A Picnic in St. James’ Park

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.

 

Lettice has her future sister-in-law, Arabella Tyrwhitt, who will soon marry her eldest brother Leslie, staying with her at Cavendish Mews. As Arabella has no sisters, and her mother is too unwell at present to travel up to London from Wiltshire, Lettice has taken it upon herself to help Arabella shop and select a suitable trousseau. So, she has brought her to London to stay in Cavendish Mews, rather than opening up the Tyrwhitt’s Georgian townhouse in Curzon Street for a week, so from there she can take Arabella shopping in all the best shops in the West End, and take her to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street for her wedding dress.

 

Today however we have headed a short distance south from Cavendish Mews to St. James’ Park after Lettice received a surprise telephone call from Selwyn Spencely, the Duke of Walmsford’s son, with whom she has started a budding relationship.

 

“Lettice my Angel,” his voice called down the telephone excitedly. “May I be completely and utterly impetuous and ask you to do something spontaneous?” When Lettice laughed in reply he continued, “I know we agreed to have dinner at the Café Royal* after your houseguest leaves, but I just can’t wait that long to see you! Today is such a beautiful summer day. It would be a shame to waste it. Couldn’t I persuade you to leave your guest to her own devices for a few hours and come and have a picnic in St. James’ Park with me?”

 

When Lettice explained that it would be remiss of her to desert Arabella, Arabella, who was sitting in the drawing room leafing through some of Lettice’s latest fashion magazines and within earshot of the conversation, immediately indicated with mouthed, overpronounced words and pantomime like gesticulations that she could find her own way to Oxford Street to do a little browsing at Selfridges department store. And so, it was with a heart fluttering with delight that Arabella and Edith, Lettice’s maid, rushed her off to her dressing room to help her swiftly pick the perfect choice for a summertime picnic in St. James’ Park. With Lettice suitably arrayed, Edith scuttled down to the taxi stand at the edge of the nearby square, hired a taxi and bundled Lettice into it with Arabella’s help before directing it to St. James’s Park.

 

“Lettice my angel!” Selwyn gasps as he sees her approach, dressed in a pretty afternoon frock of flower sprigged cream cotton and a wide brimmed straw hat decorated with cream and yellow artificial roses. “Can it be my imagination or are you even more beautiful after your return from Wiltshire?”

 

“Oh you are such a flatterer, Selwyn darling!” Lettice laughs, waving her right hand kittenishly at Selwyn, who catches it playfully and raises it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. Lettice smiles as she feels the warmth of his lips through the thin weave of her ecru lace glove.

 

At Selwyn’s feet on the gravel path sits a small basket lined with blue and white cotton, and decorated with a pretty red satin bow, filled with the makings of a splendid luncheon for two.

 

Seeing her querying look as to why he isn’t holding the basket, Selwyn withdraws his left hand from behind his back. “These are for you, my angel!” And with a flourish he presents her with a bunch of long stemmed creamy roses wrapped in colourful paper. “I must have known in my heart what you were going to wear.”

 

“Oh Selwyn!” Lettice gasps, accepting the blooms from him and raising them to her face, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “You are so thoughtful! Thank you!”

 

“I have the perfect spot for us,” Selwyn replies, entwining the fingers of his left hand with her right hand and leading her along the path where they perambulate leisurely amidst the other citizenry of London enjoying the fine summer day.

 

The warm air smells sweet with the fragrance of grass and trees basking in the summer sun as Lettice looks at the others around her. Nannies, both in smart uniforms or just dressed in ordinary clothes, push their privileged charges about in splendid prams with black and blue hoods and shiny spoked wheels or parade them along at a pace quick enough to get the much needed summer air into their little lungs. City gents and clerks in suits and uncomfortable looking starched collars sit on benches reading the London tabloids, sharing their seats with older couples in their outmoded Victorian perambulating outfits. Participating in a romantic assignation, Lettice is suddenly aware of how many other young couples just like she and Selwyn there are around them. Lettice notices a few soldiers in red dress uniform escorting their beaus in summer frocks and hats similar to her own, but perhaps not so expensive or exclusive as her couture pieces. The pair depart the gravel path and step over the low hooped lawn edgings and leave the dappled shade of the trees to cross over the well clipped lawns into an open space flooded with summer sunshine.

 

“Here we are,” Selwyn says, stopping on a patch of lawn sparsely populated by other picnickers, with the perfect view of St James’ Park duck pond and Buckingham Palace rising beyond the green space in the distance. “The perfect spot.”

 

“Oh it is Selwyn!” Lettice laughs as Selwyn gently drops the basket on the grass and withdraws a red and white gingham picnic rug from within its confines and unfurls it with a flourish.

 

“Now we have some cold chicken, some fresh bread,” Selwyn begins as he starts withdrawing gilt edged crockery and silver cutlery from the basket.

