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A Greenwich Village loft decorated by designers Bill Brockschmidt and Courtney Coleman.
Photo from www.brockschmidtandcoleman.com.
The dining table in the kitchen area of Marie & Alan's renovated 1960's Belfast home.
You can read more about this shoot here: Left or Right.
Stylist: Marie McMillen.
Copyright © 2014 Ashley Morrison, all rights reserved.
I love this dining table—it reminds me of John Reeves's 'Louis' tables—and it's so affordable! The Domino editors painted the Pier 1 piece (and its drop-in leaf) off-white to highlight the arabesques of its scalloped edges and cabriole legs. An elaborate crystal chandelier ups the fanciness—but not the bottom line.
Table: 60" x 42" x 30" "Scalloped" (painted), $399.95, Pier 1.
Chandelier: 26" x 30" "Snow White," $297, gallery84.com.
Photo by Annie Schlechter, Domino, March 2009.
Persistent URL: floridamemory.com/items/show/257192
Local call number: KOR1410
Title: Koreshans seated around the dining table
Date: November 25, 1961
Physical descrip: 1 photoprint - b&w - 8 x 10 in.
Series Title: Koreshan Unity Collection
Repository: State Library and Archives of Florida
500 S. Bronough St., Tallahassee, FL, 32399-0250 USA, Contact: 850.245.6700, Archives@dos.myflorida.com
Shelia Bridges’ dining room in her Harlem apartment. Photo by Anna Williams, from Furnishing Forward by Sheila Bridges.
I love eating out of doors under the shade of a tree or parasol, food always tastes so much better somehow.
Homemade veloute vegetable soup...
-> potatoes
-> carrots
-> zuccinis
-> a long,green pepper
-> salt
-> 2 chillies, to be removed before
mashing the veggies
On top: fresh pepper
Optional: regato or parmezan cheese
...delicious...and it feels good : )
The dining room of a luxury condo in "The Heights" (Brooklyn?), designed by Coburn Architecture. I love the mix of color and texture here: the white marble-topped Florence Knoll Executive table paired with the black Bergère chairs, the welded steel table base on the hardwood floor, and the abstract yellow canvas, of course.
Photo from their website: www.coburnarchitecture.com.
The table was a gift from Ivana! Chairs are 19th-century; turquoise French opaline glass chandelier is from Kerson 20th Century Design. Interior design by Emma Jane Pilkington.
Photo by Oberto Gili, from House & Garden.
The home where I photographed a wedding on January 21, 2012 has this awesome breakfast nook in the kitchen. Enjoy the view through the bay window.
visiting the ballenberg museum ....
Menta e rosmarino
Cadono giù stalle - stelle
Lacrima (il) tramonto
Gocce di luce dagli occhi
Nella notte cieca
È qui che a casa mia ormai ritorno
C'incontreremo stasera
Menta e Rosmarino
Che ho preso a calci le notti
Per starti più vicino
Amor, d'amor sia l'amor perduto!!
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi male ti amai
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi vivo t'amai
Cadono giù stalle - stelle,
E una monetina,
I miei pensieri in farfalle dentro la mattina
È qui che a casa mia ormai ritorno.
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi male ti amai
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi vivo ti amai
Con l'anima in piena
Mi sgominai
Mi smemorai.
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi male ti amai
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi vivo ti amai
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi male ti amai
I feel so lonely tonight
Se per farmi vivo ti amai
E t'amo ancora
Zucchero
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.
Tonight, Lettice is entertaining her old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, in the dining room of her Cavendish Mews flat: a room equally elegantly appointed with striking black japanned Art Deco furnishings intermixed with a select few Eighteenth Century antiques. The room is heady with the thick perfume of roses brought back from Glynes, the Chetwynd’s palatial Georgian family estate in Wiltshire, from where Lettice has recently returned after visiting a neighbour of sorts of her parents, Mr. Alisdair Gifford who wishes Lettice to decorate a room for his Australian wife Adelina, to house her collection of blue and white china. A bowl full of delicate white blooms graces the black japanned dining table as a centrepiece, whilst a smaller vase of red roses sits on the sideboard at the feet of Lettice’s ‘Modern Woman’ statue, acquired from the nearby Portland Gallery in Bond Street. Silver and crystal glassware sparkle in the light cast by both candlelight and electric light. The pair of old friends have just finished a course of Suprême de Volaille Jeanette: a fillet of chicken served with a rich white roux creamy sauce, ordered from Harrod’s Meat and Fish Hall* and warmed up and finished off by Edith, Lettice’s maid, in the Cavendish Mews kitchen. Gerald returns to the table with two small glasses of port after filling them from a bottle of liqueur in Lettice’s cocktail cabinet in the corner of the room just as Edith steps across the threshold of the dining room carrying a silver tray laden with three types of cheese and an assortment of biscuits, wafers and crackers.
“About time, Edith.” Lettice mutters irritably as Edith approaches and slides the tray gently onto the dining table. “Careful! Don’t scratch the table’s surface.”
“I’m sorry, Miss.” Edith says as she blushes, a lack of understanding filling her face. “I… I didn’t realise I was scratching it.”
“Well, you haven’t, Edith,” she snaps back. “But you need to be more careful!”
“Yes Miss.” Edith bobs a curtsey, a wounded look on her usually bright face.
Glancing between Lettice toying distractedly with the rope of pearls about her neck looking anywhere but at either her maid or himself, and the poor embarrassed domestic, Gerald pipes up, “There’s nothing to apologise for, Edith. There’s no harm done. Miss Chetwynd is just a bit tired and overwrought. Aren’t you Lettice darling?”
When Lettice doesn’t answer, whether because she hasn’t heard Gerald as she gets lost in her own thoughts, or because she knows that she is in the wrong, admonishing her maid like that for no reason, Gerald adds, “The Suprême de Volaille Jeanette was delicious. Thank you.” He then gently indicates with a movement of his kind eyes and a swift sweeping gesture of his hand that she should go.
“Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Edith replies as she bobs a second curtsey and quickly scuttles back through the green baize door leading from the diming room back into the service area of the flat.
“You don’t seem yourself at all, Lettice darling!” Gerald says in concern once he estimates that Edith is out of earshot. “Upbraiding Edith like that, and for no good reason. She didn’t mark the table. You’ve been in a funk ever since you came back from Wiltshire.” He pauses momentarily and reconsiders. “Actually no, you’ve been like this for a little while before that.” He looks at her knowingly. “What’s the matter with you, darling?”
“Oh I’m sorry.” Lettice sighs.
“It’s not me you should be sorry to.”
“I’ll apologise to Edith a little bit later. I’ll let her settle down first.”
“Well, I should hope you will.” Gerald takes a sip and cocks his eyebrow over his eye as he stares at Lettice. “Alright, out with it! What’s the matter, then?”
“Looking at me the way you are, can’t you guess, Gerald darling?”
“It’s that rather awful Fabian** charlatan, Gladys, isn’t it?” Gerald replies. As he does, he shudders as he remembers the awful snub Lady Gladys gave him.
Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Glady’s request that she redecorate the Bloomsbury flat of her ward, Phoebe Chambers. When Lettice agreed to take on the commission, Lady Gladys said she would arrange a time for Lettice to inspect the flat the next time Lady Gladys was in London. The day it happened, Lettice was invited to hear Lady Gladys give a reading from her latest romance novel ‘Miranda’ at its launch in the Selfridge’s book department. Wanting company, and thinking he might enjoy the outing, Lettice invited Gerald to join her. When Lady Gladys met Gerald, she took an instant dislike to him and snubbed him, calling him ‘Mister Buttons’ much to his chagrin.
“Well done, Gerald darling.” Lettice replies sulkily, toying idly with her own glass.
“So, what’s the trouble with Gladys now?” Gerald asks. “Come on, tell me all the ghastly details.”
“What’s the point, Gerald darling? It won’t make one iota of difference.” Her shoulders slump forward as she speaks.
“You don’t know that.” Gerald counters. “If nothing else, it will probably make you feel better just talking about it, and hopefully by unblocking the frustrations you so obviously feel, you’ll be a bit kinder to poor Edith.” He gives her a hopefully glance.
“I know. Edith didn’t deserve my ire.”
“Especially when she didn’t do anything wrong. It would be a shame to lose such a good maid. Good servants like Edith are hard to come by.”
“I know, Gerald! I know!”
“If I could afford to employ her full time as a seamstress, I would. However I can only afford Molly to do some piecework for me a few days a week at the moment. But once my atelier expands, you’d better watch out. I’ll poach her.”
“Edith?”
“Yes of course, darling. Who else?”
“As a seamstress? Why?”
