulating for generations are broadly grouped by discipline minutely labelled for the very curious; the collection continues to grow.
When the Club is given over to parties the room, which lies at the heart of the building, acts as an excellent reception area and later in the evening as a perfect dance floor.
Additional images of the Sandpit (click to enlarge):