 

“Did you have the chefs at your club prepare this, Selwyn?” Lettice asks in amazement as she lowers herself onto the rug alongside her bouquet of cream roses, carefully arranging her skirt over her knees as she curls her legs underneath herself.

 

“Goodness no!” he laughs jovially as he puts a salt and a pepper shaker matching the plates into the picnic rug.

 

“Then where?”

 

“Harrods has a very fine line in personalised picnic hampers through their Meat and Fish Hall**. I simply told them what I fancied, and they provided it.” He takes out a white damask cloth and opens it. “Voilà! Salad!”

 

“Fancy!” Lettice gasps, raising her fingers to her lips in delight at Selwyn’s gustatory magic trick.

 

“There are freshly baked jam tarts for dessert, too.” Selwyn announces proudly, as if he had baked them himself.

 

“And apples!” Lettice points to two rosy, red apples nestled into the side of the basket like two embarrassed blushing lovers.

 

“And of course, no picnic would be complete without,” He delves back into the basket and carefully withdraws a bottle. “A glass or two of Mozelle.” He winks at his luncheon companion conspiratorially.

 

Lettice claps her hands in delight as he proceeds to take out two sparkling crystal glasses from within the interior of the basket.

 

A half hour later, with most of the chicken, fresh baguette and salad consumed, Lettice and Selwyn settle back to let their first course settle before indulging in their dessert of tarts. Lettice sighs contentedly as she feels the warmth of the sun on her bare arms, exposed below her cap sleeves, whilst Selwyn stretches out comfortably, resting on his elbow as he gazes up at Lettice from beneath the brim of his straw boater.

 

“You know,” Lettice says as she sips still cool Mozelle from her glass, listening to the companionable sound of quiet chatter punctuated by smatterings of laughter and the quacks of ducks around them. “I still can’t get used to it.”

 

“Used to what, my angel?” Selwyn asks lazily, looking across the gardens in the general direction of Lettice’s gaze.

 

“That.” She points to Buckingham Palace, its Portland stone frontage*** basking in the sunshine. “The new façade.”

 

“It’s hardly new, Lettice darling. It’s been almost ten years since it was completed.”

 

“Yes, but four of those years we were at war, which began just after its completion, and I’ve only been living in London for two years, so it’s still new to me.”

 

“Do you know that The King paid for the contractors building it to work around the clock to complete it in thirteen weeks.”

 

“No,” Lettice replies, looking down into his animated face.

 

“Yes. It was quite a logistical feat! The blocks of stone were prepared in advance and numbered before delivery to the Palace via a tramway especially built for the purpose. The contractors used new technologies like electric hoists to move the Portland stone pieces into place, and they used arc lighting to allow the men to work around the clock.”

 

“Good heavens! I didn’t know any of that.”

 

“Yes, and The King even hosted a dinner for all the workmen afterwards, to thank them for completing it so swiftly.”

 

“Aren’t we lucky to have such a good ruler as King George?” Lettice asks rhetorically. “Of course, you know all about the palace façade construction, being a successful architect.” She adds with a smile.

 

“Well, a young and upcoming architect,” Selwyn returns her smile with a broad and appreciative one of his own.

 

“You’ll be a great success, Selwyn darling!” Lettice enthuses. “I just know it. This house you are building in Hampstead will be just the beginning.”

 

Selwyn snorts derisively. “I wish my father had the faith in me that you do, darling.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, I have my duties as heir to the Walmsford title to consider, rather than this,” he flaps his hand around distractedly, narrowly avoiding spilling what Mozelle he has left in his own glass. “This silly pastime of mine of drawing dolls’ houses.”

 

“Drawing dolls’ houses?” Lettice exclaims in horror. “Is that what he calls it?”

 

“He does.” Selwyn says with resignation.

 

“Well,” Lettice replies a steely tone in her voice, lifting her head and staring away into the distance. “Unlike my mother, and evidently your father, I don’t see you as the mere heir to a title and all that goes with it.”

 

“And that’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to you, my darling. You are so refreshingly different. You aren’t like all the toadying debutantes of the London season and their equally simpering, insufferable mothers, courting me and stealing covetous glances at me beneath lowered lids.”

 

“Well, I might not be, but my mother is. Don’t forget that you were invited to her Hunt Ball along with a dozen other suitably eligible bachelors as part of a marriage market for me. You’ve no idea what pressure Mater puts on me to hurry up and get married like my sister, Lally, just like a good girl.”

 

“I take it then, that she no more approves of your interior design business than my father approves of my career in architecture?”

 

It is Lettice’s turn to snort derisively. “Folly is what she calls it. My interior design folly.” She sighs.

 

“So you understand the weight of the constant barrage of disapproval then?”

 

“I do, Selwyn, more than you know.” Lettice takes a sharp inhale of sweet summer air, as if steeling herself for just such a rebuke.

