There Are Two Sides to Every Story

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’s beloved parents, George and Ada live in their small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street. Although very 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 younger brother, Bert who is a first-class dining saloon steward aboard the SS Demosthenes* and has recently returned to service after a week of shore leave. 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. Even before she walks through the glossy black painted front door and doorstep scrubbed cleanly first thing that morning by Ada, Edith can smell the familiar scent of a mixture of Lifebuoy Soap, Borax and Robin’s Starch, which means her mother is washing the laundry of others wealthier than she in the terrace’s laundry and kitchen at the rear of the house.

 

“Mum!” Edith calls out cheerily as she opens the unlocked front door and walks in. “Mum, it’s me!”

 

“I’m in the kitchen Edith, love!” Ada calls back in delight.

 

“Of course you are, Mum.” Edith laughs, walking through the door leading from the hallway and the front half of the terrace and its staircase leading upstairs, and into Ada’s kitchen. “Where else would you be?”

 

Ada is standing at her worn kitchen table, whose battle scars of many years of food preparation and the occasional indelible marks left by Edith and Bert during their years attending the local school, are hidden today, covered by a mixture of snowy white linen and laced trimmed Manchester, as well as stacks of cheerfully patterned tea towels. A large wicker basket sits squatly in an unceremonious way on the worn seat of Ada’s Windsor chair, from which yet to be pressed laundry spills. In spite of the kitchen window and the back door being open, providing some much needed fresh summer air, Ada’s kitchen is still hot and humid. Between the heat given off by the huge blacklead coal range that dominates one whole wall of the small terrace kitchen on which several irons stand warming in readiness for use, and the heat given off my the iron she is using now, Ada has a shiny sheen of sweat on her face and her bare lower arms, exposed beneath her rolled up sleeves. Her cheeks are flushed, and the strands of mousy brown hair streaked with silver that have come lose from the chignon at the back of the nape of her neck hang limply with sweat around her face and ears.

 

“How are you Edith, love?” Ada asks, stepping towards her daughter and embracing her lovingly in a sweaty hug that momentarily makes Edith’s floral sprigged summer frock cling to her back under the pressing of her mother’s slicked arms. Holding her at arm’s length, Ada admires Edith’s flounced home-made frock with its fashionable gypsy girdle** affixed with a small bunch of imitation silk violas and her usual purple rose and black feather decorated straw hat. “You look well, my darling girl.” The older woman self-consciously pushes loose strands of her mousey brown hair back behind her ears. Chuckling awkwardly, she remarks with a downwards glance to the fabric she is mid-way through ironing. “Any news yet?”

 

“Not yet, Mum.” Edith says as she places her green leather handbag and small wicker basket on the table and hangs her hat on one of the carved knobs of the ladderback chair drawn up to the table next to her mother’s place. “But I’m satisfied it will come when the time is right.”

 

“And it will, love. It will.” Ada assures herself as much as Edith as she downplays the importance of the engagement everyone in the Watsford family are hoping for.

 

Edith has been stepping out seriously with Mayfair grocer’s delivery boy and occasional window dresser, Frank Leadbetter for a few years now, and even though Edith has pressed, and Frank has sought out permission from both George and Ada to ask for Edith’s hand in marriage, the proposal has yet to materialise. However, as everyone has become acutely aware, Frank cannot be pressed into doing something he is not ready to do yet. No-one doubts his commitment to Edith, but they also know that Frank wants to propose in just the right way, at just the right time.

 

“Shall I pop the kettle on, Mum?” Edith asks hopefully, not waiting for a response as she slips past her mother and over to the range where she checks how full the kettle is, and finding it three quarters empty. “You look quite done in***.”

 

“Oh yes please, Edith love.” Ada sighs gratefully. “I’ve been so busy what with this week’s laundry, including the linens whilst Bert was staying here last week on shore leave, that I hadn’t even thought about a tea, and I am patched.”

 

“Here! Sit yourself down here, Mum.” Edith says kindly, moving the laundry basket off Ada’s chair and placing it on the flagstone kitchen floor, before dragging the chair across the floor and gently encouraging her mother to sit, which she does with a groan, partially from the ache in her lower back from having been bent so long across the table and partially out of gratitude to her caring daughter. Edith glances scornfully at a pair of white linen long bloomers**** with fine laced hems hanging unceremoniously from the basket. “And whose are these, Mum?” she asks, almost accusationally, holding up one frilly laced leg.