“Good heavens! Haven’t you noticed how smartly turned out she is when she’s not in uniform and is going out?” Gerald asks with incredulity. When Lettice shakes her head coyly he continues, “For a woman who has an eye for detail, you can be very unobservant sometimes. Edith, like most working girls, makes her own clothes, I’d imagine from patterns in one of those cheap women’s magazines directed towards middle-class housewives I see flapping in the breeze at newspaper kiosks. However, unlike a great many of them, she obviously has a natural aptitude for sewing. That’s why I’d take her on as a seamstress.”
“I must confess, I’ve never really noticed what Edith wears. She’s just…” Lettice isn’t quite sure how to phrase it. “She’s just there.”
“Well, one day she may not be,” Gerald warns before taking another sip of liqueur. “And then you’ll be in trouble trying to find her like as a replacement. Anyway,” he coughs. “I’m not going to pinch her from you just yet. Now, what’s the problem with Gladys?”
Lettice lets out a very heavy sigh. “Oh, she’s awful, Gerald darling: positively frightful. She rings me nearly every day, or sometimes several times a day, hounding me! I’m starting to make Edith answer the telephone more often now, because I’m terrified that it will be Gladys.”
“Well, we all know how much dear Edith hates the telephone.”
“Well, usually that would be true, but she knows that Gladys is Madeline St John, and I’ve told her that Gladys promises to give her a few signed copies of her books one of these days, so she doesn’t seem to mind when it’s her. Gladys seems to have that common touch with her.”
“Common is right.” quips Gerald. “Low-class gutter novelist works her way into the upper echelons by way of an advantageous marriage.”
“Gerald!” Lettice gasps
“It’s true Lettice, and you must know it by now, even if you didn’t know it before.”
“Well, whatever she may or may not be, Gerald, I just can’t talk to her directly. I need a moment to gird my loins*** before I take on the unpleasant task of talking to her, or perhaps a more appropriate description would be, being spoken to by her, at considerable length.”
“You haven’t corrupted poor Edith and coerced her into telling little white lies for you when Gladys does ring and say that you’re out.”
“No!” Lettice gives Gerald a guilty side glance. “Well not yet anyway.” she corrects. “I’ve thought about doing it, and it’s a very tempting idea. However, I know how much Edith already hates answering the telephone, and being such a despicably honest girl, I think asking her to fib for me, especially to her favourite romance writer, might be just a bridge too far for her.”
“Damn the goodness of your maid, Lettice darling.” Gerald replies jokingly with a cheeky smile causing his mouth to turn up impishly, as he cuts a slice of cheese and puts it on a water cracker wafer, before lifting it to his lips.
“Oh you’re no help!” Lettuce swats at her best friend irritably. “You make me feel guilty for even countenancing such a thought.”
“Well, someone has to try and keep you honest in this sinful city, darling.” he jokes again. “Mummy would never forgive me if I didn’t try and keep you as virtuous as possible.”
“I’d believe that of Aunt Gwen.” Lettice agrees. “On the other hand, Mater is convinced that you’re the root of the destruction of her precious, obsequious youngest daughter.”
“Sadie is wiser and more observant than I’ve ever given her credit for.” Gerald murmurs in surprise. “I should be more charitable to her in future as regards her intellect.”
“That I should like to see.” Lettice giggles, a smile breaking across her lips and brightening her face, dispelling some of the gloom.
“That you will never see.” Gerald replies firmly. “That’s better. At least I made you laugh.”
“You always make me laugh, darling Gerald.” Lettice reaches across the table and grasps his hand lovingly, winding her fingers around his bigger fisted hand. “You are the best and most supportive friend I could ever hope to have.”
“Jolly good, my dear. Now, besides telephoning far too often, what else is the trouble with Gladys?” Gerald presses.
“Well, she seems to want to be in control of everything in relation to Pheobe’s Bloomsbury pied-à-terre redecoration.”
“Isn’t Gladys footing the bill, Lettice darling?”
“Well yes, she is.”
“Then it seems to me that she has every right to be involved in the decision making that goes on, particularly as you’ve told me that Phoebe shows a lack of interest in the whole project.”
“Yes, but what Gladys is doing is taking over. I don’t think she’d even engage my services if I didn’t have the contacts in the painting, papering and furnishing business she needs. I have no chance to exercise any of my own judgement. Anything I do has to be checked by her: the paint tint for the walls, the staining of the floorboards, the fabric for the furnishings. And she has demonstrated that she has no real interest in my ideas.”
“Hhhmmm…” Gerald begins, chewing his mouthful of cheese and biscuit thoughtfully before continuing. “That does sound a trifle tiresome.”
“A trifle tiresome? Gerald, you always were the master of understatement.”
“I see no reason to panic. She is the client exercising her rights. And since she is the one paying for your services, indulge her in her necessity to be consulted on all facets of the redecoration.”
“Oh I’m doing that. Against my better judgement, I’m having floral chintz draperies hung in the drawing room and bedroom because that’s what she wants.”
“Good heavens!” Gerald exclaims, nearly choking on a fresh mouthful of cheese and wafer biscuit. “You, selecting chintz as part of your décor decisions?”
“My point exactly. It isn’t me that’s decided that, it’s Gladys who has. You know how much I loathe chintz at the best of times.” Lettice shudders at the thought. “I tried hinting at some plain green hangings instead as a very nice alternative, but like anything else where I try my best to negotiate for Phoebe, I am barked at and told in no uncertain terms that I will do no such thing.”
“Negotiate for Phoebe?”
“Yes, now that I’m well and truly wound up in what you rightly called Gladys’ sticky spiderweb, I’m beginning to see things for what they truly are.”
“Such as?”
“For a start, I don’t think Phoebe is disinterested in the renovations to her pied-à-terre at all. I’ve seen with my own eyes now, how whenever Pheobe expresses an opinion contrary to that of Gladys, Gladys quickly snuffs out any dissention. As far as Gladys is concerned, her choice is not only the best and right choice, but the only choice to make. Pheobe wants to keep some of her parents’ belongings in the flat, but Gladys won’t hear of it! She wants a clean sweep! I suggest a compromise, but Gladys dismisses it. So, the colours to go on the walls, the furnishings, the fabrics, even the hideous chintz curtains have all been decided upon and approved by Gladys, and Phoebe doesn’t even get a chance to express an opinion. Phoebe isn’t disinterested, she’s simply overruled and completely smothered by Gladys’ overbearing nature.”
“Delicious.” Gerald murmurs as he leans his elbows on the black japanned surface of the dining table and leans forward conspiratorially.
“It’s not delicious at all!” Lettice splutters. “It’s a frightful state of affairs!”
“Well, in truth, that really does sound bloody*****, Lettice darling!”
“Like I said, it’s a dreadful state of affairs! I feel as if I am betraying not only poor Pheobe, but the memory of her dead parents in favour of a domineering woman whom no-one it seems can stand up to.”
“Have you tried her husband, Sir John?”
“He kowtows to her wishes as much as anyone else. I now understand why he has such a dogged look upon his face. I thought it was just age.”
“When in fact it was just Gladys?”
“Indeed! And what’s even worse is that Gladys is wearing me down now too. It’s just easier to agree to everything she says, and not even attempt a compromise in Phoebe’s favour.”
“Well, whilst I know you don’t like the situation, from my own personal experience of dealing with difficult clients, I can say that the path of least resistance is sometimes the best. Do you remember that frock I made for Sophie Munro, the American shipping magnate’s daughter?”
Lettice considers Gerald’s question for a moment. “Yes, I think I do. Wasn’t it pale pink with blue trimming?”
“Indeed it was, Lettice darling: pink linen with blue trim, with a bias cut drape over one sleeve and a flounced skirt. Poor Sophie has an… ahem…” Gerald clears his throat rather awkwardly as he thinks of the correct phrase. “A rather Rubenesque figure, and the flounced skirt was perhaps less flattering than something with long pleats, which was I had suggested to Mrs. Munro.”
“But Mrs. Munro was like Gladys?”
“She was, darling, and she wouldn’t hear a word of it. A flounced skirt was what Mrs. Munro wanted, and a flounced skirt was what Sophie received, and she flounced her way back to America, where I’m sure her rather voluptuous derrière will be commented upon by every young eligible man on Long Island, for all the wrong reasons. However, I did it, and I cut ties with Mrs. Munro because now that my atelier is finally turning a modest profit, I can. I don’t need recommendations from her, but I do need her to be happy so that she will at least speak favourably of me, rather than say disparaging things. The same goes for you. Do what Gladys wants and then be done with her. Do it as quickly as possible, then the pain will be over, and she will praise you to boot.”
“I can’t help but feel badly for Phoebe though, Gerald.”
