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

 

Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid’s, parents live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home, although with her husband’s promotion as a Line Manager, she no longer needs to do it quite so much to supplement their income. Whilst far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, the Harlesden terrace has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her seafaring brother, Bert.

 

It’s Sunday, and whilst Edith usually spends the day either with her beau, grocery delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, or her best friend and fellow maid Hilda, today both have other plans. Frank has gone to a trade unions meeting down near the London docks, and Hilda has gone to her beloved knitting group at Mrs. Minkin’s haberdashery shop in Whitechapel. This leaves Edith with no definite plans, but luckily for her, unlike many young servants who would rather do anything than spend time with their parents, Edith has a wonderful relationship with Ada and George, and with her Sunday free until four, she has decided to spend it with them. Edith has spent a lovely morning helping her mother prepare a steak and kidney pie for their midday meal whilst George spends some time at his beloved allotment nearby, and Edith has also helped Ada by darning a few pairs of her father’s well worn socks. It’s now getting close to half past one according to the solemnly ticking wall clock hanging on the kitchen wall, and Edith and her mother have long since finished taking tea and cleared away the tea things, mending, and the midday meal preparations from the kitchen table. George is running late. Just as Ada mutters something about her pie getting spoiled in the warming oven where it bides it time before being served, both women hear a familiarly cheerful whistle in the garden as the latch rattles before the back door is opened.

 

“Well, if it isn’t his nibs* home at last.” Ada remarks to Edith as George’s familiar footfall can be heard stepping into the scullery. “You took your merry time, George Watsford!” Ada calls out to her husband.

 

“Sorry Ada love.” George replies as he walks into the kitchen through the open scullery door carrying a wooden crate containing the last of his allotment’s lettuce for the year.

 

“Luckily I put our tea in the warming oven.” Ada replies as she stands up with a groan as she presses her worn hands onto the arms of her Windsor chair and foists herself from its comfortable, well worn seat.

 

“Of course you did, Ada love.” George replies with a chuckle, knowing that in spite of the reprimand, his wife isn’t cross with him for being a half hour later than he had planned. It isn’t uncommon for George to lose track of the time as he tends to the vegetable and flower gardens of his allotment.

 

Edith looks her father up and down as he enters the warm kitchen which smells of baking pastry and savory meat. George dressed in his usual Sundays at home garb, rather than the more formal Sunday best** suit of black barathea*** that he wears to church. Instead, he is in a white shirt and dark muddy green tie*****, his heavy wearing chocolate brown corduroy trousers affixed by braces beneath his argyle pattern****** vest of warm mustard and rich golden brown. A flat reddish brown workman’s cap sits atop his head, and from the crook of his elbow, Edith sees a small wicker basket swinging.

 

“Ah-ah!” Ada scolds as she eyes her husband’s footwear. “Don’t you dare come tramping your muddy boots all over my nice clean flagstones!” She points at George’s black outdoor boots caked in mud around the soles with an accusational finger. “I only washed the floors on Friday. Get them off!”

 

“Yes love.” George agrees, gratefully sinking into his own favourite Windsor chair drawn up in front of the hearth. He slips into the seat and starts to unlace his boots. He glances up at his daughter. “Edith love, fetch my slippers from our bedroom, will you.”

 

“Yes Dad!” Edith replies cheerfully, always happy to be of any help to either of her parents during her frequent visits.

 

Edith smiles, gets up from Ada’s kitchen table and scurries out of the room and upstairs to her parents’ bedroom, where she finds her father’s worn, yet comfortable plaid felt slippers sitting on the rag rug******* made of brightly coloured old fabrics next to his side of the old cast iron bed he and Ada share. By the time she returns down the narrow, creaking staircase and back into the warm kitchen, George has finished removing his boots, and they sit in front of the hearth, steaming slightly as the heat of the coal fire dries their damp leather.

 

“So, what’s for tea… err… dinner, then?” George asks as he accepts his slippers from his daughter, correcting his choice of words, knowing how Edith has taken to improving herself with her words, having learned finer language choices from Lettice. Edith smiles indulgently at her father and silently nods her approval at his self-correction.

 

“It’s a steak and kidney pie.” Ada remarks as she bustles behind her husband’s back as she boils some carrots and peas on the old blacklead coal range.

 

“I helped make it for you, Dad.” Edith says proudly.

 

“That must be why it smells so good.” George smiles beatifically as he inhales the rich smell of spiced meat that permeates the air around them.

