A Rocky Introduction

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 northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid’s, parents live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. Whilst far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, the Harlesden terrace has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her brother, Bert.

 

Having recently met Mrs. McTavish, the grandmother of Frank Leadbetter, Edith’s young beau, Edith has now arranged for Frank to join her for a Sunday roast with her parents, so that they might finally meet. Wishing to make the right impression, Frank arrived on the doorstep of the Watsfords dressed in his Sunday best suit, and presented Ada with a bunch of beautiful yellow roses and George with a bottle of French red wine. Frank has not been the only one wishing to make a good impression, with Ada scrubbing her home from top to bottom in the days leading up to the visit.

 

The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has a particularly special feel about it. Ada had pulled out one of her best table cloths which now adorns the round kitchen table, hiding its worn surface and the best blue and white china and gilded dinner service is being used today. Ada has even conceded to Edith’s constant reminders that she promised to use the pretty Price Washington ‘Ye Old Cottage’ teapot that Edith bought her.

 

The kitchen is filled with the rich smells of roasted ham and pumpkin, boiled potatoes and vegetables, gravy warming over the grate and the faint fruity aroma of one of Ada’s cherry tarts as it sits waiting to be served for dessert on the dresser’s pull out extension.

 

“It’s a pleasure to finally have you at our table on a Sunday after all this time, Frank.” Ada says welcomingly from her seat in the high backed Windsor chair in front of the kitchen range, smiling across the round kitchen table at their guest.

 

“It’s a great pleasure to be here and to meet you too Mrs. Watsford,” Frank answers, before quickly looking to his right and adding, “And of course you too, Mr. Watsford.”

 

“Yes,” adds George. “All we ever seem to hear from our Edith these days is ‘Frank and I did this’ or ‘Frank said that’, and we wondered when we were going to get to meet you.”

 

“Dad!” admonishes Edith hotly, her cheeks flushing with colour at her father’s direct remark.

 

Frank looks to his sweetheart and smiles at her, silently indicating that what her father said was fine with him. “I am sorry we haven’t met sooner, but I am a stickler for doing things properly.”

 

“Yes, so Edith told us.” Ada answers.

 

“So, she may have told you that I wanted her to meet my family first. Sadly, my parents aren’t alive any longer, but I still have my maternal grandmother, who had more than a hand in my upbringing. I needed to ease her into the idea that I have a sweetheart, you see. It has just been she and I since 1919. I didn’t want to upset our routine, so I slowly introduced the idea of Edith being my sweetheart to her before finally introducing them.”

 

“Edith tells us that the introduction to Mrs. Mc… Tavish, is it?” Ada begins querying. When Frank nods, she continues. “That her introduction to Mrs. McTavish went very well.”

 

“It did indeed. In fact, it went even better than I’d hoped.” Frank enthuses. “You must both be very proud of Edith.”

 

Edith blushes again and looks down into her napkin draped across her lap.

 

‘And now they’ve met,” Frank continues. “It means that we could meet.”

 

“Well,” Ada says kindly. “I think that’s very respectful of you, considering your grandmother’s feelings like that.”

 

“I’m sure Edith would do the same, were she in a similar position, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank replies with a slight blush of his own now gracing his usually pale cheeks.

 

“And thank you again for the lovely roses, Frank.” Ada adds, glancing at the bunch of fat yellow roses on the table that Frank presented to her upon his and Edith’s arrival at the Watsford family home.

 

“Oh, and the wine.” Edith points to the bottle of red wine also sitting on the table.

 

“I’m not really a wine drinker myself,” George remarks. “More of stout man, me.” He taps the reddish brown earthenware jug next to him comfortingly.

 

“It doesn’t matter, George.” Ada admonishes her husband. “It was very thoughtful of you, Frank. I’m sure you make your grandmother as proud as Edith makes us.” Yet even as she speaks, Ada looks distrustfully at the bottle of red wine with its fancy label decorated with garlands and writing in a foreign language. “And where did you find this wine, Frank?”

 

“I did make sure to ask Edith whether you were teetotal, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures Ada. “If you disapprove, I’ll take it away. I meant no disrespect.”

 

“Oh it’s not that, Frank. We just aren’t used to it is all. As my husband says, we don’t often have a cause to have wine in this house.”

 

“I don’t think we’ve ever had wine in the house.” George adds.

 

“Oh, when Mum was alive and used to make elderflower or blackberry wine, I always had a small demijohn*** of them on the dresser.” Ada corrects him. “Not that there was ever a great deal in the house.”

 

“I don’t remember that,” George chortles. “But then again,” he adds, raising his bushy eyebrows. “There are a good many things I don’t remember these days.”

