View allAll Photos Tagged Disapproval
With chicks in the nest the Bald Eagle parents aren't very tolerant of intruders. This Juvy was brave enough to make a number of passes over the nest while the parents voiced their disapproval from below. All that squawking and yelling was music to my ears as it gave us an opportunity for hundreds of great images. (No I won't post them all.)
When a group of artists formed an organization to bring public art to their African American community in 1967, they did not know it would become a worldwide phenomenon or a catalyst redefining how people protest worldwide.
The art created by the group of artists was “The Wall of Respect.” Once located on a building at 43rd St. and Langley Ave. in Chicago, it became a movement. Today, expressing ones disapproval or objection to something through murals has become a common occurrence, but it was not always the case.
The Chicago Cultural Cente, recently opened the “Wall of Respect: Vestiges, Shard, and the Legacy of Black Power” exhibition. The exhibition roughly coincides with the 50th anniversary of the “Wall of Respect.” It is open now through July 31, 2017.
Benedict and his partner Steve kiss in a Bristol underpass
(Candid street shot of people's reactions)
As I watch her eat, I have a feeling that she wishes it's her birthday everyday. She's such a greedy bunny, that I'm pretty sure she's really happy today. ;)
Always a lady though, she didn't finish her treats and fresh vegetables in one shot (or two). Looks like the dry ones will have to return to the fridge, and can last a couple of days. Or she just has no interest in what's left. xD
I was trying to get a photo of her tongue, as she licks each time after she finishes one leaf of her 白菜仔. As evidenced, I kept missing. At least I got a weird Andora face out of it. Hee.
She has whisker dots!
Hector wasn't a show off, he couldn't help that he was born a little different from everything else. It made the other chickens feel uncomfortable and they would openly cluck their disapproval. But Hector wouldn't let himself be defined by monochromatism. He wasn't the problem, he was just a 24 bit color space in an 8 bit gray scale world.
Okay, I admit it. I'm really set in my ways and I'm no longer a big fan of change. Time marches on, and all that, but in my opinion, this bench wreaks of commercialism compared with the beautiful, old decorated concrete bench that used to be here. I used to call that bench, "Tigger's Bench", since it was where I took my favorite shot of Tigger which I called, "How Could You Leave Me?" Tigger would often get on that bench and turn his back to me when he knew I was leaving, and when I'd talk to him, he'd whip his tail in disapproval, sulking the whole time! Eventually, he didn't leave me anymore, as I adopted him and took him home to live with me, but when HE left me for good, I had the photo framed to always remember my Tigger.
No matter WHAT bench they put in its place, I would never have liked it. It does show that there are people in our community who are committed to keeping this park beautiful, though, and a friend of mine from high school, Ann Pinitiliano is named on this bench as one of them. I guess you can't give credit where credit is due on a concrete bench. At least this one won't be missed as much when it is replaced by another.
The original bench is in the first comment below.
Percy was a friendly dog but took an instant dislike to the flash on my camera. He kept barking at it to show his disapproval!
Texture image by Prawny
pixabay.com/users/prawny-162579/
at Pixabay
Finally, after three years Avengers: Age of Ultron is officially out in the United States and my 16 weeks of work on these figures has concluded! I’m sure you’ve already gathered by now that like my Guardians of the Galaxy customs before these, not everything on these figures was painted. Instead, I have taken select portions of The LEGO Group’s official minifigures that I found to be accurate and have applied them to my own! I had been planning these minifigures ever since the first concept art photos were shown back in April of last year, and this has always been what I had in mind, so seeing it all come together has been pretty surreal for me.
Captain America:
After having discovered how amazing a Flash cowl looks as a Captain America helmet once the lightning bolts are removed last year, I knew that was something that I would definitely have to carry over onto this figure. LEGO’s face design ended up looking incredibly bland and super tanned anyway. Easily my favorite part of Cap’s helmet would have to be the light blue highlights on the sides, they just really topped it off. I wish I could’ve packed in more than I already did onto his arms, but I’m pretty satisfied with how they turned out, especially the Avengers symbols on both shoulders! His torso has very minimal paintwork, LEGO had a fantastic design to begin with, and so I simply painted a few areas with my own shade of blue to make the printed torso blend with the rest of the figure. The legs came out great I think, I especially love the way the design on the front of them turned out, but the small Xs within the buckles were pretty time consuming. Finally, Cap here has his battle damaged shield along with a pair of painted Tiny Tactical glove tops!
Iron Man Mark 43:
I had already made so many Iron Man suits in 2013 that I just didn’t care to bother with the rest of the Iron Legion that we saw in that film. So over a year later, the Mark 43 has become the first of at least three that you will see from me this year! This suit wasn’t drastically different from previous suits that I had made during that year either, so making this figure was really just a lot of the same thing, and that’s why it ended up hitting the back burner to inevitably be finished last lol. I still have a few Mark VII chest pieces left over from AMA, so of course I had to use one on this new suit as well. The challenge of deciding which designs would be most recognizable on a minifigure from the real suit still remained, so that always holds me up when making Iron Man figures, but I’m pretty satisfied with the end result (especially the arms)! Also, the newly designed HUD within the face mask that can only be seen in the showcase video turned out awesome, I look at my old versions in disgust now xD
Thor:
For numerous reasons, I skipped out on making minifigures for the release of Thor: The Dark World at the end of 2013, so making Thor was really a whole new thing for me. Using Breakthrough Army’s mjolnir hammer was always a given right from the start, its design is amazing and miles better than the variant LEGO manufactures themselves! However, making the decision to use the Qui-Gon hairpiece wasn’t as easy, and despite the back of it not being completely spot on I decided it looked awesome from the front which led me to finally painting it for the figure (I also recolored his eyebrows and beard to match it). Using this hairpiece also came with a cost too, which was me having to ironically use one of LEGO’s new capes due to how long the hairpiece is in the back, despite my disapproval of them. For the longest time, I had always planned to paint chain mail arms for this Thor similar to what you see on his legs already, but after seeing barely any footage of him wearing them, I decided to go sleeveless instead. This involved me having to paint his gauntlets onto a pair of eclipsegrafx muscle arms, and then a couple of Tiny Tactical glove tops (also painted) to go beneath them. LEGO’s torso for him I thought was perfect, and that there was no reason for me to alter it in any way. Painting the chain mail onto his thighs, and the kneepads was a little challenging, but I managed to get through it! :)
Black Widow:
LEGO completely dropped the ball with their Black Widow head and hair for their first Avengers sets, so I was beyond relieved when they fixed those issues for this film. The head still didn’t do it for me though, so I ended up painting my own, but I greatly appreciated the accurate hairpiece and repainted the entire thing with added highlights to top it off. LEGO also did a great job with the torso design, but me being the customizer that I am, there is never a way around using Arealight curved torsos for female characters. So inevitably, I fully painted both sides of her torso while basing the design off of their original version, and while it was time consuming I think it turned out really awesome and clean. Her arms are fully painted as well, and the “Black Widow’s Bite” wrist tasers are three-dimensional as well with Tiny Tactical glove tops beneath them! Widow’s legs already had a great design to begin with, so I simply painted on her boots along with a couple of markings on the back of them. To finish it all off, her electric staffs (or whatever the hell they’re actually called lol) are also completely painted, which wasn’t easy to do considering I had to paint straight lines around a round surface multiple times!
Hawkeye:
I remember watching the first set photos for Age of Ultron come in and anxiously waiting to see if Hawkeye would be sporting some sort of new outfit, and I was really glad when I finally found out that he would be! So by use of a modified CapeMadness trench coat, a BrickForge bow & arrow, and a sanded BrickWarriors quiver I think he came together really nicely! Clint’s hair is a basic brown sleepy hairpiece with dark brown highlights added, and his recurve bow has a couple of square bits glued on along with a thread running through it. You can’t see it in this photo, but he does have all of the necessary detail painted onto his left hand as well (this is what the showcase is for lol)! Hawkeye’s quivers are always incredibly complex, so I painted as much as could onto it, and I also painted the BrickForge arrowhead silver. I had planned to repaint Hawkeye’s face for the longest time too, but in the end I decided to keep LEGO’s and only add a couple marks of my own onto it. Oh, and he also has a pair of Tiny Tactical glove tops. They’re too good looking xD
Scarlet Witch:
LEGO’s portrayal of Elizabeth Olsen’s Scarlet Witch was absolutely horrendous. Rehashing the Supergirl head, giving her blue Chima pieces for her abilities, the recurring issue of super tanned skin tones on the legs, to even failing to use the obvious choice for her hairpiece. So what you see in the photo is my attempt to fix all of that by painting a whole new face for her, swapping out the hairpiece, and fixing the skin tone while continuing it and the wrinkle marks around all four sides of each leg. I’m particularly fond of how her face turned out, both eyes have a ring of gray painted around them, and her mouth was actually based off of Batgirl’s from the Joker Steamroller set. Scarlet Witch was given the same treatment as Black Widow in regards to her torso, which involved me fully painting my own version of LEGO’s design onto a dark red Arealight curved torso. Her arms didn’t need much on the detail side, but both wrists do have the pieces of jewelry along with yet another pair of Tiny Tactical glove tops!
Quicksilver:
The use of a Luke Skywalker hairpiece painted white had to have been the first idea I had for this wave of figures, which at this point was a bit over a year ago. I was rather disappointed by LEGO’s choice to print such a fantastic design onto medium blue torsos instead of sand blue, but there was no way I was going to to lose that awesome mesh design, so I decided to keep it anyway. Pietro’s arms are fully painted, very simplistic looking, but accurate nonetheless! I kept LEGO’s face for him, but redid the markings within the mouth while also enhancing his pupils a bit. His fully painted pair of legs was pretty time consuming; quite obviously because of how many arrows I had to paint onto both straps on his legs. I also tried to represent his Adidas shoes by adding white rims and bits of green at the front. You might also notice that the gray design in the center is based off of the Death Star Troopers from Star Wars ;)
The Vision:
My god he was so awesome in the film, and unfortunately LEGO decided to print their design onto sand green parts rather than dark green. So I did my best to recreate it in my own way onto a new torso and pair of legs, and the back of his torso also has a great amount of detail behind that super complex cape that I painted (which is actually the second version lol). Vision’s cape is painted on both sides, and I recolored the gem on his forehead to the more accurate gold color before painting the gray design you see wrapped around his entire head. Also, more glove tops :3
Hulk:
This is the first big-fig I have ever customized, and I think the weathered effect on him turned out great! It was pretty heavy in some areas, and had to be toned down quite a lot actually, but weaving my way around LEGO’s already existing design on his paints was also a bit time consuming before I painted the effect onto them as well! So yeah he was pretty straight forward, and the first to be finished :P
Ultron Prime:
Finally, the last figure in the lineup and also what seems to be the most controversial amongst you guys. Trust me, I have read all of your opinions on this figure already, and I fully understand all of them. However, I found myself genuinely satisfied with this figure, and decided that additional sculpting really wasn’t necessary. So I painted the entire figure, except for the torso, and you can probably imagine how it was almost as time consuming as it was for me to paint Groot last year. I tried to bring over as many elements from the real thing as I could while also blending in a lot of dark gray, and I think it really worked out! Especially his eyes, this figure would not have come together in the right way if I hadn’t painted my own. Standard LEGO eyes just simply didn’t capture Ultron’s personality.
So there you have it, and thank you for reading through all of that if you actually did! These figures are something I have been building towards for a very long time, and it really feels like the end of a big chapter for me seeing them all finished. It’s hard to believe that the next time I’ll be making a full wave of Avengers figures will be in 2018 when Infinity War: Part 1 comes out...
There is SO much more to be seen with these figures, therefore I can’t stress enough checking out the showcase video on my YouTube channel!
Watch "LEGO Marvel : Avengers: Age Of Ultron Minifigures - Showcase" via YouTube:
Thanks for all of your feedback guys; I’ve really appreciated all of your support with these.
Avengers Assemble
bold= Deadpool
italic= Serious Voice
underlined= Jokey Voice
"quotations= Eddie Brock"
Bold underlined= Cop
--------------------------------------------
The sound of the air swishing by my head was soothing. Soothing compared to what I was about to do. Me, Wade Winston Wilson is about to kill Eddie Brock. I still get jitters from this.
I parked my motorcycle in an alleyway and headed towards The Daily Bugle. Cops were surrounding the place because the mayor was visiting. Mayor Robbertson.
The door opened and out came my target.
Edward Brock!
He turned and stared right at me.
"Who the hell are you?"
I sighed and looked at my boots slowly unholstering my pistol.
Awww... You dont remember me?
A cop came out and pointed a shotgun at me.
Drop the gun now!
Eddie smiled at me. I hate this guy. He started scooting back into the building like the coward he was. Good riddance.
Just shoot him already!
Relax, I know what I'm doing
I said drop the damn gun, NOW!
Calm down! What is wrong with you?!
I slowly bent down and put my pistol in front of me.
Now walk towards me with your hands up!
I kick my pistol up and caught it behind my back. The cop gasped.
I have six shots in this little beauty, if you don't drop the shot gun I'll have one less bullet.
The cop dropped the shotgun and backed into a wall. Eddie was frozen with fear, his face peppered with sweat.
"What do you want? You wan't money? I have money! I'll give it all to you, just please don't kill me"
I was slightly offended by the question. I shook my head in disapproval.
I'm not gonna kill ya
He made a sigh of relief. The cop was long gone. I grabbed Eddie by the arm and pulled him towards my motorcycle.
let's go for a ride...
-------------------------------------------------
I hope you like this! the story was a pain to do from my phone. :p If you fave please comment.
-Darman
He was a striking figure, exceedingly well dressed. A crowd gathered around to watch him sketch the statue in front of him. I took a picture of the scene....a couple, I think. He looked at me over his half-rimmed glasses....gave a very slight, dignified head shake of disapproval.
It wasn't until I put the camera away that I saw that the sketch was more than just a sketch. Isn't it incredible?
My hubby was talking to our crew and Cookie, even after maaany years of cohabitation, still doesn't feel comfortable around him... He was just showing his disapproval ;).
Should I or shouldn’t I? That is: should I continue to practice my chosen profession, in my newly-widowed circumstances?
Does it look right for a grieving, recently-widowed Duchess to be seeing rich clients for expensive escort dates? Lord Belcher has advised me to lie low, but for the time being at least the intense questioning by the French and Monegasque Police has abated. They are suspicious of my behaviour just before my husband’s fatal flight, but there is no evidence to suggest my culpability beyond coincidental circumstances and a general disapproval of my “immoral” character.
Pancho Biddlecombe called to inform me that a certain Monsieur Duane Rollo Renaud of Montreal would be visiting Monaco shortly with important information about my late husband’s estate. “He may also have some other news for you” Pancho added, conspiratorially. In the meantime, we have held a solemn service in my husband’s memory in Monte Carlo’s Cathedral of Our Lady Immaculate (the same church where I was married to Le Duc, less than six months ago!).
Lord Pollokshields – formerly known as Guerrotti the Scottie – has been sticking up for me in the British media. Lord Trembath denounced me in his Sunday newspaper column as “that disgraceful and perverted harlot, now also revealed as a suspected murderess”. Guerrotti took him to task on a late night TV show. “Don’t be so harsh and judgemental about a lovely lady who has just lost her beloved husband! I know Lady Rebecca very well, and she is the kindest and most gentle-hearted Madame and professional prostitute in the world! There is no way she could kill anybody!”
Toodle Pip! Chin up!
Love and Kisses to all my Friends and Fans!
xxxxxx
Lady Rebecca Lyndon
Duchesse de la Baleine D’or
Uploaded on 01-31-2019
These were all for sale at the 2016 Autorama at Cal Expo. Kinda a cool for a garage or a man cave.
I just heard a collective sigh of disapproval from women. Sorry, guys...
English:
If your Yahoo! ID is based in Singapore, Germany, Hong Kong or Korea you will only be able to view safe content based on your local Terms of Service so won’t be able to turn SafeSearch off.
In other words that means, that german users can not access photos on flickr that are not flagged "safe" ... only flowers and landscapes for germans ...Copy and upload this picture to your account - show flickr who we are!
Deutsch:
flickr sperrt uns aus! Und auch dich!
Seit gestern werden für deutsche Nutzer keine Bilder mehr angezeigt, die als 'moderate' oder 'restricted' markiert sind! Es gibt keine Moeglichkeit das umzustellen - das ist eine grobe Unverschämtheit und Frechheit von flickr!
Lade dieses Bild runter und poste es in deinem Account! Lass uns das Bild überall auf flickr verteilen und es in 'Interestingness' heben!! So geht es nicht!
Original Version: farm2.static.flickr.com/1299/543864623_7aadef1e69_o.jpg
Español:
Si tu Yahoo! ID está basada en Singapor, Alemania, Hong Kong o Corea sólamente verás contenido llamado seguro basándose en nuestros términos de servicio locales y no podrás deshabilitar el modo de búsqueda segura..
En otras palabras esto significa, que usuarios alemanes p.ej. ya no podrán acceder a fotos en flickr que hayan sido "flagged", es decir marcadas como no seguras y para todo público... solamente flores y paisajes para los alemanes ...
No permitiremos que ésto suceda!
Favoritiza fotos relacionadas y difunde el mensaje!
En català:
Si la teva ID de Yahoo està localitzada a Singapur, Alemanya, Hong Kong o Corea només podràs veure el que Flickr anomena ‘contingut segur’ (safe search) basat en les condicions de serveis locals. O sigui que no pots desconnectar el fitre famós Safe Search.
Dit d’una altra manera, això significa que els usuaris alemanys no poden accedir a les fotos de Flickr a les quals no s’ha afegit l’etiqueta (flag) de ‘segura’. Només flors i paisatges per als alemanys.
Dóna suport als usuaris! Per la llibertat d’expressió!
Favorititza imatges relacionades i difón el missatge!!
Francais:
Si votre compte Yahoo! est basé à Singapour, à Hong Kong, en Corée ou en Allemagne, vous ne pourrez voir que les photos qui n'ont pas été marquées comme ayant un contenu qui peut choquer. Toutes les autres ne vous seront pas accessibles. Vous serez donc condamnés à ne voir que des paysages et des fleurs. Il ne faut pas laisser faire ça. Envoyez cette photo sur votre compte pour montrer à Flickr que nous savons nous mobiliser contre la censure !