 

The pair fall into a companionable silence for a short while, momentarily lost in their own thoughts. In the distance a duck protests, squawking as a little boy in a sailor suit chases after it excitedly. The duck escapes onto the shimmering surface of the pond with a splash of water, and the little boy is stopped from following him by the swift actions of a woman who is either his mother or his nanny, scolding him for bothering the poor bird.

 

“I decided to set up my interior design business partly as a form of rebellion: a way to irritate my mother more than I already did during the war by insisting on nursing patients who came to convalesce at Glynes, but more so to strike out from my parents and make my own way in the world, at least a little bit.”

 

“I think that sounds splendid, my angel. To be independent in thought and deed shows character, and in a woman, steely determination.”

 

“I’m glad you approve, Selwyn. Mater certainly does not. She derides the idea of the independence of women.”

 

“You mustn’t be too hard on her, Lettice. Lady Sadie is a product of her upbringing. Her generation grew up with the idea that to marry, and to marry well, was the only option for women of her class.”

 

“Maybe." Lettice muses. “But not all people thought that way. Father’s father, my grandfather, believed in women’s emancipation long before it was fashionable to do so.”

 

“Is it fashionable today?”

 

“In some circles it is, and it will become more so, you mark my words.” She wags a finger at him.

 

“In more enlightened and perhaps more bohemian circles, certainly.”

 

“That’s why my Aunt Eglantine is a successful artist. My grandfather made sure that as his daughter, she was well provided for, so that way she could live independently and didn’t have to get married. It was a pity he didn’t live to see how things are changing for women now. He’s the one who set up my allowance for me when I came of age. No matter what I do, no matter how much I outrage my parents for breaching conformity, they cannot withdraw my allowance now that I am of age. My grandfather told me before he died to pursue my dreams, and that not every girl has to get married.”

 

“A most forward thinking gentleman was the old Viscount Wrexham.”

 

“He was.” Lettice replies with a smile. “And you, Selwyn.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes! Why did you decide to become an architect?”

 

“Well, as you know, I grew up in refined surroundings, yet I used to hear whispers and complaints about the idle rich when I was young.”

 

 

“You sound like one of those Communists who stand down at Speakers Corner**** in Hyde Park.”

 

“Well,” chuckles Selwyn. “I did have a tutor before I went to boarding school whom I’m sure had Communist affiliations, as it was through his education that I learned most about the folly, fecklessness and idleness of the rich.”

 

“So, what did he instil in you then, Selwyn?”

 

“Well, I grew up determined not to be just, as you so beautifully put it when we had luncheon at the Metrople*****, a Your Grace: a duke wealthy enough to live his life idly. My parents greatest claim to fame is that they have amassed a vast collection of rare and beautiful porcelain. I want more than to be known for something like that. I wanted a purpose, to give my life meaning. I want to leave my mark on the world.” Lettice leans in closer to Selwyn, mesmerised by his heightened passion as he speaks. “And I thought architecture was a good way to do it. I can design civic buildings that are needed and that bring pride to a community. I can build the homes of the future. Perhaps I might even one day design houses for London’s poor, to help replace the slums in the East End.”

 

“That’s very fine talk, Selwyn darling.” Lettice says proudly. “I approve. But what does your mother think?”

 

“Zinnia?”

 

“You call her by her given name?”

 

“Well, Zinnia has always been vain. She never wanted to grow old, so it suited her to have me call her Zinnia rather than mother. It leaves her ageless, you see. She’s not really a maternal kind of woman.”

 

“I just remember an angry woman yelling at me as she pulled you out of the hedgerow.”

 

“Yes, well, in answer to your question, I very much doubt she thinks about my desires as anything more than an irritation or an eccentricity, much the same way as your own mother views your pursuits as an interior designer. She knows that I am bound by duty to succeed my father some day, so she tolerates it as a mild inconvenience: the young heir living a life of his own choosing whilst he can.”

 

“Do you think that’s true?” Lettice asks, draining her glass. “Will you have to give up architecture when you become the next Duke of Walmsford?”

 

Selwyn withdraws the bottle of Mozelle from its wrapper of damask sitting in the basket and proffers its open mouth towards Lettice, who responds by moving closer and placing her glass beneath it. He fills her glass first and then refills his own. “I don’t know.” he sighs. “I hope not.”

 

“But?” Lettice prods his unfinished thought.

 

“But I haven’t quite worked out how I can do both.”

 

“Perhaps you can design new houses for the workers on your home farm, and the tenants on your estate.”

 

“And risk their ire as the homes built and lived in by their ancestors, old fashioned and draughty with leaky roofs are demolished to make way for newer, more commodious and comfortable homes.” Selwyn shakes his head. “You haven’t met any of my father’s tenant farmers. They like their lives just as they are, and don’t want the upheaval of change.”