 

Ada sighs tiredly. “You know perfectly well whose they are, Edith.”

 

“Old Widow Hounslow!” Edith thrusts the leg of the freshly laundered underwear back into the basket with undisguised disgust. “I might have known.” She stands and wanders over to the rudimentary trough sink built up on two stacks of leftover red bricks that didn’t make it into the kitchen floor and turns the squeaking tap to fill the kettle.

 

“I know your feelings towards Mrs. Hounslow, Edith, and you know mine. Mrs. Hounslow is a venerated widow and an upstanding member of the community.”

 

“I know, Mum. Bert and I have grown up hearing about how old Widow Hounslow’s husband died a hero in the siege of Mafeking in the Boer War.” Edith scoffs as the water pressure, so much lower than that at Cavendish Mews, slowly fills the beaten and stained old metal kettle beloved by her mother. “But an upstanding member of the community?” She snorts derisively. “She might do more for her tenants like you.” She looks with a critical eye around the kitchen whose walls, even with Ada’s regular scrubbing with sugar soap*****, shows the many years of grease and grime upon the ceiling and upper walls where she can’t reach. “I mean it takes forever to even fill the kettle for a tea. There’s no pressure in this water.”

 

“Now, now, Edith!” Ada chides her daughter mildly. “We’re lucky to have running water at all, you know. And don’t forget that if it were not for Mrs. Hounslow, your dad wouldn’t have a plot to go and visit and grow his precious marrows in.”

 

Edith cannot help but smile indulgently at the thought of her beloved father and his endless pursuit to try and grow the best marrows and win first prize at the Willesden Show******, breaking her bitter thoughts about her parent’s mean and penny-pinching landlady and her own former employer, Mrs. Hounslow.

 

“You know I won’t have a bad word said about her, Edith.” Ada wags her finger admonishingly at her daughter from her seat as she reaches down and pulls up Mrs. Hounslow’s bloomers and worries the fine lace hems with her careworn fingers distractedly. “She’s helped pay for many a meal in this house with her sixpences and shillings over the years.”

 

“Pshaw!” Edith raises her eyes to the stained ceiling above. “All of which she’s taken back over the years, and more besides, by increasing the rents and doing nothing around the place to justify it.” She turns off the tap, the brass piping ratting and clunking noisily as she does.

 

Edith cocks her ears and catches the faint waft of a jaunty tune being played on a piano in the distance through the open window, over the sound of young children playing in the street and the low purr of a lone passing motorcar. “That’s the ‘Georgie Porgie’ foxtrot********.” she remarks in surprise.

 

“Yes.” Ada remarks. “Mr. and Mrs. Felton finally saved enough money to buy a rather nice second-hand Broadwood********** piano from Mr. Rosenberg’s Loan Office*********** in Kensal Green for Vera to play on.”

 

“Vera sounds quite accomplished, Mum.”

 

“Well, she was taught by the Vicar Dunn’s daughter, Alice**********, and she’s had plenty of time to hone her own skills on the organ at All Souls*********** every Sunday for the last eight years. It’s rather nice to have music to iron to on occasion.”

 

“So, the Felton’s are moving up in the world it seems, what with the introduction of a piano to their front parlour************, even if it is a second-hand one, and a daughter to play it well.” Edith remarks as she carries the filled, heavy kettle back to the range and puts it atop the hob.

 

Ada goes on, “It certainly seems so. Mrs. Felton was telling me when we were waiting to be served at Mr. Champman’s butchery that Mr. Felton has received a promotion at the bank. He’s a manager of some kind now. Don’t ask me the specifics, please!” Ada pleads raising her hands. “It all got lost on me the way she went on and on about it.”

 

“They’ll be too grand for the likes of us soon, Mum.” Edith chuckles as she steps past her seated mother over to the big, dark Welsh dresser that dominates one side of the tiny kitchen and picks up two pretty floral teacups and saucers from among the mismatched crockery on its shelves: one of her mother’s many market finds that helped to bring elegance and beauty to Edith’s childhood home.

 

“There’s nothing shabby about my front parlour, nor our family Edith Watsord!” Ada retorts defensively. “Your dad might not be a manager in a bank, but he’s a line manager at the factory, and that’s an achievement we should all feel proud of.”