Portugues:
Se a tua conta yahoo e de Singapura, Hong Kong, Koreia e Alemanha.. vc so podera ver fotos comportadas..rs, digo censuradas.. Todas as outras nao serao acessiveis , apenas flores abelhas e anjinhos.. bem-vindos a mais um absurdo Flickr..kkkkkkk
Junte-se a nos, proteste..porque o proximo pode ser vc, seu pais, sua conta, ou o diabo a quatro...
繁體中文：
如果你的Yahoo! 帳號是註冊在新加坡、德國、香港或韓國，你將只能夠看見標記為安全的相片，基於你所在地的服務條款，你無法將安全搜尋關閉。
換句話說，新加坡、德國、香港或韓國使用者只能瀏覽標記為安全的相片…僅有花花草草及風景…
我們不會讓這發生！複製並上傳這張圖片至你的帳號 — 對Flickr展現我們異議！
简体中文：
如果你的Yahoo! 帐户是注册在新加坡、德国、香港或韩国，你将只能够看见标记为安全的相片，基于你本地的服务条款，你无法将安全搜寻关闭。
换句话说，新加坡、德国、香港或韩国使用者只能浏览标记为安全的相片… 仅有花花草草及风景…
我们不会让这发生！ 复制并上传这张图片至你的帐户 — 对Flickr展现我们异议！
日本語:
もしあなたのYahoo.IDがシンガポール、ドイツ、香港あるいは韓国である場合には、『安全』まあ平たく言って無難な写真しか観ることができないってことです。つまりドイツのFlickrerは花や風景の写真ってなくらいしか見れないって事です。そんな理不尽なことがあるなんて！どうです、皆さんもこの写真をアップロードしてアピールしましょう！
[Italiano]
Se il tuo ID yahoo è localizzato a Singapore, in Germania oppure ad Hong Kong o in Korea potrai vedere solo foto dal contenuto che è in accordo con il locale accordo dei termini di servizio per cui gli utenti flickr di quelle nazioni non potranno cambiare da SafeSearch on in SafeSearch off.
In altri termini, ciò significa che gli utenti tedeschi e delle altre nazioni citate non potranno accedere a foto su flickr che non siano flaggate "safe"
e quindi solo fiori e paesaggi per i tedeschi.
Copia e carica nel tuo stream quest' immagine sul tuo account - mostra a flickr chi siamo!
Česky:
Je-li tvé Yahoo! ID vedené pod Singapurem, Německem, Hong Kongem nebo Koreou, uvidíš jen "bezpečný obsah" opírající se o lokální Podmínky používání služby, a tudíž nebudeš moci vypnout funkci SafeSearch.
Jinými slovy, němečtí a jiní uživatelé neuvidí fotografie které nemají označení "safe".
Pro Němce - jen kytičky a krajinky!
Nechceme aby se to stalo!!!
Zkopíruj si a uploadni tento obrázek do svého streamu: ukažme Flickru, kdo jsme!
Kdo bude další...?!?!?!?!?!?!?
farm2.static.flickr.com/1327/545229485_9477ada58a_o.jpg
Weitere Infos:
www.heise.de/newsticker/meldung/91085
www.flickr.com/groups/404938@N23/discuss/72157600347681500/
www.flickr.com/help/forum/en-us/42597/
www.flickr.com/groups/againstcensorship
Someone made Disapproving Rabbits today ;)
Kathy's comment on the post had me near tears, I was laughing so much. It was great to see.
Get up, stand up: stand up for your rights!
Get up, stand up: dont give up the fight!
www.flickr.com/help/forum/en-us/42597/page2/
please click on the blinking pic down below and fave that picture
klicke auf das blinkende dingsda und fave das Bild
Yahoo in da news:
www.bigmouthmedia.com/live/articles/yahoo-shareholders-re...
Dewed- Collection of Poems written by Nandita Bose
As an author, Nandita Bose has written primarily on relationships, speaking of love, dysfunctional associations and the triumph over odds within structures of social consent, apathy or disapproval. Her works include: Tread Softly (2012), The Perfume of Promise (2013), If Walls could Weep (2014) and Shadow and Soul (October 2015). A reluctant poet, she tries to sew moments into words. Her first collection of poems, Dewed, is out this year.
"Great Gray Owl Glare" by Patti Deters. A majestic Great Gray Owl (Strix nebulosa) bird perches on a slender branch, surrounded by a backdrop of soft beige and brown winter grasses. The raptor's penetrating yellow eyes are looking directly at the camera, as if glaring in disapproval. The intricate feather patterns of these predators create a striking contrast with the soft, brown and beige colors of her feathers, helping her to blend in a bit while hunting the winter grasslands of northern Minnesota. This particular bird of prey was seen near Two Harbors, MN, USA. Thank you for viewing this image. If you like outdoor nature photography, please enjoy more birds, animals, and other wildlife photos at patti-deters.pixels.com/featured/great-gray-owl-glare-pat....
Not an easy job feeding the kids. Here we see the chicks voicing their disapproval when a lizard drops over the edge, rather than into one of the 3 hungry mouths. Dad watches it fall.
Australian Kestrels, A.C.T.
When Kyori Sato decided to return to Japan to re-think her career and re-evaluate her priorities, she sought the guidance of her old sensei, Hiruto Takahashi. Under his tutelage, Kyori took a much needed break from her usual shenanigans and embarked on a journey of self-discovery thorough a very intense psychological and physical training routine that allowed her to re-focus and get back into shape. In the end though, all it took was one call from Natalia Fatalé for Kyori to drop out of this new path and get right back into her high-glamour lifestyle, much to her sensei's total disapproval. As they say, you can get the girl out of Paris, but you can't get the fashion out of the girl! Refreshed and more determined than ever, Kyori returned to Paris with a new take on life, a perfectly coordinated wardrobe in tow and with more style then ever! What else could we expect from one of the most beloved Fashion Royalty characters ever? One thing is certain, no one will ever foil her plans again!
you took notice of my ill-fated heart
& reveled in the fact that you were the reason it bled
the discussion, always one sided
& like a flood, you drown me from all sides with your face, your cruel words, & most of all, your silence when I need to hear from you the most.
like a bruise I can't stop touching
you are relentless with your malicious intentions
& yet
I can only blame myself.
for I let you stamp your disapproval on me a thousand times over
never once walking away
but I am not to be subdued any longer
my heart is sick no more
& like a volcano erupting, I have found my fire.
flames bursting inside of me like the waves all those times I was drowning in you
but I can swim now
I can float
& I don't see your face anymore, or hear your voice
& it is magnificent that your callous instrument is no longer being played.
Words & photo by Shelly Kay.
New Yorkers Protest the US$850 BILLION (US$3 TRILLION) Wall Street BAILOUT: Wall Street, NYC - September 25, 2008
Phototgrapher: a. golden, eyewash design - c. 2008.
I swear, Jeremy probably thinks I'm stalking him. As a matter of fact, it feels like every time I'm photographing, or attending a lecture, there pops up Jeremy Scahill. Admittedly, I do have a bit of a crush. OK, a BIG CRUSH. What's NOT to love? Intelligent, good-looking, well-spoken, hard-working, a HUSTLER, an injustice investigator, a Puffin Foundation Writing Fellow at The Nation Institute, an accomplished writer. Perhaps I am stalking him, because every New York female knows a good man HERE is HARD to find. We simply take the hard portion of the latter when we can and consider ourselves fortunate. Hahaha! If anyone happens to be zero degrees of separation from Mr. Scahill, please let him know he has an blushing admirer!
For more information on Scahill:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremy_Scahill
www.thenation.com/directory/bios/jeremy_scahill
Friends,
The richest 400 Americans -- that's right, just four-hundred people -- own MORE than the bottom 150 million Americans COMBINED! 400 of the wealthiest Americans have got more stashed away than half the entire country! Their combined net worth is $1.6 trillion. During the eight years of the Bush Administration, their wealth has increased by nearly $700 billion -- the same amount that they were demanding We give to them for the "bailout." Why don't they just spend the money they made under Bush to bail themselves out? They'd still have nearly a trillion dollars left over to spread amongst themselves!
Of course, they are not going to do that -- at least not voluntarily. George W. Bush was handed a $127 billion surplus when Bill Clinton left office. Because that money was OUR money and not HIS, he did what the rich prefer to do -- spend it and never look back. Now we have a $9.5 trillion debt that will take seven generations from which to recover. Why -- on --earth – did -- our -- "representatives" -- give -- these -- robber -- barons -- $US850 BILLION -- of – OUR -- money?
Last week, proposed my own bailout plan. My suggestions, listed below, were predicated on the singular and simple belief that the rich must pull themselves up by their own platinum bootstraps. Sorry, fellows, but you drilled it into our heads one too many times: THERE...IS...NO…FREE... LUNCH ~ PERIOD! And thank you for encouraging us to hate people on welfare! So, there should have been NO HANDOUTS FROM US TO YOU! Last Friday, after voting AGAINST this BAILOUT, in an unprecedented turn of events, the House FLIP-FLOPPED their "No" Vote & said "Yes", in a rush version of a "bailout" bill vote. IN SPITE OF THE PEOPLE'S OVERWHELMING DISAPPROVAL OF THIS BAILOUT BILL... IN SPITE OF MILLIONS OF CALLS FROM THE PEOPLE CRASHING WASHINGTON "representatives'" PHONE LINES...IN SPITE OF CRASHING OUR POLITICIAN'S WEBSITES...IN SPITE OF HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE PROTESTING AROUND THE COUNTRY... THEY VOTED FOR THIS BAILOUT! The People first succeeded on Monday with the House, but failed do it with the Senate and then THE HOUSE TURNED ON US TOO!
It is clear, though, we cannot simply continue protesting without proposing exactly what it is we think THESE IDIOTS should/'ve do/one. So, after consulting with a number of people smarter than Phil Gramm, here’s the proposal, now known as "Mike's Rescue Plan." (From Michael Moore's Bailout Plan) It has 10 simple, straightforward points. They are that you DIDN'T, BUT SHOULD'VE:
1. APPOINTED A SPECIAL PROSECUTOR TO CRIMINALLY INDICT ANYONE ON WALL STREET WHO KNOWINGLY CONTRIBUTED TO THIS COLLAPSE. Before any new money was expended, Congress should have committed, by resolution, to CRIMINALLY PROSECUTE ANYONE who had ANYTHING to do with the attempted SACKING OF OUR ECONOMY. This means that anyone who committed insider trading, securities fraud or any action that helped bring about this collapse should have and MUST GO TO JAIL! This Congress SHOULD HAVE called for a Special Prosecutor who would vigorously go after everyone who created the mess, and anyone else who attempts to scam the public in future. (I like Elliot Spitzer ~ so, he played a little hanky-panky...Wall Street hates him & this is a GOOD thing.)
2. THE RICH SHOULD HAVE PAID FOR THEIR OWN BAILOUT! They may have to live in 5 houses instead of 7. They may have to drive 9 cars instead of 13. The chef for their mini-terriers may have to be reassigned. But there is no way in hell, after forcing family incomes to go down more than $2,000 dollars during the Bush years, that working people and the middle class should have to fork over one dime to underwrite the next yacht purchase.
If they truly needed the $850 billion they say they needed, well, here is an easy way they could have raised it:
a) Every couple makeing over a million dollars a year and every single taxpayer who makes over $500,000 a year should pay a 10% surcharge tax for five years. (It's the Senator Sanders plan. He's like Colonel Sanders, only he's out to fry the right chickens.) That means the rich would have still been paying less income tax than when Carter was president. That would have raise a total of $300 billion.
b) Like nearly every other democracy, they should have charged a 0.25% tax on every stock transaction. This would have raised more than $200 billion in a year.
c) Because every stockholder is a patriotic American, stockholders should have forgone receiving a dividend check for ONE quarter and instead this money would have gone the treasury to help pay for the bullsh*t bailout.
d) 25% of major U.S. corporations currently pay NO federal income tax. Federal corporate tax revenues currently amount to 1.7% of the GDP compared to 5% in the 1950s. If we raised the corporate income tax BACK to the levels of the 1950s, this would give us an extra $500 billion.
All of this combined should have been enough to end the calamity. The rich would have gotten to keep their mansions and their servants and our United States government ("COUNTRY FIRST!") would've have a little leftover to repair some roads, bridges and schools...
3. YOU SHOULD HAVE BAIL OUT THE PEOPLE LOSING THEIR HOMES, NOT THE PEOPLE WHO WILL BUILD AN EIGHTH HOME! There are 1.3 million homes in foreclosure right now. That is what is at the heart of this problem. So, instead of giving the money to the banks as a gift, they should have paid down each of these mortgages by $100,000. They should have forced the banks to renegotiate the mortgage so the homeowner could pay on its current value. To insure that this help wouldn't go to speculators and those who tried to making money by flipping houses, the bailout should have only been for people's primary residences. And, in return for the $100K pay-down on the existing mortgage, the government would have gotten to share in the holding of the mortgage so it could get some of its money back. Thus, the total initial cost of fixing the mortgage crisis at its roots (instead of with the greedy lenders) is $150 billion, not $850 BILLION.
And let's set the record straight. People who have defaulted on their mortgages are not "bad risks." They are our fellow Americans, and all they wanted was what we all want: a home to call their own. But, during the Bush years, millions of the People lost the decent paying jobs they had. SIX MILLION fell into poverty! SEVEN MILLION lost their health insurance! And, every one of them saw their real wages go DOWN by $2,000! Those who DARE look down on these Americans who got hit with one bad break after another should be ASHAMED.! We are a better, stronger, safer and happier society when all of our citizens can afford to live in a home they own.
4. THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A STIPULATION THAT IF YOUR BANK OR COMPANY GOT ANY OF OUR MONEY IN A "BAILOUT," THEN WE OWN YOU. Sorry, that's how it's done. If the bank gives me money so I can buy a house, the bank "owns" that house until I pay it all back -- with interest. Same deal for Wall Street. Whatever money you need to stay afloat, if our government considers you a safe risk -- and necessary for the good of the country -- then you can get a loan, but WE SHOULD OWN YOU. If you default, we will sell you. This is how the Swedish government did it and it worked.
5. ALL REGULATIONS SHOULD HAVE BEEN BE RESTORED. THE REAGAN REVOLUTION IS DEAD! This catastrophe happened because we let the fox have the keys to the hen-house. In 1999, Phil Gramm authored a bill to remove all the regulations that governed Wall Street and our banking system. The bill passed and Clinton signed it. Here's what Sen.Phil Gramm, McCain's chief economic advisor, said at the bill signing:
"In the 1930s ... it was believed that government was the answer. It was believed that stability and growth came from government overriding the functioning of free markets.
"We are here today to repeal [that] because we have learned that government is not the answer. We have learned that freedom and competition are the answers. We have learned that we promote economic growth and we promote stability by having competition and freedom.
"I am proud to be here because this is an important bill; it is a deregulatory bill. I believe that that is the wave of the future, and I am awfully proud to have been a part of making it a reality."
FOR THIS NOT TO REOCCUR, This BILL SHOULD HAVE BEEN REPEALED! Bill Clinton could have helped by leading the effort for the repeal of the Gramm bill and the reinstating of even tougher regulations regarding our financial institutions. And when they were done with that, they should have restored the regulations for the airlines, the inspection of our food, the oil industry, OSHA, and every other entity that affects our daily lives. All oversight provisions for any "bailout" should have had enforcement monies attached to them and criminal penalties for all offenders.
6. IF IT'S TOO BIG TO FAIL, THEN THAT MEANS IT'S TOO BIG TO EXIST! Allowing the creation of these mega-mergers and not enforcing the monopoly and anti-trust laws has allowed a number of financial institutions and corporations to become so large, the very thought of their collapse means an even bigger collapse across the entire economy. No ONE or TWO companies should EVER have this kind of power! The so-called "economic Pearl Harbor" can't happen when you have hundreds -- thousands -- of institutions where people have their money. When we have a dozen auto companies, if one goes belly-up, we DON'T FACE A NATIONAL DISASTER! If we have three separately-owned daily newspapers in your town, then one media company can't call all the shots (I know... What am I thinking?! Who reads a paper anymore? Sure glad all those mergers and buyouts left us with a STRONG and "FREE" press!). Laws Should have been enacted to prevent companies from being so large and dominant that with one slingshot to the eye, the GIANT FALLS and DIES. And no institution should be allowed to set up money schemes that NO ONE understands. If you can't explain it in two sentences, you shouldn't be taking anyone's money!
7. NO EXECUTIVE SHOULD EVER BE PAID MORE THAN 40 TIMES THEIR AVERAGE EMPLOYEE, AND NO EXECUTIVE SHOULD RECEIVE ANY KIND OF "PARACHUTE" OTHER THAN THE VERY GENEROUS SALARY HE OR SHE MADE WHILE WORKING FOR THE COMPANY. In 1980, the average American CEO made 45 times what their employees made. By 2003, they were making 254 times what their workers made. After 8 years of Bush, they now make over 400 times what their average employee makes. How We have allowed this to happen at publicly held companies is beyond reason. In Britain, the average CEO makes 28 times what their average employee makes. In Japan, it's only 17 times! The last I heard, the CEO of Toyota was living the high life in Tokyo. How does he do it on so little money? Seriously, this is an OUTRAGE! We have created the mess we're in by letting the people at the top become bloated beyond belief with millions of dollars. THIS HAS TO STOP! Not only should no executive who receives help out of this mess profit from it, but any executive who was in charge of running his company into the ground should be FIRED before the company receives ANY help.
8. CONGRESS SHOULD HAVE STRENGTHENED THE FDIC AND MADE IT A MODEL FOR PROTECTING NOT ONLY PEOPLE'S SAVINGS, BUT ALSO THEIR PENSIONS AND THEIR HOMES. Obama was correct to propose expanding FDIC protection of people's savings in their banks to $250,000. But, this same sort of government insurance must be given to our NEVER have to worry about whether or not the money they've put away for their old age will be there. This should have meant strict government oversight of companies who manage their employees' funds -- or perhaps it means the companies should have been forced to turn over those funds and their management to the government? People's private retirement funds must also be protected, but perhaps it's time to consider not having one's retirement invested in the casino known as the stock market??? Our government should have a solemn duty to guarantee that no one who grows old in this country has to worry about becoming destitute.