“I know you do, and I feel sorry for poor Sophie Munro being laughed at behind her back by young cads as she tries to be beguiling with a large derrière, but there you have it. You cannot be responsible to solve the relationship between mother and daughter.”
“Aunt and ward.” Lettice corrects.
“It equates to the same.” Gerald counters. “You are a businesswoman, Lettice, not an agony aunt******.”
“Well, you’re a businessman, and you seem to be a good agony aunt to me.”
Gerald and Lettice chuckle before Gerald replies, “Indeed I am, but I’m also a friend. You aren’t friends with Pheobe, and even if you were, you still wouldn’t be able to solve Gladys’ overbearing personality. She is who she is, and Pheobe has to learn how to make her way through life with it. Perhaps you will afford her a little freedom from Gladys by redecorating her pied-à-terre, so she can escape from under Glady’s overbearing shadow, even if the redecoration is not quite as Phoebe would have it. Even then, Phoebe will probably add her own personal touches to her new home over time. It’s only natural that she should.”
“Oh,” Lettice sighs heavily. “I suppose you’re right, Gerald.”
“Of course I’m right, Lettice darling. I’m always right.” he adds jokingly.
“Now don’t you start!” Lettice replies wearily before smiling as she recognises Gerald’s remark as a jest, teasing about Lady Gladys’ overbearing personality.
“Well, it sounds like you need a bit of cheering up, Lettice darling,” Gerald goes on as he places another slice of cheese on a biscuit.
“I could indeed, Gerald darling!”
“Well then, if you are a good girl, and apologise to Edith like I told you, like Cinderella you shall go to the ball!”
“Oh you do talk in riddles sometimes, Gerald darling! What on earth do you mean?”
“My birthday!” Gerald beams. “Come join me at Hattie’s down in Putney for my birthday!”
“You’re having your birthday at Hattie’s?” Lettice queries, her voice rising in surprise. “I thought we were going to the Café Royal****** to celebrate: my treat!”
“Now, now, be calm, Lettice darling! We are, but Hattie wants to throw a party for me on my birthday at Putney with Cyril, Charlie Dunnage and a few of the other chaps she has living with her in the house, so we’ll do that first, and then go to dinner at the Café Royal: your treat.”
“Well…” Lettice says warily. Her stomach flips every time Gerald mentions his lover, Cyril, an oboist who plays at various theatres in the West End and lives in the Putney home of Gerald’s friend Harriet Milford, who has turned her residence into a boarding house for theatrical homosexual men, not because she is in any way jealous of their relationship, but because she knows that Gerald being a homosexual carries great consequences should he be caught in flagrante with Cyril. Homosexuality is illegal******** and carries heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour, not to mention the shame and social ostracization that would follow any untoward revelations. It would mean the end of his fashion house and all his dreams.
Gerald misinterprets the look on his best friend’s face as being misgivings about the party. “Oh come on Lettice! Every time I’ve been spending the night with Cyril down in Putney, which has been quite a lot lately,” he confesses with a shy, yet happy smile. “I’ve been sneaking one or two bottles of champagne into his room, which he’s been stashing under the bed, so there will be plenty to drink, and Hattie is making me a birthday cake, so it will be a rather jolly party. You aren’t still imagining Hattie to be a usurper to you in my affections, are you Lettuce Leaf?”
“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it!” scowls Lettice. “I’ll call you Mr. Buttons!” She threatens.
“You can call me what you like, Lettice darling, only please say you’ll come! You’re my best and oldest chum! It would make me so happy!”
“Oh very well, Gerald. Of course I’ll come.”
“Jolly good show, Lettice darling!” Gerald enthuses. “We’ll have a whizz of a time!”
*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 Fabian Society is a British socialist organisation whose purpose is to advance the principles of social democracy and democratic socialism via gradualist and reformist effort in democracies, rather than by revolutionary overthrow. The Fabian Society was also historically related to radicalism, a left-wing liberal tradition.
***To gird one’s loins: to prepare oneself to deal with a difficult or stressful situation, is likely a Hebraism, often used in the King James Bible (e.g., 2 Kings 4:29). Literally referred to the need to strap a belt around one's waist, i.e. when getting up, in order to avoid the cloak falling off; or otherwise before battle, to unimpede the legs for running.
****A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.
*****The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” or “sounding bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.
******An agony aunt is a person, usually a woman, who gives advice to people with personal problems, especially in a regular magazine or newspaper article.
*******The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
********Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. The law was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.
Lettice’s fashionable Mayfair flat dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures I have collected over time.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The silver tray of biscuits have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The empty wine glasses and the glass bowl in the centre of the table are also 1:12 artisan miniatures all made of hand spun and blown glass. They are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The vase is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with flower patterns made up of fine threads of glass. The cream roses in the vase were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The Art Deco dinner plates are part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai. The cutlery set came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The candlesticks were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
In the background on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The silver drinks set is made by artisan Clare Bell at the Clare Bell Brass Works in Maine, in the United States. Each goblet is only one centimetre in height and the decanter at the far end is two- and three-quarter centimetres with the stopper inserted. Lettice’s Art Deco ‘Modern Woman’ figure is actually called ‘Christianne’ and was made and hand painted by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. ‘Christianne’ is based on several Art Deco statues and is typical of bronze and marble statues created at that time for the luxury market in the buoyant 1920s.
Lettice’s dining room is furnished with Town Hall Miniatures furniture, which is renown for their quality. The only exceptions to the room is the Chippendale chinoiserie carver chair (the edge of which just visible on the far left-hand side of the photo) which was made by J.B.M. Miniatures.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia. The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
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 to the west of London, in nearby Buckinghamshire, at Dorrington House, a smart Jacobean manor house of the late 1600s built for a wealthy merchant, situated in High Wycombe, where Lettice’s elder sister, Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), resides with her husband Charles Lanchenbury and their three children, Harrold, Annabelle and baby Piers. Situated within walking distance of the market town’s main square, the elegant red brick house with its high-pitched roof and white painted sash windows still feels private considering its close proximity to the centre of the town thanks to an elegant and restrained garden surrounding it, which is enclosed by a high red brick wall.
Lettice is nursing a broken heart. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice to celebrate his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.
Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she stayed for a week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father fed her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up. However, rather than assuage her broken heart, her father’s ministrations only served to make matters worse as she grew even more morose. It was from the most unlikely of candidates, her mother Lady Sadie, with whom Lettice has always had a fraught relationship, that Lettice received the best advice, which was to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life: keep designing interiors, keep shopping and most importantly, keep attending social functions where there are plenty of press photographers. “You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn,” Lady Sadie said wisely. ‘But Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him. They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him that you share through the newspaper men. Tell them that you are waiting patiently for Selwyn’s return.”
Since then, Lettice has been trying to follow her mother’s advice and has thrown herself into the merry dance of London’s social round of dinners, dances and balls in the lead up to the festive season. However, even she could only keep this up for so long, and was welcomed home with open and loving arms by her family for Christmas and the New Year. On New Year’s Eve, Lally, sitting next to Lettice, suggested that she spend a few extra weeks resting and recuperating with her in Buckinghamshire before returning to London and trying to get on with her life. Lettice happily agreed, and since arriving at Dorrington House with her sister and brother-in-law, she has enjoyed being quiet, spending quality time with her niece and nephews in the nursery, strolling the gardens with her sister or simply curling up in a window seat and reading.
We find ourselves in Dorrington House’s bright and airy breakfast room with its Dutch yellow painted walls, Chinese silk carpet, elegant Eighteenth Century furnishings and artwork, where breakfast is being served. Even in the weak morning light of winter, the breakfast room is always light and bright thanks to the large east facing windows overlooking the garden which catch the morning light. Charles, is sitting at the round Georgian table with its thin bands of inlay, dressed in his city clothes, reading the Daily Mail, which has been carefully ironed** for him by Edgars, the Lanchenbury’s butler, and munching a thin slice of toast when Lally strolls in, dressed in the uniform of all upper-class women in the counties during winter, a tweed skirt, thick stockings, a white blouse with a lace collar and a loosely draped cardigan: in Lally’s case a lovely warming chocolate brown one.
“Morning, Charles darling.” Lally says brightly as she kisses her husband gently on the top of his pomaded hair before taking her place adjunct to him at the breakfast table.
“Morning,” he mutters gruffly in reply as he concentrates on an article about the British submarine, HMS L24, sinking in a collision in the English Channel***. “Edgars says the eggs shouldn’t be long.”
“Oh good!” Lally enthuses, just as the door to the breakfast room is opened by the butler and he walks in carrying a small silver salver, upon which stand two eggs in matching silver eggcups. “Speaking of the devil.”
