Nollaig Chirdheil

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 not at Cavendish Mews. We have travelled east across London, through Bloomsbury, past the Smithfield Meat Markets, beyond the Petticoat Lane Markets* frequented by Lettice’s maid, Edith, through the East End boroughs of Bethnal Green and Bow, to the 1880s housing development of Upton Park. It is here that Frank’s closest and only surviving relation lives: his elderly Scottish grandmother, Mrs. McTavish. It is Christmas Day 1925, and after catching a chill going home from a celebratory meal at Lyon’s Corner House** at the top of Tottenham Court Road to celebrate Edith and Frank’s engagement, which then settled on her chest and became influenza, Mrs. McTavish, whilst recovering well, is not well enough to travel through the cold fog and sleet of Christmas Day with Frank to Frank’s fiancée, Edith’s, family home in Harlesden. It was Edith who settled on the idea of rather than Frank and Mrs. McTavish coming to her parent’s home, going with her parents, George and Ada, to them instead, after she took inspiration from a Christmas window display in the Woolworths*** outside the Premier Super Cinema**** in East Ham, where Edith and Frank had seen a midday showing of ‘A Girl of London’***** on their day off.

 

“There!” Edith sighs, as she settles back on her haunches and admires her work.

 

Before her, on Mrs. McTavish’s flagstone floor a small Christmas Tree has been set up, it’s short height compensated by standing it in one of Mrs. McTavish’s unused tall terracotta flowerpots overturned, with the thin trunk slipped through the drain hole in its bottom, carefully hidden by an apron of festive red velvet supplied by Ada from her capacious basket, where it sat beneath a succulent roast chicken that she had started cooking in her own kitchen range in Harlesden. The tree’s decoration had been Edith’s job to manage, whilst her mother busied herself finishing off the chicken in the oven of Mrs. McTavish’s range. Being rather creative, this was a pleasure for Edith to do, and she quickly unpacked the gaily decorated boxes of thruppence and sixpence Christmas decorations she had bought at Woolworths in order to decorate the tree, one George had bought as a favour from one of his gardening contacts at his Harlesden allotment. Scattering spools of thick red velveteen****** ribbon and baubles of metallic red and gold across the floor. She quickly made the bare tree into a beautiful and festive centrepiece for the day’s festivities, expertly decorating its branches, hiding sparse parts of the rather weedy tree, until it looked full and perfect.

 

“What do you think, Gran?” Edith asks, looking over her right shoulder to Frank’s Scottish Grandmother peers out from beneath her thick tartan rug in her usual, old and worn wingback chair by the range.

 

Mrs. McTavish’s wizened face, covered in a maze of wrinkles beneath the lacy white froth of her cap colours a little and her dark eyes sparkle with delight as she spies the decorated Christmas tree. “Och, Edith my dear!” she exclaims in her thick Scottish brogue. “It looks grand! What a clever we bairn you are!”

 

“She’s right, Edith,” Frank says with a cheerful lilt as he pauses setting the table, holding one of his grandmother’s best blue and white china plates in his hands and looks over at the decorated tree. “It looks grand!”

 

“Oh, thank you both.” Edith says, blushing at their compliments.

 

“Edith always was the one with artistic talent,” George murmurs with pride to his wife as they both stand at the kitchen range, he holding a white bowl out to catch the green peas and bright orange carrots his wife scoops from one of Mrs. McTavish’s saucepans with a slotted spoon. “I would have liked it if she’d been able to pursue her creativity.”

 

Ada sighs heavily as she gazes at the beautifully decorated Christmas Tree, pausing in her scooping to observe the rich and fat bows and red and gold baubles bask in the golden light cast by Mrs. McTavish’s gas light overhead, giving them an essence of Christmas magic. She coughs and clears her throat before going back to the job at hand by spooning out the last of the sliced carrots from the bottom of the pot and shaking them off the spoon into the plain white bowl her husband holds. “Being an artist doesn’t make money, George.” she says matter-of-factly, drawing her husband from his own thoughts. “What good would she be to Frank if she could paint a picture, but not know how to cook, or one end of an iron from the other.”

 

George doesn’t reply, his eyes darting from Ada’s face with her determined, but not unfriendly gaze and the Christmas tree.

 

“No, domestic service was really our only choice with Edith, and it hasn’t worked out badly, has it George? She has a good job at present with Miss Chetwynd, and she knows how to cook and clean, and she’s a damn fine seamstress.”