9. EVERYBODY NEEDS TO TAKE A DEEP BREATH, CALM DOWN, AND NOT LET FEAR RULE THE DAY. Turn off your TVs! We are NOT in the Second Great Depression. The sky is NOT falling, Chicken Little! Pundits and politicians have lied to us so FAST and FURIOUS it's hard not to be affected by all the fear mongering. Even I wrote to and repeated what I heard on the news last week, that the Dow had the biggest one day drop in its history. Well, that was true in terms of points, but its 7% drop came nowhere close to Black Monday in 1987 when the stock market in one day lost 23% of its value. In the '80s, 3,000 banks closed, but America didn't go out of business. These institutions have always had their ups and downs and eventually it works out. It has to, because the rich do not like their wealth being disrupted! They have a vested interest in calming things down and getting back into their Jacuzzis before they slip into their million thread-count sheets to drift off to a peaceful, Vodka tonic and Ambien-induced slumber.
As crazy as things are right now, tens of thousands of people got a car loan last week. Thousands went to the bank and got a mortgage to buy a home. Students just back to college found banks more than happy to put them into hock for the next 15 years with a student loan. I was even pre-approved for a US$5K personal loan. Yes, life has gone on with little-or-no-change (other than the whopping 6.1% unemployment rate, but that happened last month). Not a single person lost any of his/her monies in bank, or a treasury note, or in a CD. And, the perhaps the most amazing thing is that the American public FINALLY didn't buy the scare campaign. The citizens didn't blink, instead telling Congress to take that bailout and shove it. THAT was impressive. Why didn't the population succumb to the fright-filled warnings from their president and his cronies? Well, you can only say 'Saddam has the bomb' so many times before the people realize you're a lying sack of shit. After eight long years, the nation is worn out and simply can't take it any longer. The WORLD is fed up & I don't blame them.
10. THEY SHOULD HAVE CREATED A NATIONAL BANK, A "PEOPLE'S BANK." Since they're really itching to print up a trillion dollars, instead of giving it to a few rich people, why don't We give it to ourselves? Now that We own Freddie and Fannie, why not set up a People's bank? One that can provide low-interest loans for all sorts of people who want to own a home, start a small business, go to school, come up with the cure for cancer or create the next great invention. And, now that we own AIG - the country's largest insurance company - let's take the next step and PROVIDE HEALTH INSURANCE FOR EVERYONE. MEDICARE FOR ALL! It will SAVE us SO MUCH MONEY in the LONG RUN (not to mention bring peace of mind to all). And, America won't be 12th on the life expectancy list! We'll be able to have a longer lifespan, enjoying our government-protected pension and will live to see the day when the corporate criminals who caused this much misery are let out of prison so that We can help re-acclimate them to plain old ordinary, civilian life -- a life with ONE nice home and ONE gas-free car invented with help from the People's Bank.
P.S. Call your Senators NOW !!! ---> www.visi.com/juan/congress/
Since they voted against passing the extension of unemployment benefits and skipped out to "campaign" to us to be re-elected...call them and tell them you will vote for the other "guy" if they don't get their act together!
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UPDATE: THE PEOPLE HAVE VOTED! A HISTORIC MOMENT: NOVEMBER 4th 2008!
------> THE Historic ELECTION <------
"A work in PROGRESS."
Nov. 4th, 2008.
A great American leader once said, "As individual fingers We can be easily broken. But TOGETHER We make a mighty fist." These words too were spoken by a minority leader. He was the venerable Chief Sitting Bull. No, Barack Obama's not the first American minority to speak eloquently and he most certainly won't be the last. Though, in the end, this election wasn't even close !!! The world watched as, "YES WE CAN!" turned into, "YES WE DID!" as it now ushers in, "YES WE MUST!" time is NOW!
What WE do with this moment shall define US, forthright. America has now elected a man with a background of partial African - American descent as President elect. A new leader with roots from Kenya to Kansas (with a step-father from Indonesia), will be working in conjunction with a vice-Presidential of Anglo-European roots. This is something in which citizens of ALL races - both here and the world 'round – have loudly REJOICED. Why talk about race? Is race important? You bet! Because - like it or not - race has dominated and governed Our daily lives for thousands of years. After all: "To know where We're going, We must first know where We've been".
We've come a LONG Way baby! What was once "acceptable" in 1965 is no longer in 2008 and THANKFULLY.
This is a changing of the guard. Especially since forty-percent of America's population is considered to be a "minority". Only four generations removed, the repression of African slaves by Anglo Saxons caused hundreds of thousands of brothers to kill brothers in a viscous and bloody battle that changed the fundamental principals of this Constitutional Republic from rhetoric to reality. This too was a significant changing of the guard.
For the first time in the history of the country, the ancestors of these very same people who so passionately fought for slavery have now OVERWHELMINGLY voted for a minority leader. This too ushers in a new chapter in the history of America. This is a tremendous nod to those great American leaders before Us who risked everything so that We find ourselves at this precise moment in time. We must give thanks to these men and women who both tirelessly and unselfishly gave their lives to cross and to help shatter the racial, sexual and social boundaries imbued in the history of the United States of America.
It has now taken place. There's a palpable renewed sense of HOPE for a better tomorrow – a HOPE that these same crippling boundaries shall finally once and for all be erased. Yet it is wise to also remember the adage, "Actions speak louder than words" and Our rhetoric must now be turned into action. The ability to truly rise above differences and to not just speak of doing so, tells much of Our long and continuous journey. If We remember the old North American Indian saying, "We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children." We might just have a fighting chance.
The People have spoken! A record-setting 130 million Americans' turned out to vote in Tuesday's election, in which Barack Obama made history on a Democratic tidal wave of victory. Polling suggests voters came out in record numbers because of growing concerns over the economy, jobs, health care, energy, and the war in Iraq.
Clearly, the Obama administration and the new Democratic majority in Washington have a chance to make profound changes in Our lives - stretching from Wall Street to Main Street. Yes, this moment shows decency about human possibility and let's face it, We could use just a little decency RIGHT NOW.
Perhaps more importantly, this moment speaks volumes as it's an utter rejection of the right's politics of fear and greed? It will now be decades before there's another Republican majority in Congress. Never have the words, "Ask not what Your country can do for You, but what You can do for Your country," seemed more true for SO MANY. For, We-Are-Our-country. And We're at a MAJOR crossroads. Where, oh where to begin?
OBAMA / BIDEN Campaign.
Here in New York, Working Families voters, members, affiliates, supporters and chapter leaders poured everything they had into critical campaigns that proved successful. Many are now understandably exhausted - though more than a little proud of what was accomplished. And, the results were terrific ~ if not downright Historic. For the first time since the mid-1930, the State Senate will NO LONGER be controlled by Republicans. It's now in the hands of a Democratic Working Families majority! Just-take-one-moment-and-soak-this-in. MASSIVE Democratic majorities in BOTH the HOUSE and the SENATE!
Together, the W.F.P built a solid partnership with Senate Democrats, knocking on more than half a million doors for progressive CHANGE. And, in the end, "We the People" overwhelmingly responded. This is a MILESTONE. There's now a renewed sense of real HOPE resonating from Washington, indeed, around the world. This is powerful. Because, without HOPE, there's simply nothing to gain.
However, We must be careful not to fall prey to disillusionment. If illusions tear People asunder, then disillusion outright kills the human spirit. In other words, divided THEY conquer, united, WE stand. That this historic moment was ushered in during Native American Indian month is apropos. Because, We must not forget the very real foundations of this idealistic country and pay homage to the 500 plus year struggle of Our First Peoples' for the basic rights afforded them in Our own Constitution. Obama's victory is indeed a victory representing the multitudes. It is precisely because his success mirrors the masses, rather than a few wealthy, power-elite that this is so electrifying. A VERY palpable, "Finally!" was the expression heard 'round the world.
The world woke up WEDNESDAY with the real possibility of a very RARE OPPORTUNITY - the best in most Our lifetimes. This is a chance to truly transform America.
But, We mustn't forget the VERY hard realities existing in this country. Just ask any woman…any "person of color"…or, any First Peoples living in this "great" land. For, as long as Native American Indians in Our country still live in policies of containment on reservations without the very basics, such as running water, electricity, or heat… as long as more than 75% of the prison population includes African-Americans, First and Taino Peoples …as long as We continue to allow Our tax dollars spent to be three times more for each of these prisoners per head than on Our own school childrens' education…as long as American women continue to earn less than men for the SAME work…as long as We allow privately held corporations to exist without extreme MAJOR reform…as long as We continue to allow Our children to trample on foreign soil to kill and to be killed in "Our" names…as long as We sit idly by expecting or content to let others to "Do the right thing," for us… as long as We DON'T ACTIVELY PARTICIPATE TOGETHER in challenging and fighting for OUR OWN WELL-BEING for the betterment of future generations… as long as We choose to remain ignorant and in denial to Our faults…TRUE CHANGE can, and will NEVER HAPPEN.
Though, like anything rare and unique, We must first take proper time to Honor…to give thanks to those before us who, without their dedication and sacrifice, made this moment possible. We must come together. Immediate formulation and a real plan to guard and to protect this moment with fierce determination is required. New leaders are needed and will emerge so We ensure moments like this become the norm, rather than a mere token fluke. If We HOPE to transform Tuesday's results into a real break from the shipwreck of the most immediate last thirty years - We MUST start by realizing this election represents just that – a START. It's Round One of Our LONG and CONTINUOUS struggle.
And, Round Two will be just as tough, if not more so. Staying the course can easily be forgotten when People are dying from inadequate health care; when they've found themselves on the streets for lack of shelter and as they grow ever more desperate due to lack of job opportunities. Just ask people of Native or African American descent. Or, one of Our homeless veterans living on America's streets of plenty.
Yes, the house of cards has fallen HARD and FAST. And, President / V.P. elect Barack Obama and Joe Biden have inherited many seemingly insurmountable challenges. REAL CHANGE - not rhetoric - is what's needed. And to get it, We MUST demand it. We MUST march and be watchdogs for the sake of the coming generations. Communication with Our politicians is a MUST. MOST importantly, We MUST stand TOGETHER and be willing to fight to protect what is right and what is good for the MANY, NOT the FEW.
UNITED We STAND, DIVIDED, We FALL.
A President Obama will need to be simultaneously supported AND pushed. His training as a community organizer gives one confidence that he'll not only understand, but should also expect this dynamic. It's imperative for us to mind the trusty, "Follow the money" strategy. Don't forget, President elect Obama dually made history by raising the most unprecedented amount of campaign dollars in the HISTORY of U.S. Presidential elections. According to CNN, if annualized, the Obama campaign's ad spending on the post-primary Presidential campaign would come to US$750 million. This amount is only exceeded amongst large corporations such as Verizon and AT&T - both heavy sponsors of the Republican AND the Democratic national party conventions.
At the start of October, the Democratic National Committee announced it raised US$49.9 million with US$27.5 million sitting in the bank. The party raised money through joint fund-raising events with Obama and was able to use that money to assist his candidacy. These numbers were only possible because he opted out of the public financing system for the fall campaign. John McCain chose to participate in the system, which limited him to US$84 million for the September / October stretch prior to the election. After initially promising to accept public financing if McCain did, Obama changed his mind after setting primary fund-raising records. In fact, by the time the primaries hit, Obama was raising as much as US$5 million each and every day. The Obama / Biden campaign raised more than US$150 million in September alone - a stunning and unprecedented eruption of political giving. This extraordinary fund-raising is bound to set a new standard in politics that could doom the current taxpayer-paid system set up in the 1970's.
HOPEfully NOT.
The party presidential nominees – Democrat Barack Obama and Republican John McCain – together spent more than US$1 BILLION, also an unprecedented figure. According to White House for Sale, a nonpartisan group that tracks political giving, Obama had 605 bundlers, or donors who collect money from friends and associates and bundle them together. Four years ago, Democrat John F. Kerry had 588 bundlers and, in 2000, Al Gore had none. McCain had 851 bundlers working for his campaign, compared to 557 who raised money for the Bush-Cheney re-election committee in 2004. George W. Bush is largely credited with institutionalizing the role of bundlers in 2000, when he recruited a then unprecedented 555 surrogate fundraisers.
Ask Yourselves: Who really benefits most from having donated to the Obama / Biden campaign?
President - elect Barack Obama & John McCain's U.S. Presidential campaign funds details:
OBAMA:
Total:US$750,767,963
Bundlers:605
LobbyistBundlers:17
MCCAIN:
Total: US$372,525,058
Bundlers: 851
Lobbyist Bundlers: 77
See the Center for Responsive Politics Presidential campaign monies for a better perspective:
2008: Obama AND McCain - US$5.3 BILLION
(Obama: US$750,767,963 million / McCain: US$372,525,058 million)
2004: Bush AND Kerry - US$4.2 BILLION
2000: Gore AND Bush - US$67.56 MILLION
1996: Dole AND Clinton - US$61.82 MILLION
1992: Clinton AND Bush - US$55.24 MILLION
* TO SEARCH FOR MEGA-DONERS, CLICK here: www.whitehouseforsale.org/searchDonor.cfm?CandidateSelect... McCain&StateSelect=&SortOrder=Last_Name, First_Name, Middle_Name, Suffix.*
Democrats in Washington and will be under enormous pressure to "play it safe", even as everyone knows We need bold action and some kind of new, New Deal. And, if We allow the "play-it-safe" crowd to dominate, then Obama (and We) will not succeed. Make NO mistake: the corporate big-wigs and free-market fundamentalists see this for exactly what it is: THE FIGHT OF A LIFETIME. They want nothing more than for the Democrats to disappoint, because then the HOPEfulness that Obama represents can be stuffed back in the bottle and cynicism can once again regain its place in Our national political culture.
WE Can't Let This Happen!
Whether it's revamping our health care system…implementing a new fair-based trade policy…creating a sound, realistic and well thought-out immigration plan…jobs programs…organizing rights in Washington, or campaign election reform, family leave or fair taxes, this election has set the stage for an ENTIRELY NEW social contract between the government and the People. This election opens up a real possibility – small, but real - that We could make genuine progress as a society, in terms of equality and freedom and true sustainability. In other words, the democracy We preach, but don't teach. What comes next is up to US. And, We need to seriously ready OURSELVES.
In short, the real meaning of this election hasn't yet been decided.
Overall, there's a lot of work to do. It's imperative that EVERYONE do his share - whether this means attending a neighborhood or union meeting, signing a petition, organizing or riding a bus to a demonstration, going on a lobby visit, making a financial contribution, or just talking to a stranger about the need and desirability of the common good.
Thanks for all you do!
Live your values. Love your country.
And, remember: TOGETHER, We can make a D-I-F-F-E-R-E-N-C-E !
Halloween may present a problem to the young and innocent....
My Granddaughter uses the above title as her expression of anything warranting disapproval - methinks the 31st may be the moment of truth, if Spidey gets his way! :-))
Coit Tower is a 210-foot (64 m) tower in the Telegraph Hill neighborhood of San Francisco, California, offering panoramic views over the city and the bay. The tower, in the city's Pioneer Park, was built between 1932 and 1933 using Lillie Hitchcock Coit's bequest to beautify the city of San Francisco. It was added to the National Register of Historic Places on January 29, 2008.
The art deco tower, built of unpainted reinforced concrete, was designed by architects Arthur Brown, Jr. and Henry Howard. The interior features fresco murals in the American fresco mural painting style, painted by 25 different onsite artists and their numerous assistants, plus two additional paintings installed after creation offsite.
Also known as the Coit Memorial Tower, it was dedicated to the volunteer firemen who had died in San Francisco's five major fires. Although an apocryphal story claims that the tower was designed to resemble a fire hose nozzle due to Coit's affinity with the San Francisco firefighters of the day, the resemblance is coincidental.
Telegraph Hill, the tower's location, has been described as "the most optimal 360 degree viewing point to the San Francisco Bay and five surrounding counties." In 1849, it became the site of a two-story observation deck, from which information about incoming ships was broadcast to city residents using an optical semaphore system, replaced in 1853 by an electrical telegraph that was destroyed by a storm in 1870.
Coit Tower was paid for with money left by Lillie Hitchcock Coit (1843–1929), a wealthy socialite who loved to chase fires in the early days of the city's history. Before December 1866, there was no city fire department, and fires in the city, which broke out regularly in the wooden buildings, were extinguished by several volunteer fire companies. Coit was one of the more eccentric characters in the history of North Beach and Telegraph Hill, smoking cigars and wearing trousers long before it was socially acceptable for women to do so. She was an avid gambler and often dressed like a man in order to gamble in the males-only establishments that dotted North Beach.
Coit's fortune funded the monument four years following her death in 1929. She had a special relationship with the city's firefighters. At the age of fifteen she witnessed the Knickerbocker Engine Co. No. 5 in response to a fire call up on Telegraph Hill when they were shorthanded; she threw her school books to the ground and pitched in to help, calling out to other bystanders to help get the engine up the hill to the fire, to get the first water onto the blaze. After that Coit became the Engine Co. mascot and could barely be constrained by her parents from jumping into action at the sound of every fire bell. She frequently rode with the Knickerbocker Engine Co. 5, especially in street parades and celebrations in which the Engine Co. participated. Through her youth and adulthood Coit was recognized as an honorary firefighter.
In her will she specified that one third of her fortune, amounting to $118,000, "be expended in an appropriate manner for the purpose of adding to the beauty of the city which I have always loved." Two memorials were built in her name. One was Coit Tower, and the other was a sculpture depicting three firemen, one of them carrying a woman in his arms.
The San Francisco County Board of Supervisors proposed that Coit's bequest be used for a road at Lake Merced. This proposal brought disapproval from the estate's executors, who expressed a desire that the county find "ways and means of expending this money on a memorial that in itself would be an entity and not a unit of public development". Art Commission president Herbert Fleishhacker suggested a memorial on Telegraph Hill, which was approved by the estate executors. An additional $7,000 in city funds was appropriated, and a design competition was initiated. The winner was architect Arthur Brown, Jr, whose design was completed and dedicated on October 8, 1933.
Coit Tower was listed as a San Francisco Designated Landmark in 1984 and on the National Register of Historic Places in 2008. Although Coit Tower is not technically a California Historical Landmark, the state historical plaque for Telegraph Hill is located in the tower's lobby, marking the site of the original signal station.
The San Francisco Arts Commission ordered the removal of the Statue of Christopher Columbus that had stood outside the entrance of the tower since 1957, following numerous other removals of controversial statues during the George Floyd protests that began in May 2020, and it was removed on June 18, 2020.
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.
