Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat. Instead, we are in central London, near the palace of Westminster and the Thames embankment at the very stylish Metropole Hotel*, where Lettice’s latest client, American film actress Wanetta Ward is living whilst her Edwardian Pimlico flat is redecorated by Lettice. We find ourselves in the busy dining room of the hotel where the gentle burble of voices fills the room and mixes with the sound of silver cutlery against the blue banded gilt hotel crockery, the clink of glasses raised and the strains of popular Edwardian music from the small palm court quartet playing discreetly by a white painted pillar. Surrounded by suited politicians and a smattering of older women, Lettice and Miss Ward sit at a table for two where a splendid selection of sweet and savory afternoon tea has been presented to them on a fluted glass cake stand by a smartly dressed waiter.

 

“Isn’t this fun?” Miss Ward giggles delightedly, looking at the delicacies placed before them. “Taking afternoon tea in London. What a wonderfully British thing to do. I’ve really taken to enjoying this rather quaint observance.” Pouring coffee from a silver coffee pot with an ebonised handle into her cup, she takes a sip. “Ugh!” she exclaims as she shudders and pulls a face. “Which is more than I can say for this sludge you British call coffee.” With a look of distain, she deposits the cup back into its saucer with a loud clatter. “No one makes coffee like we do back home.”

 

“Perhaps you might care for tea?” Lettice remarks quietly and diplomatically, indicating to the silver teapot beside her. “We’re very well known for our excellent tea.”

 

“Ugh!” Miss Ward says again, only this time without the melodrama of face pulling. “I think I’ll stick to the sludge, if it’s all the same to you, darling. You people might have conquered India and her tea plantations, but no-one makes tea like they do in Shanghai.” She sighs. “It’s almost an art form.”

 

“Perhaps we should have had cocktails then.”

 

“Now you’re talking, darling girl.”

 

“Only it might be frowned upon – two ladies alone, sitting and drinking in a hotel dining room.”

 

“See,” Miss Ward remarks in a deflated tone. “It’s like I told you when we met at my flat. You British are all a bunch of stuffed shirts**.” Looking around at the table of older gentlemen next to them, enjoying a fine repast as well as some good quality claret from a faceted glass decanter, she adds somewhat conspiratorially with a flick of her eyes, “And they don’t get much more stuffed that this bunch of politicians.”

 

“Are you always so frank, Miss Ward?”

 

“I’m American, darling. We’re known for our frankness as much as you are known for your diplomacy. I’d be letting the home side down if I wasn’t, especially whilst on foreign soil. Anyway,” she continues as a burst of guffaws come from the table as the gentlemen laugh at something one of them said. “I think they have been here for most of the afternoon, and that isn’t their first bottle. They aren’t going to pay enough attention to either of us to care what we two ladies are saying. I think they are happy if our secret women’s business stays secret. Don’t you agree Miss Chetwynd?”

 

Lettice discreetly looks over at them, noticing their florid faces and slightly rheumy eyes. “Yes, most probably.”

 

“In spite of the sludge they pass off as coffee here, I can say that afternoon tea at the Metropole is delicious.” The American woman picks up the cake stand and holds it aloft before Lettice for her to select a petit four. “Here! Try one.”

 

“I haven’t been here since before the war.” Lettice remarks, choosing a ham and tomato savoury before gazing around the room at the elegant Georgian revival furnishings, the restrained Regency stripe wallpaper, the watercolours of stately British homes in gilt frames and the white linen covered tables with stylish floral arrangements on each.

 

“Has it improved?”

 

“In looks, undoubtedly. It used to be very Victorian: lots of flocked wallpaper, dark furniture and red velvet. No, this is much brighter and more pleasant. The food however,” Lettice glances at the pretty petit four on her plate. “Is yet to be tested.” She picks up her cup and sips her tea. “Do you have your first script from Islington Studios*** yet, Miss Ward?”

 

“Oh I do, darling!” Miss Ward’s eyes grow wide and glisten with excitement. “The film is called ‘After the Ball is Over’. It’s a bit of a Cinderella story. A beautiful girl, despised by her haughty stepmother and stepsister wins the heart of a local lord, all set against the beautiful English countryside.” She picks an egg and lettuce savoury from the cake stand and takes a larger than polite bite from it before depositing the remains on her own plate.

 

“And are you the heroine?”

 

“Good heavens, no!” Miss Ward nearly chokes on her mouthful of egg and pastry. Placing the back of her hand to her mouth rather than her napkin, she coughs roughly, finishes her mouthful and then adds, “I’d rather die than play the heroine! They are always such insipid characters.” She pulls a face and then clears her throat of the last remaining crumbs. “No, I’m playing the stepsister, who uses her womanly wiles to charm the local lord in the first place.” She lowers her kohl lined eyes and smiles seductively. “She’s much more fun as a character, as are all mistresses and villainesses. Just think about the faerie tales you read when you were a girl. What a dull life Snow White or Cinderella would have led were it not for their wicked stepmothers.”

 

“I’d never considered that.” Lettice takes a small bite from her savoury.

 

“Trust me, I may not win the hearts of the audience, but I’ll be more memorable for playing the baddie than I ever would be for playing the helpless heroine.”

 

“How shockingly cynical, Miss Ward.”

 

“Cynical yes,” The American looks thoughtfully towards the ceiling for a moment before continuing, “But also truthful.”

 

“Well,” Lettice says a little reluctantly. “Thinking of truth, you haven’t invited me to afternoon tea just so I can enjoy the selection of sweet and savoury petit fours.” She withdraws her folio from beside her seat and places it on the table.

 

“Ahh!” Miss Ward’s green eyes sparkle with excitement. “The designs for my flat! I finally get to see them!” She rubs her elegant hands with their painted fingernails together gleefully.

 

“Now first, your boudoir.” Lettice withdraws a small pencil and watercolour sketch.

 

The sight of the picture makes Miss Ward gasp with delight as she stretches out her fingers to clutch the drawing. Bringing it closer to her, her painted lips curl up in pleasure.

 

“I thought a treatment of gold embellishment and brocade on black japanned furnishings might give a sense of luxury. I have kept the white ceiling, and white linens for the bed, but as you can see I’ve included some elements of red to bring that exotic oriental feel to the room you so wanted.”

 

“Delicious darling girl!” Miss Ward enthuses. “I have to admit, you were right when you said that white wouldn’t be boring if you used it. It helps balance the intensity of the black, red and gold.”

 

“I’m pleased you approve, Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh I do!” She hands the drawing back to Lettice. “What else?”

 

Lettice shows her a few more sketches showing her designs for the dressing room and the vestibule until she finally reaches the two for the drawing room and dining room. She places them on top of her folio, the pools of garish colour standing out against the white linen of the tablecloth and the buff of her folio.

 

“I remembered you telling me how much you like yellow, Miss Ward, but try as I might, I remain unconvinced that yellow walls are a suitable choice.” The American glances first at the drawings and then at Lettice but says nothing. “The colour is bold, and I know you wanted boldness,” Lettice continues. “But since we are being truthful, this strikes me as showy and déclassé.”

 

“Déclassé, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Inferior and lacking in the class and elegance of the other rooms’ schemes.”

 

Miss Ward leans forward and picks up the drawing room painting, scrutinising it through narrowed eyes. Dropping it back down, she picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip before asking with a shrug, “Alright, so what do you suggest then?”

 

“Well, it’s funny you should be holding your cup while you ask, Miss Ward.” Lettice observes astutely.

 

“My coffee cup?” Miss Ward holds the cup in front of her and screws up her nose in bewilderment. “You want to paint the walls coffee coloured?”

 

“Oh no, Miss Ward,” Lettice cannot help but allow a small chuckle of relief escape her lips. “No, I was referring more to the outside, which is blue with a gold trim. Here, let me show you what I mean.” She reaches inside her folio and withdraws a piece of wallpaper featuring a geometric fan design in rich navy blue with gold detailing. “I thought we might paper the walls instead, with this.” She holds it out to her client. “It’s very luxurious, and it makes a bold statement, but with elegance. I thought with a suitable array of yellow venetian glass and some pale yellow oriental ceramics, this would both compliment any yellow you add to the room, and give you that glamour and sophistication you desire.”

 

Lettice doesn’t realise it, but she holds her breath as the American picks up the piece of wallpaper and moves it around so that the gold outlines of the fans are caught in the light of the chandeliers above. The pair sit in silence - Lettice in anxiety and Miss Ward in contemplation – whilst the sounds of the busy dining room wash about them.

 

“Pure genius!” Miss Ward declares, dropping the wallpaper dramatically atop Lettice’s sketches.

 

“You approve then, Miss Ward?” Lettice asks with relief.

 

“Approve? I love it, darling girl!” She lifts her savoury to her mouth and takes another large bite.

 

“I’m so pleased Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh it will be a sensation, darling! Cocktails surrounded by golden fans! How delicious.” She replies with her mouth half full of egg, lettuce and pastry. She rubs her fingers together, depositing the crumbs clinging to them onto her plate. “And it will compliment my yellow portrait so well, you clever girl.”

 

“Your, yellow portrait, Miss Ward?” Lettice queries, her head on an angle.

 

“Yes, didn’t I tell you?”

 

“Ahh, no.”

 

“Well, I had my portrait painted whilst I was in Shanghai, draped in beautiful yellow oriental shawls. It’s really quite striking,” she declares picking up the remnants of her savoury. “Even if I do say so myself.”

 

“For above the fireplace?”

 

“Oh no! My Italian landscape will go there.”

 

“Your Italian landscape?”

 

“Yes, I bought it off a bankrupt merchant in Shanghai trying to get back home to the States along with a few other nice paintings.”

 

“How many paintings do you have, Miss Ward?”

 

She contemplates and then silently starts counting, mouthing the numbers and counting on her fingers. “Eleven or so. My beloved brother had them packed up and sent over. They should be arriving from Shanghai in Southampton next week. I’ll get them sent directly to the flat. I’ll leave it up to you darling girl to decide as to where they hang.”

 

“You are full of surprises, Miss Ward.” Lettice remarks with a sigh, picking up her teacup and taking a sip from it.

 

“Evidently, so are you,” the American replies, indicating with her eyes to the wallpaper. “I wasn’t expecting anything as modern and glamourous as that in London!”

 

Smiling, Lettice says, “We aim to please, Miss Ward.”

 

*Now known as the Corinthia Hotel, the Metropole Hotel is located at the corner of Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall Place in central London on a triangular site between the Thames Embankment and Trafalgar Square. Built in 1883 it functioned as an hotel between 1885 until World War I when, located so close to the Palace of Westminster and Whitehall, it was requisitioned by the government. It reopened after the war with a luxurious new interior and continued to operate until 1936 when the government requisitioned it again whilst they redeveloped buildings at Whitehall Gardens. They kept using it in the lead up to the Second World War. After the war it continued to be used by government departments until 2004. In 2007 it reopened as the luxurious Corinthia Hotel.

 

**The phrase “stuffed shirt” refers to a person who is pompous, inflexible or conservative.

 

***Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.

 

An afternoon tea like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate each sweet or savoury petit four on the cake plate, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau:

 

The savoury petite fours on the lower tier of the cake stand and the sweet ones on the upper tier 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. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height! The selection includes egg and lettuce, ham and tomato, Beluga caviar, salmon and cucumber and egg, tomato and cucumber savouries and iced cupcakes for the sweet petit fours.

 

The blue banded hotel crockery has been made exclusively for Doll House Suppliers in England. Each piece is fashioned by hand and painted by hand. Made to the highest quality standards each piece of porcelain is very thin and fine. If you look closely, you might even notice the facets cut into the milk jug. Several pieces of the same service appear on the table in the background and the tiered sideboard to the left of the table.

 

The fluted glass cake stand, the glass vase on Lettice and Miss Ward’s table and the red roses in it were all made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The cake stand and the vase have been hand blown and in the case of the stand, hand tinted. The teapot is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The coffee pot with its ornate handle and engraved body is one of three antique Colonial Craftsman pots I acquired from a seller on E-Bay. The two matching pots are on the sideboard in the background. Lettice’s folio was made by British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Lettice’s interior design paintings are 1920s designs. They are sourced from reference material particular to Art Deco interior design in Britain in the 1920s.

 

The Chippendale dining room 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.