 

“She could have worked at the Lambeth Studios******* with her skill as a paintress.” George muses.

 

“That’s foolish talk, George.” Ada scoffs with frustration, knocking the slotted spoon’s handle noisily against the edge of the beaten old pot to drown out her words from anyone’s hearing but George’s. “You know it is. We couldn’t have afforded the fees at the Lambeth School of Art******** for her to have sent her there, and well you know it.”

 

“With her precocious talent,” George retorts. “I still think we stood a chance of her winning a scholarship for her, Ada love.”

 

“Well,” Ada quips quickly. “We’ll never know now, will we? I did what I thought was best at the time,” She then adds a little more kindly. “And it was best for her, George love. You know it was.”

 

George sighs as he stares at his daughter as she happily laughs and chatters with her fiancée as they arrange Christmas parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine around the bottom of the tree. “I don’t know about that, Ada love.”

 

“Don’t let Edith hear you say that.” Ada cautions her husband, as she bangs the spoon handle against the pot determinedly again.

 

“Frank, I’m serving up the peas and beans for Ada,” George calls out to his future son-in-law as he moves across the kitchen floor from the range to the round table which has been dressed with one of Mrs. McTavish’s beautiful hand made white lace tablecloths. “Look lively my boy, and finish setting the table, or Ada will as likely have your guts for garters,” He chuckles good naturedly. “Or mine.”

 

“Aye, I will that, or both of you,” Ada laughs happily from the stove, clearly sharing that she will do no such thing, as she wraps the edge of her apron around her hand and opens the door of the oven and peers in.

 

A cloud of steam and the sizzle of cooking meat fills the air, as does the rich and evocative scent of the roasting chicken.

 

“That smells spiffing Mrs. Wat… Ada!” Frank exclaims, still stumbling over the idea of calling his future mother-in-law by her first name, rather than Mrs. Watsford.

 

“Thank you, Frank love.” Ada says with a proud smile as she turns and faces the room, her face flushed from the head radiating from the oven. Closing the door she adds, “Just a few more minutes and we’ll be ready to eat. I hope you’ve all brought a good, healthy appetite, most of all you, Nyree love.” She puts a hand gently on Mrs. McTavish’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We need to be fattening you up. There’s no meat on your bones. No wonder you caught influenza.”

 

“Aha!” Frank cries from the table as he lays down the last of the dinner plates. He points across the room to his grandmother sitting snuggled in her chair as he says triumphantly, “Your own words, turned back on you for a change!” He laughs. “Gran’s always telling me I’m too thin, Ada. It’s time she had some of her own medicine for a change.”

 

“Och!” the old Scotswoman scoffs, before starting to cough heavily, her chest heaving up and down beneath her warm blanket. “You are too thin, Francis my bairn!” She coughs a little more, only less severely. “You eat like a wee house sparrow, you do,” she goes on through laboured breaths. “And that’s no good for a strapping young laddie!”

 

“Gran!” Frank moans. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m Frank now. Francis is a girl’s name.”

 

“Nonsense!” she retorts, releasing another fruity cough. “It’s a splendid boy’s name. Twas the name your faither********** and mither*********** gave you and had you christened. You may want to be Frank, but,” She smiles beatifically at her grandson. “But you’ll always be Francis to me.”

 

“Oh Gran!” Frank says again, blushing red.

 

Edith giggles. “I’m glad you like the Christmas tree, Gran. I really wanted to make your Christmas a special one.” She reaches up and places her hands over the old woman’s gnarled and wrinkled ones and squeezes them affectionately.

 

“You have my wee bairn,” Mrs. McTavish says, withdrawing her hands from beneath Edith’s and placing them on Edith’s youthful cheeks. She smiles down at her. “You really have. How could anyone not be delighted by such kindness?” She sinks back in her seat. “You’ve all been so kind to bring the Christmas Day festivities to me.”

 

“Ahh,” Ada scoffs with a beatific smile and a dismissive wave of her hand as she walks the dirty pots over to the trough skin in the corner of the kitchen. “Christmas is wherever you decide to celebrate it, so why not have it here? As I was saying to Frank a week ago when he was visiting us, it would have been too much to expect you to travel all the way to us Nyree, even if it isn’t a long walk to and from the Tube************ station either way, in your condition.”

 

“That’s right.” Adds George. “It’s been so cold, and the fogs aren’t pleasant for you to go through either, Nyree love. Better we come to you, and you can keep nice and cosy and warm.”