“Good morning Mrs. Lanchenbury.” the butler says politely. “Cook says to tell you that the sausages and bacon will be arriving shortly.”
“Good morning Edgars.” Lally replies cheerfully. “You and Cook have perfect timing, as usual.”
“We try, Mrs. Lanchenbury. We try.” he answers, flushing at his mistress’ compliment as he discreetly deposits one egg next to Charles’ plate and one next to Lally’s. “Will there be anything else madam?”
Lally looks across the breakfast table set for two. There are several slices of Mrs. Sawyers’ homemade toast in the silver toast rack, butter in a glass dish, a tureen of porridge and a bowl of fruit. The teapot emits curlicues of steam from its spout as it sits squatly next to Charles’ teacup. “I don’t think so, Edgars, but I’ll ring if I do.”
“Very good Mrs. Lanchenbury.” the butler replies before retreating discreetly through the door he came in through and closes it behind him.
Lally goes to strike the top of her egg when Charles clears his throat rather loudly as he turns the page of the Daily Mirror. After many years of marriage, Lally knows this particular fruity clearing of his throat is the entrée to a conversation with her husband about something that is irking him, so she pushes her egg aside and picks up a slice of toast instead.
“Yes Charles?”
“Hhhmmm?” he answers with raised eyebrows without looking up from his newspaper.
“Don’t be obtuse, my dear.” Lally continues with great patience. “When you clear your throat like that, it usually indicates that something is irritating you. So come on then, Charles. What is it?”
“Oh it’s nothing, nothing at all, Lally darling.”
Lally’s brow crumples. “You and I have been married for too long to know that isn’t true.”
Charles closes his newspaper and folds it in half, paying undue attention to each fold, before placing it atop his copy of The Times to his right on the tabletop. He then turns to his wife, who has paused mid stroke of butter to her toast, looking at him with a piqued gaze. “What are you and Tice planning to do with your day, whilst I’m off to London?”
“Yes, I noticed your town suit as soon as I walked in. Must you go in today?”
“Father and I are meeting with a few potential investors this morning in town, so I fear I must.”
“Doesn’t your father ever have a holiday, Charles?” Lally shakes her head when her husband gives her a nonchalant shrug and then continues. “Well, whilst you’re in town, Tice and I are going to play tennis down at The Barrows with Nettie Fisher and Alice Newsome. Why? Surely you don’t object?”
“Why on earth would I object to you and Tice playing tennis with Nettie Fisher and Alice Newsome?”
“Well, something’s obviously irking you, this morning.” Lally says sulkily, finishing buttering her toast before returning it to resting on the edge of the faceted glass butter dish.
“So, she isn’t sick then?”
“Who? Nettie Fisher or Alice Newsome?” Lally asks in surprise. “No!”
“Not them, Tice!” Charles bristles. “Is Tice ailing for something?”
“Well yes,” Lally begins. “Well no… well…”
“It’s just,” Charles interrupts his wife’s deliberations over her sister’s wellbeing. “I happened to run into Mrs. Sawyer on my way into breakfast and she was carrying a tray for your sister up to her room. I would have thought she would be having breakfast with us.”
“Ahh,” Lally sighs, cocking her thinly plucked and shaped eyebrow and nodding. “So that’s what’s irking you. It’s the fact that I’m letting Tice take breakfast in bed. Is that it?”
“Well, now you come to mention it.” Charles admits. “It’s just if she isn’t ill, and she isn’t a married lady, Tice should be having breakfast down here with us****.”
“Charles, darling,” Lally reaches out her right hand and places it lovingly over her husband’s left hand as it rests on the edge of the table next to the butter dish. “You know full well that Tice is pining for Selwyn. Their forced separation is hurting her so badly. I just don’t want her to have to worry about facing us first thing in the morning, when she evidently isn’t up to it.”
“Are her loving sister and brother-in-law so taxing to her, Lally darling?” Charles asks with concern.
“You will be,” Lally withdraws her hand and cuts her buttered toast in half with crisp slices with her silver knife. “If you insist on being like the Spanish inquisition!”
“Come now Lally!” Charles chides. “I’m hardly that. It would be remiss of me not to ask after Tice’s health in the morning.”
“And it would be wrong of you to do so, when you know full well that she is unhappy and only pretending to be bright and gay because Mater told her to be.”
“Well, I just don’t think Sadie would approve.” He reaches over for his egg and gently taps the top, breaking the shell.
“Oh pooh, Sadie!” Lally utters, hitting her egg sharply with the flat of her spoon in irritation, breaking the shell and causing the top of the eggshell to implode and imbed itself into the white of the egg.
“Temper, temper, Lally dear.”
“This is my house, not Mater’s, so if she were here, she could jolly well keep her nose out of how I run it, thank you very much, Charles.”
Charles raises his hands in defence. “I’m only suggesting that you are doing the same to Tice as Cosmo did, when she went home to Glynes after all that bad business with Lady Zinnia about Selwyn.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’m merely implying, my dear, that you might be mollycoddling her a little. I was talking to Sadie at Christmas…”
“Oh not my mother again!” Lally’s eyes roll back in her head as she casts her frustrated glance to the ornate plaster ceiling above.
Ignoring his wife’s rude interruption, Charles continues, “I was taking to Sadie about Tice at Christmas, and she told me what your father did for Tice when she stayed at Glynes. Feeding her, her favourite shortbread, or allowing her to loll the morning away having breakfast in bed isn’t going to help Tice get on with things as Sadie suggested. I don’t always agree with your mother, but I happen to on this occasion. Tice can’t just spend a year withering away. She needs to get on with things.”
“Amazingly, I agree with Mater too, Charles.” Lally sighs. “However, Tice has been doing that with more gusto than I think she realised she had, and, well, Christmas has impacted her stamina. I just want to take care of Tice for a little bit, and allow her to recover. The best way I can do that is to let her come here and just be, Charles. She can be mopey and sullen, and she doesn’t have to pretend, here, within these four walls.”
“Well, I can’t say I entirely agree with your course of action, my dear, but then again, she isn’t my sister. I’m sure Mother, god rest her soul,” He casts his eyes upwards at the mention of his late mother. “Wouldn’t have let Penelope lie abed, even if she was suffering a broken heart.”
“But I’m not your mother, Charles.” Lally affirms with a steady voice. “And as you have acknowledged, she is my sister, so I will do what I think is best, and be damned for it if needs must. Anyway, I’m not entirely letting her off the hook. She has agreed to my suggestion of luncheon with Nettie and Alice today.”
“A tennis luncheon is hardly up to Tice’s usual standards of sociability, Lally.”
“That’s true Charles, but it’s a start. She didn’t object, like she did the other day when I suggested that we have luncheon with Lady Buchanan, so it’s a start.”
“I think I’d have objected if you suggested to me that we should have luncheon with Lady Buchanan.” Charles remarks disconcertedly. “Nasty old trout that she is.”
“Charles!” Lally exclaims as she bursts out laughing. “I never knew you despised her so.”
“Not despise, necessarily,” Charles answers, spooning up a mouthful of egg white as he tries to think of the right word. “More dislike intensely.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to deflect any dinner invites from the Major and Lady Buchanan, then.”
“I should think you would, Lally.”
“Anyway, going back to Tice. I’m also being a little selfish for having her here.”
“And how is that, Lally darling?”
“Well, I shall be happy to have her with me for company, since you are deserting me again so soon after New Year, as you set sail with your father, bound for Bombay on the P&O*****.”
“It’s not by choice, my darling, I can assure you.” Charles looks imploringly at his wife. “It’s father’s wish, just as it is his wish that I go up to town to see the investors he’s lined up for us to meet. Ever since Maison Lyonses****** at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue have accepted our Georgian Afternoon Tea blend to serve as their own on the beverages menu, we can’t seem to supply enough of the damn stuff for them. Hopefully with money from these prospective investors, we can expand the tea export business in India.”
“I know, Charles. I’ll just miss you, is all.”
“And I shall miss you.” Charles replies, reaching across the table with puckered lips, kissing his wife tenderly. “Perhaps when the baby is a bit older, you and the children can come out to India for a visit.”
“And join the ranks of insufferable Memsaabs******* on the subcontinent?” Lally balks. “No fear!”
“We’ll see.” Charles replies, knowingly.
“Anyway, you’ll be hundreds of miles away, chasing after dusky maidens around prospective tea plantations,” Lally adds cheekily in jest. “That you won’t be here to know what Tice and I get up to.”
“Well,” Charles swallows a mouthful of egg. “Just don’t mollycoddle her, is all I’m saying. It won’t do her any good.”
“I promise you, my darling, that I won’t.” Lally agrees. “Besides, I don’t know how long I’ll have Tice here for, anyway.”