 

“Well, I’m afraid this didn’t come from my Granny.” Frank apologises. “But she doesn’t make wine.”

 

“No, but she does make very pretty lace, Mum.” Edith turns to Frank. “So where did you get it from Frank?” she asks. “I don’t remember Mr. Willison being a wine merchant.”

 

“Well, that’s because he’s not. This is a bottle of French wine which comes from a chum of mine who runs a little Italian restaurant up the Islington****.” Frank looks at Edith and smiles. “I’ll take you there one day, Edith, for a very special dinner of home-made spaghetti.”

 

“I’d like that, Frank.” Edith beams.

 

“A French wine from an Italian restaurant?” George queries.

 

“Giuseppe, my chum, serves wine from different countries with his meals, and I asked him what might be best to have.” Frank explains. “And he sold me this bottle.”

 

Ada picks up her tumbler of wine, sniffing at its red liquified contents rather suspiciously before taking her first tentative sip. Swallowing the wine, she isn’t quite sure whether she likes it or not as it glides down her throat. She can taste the fruitiness of it, but it is matched by an acidity that surprises her. It doesn’t taste like the blackberry wine she remembers her mother making. “Once again, it’s very thoughtful of you to give us such a… treat.” Returning her tumbler to the table she discreetly pushes it away from her place at the table, hoping that Frank won’t notice or take offence.

 

“Mum has always said that good manners are the hallmark of a gentleman.” Edith adds with a smile and a nod towards er mother, knowing that Frank has made a good impression with her by the simple gesture of a gift.

 

“And so they are.” Ada nods.

 

“Yellow roses are the universal symbol of friendship.” Frank explains. “And I do sincerely hope that we will be friends, Mr. and Mrs. Watsford.” he adds hopefully, the statement rewarded by a kind smile from both of Edith’s parents.

 

“Where did you learn that from, Frank?” Ada asks.

 

“I came across an old book at the Caledonian Markets* Mrs. Watsford, called, ‘Floral Symbolica’** which lists the meaning of ever so many flowers.”

 

“That sounds very fancy.” George remarks. “Floral… floral sym… what?”

 

“Symbolica, Mr. Watsford.” Frank confirms.

 

“Frank’s a big reader, Dad.” Edith announces, attracting her father’s attention to common ground between the two of them.

 

“What else do you read then, Frank?” George asks with interest. “Besides books of flowers, that is.”

 

“I read lots of things, Mr. Watsford.” Frank replies proudly. “Anything to improve my mind.”

 

“Well, I wish you’d help improve Edith’s mind. She seems only to be interested in romance novels.” George teases his daughter cheekily.

 

“That’s not true, Dad!” Edith gasps, taking her father’s bait far too easily. “I read lots of different things, not just romance novels.”

 

“What do you like to read, Sir?” Frank asks helpfully in an effort to save his sweetheart further embarrassment and character assassination at her father’s hands.

 

“I probably don’t read things you’d like, Frank. I prefer to read for escapism. A good story that grabs me is what I like, like those Fu Manchu***** mystery books, or that new female mystery writer. What’s her name?” He clicks his fingers as he tries to recall her name. “Help me, will you Edith. The woman who wrote ‘The Secret Adversary’ and ‘The Mysterious Affair at Styles’.”

 

“Christie.” Frank pipes up.

 

“That’s it!” George sighs with relief. “Agatha Christie******. Thank you Frank. Do you read her books too?”

 

“No, I’m afraid I’m not much of a mystery reader myself, Mr. Watsford.”

 

“No, you don’t strike me as a murder mystery type, Frank.” George muses as he eyes the serious young man in his Sunday best suit up and down. “You seem to be a more studious type.” He shrugs. “Pity, she writes ripping good yarns.”

 

“And you’re a delivery lad I believe?” Ada asks, turning the subject more towards knowing more about Frank’s prospects as a potential suitor for her daughter.

 

“That’s right, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank replies proudly, sitting a little straighter in his seat at the table. “I work for Willison’s the Grocers in Mayfair, and I do deliveries around the neighbourhood.”

 

“But he’s doing more than just deliveries now, Dad.” Edith pipes up a little anxiously, seeing the creases in her father’s serious face.

 

“Yes!” Frank adds. “Mr. Willison has taken me under his wing so to speak and is teaching me about displaying goods in the window and the like.”

 

“It’s called visual merchandising.” Edith explains.

 

“Is it now?” Ada remarks, pursing her lips in distrust and raising her eyebrows. “Such fancy words. Our Edith is always coming home with fancy words from your neck of the woods these days.”