 

“Of course, Mum.” Edith lovingly kisses her mother on the head before reaching out and grabbing the battered McVitie and Price’s tin. “How’s Dad?”

 

 

“Ahh, you know your dad. He’s fine. Work at the factory is good. He’s got a good team of workers apparently, and they are investing in some new fancy machinery of some kind to help make the production line run more smoothly which will probably make things easier for your dad, and so long as I can pack him off to the allotment at least for a few hours on the weekend, and he can keep out from under my feet doing his beloved Sunday Express crossword*************, I’m happy.”

 

“That’s good, Mum.”

 

“Now, thinking of going up in the world, there was quite a to-do at poor Mrs. Hounslow’s.” Ada goes on as Edith slides the biscuit tin between a half-ironed red and white chequered gingham cleaning cloth and the slightly yellowish thin piece of cotton Ada uses atop some of the more delicate pieces she has to press with the iron.

 

“Not that woman again,” Edith opines, with another roll of her eyes as she fetches down her mother’s worn old glazed Brown Betty************** from the shelf. “Must we?”

 

“Well, it’s not so much Mrs. Hounslow, Edith love, as Trixy.” Ada goes on, referencing the rather timid and mouselike creature Edith trained up to be Mrs. Hounslow’s maid-of-all-work before she left for her next position at Mrs. Plaistow’s in Pimlico.

 

“What’s happened to Trixie?” Edith asks anxiously, turning and looking at her mother. “She isn’t hurt, is she?”

 

“No!” Ada chortles in response. “Far from it, Edith love!”

 

Edith stops what she is doing and slips onto the ladderback chair next to her mother and listens as Ada goes on.

 

“Of course, I was expecting Trixie yesterday to deliver Mrs. Hounslow’s laundry for me to do as she usually does on Tuesdays, but instead of her usual tentative rap on my door, there was a much sharper knock, and one I well recognised.”

 

“Who was it, Mum?”

 

“It was Mr. Stilgoe the rent man.”

 

“But you’ve already paid this month’s rent, haven’t you Mum?”

 

“Course I have.” Ada scoffs dismissively. “I was very surprised to see Mr. Stilgoe standing there with Mrs. Hounslow’s washing in its usual bag which he passed to me rather sheepishly.”

 

“So where was Trixie?” Edith asks with excited interest.

 

“Well, I asked Mr. Stilgoe the same, after I got over my initial shock of seeing him at my back door on a non-rent day with his arms full of Mrs. Hounslow’s dirty laundry. It turns out that Trixie: that timid, mousy milksop***************slip of a girl has only gone and given notice to Mrs. Hounslow with immediate effect after getting herself a better paying job as a shop girl at Gamages****************.”

 

“Gamages!” Edith gasps in amazement. “Well! Fancy that! Jolly good for Trixie! I never knew she had it in her!”

 

“Nor did any of us, least of all poor Mrs. Hounslow, who’s had to go and stay at a hotel in Bournemouth for the summer now to recover from the shock, whilst she tries to employ a new maid.”

 

Edith bristles as she listens to her mother refer to the mean old widow as ‘poor’. Mrs. Hounslow’s comfortable Victorian terrace lacked nothing for its owner, the dark, cluttered and overstuffed interiors maintained to her exacting standards as she crept around the house with a pair of white cotton gloves always stuffed into the pocket of her dress, which she would pull out at a moment’s notice to run along a surface she thought not cleaned properly, calling Edith loudly by name from wherever she stood, holding up an accusing dusty glove glad finger to her maid in silent rebuke, before indicating to the underside of a stair banister of the bottom of an ornately carved credenza before thrusting both gloves into Edith’s hand and marching off imperiously without a word. The old widow was always quick to find fault in anything Edith did, even when she had done it correctly. She remembers the many nights she went to bed in the dark and draughty attic up under the eaves of Mrs. Hounslow’s high pitched roof, where any pretence of comfort was completely dispensed with, her stomach growling after her meagre supper of watery broth with few limp pieces of cabbage and some slices of carrot in it. That was all she could muster for her supper after Mrs. Hounslow had dined on a fine repast and then forbade Edith from eating any of the leftovers, which Edith would then be obliged to serve the following day to the old widow who would greedily devour them for luncheon in the grand dining room. Her hands tremble in her lap beneath the table as she remembers her experiences there.