“How so?”
“Oh, I was chatting with Aunt Egg on New Year’s Eve at Glynes, and she seems to have something up her sleeve for Tice.”
“Oh?” Charles queries.
“I don’t know exactly what. She mentioned something about a lady romance novelist.”
“Heavens!” Charles throws his hands up in despair. “Surely, she doesn’t intend for Tice to read any more of those appalling romance novels than she already does? That will only make her feel worse!”
“I don’t know Charles,” Lally replies. “You know how Aunt Egg can be when she has something half planned. None of it made much sense. But, I’m sure everything will make itself known in due course.”
*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
**It was a common occurrence in large and medium-sized houses that employed staff for the butler or chief parlour maid to iron the newspapers. The task of butlers ironing newspapers is not as silly as it sounds. Butlers were not ironing out creases, but were using the hot iron to dry the ink so that the paper could be easily read without the reader's ending up with smudged fingers and black hands, a common problem with newspapers in the Victorian and Edwardian ages.
***The HMS L24 was built by Vickers at their Barrow-in-Furness shipyard, launched on the 19th of February 1919, and completed at an unknown date. The boat was sunk with all hands lost in a collision with the battleship Resolution during an exercise off Portland Bill in the English Channel on the 10th of January 1924. A memorial is located in St Ann's Church in HMNB Portsmouth.
****Before the Second World War, if you were a married Lady, it was customary for you to have your breakfast in bed, because you supposedly don't have to socialise to find a husband. Unmarried women were expected to dine with the men at the breakfast table, especially on the occasion where an unmarried lady was a guest at a house party, as it gave her exposure to the unmarried men in a more relaxed atmosphere and without the need for a chaperone.
*****In 1837, the Peninsular Steam Navigation Company first secured a Government contract for the regular carriage of mail between Falmouth and the Peninsular ports as far as Gibraltar. The company, established in 1835 by the London shipbroking partnership of Brodie McGhie Willcox (1786-1861) and Arthur Anderson (1792-1868) and the Dublin Ship owner, Captain Richard Bourne (1880-1851) had begun a regular steamer service for passengers and cargo between London, Spain and Portugal using the 206 ton paddle steamer William Fawcett. The growing inclination of early Twentieth Century shipping enterprises to merge their interests, and group themselves together, did not go unnoticed at P&O, which made its first major foray in this direction in 1910 with the acquisition of Wilhelm Lund’s Blue Anchor Line. By 1913, with a paid-up capital of some five and half million pounds and over sixty ships in service, several more under construction and numerous harbour craft and tugs to administer to the needs of this great fleet all counted, the P&O Company owned over 500,000 tons of shipping. In addition to the principal mail routes, through Suez to Bombay and Ceylon, where they divided then for Calcutta, Yokohama and Sydney, there was now the ‘P&O Branch Line’ service via the Cape to Australia and various feeder routes. The whole complex organisation was serviced by over 200 agencies stationed at ports throughout the world. At the end of 1918, the Group was further strengthened by its acquisition of a controlling shareholding in the Orient Line and in 1920, the General Steam Navigation Company, the oldest established sea-going steamship undertaking, was taken over. In 1923 the Strick Line was acquired too and P&O became, for a time, the largest shipping company in the world. With the 1920s being the golden age of steamship travel, P&O was the line to cruise with. P&O had grown into a group of separate operating companies whose shipping interests touched almost every part of the globe. By March 2006, P&O had grown to become one of the largest port operators in the world and together with P&O Ferries, P&O Ferrymasters, P&O Maritime Services, P&O Cold Logistics and its British property interests, the company was, itself, acquired by DP World for three point three billion pounds.
******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.
*******Memsaab or Memsahib, a variation of Sahib, an Arabic term, which is also a loanword in several languages. Memsaab is a title for a woman in a position of authority and/or the wife of a Sahib.
This neat Georgian interior and fine breakfast fare may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The round breakfast table in the centre of the room, which tilts like a real loo table, is an artisan miniature from an unknown maker with a marquetry inlaid top, which came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. On its surface the crockery, silver cutlery and serviettes with their napkin rings came from online stockists of miniatures on E-Bay. The fruit bowl is a hand painted example of miniature artisan, Rachel Munday. The fruit inside it all comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The toast rack and egg cups come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The eggs in the egg cups are amongst some of the smallest miniatures I own, and came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The square of butter in the glass dish has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The 1:12 miniature copy of ‘The Mirror’ and ‘The Times’, is made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
The Chippendale style chairs surrounding the round breakfast table, and the carver chair in the background, are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.
The sideboard featuring fine marquetry banding and collapsible extensions at either end appears to have been made by the same unknown artisan who made the round table. This piece I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop at the same time as the table. The Georgian style silver lidded tureens on the sideboard’s surface I also acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The vase on the sideboard is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. Made of polymer clay the irises and foxgloves in the vase are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They came from a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.
The Regency corner cabinet with its elegant gilt detailing and glass door is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The beautiful collection of china on display inside the cabinet, like the vase on the sideboard, is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany.
The Georgian style paintings of silhouettes hanging around the room came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House shop, and the Chinese silk carpet came from an online stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.
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 at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Lettice is visiting her family home for Christmas and has stayed on to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them as well. Lettice is nursing a broken heart. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice to celebrate his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.
Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she stayed for a week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father fed her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up. However, rather than assuage her broken heart, her father’s ministrations only served to make matters worse as she grew even more morose. It was from the most unlikely of candidates, her mother Lady Sadie, with whom Lettice has always had a fraught relationship, that Lettice received the best advice, which was to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life: keep designing interiors, keep shopping and most importantly, keep attending social functions where there are plenty of press photographers. “You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn,” Lady Sadie said wisely. ‘But Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him. They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him that you share through the newspaper men. Tell them that you are waiting patiently for Selwyn’s return.”
Since then, Lettice has been trying to follow her mother’s advice and has thrown herself into the merry dance of London’s social round of dinners, dances and balls in the lead up to the festive season. However, even she could only keep this up for so long, and has been welcomed home with open and loving arms by her family for Christmas and the New Year.
It is New Year’s Eve 1923 and Lord Wrexham and Lady Sadie are hosting a lavish dinner party in the Georgian Glynes dining room. The grand room is cosy and warm with a roaring fire blazing in the white marble fireplace decorated with garlands of greenery and red satin bows decorated with golden baubles. Lady Sadie has taken some of the best red and white roses from the Glynes hothouses and filled vases with them around the room, giving the entire room a very festive appearance. Their sweet fragrance fills the air, a constant that intermixes with the aromas of each of the eight courses of the New Year dinner prepared in the Glynes kitchen by the Chetwynd’s cook, Mrs, Carsterton and her staff. The Chippendale dining table has been extended by an extra two leaves to allow for additional guests, and under the glow of the crystal chandelier above and candelabras along the table, glassware, gilt edged crockery and silver flatware gleam in the golden light.
The room is filled with vociferous conversation and laughter as the guests sit around the table, the formality of Lord Wrexham and Lady Sadie at either end as prescribed in the etiquette required of grander dinners, replaced with the informality of a family dinner, with the guests sitting wherever they please, although the Viscount still presides from his favourite carver at the head of the table. Joining them, in addition to Lettice, are the Chetwynd’s eldest son and heir, Leslie, his wife Arabella, her mother, the now widowed Lady Isobel, and Arabella’s elder brother and best friend to Leslie, Nigel, the newly minted Lord Tyrwhitt. Also, at the table sits Lettice’s elder sister Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally) and her husband Charles Lanchenbury. Joining them at the Glynes dining table are the Brutons, whose estate adjoins the Glynes Estate: Lord Bruton, Lady Gweneth, their eldest son Roland, and Lettice’s best childhood chum, their second son Gerald, who like Lettice has moved to London, and designs gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Finally to make up the numbers at the table is the Viscount’s younger bohemian artistic sister, Eglantyne (affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews).
Bramley, the Chetwynd’s faithful butler, assisted by Moira, one of the head parlour maids who has taken to assisting wait table at breakfast, luncheon and on informal occasions since the war, serve the third course of the evening: beautifully cooked moist roast beef with roasted potatoes, pumpkin, boiled carrots and peas. They serve the beef course, moving adeptly between the guests, who in spite of it being an informal occasion, are still dressed in full evening wear with the men in dinner jackets and white waistcoats and women a-glitter with jewels over their gowns.
“You know, Tice” Lally remarks to Lettice as she accepts the white gilt edged gravy boat of Mrs. Carsterton’s thick dark gravy from Lettice. “I don’t think Pappa and Mamma have thrown a New Year’s Eve dinner party since 1919.”