 

On the table in the background luncheons of fish and salad and spaghetti bolognaise are waiting to be eaten. The fish and salad plates are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures and the plates of spaghetti bolognaise are made by Frances Knight. The vases of flowers on the table and on the stands are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The three plant stands are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, whilst the sideboard is made by high-end miniature furniture maker JBM.

How did the medieval European elites (say, top 0.1%) used to dine? Here is an interpretation.

 

November 2020, Miami, Florida.

Alternative for Our Daily Challenge ... coffee

 

I enjoy a puzzle with my morning coffee ... and I prefer a Cappuccino! This cup is an OP-shop purchase and it came in very handy today.

My wonderful Husband offered up this yummy peppermint drink with candy cane one evening this week. Awesome!!

Daniel Barter Photography on Facebook

 

My Website

 

This weekend, I came across a quite novel derelict inn. Which to it's great credit had a bizarre mix of modern and antique interiors. Themed dinning has never looked this good.

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 southeast of Lettice’s flat at the Savoy Hotel*, where a lavish wedding breakfast** is being held for two of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie of bright young things who have just been married at St. Mark’s Church, North Audley Street***: Dickie Channon, eldest surviving son of the Marquess of Taunton, and the newly minted Margot Channon, only daughter of Lord Charles and Lady Lucie de Virre.

 

“Cheers to you, dear Gerald.” Lettice remarks, raising her glass of glittering golden champagne to her friend.

 

“To me?” Gerald almost chokes on his last mouthful of cheese as he dabs at his mouth daintily with a fine damask napkin. “Whatever for, Lettuce…” He pauses mid nickname as he remembers they are not alone. As if pretending to clear his throat of water cracker biscuit crumbs he coughs. “Ahem… Lettice. Why me? Why not the bride and groom? This is,” He waves his hand about expansively. “After all, for them.”

 

“Oh, there will be plenty of that shortly with the dreaded speeches.” Lettice smiles, grateful that Gerald didn’t call her by her abhorred nickname within public earshot. “No, this is your moment too, as well as theirs.”

 

“I don’t see how you’ve come to that conclusion my dear. This isn’t my wedding.”

 

“Well no, it isn’t Gerald, not in name,” she indicates languidly over to Margot sitting at the bridal table next to Dickie, beaming with such happiness and looking radiant. “But it is your wedding gown that is on show today. And Margot is the perfect mannequin to show it off.”

 

“Do you really like it, Lettice?” Gerald barely dares to ask in a whisper, leaning forward his eyes sparkling with hope. “You aren’t just saying that because you’re my oldest and dearest chum?”

 

“Like it, Gerald?” Lettice stares at Gerald in amazement. “That daring asymmetrical hemline of satin and tulle, the cap sleeves, the boat neckline and that divine embroidery I’ve seen you work on for months: I absolutely love it! Margot will be the bride of the Season.”

 

“Do you really think so, darling?”

 

“You mark my words, Gerald. Just look at all the photographers outside St. Mark’s, waiting for a chance to capture the bride on the steps!” She thinks back to the last hour where the burst of flashbulbs that went off as Dickie and Margot stepped out of the chapel doors was blinding. “She’ll be in every society page up and down the country, in your dress, darling! A Gerald Bruton original.”

 

“Gosh! That is a rather thrilling thought.” Gerald smiles proudly as he tugs awkwardly at his collar.

 

A Savoy waiter discreetly reaches forth with white gloved hands and clears away the white gilt cheese plates and cheese and fruit knives.

 

“Thrilling? I’ll say Gerald! This will truly be the making of you, my clever darling. Cheers!”

 

Lettice raises her glass towards Gerald again, who this time lifts his own in return, the clink drowned out by the sounds of a string quartet playing salon music, vociferous chatter, and the scrape of silver against crockery as the wedding guests around them finish their cheese and fruit before desserts are served.

 

“Just think of all the future young brides here who will each want a frock equally as exquisite as Margot’s.” Lettice remarks before taking a sip of champagne. “Designed by you, of course darling.”

 

“Of course, darling!”

 

Sipping his own champagne, Gerald looks around the private dining room of the Savoy with its gold flocked wallpaper, gilt mirrors and Edwardian style Rococo inspired furnishings. Around the tables decorated with champagne and gold roses in crystal vases, several clusters of young women chat conspiratorially with heads as closely together as their picture hats will allow. He notices one group at a nearby table where a girl, caught pointing by his gaze, is indicating to him. She smiles shyly and quickly lowers her hand. He smiles broadly in return and raises his glass to her in acknowledgement. She takes up her own glass in return.

 

“See,” Lettice remarks proudly as she places a comforting hand upon her friend’s forearm. “You will have blushing brides-to-be and their mothers flocking to you before the fortnight is out.”

 

“Just the same, I don’t think the Marchioness of Taunton approved.” Gerald adds. “She did look rather grim throughout the ceremony as she watched Dickie and Margot get married.”

 

“Oh, pooh the Marchioness!” Lettice counters, looking to Margot’s mother-in-law who sits stiffly by her husband’s side wearing an old fashioned looking picture hat adorned with large silk flowers that perfectly match the powder blue shade of her very conservative and rather dowdy dress, a look of general distain on her sharp features as she looks down her nose at the happy wedding guests in her view. “I think she would look grim no matter what. Before the war, it was Harry who was heir apparent, not Dickie. I’m sure she imagined the heir to the Taunton title marrying someone more fitting than the daughter of a trade bought title like Lord de Virre. However, the dowery that that he brings to the marriage will be welcome in the Taunton coffers, I’m sure.”

 

“Lettice!” Gerald looks around him nervously, hoping that none of the other guests heard his friend speak so candidly about something that is commonly known, but seldom raised, especially somewhere so public.

 

“Lord de Virre told me so himself.” Lettice admits.

 

“Lady de Virre confided in me too,” Gerald adds quickly in an effort to change the subject. “That Vogue have asked for copies of the studio wedding photographs.”

 

“Well, that is exciting, Gerald! Your first appearance in Vogue!” Lettice enthuses. “The first of many, I’m sure. And today is Tuesday, so some of Margot and Dickie’s wealth is bound to rub off on you.”

 

“Whatever do you mean?”

 

“Well, you know the old rhyme, ‘marry on Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth’**** and so on.”

 

“I didn’t take you for believing in such superstitious nonsense, Lettice.” Gerald cocks an eyebrow in surprise at her.

 

“Oh I don’t,” she flaps the thought away as if it were cigarette smoke with her elegantly bejewelled hand. “But it was always a rhyme I remember Nanny Webb singing to me, no doubt under the Mater’s influence.”

 

Lettice looks over to the table where her parents sit. Lady Sadie is engrossed in a conversation over an arrangement of golden yellow roses with a grey haired old dowager wearing several strings of pearls about her neck and a haughty look of distain on her face as she catches Lettice’s eye. Lettice cringes.

 

“Is Sadie playing matchmaker with Lady Faversham?” Gerald asks discreetly, looking in the same direction as Lettice.

 

“Scheming more like.” Lettice mutters. “Do you know she has asked Sir John Nettleford-Hughes to the Hunt Ball after Christmas as a potential suitor for me?” Lettice screws up her nose.

 

“Sir John Nettleford-Hughes! Isn’t he in his mid-fifties?”

 

“More like his sixties!”

 

“Well, he’ll be in good company with Lady Faversham’s unmarried eldest son.”

 

“She doesn’t have an unmarried son too, does she?” Lettice’s eyes grow wide and her face pales at the thought, until she sees the cheeky smile on Gerald’s face as he raises his napkin to his lips attempting to hide it. “Oh you!” she hisses, slapping his wrist playfully and smiling.

 

“At least I made you smile.” Gerald says kindly.

 

“You will come to the Hunt Ball, won’t you darling?” Lettice’s squeeze of her friend’s left wrist highlighting the desperation of her plea.

 

“If we’re invited. The Brutons of leaky roofed Bruton Hall don’t have the panache of Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, not to mention the bank balance.”

 

“Of course you’ll be invited!” Lettice replies in outrage. “It’s traditional. Why you’re practically family being our neighbours. I’ll invite you all if Mater doesn’t: you, your mother, your brother and your father! You must come and rescue me from all the horrors Mater is planning to invite.”

 

“As a penniless spare to the heir, who earns his living making frocks for his financial betters: I’m hardly a suitable match for you to dance with at the ball, Lettice.” He smiles assuringly at his friend across the table and then places his own right hand over hers as it rests across his left wrist. “Who else am I protecting you from the attentions of?”

 

“Jonty Hastings.”

 

“Good god! Howling Hastings! I haven’t seen him since we were in the nursery. Didn’t we used to lock him in the airing cupboard at Bruton Hall?” Gerald asks mischievously.

 

“I’d forgotten that!” Lettice muffles her laughs with her napkin. ‘I think that’s why we gave him that nickname.”

 

“I think that might be the reason why we haven’t seen him since we were children.” Gerald chuckles. “Who else is Sadie pulling out of mothballs for you?”

 

The discreet gloved hands of the Savoy waiter places a blackberry tart topped with clotted cream, garnished with thinly sliced citrus in front of Lettice and Gerald.

 

“Tarquin Howard, Edward Lambley, Selwyn Spencely.” Lettice elucidates after the waiter withdraws.

 

“At least they are more our age,” Gerald says hopefully. “And Selwyn is dishy to boot.”

 

“Oh, you’re as bad as Mater!” Lettice flicks her napkin at him as she prepares to take a mouthful of her tart. “Can you believe she actually offered to show me his photograph in one of her magazines?”

 

“Well, I shouldn’t have minded that.” Gerald replies, uttering a satisfied sigh as he tastes the delicious dessert before him.

 

“Better you than me, Gerald. Do you know what else Mater said to me?”

 

Gerald looks questioningly to her, waiting for Lettice to continue.

 

“She said that Dickie and Margot only asked me to decorate their country house because they are my friends.”

 

“Well, they are, Lettice.”

 

“Yes, but she implied that my decorating isn’t good enough for anyone to put up with unless they are my friends.”

 

“She only said that to make you pack it all in so she can marry you off more easily, like she did your sister. But you and I know better.” Gerald says comfortingly. He picks up his champagne glass again and points it towards Lettice’s. “Pick up your glass, darling.”

 

Lettice looks questioningly at her friend as she wraps her fingers around the stem of her glass.

 

“Here’s to your success.” Gerald says, clinking her glass. “To the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd, successful society interior designer, and the best friend I could ever ask for!”

 

Lettice laughs, awarding Gerald with her beautiful smile.

 

*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London, England. 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 luxury hotel in Britain, introducing 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.

 

**A wedding breakfast is a feast given to the newlyweds and guests after the wedding, making it equivalent to a wedding reception that serves a meal. The phrase is still used in British English, as opposed to the description of reception, which is American in derivation. Before the beginning of the Twentieth Century they were traditionally held in the morning, but this fashion began to change after the Great War when they became a luncheon. Regardless of when it was, a wedding breakfast in no way looked like a typical breakfast, with fine savoury food and sweet cakes being served. Wedding breakfasts were at their most lavish in the Edwardian era through to the Second World War.

 

***St. Mark’s Church Mayfair, is a Grade I listed building, in the heart of London's Mayfair district, on North Audley Street. St Mark's was built between 1825 and 1828 as a response to the shortage of churches in the area. The population in Mayfair had grown with the demand for town houses by the aristocracy and the wealthy, as they moved in from the country. The building was constructed in the Greek revival style to the designs of John Peter Gandy. In 1878 the architect Arthur Blomfield made significant changes to the church, adding a timber roof, and introducing Gothic style features. The thirty-four feet (ten metre) façade, together with the elegant porch, is known as one of the finest in London. Being in Mayfair, it was a popular place for the weddings of aristocratic families. It was deconsecrated in 1974, and today it is used as a mixed use venue.

 

****In the first few decades of the Twentieth Century, up until the Second World War, it was customary to hold weddings on weekdays. An old folk rhyme that many of the people at that time would have known went: “Marry on Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday the best day of all, Thursday for crosses, Friday for losses, and Saturday for no luck at all”. It would have been considered bad luck to get married on a Saturday, and bad form to marry on a Sunday.

 

This upper-class gustatory scene, with fare such as you could expect from the Savoy, is not what you may first imagine, for it 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 tableaux 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 correctly for an Edwardian dinner, using cutlery, crockery and glassware from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. Each glass is hand blown using real glass. The plates have been gilded by hand and the cutlery set is made of polished metal. The napkin rings were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom, as was the champagne flute that is filled with glittering golden yellow champagne. The silver cruet set, which peeps from behind the yellow roses, has 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 gold candelabra on the table is also a 1:12 artisan piece that I was given as a teenager. The gold roses are hand-made, and the bowl they sit in is made of hand blown and decorated glass. They also come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures, as do the blackberry tarts which look real and good enough to eat!