 

“Poor old Widow Hounslow nothing!” Edith snaps.

 

“Edith!” Ada gasps, hurt in her voice.

 

“I’m sorry Mum, I know you will only speak highly of her, and as your landlady, I can understand a little as to why you would be so deferential to her.” Edith breathes deeply as she looks down at the tabletop. “But you didn’t live with her like I did, so you have no idea how hard it is to work for her, and in what shabby conditions she keeps her maid’s room. I used to sleep on a straw mattress, Mum – a straw mattress that was goodness knows how old, that I had to try and bolster up with old rags and cast-offs that old Widow Hounslow told me to throw out. There were no curtains at the window: nothing to keep the draughts out, except the scraps of old newsprint I used to stuff into the gaps around the window frame, and the old flour sack I had to tack up over the window, which old Widow Hounslow promptly tore down when she did an ‘inspection of my room’ because she accused me of stealing her silver grape scissors*****************, which were sitting downstairs in her nice, cosy and warm drawing room exactly where she had left them the whole time, and she knew it. She even withheld some of my meagre wages to pay for the tacks and sackcloth I’d ‘stolen’ from her. Working yourself to the bone from sunup to sundown, day in and day out, only to be starved, accused of thievery, treated no better than a slave and paid a pittance for it, that mean old woman would test the patience of a saint, Mum, and I for one hope she doesn’t ever get another maid. It’s no less than she deserves!”

 

“It can’t have been all that bad, Edith, surely!” Ada replies aghast.

 

“There are always two sides to every story, Mum.” Edith replies, standing up and visibly shaking as she snatches up the Brown Betty from the table’s surface and walks over to the range where she stands, waiting for the kettle to boil, the water inside it reflecting her own temper. “And that’s old Widow Hounslow’s other side. She may do charitable things like help raise money for farthing breakfasts******************, but if charity begins at home*******************, she’s the most uncharitable person I know to people under her own roof in her employ, and that’s a fact.”

 

Ada blanches. “I’m sorry Edith.” she apologises, ringing her hands as she looks at her daughter’s trembling back. “I really didn’t know.”

 

“Of course you didn’t.” Edith spits bitterly. “Old Widow Hounslow has most people fooled.” Her voice softens. “I just wish you’d listened to me all those times when I said I wanted to come home.”

 

“I didn’t know, Edith love. I just thought, being your first job as a live-in maid, that you were homesick. I was trying to toughen you up by refusing to let you come home. Eventually they stopped.”

 

“That’s because I gave up asking, Mum.” Edith murmurs.

 

“I thought your stories were,” Ada shrugs. “Well, faerie tales and girlish fantasies, made up to make me feel guilty for making you go there. And I did feel guilty, Edith love.” She stands up and steps over behind her daughter and presses herself lovingly against her back, placing her hands gingerly around Edith’s waist and rests her head upon her left shoulder, pulling her closer to her. “I missed having you around, and if you’d been a bit more academically inclined at school, we might have gotten you a job working in an office, like Jeannie Dutton’s parents did at Drummond’s Solicitors and kept you home, but you were so good at the domestic arts, and seemed to enjoy them, and being a domestic is a good steady job, and nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“Oh, I’m not ashamed, Mum.” Edith murmurs softly. “And I’m not angry with you for not bringing me home. I learned to be more independent and what I could expect from some houses, like Mrs. Plaistow’s. I’m just disappointed that things worked out the way they did in that respect. I think of Miss Lettice and how nice she is an employer, when compared to Mrs. Plaistow or old Widow Hounslow.”

 

“Well, times were a bit different back during the war when I placed you with Mrs. Hounslow, Edith love. I was only doing what I thought was best.”

 

“I know Mum.”

 

“And even now with the ‘servant problem’******************** your dad and I read about in the newspapers, I doubt that you would often get an employer as nice and easy to work for as Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“That’s true, Mum. Hilda doesn’t have the easiest time of it, working for the Channons, and Miss Lettice does go away an awful lot. She’s even off to the country this weekend with Mr. Bruton to decorate the house of Sylvia Fordyce the concert pianist, so I can visit you after Frank and I have been to the pictures on Sunday, as Miss Lettice isn’t expected back until Monday, or even Tuesday next week.”

 

“Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely if you could hear Miss Fordyce play, Edith love.” Ada sighs.