“Oh no, they did Lally,” corrects her sister kindly as she picks up her knife and fork. “It’s just you weren’t here.”
“When?” Lally asks, unable to keep the slight tone of offense out of her question as she drizzles gravy over her roast beef and vegetables.
“Two years ago,” her sister clarifies. “But you and Charles were at another party on New Year’s Eve 1921. It was much smaller too, with only Lord and Lady Bruton, Gerald and I in attendance.”
“Pardon me for overhearing,” Charles, Lally’s husband pipes up from his seat to the right of his wife, leaning in slightly as he speaks, champagne glass in hand. “But that was the year Father opened up Lanchenbury House for New Year for that rather… ahem!” He clears his throat awkwardly as he contemplates the correct word to use. “Artistic ball. Remember Lally?”
“Oh that’s right. Lord Lanchenbury threw a party in 1921. One of his rare moments largesse.” Lally remembers.
“Indeed yes.” her husband concurs with a scornful scoff. “Very rare.” He then returns his attention to Lettice and Lally’s Aunt Egg to his right.
“It was too good an opportunity for Charles and I to miss,” Lally goes on. “With him throwing open the doors of Lanchenbury house.” She muses, “I have to take my hat off to my father-in-law: it really was a rather marvellous party, full of interesting and artistic people. I’m quite sure Aunt Egg would have loved it.”
“Lord Lanchenbury never struck me as the artistic type, Lally.” Lettice remarks in surprise, cutting into her slice of roasted beef. “What with his serious nature, those glowering looks of his he gives us at any sign of perceived levity, and those old fashioned Victorian mutton chops of his*.”
“Oh he isn’t.” Lally replies assuredly picking up her own cutlery. “I think most of them were the friends of his Gaiety Girl** paramour of the moment, and her hangers-on, and their hangers on again. It really was quite bohemian.” Lally smiles as her sister suddenly blushes over her roast beef course.
“Lally!” Lettice gasps, glancing anxiously first at their father sitting next to her at the head of the table and then through the sparkling icicle crystal pendalogues*** of the candelabra in front of her and looks warily at their mother. Fortunately the Viscount is too busy greedily dissecting the slice of roast beef with fervour on the plate before him, and thankfully Lady Sadie seems to be engrossed in conversation with Leslie. “Really!”
“What?” queries her sibling with a peal of laughter. “Don’t tell me that I’ve shocked you again, Tice, with talk of my father-in-law’s penchant for a little paid companionship?”
“Well no.” lettice gulps. “But,” she adds, lowering her voice. “At the dinner table, Lally? In front of…” She eyes her parents. “Really? I’d hate for Pater or Mater to hear.”
“Oh Pater is too deaf, and Mater too self-absorbed in her own conversation.” Lally assures her sister.
As if on cue, her father pipes up gruffly, “What’s that Lally?”
Always quick with a smooth honeyed reply, Lettice’s elder sister answers, “I was just saying how good it is of you to throw a dinner party for all of us on New Year’s Eve, Pappa.”
“Of course it’s good of me.” her father mutters in self-satisfied reply. “Still, what’s the point of having a big, rambling old house like this if I can’t occasionally fill it with noise, laughter and Bright Young People**** according to my whims?” He reaches out his right hand and lovingly wraps it around his youngest daughter’s left hand as she lets go of her silver fork. “Eh?” He smiles beatifically at Lettice.
“Thank you, Pappa.” Lettice mutters as he lets go of her hand and she retrieves her fork from where it leans against the ruffled gilt edged rim of her plate. “It’s very kind of you.”
“Well, after the year we’ve all had, what with poor Sherbourne being gone, I felt it was important to bring us all together as a family.” He smiles at Lettice meaningfully again before resuming the dissection of his roast beef.
Lally looks ponderingly first at her sister, then her father and then back at her sister again. She waits a moment or two before asking in a whisper into her sister’s diamond earring bejewelled ear, “What was that all about, Tice?”
“I think Pater has an ulterior motive for hosting tonight, beyond the superficial idea of gathering us all together in the wake of Uncle Sherbourne’s death.” Lettice whispers in reply.
“Really?” Lally asks. “Do go on.”
“I think he also wanted to throw it for me, you see,” Lettice elucidates quietly. “To cheer me up. He paid me so much attention when I came home to Glynes after finding out what Lady Zinnia did with Selwyn to break our association.”
“Ahh.” Lally remarks, placing a morsel of beef and roast potato mixed with gravy on her tongue. She chews for a few moments, contemplating, before swallowing and continuing, “Well that makes sense. It’s very good of him to do it for you. Then again, you always were his favourite.”
“Lally!”
“It’s true, Tice,” Lally replies with a shrug of her shoulders. “But I bear no grudge. I was Granny Chetwynd’s favourite. We all have our favourites in life, even if it is prescribed that we aren’t supposed to.”
“Well, there was never any love lost between Granny Chetwynd and I. She was always so mean to me, whilst she doted on you, Lally. I think you could have spilt the contents of the whole gravy boat into the lap of a dress she bought you, and she would fuss over you.” Lettice declares. “Whereas if I spilt so much as a drop outside the rim of my plate, she’d loudly threaten to send me back to the nursery for the transgression.”
“Yes, I remember that, Tice. She could be horribly cutting with that acerbic tongue.”
“What do you mean by it being prescribed that we shouldn’t have favourites, Lally?”
“Oh well, as a parent, I’m constantly reminded by my friends not to have a favourite child.”
“But you do?” Lettice ventures gently.
“Of course, my dear! As my first born, and thankfully heir to appease Lord Lanchenbury, Harrold is my favourite.” A peal of joyful laughter erupts from her lips. “Surely you knew that, Tice.”
“No, I didn’t suspect that at all.”
“Well, it all evens out,” Lally replies, popping another mouthful of roast into her mouth, before continuing after swallowing, “Because Annabelle is her father’s favourite without question. Isn’t that right, my dear?” She addresses the question to her husband as she nudges him in the ribs with her elbow to get his attention.
“What’s that, my love?” Charles asks, leaning over to his wife.
“I was just telling Tice that Harrold is my favourite and Annabelle is yours, Charles.”
He looks almost apologetically across at Lettice. “I’m afraid it’s true, Tice. I can’t help but have a soft spot for her.”
Lettice laughs at her brother-in-law’s face as it softens with love for his daughter. “Whatever will you do, now that you have a third child?” She takes a sip of sparkling champagne.
“Oh don’t worry,” Lally pipes up. “Whilst he’s a baby, Tarquin is Nanny’s new favourite, so it all works out rather splendidly.”
“Quite splendidly.” agrees Charles. “And who knows, perhaps once he has formed into a forthright young man, he may even please my father enough to become his favourite.”
“Now let’s not wish that upon the poor baby.” Lally protests with a laugh.
Lettice takes a morsel of roasted potato and allows the delicious flavour to fill her mouth as she looks around her.
Her father sits happily at the head of the table in his favourite carver chair, enjoying playing host for his family and extended family, the pleasure clear on his face as he takes a mouthful of roast and washes it down with some red wine from his glass. To the Viscount’s left, Lady Sadie sits, dressed in a fine silk chiné gown of pastel pinks, blues and lilacs, a glass of champagne held daintily to her lips, ropes of pearls gracing her throat and tumbling down her front, as she listens to her favourite child, Leslie. Leslie in turn, the golden child, both figuratively and literally with his sandy blonde Chetwynd hair like Lettice’s, glows in the attention of his mother’s thrall as he talks about his plans for the Glynes estate for 1924.
To his left, Leslie’s wife, Arabella focusses upon her own mother, Lady Isobel, next to her. The recent death of Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt has left its mark upon Arabella and Lady Isobel. Both seem somewhat diminished as they lean their heads together, Arabella’s raven waves held with diamond clips at odds to her mother’s white ones, pinned up with pearls and gold. Lettice wonders how soon it will be before Arabella announces that she is pregnant. She knows her parents are most anxious that the pair settle down to start creating a family. On the other side of their mother, the new Lord Tyrwhitt, Nigel, sits quietly paying attention to what Lady Isobel is saying, his solicitousness towards his mother creating a pang in Lettice’s heart. She silently wonders what Nigel’s plans are for the Tyrwhitt Estate that borders that of Glynes. She knows that Nigel is trying valiantly to fill his father’s shoes, but she also knows that he is struggling to do so, particularly in light of how much in debt the new young lord finds himself. What will 1924 have in store?