 

The sugar castor on the table is 1 ½ centimetres in height and half a centimetre in diameter. Its finial actually comes apart like its life size equivalent. The finial unscrews from the body so it can be filled. I am told that icing sugar can pass through the holes in the finial, but I have chosen not to try this party trick myself. A sugar castor was used in Edwardian times to shake sugar onto fruits and desserts.

KAZZA - MéditerranéenCollection - DiningTable - (HW) exclusive SL

- copy/mod - table animation - set land impact 28li - tysm♥

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i have a thing for veehickles, even if it's a dusty old toy found in a canadian antique shop.

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 have headed north-west from Cavendish Mews, across Marylebone, past Regent’s Park, the London Zoo and Lords Cricket Ground to the affluent and leafy residential streets of nearby St. John’s Wood. It is here that Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie friends Minnie Palmerston and her husband Charles reside in a neatly painted two storey early Victorian townhouse on Acacia Road that formerly belonged to Charles Palmerston’s maternal grandparents, Lord and Lady Arundel.

 

Having taken her future sister-in-law, Arabella Tyrwhitt, to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street Soho for her initial wedding dress consultation, Lettice has left the two together to discuss designs whilst she visits Minnie in St John’s Wood. Minnie, a highly strung socialite, has redecorated her dining room in a style not to her husband’s taste, or so she was told by Minnie over a luncheon Lettice hosted for Arabella last week. Known for her melodrama, Lettice quietly ponders whether it really is as awful as Minnie implies as she pays the taxi driver the fare from Soho to St John’s Wood and alights the blue vehicle onto the street.

 

The day is bright and sunny, and the street is quiet with only the occasional bark of a dog and the distant rumble of traffic from busy Finchley Road in the distance as Lettice strides across the road and walks up the eight steps that lead up to Minnie’s black painted front door. She depresses the doorbell which echoes through the long hallway inside and waits. Moments later, there is the thud of Minnie’s hurried footsteps as she flings open the door dramatically.

 

“Lettice darling!” she cries, standing in the doorway in a beautiful may green day dress which compliments her red hair and green eyes, with cascades of green and black bugle beads tumbling down the front. “Come in! Come in!” she beckons her friend with enthusiastic waves which make the green, black and gold bangles on her wrist jangle noisily.

 

“Minnie.” Lettice leans in for a whispery kiss on the cheek as she steps across the threshold and follows Minnie’s indications and steps into a drawing room off the hallway, the room filled with diffused light from a large twelve pane window that looks out onto the street. Looking around her, she quickly takes in the overstuffed cream satin settees, nests of occasional tables, clusters of pictures in gilt frames in every conceivable space on the William Morris style papered walls and the potted parlour palms. “Oh yes,” she remarks as she removes her green gloves. “I do see what you mean. Very Edwardian.”

 

“Isn’t it ghastly, Lettice darling?” Minnie asks as she steps into the drawing room. “Here let me take your, umbrella, coat and hat.” She helps her friend shrug off her forest green coat and takes her rather artistic beret with its long tassel. “I think Lady Arundel could walk in here and not find a thing out of place!”

 

“It could be worse,” Lettice remarks, looking up at the crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling high above. “It could be decorated in high Victorian style and lit with gasoliers*.”

 

“True darling.” Minnie calls from the hallway where she hangs up Lettice’s things on a heavy Victorian coatrack. “But you have yet to see my dining room faux pas.”

 

“Now Minnie, no matter what I say, I want no histrionics today like we had over luncheon last week,” Lettice chides her friend with a wagging finger. “Poor Bella didn’t know where to look.”

 

“Oh I am sorry.” Minnie apologises. “Coming from the country, she probably isn’t used to our London ways.”

 

“Your emotional outbursts have nothing whatsoever to do with London ways, so don’t go foisting it off.” Lettice replies, cocking one of her delicately plucked eyebrows at her friend.

 

“You sound just like Gladys.” Minnie says.

 

“Well, I hope I’m not as shrill sounding as her,” Lettice replies with a chuckle.

 

“And how is the beautiful bride-to-be?”

 

“Happily ensconced with Gerald in his Soho atelier, no doubt talking about all the finer details of the dream wedding frock I have already heard about from dear Bella.”

 

“She seems quite lovely, Lettice darling.”

 

“Oh, I adore Bella.” Lettice agrees with a wave of her hand. “Given we grew up running in and out of each other’s houses, living on neighbouring properties, it was inevitable that she would marry one of my brothers, or Lally or I marry one of Bella’s brothers. I’m just glad that it wasn’t the latter. All Bella’s brothers, whilst charming, take after their grandfather, and he was not a handsome man. Bella has her mother’s delicate and pretty genes and she and Leslie are well suited. They both love the country, and as you know from luncheon last week, Bella likes the county social round. As Pater says, Bella will one day make a wonderful chatelaine of Glynes**, supporting Leslie as a dutiful wife, hosting important county social functions like the Hunt Ball, opening fetes and awarding prizes at cattle shows.”

 

“How does Lady Sadie feel about her usurper?”

 

“Oh Mater loves Bella as much as we all do.” Lettice replies breezily. “Of course, Pater doesn’t dare express his appreciation quite so volubly in front of Mater, but I’m sure she is silently thinking the same thing, not that she would ever share that with any of us. No, the problem will be if Pater decides to pop his mortal clogs before she does. I don’t know how happy she will be to hand over the mantle of lady of the manor to her daughter-in-law, even if she does love her.”

 

“Well, let’s hope we don’t have to worry about that for a good while yet.” Minnie says soothingly.

 

“Indeed yes!” agrees Lettice. “Now, show me this dread dining room of yours, Minnie darling. I’m famished, and I’m intrigued to see just how much of a faux pas it really is.”

 

“Come right this way, interior decorator to all the great and good of this great country of ours,” Minnie says rather grandly as she walks towards a door that leads from the drawing room to the next room. Suddenly she pauses, clasping the brass doorknob in her hand and turns back to Lettice who has trailed behind her. “Prepare yourself my dear for l’horreur!” And she flings the door open.

 

Minnie and Lettice walk into the townhouse’s dining room, which like the adjoining drawing room has a high ceiling. Lettice is surprised that after the grandeur of the drawing room, it’s a much smaller room, perhaps more suited for intimate dining rather than a large banquet. She glances around and quickly takes in the mixture of old and new. An Edwardian dining setting in Queen Anne style fills the majority of the space, whilst a late Victorian sideboard and spare carver chairs press against the wall. To either side of the new Art Deco gas fireplace stand two modern stands on which sit rather old fashioned urns. Modernist paintings in bold colours hang on the walls, but Lettice can barely see them for the bold wallpaper of red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns.

 

“Oh I see.” Lettice remarks, neither enthusiastically nor critically, but in a rather neutral way.

 

Lettice walks around the dining table on which stands a Georgian Revival tea set with steam snaking from the spot of the pot, a small carafe of water and glassware, crockery and cutlery for two at the head of the table. She stands before the Streamline Moderne fireplace surround and runs an elegant hand over one of the bold red blooms, feeling the slightly raised pattern. She sighs as she contemplates what she sees.

 

“Do you think it looks like something out of Maida Vale, Lettice darling?” Minnie asks hesitantly.

 

For a moment, Lettice doesn’t answer as she traces one of the green lines towards the gilt edge of a frame holding a painting of a tiger. “Tyger Tyger burning bright***,” she murmurs the beginning of the William Blake poem.

 

“Yes,” Minnie acknowledges her friend with a sigh of pleasure. “He’s rather glorious, isn’t he?”

 

“He is,” Lettice agrees. “However his gloriousness is diminished somewhat by the wallpaper which draws away attention from him, and the red fox.” She points to a larger canvas hanging over the sideboard.

 

“So you do think it’s middle-class Maida Vale then.” Minnie pronounces in a downhearted fashion.

 

“No, I don’t.” Lettice clarifies, turning around and placing a comforting hand on the slumped left shoulder of her friend. “And I think it was very unkind of Charles to say so. The wallpaper is beautiful, Minnie. It just doesn’t suit this room.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, this is quite an intimate room: taller with these high ceilings, rather than wide. This wallpaper would suit a longer room with low ceilings, where expanses of this pattern could be exposed uninterrupted.”

 

“Like a mansion flat?”

 

“Exactly, Minnie! I did something similar for the moving picture actress, Wanetta Ward last year. She had a long, exposed wall and the bold pattern I used worked beautifully. And this wallpaer does nothing to show off yours and Charles’ beautiful paintings. It detracts rather than enhances. The paintings and the wallpaper vie for attention. Think about the National Gallery, or the Tate Gallery****. When you see pictures hanging on the wall, what do you notice about the surrounding to the painting?”

 

Minnie thinks for a moment, screwing up her pert nose with its dusting of freckles. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever actually noticed the walls, Lettice darling.”

 

“Correct again, Minnie. No-one thinks about the walls because you’re not meant to. Your focus is meant to be on the paintings.”

 

“So you think I should strip the walls and paint them? Is that what you’re saying?”

 

“Well, you could, Minnie.” Lettice replies. “Or you could paint the walls and decorate the upper edge with a nice frieze paper.”

 

“Then it really would look like Maida Vale.” Minnie argues. “Only people who can’t afford wallpaper get friezes hung.”

 

Lettice considers her friend’s remark for a moment. “Mmm… yes, you’re quite right Minnie. Well, Jeffrey and Company***** do stock a range of beautiful papers in vibrant colours with pattern embossed into them. They look very luxurious.”

 

“Oh!” Minnie clasps her hands in delight. “I do like the sound of that! What colour would suit this room do you think?”

 

“Oh I should imagine a nice warm red or orange to go with this.” Lettice taps the top of the tiled fireplace surround. “And that colour range would also compliment your polished floors.”

 

“And I could get black japanned furniture like you, Lettice darling! I do like your chairs.”

 

“Oh no.” Lettice shakes her head. “Black japanned furniture is fine, but not my chairs. They are far too low for this room. You need an equivalent high backed chair.” She reaches out and pats one of the dining chairs. “Lady Arundel chose these well as they echo the height of the room. Perhaps if you had something high backed padded with a complimentary fabric to the paper: say red or orange.”

 

“Oh Lettice you are so clever!” enthuses Minnie. “When can you start.”

 

“Don’t you want to ask Charles before you go spending his money on redecorating, Minnie?” Lettice laughs. “Surely he’ll want a say.”

 

“Oh Charles told me today when I reminded him that you were coming for luncheon before he left for the office, that he’ll happily pay for anything you recommend, or better yet your services. So you don’t need to worry on that account.”

 

“Well, I would have to finish Dickie and Margot’s.” Lettice tempers.

 

“Oh, of course.” Minnie agrees.

 

“Well, I don’t have another redecorating assignment after them, so let me contemplate it.”

 

“I’ll go and get luncheon whilst you contemplate.” Minnie exclaims with a clap of her hands before scuttling away through a second door to the left of the fireplace.

 

With her exuberant friend gone, Lettice looks around the dining room, contemplating what she has suggested, picturing what embossed wallpaper in a rich red or vibrant orange would look like as a backdrop for the paintings. “Pity.” she muses as she again runs her hands over the stylised poppies in the pattern on the wall. Turning around she looks across the room. “Sorry Lady Arundel,” she remarks, tapping the top of the nearest dining chair again. “But it looks like your granddaughter-in-law wants to modernise.

 

“I’m afraid it’s Cook’s afternoon off today,” Minnie says apologetically as she walks back through the door through which she went, carrying a tray of tomato, ham and cucumber sandwiches. “So we’ll have to settle for these.” Looking down at the plate of appetising sandwich triangles as she places them on the dining table’s surface she adds. “I do hope she remembered not to make tongue****** ones. She should remember that I can’t stand cold tongue.”

 

Lettice peers at the fillings of bright red tomato, vivid green cucumber, and pink ham. “I think we’ll be safe.”

 

“Well, there’s half a trifle left over for dessert just in case they aren’t nice.” Minnie adds hopefully.

 

Lettice is suddenly struck by something. “Minnie?” she asks. “Minnie, why are you carrying the tray? And come to think of it, why did you answer the door? Where is Gladys?”

