Bonfire Night Glynes Style

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Perhaps against her better judgement after recent altercations with her mother, Lettice has returned to her old family home for Bonfire Night*, one of her father’s favourite celebrations throughout the year. Lettice’s old childhood chum and family neighbour, Gerald Bruton, has brought her down from London in his Morris Cowley four-seat tourer**, as he, his older brother and parents are coming to the Bonfire Night celebrations on the well clipped lawns of Glynes later in the evening.

 

As Lettice steps out of the Morris, she sighs with trepidation as she looks up at the classical columned façade of her beloved childhood home basking in the autumnal sunshine. “At least it appears like we will have good weather for Bonfire Night.” Lettice says to Gerald with a tone of false joviality.

 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come in for a little bit, Lettice Leaf?” Gerald asks his friend in concern. For once Lettice does not scold him for the use of her abhorred nickname, which shows how distracted she is. “I can help calm the waters with Sadie.” He reaches out and grasps her arm comfortingly as she steps in front of his open driver’s side window.

 

“No, no, Gerald.” Lettice replies, turning back and giving him a brave smile. “I’m sure you’ll want to get home.”

 

“To Bruton Hall and all its draughty, ill heated rooms and its leaky roof,” Gerald scoffs. “I think not! Cook’s rock cakes get more like real rocks with every visit! No, I’d find no greater pleasure than in the warm hospitality of your parents’ home and some hot buttered crumpets after our drive down.”

 

The double doors to her family home open and Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, walks out onto the front steps, followed by Marsen, the liveried first footman who walks across the gravel driveway and takes Lettice’s overnight valise and hatbox from the back of Gerald’s Morris.

 

“I don’t know how warm the reception will be today, darling, after Mater’s and my fierce arguments when I was here the other week. Anyway,” she pats his arm. “I’m sure that Aunt Gwyneth will have tea and cook’s delicious, if inedible, rock cakes waiting for you at Bruton Hall.”

 

“Mother might be welcoming, but I suspect nothing but cold comfort from Roland,” Gerald shivers. “Not to mention Father.”

 

She pats his arm again. “Best get it over with then, as should I.” She leans into the car and gives her friend a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight at seven for the festivities. Don’t be late.” She wags an admonishing finger at him.

 

Lettice’s figure looks lonely as dwarfed by the grand sandstone façade of her home, she walks away alone from Gerald in his car and up the sweeping steps to where Bramley stands, awaiting her.

 

“Welcome home, My Lady,” Bramley greets her with an open smile as he always does, assuaging the anxious feeling roiling in her stomach. “What a pleasure it is to see you. Did you have a pleasant drive down with Mr. Bruton?”

 

“Thank you, Bramley. Yes, I did.” she replies, returning his smile, albeit in a half hearted fashion.

 

“Is Mr. Bruton not joining us, My Lady?”

 

Lettice turns back and waves to Gerald, who waves in return before revving up the idling engine of his car and driving off down the carriageway with a cheerful toot from his horn. “No Bramley. Sir and Lady Bruton are expecting him at Bruton Hall.”

 

She sweeps past the butler and into the lofty hall of Glynes where Marsden stands ready to accept her gloves, her fox fur stole and her grey travelling coat as she shirks them from her shoulders, revealing a smart navy blue frock with a sailor collar in white with a red embroidered trim.

 

“Emmery will take care of you this evening, My Lady,” Bramley acknowledges as he comes to join Lettice after closing the front doors. “I hope that will be suitable.”

 

“Oh quite Bramley, although I don’t really need a ladies maid. I’m quite independent in London you know. It is almost 1922 after all.”

 

“Well her Ladyship…”

 

“Yes, I know, Bramley.” Lettice holds up her now bare hands to stop the butler from continuing. “Mamma expects every woman in the house to require a maid, even if we are no longer in the pre-war years of needing them. I’ll be happy to accept Emmery if she’ll have me, if only to placate Mamma if it will give me some peace from her harping. I’m sure I can create some superfluous errands for her to run. She’s a capable girl.”

 

“She is, My Lady.”

 

“Now, thinking of Mamma, where is she?”

 

“Out, My Lady,” Bramley smiles conspiratorially at Lettice. “Visiting Lady Edgars at Broxmore House*** in an effort to avoid his Lordship’s Bonfire Night preparations.”

 

“Splendid!” Lettice enthuses as she feels the knot in her stomach ease at the thought of her mother being gone for most of the day. “And my Father?”

 

“I believe he is in the library, My Lady. Shall I serve tea there?”

 

“Thank you Bramley,” she flashes him a beaming smile of thanks. “You are a brick!”

 

“Very good, My Lady.” Bramley departs, slipping through a discreet doorway off the main hall that is one of many leading to the servants’ quarters of the Georgian mansion.

 

Lettice turns and walks up to the library’s beautiful walnut double doors and knocks loudly.

 

“Come!” comes a muffled male voice from inside.

 

“Pappa, it’s only me!” Lettice calls cheerfully as she pokes her head around the door of her favourite room in the whole of Glynes, the light filled library, with its comforting smell of woodsmoke and old books.