 

“You’re a godsend, cutting the onions up for me, Edith love.” Ada remarks gratefully as she stirs the saucepan of peas. “Even when soaked in water********, I still weep when I cut onions.”

 

“Ahh, you’re a good girl, helping your mum like that, Edith love.”

 

“Yes, but Mum made the pastry.” Edith admits with a shy smile after her father’s praise. “She’s better at it than me.”

 

“Well, she’s had more practice than you have, hasn’t she, Edith love?”

 

“No-one makes pastry as good as Mum.”

 

“Oh, you’ll get there, Edith love,” Ada remarks encouragingly, glancing over her shoulder and looking earnestly at her daughter. “You’re already mostly there anyway. It‘s just I’m a bit quicker is all.” She turns her attention to her husband. “And luckily for you George Watsford,” She taps him on the shoulder with her wet wooden spoon as she withdraws it from the saucepan of peas, leaving a small damp patch on his woollen vest. “The crust isn’t burnt even though it’s been sitting in the warming oven for the last quarter hour.”

 

“You know, you should get old Widow Hounslow to replace the range, Mum.” Edith remarks disparagingly of Mrs. Hounslow, her parents’ landlady, as she automatically goes to the dresser and starts to take down some of her mother’s beloved mismatched china, obtained from local flea markets over the years, from the big dark wood Welsh dresser that dominates almost an entire wall of the kitchen. “It’s so old fashioned and dirty.”

 

Edith snatches a pretty blue and white floral edged plate off the shelf a little too roughly as she thinks of Mrs. Hounslow, almost allowing the plate to slip from her fingers as she does. Edith worked for the doughy widow when she first went into service. The old woman is most certainly middle-class, and mean to boot, treating poor Edith very shabbily throughout her tenure as the woman’s toiling cook and maid-of-all-work. Her wealth comes from the property portfolio acquired by Mr. Hounslow before he died. Edith’s parents are just two of the many tenants Mrs. Hounslow has, renting out the houses she now owns, charging moderately, but not excessively, yet spending as little as possible on the upkeep of them, never mind modernising them.

 

“What?” Ada spins around and looks aghast at her daughter with wide eyes, as though the young girl has just sworn at her. “Get rid of my old lady? Never!” She turns back and runs her hand lovingly over the ornate lettering of the range’s brand situated just over her head over the open fire. “She may be old fashioned, but she’s served me well.”

 

“You know as well as I, Mum, that that penny-pinching old woman can well afford to take that old iron monster out and install a much more up-to-date gas cooker for you.” Edith remarks as she stacks the plates on the kitchen table. “She could put you on the mains whilst she was at it.”

 

“You know how your mum feels about electricity, Edith love.” George remarks, looking askance at his daughter.

 

“Don’t be so blasphemous!” Ada balks. “Eletrickery is more like it.”

 

“See.” George folds his arms akimbo in his seat.

 

“No,” Ada turns back and opens the warming oven, just to check on her steak and kidney pie, gratified to see her pastry top golden brown and not burned as it sits on its wire rack. “This old lady and I have been working together longer than you’ve been alive for, Edith love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

“Miss Lettice has a lovely gas stove in Cavendish Mews, Mum.” Edith insists. “It’s ever so modern and easy to use: like those ones we saw at the British Empire Exhibition*********. It has a thermostat so there’s no need for me to stick my hand in the oven to gauge the temperature the way you have to.”

 

“That’s lazy cooking, that is.” Ada scoffs with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Every girl in service should know how to gauge an oven’s temperature with her hand.”

 

“No it’s not, Mum.” Edith retorts. “You saw at the British Empire Exhibition that they say it’s a way to ensure perfect cooking every time.” She goes on. “And because its gas, it doesn’t need coal, so it’s much cleaner. To use”

 

“What would I do with a gas stove and oven at my age, Edith love? I wouldn’t know how to use it, even if Mrs. Hounslow did install one for me. I’m too set in my ways and habits to go changing with all this new-fangled gas cookery. No!” She bangs the blacklead heartily. “I know her as well as I know the back of my own hand, Edith love. A gas stove might be alright for the likes of you, working for such a fine lady as your Miss Chetwynd, but I’m content with my old girl. We rub along well together, even if we do have our differences some days. Thank you all the same.”

 

“Well, I still think old Widow. Hounslow is a mean old landlady, Mum. She never spends a penny she doesn’t have to on this old place to make things easier or more comfortable for you and Dad.”

 

“Oh Edith! Poor old Mrs. Hounslow’s a widow.”