 

Minnie blushes, her pale skin and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose reddening. “She handed in her immediate notice the week before last.”

 

“Oh no! Not another one Minnie?”

 

“She said she couldn’t work for a woman who had such histrionics as I do, and she’s gone back to Manchester.”

 

“Oh Minnie!” Lettice shakes her head dolefully.

 

“See! I told you, you sounded like Gladys, Lettice. I’ve been getting by with the tweeny*******, but Cook grumbles, so I can’t keep pinching her. That’s why I’m so grateful you gave me that telephone number for that domestic employment agency in Westminster. I’ve a new maid starting next week. Her name’s Siobhan, so I figured that she can’t complain about my histrionics as she’d be used to them, being Irish.”

 

“Well, let’s hope so Minnie.” Lettice chuckles as she pulls out her dining chair and takes her seat. “I can’t keep up with the revolving door of maids that come in and out of this house. How long have you been here for now?”

 

“Seven months or thereabout.” Minnie replies vaguely as she takes her own seat in the chair at the head of the dining table.

 

“And how many maids have you had in that time?”

 

“Nine.” Minnie replies with a guilty gulp.

 

“No wonder Charles feels his club is better suited to entertain prospective business associates.” Lettice shakes her head disapprovingly. “A tweeny waiting table.”

 

“Well hopefully, with Siobhan starting next week, and you agreeing to redecorate my dining room faux pas,” She looks around the room with glittering, excited eyes, as she imagines the possibilities. “Charles will be happy to start entertaining here.” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “You will won’t you?”

 

“Will I what, Minnie?”

 

“You will redecorate my dining room, won’t you?”

 

Lettice reaches around Minnie’s teacup and squeezes her friend’s hand comfortingly. “Of course I will. I’ll come up with some ideas of what I think might suit this room and then I’ll show you and Charles. Charles has to have some input, even if he has told you that you that I have carte blanche when it comes to redecorating.”

 

*A gasolier is a chandelier with gas burners rather than light bulbs or candles.

 

**Glynes is 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.

 

***”The Tyger” is a poem by English poet William Blake, published in 1794 as part of his “Songs of Experience” collection and rising to prominence in the romantic period of the mid Nineteenth Century. The poem explores and questions Christian religious paradigms prevalent in late 18th century and early 19th century England, discussing God's intention and motivation for creating both the tiger and the lamb. Tiger is written as Tyger in the poem as William Blake favoured old English spellings.

  

****In 1892 the site of a former prison, the Millbank Penitentiary, was chosen for the new National Gallery of British Art, which would be under the Directorship of the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square. The prison, used as the departure point for sending convicts to Australia, had been demolished in 1890. Sidney R.J. Smith was chosen as the architect for the new gallery. His design is the core building that we see today, a grand porticoed entranceway and central dome which resembles a temple. The statue of Britannia with a lion and a unicorn on top of the pediment at the Millbank entrance emphasised its function as a gallery of British art. The gallery opened its doors to the public in 1897, displaying 245 works in eight rooms from British artists dating back to 1790. In 1932, the gallery officially adopted the name Tate Gallery, by which it had popularly been known as since its opening. In 1937, the new Duveen Sculpture Galleries opened. Funded by Lord Duveen and designed by John Russell Pope, Romaine-Walker and Gilbert Jenkins, these two 300 feet long barrel-vaulted galleries were the first public galleries in England designed specifically for the display of sculpture. By this point, electric lighting had also been installed in all the rooms enabling the gallery to stay open until 5pm whatever the weather. In 1955, Tate Gallery became wholly independent from the National Gallery.

  

*****Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Cmpany’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.

  

******Beef tongue (also known as neat's tongue or ox tongue) is a cut of beef made of the tongue of a cow. It can be boiled, pickled, roasted or braised in sauce. It is found in many national cuisines, and is used for taco fillings in Mexico and for open-faced sandwiches in the United States.

 

*******A tweeny is a between maid, who works in the kitchen as well as above stairs, assisting at least two other members of a domestic staff.

 

This rather bright dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection, some pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.

 

The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the sideboard is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist. The vase of flowers to the left of the candelabra is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The carafe to the right of the candelabra is another artisan piece made of hand spun glass. I acquired it as a teenager from a high street dollhouse stockist.

 

The ornately hand painted ginger jar is one of a pair and comes from Melody Jane Dollhouse Suppliers in Britain. The tall stand on which the ginger jar stands was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The stylised floral and geometric shape Art Deco wallpaper is a real Art Deco design which I have sourced and had printed in high quality onto A3 sheets of paper.

 

On the dining table the tray of sandwiches are made of polymer clay. Made in England by hand by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight they are very realistic with even the bread slices having a bread like consistency look. 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 water carafe came from the same high street stockist as the carafe on the sideboard. The Art Deco dinner set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai. The Georgian Revival silver tea set on its tray I acquired from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The Streamline Moderne pottery tile fireplace surround I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

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. Lettice is visiting her old family home for the wedding of Leslie to Arabella, the daughter of their neighbours, Lord Sherbourne and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt. Today is the big day, and earlier in the morning Lettice was amongst the guests to watch her brother and his now wife exchange vows at the chapel in Glynes village. Now the wedding guests have repaired to the grand country house where the couple’s wedding breakfast* is being held in the Glynes grand dining room.

 

“I say, Sadie has been busy!” exclaims Gerald as he walks through the doors of the dining room.

 

“The whole household has been busy.” corrects Lettice as she walks proudly on his arm. “I could barely get a cup of tea, a slice of toast and a scraping of jam for breakfast,” she moans. “Which I had to take in my room because in here was out-of-bounds.”

 

The Glynes dining room, a large space, has been transformed into an indoor winter garden with tributes to the house’s gardeners with hothouse flower arrangements everywhere. Cascades of soft lilac wisteria, white blossom and pastel roses spill from vases on the mantlepiece and from jardinières on stands placed around the walls. The usual dining table used by the Chetwynds for dinners and banquets has been transformed into the bridal table, whilst several other smaller oblong tables have been brought in to serve as places for the other wedding breakfast guests. Each table is covered in crisp snowy white linen tablecloths taken from the Glynes great Elizabethan oak linen chests and pressed by housekeeper Mrs. Casterton’s staff, and upon their surfaces fine gilt white china, glassware and silver gleam, with each place setting carefully arranged by Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler and Marsden, the first footman. Each table is graced with more fresh floral arrangements created by Lady Sadie herself and the parlour maid Emmery, whom the Countess has discovered has an aptitude for flower arranging. On the bridal table stands a grand three-tier wedding fruitcake made by Mrs. Honeychurch, the Chetwynd’s cook, its white royal icing edges decorated with pale yellow icing swirls and golden orange sugar roses.

 

“They look so happy,” Gerald remarks as they walk in front of the bridal table where Leslie and Isabella sit before the cake.

 

“I think Bella’s is your best wedding frock yet, Gerald.”

 

“Oh, do you really think so, Lettice?”

 

“I do.” she concurs proudly as they pass the bride and groom, admiring the creamy white satin boat neck of Bella’s wedding gown, trimmed with accents of antique lace, a gift to Isabella from Lady Sadie, taken from her own wedding dress.

 

‘Well, Bella was perfect to fit.” The pair move around to the table adjunct to the bridal table where they take their places. “She already had her ideas, which, unlike some women I see, were good ones, and I just had to bring them to life. She’s never has been a girl into fuss, and let’s be honest, she has so much natural beauty that no matter what I made for her would look wonderful on her.”

 

“And of course, I love my outfit too, Gerald.” Lettice smooths the pale buttery yellow crêpe of her frock which matches the pretty rose decorated wide brimmed straw hat made for her by Gerald’s friend Harriet.

 

“I should hope you do!” Gerald replies as he settles himself into his Chippendale style dining chair.

 

The pair watch as the country wedding guests, a mixture of family from both the Chetwynd and the Tyrwhitt clans, county society, guests from London and a smattering of local village folk, leisurely wend their way to their places, each marked with a handwritten card in Lady Sadie’s elegant copperplate script.

 

“I must say Lettice darling, I am grateful that you managed to convince Sadie to lift her embargo on me after the Hunt Ball and allow me to come.” Gerald remarks as he and Lettice nod at two of her distant spinster cousins from Guernsey as they make their way around them to their place much further down the table Lettice and Gerald are near the head of.

 

“Oh don’t thank me, Gerald.” Lettice replies. “Thank Leslie. He’s the one who confronted Mater and said that if he had to have cousins Eurphronia and Ethelreda from Guernsey,” She nods to the two rather horsey looking ladies now taking their places at the far end of the table. “Whom we haven’t seen nor heard from since Lally was married, then he and Bella were entitled to invite whichever guests they wanted, without question. And of course that included you.”

 

“Gosh! I must thank Leslie later then.”

 

“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you. I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps Aunt Egg.”

 

Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight** that night on your father’s champagne.”

 

“And I hope you will do so again today.” Lettice says cheekily, picking up the freshly poured glass of champagne set at her place just prior to her arrival.

 

“Try and stop me, darling!” Gerald picks up his glass and the two clink their glasses together in a conspiratorial toast.

 

“Lettice! Lettice stop that!” hisses her father, the Viscount, from his seat next to his wife at the bridal table, flapping his hand at her in an effort to gain her attention and growing red faced in the process. “Not until I make my speech.”

 

Lettice rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and like two admonished children, she and Gerald return their glasses, untouched, to their places with lowered heads.

 

“I am glad that Aunt Isobel was well enough to see Bella get married.” Lettice says with a satisfied sigh.

 

“Yes, I am too.” Gerald looks over the top of the wedding cake to see Isabella’s mother, whom they all call ‘Aunt Isobel’ despite her not being a blood relation, smiling proudly next to her husband, Sherbourne, as she looks down the table to her daughter and new son-in-law. “The radiotherapy*** seems to be having a positive impact on her health. Although evidently not enough for the Tyrwhitts to host the wedding breakfast.” he notes a little critically.

 

“Well, Mater thought it might tire poor Aunt Isobel out to arrange the wedding breakfast by herself, so she offered, and Isobel was probably too unwell at the time to refuse her.”

 

“Who would dare contradict Sadie’s wishes? Look, she is positively in her element, playing Lady Bountiful****, lording herself over all her minions, the great and good of the county.” Gerald says, nodding to Lettice’s beaming mother swathed in romantic soft pink floral silk de chiné wearing a floppy picture hat covered in satin roses in a matching shade.

 

“I do think Uncle Sherbourne looks rather tired though, don’t you Gerald?”

 

“Well, it isn’t every day that one loses one’s only daughter,” Gerald says dismissively. “He’s probably had a few sleepless nights worrying about her dowery and whether she has made the right decision.”

 

“Gerald!” Lettice slaps her friend playfully with her pale yellow kid gloves. “You surely can’t be suggesting that Leslie is a cad!” she laughs.

 

He chuckles in return and flashes her a beaming smile.

 

Returning her gloves to her lap, she glances up and over to where her eldest brother sits proudly in his morning suit gazing with fondness and laughing with his bride. Glowing can be the only adjective suitable to describe Leslie and Isabella as they radiate happiness.

 

“You must feel a little jealous,” Lettice remarks discreetly as she observes a slightly wistful look in her dear friend’s eyes as he too observes the happy couple.

 

“Of the sanctity of marriage?” Gerald scoffs with a dismissive snort. “Pray save me from that hell, Lettice darling!”

 

“You know what I mean, Gerald,” Lettice retorts. “Now that you’ve finally met someone.” she adds in a hushed tone.

 

Lettice bore witness to an exchange of affection between Gerald and a young oboe player named Cyril whilst visiting Gerald’s friend Harriet in Putney recently. As well as making hats, Harriet runs a boarding house for theatrical gentlemen where Cyril resides, and it is through her that Gerald met the handsome young musician.

 

“I hardly think we are at the marriage stage yet, Lettice darling.” Gerald whispers sagely. “Not that we could, mind you. We’ve only recently met. Anyway,” He glances meaningfully again at Leslie. “What’s the point in wishing for something you know you cannot have.”

 

Lettice reaches across to Gerald’s lap beneath the crisp white linen tablecloth and places her hand atop her friend’s, giving it a consoling squeeze. She sometimes forgets how her friend pined for many years with unrequited love for her eldest brother. Gerald has no more chance of marrying Cyril even if he does return Gerald’s affections, and Lettice can only imagine how careful her friend needs to be to avoid the authorities punishing him with imprisonment with hard labour just for loving another man.