 

“Well, that might be a bit hard, Mum, since unlike the Felton’s, Miss Lettice doesn’t have a piano at Cavendish Mews. I think she hates playing the piano, because she was forced to learn it as a child, but wasn’t very good at it.”

 

Sensing safer ground on which to tread, Ada resumes her seat and asks casually, “So how have things been at Cavendish Mews?”

 

Edith pours hot water into the Brown Betty before returning it to the table to let it steep, surrounded by tea implements and ironing before sitting back down herself.

 

“Well, I actually cooked lunch for Miss Lettice’s mum, the Viscountess, Lady Sadie, the other day.”

 

“That’s a turn up for the books, Edith love.” Ada smiles. “Cooking for a Viscountess!”

 

“Oh Mum, I was so nervous. I was looking through my cookbooks of fancy dishes, and even wondered if I might not order in something readily prepared from the Harrods Meat Hall*********************, when Miss Lettice told me that just some roast beef with Yorkshire pudds and vegetables, served with gravy, would be fine.”

 

“Really, Edith love?” Ada asks in surprise. “A roast and vegetables for a lady as distinguished as Lettice’s mum?”

 

“Evidently, the Viscountess is very much like the Viscount in that respect. They like good old fashioned plain country cooking, none of the fancy stuff Miss Lettice and her friends all like. Remember I roasted some chicken for the Viscount a few years ago?”

 

Ada nods. “So, what’s she like, the Viscountess then?”

 

“Well, she was as much of a surprise to me as the meal I served to her was.” Edith admits. “The way that Miss Lettice described her, I was expecting her to be difficult and bark orders at me, like the Viscount did.”

 

“But you told me, that Miss Chetwynd told you, that he doesn’t like women serving at table, and that’s why the Viscount was gruff with you. I imagine the Viscountess, managing her own household, might be more tolerant of that considering how hard it is to get any servants now, let alone ones as conscientious as you, Edith love.”

 

“Well, you could have bowled me over with a feather*********************, Mum. When I came in to clear the dinner plates away after Miss Lettice rang, the Viscountess actually stopped me as I was clearing her place and told me what a delicious meal it was, and how grateful she was to see the household run so well by me.”

 

“Goodness! That is high praise!” Ada gasps. “Miss Chetwynd must sing your praises to her mum then.”

 

“And not only that, Mum, but I was expecting the Viscountess to be some snooty woman with her nose stuck in the air, dripping in diamonds and sitting around haughtily in a tiara, but she was nothing like that.”

 

“What was she like then, Edith love?”

 

“Well not only was she lovely and polite, saying thank you to me when I took her hat and fox fur stole when she arrived, and when I served her at the table, but she also looked far more… well, it’s hard to explain.” Edith thinks for a moment. “I thought she’d have some fancy dress on with a train, and it probably was very expensive, and cost more than what I’d earn in a year, but it was a simple dress which was cream with flowers sprigged on it. She did have diamond rings on her fingers, but only a strand of double pearls at her throat and her hair was pure white and set in a simple and elegant style of fashionable finger waves***********************. Nothing overly grand. She was just simple and elegant.”

 

“I’m not surprised that the Viscountess was older than you probably expected. Don’t forget that Miss Chetwynd is she and the Viscount’s youngest child. There are three older siblings.”

 

“It wasn’t just that, Mum. It was just that she seemed so, so nice and, ordinary - in an upper-class way of course. She wasn’t at all what I was expecting, quite the opposite in fact, to all the stories Miss Lettice has shared about her. She wasn’t demanding or snappy, and she was just so appreciative. She even pressed a small gratuity into my hands after she had collected her hat and fur tippet from me and was preparing to leave.”

 

“Well, it just shows you doesn’t it, Edith love?” Ada asks.

 

“Shows me what, Mum?”

 

“Well, just as you said about Mrs. Hounslow before, there is always another side to the story. The same goes for the Viscountess. Now you know you have nothing to be frightened of, the next time she comes to visit.”

 

*The SS Demosthenes was a British steam ocean liner and refrigerated cargo ship which ran scheduled services between London and Australia via Cape Town. It stopped at ports including those in Sydney and Melbourne. She was launched in 1911 in Ireland for the Aberdeen Line and scrapped in 1931 in England. In the First World War she was an Allied troop ship.