 

“I know, Mum. You’re like one of Miss Lettice’s gramophone records.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ada gasps, looking aghast at her daughter.

 

“Well, when Miss Lettice gets a new gramophone record, she plays it over and over again.”

 

George snorts and chuckles quietly in his seat at his daughter’s cheeky remark, which rewards him with a rap from his wife, who does so without even looking at him.

 

“You’re always using Mrs. Hounslow’s status as widow as a defence for her poor behaviour.” Edith goes on. “And it’s a poor excuse. I’ve grown up hearing about how poor old Widow Hounslow’s husband died a hero in the siege of Mafeking in the Boer War.” She releases an exasperated sigh as she turns back to the dresser and noisy fossicks through the cutlery drawer looking for knives and forks for them to eat their pie and vegetables with. “But he left her well off enough with plenty of houses like this to let out to the likes of you who pays more than you probably should for it, as well as a fine house of her own. I should know.” She snorts derisively. “I worked in it for long enough with no thanks, so I know how comfortably she has it, widow or not!”

 

“Shame on you Edith!” Ada says with hurt in her voice as she wags the wooden spoon at her daughter. “I helped you get your very first position with Mrs. Hounslow.”

 

“I know you did, Mum, and I’m not ungrateful to you for helping me get it.” Edith lets out another exasperated sigh as she returns to the kitchen table and starts to set three places for them. “All the same, I’ve never heard or seen Mrs. Hounslow have to scrape or work hard for anything, and it breaks my heart to see you slave over that old range and blacklead it, week after week, when you could have something so much nicer that wouldn’t put old Widow Hounslow into the poor house.”

 

“Now, you know I won’t have a bad word said about her, Edith.” Ada says, turning back to her pots on the range. “She’s helped pay for many a meal in this house with her sixpences and shillings over the years, paying for me to do her laundry.” She stirs the pot and angrily taps her wooden spoon noisily on its edge. “So let that be an end to it.” She nods emphatically.

 

George remains silent in his chair, arching his eyebrows as he looks helplessly at his daughter.

 

“Anyway, enough about Mrs. Hounslow.” Ada remarks. “George, where were you that it took you so long to come back from the allotment?” She leans down and sniffs near his mouth. “Well, you evidently haven’t stopped by the pub on the way home.”

 

George seizes his chance and leans forward and kisses his wife lovingly on the lips. Surprised by this unexpected intimate token of affection, Ada gasps and blushes as she stands upright again. She raises her right hand to her lips where a smile has formed, her frustration about her daughter’s dislike of Mrs. Hounslow forgotten. From across the table, Edith beams with delight as she pauses with a fork in her hand. Silently as she watches them, she hopes that she and Frank will be as contented in their marriage as her parents are in theirs.

 

“No, I haven’t, Ada love.” George replies with a cheeky smile.

 

“Then where were you, Dad?” Edith asks. “We were getting worried.”

 

“Well, I might not have stopped at the pub, but I did pop in to Mr. Pyecroft’s on the high street on the way home.”

 

“Mr. Pyecroft the ironmonger**********?” Edith queries.

 

“The very same.” George replies.

 

“But it’s Sunday***********, George love,” Ada observes. “What were you doing there on a Sunday?”

 

“Well I ran into Pyecroft when I was at the allotment, and he told me that he had some new Webbs************ seeds in stock, so I went home with him to get some.”

 

“What did you get, Dad?” Edith asks excitedly. “What are you going to grow?”

 

“Hopefully more carrots*************.” Ada remarks matter-of-factly as she slips past her husband carrying the heavy metal saucepans of carrots and peas, one in each hand, and proceeds to drain them in the small sink in the corner of the kitchen. “I prefer your home-grown ones to anything Mr. Lovegrove’s grocers can provide. They are so much tastier.”

 

“Well thank you, Ada love! That’s because I grew them for you.” George says over the noisy rush of water and the clang of saucepans and the vegetable strainer in the enamel sink. “With love in every turn of the sod.”

 

“Pshaw!” Ada flaps her hand at her husband distractedly as she laughs good naturedly. “Oh you!”

 

“I did get some carrots as a matter of fact,” George goes on, fishing a packet featuring a drawing of three good looking carrots on its front out of the wicker basket which now sits on the floor at his feet. “And some cauliflowers too.” he adds, withdrawing a packet depicting a fluffy white cauliflower surrounded by a halo of healthy green leaves.