Further down the table beyond an arrangement of Lady Sadie’s best red hothouse roses, Gerald sits. He catches Lettice glancing in his general direction, and he blows her a silent kiss as he winks conspiratorially at her. Unlike Arabella, Lady Isobel and Nigel, 1923 has been a good year for her oldest and dearest childhood chum. His small couturier in Grosvenor Street is finally starting to turn a profit, giving him the independence that he has craved since the end of the Great War, freeing him from the noose of his father’s household’s somewhat straitened financial circumstances. Whilst Gerald’s Grosvenor Street premises might still be furnished with the suite from Bruton House’s drawing room, Lettice feels it will only be a matter of time before she will be designing a new interior for him. Gerald has found new purpose in life, helping his young protégée Harriet Milford to build her millinery business in Putney, whilst at the same time pursuing a romantic interlude with one of Harriet’s boarders, the fey young oboist, Cyril. Whilst Gerald and Cyril must keep their love behind closed doors, shared only with the most trusted coterie of friends like Lettice and Harriet, Lettice is still happy that Gerald has found love at last, even if it is in in middle-class Putney.
Next to Gerald, at the foot of the table, his father, Lord Bruton sits, gruffly masticating his roast dinner. Even with his usual growliness, Gerald’s father seems to be in a cheerier mood this evening than Lettice has seen him in as of late. Earlier in the evening, Gerald attributed his good mood to a mixture of Lettice’s father’s largesse with his wine cellar and the successful sale of yet another parcel of the Bruton Estate, the funds raised which are finally being invested in much needed repairs to Bruton Hall’s roof. Whilst Lettice cannot not say that the Brutons have shed themselves of their penurious state of financial affairs, at least this time the money has not been frittered away by Gerald’s elder wastrel of a brother Roland, who sits opposite his brother in a state of ennui that he has no wish to hide from anyone. Doubtless he has an assignation planned with a local girl from the village, Lettice surmises.
To Roland’s left, his and Gerald’s mother Lady Gwenyth is also in good cheer as she twitters happily away with Aunt Egg. The two women are such opposites in some ways: Ant Egg’s angular features at odds with the soft jowly folds of Lady Gwenyth, Aunt Egg dressed in the bohemian style of one of her uncorseted Delphos dresses**** – much to the distaste of Lady Sadie – in a rich cherry red that almost matches Lady Sadie’s roses, and Lady Gwenyth arrayed in an old fashioned pre-war high necked gown of fading pastel satin. Yet they have in common the shared experience of a similar timeline, and it seems to bond them together strongly.
Next to Aunt Egg, Charles sips champagne quietly as he contemplates what 1924 holds for the Lanchenbury Tea business. Ever since Maison Lyonses****** at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue accepted Lord Lanchenbury’s Georgian Afternoon Tea blend to serve as their own on the beverages menu, he can’t seem to supply enough of the stuff for the tea drinking populace of London. He and Charles are looking to expand the tea export business in India, and already Lally has indicated that Charles will be setting sail for Bombay yet again in the early New Year.
And then next to Lettice is her elder sister, Lally. The sisters were once bitter enemies, thanks to some mischievous one-upmanship put in place by their mother, injecting poison into their relationship, but luckily for them they worked out what their mother was about and now Lettice feels closer to Lally than she has ever been.
“I say, Tice.” Lally says, breaking into Lettice’s deep contemplations. “Look, I know what Mater suggested you do in Selwyn’s absence.”
“You mean getting on with things, or trying to at any rate?” Lettice replies a little downheartedly.
“Yes.” Lally replies. “And you’ve done a splendid job of it from what I can gather.”
“Thank you.”
“But you must surely be longing for somewhere quiet just be yourself, broken heart and al, for these next few weeks after Christmas, and New Year.”
“Well that’s why I’ve come home to Glynes for Christmas and New Year, Lally. I always use Glynes as a place to retreat to, broken heart or not.”
“Yes, but you’ll be under Mater’s watchful eye.”
“And Pappa’s caring ministrations.” Lettice adds.
“Well, Pater isn’t the only one who can provide caring ministrations, Tice.”
“What are you trying to ask, Lally?”
“Well, with Charles going back to India with Lord Lanchenbury shortly, I wondered if you wouldn’t care to come and stay with me at Dorrington House for a few weeks. We had such a jolly time of it with the children after Uncle Sherbourne’s funeral, don’t you think?”
“Oh!” gasps Lettice, her right hand flying to her mouth. “Oh I’d love to, Lally! Thank you!”
“Excellent!” Lally claps her bejewelled hands together. “That settles it then. You’ll come stay with us after we leave here in a few days, and you can just be yourself. If that’s happy then all the better, and I hope that the children and I can create a good distraction for you. However, if you just want some quiet time alone with a change in scenery, then that’s perfectly acceptable too.”
“Ahem!” the Viscount clears his throat noisily and having finished his own plate of roast beef and vegetables, rises to his feet, the carver chair legs scraping across the parquet dining room floor shrilly. He taps his empty water glass with his marrow scoop******* “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could ask you all for your attention please,”
Everyone at the table pauses their conversation and all heads turn to the head of the table.
“After a year full of ups and downs,” the Viscount calls out loudly with his booming orator’s voice, usually reserved for the House of Lords, glancing first at Arabella and Lady Isobel, and then at Lettice, who blushes under her father’s concerned gaze. “I would just like to take this opportunity, whilst we are all seated together, to wish everyone here present, a very happy and prosperous nineteen twenty-four. However, since Sadie’s superstitious ideas,” He glances with mock criticism at his wife before reaching out his hand to her, which she takes lovingly. “Won’t allow me to wish you a happy new year until midnight, may I instead wish everyone good health and fortunes.”
“Good health and fortunes!” everyone echoes as they raise their glasses and clink them together happily.
*After a modest start in 1828 as a smoking room and soon afterwards as a coffee house, Simpson's-in-the-Strand achieved a dual fame, around 1850, for its traditional English food, particularly roast meats, and also as the most important venue in Britain for chess in the Nineteenth Century. Chess ceased to be a feature after Simpson's was bought by the Savoy Hotel group of companies at the end of the Nineteenth Century, but as a purveyor of traditional English food, Simpson's has remained a celebrated dining venue throughout the Twentieth Century and into the Twenty-First Century. P.G. Wodehouse called it "a restful temple of food"
**Nineteenth Century sideburns were often far more extravagant than those seen today, similar to what are now called mutton chops, but considerably more extreme. In period literature, "side whiskers" usually refers to this style, in which the whiskers hang well below the jaw line. The classic mutton chop is a type of beard in which the sideburns are grown out to the cheeks, leaving the moustache, soul patch, and chin clean-shaven. As with beards, sideburns went quickly out of fashion in the early Twentieth Century. In World War I, in order to secure a seal on a gas mask, men had to be clean-shaven; this did not affect moustaches.
***Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.
****Chandelier and candelabra crystals, which can be cut and polished into various shapes and sizes, are called pendalogues, though sometimes it's spelled pendeloques. Some common cuts of pendalogue include: Octagon: has eight sides and features various shapes of facet in tandem.
*****The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
******The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.
*******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.
********The marrow scoop was one of a number of utensils designed to serve and eat marrow, the jelly from beef bones. The savoury fattiness of marrow was highly prized and with the refinement of table manners in the Seventeenth Century, new implements evolved for eating it more elegantly. Marrow scoops were made in large numbers in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. In Victorian Edinburgh, for example, enthusiasts met at the Marrow Bone Club and each member had a heavy silver scoop ornamented with marrow bones. The marrow scoop was made in two forms. The first was a single-ended scoop with one narrow channel and a handle; this was easier to hold. The second was the double-ended scoop, where the unequal width of the channel enabled marrow to be extracted from large and small bones. Early pieces were broader and smaller than the elegant, elongated scoops of the mid and late Eighteenth Century. In the next century they were often made to match the rest of the cutlery service.
Contrary to what your eyes might tell you, this festive upper-class country house dinner party scene is actually made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Chippendale dining room table and matching chairs are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.
The table is set for a lavish Edwardian dinner party of eight courses when we are just witnessing the fourth course, a meat course, as it is served, using cutlery, from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The delicious looking roast dinner on the dinner plates, and the boat of gravy on the tabletop have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The red wine glasses bought them from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay. Each glass is hand blown using real glass. The white wine glasses I have had since I was a teenager. Also spun from real glass, I acquired them from a high street stockist of doll house and miniature pieces. The three prong candelabra with crystal lustres I acquired from the same shop at the same time. The glasses of champagne are also made from real glass and were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The empty champagne flutes, also made of real glass, I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The central hand spun glass bowl containing Lady Sadie's red roses also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures, as did all the roses around the room. The two single candelabras are sterling silver artisan miniatures, and came with their own hand made beeswax candles! The silver gravy boat and the cruet set on the table have been made with great attention to detail, and comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster. The Christmas garland hanging from it was hand made by husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio. On the mantlepiece stand two 1950s Limoges vases. Both are stamped with a small green Limoges mark to the bottom. These treasures I found in an overcrowded cabinet at the Mill Markets in Geelong. A third vase stands on the edge of a bonheur de jour to the left of the photo. Also standing on the mantlepiece are two miniature diecast lead Meissen figurines: the Lady with the Canary and the Gentleman with the Butterfly, hand painted and gilded by me. There is also a dome anniversary clock in the middle of the mantlepiece which I bought the same day that I bought the fireplace.