 

“I wish Selwyn was here.” Lettice continues softly, casting her eyes down into her lap as she feels the sting of tears.

 

“What?” Gerald asks with a melodramatic gasp, quickly noticing Lettice’s sudden rush of emotion and trying to keep her from crying in front of her family and the rest of the county’s and the village’s society. “Am I not good enough for you as your squire?” He pouts at her and bats his long, dark eyelashes.

 

Lettice cannot help but let out a burst of laughter at his sad puppy dog face. “Oh Gerald! You know I don’t man that.”

 

“I know.” he says with a melancholy smile.

 

“You’re so good to me.”

 

“Agreed.” he nods. He then proceeds to add as a joking after thought, “Far better than you deserve.”

 

When Lettice laughs a little sadly, Gerald returns Lettice’s squeeze comfortingly. “I know you want Selwyn here. However,” he adds seriously. “You know it would be improper for him to be at such an intimate family occasion as your guest unless there has been a formal intention of marriage.”

 

“I know.” Lettice sighs.

 

“And Selwyn hasn’t made any such overtures, has he?”

 

Lettice looks down again. “Not yet.” she mumbles glumly.

 

“Well then. You shall simply have to settle for me, Lettice darling. I know I’m a poor second, and probably not even that. However, I will just have to do.”

 

“And you do splendidly, Gerald darling. You always know how to pick my spirits up when I’m feeling glum.”

 

“Isn’t that what best friends and chums of old are supposed to do?”

 

“Exactly right, Gerald.” Lettice replies, withdrawing her hands and discreetly dabbing the corners of her eyes with her pale yellow kid gloves. “What a pair we are, Gerald.” She sniffs. “Both of us crying for what we cannot have.”

 

“Don’t worry, everyone will think you are crying tears of joy for the happy couple, and that is how it should be. But don’t make a habit of blubbing when there is no conceivable reason to be crying, will you?”

 

“How do you do it, Gerald darling?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Not break down and cry, sometimes?”

 

“Well, aren’t men supposed to be the superior race?” Gerald asks, mockingly. “It’s always a stiff upper lip and all that, don’t you know?” He smiles sadly at his friend and companion. “I suppose the truth of the matter is that Father probably beat it out of me as a child. I knew if I blubbed at the wrong time, I was in for a thrashing, or Roland would tell Father I was blubbing, so I was in for a thrashing, so I kept it hidden until I was alone.”

 

“I’m sorry Gerald.” Lettice mutters.

 

“Oh don’t be, Lettice darling. This is a wedding for heaven’s sake. Were supposed to be happy, not sad. No,” Gerald continues with a stoic sniff. “I’m happy for them and wish them well. Truly I do. It was inevitable really. They have always been destined to be together. Bella and Leslie are well suited for one another. They are both country folk. She loves riding and is interested in animal husbandry and all that awfully dirty estate business.” He waves his free left hand dismissively with a look of disgust at the thought of pigs in their muddy styes. “Whereas what I find best about the country is when we leave it to go back to the comfort and bright lights of London.”

 

“Don’t even mention animal husbandry, Gerald!” Lettice gasps, a shudder of revulsion running through her as she remembers the conversation she and her hated older brother Lionel had in Lady Sadie’s morning room a few days ago, when he spoke of women as fillies and mares, waiting to be sired by stallions.

 

“Oh, sorry Lettice darling!” Gerald apologises with a sombre glance at her. “I forgot.”

 

“I certainly can’t, even though I want to.”

 

“I knew things must have been looking bloody***** for you here when you sent that note across to me asking me to meet you at the Folly****** after dinner.”

 

“I can barely stand to even be in the same room as Lionel.” Lettice bristles as she looks across the Glynes dining room to the table set up on the opposite side of the bridal table, where her brother Lionel sits between their Aunt Eglantine, their father’s beloved younger sister, and Aunt Gladys, their mother’s parsimonious widowed elder sister. Emboldened by his imminent departure back to his place of exile in Kenya, he doesn’t even try and disguise his boredom at whatever the self-absorbed Gladys is saying to him.

 

“How can Aunt Egg stand to sit next to him?” Gerald asks.

 

“Because she doesn’t know about Lionel’s fathering of three illegitimate children in 1918.” Lettice elucidates quietly. “Lally and I joke openly about being Aunt Egg’s favourite niece depending upon the way the wind blows, but when it comes to her favourite nephew, there is no doubt as to who it is.”

 

“But why?” Gerald’s eyes grow wide in surprise. “I mean, she’s so lovely, artistic, and kind. And Lionel…” He shudders. “Lionel is such a… a…”

 

“A beast, Gerald?” She shrugs. “I guess there is no accounting for taste sometimes, even in our families. No, it would break her heart if she really knew what Lionel was like.”

 

“But that’s not fair to Leslie.”

 

“Oh, but Leslie is complicit in the subterfuge, Gerald. He’s so good and kind himself that he doesn’t want Aunt Egg upset by the truth. Besides, if she was upset, then Pater would be upset, and if he was upset, we all would be in for a beastly time.”

 

“How do you all do it?”

 

“Luckily Aunt Egg is safely ensconced with her own life in London, and with Lionel in Kenya, he’s barely ever mentioned. And if Aunt Egg does ask after him, we always glaze all the beastliness over with tales of derring-do******* from his sporadic letters to Mater and Pater, or what we’ve heard from friends who have passed through Nairobi and seen him.”

 

“I have to say that the Viscount and Sadie don’t seem too concerned about having him here.” Gerald observes as he glances in the direction of Lettice’s father and mother.

 

“Oh don’t be fooled,” Lettice elucidates as she glances at the smiling face of her father and her mother as she proudly plays mother-of-the-groom and gracious hostess to all the guests. “It’s all bravado: a show for Bella and the wedding guests. No-one wants to see a monster like Lionel spoil Bella and Leslie’s big day, except perhaps Lionel of course.”

 

“He always was unscrupulous.”

 

“Well, the last three years in exile certainly haven’t tempered his feelings of resentment and anger towards all of us, me especially.”

 

“But it was his own foolish philandering that got him banished to Africa.”

 

“Lionel doesn’t see it that way. As usual, he thinks that if I hadn’t told Mater and Pater about,” Lettice blushes at the thought. “About his indiscretion with Nelly, then those with Margaret and that poor simpleton Dora wouldn’t have come out and he would have gotten away with it.”

 

“It seems to me he did get away with it, and lightly.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper he adds. “Banishment and the absolution for three illegitimate children, all paid for by your father. It’s a rather splendid deal if you ask me. He could have done far worse.”

 

“Lionel doesn’t think so, and we’re all sick of his digs and barbs which he inflicts on us every chance he gets. Pater and Mater have been on pins and needles ever since Lionel arrived. I had to speak to Mrs. Casterton about cautioning the maids, and I still had to warn Moira, whom I caught making cow eyes******* at him.”

 

“That would certainly have encouraged him, the cad.”

 

“I’m sure it did, even though he swears to me that he’s only interested in older women now, and married ones at that.”

 

“Good god!” Gerald rolls his eyes and then stares harshly at Lionel who remains bored between his two aunts, totally unaware that he is being spoken of and scrutinised. “Can he get any more rakish?”

 

“Lally refused to come and stay as she finds him so abhorrent, and she doesn’t want the children exposed to his wickedness.”

 

“He wouldn’t…” Gerald scarlessly dares to speak the words. “Well, Lionel wouldn’t hurt the little dears, would he?”

 

“With Lionel,” Lettice shrugs. “You never can quite tell what his scheming and perverse little mind is planning next.” She sighs heavily. “That’s half the problem. Just when you think you have him worked out, and know his next move, he does something unexpected that throws you.”

 

“And the unexpected from Lionel is always nasty.” says Gerald wearily, remembering how horrible Lionel was to him as a little boy.

 

“Always. He’s so unpredictable, except in his predictability of being mean, nasty, spiteful or hurtful.”

 

“Well, he’ll be on board a train back to London tomorrow morning.” Gerald says with a sigh of relief. “When does he set sail?”

 

“The Walmer Castle******** leaves Southampton for Cape Town on Friday, and not a moment too soon with Lionel on board, if you ask me.”

 

The hubbub of the light chatter of the guests filling the dining room is suddenly shattered by the sharp and repetitious rap of metal against glass, silencing everyone as heads turn towards the bridal table, where Lettice’s father, Viscount Wrexham has raised himself to his feet, tapping his crystal champagne flute with a silver knife.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could ask you all to take your places please,” the Viscount calls out loudly with his booming orator’s voice, usually reserved for the House of Lords. “As host for today’s wedding breakfast, I would just like to say a few words as the first course is served.”

 

Lettice and Gerald settle back into their seats as the Viscount commences his welcome speech to the assembled guests, all of whom pay attention to him, except for his eldest son Leslie and his new bride Isabella, who only have eyes for one another as they sit, smiling at one another in the centre of the bridal table.

 

*A wedding breakfast is a feast given to the newlyweds and guests after the wedding, making it equivalent to a wedding reception that serves a meal. The phrase is still used in British English, as opposed to the description of reception, which is American in derivation. Before the beginning of the Twentieth Century they were traditionally held in the morning, but this fashion began to change after the Great War when they became a luncheon. Regardless of when it was, a wedding breakfast in no way looked like a typical breakfast, with fine savoury food and sweet cakes being served. Wedding breakfasts were at their most lavish in the Edwardian era through to the Second World War.

 

**’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.

 

**By the 1920s radiotherapy was well developed with the use of X-rays and radium. There was an increasing realisation of the importance of accurately measuring the dose of radiation and this was hampered by the lack of good apparatus. The science of radiobiology was still in its infancy and increasing knowledge of the biology of cancer and the effects of radiation on normal and pathological tissues made an enormous difference to treatment. Treatment planning began in this period with the use of multiple external beams. The X-ray tubes were also developing with replacement of the earlier gas tubes with the modern Coolidge hot-cathode vacuum tubes. The voltage that the tubes operated at also increased and it became possible to practice ‘deep X-ray treatment’ at 250 kV. Sir Stanford Cade published his influential book “Treatment of Cancer by Radium” in 1928 and this was one of the last major books on radiotherapy that was written by a surgeon.

 

****The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.

 

*****Lady Bountiful is a term used to describe a woman who engages in ostentatious acts of charity to impress others, and was often used in Edwardian times by titled ladies to describe themselves when conducting their charity or ministering works.

 

******In architecture, a folly is a building constructed primarily for decoration, but suggesting through its appearance some other purpose, or of such extravagant appearance that it transcends the range of usual garden buildings.

 

*******The phrase derring-do comes from Middle English, dorring don meant simply "daring to do." The phrase was misprinted as derrynge do in a 15th-century work by poet John Lydgate, and Edmund Spenser took it up from there. A glossary to Spenser's work defined it as "manhood and chevalrie.") Literary author Sir Walter Scott and others brought the noun into modern use.

 

********The RMS Walmer Castle was a passenger ship for Union-Castle Line, launched on the 6th of July 1901 and completed on the 20th of February 1902. The British government requisitioned her in 1917 and she then served as a troop ship in the North Atlantic. She returned to mercantile service, including sailings between Southampton and Cape Town after the war. She was scrapped in 1932.

 

Contrary to what your eyes might tell you, this upper-class country house wedding 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 bridal table - covered by a fine linen tablecloth - 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.

 

In centre stage on the bridal table stands a three tier wedding cake covered in white icing, decorated with yellow swirls of icing and orange roses. The cake is made entirely of plaster, and I have had it since I was given it for a Christmas gift when I was seven.

 

The bridal table is set correctly for a five course Edwardian wedding breakfast, using cutlery and glassware from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. Each glass is hand blown using real glass. The cutlery set is made of polished metal. The crockery is made by an unknown English company and each piece has been gilded by hand. The linen napkins and napkin rings were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The Georgian silver water jug in front of the floral arrangement and the cruet set which peeps from behind it, have been made with great attention to detail, and come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The flower arrangement on the table in the gilt double handled vase comes from M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.

 

The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster. On its 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. 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.

 

The pink and white roses in the Limoges vases were made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures, whilst the larger floral arrangements of roses and cascading wisteria to either side of the fireplace come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom.