 

“Oh good!” Ada enthuses as she pours peas into a plain white bowl sitting in readiness on the wooden draining board by the sink. “We might have caulis for Christmas this year, then!”

 

“We may will, Ada love.”

 

“I thought it was getting too cold to grow cauliflowers, Dad.” Edith opines as she fetches glasses to finish setting the table for them. “Aren’t they a summer vegetable?”

 

“You can plant them in spring, or in autumn, Edith love.” George replies knowledgably. “I also bought some runner beans,” He fishes out another packet from the basket. “But they won’t survive the winter frosts, so I’ll keep them aside in the bottom of the pantry with my other spring plantings.”

 

“Are you going to grow marrows again for the Roundwood Park************** Harvest Festival next April, Dad?”

 

“Try and stop him, Edith love.” Ada laughs before lifting the remaining saucepan over the sink and draining the carrots. “There hasn’t been a year, except for the war, when your dad hasn’t submitted a marrow to the festival.”

 

“I’m determined to win the coveted prize of best marrow from Mr. Johnson.” George says with steely determination. “I don’t know what he uses in his fertiliser, but he says it isn’t anything special.”

 

“Have you tried to work it out, Dad?”

 

“Has he ever!” Ada rolls her eyes to the soot-stained ceiling above as she speaks. “I’d be richer than Mrs. Hounslow if I received a penny for every after-tea conversation on a Sunday I’ve had with your Dad about the secret ingredient in Mr. Johnson’s fertiliser, after he gets back from the allotment.”

 

“You never complain.”

 

Ada smiles to herself as she slips the carrots into a bowl. “Of course I don’t, love. I don’t mind. I can’t say I understand half of what you talk about, I’ll admit that. But I know gardening makes you happy, and that makes me happy.” Ada picks up the bowls. “Here, put these on the table will you, Edith love,” She passes the bowls to her daughter. “Whilst I fetch out the pie from the warming oven.”

 

“Dinner is served!” George chortles, as he gets up and drags his chair over to the table.

 

Ada removes the steak and kidney pie from the warming oven and places it on the kitchen table between the three of their place settings. The crust glows golden brown, its decorative puffed edges raised to perfection as steam and the delicious aroma of meat, herbs and onion arises from it through the holes made in its top by Ada. She sighs with satisfaction, whilst her husband and daughter both sniff the air appreciatively.

 

“I seem to remember you used to grow flowers and vegetables in the back garden, Dad.” Edith remarks a little while later as she enjoys her meal of piping hot steak and kidney pie, boiled peas and carrots with her parents.

 

“Goodness! Fancy you remembering that!” George gasps. “You were only a toddler, back then!”

 

“Bert was still in his pram the last time you pulled a marrow from its vine out there.” Ada adds before taking a mouthful of her own meal.

 

“So, I wasn’t imagining it, then?” Edith ventures. “I thought I might have.”

 

“No, you weren’t, Edith love.” George acknowledges.

 

“I can’t imagine you growing anything out there,” Edith adds. “Grass barely grows out there in that miserable, gloomy yard.”

 

“Well, it wasn’t always like that, Edith love.”

 

“Your dad made a lovely garden out there: small, but manageable before you were born when we first came to live here.”

 

“I did!” George agrees, a wistful lilt in his voice as he remembers. “I had a small vegetable garden, and I grew asters, pinks, phlox and pansies too. Remember Ada love? You used to pick flowers to put in here.”

 

Edith smiles happily as she listens to her father.

 

“You used to pick flowers too, Edith love.” Ada adds. “Do you remember?”

 

“No, Mum. Did I?”

 

“Oh yes!” Ada explains. “You used to have your own little floral painted vase that I bought for a penny at a local flea market for you. You used to pick flowers close to the ground and put them in it.”

 

“You would have stripped my garden bare if I hadn’t stopped you.” George laughs.

 

“What happened then, to the garden?” Edith asks.

 

“Well, you’ve seen it out there, Edith love.” George replies as he cuts into his slice of pie, spraying tiny flecks of Ada’s golden pastry across his plate and onto the kitchen table’s bare surface as he does. “It’s too shady there now to grow much of anything.”

 

“Then what happened to make it like that, Dad?”

 

“Why the terrace of houses behind us, of course!” her mother remarks. “They cast the yard into shadow for too much of the day for any plant to really take root and grow.”

 

When Edith looks quizzically between her parents, George goes on, “It’s Mrs. Hounslow, again.”

 

“Now George.” Ada remarks warningly as she purses her lips and cocks her eyebrow as she eyes her husband at the table next to her.