To the left of the photo stands an artisan bonheur de jour (French lady's writing desk). A gift from my Mother when I was in my twenties, she had obtained this beautiful piece from an antique auction. Made in the 1950s of brass it is very heavy. It is set with hand-painted enamel panels featuring Rococo images. Originally part of a larger set featuring a table and chairs, or maybe a settee as well, individual pieces from these hand-painted sets are highly collectable and much sought after. I never knew this until the advent of E-Bay!
The Hepplewhite chair with the lemon satin upholstery in the background was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
All the paintings around the Glynes dining room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper from the 1770s.
a journey into the past
visiting the ballenberg museum ....
Mon pays était beau
Mon pays était beau
D'une beauté sauvage
Et l'homme le cheval et le bois et l'outil
Vivaient en harmonie
Jusqu'à ce grand saccage
Personne ne peut plus simplement vivre ici
Il pleut sur ce village
Aux ruelles obscures
Et rien d'autre ne bouge
Le silence s'installe au pied de notre lit
O silence
Tendre et déchirant violon
Gaie fanfare
Recouvre-nous
Du grand manteau de nuit
De tes ailes géantes
Mon pays était beau
D'une beauté sauvage
Et l'homme le cheval et le bois et l'outil
Vivaient en harmonie
Jusqu'à ce grand saccage
Personne ne peut plus simplement vivre ici
Jean Ferrat
Warrock Station.Warrock sheep station is fairly typical of most Australia Felix properties (well watered, near a river, taken up by settlers from Launceston, who were also Scots etc.) Warrock near the Glenelg River is ideal for sheep and its origins go back to 1843 when the NSW government was allowing pastoral runs in this region. The original owners from Van Diemen’s Land soon sold to a Scot named George Robertson who took over the run of 11,700 acres in 1844. He had landed at Portland from Launceston. As a former cabinetmaker he spent the next thirty years designing wooden and sometimes brick Gothic style structures for his property. He built 57 wooden and brick structures plus the homestead which he kept enlarging from the original 1844 wooden structure. Thirty-three of the buildings are now heritage listed. Robertson’s cousin took out nearby Wando Vale run which adjoined Edward Henty’s run of Muntham (57,000 acres). (But the Hentys of Portland had other major runs too -Merino Downs, 23,500 acres and Sandford 15,700 acres.) Robertson married a cousin from Wando Vale but they had no children. When George Robertson died in 1890 he left Warrock to a nephew George Patterson. The leasehold of Warrock was converted to freehold in 1872. The Patterson family kept the property until 1992. Not only is this the most amazing sheep station in Australia but it is also the home of the Kelpie breed of sheep dog. The first Kelpie pup recognised as this breed was born on Warrock in the 1870s. Do not miss the brick dog kennels. Nearby Casterton has an annual Kelpie festival and a statue of a Kelpie adorns the entrance to Casterton. The dog is named after the mythological kelpie (horse like or even human like inhabitant of lochs etc) in Scottish folklore. Legend has it that kelpies emerged from the Scotch Collies which were crossbred with dingoes on the station. Kelpies are now famed sheep dogs used around the world.
Kuchnia w jednym kolorze
Płytki ceramiczne, szkło, metal, a może materiał w dokładnie takim samym dekorze jak blat czy szafki kuchenne? Decyzja o tym jaki materiał znajdzie się na kuchennych ścianach między dolnymi i górnymi szafkami, wbrew pozorom nie musi być trudna – nawet gdy zależy nam...
...enjoying a cup of tea....in a cup not used for such a long time...but today the setting just called for it!
....in English classes....We made Christmas ornaments from salted dough, baked orange slices and angels from these magical wrapping papers, bought at Ikea years ago.
Well, the angels will actually be finished in the next week's classes. We need to make their cute, little heads from yarn.
To view more of my images, of Sissinghurst Castle & Gardensl, please click "here" !
Vita Sackville-West, the poet and writer, began the transforming Sissinghurst Castle in the 1930s with her diplomat and author husband, Harold Nicolson. Harold's architectural planning of the garden rooms, and the colourful, abundant planting in the gardens by Vita, reflect the romance and intimacy of her poems and writings. Sissinghurst Castle was the backdrop for a diverse history; from the astonishing time as a prison in the 1700s, to being a home to the women’s land army. It was also a family home to some fascinating people who lived here or came to stay. Today you can take in the ruined architecture of the extensive original buildings, vast panoramic views from the top of the Tower, the current working farm and the 450-acre wider estate along with Vita and Harold's gardens. Now we're well into our new season there are lots of events for you to enjoy. The National Trust took over the whole of Sissinghurst, its garden, farm and buildings, in 1967. The garden epitomises the English garden of the mid-20th century. It is now very popular and can be crowded in peak holiday periods. In 2009, BBC Four broadcast an eight-part television documentary series called Sissinghurst, describing the house and garden and the attempts by Adam Nicolson and his wife Sarah Raven, who are 'Resident Donors', to restore a form of traditional Wealden agriculture to the Castle Farm. Their plan is to use the land to grow ingredients for lunches in the Sissinghurst restaurant. A fuller version of the story can be found in Nicolson's book, Sissinghurst: An Unfinished History (2008). The garden at Sissinghurst Castle in the Weald of Kent, in England at Sissinghurst village, is owned and maintained by the National Trust. It is among the most famous gardens in England. Sissinghurst's garden was created in the 1930s by Vita Sackville-West, poet and gardening writer, and her husband Harold Nicolson, author and diplomat. Sackville-West was a writer on the fringes of the Bloomsbury Group who found her greatest popularity in the weekly columns she contributed as gardening correspondent of The Observer, which incidentally—for she never touted it—made her own garden famous. The garden itself is designed as a series of 'rooms', each with a different character of colour and/or theme, the walls being high clipped hedges and many pink brick walls. The rooms and 'doors' are so arranged that, as one enjoys the beauty in a given room, one suddenly discovers a new vista into another part of the garden, making a walk a series of discoveries that keeps leading one into yet another area of the garden. Nicolson spent his efforts coming up with interesting new interconnections, while Sackville-West focused on making the flowers in the interior of each room exciting. For Sackville-West, Sissinghurst and its garden rooms came to be a poignant and romantic substitute for Knole, reputedly the largest house in Britain, which as the only child of Lionel, the 3rd Lord Sackville she would have inherited had she been a male, but which had passed to her cousin as the male heir. The site is ancient— "hurst" is the Saxon term for an enclosed wood. A manor house with a three-armed moat was built here in the Middle Ages. In 1305, King Edward I spent a night here. In 1490, Thomas Baker purchased Sissinghurst. The house was given a new brick gatehouse in the 1530s by Sir John Baker, one of Henry VIII's Privy Councillors, and greatly enlarged in the 1560s by his son Sir Richard Baker, when it became the centre of a 700-acre (2.8 km2) deer park. In 1573, Queen Elizabeth I spent three nights at Sissinghurst. Rose arbour in Sissinghurst's White Garden room, which set a fashion for 'white gardens' After the collapse of the Baker family in the late 17th century, the building had many uses: as a prisoner-of-war camp during the Seven Years' War; as the workhouse for the Cranbrook Union; after which it became homes for farm labourers. Sackville-West and Nicolson found Sissinghurst in 1930 after concern that their property Long Barn, near Sevenoaks, Kent, was close to development over which they had no control. Although Sissinghurst was derelict, they purchased the ruins and the farm around it and began constructing the garden we know today. The layout by Nicolson and planting by Sackville-West were both strongly influenced by the gardens of Gertrude Jekyll and Edwin Lutyens; by the earlier Cothay Manor in Somerset, laid out by Nicolson's friend Reginald Cooper, and described by one garden writer as the "Sissinghurst of the West Country"; and by Hidcote Manor Garden, designed and owned by Lawrence Johnston, which Sackville-West helped to preserve. Sissinghurst was first opened to the public in 1938.
An oast, oast house or hop kiln is a building designed for kilning hops as part of the brewing process. They can be found in most hop-growing areas and are often good examples of vernacular architecture. Many redundant oasts have been converted into houses
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