Home Amongst Friends Again

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 north-east of Cavendish Mews, past Marylebone and the British Museum at the grand Victorian Gothic red brick edifice of St Pancras railway station with its high pitched roofs, many arched windows and magnificent clock tower dominating the corner between Euston and Pancras Roads. Taking advantage of their employers’ attendance of an amusing Friday to Monday country house party in Scotland, Lettice’s maid, Edith, and her best friend Hilda, the maid of Lettice’s married Embassy Club coterie friends Dickie and Margot Channon, with permission, arranged a weekend trip to Manchester. They stayed Friday and Saturday nights at a small and respectable hotel for single travelling ladies run by a lovely Mancunian woman not far from Manchester Central railway station*, before returning to London. Today is Sunday and the two travelling friends are returning so that they are ready to receive their employers upon their return on Monday. Both maids landed upon the idea to visit their friend Queenie on the Saturday of their brief sojourn to Manchester. Queenie lives in the village of Alderley Edge, just outside of Manchester, which is easily accessible via the railway, allowing them to take tea with her at a small tearoom in the pretty Cheshire village.

 

Queenie, Edith and Hilda all used to work together for Mrs. Plaistow, the rather mean wife of a manufacturer who has a Regency terrace in Pimlico. Queenie was the cheerful head parlour maid, so both Edith and Hilda as younger and less experienced lower housemaids, fell under her instruction. Queenie chucked her position at Mrs. Plaistow’s a few years ago and took a new position as a maid for two elderly spinster sisters in Cheshire to be closer to her mother, who lives in Manchester. Still in touch with Edith, Queenie writes regularly, sharing stories of her life in the big old Victorian villa she now calls home, half of which is shut up because one of the two sisters is an invalid whilst the other is in frail condition and finds it hard to access the upper floors.

 

Now it is lunchtime, and we find Frank Leadbetter, Edith’s beau, keenly awaiting the arrival of his sweetheart and her best friend as the Midland Railway express train from Manchester pulls into the platform, the chug of the slowing engine and squeal of its breaks echoing with the cacophony of other railway engines, the shrill cry of whistles and hundreds of voices raised in greetings and departures beneath the vast single span cast iron and glass dome of St Pancras overhead. As the steam from the engine billows, tumbles and dissipates around the third-class carriages as the train comes to a halt, the doors start flying open: sharp staccato thumps echoing around Frank as he looks up and down the platform for a sign of the familiar black straw cloche decorated with purple satin roses that belongs to Edith. People of all ages and looks stream past him, dressed in their Sundy best, all intent to get to their destination in the capital, not paying the slightest attention to the young man in the bottle green and russet knitted vest beneath his black jacket, with cap on his head.

 

“Frank! Frank!” he hears the strain of a familiar voice above the general hubbub of chatter and looking to his left he sees Edith hurrying down the platform in her plum coloured frock and coat, wearing her cloche, smiling broadly at him as she swings her brown leather Gladstone bag and familiar green handbag in her right hand and her battered black umbrella in her left.

 

“Edith!” Frank exclaims with relief as Edith reaches him and launches herself into his arms, dropping her bag and umbrella on the tarmacadam at her feet as she throws her arms around his neck, her handbag lightly hitting his upper back as he winds his right arm around her waist and spins her around three times.

 

“Oh Frank, I missed you!” Edith exclaims in excited breaths in his ear before kissing his cheeks.

 

He looks at his pretty young sweetheart, blue eyes brilliant and blonde wavy hair, smiling at him from beneath the brim of her cloche, and before he can think further, he kisses her passionately on the lips.

 

“I missed you too, Edith.” Frank admits as he breaks their passionate kiss at length.

 

“I can tell.” Edith muses, smiling happily after their loving kiss.

 

“Oh! Careful, love!” He indicates to a small wooden crate in the crook of his left arm as he gently lowers his sweetheart to the ground again.

 

“What’s this then?” Edith asks, looking with curiosity at the small wooden crate.