 

“It’s alright, Ada love. I’m not speaking out of turn about Mrs. Hounslow. I’m only telling the truth.”

 

“What’s old Widow Hounslow to do with our back yard, Dad?” Edith asks. “Besides her owning it, that is?”

 

“Well, when you were born, the two-up two-down*************** terrace of houses wasn’t there. There were a couple of old, single storey cottages back from the time when Harlesden was still a village, on the next street.”

 

“They must have been a good hundred years old, or more, and they weren’t terribly well built in their time, and were in a shocking state of disrepair,” Ada pipes up, interrupting her husband. “No-one could live in them.”

 

“But the land was owned by Mr. Hounslow.” her father goes on. “But he never knocked the cottages down. Anyway, a little while after he died, Mrs. Hounslow had the old houses pulled down and she constructed the two storey terrace that’s there now. When there were just the cottages there, we had plenty of light for a garden, but now,” George shrugs. “Oh well.”

 

“That awful old Widow Hounslow knows how to spoil everyone’s fun.” Edith grumbles.

 

“What did I say about disparaging Mrs. Hounslow, Edith?” Ada remarks warningly as she eyes her daughter.

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that old Mrs. Hounslow was all bad, Edith love.” George remarks.

 

“How so, Dad?” Edith asks before taking a drink of water from her glass, swallowing her mouthful of steak and kidney pie.

 

“Well, you might not believe this, Edith love, but it’s Mrs. Hounslow that Mr. Johnson, Mr. Pyecroft and all the working men like me have to thank for even having an allotment.”

 

Edith chokes on her mouthful of water. “Really?” she splutters. “Old Widow Hounslow?”

 

“Well, it is her land. She could have developed it and put some terraces on it, like this one, or the ones she built behind us, but she didn’t. She recognsied that we men wanted nice gardens, so she arranged the allotment for us.”

 

“Which you have to pay for.” Edith quips.

 

“No he doesn’t, Edith.” Ada ventures.

 

“Your Mum is right, Edith.” her father agrees. “I have to pay for my plants and fertiliser, but I don’t have to pay for my plot. They were gifts in perpetuity to the men and women gardeners of Harlesden to help provide some cheer, and make the lives of her tenants just a bit nicer.”

 

“In perpetuity?” Edith queries.

 

“That’s right. It means that she will never turn the site of the allotments over to any other purpose, and if Bert wants it when I die, he can take over the allotment.”

 

“And if he doesn’t?” Edith asks, doubting whether her seafaring brother will ever want to settle down in Harlesden and grow carrots, peas and cauliflowers, entering marrows in the local flower and vegetable show to try and win prizes, like her father.

 

“Then it goes to the next person on the waiting list. We have a list of men and women from hereabouts who would like a plot of their own, so the allotment committee decided that should anyone move away and leave their plot, or should someone without children pass on, or should the children of an allotment owner not want the plot, that it would be offered to the next person on the waiting list.”

 

“Is that right, Dad?” Edith asks a little more brightly.

 

“It is, and that’s why when Miss Bunting the organist at All Souls**************** died last winter of influenza, Mr. Corrigan of Ashdon Road was given her allotment. And we’re very grateful, as he has a better green thumb than she had in her later years, and he brought in a bumper crop of pears from her tree this year.”

 

“Did he now?” Edith asks.

 

“And he’s very generous with his produce,” Ada adds. “And I for one, am not too proud, and am really most grateful to accept a few of his Comice pears***************** to stew or put into a pie.”

 

“So, you see, Edith love, whatever you may think of Mrs. Hounslow and her penny-pinching ways, she’s really not all bad.”

 

*Meaning a person in authority, he origin of “his nibs” is obscure, but it might have come from the slang term “my nabs,” meaning “my gentleman” or “myself.” The word “nab,” refers to a head or a coxcomb (a fop or a dandy).

 

**One’s Sunday best is a term used for a person’s finest clothes. This expression, coined in the mid Nineteenth Century, alludes to reserving one's best clothes for going to church; indeed, an older idiom is Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes ( meeting here meaning “prayer meeting”).

 

***Barathea wool is a tightly woven fabric that is resistant to snagging and tearing, making it an ideal choice of fabric for suits, which were often the most expensive item in a man’s wardrobe in the 1920s. Due to its coarse texture, the fabric has natural recovery abilities and quickly returns back to its natural shape, barathea was popular to make suits from as working men usually only has one suit.