 

To the left of the photo stands a demilune table upon which stands a wine cooler also made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne in it is an artisan miniature and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The other bottles of wine, also made of glass with great attention to their lables, come from Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures.

 

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.

Flickr Explored

 

Scenes like this will become less and less common once the kids are in school full time. :(

On our diningtable, "French Ranunculus"

 

Canon 70D with EF100mm f/2.8L Macro IS USM

 

Falcon Eyes SKK-2150D flash set

Jinbei Diffusion jumbo umbrella, Jinbei White umbrella.

 

IMG_7525ddp

Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission.

© rogerperriss@aol.com All rights reserved

Blogged about here:

pubdolls.blogspot.com/2011/03/playing-with-light.html

These were the beautiful centrepieces on the dinner tables.

Another beauty on our diningtable, Anemone coronaria "De Caen"

 

nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anemoon

 

Canon 70D with EF100mm f/2.8L Macro IS USM

 

FalconEyes SKK-2150D flash set

Jinbei Diffusion jumbo umbrella, Falcon Eyes Diffusion umbrella

 

Coverphoto 28/02/2018 " www.flickr.com/groups/a_secret_world /"

  

IMG_7345ddp

Sony Alpha 7 II (2015, 24MP)

Sigma 70-200mm F/2.8 APO EX HSM

  

Kodak Gold 200

Pentax KX

On our diningtable, Anemone coronaria "De Caen"

 

nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anemoon

 

Canon 70D with EF100mm f/2.8L Macro IS USM

 

FalconEyes SKK-2150D flash set

Jinbei Diffusion jumbo umbrella, Falcon Eyes Diffusion umbrella

 

IMG_7349ddp

A dining table at Berkeley Castle.

... well past midnight, and in the house is all quiet...

 

long exposure... scene only lit by windows lights

 

{film} The lamp and curtains were left by the previous owner, and it's taking us a little longer to find replacement curtains than we would have liked. Still, the house now feels like a home. More photos will be coming when that beautiful winter light returns to Portland.

 

This is better on black.

hal.red/0wYe1J

 

Images for download without watermark!

See also:

 

– 2019

DuPont House, interior, Winterthur, Delaware

The Giant Houseplant Takeover at RHS Wisley

...as soon as we got ourselves the table ( Ikea Melrtop ), eventhough it was decided that it was going to be where it actually is now, I had to try it out infront of the window, too.

You can see the small Expedit already placed vertically to create the division for the office nook...and in the space where it was, the sofa was put in an L shape. Eventhough the table felt good infront of the big window - coz to be honest, everything feels good in front of this window! - the sofa area felt neglected and it was sad that we could not enjoy all the view and direct ligtht. So this was just a few days test.

The 22769 ~ [bauwerk] Festive Burlwood Dining Set can be found on the December cycle of we <3 RolePlay.

 

The complete set contains the following items:

Ornamented Burlwood Chair - LI 6 - 0,9 x 1,0 x 1,7 meters - 12 single sit animations

Burlwood Table - LI 8 - 2,3 x 3,6 x 1,2 meters

Festive Dinner Plates - LI 1

Goblet Horn - LI 1

Table Candle - Flame on/off on touch - LI 1

Festive Wrath - LI 2

 

Next to the complete set there are the follwing items available:

Ornamented Burlwood Chair - Single

Burlwood Table - Single

Festive Burlwood Decoration Set

 

For the December round, there is also a Sim Wide 10 L$ Hunt running at the location of We <3 RP.

22769 ~ [bauwerk] has hidden the Fur Ottoman at the Fairground.

 

The Huntgift has the following stats:

LI 1

1,4 x 0,9 x 0,8 meters

8 single sit animations

 

We're adding the SLurl to We <3 RP below, but please keep in mind, that the December cycle opens to public on 2015 December, 4th.

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Riverhunt/111/137/23

 

....made this picture while the bread was being toasted and the eggs were getting boiled, on one of this week's mornings...

 

The sousplas ( placemats, Heather for you dear..yes you guessed right! ) were bought from Habitat for my very first apartment - a small bangalow ( I know I 'll have to scan pictures, as I only got my first digital camera until the next apartment ) and hadn't used them at all....they even had their tags on!

As they are quite large, I fold them for breakfast in the middle and use them full for dinner meals.

On our diningtable, "Parrot rococo tulip"

 

Canon 70D with EF100mm f/2.8L Macro IS USM

 

Falcon Eyes SKK-2150D flash set

Jinbei Diffusion jumbo umbrella, Elinchrom Gold umbrella

 

IMG_9191ddp

  

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JUMO Originals - NINNA Earrings

Why Not - Balcharn Dining Table Set-6 Seat-White-

/the 2 itema above are available at 📌 SENSE EVENT

 

❇ DOUX - Ariana hairstyle 📌 DOUX

 

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Dining Room at Waddesdon Manor, Bucks

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 however, we are following Lettice’s childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has gained some independence from his impecunious family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, a business which, after promotion from Lettice and several commissions from high profile and influential society ladies, is beginning to turn a profit. We trail Gerald’s little Morris Cowley four-seat tourer* as he heads south-west through the London streets away from his small Soho flat. Taking the Brompton Road, he drives through Belgravia and then Chelsea as Brompton Road becomes Fulham Road. He drives past the Brompton Cemetery and through the historic centre of Walham Green before going on through Fulham, finally turning south along the Fulham High Street. Passing the Hurlingham Club along the banks of the Thames he continues to go south over the river along Putney Bridge. He turns off the Putney High Street and into the tree lined avenue of Hazlewell Road. He drives along past double storey Edwardian villa after double storey Edwardian villa made of red brick with bay windows, set in neat gardens behind privet hedges or low brick fences, their windows aglow with the warmth of electric lights. Gerald’s Morris finally pulls up in front of one such Edwardian villa. It looks exactly the same as all the others on that side of the street: red brick with crenelled bay windows upstairs and down to either side of a porticoed door. In fact, the portico is one of the few differences that distinguish it from its neighbours either side. It has an arched portico which matches the arch in the lunette above the white painted front door, whereas its neighbours have square porticos with crenelling that matches that along the tops of the bay windows. Two banks of chimneypots at either side of the villa rise from the steeply hipped roof of shingles and a central attic balconette with French doors is flanked by oriel windows.

 

The villa belongs to Gerald’s friend, Harriet Milford, the orphaned daughter with little formal education of a middle-class family solicitor. Gerald met Harriet by chance at a haberdashery one day and they have formed a strong bond of friendship, of which Lettice was initially rather jealous. Since being orphaned, Harriet has taken in theatrical lodgers to earn a living, and millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money**, but like Gerald’s fashion house, Harriet’s business has taken off substantially thanks to Lettice introducing her to a couple of her friends, who have spread the word about Harriet’s skill. Amongst Harriet’s lodgers she has a handsome young West End oboist named Cyril, who like all of Harriet’s tenants, is a homosexual. Since befriending Harriet and being invited to the Hazelwell Road villa and meeting him, Cyril and Gerald have become lovers, and both of them are pleased to have the protective closed doors of Harriet’s Putney villa as a place where they do not have to keep their illegal homosexual relationship*** secret and can be free and open like any couple. Tonight, Gerald is joining Cyril, Harriet and several of her other lodgers for a special dinner in honour of his and Cyril’s third anniversary, and will stay the night, sharing the bed in the small room with the oriel window up under the eaves of Harriet’s house with his lover.

 

Gerald smiles as he alights from his tourer, snatching up a bunch of pretty pink roses from the front passenger seat that he bought earlier in the day to grace the dinner table as a thank you to his gracious hostess. He pats his breast pocket and feels the small box concealed within it. He steps up to the black painted wrought iron gate flanked by two capped red brick pillars and opens the gate before walking up the garden path snaking across Harriet’s well clipped lawn. Standing beneath the arched portico, Gerald slips his latchkey****, given to him happily by Harriet so that he might come and go and visit Cyril and her as he pleases, into the shiny brass lock and turns it. Letting himself into the villa he steps across the threshold into the electric illuminated black and white tiled hallway stuffed full of Edwardian vestibule furniture.

 

“Hullo Hattie! Cyril?” he calls out cheerfully. “It’s only me!”

 

He can smell the delicious aroma of roast meat cooking in the kitchen towards the back of the house, yet he immediately ascertains that something is wrong as he hears the muffled sound of anxious voices and a strangulated moan from behind the closed dining room directly to his right. Opening the door slightly, Gerald pops his head around the jamb and observes a chaotic scene.

 

Harriet’s villa’s dining room with its heavy and dark Victorian era furniture, busy wallpaper, potted palms and aspidistras*****, and framed stern Milford family photographs is usually a neat and tidy space, as it is used by all of Harriet’s paying lodgers for their meals taken in. However tonight, rather than being laid with a freshly laundered snowy white linen tablecloth, Harriet’s mother’s gilt edged Edwardian patterned Royal Doulton dinner set and her parents’ wedding cutlery, the long mahogany stained dining table is covered in mess of books, scrap books, postcard albums and loose carte de visites****** all of famous London actresses from the late Victorian and pre-war Edwardian years. In one of the upright Queen Anne style dining chairs with red velvet upholstered seats sits Harriet, still dressed in her outdoor cream coloured Burberry macintosh*******, one of her fashionable cloche hats in a matching shade of cream with a tan grosgrain band upon her head, her imitation crocodile skin handbag on the table in front of her, consoling the other occupant seated at the table – Mr. Charles Dunnage. In his fifties, Charles is more mature than most of Harriet’s other borders who are in their twenties and thirties. He has white hair and an impressive, expertly waxed handlebar moustache, and is a regular Shakespearean actor at the Old Vic******** in Lambeth with a grand and dramatic personality to match. Usually a snappy dresser, tonight he looks dishevelled and his suit is visibly crumpled with dirt and grime marks marring the worsted wool. Glancing at one of Harriet’s teacups sitting before Charles with a soda syphon of tonic water nearly full and a bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin********* sitting half empty next to it, Gerald quicky ascertains that Charles has probably been drinking heavily since about three in the afternoon. At the foot of the table, Cyril stands in his trousers and a white shirt undone at the collar, his suspenders showing since he lacks his usual vest, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows, exposing his delicately haired arms. He stands with his weight spread more heavily on his left side, his arms akimbo, a look of irritation on his handsome young, clean-shaven face.

 

“Come on Aunt Sally!” Cyril says peevishly, referring to Charles using his female nickname**********. “You can’t just sit there all night looking maudlin into your G and T, duckie!”

 

“Why not, silly Cilla?” Charles slurs back using Cyril’s female alias in return, looking up at Cyril with rheumy red eyes as tears spill down his chubby, florid cheeks. “My life,” He raises a hand dramatically to his forehead. “Is over!”

 

“Oh it’s not over, Charles darling!” Harriet insists. “It’s just a little setback.”

 

He hunches forward again as if the effort of lifting his head and hand was too much, and he takes a swig from his teacup. “Over I tell you!”

 

“You can’t just sit there feeling sorry for yourself, Aunt Sally, because Gerry’s coming to dinner!” Cyril replies thinly. “And I can’t be setting a nice table with you, and Edith Evans*********** and god knows who else spread across it like… like…” He gesticulates dramatically with his right hand, unable to articulate the word to describe the mess before him. “Can I?”

 

“Cyril!” Harriet chides mildly, giving him a hurt look with her soft brown doe eyes************.

 

“Who cares who is coming to dinner when my life is over?” Charles splutters.

 

“I do!” Cyril spits back. “I’ve been making the perfect Beef Wellington************* all afternoon, just so we can all celebrate Gerry’s and my three year anniversary, you ungrateful old queen!” He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “Just because you are having your latest existential crisis, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to stop our lives for you!”

 

“Cyril!” Harriet says more firmly, giving him a more serious look, shaking her head slightly as she does.

 

“There, there, Charles darling!” Harriet coos, rubbing the older man’s back and right shoulder consolingly. “Cyril didn’t mean to be so thoughtless to your feelings. Did you Cyril?” When Cyril doesn’t reply, even though Charles is too self-absorbed in his own woes to notice, Harriet goes on. “He has been slaving over our oven all afternoon, and he’s spent a pretty penny buying beef fillets from the butchers. We don’t often get a treat like that, do we?” She gently continues to rub his back. “And since Gerry is rather a special guest… and this is rather a special occasion… if you would consent to clearing the table,” she cajoles. “We can help you.”