 

“Supplies!” Frank elucidates, repositioning the box, holding it with both hands in front of him like a gift. “I rode here from Mayfair on the shop bicycle, so I had room in the basket for this.” As Edith looks with eyes wide with delight he continues. “A thermos of hot tea, just how you like it.” he says eyeing the russet coloured thermos flask** featuring an orange band, and a shiny silver top. “And three oranges: one for each of us. I thought after your long journey, with breakfast being hours ago, you could probably do with something to perk you up until you get back to Cavendish Mews.”

 

“Oh Frank! You’re a brick!” Edith exclaims. “We had a lovely breakfast of sausage and eggs, fried up by our Manchester landlady, but that was hours ago.”

 

“Where is Hilda, then, Edith?”

 

“She was right behind me, Frank.” Edith replies, turning around and looking back from where she came.

 

“I’m right here, Frank.” Hilda says cooly with a happy smile as she approaches the couple through the miasma of steam and soot, dressed in her familiar brown overcoat.

 

“Hullo Hilda.” he says with a smile, kissing her proffered cheek.

 

“Hullo Frank. I thought I’d give you two a few moments alone, as it were,” she says with a wry chuckle and a cocked eyebrow as she looks at the throng of people moving past them. “To say hullo to one another.”

 

“That’s good of you, Hilda.” Frank says gratefully. “How are you, then?”

 

“Oh fair to muddling after a three and a half hour journey,” Hilda replies matter-of-factly. “Can’t complain. At least I managed to get a fair bit of knitting done under the tutelage of the expert.” She nods at Edith, whose cheeks flush at the compliment.

 

“And how’s my traversing sweetheart?” Frank asks, looking Edith squarely in the face. “Did you have a good time up in Manchester?”

 

“Did I ever!” Edith enthuses in response. “I can’t believe how big the countryside is, and green!”

 

Frank and Hilda both chuckle, exchanging indulgent glances. Whilst neither of them has travelled a great deal before, for Edith, this trip to Manchester was her first journey outside of London.

 

“Let’s find a bench outside, a bit away from all the noise, and you can tell me all about it over tea and oranges.” Frank suggests, giving the crate a gentle shake.

 

The trio slowly wend their way out of St Pancras railway station, joining the tide of humanity as they make their way outside into the open air, away from the acrid smell of soot. Although London is still busy with chugging motor cars and the familiar red painted double decker motor busses, being out in the open, the noise is less intensified as they walk along the columned portico of the railway station beneath the arches of red and white ‘blood and bandages’*** pointed arches.

 

“Let’s sit here.” Frank nods at an empty wooden bench against a red brick wall plastered with railway travel posters in bright colours, featuring happy travellers enjoying the pleasures of their destinations. He puts the wooden crate on the bricks at his feet and fetches out the thermos, unscrewing the shiny cups that fit snugly over the pyramid cap. “Here you go Hilda.” he says, passing a cup of strong tea to his friend as she sits down next to him.

 

“Thanks ever so.” Hilda says with a grateful groan as she settles onto the well-worn bench seat.

 

“I’m afraid we’ll have to share, Edith.” Frank explains to his sweetheart.

 

“Hhhmmm?” Edith asks distractedly as she looks at the stylised Art Deco image of a group of children joyfully playing ball on what is advertised as being the Yorkshire coast in bold black lettering beneath.

 

“The thermos only has two cups, so we’ll have to share. I forgot to grab a cup from the kitchen on the way out.” he apologises. “Not that Mrs. Chapman would let me take even the most stained and chipped of her teacups.” he adds disparagingly about his mean Holborn landlady.

 

“Oh that’s fine, Frank.” Edith replies with a wave of her hand.

 

“Oh-oh.” Hilda says before sipping her cup of tea gratefully. “You’d better watch out, Frank. Now she’s been to Manchester, your sweetheart obviously has plans on travelling to other places.” She swings awkwardly around to her right on the wooden bench and eyes the posters. “Where are you two going for your honeymoon? Filey?” She nods at a poster of a happy family in modish bathing costumes on the beach. “Or Blackpool perhaps?” She nods towards a poster showing a bird’s eye view of the Blackpool corniche with its famous pier.

 

“We’re not even married yet, Hilda!” Edith scoffs as she stops looking at the posters and takes her place on Frank’s left, happily accepting the proffered shiny handless metal cup of tea into her hands.