 

****Although it sounds formal in today’s society, in the 1920s, a respectable man would seldom be seen without a tie, thus differentiating himself from a common labourer who would have gone about without a tie. Perhaps the sporting arena was one of the few exceptions to the rule, meaning that a respectable man would have worn a tie even when relaxing at home or following more leisurely pursuits, like doing gardening.

 

*****The argyle diamond pattern derives loosely from the tartan of Clan Campbell of Argyll in western Scotland, used for kilts and plaids, and from the patterned socks worn by Scottish Highlanders since at least the Seventeenth Century (these were generally known as "tartan hose"). Modern argyle patterns, however, are usually not true tartans, as they have two solid colours side-by-side, which is not possible in a tartan weave (solid colours in tartan are next to blended colours and only touch other solid colours at their corners). Argyle knitwear became fashionable in Great Britain and then in the United States after the First World War. Pringle of Scotland popularised the design, helped by its identification with the Duke of Windsor. Argyle patterned socks, pullovers and vests were common sights across all classes throughout the 1920s and 1930s.

 

******A rag rug is a rug or mat made from rags. Small pieces of old fabric from damaged or worn clothes are recycled and are either hooked into or poked through a hessian backing, or else the strips are braided or plaited together to make a mat. Other names for this kind of rug are derived from the material or technique. Other names for this kind of rug are derived from the material (clippy or clootie rug) or technique (proggie or proddie rug, poke mats and peg mats). In Britain, these thrift rugs were popular in the Nineteenth Century and during the Great War in working class homes seeking to reuse precious material. The hessian back may have come from a food sack, whilst the fabrics could have been shirts, trousers or frocks that were too far gone to mend.

 

*******Soaking onions in cold water is an old fashioned remedy to help prevent crying when cutting onions. A cold water bath chills the onion, which slows down the production of the chemicals that cause our eyes to water.

 

********The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.

 

*********An ironmonger is the old fashioned term for someone who sells items, tools and equipment for use in homes and gardens: what today we would call a hardware shop. Ironmongery stems from the forges of blacksmiths and the workshops of woodworkers. Ironmongery can refer to a wide variety of metal items, including door handles, cabinet knobs, window fittings, hinges, locks, and latches. It can also refer to larger items, such as metal gates and railings. By the 1920s when this story is set, the ironmonger may also have sold cast iron cookware and crockery for the kitchen and even packets of seeds for the nation of British gardeners, as quoted by the Scot, Adam Smith.

 

**********Although by the mid 1980s, many shops, particularly larger department stores, flouted the law, Sunday trading only became legalised in the United Kingdom and Wales in 1994. Sundays were always considered sacrosanct, although small High Street businesses selling essentials, such as bakers, were allowed to open for a short period on Sundays. The Shops Act legislated that large shops were to remain closed on Sundays. Goods were not allowed to be shipped on Sundays, and many shops also had a half-day where doors would close early on a certain weekday, as decided by each local council.

 

**********Edward Webb and Sons, known more commonly simply as Webbs, were an English seed merchants or seedsmen, dating back to around 1850 when Edward Webb started a business in Wordsley, near Stourbridge. By the 1890s, Webb and Sons had been appointed seedsmen to Queen Victoria, and had become a household name around Britain. Fertilisers being crucial to the nursery industry, the Webbs in 1894 took over Proctor and Ryland, a well-known bone manure works in Saltney near Chester, and considerably expanded its activities, becoming Saltney's second largest business. Edward Webb and Sons were awarded a Gold Medal at the Royal Horticultural Society's Chelsea Flower Show in 1914. During World War II the firm was the primary supplier of grass seeds and fertiliser for airfields, both under the Air Ministry and local municipalities. The seeds used for this purpose were chosen to withstand heavy aircraft traffic. Webb and Sons also assisted in the camouflage of landing strips.

 

***********Carrots grow best in cool weather, so they are usually planted in early spring for an early summer harvest, or late summer for an autumn and early winter harvest. They are easy to grow from seed.