 

“In a hurry if you don’t mind, Aunt Sally!” Cyril quips. “Gerry will be here any minute!”

 

“Gerry is already here.” Gerald says, announcing his presence as he steps through the door and across the threshold of the dining room.

 

“Gerry darling!” Harriet says, glancing over and smiling across the room at him.

 

“Gerry my darling!” Cyril jumps with surprise, and then quickly recovering himself, flings his arms around Gerald’s neck with joy and kisses him on the lips passionately, a kiss which is returned with equal love and passion. “You’re here already!” Breaking their kiss, he spies the roses in Gerald’s hands, pink and fat. “Roses? For me, Gerry darling?” He releases his hands from about his lover’s neck. “You shouldn’t have… but I’m glad you did.” He goes to reach for them.

 

“Well…” Gerald says with an awkward clearing of his throat. “They’re really for Hattie for allowing us to have this little soirée for our anniversary this evening.”

 

“Oh Gerry!” Harriet gasps as Gerald steps forward and presents them to her with a flourish. “You’re so sweet! Thank you!” Accepting them, she buries her head into the bouquet, savouring the blooms’ sweet and light fragrance.

 

“What?” Cyril exclaims irascibly, dramatically, folding his arms again and giving Gerald a black look. “You buy flowers for Hattie, yet you don’t buy your own beloved Cyril a gift for our anniversary?”

 

“I’ll have you know, Cyril, I have something else for you in a small velvet jeweller’s box, for later,” Gerald replies in a cautionary way, patting his breast pocket. “But only if you are good, and not irascible and snappish!”

 

“Oh Gerry, darling!” Cyril exclaims again, flinging his arms around Gerald again and planting a barrage of kisses on his right cheek. “I’m sorry! It’s just been such a trying afternoon.” He stops kissing his lover and looks accusingly over at the older man sitting at the dining table.

 

“The flowers can be for you and me, Cyril darling.” Harriet ventures. “After all, I’m just the provider of the venue. You’re really the one whose been working so hard today as cook for this evening.”

 

“Yes, and our Beef Wellington will be spoiled if we can’t set the table, Aunt Sally!” Cyril puts emphasis on Charle’s nickname to try and get his attention. “I’m not having us eat such a fine repast at the table in the kitchen.”

 

“Oh, I don’t mind eating at the kitchen table, Cyril darling.” Gerald remarks lightly, thinking about his own small and piteously impoverished Soho flat with the curtain that he uses to conceal the tiny gas ring and trough sink that serves as a kitchenette – a flat too small to even have a dining table and chairs in – but all he can afford to rent at the moment with most profits from his couturier going back into the business to manage it. “After all, we’ve eaten off our laps on the sofa at my flat plenty of times, so any table, kitchen or otherwise, is a luxury for me.”

 

“No!” Cyril replies adamantly. “This is our anniversary dinner and I’m not having us eat it in the kitchen! I want it to be nice. I want it to be special!”

 

“What’s wrong with Charles?” Gerald nods in the older actor’s general direction.

 

“Oh, he’s just channelling his inner Ellen Terry************** again,” Cyril says in an offhand fashion, flailing a hand in Charles’ direction flippantly. “With his usual gravitas and melodrama, whilst our lovely dinner slowly overcooks, dries out and shrivels in the oven whilst he does.”

 

“What happened?” Gerald asks with concern, looking to Harriet, from whom he knows he will get a kinder and more straight forward answer from than his evidently frustrated lover.

 

“He didn’t get the part he was hoping for at the Old Vic.” Harriet hisses back quietly.

 

“Yes, Lady Macbeth!” Cyril adds spitefully.

 

When Charles releases an anguished moan, Harriet glares at Cyril. “Not helpful, Cilla!”

 

“Cyril,” Gerald gasps in offended tones. “Don’t be beastly. It’s most unbecoming.” he chides. “I’m sure you wanted this dinner to be perfect, but it isn’t Charles’ fault that today was the day he was denied a part that he really wanted.”

 

“King Lear***************!” Charles bemoans loudly, lifting himself up again, half stumbling up out of his seat before collapsing back into it again. “It should have been me, not that damnable Eric Adeney****************!”

 

“He started drinking this afternoon in here after he came back from the Old Vic, whilst I was preparing the Beef Wellington in the kitchen.” Cyril explains. “Hattie was out shopping. Then after a while, I’m not sure what time exactly, he slipped off and went to the Albany***************** in search of his beloved Edith Evans, but the porters wouldn’t let him in.”

 

“Damnable cheek, those porters!” Charles opines slurringly, raising his teacup before draining its remnants. “They dirtied up my nice Saville Row****************** suit I picked up second-hand from the Portobello Road*******************! I was wearing it especially for her.”

 

“He must have been a bit tight******************** by that stage, but not enough for the porters to call the constabulary thankfully.” Cyril whispers to Gerald, before turning his attention to Charles. “You’re lucky they just roughed you and your suit up a bit and didn’t break your nose or give you a split lip, Aunt Sally. That would be more damaging for your career as an actor. No amount of greasepaint can cover a broken nose.”

 

“How many times must you be told, silly Cilla,” Charles huffs irritably. “I’m a th… th… thespian, not a mere actor.” His usually deep and sonorous voice and clearly enunciated words are dulled by the gin he has consumed.

 

“Thespian or otherwise, Cyril is right, Charles,” Harriet says with concern. “They could have broken your nose,” She shudders as she thinks. “Or far worse.”

 

“After the Albany,” Cyril goes on quietly to Gerald. “He somehow managed to buy a box of Bassett’s Liquorice All-Sorts********************* from somewhere down Piccadilly and hailed an unwitting taxi driver to bring him home. I accepted him on the doorstep like a heavy parcel from the driver, Liquorice All-Sorts and all, and paid him out of Charles’ billfold, caught unexpectedly as I was, wearing Hattie’s apron the whole time.”

 

“We’re already known as the house of ill repute in Hazelwell Road,” Harriet giggles girlishly. “Without you wearing my apron on the doorstep, Cyril.”

 

“Now don’t you start, Hattie!” Cyril waves a finger admonishingly at his pretty landlady.

 

“Fear not, dear lady!” Charles sits up and stares determinedly at Harriet, his whole upper body swaying as he does. “I survived to tell the tale.”

 

“I ended up getting him in here,” Cyril concludes. “Which I now realise was a mistake.”

 

“How much has he drunk?” Gerald asks Cyril in a whisper.

 

“I’d say that’s the second bottle,” Cyril replies, shaking his head slowly. “I haven’t checked the cocktail cabinet, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

 

“And the Liquorice All-Sorts?” Gerald goes on.

 

“About half the box I’d reckon.” Cyril raises his slender eyebrows.

 

“Oh dear!” Gerald exclaims. “Well, we know what that can do to even the most recalcitrant of a chap’s bowels**********************. I think we’d best get them off Charles, Hattie, and get him up to bed with a bucket and a chamber pot.”

 

“Yes,” Harriet sighs resignedly. “I think you’re right, Gerry darling.” Turning her attentions back to Charles she goes on. “Best give me those Liquorice All-Sorts, Charles darling.”

 

“But they’re mine!” Charles retorts sluggishly, his tired eyes widening and his hands reaching protectively for the box of colourful liquorice pieces.

 

“That’s rather ungentlemanly, Aunt Sally.” Gerald pipes up. “You usually share your treats with Hattie and the rest of us. Isn’t she deserving of a Liquorice All-Sort or two?”

 

“Or me?” adds Cyril. “After all, I’m the one who’s been slaving over the oven, whilst you’ve been galivanting up the West End without me!”

 

“Alright,” Charles agrees begrudgingly. “You can have some Hattie.” He pushes the box clumsily back across the photograph covered tabletop towards Harriet’s waiting hands. “Because you’ve been nice… and you Gerry… but… but not her.” He points at Cyril. “Silly Cilla! She’s been a mean and beastly old queen, and therefore doesn’t deserve any.”

 

Cyril rolls his eyes but does not reply.

 

“Come on then Hattie.” Gerald says. “Let’s get Charles upstairs to his bed.”

 

“Yes, come on Charles,” Harriet says, sliding the box as far away from the older man as she can manage across the cluttered table. “I think it’s high time you were in bed.”

 

“But I haven’t had my Beef Wellington yet.” Charles mumbles.

 

“Never mind, Aunt Sally.” Gerald says cheerfully. “Cilla will make sure that she saves you a big serving for tomorrow.”

 

“Will she now?” Cyril mutters under his breath.

 

“Yes, she will,” Gerald replies with purpose, turning his attention to his lover. “Or you won’t get your pretty jeweller’s box.”

 

“Bribery will get you everywhere, Gerry darling.” Cyril replies, leaning forward and kissing Gerald’s puckered lips lovingly.

 

“And since we may be a little while getting him to his bed, could you tidy up all of Charles’ theatrical memorabilia nicely and lay the table?”

 

“I’ve a right mind to sweep all that rubbish into the dustbin.” Cyril eyes all the photographs, books and memorabilia critically.

 

“Ahh, but you won’t, will you Cyril my darling?”

 

Cyril sighs. “No Gerry darling,” He sighs a second time, more deeply, and then, leaning forward to try and get Charles’ straying attention he adds, “Because in spite of him being a melodramatic old thespian, and a lousy old soak***********************, I cannot help but love him as my dear old friend.”

 

“Thank you.” Gerald says gratefully. Then he adds, “Oh, and if you do a really good job of tidying up and setting the table, I’ll permit you to accompany me on the invitation you’ve been dying for.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gerry darling!” Cyril teases. “Your Soho flat isn’t that salubrious.”

 

Gerald laughs. “I’ve just come from Lettice’s, where I just happened to run into Sylvia Fordyce.”

 

“You didn’t!” Cyril squeals.

 

“The Sylvia Fordyce?” Harriet gasps, catching her breath. “As in the famous concert pianist?”

 

“The very one, Hattie.” Gerald smiles like the cat who ate the cream. “Remember that Lettice decorated a wall for her at her country cottage a few weeks ago, and I accompanied her.”

 

“Oh yes!” Harriet replies. “Of course you did, Gerry darling.”

 

“She’s a lovely pian… pian… o player.” Charles manages to stammer before slumping back down again over his now empty teacup.

 

“I say!” Cyril pouts. “That’s jolly unfair! First you get to see Miss Fordyce’s secret country house and then you get to meet her in person, and yet I’m a bigger fan of her than you are!”

 

“Well, as I was chatting and having afternoon tea with Miss Fordyce this afternoon, charming her with my wit and sparkling personality.” Gerald goes on, making Cyril roll his eyes again. “She came up with had the most marvellous idea! She is planning to throw a small soirée at ‘The Nest’ with a few like-minded friends to celebrate the completion of Lettice’s wall and show it off. She’s asking some fellow musicians, artists and the like, and she thought that you and I might like to go along.”

 

The room falls into stunned silence, except for a few drunken snorts from Charles, as Harriet and Cyril gawp wide eyed and open mouthed at Gerald.

 

“You… and me?” Cyril manages to ask, the syllables catching on his breath as he speaks, barely daring to hope.

 

“Yes,” Gerald says with a broad smile. “After I mentioned that you are not only a great admirer or hers, and that you were insanely jealous of my going to ‘The Nest’ with Lettice...”

 

“I was not insanely jealous!” Cyril retorts in outrage, blushing crimson as he speaks.

 

“Yes you were.” Harriet corrects with another giggle.

 

“Damn right she was.” Charles mumbles into his own cup, his remark unheard by any of the other three.

 

“I may have been a little put out that you were able to go and stay there with Miss Chetwynd at Miss Fordyce’s pleasure,” Cyril pouts, holding his head aloft and giving Gerald as haughty a look as he can muster down his nose. “But I wouldn’t say I was ‘insanely jealous’. It wasn’t like she was actually there when you were.”

 

“Well, I would, Cyril.” Harriet chuckles. “You could barely talk about anything that weekend when you were my earshot, wondering what Gerry was doing and seeing at her house, even if she wasn’t there. You were seething!”

 

“Well, Cyril darling,” Gerald goes on. “When I told Miss Fordyce that you were also an oboist, it was the icing on the cake for her. She was thrilled and said you must come, as you will be in good company.”

 

“She didn’t?” Cyril gasps, his fingers rushing to his mouth where a broad smile quickly lightens his handsome young features.

 

“She did.” Gerald affirms. “In fact, she was insistent that you come. So not only will you get to see and stay at ‘The Nest’, you will get to have a whole weekend with Miss Fordyce.”