 

“Thank you, George. “Lang may yer lum reek*************.”

 

“What does that mean, Gran?” Edith asks. “Long may yer lum reek?”

 

“Lang,” Mrs. McTavish corrects Edith gently. “Lang may yer lum reek.”

 

“It’s a Scottish blessing.” Frank explains. “Long may your chimney smoke. Isn’t that right, Gran?”

 

“It is, Francis my wee bairn!” Mrs. McTavish concurs. “It means I wish you good fortune and prosperity.”

 

“Lang may yer lum reek. Lang may yer lum reek.” Edith repeats over and over a few times.

 

“That’s it, Edith my dear.” Mrs. McTavish encourages. “Och! Francis and I will make a Scotswoman out of you yet!” She chortles happily.

 

“How do you say, Merry Christmas, Gran?” Edith asks. “In Scottish, I mean?”

 

“Nollaig Chirdheil**************.” Mrs. McTavish says in her growly Scottish brogue, smiling happily as she does.

 

“Oh!” Edith’s face falls. “Oh, I might struggle to say that.”

 

“Och! Well, you weren’t raised with Gaelic being spoken about you, Edith dearie.” Mrs. McTavish chuckles softly. “It will take some practice. However, if you apply yourself, perhaps you might be a better scholar than my wee bairn Francis was when it comes to speaking Gaelic.”

 

“I’ll try, Gran.” Edith says.

 

“Good girl!” She pats Edith’s hand. “When I’m better and get over this awful influenza, I’ll have to teach you how to make rumbledethumps***************.”

 

“Rumbledethumps!” Frank pipes up as he places the last brightly coloured Christmas cracker across a dinner plate at the table. “You’re going to teach Edith to make rumbledethumps?”

 

“Aye, cluasan mòra!” Mrs. McTavish calls out in reply to her grandson’s question.

 

“Cluasan mòra?” Edith asks. “What does that mean?”

 

“Tell your fiancée what a cluasan mòra is, then, Francis my wee bairn.” When Frank doesn’t reply, and busies himself straightening cutlery on the table that doesn’t need straightening, Mrs. McTavish goes on. “If he’d studied Gaelic like I said he should have, he’d know that cluasan mòra means ‘big ears’, Edith my dear.”

 

Edith can’t help but chuckle as she sees Frank blush bright red.

 

“Right!” Ada calls cheerily as she withdraws the golden yellow chicken from the oven. “Christmas tea is served!”

 

Everyone watches, transfixed as she walks across the small kitchen carrying the succulent roast bird across the table in one of her trusty roasting pans from her Harlesden kitchen. Roast potatoes, as golden and crusted as the chicken itself sit nestled around the chicken, and the whole dish releases a delicious aroma that quickly fills the small room.

 

“Now that smells like Christmas tea to me!” George says jovially. “I’ll open up a bottle of ale for us.”

 

“Come on Gran.” Frank says kindly as he scurries over to his grandmother’s side. “I’ll help you up.”

 

“I’ll help too, Frank.” Edith offers. “And we’ll get you safely over to the table and settled in.”

 

“Thanks Edith!” Frank replies, sighing gratefully.

 

As the pair help stand the old Scotswoman up, draw away her green and red tartan blanket and gently guide her across the flagstones, she turns her head to Edith. “So Edith, dearie. I hear from your parents and Frank, that this was all your doing.”

 

“Me?” Edith asks. “Oh I didn’t make the Christmas fare. Mum did, with a bit of help from Dad and me. You saw her, Gran.”

 

“No! No!” Mrs. McTavish hisses. “Not that. They tell me it was your idea to move your Christmas from your parent’s house here.”

 

“Oh, I think I might have suggested the idea in the first place, after we found out from Frank that you were sick.”

 

“You’re being too modest by half,” Frank retorts. “It was Edith’s idea alright, Gran. She should take credit for it.”

 

As Mrs. McTavish looks upon the blushing face of Edith she says, “Well, as you know, I haven’t really been well enough to finish the Christmas gift for you that I started making.”

 

“Oh, I don’t care about that, Gran. I don’t need anything from you, when you let us have Christmas in your home, like this.”

 

“Well, I will finish it, but once I’m better, Edith dearie. And then I’ll give it to you.” She groans a bit as she nears the table with Edith and Frank supporting her delicate and brittle figure. “But there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, ever since you and Francis told me about your intended nuptials****************.”