Yet we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Tonight however, we are not at Glynes, but rather on the neighbouring property adjoining the Glynes estate to the south and are at Garstanton Park, the grand Gothic Victorian home of the Tyrwhitts. Whilst not as old, or as noble a family as the Chetwynds, the Tyrwhitts have been part of the Wiltshire landed gentry for several generations and Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt are as much a part of county society as the Viscount and Countess of Wrexham. The current generation of the two families have grown up as friends with the Viscount and Countess of Wrexham often visiting Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt and conversely. In fact, the families have become so close that Leslie has become engaged to Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt’s only daughter, Arabella, thus guaranteeing a joining of the two great county families.
We find ourselves in the library cum music room of Garstanton Park, the preserve of Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt who has always had a voracious appetite for reading, and a great passion for music. In fact, his love of music was how he and his wife, Lady Isobel, met, after attending a piano concert at the newly opened Bechstein Hall* in London in 1899. The library cum music room’s walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of Lord Tyrwhitt’s pride and joy, his enormous library, whilst on the rug covered floor stands his beloved Bechstein** piano covered with photos of his other pride and joy, his family. With the families now officially joined with the forthcoming nuptials of Leslie and Arabella formally announced, Lettice has been invited to a musical evening at Garstanton Park which she has happily agreed to, as she loves the company of Nigel, the Tyrwhitt’s eldest son and Arabella, as well as Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt, who like Gerald’s parents Lord and Lady Bruton, have been honourary uncles and aunts to her. The party is in full swing with cocktails, fortified wine and champagne aiding the high spirits as Nigel plays amusing music hall tunes on his father’s grand piano, accompanied by Arabella, Leslie and Lettice who stand about the piano, all taking turns to choose songs and be Nigel’s page turner as well as singing enthusiastically. The Bright Young Things*** can even occasionally get Lord Tyrwhitt, Lady Isobel and Lettice’s mother Lady Sadie to join in with a few of the less raucous songs.
“What shall we play next?” Arabella asks excitedly as she takes a drains her champagne flute.
“It’s your turn, old boy.” Nigel says to Leslie as he begins to limber up his fingers to play again.
“No, it’s not, Nigel! It’s mine!” cries Lettice.
“No it isn’t, Tice!” retorts her brother. “You chose ‘It's a Bit of a Ruin That Cromwell Knocked About a Bit.****’. It’s mine!”
“Oh, that was ages ago, Leslie.” Lettice pouts, snatching up her own glass of champagne and taking a sip from it.
Always the gentle adjudicator ever since they were children, Arabella says in a soothing purr, “Ages ago or not, Nigel’s right, it’s Leslie’s turn Tice.”
“You’re just standing up for him, Bella, because he is your intended now,” Lettice replies playfully.
“That’s not true!” laughs Arabella. “That’s jolly unfair!”
The two giggle together whilst Leslie shuffles through a pile of music sheets that lie in disarray across one of the comfortable gold striped armchairs next to the piano.
“It’s good to see your Leslie and our Bella looking so happy together,” Lady Isobel remarks with a wistfulness to her voice as she sits on the gold sofa that she shares with Lady Sadie. “I’m just sorry Cosmo couldn’t bear witness to it too this evening.”
“Oh now! Come, come my lamb,” Lord Tyrwhitt remarks kindly from his favourite reading chair in the corner of the room, reaching over his glass of rich burgundy and Lady Isobel’s champagne flute, gently squeezing his wife’s delicate hand with paper thin, almost translucent skin, comfortingly. “You mustn’t be sorry that our Bella is getting married. As the old adage goes, we aren’t losing a daughter, but gaining a son.”
“Oh I know Sherbourne. I’m not. I’m very happy for Arabella, oh, and Leslie too,” she adds quickly, looking across at Lady Sadie. “It’s just…”
“I know my dear Isobel,” Lady Sadie assures her friend, patting her on the other hand. “I felt the same when Lally married Charles. You don’t regret your daughters marrying, but you miss having them around the house.”
“Yes, that’s it, exactly Sadie. I shall miss her when she isn’t here any longer.” She sniffs and withdraws her hands from Sadie’s and her husband’s grasps, pulling a lace handkerchief from the long sleeve of her deep blue evening gown, hurriedly shoving it beneath her nose as she sobs, looking at Arabella leaning into Leslie as he lovingly drapes a protective arm around her whilst he fossicks through the sheet music with his free right hand.
“She won’t be far away, Isobel,” Lady Sadie assures her. “She’ll only be across the way in the Glynes Dower House. You can practically walk there.”
“It’s good of you to give them that to live in, Sadie.” Lord Tyrwhitt picks up his glass and cradles it thoughtfully in his hand.
“Oh, it’s a pleasure, Sherbourne. It’s only sitting there idol for now, and it will suit the two lovebirds to have a home of their own to begin with, before they inherit Glynes. Besides, it will be good to have someone living in the house until it’s ready for me.”
“Oh you mustn’t talk like that, Sadie!” Isobel gasps. “Cosmo is well, isn’t he?”
“Aside from the head cold that has kept him in bed for tonight, yes perfectly, Isobel. I’m just being pragmatic is all. It may happen one day. Besides, if Cosmo is to precede me and I am to become the Dowager Countess, I’d rather move into a house that isn’t decorated with his sister’s dreadful daubs!”
“But I thought Eglantine was quite an accomplished artist,” Lord Tyrwhitt remarks.
“It depends on your interpretation of art, Sherbourne” quips Lady Sadie.
“I always quite liked her watercolours of flowers when we were young.” he adds thoughtfully.
“You haven’t seen her work inspired by those Modernists at the Slade School of Art***** daubed all over the walls of the room she used as a studio during the war.” humphs Lady Sadie, screwing up her nose in distaste. “Sunset filled landscapes featuring twee characters dancing across it, supposedly influenced by the landscapes and folklore of Wiltshire. Morris Dancers, Stonehenge druids and white chalk horses.”
“Sounds rather intriguing to me,” Lord Tyrwhitt replies kindly.
“Naïve is what I call it!” retorts Lady Sadie with a snort of derision. “The liberties that woman took when she lived there during the war. Do you know that she brought her German staff with her and hid them in the Dower House?”
“They were Swiss-German, Sadie,” Lady Isobel corrects her friend. “And yes, I did know because I visited her at the Dower House.”
“They still spoke German,” argues Sadie. “She could have brought shame to the family, bringing potential German spies to Glynes like that.”
“And she only brought them to Glynes with her because she was afraid they would be, incorrectly,” Lady Isobel puts emphasis on the final word, pausing for effect, before continuing, “Labled as German spies, when in fact they were just simple Swiss domestics. Really Sadie! Next you’ll be saying there was a German recording device in Sherbourne’s Bechstein between 1914 and 1918! I’m surprised at your hostility to them.”
Lady Sadie’s eyes grow wide as she splutters in an unsuccessful defence, “They could have been spies, Isobel.”
“Well, I always liked Eglantine’s work,” Lord Tyrwhitt concludes, determined to change the subject. “Even if it isn’t to your taste, Sadie my dear.”
“You always had a soft spot for her Sherbourne, just like Cosmo did, and still does.” Lady Sadie scoffs. She turns to Lady Isobel. “She always was a beguiling creature with her Titian hair and green eyes. You’re lucky Sherbourne only had eyes for you, dear Isobel.”
“Sounds like someone else has green eyes,” remarks Lady Isobel under her breath with a secret smile, shared quietly with a loving glance at her husband.
“Aha!” Leslie cries triumphantly. “I have it!” He withdraws a sheet of music from amongst the pile. He hands it to Nigel.
“The Wibbly Wobbly Walk!******” laughs Nigel as he looks at the bright yellow and blue printed cover of the well worn sheet music. “Grand choice old boy! Bravo!” He opens the pages on the music stand in front of him. “Bella, will you do the honours?”
“Of course Nigel,” Arabella replies as she slips alongside him.
With a trill, Nigel gathers everyone’s attention and begins to play the piano as he sings the opening to the song.
“Now, have you ever heard about the Wibbley, Wobbley Walk?
Well, just in case you've not, I'll tell you on the spot!
The Wibbley, Wobbley Walk is just another kind of way,
Of saying that the b'hoys are out upon their holiday.
And note that half a dozen fellas out upon the spree,
In half a dozen minutes, they're full of jollity.”
Then with loud and carefree abandon, Lettice, Leslie and Arabella all join in on the chorus,
“So they all walk the Wibbley Wobbley Walk,
And they all talk the Wibbley Wobbley talk.
And they all wear Wibbley Wobbley ties,
And wink at all the pretty girls with Wibbley Wobbley eyes!
They all smile the Wibbley Wobbley Smile,
When the day is dawning!
Then all through the Wibbley Wobbley Walk,
They get a wibbley wobbley feeling in the morning.”
As they sing, Lady Isobel starts to cough, muffling her throaty gasps with her handkerchief so as not to disturb the fun and frivolity of the young people who stand oblivious about the piano. Quickly putting her hock and seltzer aside on the edge of the table being used for drinks, Lady Sadie wraps her arm around her friend, whilst Lord Tyrwhitt leans forward and takes her outstretched hand.
“Isobel!” Sadie gasps.
“Just try and catch your breath, my lamb.” Lord Tyrwhitt encourages his wife with a serious and steady gaze as he squeezes her fingers whilst her cough gets heavier and stronger.
“At the seaside health resort you see some gay old…” Nigel begins the first line of the next stanza of the song, but his voice falls away quickly and his fingers pause over the piano keys as he, Arabella, Lettice and Leslie all suddenly become aware of Lady Isobel’s coughing fit.
“Mummy!” gasps Arabella in horror, dropping the page of the music sheet and leaving Leslie’s and Nigel’s sides as she drops to her knees on the carpet before her mother. “Mummy!”
“It’s just another of your mother’s coughing fits, Bella my dear.” her father assures her. “Just give her a minute and she’ll be right as rain again.”
“Here Father, give her this!” Nigel hands a quickly poured glass of water to his father, which he gives to his wife.
Taking it gratefully in her shaking hand, Isobel takes a few gulps and sits back in her seat on the sofa, wheezing and still coughing, but less severely. She presses her free slender bejewelled hand to the beaded chest of her dress and gasps for air.
“Stand back everyone,” Leslie says urgently, gently pulling his fiancée away from the feet of her mother, backing away with Nigel and Lettice. “Let’s give Auntie Isobel some air.”
After a few tense moments, Lady Isobel has enough air in her lungs to wheeze weakly, “You’ll have to… get used… to calling me your mother-in-law… Leslie dear. People will… think it odd that… your aunt is… also your… mother-in-law.”
The party release a combined held breath and laugh with a mixture of nervous and relieved chuckles and titters at her remark.
“I told you she would be alright,” Lord Tyrwhitt says, smiling at his wife.
“I am,” she concurs, taking a larger mouthful of water. “But I think it is my signal to retire for the evening.” She swallows a few times. “I’m sorry to spoil the frivolity, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Oh don’t be sorry, Mummy.” Arabella says, coming forward again and kneeling before her mother.
“You’re a good girl, Bella,” she pats her daughter’s hand with her own as the young girl’s rests on her knee. “You’ll make Leslie a very fine wife.”
“And don’t we know it,” Lady Sadie says with a rare broad smile. “If we don’t hear it enough from Leslie when we are at Glynes,” She looks to her son, who blushes at the remark. “Then we hear of your virtues from his father. You’ve won the hearts of the two most important men on the Glynes estate, my dear.” She reaches out and caresses Isobella’s chin lovingly with her fingers, gazing at her future daughter-in-law with genuine affection. “And mine.”
Lettice feels as though she has just been stung by a hot poker as she witnesses the gaze and gentle touch her mother lavishes upon her future daughter-in-law: such affection never bestowed upon her. Whilst she doesn’t resent Arabella, for she is a genuinely kind person and Lettice firmly believes her mother’s words that she will make a good wife for Leslie, it still hurts her that Arabella should be granted the approval she has so sorely sought from her mother throughout all her life.
“Now,” Lady Isobel announces. “Before I retire, I should very much like to hear you sing, dear Lettice. You have such a pretty voice, and I should like to hear something a little less irreverent played on your father’s beloved Bechstein, Nigel.”
“Yes Mummy!” Nigel laughs good naturedly.
“Come on Bella,” Lettice says, reaching out her hand to her friend. “Come help me pick out something that your mother will like.”
Whilst the two girls return to the piles of sheet music, Nigel to the piano and Leslie by his side, Lady Sadie and Lord Tyrwhitt look on with concern at Lady Isobel as she settles back into the pile of cushions at her back.
“It’s just a result of the radiotherapy******* Sadie, nothing to worry about.” Lady Isobel says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Is it helping with the cancer?” she asks.
“Who knows?” the other woman shrugs and lifts her hands, the sequined lace shawl falling from about her shoulders as she does so. “It makes me feel sick enough, and don’t they say that things you don’t like are good for you?” Looking over at her children and those of Lady Sadie, she continues, “I’d just like to live long enough to see Arabella, and Nigel married. I’m just thankful Lettice has offered to help Arabella shop for her trousseau up in London. I’m not well enough to make the journey up to town.”
“I don’t know if I’d be too happy that my youngest is helping her shop. Goodness knows what her trousseau will look like.” Lady Sadie remarks disparagingly.
“Something modern and young, I should imagine Sadie dear,” Lady Isobel replies. “Just as it should be.”
“Here we are!” Lettice announces as Arabella takes a book of music with a prettily decorated cover over to her brother at the piano. “Something a little less irreverent for Uncle Sherbourne’s piano and Aunt Isobel’s ears.”
There are conspiratorial whispers at the piano between brother and sister as Lettice comes to stand beside Nigel, resting her hand lightly on the piano’s surface before he begins playing the opening to ‘I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls’********.
With her beautiful singing voice, Lettice begins the opening stanza of the song.
“I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
With vassals and serfs at my side.
And of all who assembled within those walls,
That I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches all too great to count,
And a high ancestral name.”
As she sings, Arabella nestles back into Leslie’s arms, Lord Tyrwhitt cradles his glass of wine without drinking it and Lady Sadie leans forward in her seat, proud of her daughter’s musical accomplishment, although she would never admit it to her.
Shrewdly observing Nigel’s occasional gaze at Lettice as he plays and she sings, Lady Isobel leans forward and whispers discreetly to Lady Sadie, “I don’t suppose there is any chance that your Lettice might take a shine to our Nigel?”
“If that ship was to sail, it would have happened long before now, Isobel, and well you know it.” Lady Sadie turns to her friend, a consoling look in her eyes, “I’m sorry my dear, but as you saw at the Hunt Ball, Lettice seems to have turned her attentions to the Duke of Walmsford’s eldest, Selwyn Spencely, and I’m not unhappy about that.” Turning back to her daughter, her mouth twists with disapproval. “Even if she insists on managing her romantic attentions herself, rather than leaving it to me. Marriages are made by mothers, you silly girl.”
“Yes,” sighs Lady Isobel heavily. “I did notice where here attentions went that night. I’m pleased for you Sadie, and hope that it all works out. Imagine your youngest one day, a duchess. I on the other hand, would just like to see Nigel settled to some nice young lady of any respectable rank or station before I die.”
“And you will, Isobel. I’m sure of it. Perhaps another Season in London might help now that the Season is back in full swing after the war.”
The two women turn back as Lettice as she finishes the song.
“But I also dreamt which charmed me most
That you loved me still the same
That you loved me
You loved me still the same,
That you loved me
You loved me still the same.”
*Wigmore Hall is a concert hall located at 36 Wigmore Street, London. Originally called Bechstein Hall, it specialises in performances of chamber music, early music, vocal music and song recitals. It is widely regarded as one of the world's leading centres for this type of music and an essential port of call for many of the classical music world's leading stars. With near-perfect acoustic, the Hall quickly became celebrated across Europe and featured many of the great artists of the 20th century. Today, the Hall promotes 550 concerts a year and broadcasts a weekly concert on BBC Radio 3. The Hall also promotes an extensive education programme throughout London and beyond and has a huge digital broadcasting arm, which includes the Wigmore Hall Live Label and many live streams of concerts.
**C. Bechstein Pianoforte AG (also known as Bechstein), is a German manufacturer of pianos, established in 1853 by Carl Bechstein (1826 – 1900).
***The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
****’It's a Bit of a Ruin That Cromwell Knocked About a Bit’ is a song written by Harry Bedford and Terry Sullivan sung by the famous British music hall performer Marie Lloyd in the early 1900s.
*****Established by lawyers and philanthropist Felix Slade in 1868, Slade School of Fine Art is the art school of University College London and is based in London, England. It has been ranked as the United Kingdom’s top art and design educational institution. The school is organised as a department of University College London's Faculty of Arts and Humanities. Two of its most important periods were immediately before, and immediately after, the turn of the twentieth century. It had such students as Dora Carrington, Mark Gertler, Paul Nash, C.R.W. Nevinson and Stanley Spencer.
******’They All Walk the Wibbly Wobbly Walk’ is a song written by Paul Pelham and J. P. Long sung by the famous British music hall performer Mark Sheridan in 1912. It was a song often sung during the Great War, and associated by the British general public with the survivors of the conflict who trembled due to shell shock or had misshapen walks thanks to injuries inflicted upon them.
*******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.
********"I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls", or "The Gipsy Girl's Dream", is a popular aria from The Bohemian Girl, an 1843 opera by Michael William Balfe, with lyrics by Alfred Bunn. It is sung in the opera by the character Arline, who is in love with Thaddeus, a Polish nobleman and political exile. It became a stalwart in the repertoire of young Victorian and Edwardian girls who often learned to play the piece on the piano and to sing it, if they had the aptitude for the latter.
Cluttered with books and with art on the walls, Garstanton Park’s library cum music room with its typical English country house furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection, including pieces from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the library cum music room are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe was famous in miniature collectors’ circles mostly for the miniature books that he made: all being authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. However, he did not make books exclusively. He also made other small pieces like the sheet music you see scattered on the carpeted floor and across the arm and seat of the armchair closest to the camera. The book that rests upright against the armchair is a book of romantic ballads published in 1805. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago and through his estate courtesy of the generosity of his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The grand piano and matching stool appearing in the midground is a 1:12 miniature piece I have had since I was a teenager. It is covered in family photos, all of which are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal. The very lifelike daffodils are made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The empty champagne and wine glasses all of which are made of hand blown glass were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The full glasses of champagne and red wine were made by Karen Lady Bug Miniatures in England.