 

“I technically haven’t proposed to her yet, Hilda Clerkenwell.” Frank adds.

 

“It’s only a matter of time, Frank Leadbetter.” Hilda responds, sliding back around again and staring Frank squarely in the face. “You know it. I know it. Edith knows it too.” she nods in Edith’s direction and chuckles.

 

Neither Edith nor Frank reply, but the blushes that flood their faces are enough to answer Hilda’s statement about their future nuptials.

 

As people mill around them carrying luggage, walking sticks and umbrellas, Frank asks how their holiday was.

 

“Oh, it was marvellous, Frank!” Edith replies. “We did all kinds of exploring around Manchester. It’s ever such a grand city! We saw the town hall, and we did some window shopping along Piccadilly.”

 

“Do they have a Piccadilly in Manchester too, then?” asks Frank.

 

“They do indeed, Frank, and it’s every bit as grand and busy as our London one!” Edith states.

 

“Edith even bought some nice linen napkins from a shop on Deansgate. For her glory box****.” Hilda adds with a cheeky smirk, her statement making both Edith and Frank blush again.

 

“So that’s why your Gladstone bag is so much heavier after your holiday.” Frank teases his sweetheart.

 

“Oh, stop it, Frank!” Edith replies, flapping her hand kittenishly at her beau. “Market Street is great for window shopping too.”

 

“And your friend, Queenie?” Frank asks. “Did you see her like you planned?”

 

When neither reply straight away, Frank looks first at Edith and then at Hilda and sees the closed looks on their faces. “Did I say something wrong?” he asks. He reaches down into his small crate and withdraws two oranges, offering one to the ladies either side of him as a peace offering.

 

“No Frank.” Edith says with a sigh, placing the metal thermos cup between her knees and accepting the orange, which she is sure has come from Frank’s employer, Mr. Willison the grocer. “It just wasn’t quite as much fun as we’d hoped.”

 

“Has time away from Mrs. Plaistow’s changed Queenie?”

 

“Oh no, Frank!” Edith assures him. “Queenie is still every bit as lovely and laughing and friendly as she always was.”

 

“It’s just things aren’t quite as rosy as she had us believe in her letters.” Hilda says, digging a thumb into the skin of her orange as she starts to peel it.

 

“Or aren’t so much now as they were when she first accepted the position with the Miss Bradleys.” adds Edith.

 

“So what happened then?” Frank asks.

 

“Well, we arrived in Alderley Edge as we’d planned,” Edith begins. ‘And Queenie took us to some lovely tearooms: all fine lace tablecloths and blue and white china.”

 

“You would have liked that, Edith.”

 

“Oh I did, Frank.”

 

“However, it was the attitude of our hostess and the other diners that we didn’t like.” adds Hilda seriously.

 

“What do you mean?” Frank queries blackly. “What were they like?”

 

“They were… well, they were terrible, Frank!” Edith admits.

 

“They were all so snobbish.” Hilda says.

 

“And we were made to feel guilty for dining there, just because we are maids, and aren’t the mistresses who engage them.” Edith adds.

 

“That’s awful! You shouldn’t be made to feel any less of a person, just because you have to earn your living.” Frank says hotly. “You’ve just as much right to eat there as any lady!”

 

“You are sweet, Frank.” Edith wraps an arm though his and squeezes it comfortingly. “I know that. It’s just they didn’t help us to feel that way, did they Hilda?”

 

“Indeed no.” Hilda agrees.

 

“Well,” Frank huffs. “I may not have a fancy tearoom, or a fancy tea to offer you,” He hoists the thermos in his hand. “But at least no matter who you are, ladies, you will always be welcome with me.” He nods at both women with a serious look.

 

“Thank you, Frank.” Edith murmurs with a grateful smile. “You have no idea how nice it is to be called a lady, when you’ve been made to feel like a drudge.”

 

“I agree!” pipes up Hilda. “Thank you, Frank. You’re a true gentleman, and you’ve restored a little of the dignity I’ve been lacking ever since we left those awful women in those tearooms.”

 

“Ladies,” Frank leaps up from his seat, sweeps his cap from his head and bows before them both. “The pleasure is all mine.”

 

Edith and Hilda laugh at his sweet gesture towards them.