 

“And what’s that, Gran?” Edith asks, as they manoeuvre Mrs, McTavish to a round back Windsor chair close by the warm range and gently lower her down into it.

 

“Aye. Thank you my wee bairns.” Mrs McTavish says gratefully. Turning her attention back to Edith, whilst Frank fetches her tartan blanket to drape over her knees, she says, “Edith dearie, would you do me the honour of letting me make your wedding veil? I’d rather like to, you know.”

 

“Oh Gran!” Edith exclaims, flinging her arms around Mrs. McTavish’s neck and hugging her tightly.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I then, Edith dearie?” the old woman laughs.

 

“Oh yes! Yes Gran!” Edith says in a muffled voice filled with elation as she buries her head into Mrs. McTavih’s neck. “Yes.”

 

“Good!” Mrs. McTavish says matter-of-factly, grasping Edith my the forearms, causing the young girl to release her embrace and take a step back. “That makes me very happy, Edith dearie.”

 

“Merry Christmas Gran.” Edith manages to say as she swallows her emotions and tries to remain composed in front of her fiancée and family.

 

“Nollaig Chirdheil, Edith dearie.” Old Mrs. McTavish replies kindly, a broad smile breaking across her face.

 

*Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. \'The Lane\' was always renowned for the \'patter\' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.

 

**J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons\' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

***Woolworths began operation in Britain in 1909 when Frank Woolworth opened the first store in Liverpool, as a British subsidiary of the already established American company. The store initially sold a variety of goods for threepence and sixpence, making their goods accessible to everyone, not just the wealthy upper and middle-classes. The British subsidiary proved to be very popular, and it grew quickly, opening twelve stores by 1912 and expanding using its own profits to become a fixture on the high street. The stores became a beloved British institution, with many shoppers assuming they were originally a British company. In 1982, the United Kingdom operations underwent a management buyout from the American parent company, becoming Woolworth Holdings PLC. This followed the American parent company\'s sale of its controlling stake to a local consortium. Later, in 2000, the company\'s parent (by then known as Kingfisher Group) decided to restructure, focusing more on its DIY and electrical markets. The general merchandise division, including Big W stores, was spun off into a separate company called Woolworths in 2001. Unable to adapt to modern retail trends, the company faced increasing competition and financial difficulties. The last Woolworths stores in the United Kingdom closed their doors in December 2008 and January 2009, marking the end of an era.

 

****The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

 

*****‘A Girl of London’ is a 1925 British silent drama film produced by Stoll Pictures, directed by Henry Edwards and starring Genevieve Townsend, Ian Hunter and Nora Swinburne. Its plot concerns the son of a member of parliament, who is disowned by his father when he marries a girl who works in a factory. Meanwhile, he tries to rescue his new wife from her stepfather who operates a drugs den. It was based on a novel by Douglas Walshe.

 

******Velveteen is a woven fabric with a short, dense pile that resembles velvet but is stiffer and has a matte finish. It is typically made of cotton or a cotton blend and is created by weaving loops that are then cut to create the soft, raised surface. Due to its durability and structure, it is used for garments that need to hold their shape, such as jackets and skirts, as well as for home décor like upholstery and draperies.

 

*******The first Royal Doulton pottery in Lambeth, London, opened in 1815. It started as a partnership between John Doulton, Martha Jones, and John Watts, specialising in utilitarian stoneware like pipes and jars. The company moved to larger premises in Lambeth Walk in 1826, trading as Doulton & Watts. The factory\'s production evolved over time, and in 1871, the famous Doulton Lambeth Studio was established. It became known for its beautiful art pottery, employing artists from the local Lambeth School of Art. The Lambeth Pottery employed over two hundred artists and designers from the Art School by the 1880s, many of them women. The original Lambeth factory finally closed in 1956 due to clean air regulations in the City of London, which prohibited salt glaze production.

 

********The Lambeth School of Art was an art school established in 1854 in the Lambeth area of London by William Gregory, the vicar of St Mary the Less Church. Now known as the City and Guilds of London Art School, it is now a leading independent art school in London. The school is also associated with the "Lambeth Method" of cake decorating, a style of elaborate buttercream piping known for its regal and intricate designs, famously used on the wedding cake of Her Late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

 

*********The phrase "guts for garters" means to punish someone severely or to threaten them with extreme violence. Its origin is the literal, and now obsolete, threat of disembowelling a person and using their intestines as garters to hold up one\'s stockings. This phrase is first recorded in late Sixteenth Century literature and gained popularity through alliteration and usage in various contexts, from military slang to a more general expression of anger.