The soda siphons on the silver tray to the left of the photo were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, whilst the container of ice and tongs is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The silver champagne bucket is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne. It is an artisan miniatures and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
The chairs and sofa in the library cum music room are made by the high-quality miniature furniture manufacturer, Bespaq. The ebonised ornate occasional table I acquired Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom as I did the table in the foreground on which the drinks tray stands.
The carpet beneath the furniture is hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.
In the background you can see the book lined shelves as well as a Renaissance portrait of a young nobleman in a gold frame from Marie Makes in the United Kingdom, and a hand painted blue and white ginger jar from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom which stands on a Bespaq plant stand.
The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Canon V L1 / Canon 50mm f1.8 / HP5 shot in low light at 1/30th/f.1.8
Guo Pei exhibit, Legion of Honor, SF
pos_DSC03870
Kezzic crouched on the balcony, looking down at the ballroom below. Jarthe spun by in the arms of the elven lady who had been his ticket to this ball. Judging by the fact that he was the only non-elf in attendance and the scowl on the face of the host, he was not welcome. Still the mercenary and his partner seem blissfully unaware of the disapproval of the upper class of Distrian's elven society.
Kezzic shook his head. The nuances and complexities of Distrian made no sense to him. He supposed the blending of human, elven, and dwarven cultures was the cause of the various factions and groups fighting for power in the city. All the other kingdoms in Cartiria were divided by race and culture; whether it be the human Rathrine Empire, the Dwarves of Shattered Rock, the nomadic Galtrien Centaurs, or his own people, the Goblins of Black Mash. That makes sense! The culture of his people is vastly different from that of the mountain goblins of Cicziz Urnkle. Whenever the two peoples met fighting would start within ten minutes. Under no conditions would anyone attempt to have two races of goblins build a city together! But some genius decided to found the "free cities" where all people could come together and live in harmony.
Kezzic dispelled his thoughts and turned away from the ballroom. He glanced around and then quickly planted the envelope, stolen from the shop two days before. 'Another job done', he thought, 'not that I have any idea why any of this matters'. He glanced down at the ballroom again and saw that Jarthe was still dancing. He turned and left. 'Maybe the elves will take care of Jarthe and I can go back to working alone'.
“Chickens? ...Really?”
“Yes really!”
The Flash looked around in distress, “You've really out done yourself this time Jesse....”
“BOK!” Squawked one of the birds, before The Trickster could get another word out. “I'm flattered that you went all this way to think up an elaborate plan to like... I don't know, 'egg the city' or something, but I'm telling you, this is about as weird as the time I was turned into a puppet.” Flash gazed around, puzzled.
“On the contrary, Flash!” James Jesse spoke confidently “I'm a professional at 'fowl' play!
“Aaand there's the chicken pun.” Barry's hand covered his face in disapproval. “Okay, I'm going home. This isn't really a crime... you're just... I don't even know. Look, take these birds back to where you found them and we'll call it a day.”
“Sure thing, Flash! ...Right after I blow up city hall!” The Trickster cackled as he pulled out a remote-control device from his pocket.
Pressing a few buttons a pair of scuttling hens on wheels speed out in front of our two colorful advisories. “Be quick now Flash! Or these two will be get fried!”
“You strapped a bomb to the chickens?!”
“And some automated high-speed rollerskates to get them moving faster than you!” The Trickster laughed again “You better get moving, these birds can fly!”
“...No they can't!” Flash shouted as he sped off into action!
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It's been a really rough week for a lot of us, so I'm feeling inclined to post something silly today.
I'm not gonna lie though, I really have no idea why I made this comic set.... Perhaps it's because I impulsively bought five chickens on bricklink without making any rational decisions...?
...Yeah that might be it.
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This looks like a job for Colonel Sanders! Check out my Patreon to see fingerlickin' early photography, behind the scenes images, and WIPs of upcoming projects, plus my secret 11 herbs and spices!
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.
Lettice has her future sister-in-law, Arabella Tyrwhitt, who will soon marry her eldest brother Leslie, staying with her at Cavendish Mews. As Arabella has no sisters, and her mother is too unwell at present to travel up to London from Wiltshire, Lettice has taken it upon herself to help Arabella shop and select a suitable trousseau. So, she has brought her to London to stay in Cavendish Mews, rather than opening up the Tyrwhitt’s Georgian townhouse in Curzon Street for a week, so from there she can take Arabella shopping in all the best shops in the West End, and take her to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street for her wedding dress.
Today however we have headed a short distance south from Cavendish Mews to St. James’ Park after Lettice received a surprise telephone call from Selwyn Spencely, the Duke of Walmsford’s son, with whom she has started a budding relationship.
“Lettice my Angel,” his voice called down the telephone excitedly. “May I be completely and utterly impetuous and ask you to do something spontaneous?” When Lettice laughed in reply he continued, “I know we agreed to have dinner at the Café Royal* after your houseguest leaves, but I just can’t wait that long to see you! Today is such a beautiful summer day. It would be a shame to waste it. Couldn’t I persuade you to leave your guest to her own devices for a few hours and come and have a picnic in St. James’ Park with me?”
When Lettice explained that it would be remiss of her to desert Arabella, Arabella, who was sitting in the drawing room leafing through some of Lettice’s latest fashion magazines and within earshot of the conversation, immediately indicated with mouthed, overpronounced words and pantomime like gesticulations that she could find her own way to Oxford Street to do a little browsing at Selfridges department store. And so, it was with a heart fluttering with delight that Arabella and Edith, Lettice’s maid, rushed her off to her dressing room to help her swiftly pick the perfect choice for a summertime picnic in St. James’ Park. With Lettice suitably arrayed, Edith scuttled down to the taxi stand at the edge of the nearby square, hired a taxi and bundled Lettice into it with Arabella’s help before directing it to St. James’s Park.
“Lettice my angel!” Selwyn gasps as he sees her approach, dressed in a pretty afternoon frock of flower sprigged cream cotton and a wide brimmed straw hat decorated with cream and yellow artificial roses. “Can it be my imagination or are you even more beautiful after your return from Wiltshire?”
“Oh you are such a flatterer, Selwyn darling!” Lettice laughs, waving her right hand kittenishly at Selwyn, who catches it playfully and raises it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. Lettice smiles as she feels the warmth of his lips through the thin weave of her ecru lace glove.
At Selwyn’s feet on the gravel path sits a small basket lined with blue and white cotton, and decorated with a pretty red satin bow, filled with the makings of a splendid luncheon for two.
Seeing her querying look as to why he isn’t holding the basket, Selwyn withdraws his left hand from behind his back. “These are for you, my angel!” And with a flourish he presents her with a bunch of long stemmed creamy roses wrapped in colourful paper. “I must have known in my heart what you were going to wear.”
“Oh Selwyn!” Lettice gasps, accepting the blooms from him and raising them to her face, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “You are so thoughtful! Thank you!”
“I have the perfect spot for us,” Selwyn replies, entwining the fingers of his left hand with her right hand and leading her along the path where they perambulate leisurely amidst the other citizenry of London enjoying the fine summer day.
The warm air smells sweet with the fragrance of grass and trees basking in the summer sun as Lettice looks at the others around her. Nannies, both in smart uniforms or just dressed in ordinary clothes, push their privileged charges about in splendid prams with black and blue hoods and shiny spoked wheels or parade them along at a pace quick enough to get the much needed summer air into their little lungs. City gents and clerks in suits and uncomfortable looking starched collars sit on benches reading the London tabloids, sharing their seats with older couples in their outmoded Victorian perambulating outfits. Participating in a romantic assignation, Lettice is suddenly aware of how many other young couples just like she and Selwyn there are around them. Lettice notices a few soldiers in red dress uniform escorting their beaus in summer frocks and hats similar to her own, but perhaps not so expensive or exclusive as her couture pieces. The pair depart the gravel path and step over the low hooped lawn edgings and leave the dappled shade of the trees to cross over the well clipped lawns into an open space flooded with summer sunshine.
“Here we are,” Selwyn says, stopping on a patch of lawn sparsely populated by other picnickers, with the perfect view of St James’ Park duck pond and Buckingham Palace rising beyond the green space in the distance. “The perfect spot.”
“Oh it is Selwyn!” Lettice laughs as Selwyn gently drops the basket on the grass and withdraws a red and white gingham picnic rug from within its confines and unfurls it with a flourish.
“Now we have some cold chicken, some fresh bread,” Selwyn begins as he starts withdrawing gilt edged crockery and silver cutlery from the basket.
“Did you have the chefs at your club prepare this, Selwyn?” Lettice asks in amazement as she lowers herself onto the rug alongside her bouquet of cream roses, carefully arranging her skirt over her knees as she curls her legs underneath herself.
“Goodness no!” he laughs jovially as he puts a salt and a pepper shaker matching the plates into the picnic rug.
“Then where?”
“Harrods has a very fine line in personalised picnic hampers through their Meat and Fish Hall**. I simply told them what I fancied, and they provided it.” He takes out a white damask cloth and opens it. “Voilà! Salad!”
“Fancy!” Lettice gasps, raising her fingers to her lips in delight at Selwyn’s gustatory magic trick.
“There are freshly baked jam tarts for dessert, too.” Selwyn announces proudly, as if he had baked them himself.
“And apples!” Lettice points to two rosy, red apples nestled into the side of the basket like two embarrassed blushing lovers.
“And of course, no picnic would be complete without,” He delves back into the basket and carefully withdraws a bottle. “A glass or two of Mozelle.” He winks at his luncheon companion conspiratorially.
Lettice claps her hands in delight as he proceeds to take out two sparkling crystal glasses from within the interior of the basket.
A half hour later, with most of the chicken, fresh baguette and salad consumed, Lettice and Selwyn settle back to let their first course settle before indulging in their dessert of tarts. Lettice sighs contentedly as she feels the warmth of the sun on her bare arms, exposed below her cap sleeves, whilst Selwyn stretches out comfortably, resting on his elbow as he gazes up at Lettice from beneath the brim of his straw boater.
“You know,” Lettice says as she sips still cool Mozelle from her glass, listening to the companionable sound of quiet chatter punctuated by smatterings of laughter and the quacks of ducks around them. “I still can’t get used to it.”
“Used to what, my angel?” Selwyn asks lazily, looking across the gardens in the general direction of Lettice’s gaze.
“That.” She points to Buckingham Palace, its Portland stone frontage*** basking in the sunshine. “The new façade.”
“It’s hardly new, Lettice darling. It’s been almost ten years since it was completed.”
“Yes, but four of those years we were at war, which began just after its completion, and I’ve only been living in London for two years, so it’s still new to me.”
“Do you know that The King paid for the contractors building it to work around the clock to complete it in thirteen weeks.”
“No,” Lettice replies, looking down into his animated face.
“Yes. It was quite a logistical feat! The blocks of stone were prepared in advance and numbered before delivery to the Palace via a tramway especially built for the purpose. The contractors used new technologies like electric hoists to move the Portland stone pieces into place, and they used arc lighting to allow the men to work around the clock.”
“Good heavens! I didn’t know any of that.”
“Yes, and The King even hosted a dinner for all the workmen afterwards, to thank them for completing it so swiftly.”
“Aren’t we lucky to have such a good ruler as King George?” Lettice asks rhetorically. “Of course, you know all about the palace façade construction, being a successful architect.” She adds with a smile.
“Well, a young and upcoming architect,” Selwyn returns her smile with a broad and appreciative one of his own.
“You’ll be a great success, Selwyn darling!” Lettice enthuses. “I just know it. This house you are building in Hampstead will be just the beginning.”
Selwyn snorts derisively. “I wish my father had the faith in me that you do, darling.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I have my duties as heir to the Walmsford title to consider, rather than this,” he flaps his hand around distractedly, narrowly avoiding spilling what Mozelle he has left in his own glass. “This silly pastime of mine of drawing dolls’ houses.”
“Drawing dolls’ houses?” Lettice exclaims in horror. “Is that what he calls it?”
“He does.” Selwyn says with resignation.
“Well,” Lettice replies a steely tone in her voice, lifting her head and staring away into the distance. “Unlike my mother, and evidently your father, I don’t see you as the mere heir to a title and all that goes with it.”
“And that’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to you, my darling. You are so refreshingly different. You aren’t like all the toadying debutantes of the London season and their equally simpering, insufferable mothers, courting me and stealing covetous glances at me beneath lowered lids.”
“Well, I might not be, but my mother is. Don’t forget that you were invited to her Hunt Ball along with a dozen other suitably eligible bachelors as part of a marriage market for me. You’ve no idea what pressure Mater puts on me to hurry up and get married like my sister, Lally, just like a good girl.”
“I take it then, that she no more approves of your interior design business than my father approves of my career in architecture?”
It is Lettice’s turn to snort derisively. “Folly is what she calls it. My interior design folly.” She sighs.
“So you understand the weight of the constant barrage of disapproval then?”
“I do, Selwyn, more than you know.” Lettice takes a sharp inhale of sweet summer air, as if steeling herself for just such a rebuke.
The pair fall into a companionable silence for a short while, momentarily lost in their own thoughts. In the distance a duck protests, squawking as a little boy in a sailor suit chases after it excitedly. The duck escapes onto the shimmering surface of the pond with a splash of water, and the little boy is stopped from following him by the swift actions of a woman who is either his mother or his nanny, scolding him for bothering the poor bird.
“I decided to set up my interior design business partly as a form of rebellion: a way to irritate my mother more than I already did during the war by insisting on nursing patients who came to convalesce at Glynes, but more so to strike out from my parents and make my own way in the world, at least a little bit.”
“I think that sounds splendid, my angel. To be independent in thought and deed shows character, and in a woman, steely determination.”
“I’m glad you approve, Selwyn. Mater certainly does not. She derides the idea of the independence of women.”
“You mustn’t be too hard on her, Lettice. Lady Sadie is a product of her upbringing. Her generation grew up with the idea that to marry, and to marry well, was the only option for women of her class.”
“Maybe." Lettice muses. “But not all people thought that way. Father’s father, my grandfather, believed in women’s emancipation long before it was fashionable to do so.”
“Is it fashionable today?”
“In some circles it is, and it will become more so, you mark my words.” She wags a finger at him.
“In more enlightened and perhaps more bohemian circles, certainly.”
“That’s why my Aunt Eglantine is a successful artist. My grandfather made sure that as his daughter, she was well provided for, so that way she could live independently and didn’t have to get married. It was a pity he didn’t live to see how things are changing for women now. He’s the one who set up my allowance for me when I came of age. No matter what I do, no matter how much I outrage my parents for breaching conformity, they cannot withdraw my allowance now that I am of age. My grandfather told me before he died to pursue my dreams, and that not every girl has to get married.”
“A most forward thinking gentleman was the old Viscount Wrexham.”
“He was.” Lettice replies with a smile. “And you, Selwyn.”
“Me?”
“Yes! Why did you decide to become an architect?”
“Well, as you know, I grew up in refined surroundings, yet I used to hear whispers and complaints about the idle rich when I was young.”
“You sound like one of those Communists who stand down at Speakers Corner**** in Hyde Park.”
“Well,” chuckles Selwyn. “I did have a tutor before I went to boarding school whom I’m sure had Communist affiliations, as it was through his education that I learned most about the folly, fecklessness and idleness of the rich.”
“So, what did he instil in you then, Selwyn?”
“Well, I grew up determined not to be just, as you so beautifully put it when we had luncheon at the Metrople*****, a Your Grace: a duke wealthy enough to live his life idly. My parents greatest claim to fame is that they have amassed a vast collection of rare and beautiful porcelain. I want more than to be known for something like that. I wanted a purpose, to give my life meaning. I want to leave my mark on the world.” Lettice leans in closer to Selwyn, mesmerised by his heightened passion as he speaks. “And I thought architecture was a good way to do it. I can design civic buildings that are needed and that bring pride to a community. I can build the homes of the future. Perhaps I might even one day design houses for London’s poor, to help replace the slums in the East End.”
“That’s very fine talk, Selwyn darling.” Lettice says proudly. “I approve. But what does your mother think?”
“Zinnia?”
“You call her by her given name?”
“Well, Zinnia has always been vain. She never wanted to grow old, so it suited her to have me call her Zinnia rather than mother. It leaves her ageless, you see. She’s not really a maternal kind of woman.”
“I just remember an angry woman yelling at me as she pulled you out of the hedgerow.”
“Yes, well, in answer to your question, I very much doubt she thinks about my desires as anything more than an irritation or an eccentricity, much the same way as your own mother views your pursuits as an interior designer. She knows that I am bound by duty to succeed my father some day, so she tolerates it as a mild inconvenience: the young heir living a life of his own choosing whilst he can.”
“Do you think that’s true?” Lettice asks, draining her glass. “Will you have to give up architecture when you become the next Duke of Walmsford?”
Selwyn withdraws the bottle of Mozelle from its wrapper of damask sitting in the basket and proffers its open mouth towards Lettice, who responds by moving closer and placing her glass beneath it. He fills her glass first and then refills his own. “I don’t know.” he sighs. “I hope not.”
“But?” Lettice prods his unfinished thought.
“But I haven’t quite worked out how I can do both.”
“Perhaps you can design new houses for the workers on your home farm, and the tenants on your estate.”
“And risk their ire as the homes built and lived in by their ancestors, old fashioned and draughty with leaky roofs are demolished to make way for newer, more commodious and comfortable homes.” Selwyn shakes his head. “You haven’t met any of my father’s tenant farmers. They like their lives just as they are, and don’t want the upheaval of change.”
“They sound very much like my father’s tenants. They just want the leaky roofs repaired and the draughts blocked, but they don’t want new houses, even if they could benefit from them. My eldest brother, Leslie, has managed to be a good influence on my father, helping sway his decisions about the estate to more modern ways of thinking, like investing in new machinery and farming differently, which has saved the Glynes estate from going into bankruptcy, or at the very least having to be partially purloined to greedy property developers, like some of our neighbours.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about Bruton’s family estate troubles. All the members of our club know why we don’t see much of him.” He sees the concern in Lettice’s face. “But don’t worry, I’m a gentleman, and the soul of discretion. He’ll never hear me speak of it and cause him embarrassment.”
“Thank you, Selwyn.” Lettice smiles.
“Is he going to design your future sister-in-law’s wedding frock, then?”
“Oh I do hope so, Selwyn. Gerald is such a good designer, and he is finally having some success.”
“A glimmer of hope in a dark time for the Bruton clan.”
“Indeed.” Lettice sighs.
“Well,” Selwyn says, rousing himself from his relaxed position on his side. “We should drink to Bruton’s success.”