 

**A gypsy girdle became a popular feature of women’s dresses from the mid 1920s, consisting of a wide sash fastened over the hips. It was gathered vertically at the centre front where it was often accented by a fashionable rhinestone, or real jewel, brooch or a mirror image clasp.

 

***"Quite done in" means very tired or exhausted. It's an informal expression indicating a state of extreme fatigue.

 

****Bloomers are a type of loose-fitting, voluminous underwear, historically worn by women. They are typically gathered at the knee or ankle and can be worn under skirts or dresses. While once a symbol of women's rights and a practical alternative to restrictive undergarments, they have also become a fashion statement and a popular choice for comfort and style. Bloomers gained popularity in the mid Nineteenth Century, championed by feminist reformer Amelia Bloomer as a more comfortable and practical alternative to the heavily layered and restrictive clothing of the time.

 

*****Sugar soap is a cleaning solution, often in powder or liquid form, used for preparing surfaces before painting or for general cleaning, particularly of walls, kitchens, and bathrooms. Despite its name, it contains no actual sugar. It's known for its ability to cut through grease and grime, making it ideal for removing dirt, nicotine stains, and old wallpaper paste residue.

 

******The “Willesden Show” was an annual event that celebrated growing fresh vegetables and flowers, with prizes. The show also hosted livestock and pets, with dog-handling, sheep shearing, as well as arts and crafts, and even 'bonny babies' would compete for prizes in large canvas tents. The show later became the “Brent Show” after the Willesden Borough merged with Wembley in 1965.

 

********"The Sensational European Novelty Georgie Porgie: Fox-Trot Song" was a popular song written by famous English pianist and composers Billy Mayerl and Gerald "Gee" Paul's adaptation of the Georgie Porgie nursery rhyme, published in 1924 by T. B. Harms & Francis, Day, & Hunter, Incorporated.

 

**********Broadwood and Sons, a renowned English piano manufacturer, was established in 1728 by Burkat Shudi, initially as a harpsichord maker. John Broadwood, who joined the firm and married Shudi's daughter, eventually took over the business in 1773 after Shudi's death. Broadwood and Sons played a significant role in the development and popularization of the piano, particularly the grand piano. The company has a long history of crafting instruments for the British monarchy and notable musicians. After Zumpe's introduction of the square piano in 1763, Broadwood began experimenting with piano designs, eventually developing his own grand piano in 1777. John Broadwood, along with Robert Stodart and Americus Backers, is credited with the development of the English action for pianos. In 1783, Broadwood patented the piano pedal. By 1784, the company was producing more pianos than harpsichords. Throughout the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Broadwood and Sons continued to innovate, including developments in string tension and the introduction of the upright piano. While piano manufacturing faced challenges in the Twentieth Century, Broadwood has maintained its reputation for high-quality instruments and restoration services. The company moved piano production to a factory in Norway in 2003 before returning to England.

 

**********Pawnbrokers were nothing unusual in towns large and small up and down Britain, or indeed across Europe, with their universal pawnbrokers' symbol of three golden balls suspended from a bar, which may be indirectly attributed to the Medici family of Florence, Italy, owing to its symbolic meaning in heraldry. Operated as a source of short-term loans, using personal property as collateral, customers would pawn items like clothing, jewellery, and household goods, receiving a loan and a pawn ticket. The items were held for a set period (often a year and a week) as security, and if the loan and interest were repaid, the items were returned. Upscale pawnshops began to appear in the early Twentieth Century, often referred to as "loan offices", since the term "pawn shop" had a very negative historical reputation at this point. Some of these so-called loan offices were even located in the upper floors of office buildings to offer a certain level of discretion. These "loan offices" often lent to upper-classes often white-collar individuals, including doctors, lawyers and bankers, as well as more colourful individuals like high-rolling gamblers who had incurred debts they could not pay. They often accepted higher value merchandise in exchange for short-term loans. These objects included wine collections, quality jewellery, large diamonds, fine art, larger pieces of furniture (including pianos) and even motorcars in some extreme examples of "high-end loan offices".

 

**********The vicar of All Souls Parish Church in Harlesden between 1918 and 1927 was Ernest Arnold Dunn. Whilst I cannot find any details about his family life, I’d like to think that he was a happily married man of god and could well have had a daughter named Alice who no doubt played the organ in church on Sundays.