 

“They sound very much like my father’s tenants. They just want the leaky roofs repaired and the draughts blocked, but they don’t want new houses, even if they could benefit from them. My eldest brother, Leslie, has managed to be a good influence on my father, helping sway his decisions about the estate to more modern ways of thinking, like investing in new machinery and farming differently, which has saved the Glynes estate from going into bankruptcy, or at the very least having to be partially purloined to greedy property developers, like some of our neighbours.”

 

“Yes, I’ve heard about Bruton’s family estate troubles. All the members of our club know why we don’t see much of him.” He sees the concern in Lettice’s face. “But don’t worry, I’m a gentleman, and the soul of discretion. He’ll never hear me speak of it and cause him embarrassment.”

 

“Thank you, Selwyn.” Lettice smiles.

 

“Is he going to design your future sister-in-law’s wedding frock, then?”

 

“Oh I do hope so, Selwyn. Gerald is such a good designer, and he is finally having some success.”

 

“A glimmer of hope in a dark time for the Bruton clan.”

 

“Indeed.” Lettice sighs.

 

“Well,” Selwyn says, rousing himself from his relaxed position on his side. “We should drink to Bruton’s success.”

 

“We should raise a glass to your success too, Selwyn darling.”

 

“And yours, my angel.” Selwyn ponders for a moment. “Let us toast simply to us. To all of us.” He raises his glass.

 

“To us!” Lettice raises her own glass, the sound of crystal against crystal clinking in the warm summer air.

 

As she sips her Mozelle, Lettice stares across at Selwyn and quietly dares to hope that maybe, there might be a future for the two of them together. Hiding it with the rim of her glass, a small smile of possibility teases up the corners of her lips.

 

“Now, I think we’re ready for a jam tart. Don’t you agree?” Selwyn asks with a smirk as he reaches in and withdraws two jewel like raspberry tarts with golden pastry shells sitting on a small gilt plate.

 

*The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.

 

**Harrod’s Meat and Fish Hall (the predecessor to today’s food hall) was opened in 1903. There was nothing like it in London at the time. It’s interior, conceived by Yorkshire Arts and Crafts ceramicist and artist William Neatby, was elaborately decorated from floor to ceiling with beautiful Art Nouveau tiles made by Royal Doulton, and a glass roof that flooded the space with light. Completed in nine weeks it featured ornate frieze tiles displaying pastoral scenes of sheep and fish, as well as colourful glazed tiles. By the 1920s, when this scene is set, the Meat and Fish Hall was at its zenith with so much produce on display and available to wealthy patrons that you could barely see the interior.

 

***Completed in thirteen weeks by the contractors, Messrs. Leslie of Kensington, the classically inspired Portland Stone façade of Buckingham Palace that we all know was unveiled in autumn 1913. At the conclusion of the project the King gave a dinner at the Holborn Restaurant for the hundreds of workmen responsible for such a remarkable achievement.

 

****A Speakers' Corner is an area where open-air public speaking, debate, and discussion are allowed. The original and best known is in the northeast corner of Hyde Park in London. Historically there were a number of other areas designated as Speakers' Corners in other parks in London, such as Lincoln's Inn Fields, Finsbury Park, Clapham Common, Kennington Park, and Victoria Park. Areas for Speakers' Corners have been established in other countries and elsewhere in Britain.

 

*****Now known as the Corinthia Hotel, the Metropole Hotel is located at the corner of Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall Place in central London on a triangular site between the Thames Embankment and Trafalgar Square. Built in 1883 it functioned as an hotel between 1885 until World War I when, located so close to the Palace of Westminster and Whitehall, it was requisitioned by the government. It reopened after the war with a luxurious new interior and continued to operate until 1936 when the government requisitioned it again whilst they redeveloped buildings at Whitehall Gardens. They kept using it in the lead up to the Second World War. After the war it continued to be used by government departments until 2004. In 2007 it reopened as the luxurious Corinthia Hotel.

 

Beautiful as it may be, this picturesque and delicious looking picnic on the lawns may not be all it seems, for it is in fact made up of miniatures from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The picnic basket I have had since I was a young teenager, and is possibly one of the very first artisan pieces I ever bought. Bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures, it still has its price tag of twenty five pounds on it! Sadly, I do not know who the artisan was who made this. The basket contains a baguette, some cheese, two apples, crockery, cutlery, napery, a bottle of wine and two faceted wine glasses.

 

The gilt edged plates, their matching salt and pepper, the cutlery and the roses all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The napkins in their metal napkin rings came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The picnic blanket being used is in reality a corner of one of my gingham shirts, which my partner derisively calls my “picnic blanket shirt”. The grass in the background is real, as this scene was photographed on my front lawn during the height of summer, on a lovely bright and sunny day.

Done