“We should raise a glass to your success too, Selwyn darling.”
“And yours, my angel.” Selwyn ponders for a moment. “Let us toast simply to us. To all of us.” He raises his glass.
“To us!” Lettice raises her own glass, the sound of crystal against crystal clinking in the warm summer air.
As she sips her Mozelle, Lettice stares across at Selwyn and quietly dares to hope that maybe, there might be a future for the two of them together. Hiding it with the rim of her glass, a small smile of possibility teases up the corners of her lips.
“Now, I think we’re ready for a jam tart. Don’t you agree?” Selwyn asks with a smirk as he reaches in and withdraws two jewel like raspberry tarts with golden pastry shells sitting on a small gilt plate.
*The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
**Harrod’s Meat and Fish Hall (the predecessor to today’s food hall) was opened in 1903. There was nothing like it in London at the time. It’s interior, conceived by Yorkshire Arts and Crafts ceramicist and artist William Neatby, was elaborately decorated from floor to ceiling with beautiful Art Nouveau tiles made by Royal Doulton, and a glass roof that flooded the space with light. Completed in nine weeks it featured ornate frieze tiles displaying pastoral scenes of sheep and fish, as well as colourful glazed tiles. By the 1920s, when this scene is set, the Meat and Fish Hall was at its zenith with so much produce on display and available to wealthy patrons that you could barely see the interior.
***Completed in thirteen weeks by the contractors, Messrs. Leslie of Kensington, the classically inspired Portland Stone façade of Buckingham Palace that we all know was unveiled in autumn 1913. At the conclusion of the project the King gave a dinner at the Holborn Restaurant for the hundreds of workmen responsible for such a remarkable achievement.
****A Speakers' Corner is an area where open-air public speaking, debate, and discussion are allowed. The original and best known is in the northeast corner of Hyde Park in London. Historically there were a number of other areas designated as Speakers' Corners in other parks in London, such as Lincoln's Inn Fields, Finsbury Park, Clapham Common, Kennington Park, and Victoria Park. Areas for Speakers' Corners have been established in other countries and elsewhere in Britain.
*****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.
Beautiful as it may be, this picturesque and delicious looking picnic on the lawns may not be all it seems, for it is in fact made up of miniatures from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The picnic basket I have had since I was a young teenager, and is possibly one of the very first artisan pieces I ever bought. Bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures, it still has its price tag of twenty five pounds on it! Sadly, I do not know who the artisan was who made this. The basket contains a baguette, some cheese, two apples, crockery, cutlery, napery, a bottle of wine and two faceted wine glasses.
The gilt edged plates, their matching salt and pepper, the cutlery and the roses all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The napkins in their metal napkin rings came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The picnic blanket being used is in reality a corner of one of my gingham shirts, which my partner derisively calls my “picnic blanket shirt”. The grass in the background is real, as this scene was photographed on my front lawn during the height of summer, on a lovely bright and sunny day.
Due to copy paste being a bitch , this issue isn't bold or underlined .
'-' Alfred
"-" Bruce
-------
'Master Bruce .'
Alfred places his hand on my left shoulder .
"What is it Alfred ?"
I turn around letting his hand slip back to his side .
'There has been a murder .
Precisely two murders. It's Scarecrow ,sir.'
I sigh.
"Is the bat suit ready ?"
He nods his head in disapproval.
I still haven't convinced him what I'm doing is the right thing to do.
'Yes but ... are you sure you wish to take on a criminal mastermind like "The Crow" ,sir ? '
I laugh .
"All he is , is a cannibal , a monster , and most importantly a drug addict."
'Except this addict isn't a normal one .'
I don't have time for this .
"I've made my mind up Alfred , someone needs to put a stop to these criminals an.."
'But does it have to be you ,sir ?And look how that played out for the previous "hero" of this city. '
"Gordon made the mistake of digging too deep."
'And isn't that what you plan on doing ?'
Every second we spend arguing could be a second spent stopping the Scarecrow .
But sadly he does have a point.
If Gordon , this cities best detective and chief of the GCPD couldn't stop these monsters , then who am I to think I could pull it off ?
"Alfred ...is the suit ready or not ?"
'Yes master Bruce .But know this .Once you go on this path , there is no coming back '
"I'm aware of that .But I have to do this .Not for my parents , or avenging them , but rather for myself .I need peace Alfred .Sadly I can only find it in war ."
'A war you may loose .'
"Yes Alfred. I might win .I might loose . But at the end of the story , I will be able to say I tried . "
He opens his mouth as if he was about to say something , but then closes it .
He hands me Scarecrows police file and his presumed hideout .
'Before you leave sir .'
I look into his eyes .
I can see something in them .
Is it grief ?
Fear?
Or ...
Pain?
'You say you are doing this for yourself , yet still ...how true do you think that is ? Do you think they would have wanted you to go on this path ? To become an angel of "justice" ? Do not let the Wayne family line go to waste .If this is what you wish to do , then do it right .Make them proud .'
I sense a certain fury in his voice , but I say nothing .
I simply put my suit on and get inside the Batmobile.
As I start the engine I swear I could have heard a drop of water fall to the ground .
My brain tells me it indeed was a drop of water .
My heart tells me something else.
----
BTW , if you've missed the prologue , just go to my stream and you will find a photo of batman and Joker mirroring each other , that's the prologue .
I finally got a shot of the hummer feeding on the flowering currant. To spot him in the field, mostly I listened for the sound of him clicking his disapproval that I was anywhere near "his" territory. It's been raining a lot and Sunday was the only sunny day I could get away...I spent four hours roaming around this area photographing, and had a blast!
Speaking of hummer photos, you have to check out the work of www.flickr.com/photos/michelroy/ . His bird photography is superb but he also has lots of other wildlife as well. He has a calendar for sale now with some amazing images. I've already ordered mine!
Today I attended a No King's rally in Albany NY.
It was on Wolf Rd, Albany's busiest commercial corridor. A 2 mile straight stretch of shopping, restaurants, entertainment and hotels.
The organizers were hoping there would be enough of a turn out to completely line the road, on both sides. That would mean a 4 mile collection of people.
I wasn't at all sure we'd get that.....but we did!
We stood on opposite sides of the road, with our flags and signs the whole way down the corridor.
It's a very heavily trafficked road, and so many of the cars honked their horns, waved their own flags, had signs on their windows, gave thumbs up and big smiles, and we gave the same to them.
There was no violence, no crazy people, no attempt to obstruct traffic, no ruckus at all.
Oddly, it felt joyous. So good spirited.
People with signs...and they were plentiful...were happy to let you take their photo.
I'm not posting their faces, but here's a sampling of some of the signs. The one about grandpa's first protest was held by an older, grandfatherly man who was beaming.
The whole thing was inspirational and invigorating.
I hope it really is the beginning of a civic movement.
Don't give up. Resist.
Call your congressional reps and voice your disapproval.
Find ways to be helpful....even ordinary little ones.
Donate to needy causes if you can.
Find like minded folks.
And take care of yourselves.
You all remember the story of Birbal’s Khichadi, right? I recalled it perfectly well, as I stood alone on the frigid -13 Degrees Celsius night of Lake Pangong Tso. There I was, along the 134-kilometer stretch of a magical lake bathed in moonlight & wondering why is the moonlight, which is just reflected sunlight not warming me up enough. No winds mind you & yet my body sent uncontrolled shivers down my spine, its own way of warming it & telling me to go back to my warm tent. “Yamuna Ke tat Par Khadak Singhaiya Naach Nachaiya” played in my Cranium as I trembled one more time. (Those who remember the Ace Villain, K.N. Singh singing this song in the movie “Badhti Ka Naaam Daadhi,” raise your glass). I tried staring at the proverbial lamp light at the far end of the lake, shining warm & gaining its Kelvins & stopped at the thought of King Akbar’s eminent disapproval.
The moon lights up a nightscape with a magic that no daylight can. The Milky Way & the stars are diffused due to the dazzle of our closest satellite but the land is bathed white like a “Saundarya Saabun” (Beauty Soap) Ad. A glory that has to be witnessed, admired & cherished…..even at the risk of King Akbar denying you the thousand Gold Ashrafis he had promised as a reward for standing alone in the cold wintery night of Yamuna.
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, on this fine summer day, we are following Lettice as she and Gerald head south-west through the London streets in Gerald’s little Morris*. Taking the Brompton Road, they drive through Belgravia and then Chelsea as Brompton Road becomes Fulham Road. They drive 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 they continue to go south.
As Gerald drives his Morris over the Thames on Putney Bridge, Lettice glances around her. “I thought you were taking me to buy a new hat, Gerald.”
“I am Lettice darling.” he replies good naturedly.
“But this isn’t Bond Street. Far from it, in fact.” she counters as they reach the south side of the bridge, and she takes in a semi-circle of tall two and three storey Victorian and Edwardian brick buildings to their right and the crenelled tower of a stone church on their left. “Where are you taking me?”
“For a woman who has lived in London for nearly two years, you haven’t strayed far from Mayfair, have you Lettuce Leaf?” Gerald observes with a smirk.
“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it! If you weren’t driving this car, “ scowls Lettice. “I’d hit you with my handbag.”
“Think of this like your own personal tour of Putney.”
“Putney?” Lettice’s eyes grow wide. “You’re taking me to a hatters in Putney?”
“Don’t be such an elitist Lettuce Leaf.”
Sulking in her seat, clutching her handbag with her arms folded across her chest she mutters, “That’s rich coming from you, the man who bemoans middle-class money paying for the acquisition of his frocks.”
“Just sit back, relax and enjoy the view, darling.” Gerald replies breezily as he turns off the Putney High Street and into a tree lined avenue which Lettice reads as being Hazlewell Road.
The pair drive in silence for a little while, Gerald concentrating on where they are going and Lettice looking at the view as Gerald suggested from her vantage point in the passenger seat alongside him.
“The houses seem awfully samey here, don’t you think?” she asks as they pass 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.
“No more than Pimlico,” Gerald observes. “Just newer is all.”
Gerald’s Morris finally pulls up in front of one such Edwardian villa. Lettice looks out of her door at it. The villa 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.
“Now, I want you to be good, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald cautions his friend with a wagging finger encapsulated by his Dents driving glove**. “This is the home of Harriet Milford. Her father was a family solicitor. He died last year, leaving her an orphan. The house he left to her, but with no other real inheritance. With no income, so to speak, she has taken in lodgers.”
Lettice screws up her face in horror. “Lodgers! You’ve brought me to a lodging ho…”
“I said behave, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald scolds her, arching his eyebrows. “I haven’t finished talking yet. Mr. Milford believed in education, but sadly only for boys. He wasn’t expecting to pass away before his daughter married, so without any employable skills, she’s turned her hand to what she can do.”
“And how did you come to meet this, Harriet Milford?” Lettice asks, her mouth a thin red lipsticked line of disapproval with turned down ends.
“She and I frequent the same haberdashers. After running into one another several times, I finally asked her what she did to buy so much ribbon and so many artificial flowers. And that was when she told me that having no real skill other than sewing, after her father died, as well as take in lodgers, she has turned her hand to millinery to make end meet.”
“I hope, my dear Gerald, that you aren’t expecting me to buy a hat from her out of pity.”
“Not at all, my dear. I’ve been here a number of times now, to take tea with Harriet, and I can assure you that her hat making skills rival that of Madame Gwendolyn. Already she has gained quite a reputation amongst the local ladies.”
Lettice snorts dismissively at the thought of the middle-class matrons of Putney and their choices of millinery.
Undeterred, Gerald continues, “Since Sadie has forbidden you to wear a hat from Selfridges to Leslie’s wedding, and I can’t say I disagree…”
“My hats from Sel…”
“I still haven’t finished!” Gerald interrupts his friend. “Since Sadie won’t let you wear a Selfridges hat to the wedding, and I won’t sit next to you at the wedding breakfast if you do, and you won’t go back to Madame Gwendolyn, I thought Harriet’s hat making skills would be the perfect solution. Now, come.” He puts his hand on the handle of his door and pushes it down, opening it slightly. He pauses just before getting out and turns back to his friend. “And remember to behave.”
“I always behave, Gerald!” Lettice defends herself as she opens her own door and steps out onto the sunny footpath.
Gerald walks around the front of the car and joins Lettice on the footpath. “Shall we?” he proffers his arm to his friend, which she accepts.
They step up to the black painted wrought iron gate flanked by two capped red brick pillars. Gerald opens the gate and together they walk in and up the garden path snaking across a well clipped lawn. Standing beneath the arched portico, Lettice can hear the notes of an oboe being played through one of the oriel windows open above. “That will be Cyril.” Gerald remarks as he depresses the doorbell next to the front door. The hollow ring that resounds through the hallway within is answered by a pair of scuttling footsteps as the front door is flung open exuberantly.
“Gerry darling!” gasps a young woman around Lettice’s age who throws her arms enthusiastically and perhaps a little overly familiarly around Gerald’s neck.
Lettice feels a momentary pang of jealousy in her stomach as she sees Gerald return Harriet’s enthusiastic embrace in a way that she thought only she and Gerald shared. With a quick flutter of her eyelashes, she dismisses the thought, but the pang in her stomach does not go away.
“Hullo Hattie darling!” He holds her at arm’s length. “My you do look well.”
“I sold another two hats yesterday, so I’m tickled pink, Gerry darling!” she gushes with a girlish giggle and a proud smile.
Lettice tries to force a cough. At the sound of Lettice gently clearing her throat, the spell between Gerald and Harriet is broken and Gerald quickly returns his attentions to Lettice. “Harriet, may I present my childhood chum, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd. Lettice, Miss Harriet Milford.”
Lettice takes in Harriet’s appearance from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Looking more closely at her Lettice decides that she is actually possibly a year or two younger than she and Gerald are, with mousy brown hair cut into a soft bob. Her floral cotton frock with its drop waist and side flounces must surely be home made, yet it is obviously made well as it sits on her slender figure every bit as smartly as Lettice’s outfit, which has been expertly cut for her by Gerald. Her shoes show the wear of a few years and her stockings have been carefully mended. She looks across at Lettice with a pretty face, free of makeup. Her brown eyes are like deep pools, clear and bright, and they are framed by naturally long lashes.
“How do you do, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says in a polite and well bred voice.
“How do you do, Miss Milford.” she replies, returning Harriet’s open smile with a polite one of her own.
“Tut, tut, Hattie!” Gerald says, reaching across and plucking a piece of red cotton off Harriet’s shoulder, which Lettice finds an uncomfortably intimate gesture. Holding it out in front of Harriet he continues, “You mustn’t be answering the door wearing loose threads.” He smiles cheekily.
“Oh I’m busy making a new hat to replenish my stocks.” Harriet replies, blushing as she lowers her lids, and holds out her hands to accept the trailing thread of red. “Please, come this way Miss Chetwynd,” she adds, ushering Lettice and Gerald into the house. “You know the way Gerry darling.”
“Gerry darling?” Lettice queries quietly with a cocked eyebrow and a mirthful smile as she slips past the blushing Gerald and follows her hostess across the threshold into the black and white tiled hallway stuffed with Edwardian vestibule furniture.
“Please make yourself comfortable in here, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet says, flinging open the first door on the left side of the hallway and indicating with an extended arm for Lettice to enter. “I’ll be like Polly and pop the kettle on. Back in a jiffy*** my dears!” And with scuttling footsteps she disappears into the gloom of the house further down the hallway.
Walking into the room as she has been told, Lettice gazes around it. Noting the flouncy Edwardian settee an matching armchair by the fire she remarks, “This is obviously the parlour.” Noticing a sewing machine sitting in the bay window where it can get the best light she adds, “Or was.”
It is then, as Gerald indicates with an open gesture to what must once have been a tea table, that Lettice sees several beautifully fashioned hats propped on wooden hatstands basking in the diffused light coming through the lace scrim curtains of the bay window. She gasps at the sight of them and immediately walks up to scrutinise them more closely. Two are made of straw and one of felt. The felt hat is dyed a dramatic turquoise colour and is trimmed with fine braid, garlands of ribbons and feathers dyed to match the shade of the felt. One of the straw hats is dyed a romantic shade of soft mauve, whilst the other remains its natural colour. The mauve hat’s romance is added to by a mixture of artificial flowers and clusters of ribbons woven expertly around the brim. The other hat is plainer with less decoration, yet its restrained treatment makes it every bit as elegant as the mauve hat. None of them would look out of place at Ascot or a tea party at Buckingham Palace.
Lettice thumbs the may green ribbon of the plain straw hat thoughtfully. “These are exquisite, Gerald.”
“I knew you’d like Hattie’s work.” Gerald sighs with satisfaction.
*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.
**Dents is a British company that crafts luxury leather gloves, handbags, small leather goods. Dents is known for its hand cutting, sewing, and stitching techniques, which are still practised today on some limited top end products, most merchandise being purchased from third-party factories. Dents was established in Worcester in 1777 as a manufacturer of fine leather gloves by John Dent (1751–1811). It is possibly Britain's oldest existing fashion manufacturer. Dent's sons, John and William, helped the company expand throughout the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. In 1845, mechanical sewing was introduced to the company to assist craftspeople. The company has a modern factory in Warminster, Wiltshire, having been present in the town since 1937.
***The expression in a jiffy was in use as early as 1780. It is a colloquial English expression for “in a short amount of time.” The origins of jiffy are unknown, though there are theories. One suggestion is that it comes from British thieves’ slang for “lightning,” hence very fast. An early instance appears in 1780 edition of Town and Country Magazine: “Most of the limbs of the law do every thing in a jiffy”.
Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so even though this story is set in that year, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society and whilst Lettice is fashionable, she and many other fashionable women still wore the more romantic picture hat. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch.
This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom 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 childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The natural yellow straw hat with green trim and the mauve dyed straw hat with mauve and green trim were both made by the same unknown artisan in America. The aqua hat behind the two straw hats was made by an unknown British artisan. All three hats were acquired through auctions on E-Bay. The hat stands the hats rest on are all part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The multi coloured feathers in the earthenware vase on the table behind the hats also belonged to Marilyn Bickel.
The copies of Weldon’s Dressmaker and the Lady’s World Fancy Work Book are 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. In this case, the magazines are non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines 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 this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The spools of ribbon, the tape measure, the silver sewing scissors in the shape of a stork and the box of embroidery threads I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House in the United Kingdom.