 

“Good for you, Lad!” George booms. “Mrs. Watsford here,” He glances beyond the bunch of yellow roses at his wife. “Is perhaps a little less at ease with the idea of bettering yourself than Edith and I are.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that, George.” Ada defends herself. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with a young man improving his lots in life.”

 

“But?” George asks, picking up on the silent second half of his wife’s statement.

 

“But I think that there is such a thing as aspiring too high. There is a class structure that has done us well for time long before I was born.”

 

“For some of us, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank pipes up.

 

Edith’s eyes grow wide as she realises that the conversation over Sunday luncheon is suddenly careening swiftly towards a topic that Frank feels very passionately about, but also one that rattles her mother. She worries that Frank’s enthusiasm might not be so well received by either of her parents. However, even as she thinks these thoughts, it is already too late as Frank opens his mouth and continues.

 

“Now is the time for the working man, and working woman too, to rise up and be better than the lot in life we’ve been dealt, Mrs. Watsford.”

 

Edith watches the almost imperceptible shifts in her mother’s features as they steels and harden.

 

“You may be happy with your place in life, but I for one want to do better. I don’t want to be a grocer’s boy forever. I want to do better, so that I can afford to give Edith a good home.”

 

“Do you plan to own your own grocer’s, lad?” George asks with an air of impossibility.

 

“Maybe, Mr. Watsford. I don’t see why I shouldn’t, or at least shouldn’t try. I have a lot of dreams you see, and ideas for the future.”

 

Ada takes a mouthful of ham, swallowing stiffly as she answers, “Yes, I’ve heard a great deal about your ideas from Edith, Frank.”

 

“I can assure you, Mrs. Watsford, that I am not a Communist.” Frank defends himself, having heard from Edith about her mother’s concerns. “I just want a better world for Edith, for me, for my children.”

 

“And that’s admirable, Frank.” Ada counters. “And I don’t disagree with you. Aspiring to a better life is good. I just think a little less radically than you do, and you’ll forgive me for saying this, but as a person who has had more years on this earth than you have, Frank, I don’t think my opinions are less valid, in spite of their lack of ambition for change.”

 

An uncomfortable silence falls over the table.

 

“Oh I’m sorry, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank says after a moment, dabbing the edge of is mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t mean to cause any offence. Edith tells me that when I get passionate about something, I talk before I think. I apologise for shooting off my mouth.”

 

“That’s alright lad.” George replies soothingly, covering over his wife’s stony silence. “It’s good to feel strongly and want change: a better future for yourself. Ada and I,” He places his bigger hand comfortingly and in a sign of solidarity over his wife’s as she still holds her fork, resting her wrist on the table. “Well, you’ll probably laugh at our old fashioned ideas, but we’ve made positive changes for ourselves and our children in our own, more quiet ways.”

 

“Sorry Mr. Watsford.” Frank sighs. “It’s not the first time my mouth has gotten me in trouble.”

 

“It’s alright, Frank.” Ada says quietly, releasing the handle of her fork and entwining her fingers with those of her husband. “I like you, in spite of the fact that you and I may not entirely agree with the way the world should be or how we go about making it a better place, but I just can’t help worrying about our Edith being with you and your revolutionary ideas.”

 

“Mum!” Edith gasps, raining her hands to her mouth.

 

“I’m sorry, Edith,” Ada says. “But I have to say my peace. I do worry about you. As a mother you do worry, about all your children.”

 

“I promise you that I won’t ever put Edith in harm’s way, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank swears earnestly.

 

“Not intentionally, I know, Frank, but what about unintentionally?” Ada says. “You’re a good lad, and I can see that by your thoughtfulness and your manners. You obviously treat Edith very well. However, the vehemence with which you spurn your new ideas around is frightening to me.” She looks at Edith seriously and continues earnestly. “You’re of age now, Edith love, and I can’t stop you from stepping out with Frank here. You can make your own decisions as to whether he is the right young man for you.”

 

“Oh he is, Mum! I promise you!” Edith pipes up, looking deep into her mother’s serious face.

 

“I suppose I’m just a bit like your granny was with our Edith, Frank. I need to get accustomed to you.” She looks at the plump yellow rose blooms. “George and I accept your offer of friendship, and we hope that you won’t feel too awkward after today to join us for Sunday tea again.”

 

“Oh I assure you Mrs. Watsford, I’d be delighted.”

 

“Good. But in extending the warm hand of friendship, I’d be obliged if you would perhaps temper your more modern and revolutionary ideas, whilst I get used to you, Frank.”