 

**********Faither is an old fashioned Scottish word for father.

 

***********Mither is an old fashioned Scottish word for mother.

 

************People started calling the London Underground the "Tube" around 1900, after the opening of the Central London Railway. The railway\'s deep, cylindrical tunnels resembled tubes, and a newspaper nickname for it, the “Tuppenny Tube”, due to a flat fare of two pence, helped the term stick. Over time, the nickname spread to refer to the entire system.

 

*************A classic Scottish blessing for good luck is "Lang may yer lum reek," which literally means "long may your chimney smoke" and conveys the wish for continued prosperity and good fortune.

 

**************”Nollaig Chirdheil” is the traditional festive greeting in Gaelic shared at Christmas time.

 

***************Rumbledethumps is a dish that is popular in the Scottish border regions and is perfect for using up leftover mashed potatoes and excess vegetables. Often referred to as the Scottish version of bubble ‘n squeak, rumbledethumps recipes usually contain turnip and cabbage, but really any vegetable leftovers could be used. The vegetable mixture is topped with cheese and then baked until bubbling. The dish can be made the day before and heated up and whilst it can be eaten on its own, makes a nice accompaniment for a hearty stew.

 

****************Nuptials is a alternative word for marriage. The term “nuptials” emphasizes the ceremonial and legal aspects of a marriage, lending a more formal tone to wedding communications and documentation.

 

This festive scene in a cosy kitchen may look real to you, but it is not quite what it seems, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The Christmas tree at the centre of the image is a hand-made artisan example from dollhouse artisan suppliers in America. The parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine beneath the tree I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The boxed tinsel garland and the tree top angel box were a gift to me last Christmas from my Flickr friend BKHagar *Kim* who also collects 1:12 miniatures. She picked these up at a house auction as part of a large miniatures collection. The red box containing hand painted Christmas ornaments were hand made and decorated by artists of Crooked Mile Cottage in America. The patterned green box of red and green baubles at the front of Ada’s basket to the right was hand made by Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The box of Christmas crackers towards the bottom of the picture and the Christmas cards on the table to the left of the image are 1:12 miniatures made by artisan Ken Blythe. I have a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my miniatures collection – books mostly. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! Sadly, so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. As well as making books, he also made other small paper based miniatures including cards like the Christmas cards, and boxes of goods. The box, as you can see, is designed to be opened, and each one contains gaily coloured Christmas crackers made from real crêpe paper. The crackers from the box, coloured red, yellow and blue, can be seen sitting on the table. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make them all 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 round kitchen table is draped with an antique lace jug cover, which I thought made for a beautiful tablecloth for Christmas. As well as Ken Blythe’s Christmas crackers, there are other things of the table. These include beautiful blue and white dinner plates which come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The succulent looking roast chicken comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The cutlery also comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. All the water glasses I have had since I was a teenager. I bought them from a high street stockist that specialised in dolls’ houses and doll house miniatures. Each glass is hand blown using real glass.

 

Mrs. McTavish’s intentionally worn leather wingback chair and the sewing table to the left of the photo are both 1:12 artisan miniatures. The inside of the sewing table is particularly well made and detailed with a removable tray made up of multiple compartments. Beneath it, the floral fabric lines the underside and opens up into a central bag. Both pieces come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop. The top comparts are full of sewing items which also came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop and various online specialists on E-Bay. The small, round pedestal table at the arm of Mrs. McTavish’s chair also comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop

 

The sewing basket that you can see on the floor beneath the sewing table I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It is an artisan miniature and contains pieces of embroidery and embroidery threads. Also inserted into it is an embroidery hoop that has been which embroidered by hand which came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Dominating the rear of the room is the large kitchen range which 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). The fringing hanging from the mantle is actually a beautiful scalloped ribbon that was given to me at Christmas time by a very close friend of mine.

 

On the small pedestal table next to Mrs. McTavish’s chair sits a blue and white teacup and saucer. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, and so too does the table.

 

On the wall just behind Mrs. McTavish’s chair hangs a hand painted cuckoo clock. It has been made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

In the background you can see Mrs. McTavish’s dark wood dresser cluttered with decorative china. I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom.

 

The brass pieces on the range all come from different online stockists of miniatures.

 

The rug on the floor comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

Done