 

“Oh Gerry!” Cyril cries, throwing his arms around Gerald again and lavishing his face in kisses. “Oh, you really are a darling! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

 

Charles snorts again as he starts to nod off over this teacup.

 

“Come on Aunt Sally.” Gerlad says resignedly. “If you’re going to sleep, I think it’s better that you do it in your own bed, don’t you? It will be more comfortable than an upright dining chair.”

 

He moves around the dining table and bends down. He carefully drapes Charles’ left arm around his neck and grasps it with his left hand whilst slipping his right arm around Charles’ waist. Harriet does the same on the opposite side of Charles to Gerald.

 

“Right Hattie.” Gerald says. “On the count of three. One… two… three!”

 

With a combined groan from all three of them, Gerald and Harriet manage to get the bulky Charles shakily to his feet with some coaxing and slowly they start to manoeuvre him around the dining room furniture and towards the open dining room door.

 

“Not quite how I think either of us imagined starting off our anniversary dinner, Cyril darling.” Gerald says between laboured breaths as they go. “But I daresay Miss Fordyce’s invitation will make up for any difficulties this incident has created.” He winks and smiles lovingly at his younger lover before turning away and helping Harriet get the drunken older actor through the doorway and into the hallway of the villa outside.

 

*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.

 

**Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.

 

***Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over twenty-one, 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.

 

****A latchkey is the key of an outer door of a house.

 

*****Aspidistras are a flowering plant native to eastern and southeastern Asia, particularly China and Vietnam. They grow well in shade and prefer protected places, which made them the ideal indoor house plant for dark Victorian and Edwardian houses which often only had diffused light seeing in through window treatments of venetian blinds, curtains, lace scrim or a combination of all three.

 

******The carte de visite (which translates from the French as 'visiting card') was a format of small photograph which was patented in Paris by photographer André Adolphe Eugène Disdéri in 1854, although first used by Louis Dodero in 1851.

 

*******Thomas Burberry established Burberry in Basingstoke in 1856 at just twenty-one years old, founded on the principle that clothing should be designed to protect people from the British weather. A few years later in 1879 he invented gaberdine, a breathable wearable and hardwearing fabric that revolutionised rainwear. The Burberry trench coat was invented during the First World War with epaulettes used to suspend military equipment, but in the inter-war years, with the Burberry check registered as a trademark and introduced as lining to their rainwear, it became a luxury brand for the wealthy.

 

********The Old Vic theatre in the London borough of Lambeth was formerly the home of a theatre company that became the nucleus of the National Theatre. The company’s theatre building opened in 1818 as the Royal Coburg and produced mostly popular melodramas. In 1833 it was redecorated and renamed the Royal Victoria and became popularly known as the Old Vic. Between 1880 and 1912, under the management of Emma Cons, a social reformer, the Old Vic was transformed into a temperance amusement hall known as the Royal Victoria Hall and Coffee Tavern, where musical concerts and scenes from Shakespeare and opera were performed. Lilian Baylis, Emma Cons’s niece, assumed management of the theatre in 1912 and two years later presented the initial regular Shakespeare season. By 1918 the Old Vic was established as the only permanent Shakespearean theatre in London, and by 1923 all of Shakespeare’s plays had been performed there. The Old Vic grew in stature during the 1920s and ’30s under directors such as Andrew Leigh, Harcourt Williams, and Tyrone Guthrie.

 

*********Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth Century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin.

 

**********Historically, queer slang emerged as a way for queer people to communicate discreetly, forming a sense of community and shared identity. Using female names or terms could be a way to signal belonging within this coded language. It was also used for protection, allowing homosexual men to talk about one another discreetly in public without the implication of homosexuality and the repercussions that came with it as a criminal act.

 

***********Dame Edith Mary Evans was an English actress. She was best known for her work on the West End stage, but also appeared in films at the beginning and towards the end of her career. Between 1964 and 1968, she was nominated for three Academy Awards. Born in 1888, Evans' stage career spanned sixty years, during which she played more than one hundred roles, in classics by Shakespeare, Congreve, Goldsmith, Sheridan and Wilde, and plays by contemporary writers including Bernard Shaw, Enid Bagnold, Christopher Fry and Noël Coward. She created roles in two of Shaw's plays: Orinthia in The Apple Cart (1929), and Epifania in The Millionairess (1940) and was in the British premières of two others: Heartbreak House (1921) and Back to Methuselah (1923). Evans became widely known for portraying haughty aristocratic women, as in two of her most famous roles as Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest, and Miss Western in the 1963 film of Tom Jones. During her performance as Lady Bracknell, her elongated delivery of the line “A handbag” has become synonymous with the Oscar Wilde play. By contrast, she played a downtrodden maid in The Late Christopher Bean (1933), an eccentric, impoverished old woman in The Whisperers (1967) and – one of her most celebrated roles – Nurse in Romeo and Juliet, which she played in four productions between 1926 and 1961. When she was eighty-seven, she played the Dowager Queen in The Slipper and the Rose (1976), in which she sang and danced. Evans died at her home in Cranbrook, Kent, in October 1976, aged 88.

 

************Doe eyes typically refers to eyes that are large, round, and soft, often perceived as innocent and alluring, similar to the eyes of a female deer (a doe). The term is used to describe eyes that convey a sense of naivety, gentleness, and sometimes even vulnerability.

 

*************Beef Wellington, a dish of beef fillet coated with pâté and duxelles (a finely chopped mushroom mixture), then wrapped in pastry, is believed to be named after Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington, likely in commemoration of his victory at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. While the exact origin story is debated, it's generally accepted that the dish is of English or French origin, possibly evolving from the French dish "filet de boeuf en croute".

 

**************Dame Alice Ellen Terry was a leading English actress of the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. Born in 1847, into a family of actors, Ellen Terry began performing as a child, acting in Shakespeare plays in London, and toured throughout the British provinces in her teens. After a failed marriage to the 46-year-old artist George Frederic Watts when she was sixteen and a six year retirement during which she had a relationship with the architect Edward William Godwin, she returned to the stage in 1874 and was immediately acclaimed for her portrayal of roles in Shakespeare and other classics. In 1878 she joined Henry Irving's company as his leading lady, and for more than the next two decades she was considered the leading Shakespearean and comic actress in Britain. Two of her most famous roles were Portia in The Merchant of Venice and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. She and Irving also toured with great success in America and Britain. In 1903 Terry took over management of London's Imperial Theatre, focusing on the plays of George Bernard Shaw and Henrik Ibsen. The venture was a financial failure, and Terry turned to touring and lecturing. She continued to find success on stage until 1920, while also appearing in films from 1916 to 1922. Her career lasted nearly seven decades. She died of a cerebral haemorrhage at her home at Smallhythe Place, near Tenterden, Kent, aged eighty-one in 1928.

 

***************The Shakespearean play The Tragedy of King Lear, often shortened to King Lear, is a tragedy written by William Shakespeare. It is loosely based on the mythological Leir of Britain. King Lear, in preparation for his old age, divides his power and land between his daughters Goneril and Regan, who pay homage to gain favour, feigning love. It was regularly performed at the Old Vic theatre in London throughout the 1920s, with seasons in 1920, 1921, 1922 and 1925 to 1928.

 

****************Eric Adeney was an English actor born in 1888 in Tunbridge Wells, Kent. He was an actor, known for playing significant parts in Hamlet, The Merry Men of Sherwood and Heroes of the Mine. He died in 1953 in Trethevy, Cornwall, England, UK. Although I do not know what part he played in the 1925 production of King Lear, as a well regarded Shakespearian actor at the age of thirty-six in that year, I could imagine him playing the part of King Lear, having stamina enough to perform the demanding part.

 

*****************Albany, sometimes referred to as the Albany, is an English apartment complex in Piccadilly, near Piccadilly Circus. The three-storey mansion was built in the 1770s and divided into apartments in 1802. Resembling Oxford/Cambridge college living quarters, it has stone stairs, long stone corridors, a massive front door, but elegantly proportioned large rooms. Uniformed porters used to guard the front doors back before the Second World War. Amongst its many famous tenants, English poet and major figure of the Romantic Movement Lord Byron, former Prime Ministers of the United Kingdom William Gladstone and Edward Heath, English novelist Graham Greene and actress Edith Evans, lived there. During the Second World War, one of the buildings received significant damage from a German bomb, but was reconstructed after the war to appear as an exact replica. Still an exclusive apartment building today, it has the rather quirky rule that no child under the age of fourteen is permitted to live there.

 

******************Savile Row in London is a world-renowned street famous for its bespoke tailoring, particularly for men's suits. It's a destination for those seeking high-quality, hand-made clothing with a focus on craftsmanship and tradition. While the area is known for expensive bespoke suits, there are also ready-to-wear and made-to-measure options available.

 

*******************Portobello Road Market in Notting Hill, London, is a world-famous street market known for its antiques, vintage clothing, and diverse food stalls. It's one of London's oldest markets, dating back to the 19th century. The market stretches along Portobello Road, from Westbourne Grove to Golborne Road, and is particularly vibrant on Saturdays.

 

********************To get tight is an old fashioned term used to describe getting drunk.

 

*********************George Bassett & Co., known simply as Bassett's, was an English confectionery company and brand. The company was founded in Sheffield by George Bassett in 1842. The Sheffield Directory of 1842 records George Bassett as being "wholesale confectioner, lozenge maker and British wine trader". In 1851, Bassett took on an apprentice called Samuel Meggitt Johnson, who later became Bassett's son-in-law. His descendants ran the company until Gordon Johnson retired as chairman in the 1970s. Bassett's was first listed on the London Stock Exchange in 1929. They opened up a factory in Broad Street, Sheffield in 1852. The site moved in 1933 to Owlerton in another district of the city and remains there today. Unclaimed Babies were being produced during the Nineteenth Century, especially in the North West of England. In 1918, Bassetts launched their own range of the soft sweets which they called Peace Babies. They were re-launched as Jelly Babies in the 1950s and were allegedly thrown at the Beatles during concerts as they were a favourite of George Harrison. The Liquorice All-Sorts variety was created by accident when Bassett salesman Charlie Thompson dropped the samples of several different products in front of a prospective client. The client was taken by the idea of selling the sweets all mixed up and in return for the success, the company allowed the client to name the new brand. Barratt & Co. Ltd. was acquired in a friendly takeover by Bassett's in 1966. In 1989, the combined firms were acquired by the then-united Cadbury-Schweppes company in a deal brokered for ninety-one million pounds. In 2016, all the products were re-marketed under the Maynards Bassett dual branding.

 

**********************Liquorice is very soothing on the gut and it has, apparently, fairly significant anti-inflammatory powers. Also, liquorice is a very effective laxative.

 

***********************In slang, “soak” refers to drinking excessively, particularly alcohol.

 

This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a dining room may look real to you, but believe it or not, it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The open book on the table as well as the closed one to the far right of the photograph are both books about the London actress Elen Terry, whilst the open postcard album featuring photographic postcards of famous Edwardian actors and actresses, including Ellen Terry, are all 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make them all miniature artisan pieces. Not only did Ken Blythe create books, he also created other 1:12 miniatures with paper and that includes the wonderfully detailed floral lidded box which is full of letters, cards and postcards which have each been produced with extreme authentic attention to detail. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

Also on the table, are scattered some small photographs of famous Edwardian actresses, including both Edith Evans and Ellen Terry. They are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The box of hand made chocolates and Bassett’s liquorice all sorts (all of which are removable) were also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures with close attention paid to their packaging to make them as authentic as possible.

 

The larger carte de visites of famous Edwardian actresses including the likes of Sarah Bernhardt I acquired from a seller on E-Bay.

 

Harriet’s snakeskin handbag lying on the chaise, with its gold clasp and chain comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The soda syphon on the table to the right of the photo was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin is a 1:12 artisan miniature made of real glass. It came from a specialist stockist in Sydney.

 

Harriet’s beautiful Edwardian dinner and tea sets come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, as do the Milford family photographs on the wall, the plant stand in the background and the aspidistra in the jardiniere. The red and gilded jardiniere itself is a hand painted example of miniature artisan, Rachel Munday, whose work is highly sought after.

 

The Queen Anne dining table, chairs were given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.

 

The Welsh dresser in the background holding Harriet’s crockery comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late Eighteenth Century. The dresser has plate grooves in it, just like a real dresser would.