 

All four diners spend a few minutes quietly eating their dinner, with only the scrape of cutlery against crockery to break the silence.

 

As Edith chews her mouthful of boiled potato, she finds it hard to swallow, and when she finally does, she feels it slide down her throat and land heavily in the pit of her stomach. She glances across at Frank to her right, but he doesn’t look up from his plate as he puts a sliver of orange roast pumpkin in his mouth. She had warned Frank to try and curtail his passionate ideas before her parents, but realises now that to ask him to do so is to deny him one of the most important things in his life. She worries whether Frank and her mother will ever see eye-to-eye on things.

 

“So, enough about changing the world,” George says at length, breaking the silence. “What football team do you support then, young Frank?”

 

Edith smiles gratefully at her father, who winks at her over the rim of his glass as she takes a swig of ale.

 

“West Ham United, Sir.” Frank says proudly.

 

“Good lad!” George chortles. “See, he’s not all bad, Ada!”

 

“You must be as excited as me about West Ham playing Bolton at the inaugural Empire Stadium******* match that’s coming up then, Mr. Watsford.” Frank says, also smiling gratefully at George for being the peacemaker and easing the tension in the room.

 

“Oh we all are, lad!” agrees George. “Would that I could get tickets for the match, but being the opening of the stadium, tickets are hard to come by.”

 

“If they finish it in time.” Frank remarks. “There isn’t long to go now, and yet from what I’ve read, it’s nowhere near done yet.”

 

“Now, now, lad!” George admonishes Frank good naturedly, wagging his fork with a speared piece of cauliflower on it. “Have a bit of faith in British construction. That stadium is going to be the centrepiece of the British Empire Exhibition. No full blooded British man is going to let the Empire down by not competing it.”

 

“Yes, you’re quite right, Sir.” Frank agrees.

 

As the mood at the table lifts and shifts a little, Edith is suddenly heartened by the possibility that maybe Frank might win approval from both her parents in the end, if Frank can win her father over. Her father’s opinion matters a great deal to her mother. She slices her knife through another boiled potato on her plate and sighs quietly, knowing that whilst this first meeting of Frank and her parents was not all that she had hoped for, all is not lost and some bridges have been built.

 

*The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.

 

**’Floral Symbolica; or, The Language and Sentiment of Flowers’ is a book written by John Ingram, published in London in 1870 by Frederick Warne and Co. who are perhaps best known for publishing the books of Beatrix Potter. ‘Flora Symbolica; or, The language and Sentiment of Flowers includes meanings of many species of flowers, both domestic and exotic, as well as floral poetry, original and selected. It contains a colour frontispiece and fifteen colour plates, printed in colours by Terry. John Henry Ingram (November the 16th, 1842 – February the 12th, 1916) was an English biographer and editor with a special interest in Edgar Allan Poe. Ingram was born at 29 City Road, Finsbury Square, Middlesex, and died at Brighton, England. His family lived at Stoke Newington, recollections of which appear in Poe's works. J. H. Ingram dedicated himself to the resurrection of Poe's reputation, maligned by the dubious memoirs of Rufus Wilmot Griswold; he published the first reliable biography of the author and a four-volume collection of his works.

 

***A demijohn originally referred to any glass vessel with a large body and small neck, enclosed in wickerwork. The word presumably comes from the French dame-jeanne, literally "Lady Jane", as a popular appellation; this word is first attested in France in the Seventeenth century. Demijohns are primarily used for transporting liquids, often water or chemicals. They are also used for in-home fermentation of beverages, often beer or wine.

 

****The Italian quarter of London, known commonly today as “Little Italy” is an Italian ethnic enclave in London. Little Italy’s core historical borders are usually placed at Clerkenwell Road, Farringdon Road and Rosebery Avenue - the Saffron Hill area of Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell spans Camden Borough and Islington Borough. Saffron Hill and St. Peter’s Italian Catholic Church fall within the Camden side. However, even though this was the traditional enclave for Italians, immigrants moved elsewhere in London, bleeding into areas like Islington and Soho where they established bars, cafes and restaurants which sold Italian cuisine and wines.

 

*****’The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu’ was a 1913 novel by prolific writer Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward under the non-deplume Sax Rohmer that portrayed Chinese as opium fiends, thugs, murders and villains. His supervillain Fu-Manchu proved so popular that he wrote a whole series of sequels featuring the odious character between 1914 ad 1917 and then again from 1933 until 1959. The image of "Orientals" invading Western nations became the foundation of Rohmer's commercial success, being able to sell twenty million copies of his books in his lifetime.