The table on which all these items stand is a Queen Anne lamp table which I was given for my seventh birthday. It is one of the very first miniature pieces of furniture I was ever given as a child.
The sewing machine to the left of the photo, I bought from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. It is made with extreme attention to detail, complete with a painted black metal body, authentic sewing mechanisms and a worksurface “inlaid” with mother-of-pearl.
The round white metal sewing tin on the sewing machine’s surface is another artisan piece I have had since I was a young teenager. If you look closely you will see it contains a black velvet pin cushion, a pair of sewing scissors, needles, threads and two thimbles. Considering this is a 1:12 artisan miniature, imagine how minute the thimbles are! This I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It does have a lid which features artificial flowers and is trimmed with braid, but I wanted to show off the contents of the tin in this image, so it does not feature.
The spools of red, yellow, orange and blue cottons come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.
The salon chair drawn up to the sewing machine is part of a Marie Antionette suite with pretty floral upholstery which has been made by the high-end miniatures manufacturer, Creal.
Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the mantlepiece and the bookshelf in the background are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each.
The porcelain clock on the mantlepiece is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.
The Edwardian mantlepiece is made of moulded plaster and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
The bookshelf in the background comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.
The paintings and prints on the walls all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House 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 have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday.
As the Morris drove slowly up the rather uneven and potholed driveway running through a wild and unkempt looking park that must once have been a landscaped garden, both Lettice and Gerald were taken aback by the house standing on the crest of an undulating hill overlooking a cove. When described as a Regency “cottage residence”, the pair were expecting a modest single storey house of maybe eight to ten rooms with a thatch roof, not the sprawling double storey residence of white stucco featuring arched French doors and windows with sea views, a wraparound cast iron verandah and high pitched slate tiled roof with at least a dozen chimneys.
Now settled in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, Lettice looks about her, taking in the stripped back, slightly austere and very formal furnishings.
“I say old bean,” Gerald addresses Dickie from his seat next to Lettice on the rather hard and uncomfortable red velvet settee. “If this is what your father calls a ‘cottage residence’, no wonder you jumped at the chance to take it.”
“Apparently the Prince Regent** coined the term ‘cottage residence’ when he had Royal Lodge built at Windsor,” Dickie explains cheerily from his place standing before the crackling fire, leaning comfortably against the mantle. “And of course my ancestors being the ambitious breed they were, set about building a ‘cottage’ to rival it.”
“Was it built for a previous Marquess of Taunton?” Lettice asks with interest.
“Heavens no, darling!” their host replies, raising his hands animatedly. “It was built back around 1816 for one of the second Marquess’ bastard sons, who served as a ship’s captain and returned from fighting the Frenchies a decorated war hero.” Dickie points to two portraits at the end of the room, either side of a Regency sideboard.
“That would explain the maritime theme running through the art in here.” Lettice points casually to several paintings of ships also hanging about the walls.
“Aren’t they ghastly, Lettice darling?” Margot hisses as she glances around at the oils in their heavy frames. “We need some femininity in this old place, don’t you think?” She giggles rather girlishly as she gives her friend a wink. “Daddy has promised me the pretty Georgian girl in the gold dress that hangs in my bedroom in Hans Crescent. I think it could look lovely in here.”
“If you please, my love!” Dickie chides his new wife sweetly, giving her a knowing look.
“Oh, so sorry my love!” she replies, putting her dainty fingers to her cheeky smile.
“As the Marquess’ prolific illegitimate progeny were well known up and down the coast of Cornwall and beyond,” Dickie continues his potted history of the house. “And what with him being a hero of the Napoleonic wars, his father, my ancestor the second Marquess, thought it best to set him up in a fine house of his own.”
“That was far enough away from the family seat.” Gerald adds.
“That was far enough away from the Marchioness, more like!” Dickie corrects. “Last thing you want to do is rub your good lady wife’s nose into the fruits spawned from the sewing of your wild oats.”
Margot looks across at her husband from her armchair with a look of mock consternation. “I do hope, my sweet, that I’m not to be confronted with any illegitimate offspring when I’m Marchioness of Taunton.”
“Certainly not my love. The Marquess’s wife, Georgette, was fierce by all accounts, but she’d be a pussy cat compared to your fierceness, Margot.”
“I should think so.” Margot smiles with satisfaction.
“Anyway,” Dickie adds with a roguish smile. “I made sure I did away with any illegitimate offspring I had, prior to marrying you.”
The four friends laugh at Dickie’s quick, witty response, just as the door to the drawing room is forced open by a heavy boot, startling them all.
Looking to the door as it creaks open noisily on its hinges, an old woman with a wind weathered face with her unruly wiry white hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing a rather tatty apron over an old fashioned Edwardian print dress, walks in carrying a tea tray. Although weighed down heavily with a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, four cups and saucers and a glass plate of biscuits, the rather frail looking old woman seems unbothered by its weight, although her bones crack noisily and disconcertingly as she lowers the tray onto the low occasional table between the settee and armchairs.
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot acknowledges the old woman.
“Omlowenhewgh agas boes!***” the elderly woman replies in a gravelly voice, groaning as she stretches back into an upright position.
“Yes… Yes, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot replies in an unsure tone, giving Lettice a gentle shrug and a quizzical look which her friend returns. “I’ll pour the tea myself I think.”
“Pur dha****.” she answers rather gruffly before retreating back the way she came with shuffling footsteps.
“What did she say?” Lettice asks Dickie once the door to the drawing room has closed and the old woman’s footfalls drift away, mingling with the distant sound of the ocean outside.
“Why look at me, old girl?” Dickie replies with a sheepish smile and a shrug as big as his wife’s.
“Because your Cornish, Dickie.” Lettice replies.
“Only by birth darling!” he defends with a cocked eyebrow and a mild look of distain.
“But it’s your heritage, Dickie.” counters Lettice disappointedly. “You’re supposed to know these things.”
“You know I went to Eaton, where they beat any hint of Cornish out of me my father and mother hadn’t already chased away prior to me going there.”
“It sounded like swearing to me,” Gerald adds in disgust, screwing up his nose. “Local dialect. So guttural.”
“Like ‘be gone you city folk, back from whence you came’?” Margot giggles.
“And who’d blame her?” Dickie pipes up. “After all, she and Mr. Trevethan have had run of this place ever since the old sea captain died. I mean, this place was supposed to be for Harry…”
“God bless Harry.” Margot, Lettice and Gerald all say in unison with momentarily downcast eyes.
“But of course, he never lived to be married and be given this place as a wedding gift, so Mr. and Mrs. Trevethan have been looking after the place for around four decades I’d reckon, give or take a few years.”
“So, there is a Mr. Trevethan then?” Lettice asks.
“Oh yes,” Dickie elucidates as he moves from the fireplace and takes his seat in the other vacant armchair. “He’s the gardener and odd job man.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole house doesn’t fall down around our ears.” Gerald remarks disparagingly. “Getting the Morris safely over those potholes in your driveway was no mean feat, old bean.”
“They’re old, dear chap.” Dickie defends his housekeeper and gardener kindly. “Be fair. They’ve done a pretty good job of caretaking the old place, considering.”
“Poor chap.” mutters Gerald. “Looking at that old harridans’ haggard old face every day.”
“Oh Gerald!” gasps Lettice, leaning over and slapping his wrist playfully. “You are awful sometimes! For all you know, she was the beauty of Penzance when she and Mr. Trevethan were first courting. And,” she adds loftily. “I’ll have you know that I think the Cornish dialect sounds very beautiful,” She takes a dramatic breath as she considers her thoughts. “Rather like an exotic language full of magic.”
“You’ve been reading too much King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.” Gerald cheekily criticises his friend’s reading habits lightly.
“Oh, thinking of which, I have a new novel for you, Lettice darling! It’s called ‘Joanna Godden’***** by Sheila Kaye-Smith. I’ve just finished it.” Margot takes up a volume from the round Regency side table next to her and passes it across to Lettice’s outstretched hands. “It’s a drama set in Kent. I’m sure you’ll like it. Now, shall I be mother?******” she asks, assuming her appropriate role of hostess as she reaches for and sets out the Royal Doulton teacups, a wedding gift from relations, and takes up the silver teapot, also a wedding gift. Expertly she pours the tea and then hands the cups first to her guests and then to her husband before picking up her own.
“I hope that old harridan didn’t spit in the tea.” Gerald looks uneasily at the cup of reddish tea he holds in his hands. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice tuts, shaking her head in mock disapproval before chuckling light heartedly. “You do like to dramatise, don’t you?”
“If you announce her intentions like that,” Margot adds. “I’m sure she will, since she has the habit of listening at the keyhole.” She smiles cheekily as she finishes her sentence and settles back in her armchair.
“What?” Gerald splutters, depositing his cup rather clumsily and nosily on the Regency occasional table at his left elbow and looking over his shoulder to the door.
Margot, Dickie and Lettice all burst out laughing.
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice says gaily through her mirthful giggles. “You’re always so easy to bait.”
Gerald looks at his friends, smiling at his distress. “Oh!” He swivels back around again and tries to settle as comfortably as possible into the hard back of the settee. “I see.” He takes up his cup and glowers into it as he stirs it with his teaspoon, his pride evidently wounded at his friends’ friendly joke.
Lettice takes up her own cup of tea, adding sugar and milk to it and stirring, before selecting a small jam fancy from the glass dish of biscuits. Munching the biscuit she gazes about the room again, appraising the mostly Regency era furnishings of good quality with a few examples of lesser well made early Victorian pieces, the maritime oil paintings, the worn and faded Persian carpet across the floor and the vibrantly painted red walls, deciding that as well as formal, the room has a very masculine feel about it. “It’s really quite an elegant room, you know.” she remarks. “It has good bones.”
“Oh don’t look too closely at our less elegant damp patches or cracks to those so-called good bones, darling girl.” Dickie replies.
“Nor the chips to the paintwork and plaster or the marks we can’t quite account for.” Margot adds with a sigh. “I think I’d have been happy for Daddy to commission Edwin Lutyens******* to demolish this pile of mouldering bricks and build us a new country house.”
“Margot! What a beastly thing to say!” Lettice clasps the bugle beads at her throat in shock. “To demolish all this history, only to replace it with a mock version thereof. Why it is sheer sacrilege to even say it!”
“Blame it on my Industrial Revolution new money heritage,” Margot defends her statement. “Unlike you darling, with your ancestry going back hundreds of years and your romance for everything old.”
“I can’t see any damp patches, Dickie, or cracks.” Lettice addresses her male host again.
“That’s because it’s so dark in here,” Margot explains. “Even on an unseasonably sunny day like today, the red walls and the red velvet furnishings camouflage the blemishes.”
“All the more reason not to change the décor then, dear girl.” remarks Gerald as his gingerly sips his tea, still not entirely convinced of Mrs. Trevethan’s actions prior to the tea being deposited on the table.
“No! No, Gerald!” Margot counters. “That’s why I need you Lettice darling, and your vision. I want the place lightened up, smartened up and made more comfortable.”
“Those chairs are rather beautiful,” observes Lettice, indicating to the armchairs in which her host and hostess sit, admiring their ormolu mounted arms, sturdy legs and red velvet cushions.
“These things!” Margot scoffs, looking down at the seat beneath her. “They are so uncomfortable!” She rubs her lower back in an effort to demonstrate how lumpy and hard they are. “I can’t wait to banish them to the hallway. I can’t possibly sit pleasurably in these, or on that,” She indicates to the settee upon which Lettice and Gerald sit. “And read a book. They aren’t designed for comfort. No, what we want, and need is some soft, modern comfort in here to make life here more pleasurable for us and our guests. I want to sit in here and enjoy the afternoon sun streaming through those from the luxury of a new settee, or invite guests to snuggle into plush new armchairs.”
“Margot does have a point, Lettice darling.” Gerald adds, looking mournfully at Lettice as he bounces gingerly on his half of the settee, the flattened velvet seat barely yielding to his moving form.
Lettice looks around again. “There are no portraits of women in here, nor children.”
“That’s because there aren’t any, anywhere in the house.” Margot replies.
“What?” Lettice queries.
“The captain was a confirmed old bachelor all his life.” adds Dickie.
“But he looks quite dashing in his naval uniform,” Lettice observes. “Surely with his successful career, looks and a house like this to boot, he must have had every eligible woman in Cornwall dashing to knock down his door.”
“Even Mrs. Trevethan’s mother, who no doubt was even more beautiful than her daughter at the time the captain was looking for a bride.” Gerald chuckles, his response rewarded with a withering look from Lettice.
“He may well have been a desirous prospect, Lettice darling,” Dickie agrees. “But he remained unmarried all his life, and he lived to a great age.”
“There is a rumour,” adds Margot, leaning forward conspiratorially for dramatic effect. “That there was a sweetheart: a local lady of good breeding and family. However, her father didn’t approve of an illegitimate son-in-law, even if he did have a successful naval career and a grand new residence. We don’t know whether she was coerced, or if she really didn’t love him, but whatever the cause, she refused him. They say that her refusal of his marriage proposal broke his heart, and he swore then and there that he would never marry.”
“Oh how romantic!” Lettice enthuses.
“There is also talk in the family,” Dickie adds. “That there is a lost portrait of her.”
“A lost portrait?” breathes Lettice excitedly.
“Yes, by Winterhalter******* no less.” Margot explains.
“Oh how thrilling!” Lettice gasps, clutching her beads with exhilaration this time.
“Have you found it yet, old bean?” Gerald asks.
“No! Of course not,” replies Dickie. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a lost portrait, would it? Do try to keep up old chap!”
“Not that I haven’t gone sneaking around the house looking for it atop cupboards and at the back of wardrobes.” Margot adds eagerly.
“That’s undoubtedly because that cussing old harridan Mrs. Trevethan and her husband probably stole it as soon as the captain had taken his last breath,” explains Gerald. “And now it hangs over their drawing room fireplace in the gatekeeper’s lodge.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Gerald!” scoffs Dickie. “The Trevethans are a kindly pair, if perhaps a little rough and eccentric for our tastes. They love this house as much as we…” He glances at his wife before correcting himself. “Well, as much as I, do. No, we just haven’t found it yet. We may never find it because it might have been taken by someone else long ago, destroyed by the old captain himself in a fit of emotional rage…”
“Or,” adds Margot. “It could simply be a Channon family legend.”
“Exactly.” agrees Dickie with a satisfied sigh as he reaches over and takes up a chocolate biscuit, taking a large bite out of it. “It wouldn’t be the first if it is.”
“I know!” Lettice pipes up with a cheeky smile on her face. “Let’s play sardines******** together tonight, and then one of us might stumble across it in the most unlikely of hiding places.”
*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.
**The Prince Regent, later George IV, was king of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and King of Hanover from the death of his father, King George III, on 29 January 1820 until his own death ten years later. He had already been serving as Prince Regent since 5 February 1811, during his father's final mental illness. It is from him that we derive the Regency period in architecture, fashion and design.
***”Omlowenhewgh agas boes” is Cornish for “bon appetit”.
*****“Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
*****‘Joanna Godden’ is a 1921 novel by British writer Sheila Kaye-Smith (1887 – 1956). It is a drama set amongst the sheep farmers of Romney Marsh in Kent.
******The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
*******Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens (1869 – 1944) was an English architect known for imaginatively adapting traditional architectural styles to the requirements of his era. He designed many English country houses, war memorials and public buildings, and was one of the architects of choice for the British upper classes between the two World Wars.
********Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
********Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
This beautiful Regency interior with its smart furnishings may not be all that it seems, for it is made up entirely with miniatures from my collection, including a number of pieces that I have had since I was a child.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The two walnut Regency armchairs with their red velvet seats and ormolu mounts are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. So too are the two round occasional tables that flank the settee and one of the armchairs.
The round walnut coffee table was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Creal miniatures.
The red velvet mahogany settee, the Regency sideboard and the two non matching mahogany and red velvet chairs at the far end of the room I have had since I was around six or seven, having been given them as either birthday or Christmas gifts.
The irises in the vase on the sideboard are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The vase in which it stands is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The detail in this Art Deco vase is especially fine. If you look closely, you will see that it is decorated with fine latticework.
Also made of real glass are the decanters of whiskey and port and the cranberry glass soda syphon also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The white roses behind the syphon are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as is the glass plate of biscuits you can see on the coffee table.
The two novels on the occasional table next to the armchair come from Shepherds Miniatures in England, whilst the wedding photo in the silver frame is a real photo, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in England.
On the occasional table beside the settee stands a miniature 1950s lidded powder bowl which I have had since I was a teenager. It is stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp indicating the era.
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the coffee table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The silver Regency tea caddy (lettice’s wedding gift to Margot and Dickie if you follow the “Life at Cavendish Mews” series), the slender candlestick and the tall two handled vase on the mantle were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The British newspapers that sit in a haphazard stack on the footstool in the foreground of the picture are 1:12 size copies of ‘The Mirror’, the ‘Daily Express’ and ‘The Tattler’ made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. There is also a copy of ‘Country Life’ which was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1921 edition of ‘Country Life’.
The plaster fireplace to the right of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company 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 following Edith, Lettice’s maid, as she heads east of Mayfair, to a place far removed from the elegance and gentility of Lettice’s flat, in London’s East End. As a young woman, Edith is very interested in fashion, particularly now that she is stepping out with Mr. Willison the grocer’s delivery boy, Frank Leadbetter. Luckily like most young girls of her class, her mother has taught Edith how to sew her own clothes and she has become an accomplished dressmaker, having successfully made frocks from scratch for herself, or altered cheaper existing second-hand pieces to make them more fashionable by letting out waistlines and taking up hems. Thanks to Lettice’s Cockney charwoman*, Mrs. Boothby, who lives in nearby Poplar, Edith now has a wonderful haberdasher in Whitechapel, which she goes to on occasion on her days off when she needs something for one of her many sewing projects as she slowly adds to and updates her wardrobe. Mrs. Minkin’s Haberdashery is just a short walk from Petticoat Lane**, where Edith often picks up bargains from one of the many second-hand clothes stalls. Today she is visiting Mrs. Minkin with her friend and fellow maid, Hilda, who works for Edith’s former employer, Mrs. Plaistow and has Thursdays free until four o’clock.
“Cor, you are so lucky Edith,” remarks Hilda as the two friends stand at Mrs. Minkin’s cluttered, but well ordered shop counter. “Your Miss Lettice seems never to be home. Weekend parties and all that.”