 

************Roundwood Park takes its name from Roundwood House, an Elizabethan-style mansion built in Harlesden for Lord Decies in around 1836. In 1892 Willesden Local Board, conscious of a need for a recreation ground in expanding Harlesden, started the process of buying the land for what is now Roundwood Park. Roundwood Park was built in 1893, designed by Oliver Claude Robson. He was allocated nine thousand pounds to lay out the park. He put in five miles of drains, and planted an additional fourteen and a half thousand trees and shrubs. This took quite a long time as he used local unemployed labour for this work in preference to contractors. Mr. Robson had been the Surveyor of the Willesden Local Board since 1875. As an engineer, he was responsible for many major works in Willesden including sewerage and roads. The fine main gates and railings were made in 1895 by Messrs. Tickner & Partington at theVulcan Works, Harrow Road, Kensal Rise. An elegant lodge house was built to house the gardener; greenhouses erected to supply new flowers, and paths constructed, running upward to the focal point-an elegant bandstand on the top of the hill. The redbrick lodge was in the Victorian Elizabethan style, with ornamented chimney-breasts. It is currently occupied by council employees although the green houses have been demolished. For many years Roundwood Park was home to the Willesden Show. Owners of pets of many types, flowers and vegetables, and even 'bonny babies' would compete for prizes in large canvas tents. Art and crafts were shown, and demonstrations of dog-handling, sheep-shearing, parachuting and trick motorcycling given.

 

*************Two-up two-down is a type of small house with two rooms on the ground floor and two bedrooms upstairs. There are many types of terraced houses in the United Kingdom, and these are among the most modest. The first two-up two-down terraces were built in the 1870s, but the concept of them made up the backbone of the Metroland suburban expansions of the 1920s with streets lined with rows of two-up two-down semi-detached houses in Mock Tudor, Jacobethan, Arts and Crafts and inter-war Art Deco styles bastardised from the aesthetic styles created by the likes of English Arts and Crafts Movement designers like William Morris and Charles Voysey.

 

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

 

***************The Doyenné du Comice pear originated in France, where it was first grown at the Comice Horticole in Angers in the 1840s. The Comice pear is large and greenish-yellow, with a red blush and some russeting. Its flesh is pale, melting, and very juicy. Because the skin is very delicate and easily bruised, it requires special handling and is not well suited to mechanical packing. The Comice pear has received great acclaim. The London Horticultural Journal in 1894 called it the best pear in the world. It is the most widely grown pear tree variety in the United Kingdom today because of its cropping reliability, good disease resistance and self-fertility.

 

This cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

George’s basket, which comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, is full of and surrounded by delightful little vegetable seed packets. These seed packets are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe is better known for his miniature books. 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. This however does not extend to these packets, whose graphics are on full display for all to see. Like his books, the vegetable seed packets are copies of real packets of Webbs seeds. 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.

 

To the right of the basket of seeds is a rather worn and beaten looking enamelled jug in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, this artisan piece I acquired from The Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Behind the basket of seeds and jug, standing on the hearth is a wooden crate from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures, which contains a bunch of lettuce. The leaves of lettuce are artisan made of very thin sheets of clay and are beautifully detailed. I acquired them from an auction house some twenty years ago as part of a lot made up of miniature artisan food.

 

George’s high black gardening boots I acquired from Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, who are better known for their wonderful array of authentic packaged food stuffs, but also do a small line of shoes and shoe boxes.

 

George’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat of either chair, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan pieces.

 

The large kitchen range which serves as a backdrop for this photo is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

 

The worn old kettle comes from an online stockists of miniatures on eBay.

 

The brooms and brushes in the background from a mixture of places including Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures, Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop and Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The tiny mousetrap also comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

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

 

Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, grew up. She is visiting her parents as she often does on her Wednesdays off. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price* biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. Usually even before she walks through the glossy black painted front door, Edith can smell the familiar scent of a mixture of Lifebuoy Soap, Borax and Robin’s Starch, which means her mother is washing the laundry of others wealthier than she in the terrace’s kitchen at the rear of the house. Yet with her father’s promotion, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now, yet even though today is not a day for laundering, there is work to be done for Ada’s next laundry day. So we find ourselves in the Watsford’s scullery at the back of the terrace behind the kitchen, which like most Victoria era homes, also serves as the wash house.

 

Like all the houses in the terrace, the Watsford’s scullery has an old square-sided ceramic sink in the corner, set on bricks, joined to the same pipe as the one directly behind the wall in the corner of the kitchen, however the small room is dominated by the large built-in washing cauldron made of bricks, set above its own wood fire furnace with a copper cauldron in its centre. The distemper on the walls of the scullery are tinted ever so slightly blue, a traditional colour for laundries, as it made whites look even whiter. Around it stand wicker baskets for laundry, a dolly-peg** and a very heavy black painted mangle*** with wooden rollers, whilst on its top a panoply of laundry items stand, including an enamelled water jug, bowls, irons, a washboard and various household laundry products. The room smells comfortingly clean: scents of soap and starch that have seeped into every fibre of the space.