 

“Ah! Dear girl!” Viscount Wrexham looks up from his Chippendale desk which is cluttered with fireworks destined for the annual Glynes Bonfire Night pyrotechnics display. “So that was young Gerald out on the drive then.” He frowns. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would be coming after that awful ruckus with your mother last visit.”

 

“Even one of Mamma’s rages wouldn’t stop me from coming for your Bonfire Night display, Pappa.” Lettice walks the length of the room, through the pools of sunlight pouring through the windows, disturbing the dust motes which fly about wildly in her wake. She falls into the welcoming embrace of her father and kisses him lovingly on first his right and then his left cheek. “All the same, I am glad that she’s gone to pay a call on Lady Edgar. It will give me a chance to prepare myself to face her when she finally does come home.”

 

“You have a few hours to stave off your execution.” The Viscount chuckles as he releases his daughter. “I shouldn’t laugh really.” He looks at his pretty, lithe daughter. “You didn’t really behave like the lady you should be when you were last here. I did ask you to try with her, and…”

 

“I did try with her Pappa!” Lettice defends. “Really I did.” She steels her jaw. “However, I read a simpering letter she was writing to Lady Hastings…”

 

“As I said, you weren’t exactly ladylike, Lettice. You ought not to read other people’s correspondence and well you know it.” He shakes an admonishing finger at his youngest daughter.

 

“Yes, but then she started going on about all the so-called eligible bachelors she has invited to the Hunt Ball and I just…”

 

“Lost your temper?”

 

“Well yes.” Lettice admits sheepishly with a downcast gaze.

 

“You take too much after me in that respect.” the Viscount admits. “It’s distinguished and commanding in an old man like me, but unattractive in a young lady.”

 

In an effort to further defend her actions she continues, “She dismissed my interior business, Pappa. She said that the only reason why Margot and Dickie wanted me to decorate their home is because we are friends.”

 

“Well, you are friends, Lettice.”

 

“You know what I mean, and what Mamma was implying, Pappa.”

 

“Yes, I know, and even though both she and I hate to admit it, you are applying your mother’s good taste to some evident success if your mother’s magazines are anything to go by.”

 

Lettice smiles, a blush flushing up her cheeks as she silently delights in her father’s veiled compliment towards her interior design business.

 

“Anyway, you should find your mother in better spirits today. Jonty Hastings, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, Selwyn Spencely and Nicholas Ayres have all accepted invitations to the Hunt Ball, not that Ayres is in the running of course. He’s a lost cause. We all know what he’s about.” He cocks his eyebrow at Lettice. “Well, most of us do, your mother excluded. Rather like we do about Bruton’s youngest, your Gerald the frock maker.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Also, at the Channon wedding last week, your mother ended up chatting with Lady Faversham.”

 

“Yes, so I noticed.” Lettice replies flatly.

 

“She apparently has an unmarried nephew around your age who stands to inherit a Baronetcy in Scotland, so he’s coming too. Benedict? Bartholomew? Something like that.” The Viscount starts fiddling with a firework wrapped in brightly printed paper declaring it to be a Raduim Dazzler. “Anyway, I’m sure your mother will tell you all about it when she comes home.” He engages his daughter in a stern gaze. “Which will give you another chance to make an effort. Eh?”

 

“I’ll make an effort for your sake, Pappa, not hers. I don’t think she and I have ever seen eye-to-eye on much.”

 

“No, I don’t suppose you have.” the Viscount muses. “Still, you’re young yet. There is plenty of time yet for you to come around to your mother’s and my way of thinking.”

 

“Oh, enough about Mamma and the Hunt Ball!” Lettice huffs as she quickly changes the subject. “Gerald and I saw Crane and his new undergardener setting out Chinese lanterns as we came up the drive. Tell me more about the reason I’m here.”

 

“The Glynes Bonfire Night pyrotechnics extravaganza?” Her father’s eyes light up with excitement. “Well, as you can see, I’ve ordered a Pains five shilling box of outdoor fireworks.”

 

“Only one?”

 

“Well no. Harris took receipt of another fourteen boxes from London down in the village last Tuesday.”

 

“So what are you going to dazzle us with this year, Pappa?”

 

“A row of twenty Roman Candles and thirty Catherine Wheels down along the ha-ha****, and Harris and I will set off these Radium Dazzlers and,” He chortles with unbridled childish delight. “A few Mines of Fiery Serpents and some Devil’s Fire.”

 

“Sounds positively ripping, Pappa! I’m so looking forward to it. I always have enjoyed the thrill of Bonfire Night at Glynes.”

 

“You’re still such a child, my dear girl.” he says with an indulgent smile.

 

“Me?” Lettice counters with a surprised burst of laughter. “It seems to me that you are the bigger child of the two of us when it comes to pyrotechnics. I enjoy the spectacle, but for you this is a pastime as you plan the spectacle from year to year.”

 

“Steady on my girl!” Viscount Wrexham blusters. “More of a hobby, really.”