 

***********The parish of All Souls, Harlesden, was formed in 1875 from Willesden, Acton, St John's, Kensal Green, and Hammersmith. Mission services had been held by the curate of St Mary's, Willesden, at Harlesden institute from 1858. The parish church at Station Road, Harlesden, was built and consecrated in 1879. The town centre church is a remarkable brick octagon designed by E.J. Tarver. Originally there was a nave which was extended in 1890 but demolished in 1970.

 

************In Victorian and Edwardian times, having a piano in a middle-class home was considered highly important, often seen as a symbol of social status and respectability, as well as a source of entertainment and education.

 

*************The Sundy Express became the first newspaper to publish a crossword in November 1924.

 

**************A Brown Betty is a type of teapot, round and with a manganese brown glaze known as Rockingham glaze. In the Victorian era, when tea was at its peak of popularity, tea brewed in the Brown Betty was considered excellent. This was attributed to the design of the pot which allowed the tea leaves more freedom to swirl around as the water was poured into the pot, releasing more flavour with less bitterness.

 

***************In British slang, "milksop" refers to a weak or ineffectual youth, usually but not always, a male. It's a term used to describe someone who lacks courage, spirit, or determination.

 

****************Gamages began life in 1878 in a rented watch repair shop and, after quickly becoming a success amongst its customers, was established as a London institution. It was founded by Albert Walter Gamage, who soon bought out his partner, Frank Spain. In time it was to grow large enough to take up most of the block in which it was situated, it was unusual in that its premises were away from the main Oxford Street shopping area, being at 118–126 Holborn, close to Holborn Circus, on the edge of the City of London . Gamages also ran a successful mail-order business. Many of those who were children at the time remember Gamages because of its unparallelled stock of toys of the day, and the Gamages catalogue, which was a well-loved gift during the autumn, in time for Christmas present requests to be made. One of the store's main attractions was a large model railway which alternated between a day and night scene by the use of lighting. The railway was provided by a man called Bertram Otto who was German by birth. It received many thousands of visitors every Christmas. Gamages had many departments - a much larger number than modern department stores. There was a substantial hardware department on the ground floor which included specialist motor parts and car seat cover sections. There was a photographic department, and camping, pets, toys and sporting departments, the latter selling shotguns. The toy department was extensive and there were substantial fashion, furniture and carpeting departments and in latter years a small food supermarket. During World War I, Gamages manufactured the Leach trench catapult. Gamages was an extremely successful and profitable store. In 1968 a second store was opened in the Liberty Shopping Centre in Romford, Essex. This had a relatively short life as the whole company was taken over by Jeffrey Sterling's Sterling Guarantee Trust in 1970 and the Romford site was sold off to British Home Stores in 1971. The Holborn site closed in March 1972 and there is now no trace of the store to be seen. Gamages reopened in the old Waring and Gillows store in Oxford Street but this venture was short-lived and closed in 1972.

 

*****************Grape scissors, also known as grape shears, are small, specialised scissors designed for cutting grapes from a bunch, particularly for use at the dining table. They are not meant for cutting the thicker stalks of the bunch but rather for neatly snipping off smaller portions of grapes for individual serving.

 

******************A "farthing breakfast" was a cheap meal, typically offered by organizations like The Salvation Army, the Church of England and other religious institutions and charities to children in need, for a farthing (the smallest coin in the British monetary system). A farthing breakfast generally consisted of a slice of bread with jam or margarine, often with cocoa to drink.

 

*******************The proverb "Charity begins at home" suggests that one should prioritize the needs of their family and close community before extending help to others. While the exact origin is debated, it's widely attributed to Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici, published in 1642. However, the concept of prioritizing one's immediate circle is much older, appearing in various forms in ancient Greek and biblical texts.

 

********************The "servant problem" refers to the persistent difficulty in finding and retaining domestic servants, a challenge that plagued many households, particularly in the 19th and early 20th centuries. This issue arose from a combination of factors, including changing social attitudes, the increasing availability of other employment opportunities for women, and the demanding nature of domestic work itself.

 

*********************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.

 

*********************The idiom "you could have knocked me over with a feather" is used to express extreme surprise or astonishment. It implies that the person is so shocked or taken aback that even something as light as a feather could knock them down. The phrase is an exaggeration used to emphasize the intensity of the emotion. The origin of the phrase is not definitively known, but it likely stems from the idea that a feather is incredibly light and easily blown away by even the slightest breeze. Therefore, if something as insubstantial as a feather could knock someone over, it would indicate that they are incredibly fragile or weak due to being overwhelmed by shock or surprise.