 

“I only wish I had a smart motor like your Mr. Channon, Hilda and I’d drive you both home.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Frank.” Edith assures him. “It’s just good to be home in London amongst friends again.”

 

*Manchester Central railway station is a former railway station in Manchester city centre. One of Manchester\'s main railway terminals between 1880 and 1969, it has been converted into an exhibition and conference centre. The station was built between 1875 and 1880 by the Cheshire Lines Committee, and was officially opened on the first of July 1880. The architect was Sir John Fowler. The station\'s roof is a single span wrought iron truss structure 550 feet long with a span of 210 feet, and was 90 feet high at its apex above the railway tracks. Glass covered the middle section, timber (inside) and slate (outside) covered the outer quarters. The end screens were glazed with timber boarding surrounding the outer edges.

 

**When we think of thermos flasks these days we are often reminded of the plaid and gawdy floral varieties that existed in the 1950s, 60s and 70s. Invented in 1892 by Sir James Dewar, a scientist at Oxford University, the "vacuum flask" was not manufactured for commercial use until 1904, when two German glass blowers formed Thermos GmbH. They held a contest to name the "vacuum flask" and a resident of Munich submitted "Thermos", which came from the Greek word "Therme" meaning "hot". In 1907, Thermos GmbH sold the Thermos trademark rights to three independent companies: The American Thermos Bottle Company of Brooklyn, New York; Thermos Limited of Tottenham, England; Canadian Thermos Bottle Co. Ltd. of Montreal, Canada. The three Thermos companies operated independently of each other, yet developed the Thermos vacuum flask into a widely sought after product that was taken on many famous expeditions, including: Schackelton\'s trip to the South Pole; Lieutenant Robert E. Peary\'s trip to the Arctic; Colonel Roosevelt\'s expedition to Mombassa and into the heart of the African Congo with Richard Harding Davis. It even became airborne when the Wright Brothers took it up in their airplane and Count Zepplin carried it up in his air balloon.

 

***”Blood and Bandages” is an architectural style that was popular before the First World War where buildings are constructed of layers of red brick with intervening white stone dressings. Normally Portland Stone is used for the “bandages”, but in some cases white plaster rendering or tiling was popular. The rather macabre description of the late Victorian style came about as a result of people comparing the striped red and white of the buildings to the blood and bandages seen so commonly during the First World War.

 

****A hope chest, also called dowry chest, cedar chest, trousseau chest, or glory box is a piece of furniture once commonly used by unmarried young women to collect items, such as clothing and household linen, in anticipation of married life.

 

This scene may look like one you could just walk into and sit down in, but it is not all that it seems, for it is in fact made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun thing to look for in this tableau include:

 

The travel advertisements along the wall are all 1:12 size posters made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken is known mostly for the 1;12 miniature books he created. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but he also produced other items, including posters. All of these are genuine copies of real inter-war Art Deco travel posters put out by the different British railways to promote travelling on them. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these items 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, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The brick wall upon which they are stuck is a very special piece, and one of my more recent additions to my miniatures collection. Made painstakingly by hand, this was made by my very dear Flickr friend and artist Kim Hagar (BKHagar *Kim*), she surprised me with this amazing piece entitled “Wall” as a Christmas gift, with the intention that I use it in my miniatures photos. Each brick has been individually cut and then worn to give texture before being stuck to the backing board and then painted. She has created several floors in the same way for some of her own miniature projects which you can see in her “In Miniature” album here: www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/albums/721777203007....

 

All the luggage you see on the brick walkway are artisan pieces made by different unknown artists. All of them I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the united kingdom. The deer head walking stick, the fawn coloured parasol and Mary Poppins style parrot head umbrella are also artisan miniatures and were acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop as was the knitting which sits at the foot of the brown gladstone bag in the centre of the picture.

 

Edith’s green handbag and Hilda’s brown one are handmade from soft leather is part of a larger collection of hats and bags that I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.

 

The black umbrella came from an online stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The oranges are hand made and came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as did the small wooden crate. The Thermos flask (which has a screw top lid that works and two cups that fit atop it like a real Thermos flask) came as part of another picnic set I acquired from a miniatures collector through E-Bay.

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