 

******By 1923 when this story is set, detective mystery fiction writer Agatha Christie had already written two successful novels, ‘The Mysterious Affair at Styles’ published by The Bodley Head in 1921, which introduced the world to her fictional detective Hercule Poirot, and ‘The Secret Adversary’ also published by The Bodley Head, in 1922, which introduced characters Tommy and Tuppence. In May of 1923, Agatha Christie would release her second novel featuring Hercule Poirot: ‘The Murder on the Links’ which would retail in London bookshops for seven shillings and sixpence.

 

*******Originally known as Empire Stadium, London’s Wembley Stadium was built to serve as the centerpiece of the British Empire Exhibition. It took a total of three hundred days to construct the stadium at a cost of £750,000. The stadium was completed on the 23rd of April 1923, only a few days before the first football match, between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United, was to take place at the stadium. This first match was the 1923 FA Cup final, which later became known as the White Horse final. The stadium's first turf was cut by King George V, and it was first opened to the public on 28 April 1923. Much of Humphry Repton's original Wembley Park landscape was transformed in 1922 and 1923 during preparations for the British Empire Exhibition. First known as the "British Empire Exhibition Stadium" or simply the "Empire Stadium", it was built by Sir Robert McAlpine for the British Empire Exhibition of 1924 (extended to 1925).

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the table the roast ham dinner that really does look good enough to eat is made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The gravy boat of gravy is also Frances Knight’s work. The knife sitting alongside the ham comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom. The blue and white crockery on the table I have bought as individual from several online sellers on E-Bay. I imagine that whole sets were once sold, but now I can only find them piecemeal. The cutlery and the glasses (which are made from real glass) I bought as a teenager from a high street dollhouse suppliers. The pottery ale jug comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in England. The glass of ale comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The salt and pepper shakers come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The 1:12 artisan bottle of Bordeaux, made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, is made from glass and the winery on the label is a real winery in France. The vase of yellow roses came from a 1:12 miniatures stockist on E-Bay. The tablecloth is actually a piece of an old worn sheet that was destined for the dustbin.

 

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are a tin of Macfie’s Finest Black Treacle, two jars of P.C. Flett and Company jam, a tin of Heinz marinated apricots, a jar of Marmite, some Bisto gravy powder, some Ty-Phoo tea and a jar of S.P.C. peaches. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, except the jar of S.P.C. peaches which comes from Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom. All of them have great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans.

 

Robert Andrew Macfie sugar refiner was the first person to use the term term Golden Syrup in 1840, a product made by his factory, the Macfie sugar refinery, in Liverpool. He also produced black treacle.

 

P.C. Flett and Company was established in Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands by Peter Copeland Flett. He had inherited a small family owned ironmongers in Albert Street Kirkwall, which he inherited from his maternal family. He had a shed in the back of the shop where he made ginger ale, lemonade, jams and preserves from local produce. By the 1920s they had an office in Liverpool, and travelling representatives selling jams and preserves around Great Britain. I am not sure when the business ceased trading.

 

The American based Heinz food processing company, famous for its Baked Beans, 57 varieties of soups and tinend spaghetti opened a factory in Harlesden in 1919, providing a great deal of employment for the locals who were not already employed at McVitie and Price.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.

 

S.P.C. is an Australian brand that still exists to this day. In 1917 a group of fruit growers in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley decided to form a cooperative which they named the Shepperton Fruit Preserving Company. The company began operations in February 1918, canning pears, peaches and nectarines under the brand name of S.P.C. On the 31st of January 1918 the manager of the Shepparton Fruit Preserving Company announced that canning would begin on the following Tuesday and that the operation would require one hundred and fifty girls or women and thirty men. In the wake of the Great War, it was hoped that “the launch of this new industry must revive drooping energies” and improve the economic circumstances of the region. The company began to pay annual bonuses to grower-shareholders by 1929, and the plant was updated and expanded. The success of S.P.C. was inextricably linked with the progress of the town and the wider Goulburn Valley region. In 1936 the company packed twelve million cans and was the largest fruit cannery in the British empire. Through the Second World War the company boomed. The product range was expanded to include additional fruits, jam, baked beans and tinned spaghetti and production reached more than forty-three million cans a year in the 1970s. From financial difficulties caused by the 1980s recession, SPC returned once more to profitability, merging with Ardmona and buying rival company Henry Jones IXL. S.P.C. was acquired by Coca Cola Amatil in 2005 and in 2019 sold to a private equity group known as Shepparton Partners Collective.

 

Also on the dresser on the pull out drawer is a cherry tart made by Frances Knight. Next to it stands a cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.

 

The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

Done