 

**********************Finger waving is a vintage hairstyle technique where hair is styled into S-shaped waves, traditionally using fingers and a comb, often with setting lotion or gel to retain its shape. Waving lotion was traditionally made using karaya gum, and Indian produced vegetable gum. This style, popular in the 1920s and 30s, was known for its elegant and sophisticated look. It involves shaping the hair into waves by pinching and forming ridges with fingers and a comb, while the hair is wet or dampened.

 

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:

 

Sitting on the table is an old fashioned metal iron that would have been heated on the stove to warm it before use. The tiny gilt edged teacup, made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, would have been sued by Ada to splash water onto the crinkles in fabric to create steam to draw out any creases in the fabric in the ways before steam iron technology. The first commercially available steam iron was introduced in 1926 by a New York company called Eldec, but it wasn't a commercial success and would have been well in excess of the means at Ada’s disposal to buy one. While electric irons with temperature control existed in the 1920s, Eldec's steam iron was the first of its kind in terms of combining steam and electricity for ironing. Both the iron and the teacup came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. Around and in front of the iron are non-matching teacups, saucers, a milk jug and sugar bowl, all of which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. The Brown Betty teapot in the foreground also came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop. The different stacks of fabrics and linens all came from different online stockists of 1:12 miniatures via E-Bay.

 

Also sitting on the table in the foreground is a McVitie and Price’s Small Petite Beurre Biscuits tin, containing a selection of different biscuits. The biscuits were made by hand of polymer 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. McVitie's (Originally McVitie and Price) is a British snack food brand owned by United Biscuits. The name derives from the original Scottish biscuit maker, McVitie and Price, Ltd., established in 1830 on Rose Street in Edinburgh, Scotland. The company moved to various sites in the city before completing the St. Andrews Biscuit Works factory on Robertson Avenue in the Gorgie district in 1888. The company also established one in Glasgow and two large manufacturing plants south of the border, in Heaton Chapel, Stockport, and Harlesden, London (where Edith’s father works). McVitie and Price's first major biscuit was the McVitie's Digestive, created in 1892 by a new young employee at the company named Alexander Grant, who later became the managing director of the company. The biscuit was given its name because it was thought that its high baking soda content served as an aid to food digestion. The McVitie's Chocolate Homewheat Digestive was created in 1925. Although not their core operation, McVitie's were commissioned in 1893 to create a wedding cake for the royal wedding between the Duke of York and Princess Mary, who subsequently became King George V and Queen Mary. This cake was over two metres high and cost one hundred and forty guineas. It was viewed by 14,000 and was a wonderful publicity for the company. They received many commissions for royal wedding cakes and christening cakes, including the wedding cake for Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip and Prince William and Catherine Middleton. Under United Biscuits McVitie's holds a Royal Warrant from Queen Elizabeth II.

 

Also on Ada’s table in the foreground is a packet of Robin’s Starch, made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Before the invention of aerosol spray starch, the product of choice in many homes of all classes was Robin starch. Robin Starch was a stiff white powder like cornflour to which water had to be added. When you made up the solution, it was gloopy, sticky with powdery lumps, just like wallpaper paste or grout. The garment was immersed evenly in that mixture and then it had to be smoothed out. All the stubborn starchy lumps had to be dissolved until they were eliminated – a metal spoon was good for bashing at the lumps to break them down. Robins Starch was produced by Reckitt and Sons who were a leading British manufacturer of household products, notably starch, black lead, laundry blue, and household polish. Rekitt and Sons were based in Kingston upon Hull. Isaac Reckitt began business in Hull in 1840, and his business became a private company Isaac Reckitt and Sons in 1879, and a public company in 1888. The company expanded through the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. It merged with a major competitor in the starch market J. and J. Colman in 1938 to form Reckitt and Colman.

 

Edith’s black dyed straw hat with purple roses and black feathers was made by an unknown artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. This hat is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel which includes Edith’s green leather handbag.

 

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 acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop. 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 and some Ty-Phoo tea. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with 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.

 

Mrs. Hounslow’s lace trimmed, old fashioned Victorian bloomers were acquired through Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

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