“Are you complaining, Hilda?” Edith asks her friend as she gazes around the floor to ceiling shelves full of ribbons and bobbins, corsetry, elastics tapers, and fabrics and breathes in the smell of fabrics, and the cloves and lavender used by Mrs. Minkel to keep the moths at bay.
“Oh no!” Hilda defends with a shake of her head. “I’m so happy that you’ve got spare time in her absence to catch up with me, Edith. I just wish I had such luxury. You remember what it was like. I’m lucky if Mr. and Mrs. Plaistow go to Bournemouth for a fortnight in high summer, and even then, I get penalised by being paid board wages*** since they take Cook with them.”
“Miss Lettice has only gone down to Wiltshire for the weekend, Hilda,” Edith confirms, toying with a reel of pale blue cotton she plans to buy along with a reel of yellow and a reel of red cotton. “She’ll be back on Monday, so it would hardly be worth putting me on board wages.”
“She never does though, does she? Not even for Christmas when she goes home, and you go to your parents?”
“Well, no.” Edith admits, dropping her head as her face flushes with embarrassment. She knows how much better off she is with Lettice than in her old position as a parlour maid alongside Hilda at Mrs. Plaistow’s in Pimlico. Mrs. Plaistow is a hard employer, and very mean, whereas Lettice is the opposite, and she knows that she is very spoilt in her position as live-in domestic for a woman who is not at home almost as often as she is. “But,” she counters. “When Miss Lettice does come back, she’ll be bringing her future sister-in-law with her, and then I’ll be busy picking up after two flappers rather than one, and she often entertains when she has guests, so I’ll have my work cut out for me between cleaning and cooking for the pair of them.”
“Still, it’s not the same.” Hilda grumbles. “Even if you do have to work hard, it’s not like the hard graft I have to suffer under Mrs. Plaistow. Did I tell you that Queenie chucked in her position?”
“No!” Edith gasps, remembering Mrs. Plaistow’s cheerful head parlour maid who was kind and friendly to both her and Hilda. “She was always so lovely. You’ll miss her.”
“Will I ever.” Hilda agrees. “She’s gone home to Manchester, well to Cheshire actually. Said she’s done with the big lights of London now, and she wants to be closer to her mum now that she’s getting on a bit.”
“That’s nice for her.”
“That’s what she said, but I think she really found a new position to get away from Mrs. Plaistow and all her mean ways.”
“What’s her new position?”
“She’s working as a maid in Alderley Edge for two old spinster sisters who live in a big old Victorian villa left to them by their father who owned a cotton mill. She wrote to me a few weeks ago after she settled in. She told me that the old ladies don’t go out much as one of them is an invalid, and they seldom entertain. Half the house is shut up because it’s too hard for them to use it. There’s a cook, a gardener cum odd job man, and like you a char comes in to do the hard jobs, so she’s finding it much easier. She writes that she can even take the train in to Manchester on her afternoons off to go shopping and see her old mum.”
“That sounds perfect. Does that mean you’ll become the head parlour maid now, Hilda?”
Hilda cocks an eyebrow at her friend and snorts with derision. “Don’t make me laugh. This is Mrs. Plaistow we’re talking about.”
“Yes, but you seem the most obvious choice to fill Queenie’s spot.” Edith says cheerily. “You’ve been there for what, three years now?” Hilda nods in agreement to Edith’s question. “So, you’d be perfect.”
This time it is Hilda’s head that sinks between her shoulders in a defeated fashion, the pale brown knit of her cardigan suddenly hanging lose over her plump frame as she hunches forward slightly.
“Of course you would, Hilda!” Edith assures her friend, placing a comforting hand on her forearm.
“Mrs. Plaistow doesn’t think so. She says I need more experience.”
“Oh what rubbish!” Edith cries, the outrage and indignation for her friend’s plight palpable in her voice. “Three years is more than enough experience!”
“She’s gone and hired a new girl after putting an advertisement in The Lady****. Her name’s Agnes.”
Both girls look at one another, screw up their face at the name, mutter their disapproval and then burst into girlish laughter as they chuckle over the faces each other pulled in their shared disgust. It is then that Edith has a momentary pang of loss as she remembers the nights she and Hilda used to share in their tiny attic room at the top of Mrs. Plaistow’s tall Pimlico townhouse. It might have been cold with no heating to be had, but all the girlish silliness and fun they had made up for the lack of warmth: talking about the handsome soldiers they met on their shared days off, discussing what their weddings would be like – each being the other’s bridesmaid – and constant discussions about what was fashionable to wear.
“Mrs. Plaistow’s just being her usual penny-pinching self.” Edith remarks. “She just doesn’t want to increase your wages and pay you what you’re really worth. I bet she hired this Agnes at a lesser wage than Queenie got, and even then, I don’t think Queenie was paid her worth.”
“Probably not.” Hilda says in return.
“I don’t know why you put up with her, Hilda. There are plenty of jobs going for parlour maids. I got out and look at me now. I’ve overheard Miss Lettice talk about something called ‘the servant problem’ with some of her married lady friends, where people cannot find quality domestics like us unless they can provide good working conditions. That’s why my wage at Miss Lettice’s is higher than it was at Mrs. Plaistow’s, and why I have a nice bedroom of my own with central heating and a comfy armchair to sit in.”
“And Miss Lettice is a nice mistress.” Hilda adds. “Who’s away half the time.”
“And Miss Lettice is nice mistress.” Edith agrees. “I can always give you the details of the agency in Westminster that I registered myself with, which led Miss Lettice to me. It has a very good clientele.”
“I don’t think a duchess will pay any better than Mrs. Plaistow will.” remarks Hilda disparagingly. “Anyway, I’ve been making enquiries on my days off, not today of course, and putting my name about Westminster and St. James’, so who knows.”
“Well, the offer is there if you fancy.” Edith begins.
“Here we are, Edit, my dear!” Mrs. Minkin chortles cheerily, breaking the girls’ conversation as she appears through the door leading from her storeroom, a bolt of pretty blue floral cotton across her ample arms. “Mr. Minkin needs to keep to buying fabric and leave it to me to arrange it in my own back room.” She wags a pudgy finger decorated with a few sparkling gold rings warningly as she places the fabric down in front of the gleaming cash register. “It was hidden, but now it is found Edit my dear.”
A refugee from Odessa as a result of a pogrom***** in 1905, Mrs. Minkin’s Russian accent, still thick after nearly twenty years of living in London’s East End, muffles the h at the end of Edith’s name, making the young girl smile, for it is an endearing quality. Edith likes the Jewess proprietor with her old fashioned upswept hairdo and frilly Edwardian lace jabot running down the front of her blouse, held in place by a beautiful cameo – a gift from her equally beloved and irritating Mr. Minkin. She always has a smile and a kind word for Edith, and her generosity towards her has found Edith discover extra spools of coloured cottons or curls of pretty ribbons and other notions****** in the lining of her parcel when she unpacks it at Cavendish Mews. Mrs. Minkin always insists when Edith mentions it, that she wished all her life that she had had a daughter, but all she ever had were sons, so Edith is like a surrogate daughter to her, and as a result she gets to reap the small benefits of her largess, at least until one of her sons finally makes her happy and brings home a girl she approves of.
“Thank you, Mrs. Minkin.” Edith says.
“Have you seen the latest edition of Weldon’s*******, Edit my dear?” the older woman asks as she jots down the fabric price in pencil on a notepad by the register. “There’s a very nice pattern for a frock with side and back flounces in it.”
“That’s what this fabric is for!” Edith says excitedly. “I think it will make a lovely summer frock.”
“I thought so.” Mrs. Minkin says with a wink. “I’m getting to know my Edit’s style. No?”
Edith nods shyly in agreement.
“Now, anything else, Edit my dear?”
“I’ll take these three cottons too please, Mrs. Minkin.” Edith places her hands over the spools and rolls them forward across the glass topped counter.
“Of course, Edit my dear.” the older woman chortles. “Some buttons too?” She indicates with the sweeping open handed gesture of a proud merchandiser to a tray of beautifully coloured glass, Bakelite and resin buttons expertly laid out next to the till.
“Oh,” Edith glances down at them quickly. “No thank you Mrs. Minkin. I have some buttons at home in my button jar.”
“Nonsense!” she scoffs in reply, expertly flicking through the cards of buttons. “A new dress must have new buttons.” She withdraws a set of six faceted Art Deco glass buttons that perfectly match the blue of the flowers on the fabric Edith is buying. “You take these as a gift from me. Yes?”
“Oh, but Mrs. Minkin!” Edith begins to protest, but she is silenced by the Jewess’ wagging finger.
“I’ll just fold them in here with the dress fabric.” She announces as if nothing were more normal. “You take them home with you and when you have made the frock, you wear it in here for me so I can see my buttons.”
Then just as she is slipping the buttons into a fold in the patterned cotton, a contemplative look runs across her face. She glances at Edith and then shifts her head. “You know what would go nicely with this fabric?” she asks rhetorically as she deposits the cloth onto a pile of brown paper next to the register and leans back. Stretching her arms over a basket of various brightly coloured and patterned fabric rolls she plucks a hat stand from behind her on which sits a beautiful straw hat decorated with a brightly coloured striped ribbon and some dainty fabric flowers in the palest shade of blue and golden red. “This.” She places it on the counter between herself and the two maids, smiling proudly as though the hat were a beautiful baby.
“Oh Edith!” gasps Hilda. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Oh yes it is.” agrees Edith.
“And with your blonde hair it would be perfect.” Hilda adds enthusiastically.
“Your friend has a good eye.” Mrs. Minkin pipes up, nodding in agreement at Hilda, blessing her with a magnanimous smile. “It would suit you very nicely.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Minkin.” Edith protests.
“Now, I can’t give it away,” the Jewess answers, squeezing her doughy chin between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand as she contemplates the pretty bow and flowers. “But for you, my dear Edit, I sell it for twelve and six.”
“Twelve and six!” gasps Edith. “Oh Mrs. Minkin, even at that generous price I could never afford it.” She gingerly reaches out and toys with one of the fabric blooms as it sits tantalisingly on the hat’s brim.
“Ahh,” sighs the older woman as she reaches over, picks up the hat stand and hat with a groan and returns it to the display top of the mahogany drawers behind her. “Pity. Your friend its right. It really would suit you.”
“I’m only a maid, Mrs. Minkin,” Edith reminds her. “And whilst I might get paid more generously than some,” She dares to glance momentarily at Hilda who does not return her gaze, distracting herself looking through a basket of balls of wool. “I’m afraid it’s Petticoat Lane for me, where I can buy a straw hat cheaply and decorate it myself with ribbons from here.”
“And you’ll do a beautiful job of it I’m sure, Edit my dear.” Mrs. Minkin replies consolingly. “Just remember to echo the colours on your new frock. Yes?”
“Alright Mrs. Minkin. I will.”
“Good girl.” Mrs. Minkin purrs.
Just as the older woman turns back to the two girls, Edith notices for the first time a small square box displayed next to the hat. The cover features the caricature of a woman in profile with a fashionable Eaton crop******** wearing a pearl necklace reaching into her handbag. “May-Fayre Handkerchiefs,” she reads aloud softly.
“Oh, I just received a delivery of them.” Mrs. Minkin reaches down and pulls open one of the drawers and withdraws another box. “They’re British made, and very good quality. Look.” She points proudly to some red writing on the face of the box. “The colours are guaranteed permanent.”
“Hankies?” Hilda queries. “You don’t need hankies, Edith. You’ve got loads of them.”
“Not for me, Hilda: for Mum,” Edith explains. “For Christmas.”
“But it’s summer. That’s months away!” Hilda splutters.
“I know, but I don’t see why I can’t do a spot of early Christmas shopping.” Edith defends her actions. “It will save me having to join the crowds desperately looking for gifts in December. How much are they Mrs. Minkin?”
“They’re three shillings and ninepence.” Mrs. Minkin replies. “You’re a sensible girl, Edit my dear. You shop for bargains, and you look for gifts all year round. What a pity you aren’t Jewish. You’d make a good wife for my Gideon.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Minkin,” Edith laughs. “No matchmaking for me.”
“Never mind.” Mrs. Minkin chuckles, joining in Edith’s good-natured laughing as she carefully folds brown paper around Edith’s fabric, buttons, box of handkerchiefs and spools of cotton.
“Besides,” Edith adds. “I already have a chap I’m walking out with. I can’t very well walk out with two, can I?”
“Well, a clever girl like you must have dozens of young men vying for her attentions, I’m sure.” The older woman ties Edith’s purchases up with some twine which she expertly trims with a pair of sharp shears.
“I wouldn’t say dozens. Anyway, just one will do me fine, Mrs. Minkin.”
“Now, the fabric is six shillings,” the proprietoress mutters, half to herself. “And the handkerchiefs three shillings and ninepence. With the three cottons, that comes to ten shillings exactly.” She enters the price into the register which clunks and groans noisily before the bright ting of a bell heralds the opening of the cash drawer at the bottom.
Edith opens her green leather handbag and pulls out her small black coin purse and carefully counts out the correct money in her palm. “Cheaper than a new straw hat.” She hands it over to Mrs. Minkin, who carefully puts it in the various denomination drawers of the till before pushing the cash drawer closed.
“Right you are Edit my dear. There you are.” Mrs. Minkin says cheerfully as she hands over Edith’s brown paper wrapped package bound with twine. “Now, what may I hep you with, my dear?” She turns her attention to Hilda.
“Me?” Hilda gulps, pressing the fingers of her right hand to her chest. “Oh, I’ve just come to keep my friend company. I don’t sew.”
“What?” The older woman’s eyes grow wide as she looks the rather dowdy brunette in the brown cardigan up and down appraisingly. “Not sew? What girl cannot sew?”
“Well I can’t,” Hilda replies. “And that’s a fact.”
“Foyl meydl*********!” gasps the Jewess aghast, her hand clasping the cameo at her throat. “All girls should know how to sew, even if badly.” She folds her arms akimbo over her large chest, a critical look on her face. “No goy********** will want to marry you if you can’t sew, my dear! Edit my dear,” She turns her attention away from Hilda momentarily. “You need to take your friend in hand and teach her how to sew.” She turns back to Hilda. “Your friend can show you. She knows how to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. Eh?”
Hilda looks in terror at Edith, who bursts out laughing at her friend’s horrified face. Wrapping her arm comfortingly around her friend, Edith assures Mrs. Minkin that she will take Hilda under her wing. Winking conspiratorially at Hilda so that the proprietoress cannot see, she ushers her friend out of the haberdashery and back out onto the busy Whitechapel street outside with a cheery goodbye to Mrs. Minkin.
*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
**Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.
***Board wages were monies paid in lieu of meals and were paid in addition to a servant’s normal salary. Often servants were paid board wages when their employer went on holiday, or to London for the season, leaving them behind with no cook t prepare their meals. Some employers paid their servants fair board wages, however most didn’t, and servants often found themselves out of pocket fending for themselves, rather than having meals provided within the household.
****The Lady is one of Britain's longest-running women's magazines. It has been in continuous publication since 1885 and is based in London. It is particularly notable for its classified advertisements for domestic service and child care; it also has extensive listings of holiday properties.
*****Pogroms in the Russian Empire were large-scale, targeted, and repeated anti-Jewish rioting that began in the Nineteenth Century. Pogroms began to occur after Imperial Russia, which previously had very few Jews, acquired territories with large Jewish populations from the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Ottoman Empire from 1772 to 1815. The 1905 pogrom against Jews in Odessa was the most serious pogrom of the period, with reports of up to 2,500 Jews killed. Jews fled Russia, some ending up in London’s east end, which had a reasonably large Jewish community, particularly associated with clothing manufacturing.
******In sewing and haberdashery, notions are small objects or accessories, including items that are sewn or otherwise attached to a finished article, such as buttons, snaps, and collar stays. Notions also include the small tools used in sewing, such as needles, thread, pins, marking pens, elastic, and seam rippers.
*******Created by British industrial chemist and journalist Walter Weldon Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was the first ‘home weeklies’ magazine which supplied dressmaking patterns. Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was first published in 1875 and continued until 1954 when it ceased publication.
********The Eton crop is a type of very short, slicked-down crop hairstyle for women. It became popular during the 1920s because it was ideal to showcase the shape of cloche hats. It was worn by Josephine Baker, among others. The name derives from its similarity to a hairstyle allegedly popular with schoolboys at Eton.
*********”Foy meydl” is Yiddish for “lazy girl”.
**********”Goy” is Yiddish for a gentile, non-Jew.
Mrs. Minkin’s cluttered haberdashers with its bright wallpaper and assortment of notions is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The pretty straw picture hat on the left, decorated with a real fabric ribbon and artificial flowers is an artisan piece and was acquired through Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders miniature shop in the United Kingdom. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. In this case, the straw hat was made by a British artisan. In complete contrast, the hat on the right with its restrained decoration is a mass manufactured hat and came from Melody Jane’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so even though this story is set in that year, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society even after this. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch.
The May-Fayre handkerchief box and the lisle hose box sitting directly behind it come from Shepard’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, who have a dizzying array of packaging pieces from the late 1800s to the 1970s. The Warner Brothers corset box behind them and the corset box sitting on the second shelf to the left were made meticulously by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The box of Wizard tapes on the top shelf to the left and the pink corsetry box on the bottom shelf to the left I acquired from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel as part of a larger collection of 1:12 artisan miniature hats, gloves, accessories and haberdashery goods. Edith’s green leather handbag also comes from Marilyn Bickel’s collection.
The jewellery stand, complete with jewellery comes from a 1:12 miniature supplier in Queensland. The round mirror, which pivots, and features a real piece of mirror was a complimentary gift from the same seller.
The basket in the midground to the right, filled with embroidery items is a 1:12 miniature I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired it from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house accessories.
The Superior Quality buttons on cards in the foreground next to the cash register are in truth tiny beads. They, along with basket of rolled fabrics in the left midground, the spools of cottons and the balls of wool in the basket on the right all come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.
The brightly shining cash register was supplied by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom.
The mahogany stained chest of drawers on which the hats, jewellery, mirror and boxes stand I have had since I was around ten years old.
Melbourne, she gathers strength as she goes
But where has the Pleasure Gardens gone?
The attitude and disapproval of forgotten times linger
No more holidaying for the diggers on the hunt for a bit of fun
Private enterprise will build the bridge
A wooden toll bridge
Bluestone and granite
Then removed replaced and reinforced
Finally, the possessive apostrophe was remove
The lost and whispering magnificence of 19th-century Melbourne
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