 

“Same thing.” Lettice retorts. “What time do the gates open?”

 

Just as she asks, as soft knock at the library door interrupts them.

 

“Come!” Viscount Wrexham calls commandingly.

 

Bramley enters carrying a silver tray laden with tea things and some petit fours on a plate. “Tea, My Lord.”

 

“I made the presumption of ordering tea,” Lettice looks at her father.

 

“Capital idea, my girl!” the Viscount beams. “Put it on the table by the fire, would you Bramley.”

 

“My Lord.” The butler does as requested and for a moment the room falls silent, save for the gentle tick of the clock on the mantle, the crackle of the logs in the fireplace and the chink of porcelain, silver and cutlery as he sets out the tea for two.

 

“Thank you, Bramley.” Lettice acknowledges the butler.

 

“Bramley, what time do we expect the villagers up for tonight’s Bonfire Night celebrations?” Viscount Wrexham asks his butler.

 

“The villagers may start coming up to the house from six, My Lord. Mrs. Casterton and the maids are setting up tables in the back courtyard around the bonfire even as we speak.”

 

“Excellent, well I told Gerald to bring his family over at seven.” Lettice says.

 

“It will be the best Bonfire Night yet, my girl!” the Viscount remarks with enthusiasm. “You mark my words. The best yet!”

 

“Bonfire Night, Glynes style is always the best, Pappa.” Lettice replies.

 

*Guy Fawkes Day, also called Bonfire Night, British observance, celebrated on November the fifth, commemorating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guy Fawkes and his group members acted in protest to the continued persecution of the English Catholics. Today Guy Fawkes Day is celebrated in the United Kingdom, and in a number of countries that were formerly part of the British Empire, with parades, fireworks, bonfires, and food. Straw effigies of Fawkes are tossed on the bonfire, as are—in more recent years in some places—those of contemporary political figures. Traditionally, children carried these effigies, called “Guys,” through the streets in the days leading up to Guy Fawkes Day and asked passersby for “a penny for the guy,” often reciting rhymes associated with the occasion, the best known of which dates from the Eighteenth Century.

 

**Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.

 

***Broxmore House was a grand classical Georgian county house with Victorian editions built in Whiteparish, Wiltshire. It was demolished in 1949.

 

****A ha-ha is a type of sunken fence that was commonly used in landscaped gardens and parks in the eighteenth century. It involved digging a deep, dry ditch, the inner side of which would be built up to the level of the surrounding turf with either a dry-stone or brick wall. Meanwhile, the outer side was designed to slope steeply upwards, before leveling out again into turf. The point of the ha-ha was to give the viewer of the garden the illusion of an unbroken, continuous rolling lawn, whilst providing boundaries for grazing livestock.

 

Cluttered with books and art, Viscount Wrexham’s library with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the Viscount’s library are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe was famous in miniature collectors’ circles mostly for the miniature books that he made: all being authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. However, he did not make books exclusively. He also made other small pieces like this box of Pain’s Fireworks you see on the desk. What might amaze you, looking at these fireworks is that they are all miniature replicas of real fireworks manufactured by Pain’s Fireworks. Each has a correct label, and they are even correct size in comparison to one another when compared to their real life counterparts. Examples of fireworks here are: Mine of Fiery Serpents, Harbour Light, Radium Dazzler, City Flicker, Firestorm and coloured Roman Candles. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago and through his estate courtesy of the generosity of his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

James Pain and Sons Ltd. fireworks business which was established in Brixton in 1850. The company was a leading manufacturer of fireworks in the United Kingdom. After great success the business expanded to Wiltshire. 1965, James Pain and Sons Ltd merged with the Wessex Aircraft Engineering Company Ltd (known as WAECO) to form Pains Wessex. Pains Wessex is known to be the oldest marine distress signal brand with origins back as far as 1620. In 1873, the company applied for the first patent of a marine distress flare. Today, the quality, technological superiority and innovative design of the Pains Wessex range, combined with worldwide approvals and manufacturing.

 

Also on the desk to the left stands a stuffed white owl on a branch beneath a glass cloche. A vintage miniature piece, the foliage are real dried flowers and grasses, whilst the owl is cut from white soapstone. The base is stained wood and the cloche is real glass. This I acquired along with two others featuring shells (one of which can be seen in the background) from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles and a blotter on a silver salver all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain, and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The beautiful rotating globe in the background features a British Imperial view of the world, with all of Britain’s colonies in pink (as can be seen from Canada), as it would have been in 1921. The globe sits on metal casters in a mahogany stained frame, and it can be rolled effortlessly. It comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables in Lancashire. The silver double frame on the desk also comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables.

 

In the background you can see the book lined shelves of Viscount Wrexham’s as well as a Victorian painting of cattle in a gold frame from Amber’s Miniatures in America, and a hand painted ginger jar from Thailand which stands on a Bespaq plant stand.

 

The library steps which can be seen just to the left of the desk are authentic replicas of Georgian examples. It also comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Done