 

“Hand me that bar of Hudson’s Soap**** will you, Edith love.” Ada says to her daughter as she takes an old enamelled bowl and places it with a heavy metallic clunk on the top of the old red brick copper*****. Reaching for a silver grater she says with a resigned groan, “Time to make a batch of soap flakes******.”

 

“Oh, let me do that, Mum.” Edith says kindly, grasping the smooth, rounded top of the grater, just before her mother does.

 

“Ahh…thank you love.” Ada says gratefully, sinking down onto a small, long and worn wooden stool surrounded by baskets and tubs of soiled linen.

 

“You just keep sorting old Widow Hounslow’s bloomers.” Edith says with a cheeky smirk as she pulls out a bar of Hudson’s yellow soap.

 

“Now don’t spoil your generosity by saying nasty things about poor Mrs. Hounslow.” Ada cautions her daughter with a wagging finger.

 

“Pshaw! Poor my foot.” Edith pulls a face at the mention of the Watsford’s landlady, and her former employer, the wealthy and odious old widow draped in black jet and mourning barathea******* whom she grew up hearing about regularly, and seeing on the rare occasions she would deign to stop by to collect their rent in person, rather than her rent collector.

 

“You know Mrs. Hounslow’s husband died a hero in the siege of Mafeking in the Boer War.”

 

“And neither you, nor she will ever let any of us forget it, Mum.” Edith mutters, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

 

“Now you know I won’t have a bad word said about her, Edith.” Ada gives her daughter a warning look. “Shame on you! She’s helped pay for many a meal in this house with her sixpences and shillings for her washing over the years.”

 

“Which she then takes back in exorbitant rent.”

 

“Exorbitant, is it now?” Ada scoffs. “Such fancy words, Miss Edith Watsford.”

 

“It means inflated or excessive, Mum, and you know it.” Edith counters. “She charges too much for this old place and she spends nary a penny on maintaining it. Look at this poor old thing.” She taps the crumbly red brick of the laundry copper dust from its limestone dressing coming off on her fingers in a light white powder. “I bet it hasn’t been touched by old Widow Hounslow since before I was born.”

 

“That’s because she doesn’t need it.” Ada says with a smile, looking affectionately at her laundry copper. “She was well made in the first place.”

 

“Well, whether it was well made or not, there are other things around here that old Widow Hounslow could spend some of your hard-earned money on.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like fixing up the plumbing, block the draughts around the windows.” Edith begins. “Maybe even install electricity.”

 

“Now I’m not having that put in this house!” Ada gasps. “You can’t trust it. What would I do with electricity anyway?”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t have to toast bread with a toasting fork over the grate. You could have a manual electric toaster********, or an electric ‘Smoothwell’ iron*********, like we have at Cavendish Mews, for a start.”

 

“As if I could afford either one of those contraptions!” Ada jeers with a sniff. “Not that I’d want one.”

 

“Well, you could at least have an electric light in the kitchen, so you and Dad could read in comfort.”

 

“Which we do quite successfully by oil lamp, just the same as we have been doing for many years now, thank you very much.”

 

“It’s not the same, Mum.” Edith takes the bar of soap and begins to run it up and down the grater, producing the first few shavings of soap as they fall into the bottom of the enamel bowl.

 

“It’s the devil’s work, that electricity!” Ada mutters, picking up a pillowcase from a basket and moving it to an old tub sitting at her feet. “You see the sparks come flying off the wires of the trams********** that run between Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith.”

 

“You ride it, nonetheless, Mum,” Edith replies with a smirk. She stops grating and gives her mother a knowing look. “I know you do, so it’s no good trying to pretend you don’t. The world is changing, Mum.”

 

“Those soap flakes aren’t going to magically make themselves, you know,” Ada nods at Edith’s still hands holding the bar of soap and the grater over the bowl. “Electricity or not.”

 

Edith sighs resignedly as she resumes making soap flakes. “So Mum, I saw Frank the other day,”

 

“Of course you did, Edith love.” Ada laughs good naturedly as she observes her daughter’s cheeks flush with pleasure at the mention of her beau. “And how is our young Frank?”

 

“He’s quite well, Mum. He was setting up Mr. Willison’s shop window,” Edith remarks excitedly.

 

“Oh, was he now? That must have made Frank very proud, getting to do something else for Mr. Willison, and being trusted with an important job like the front window.” Ada remarks cheerfully as she looks around for her brush, having spied some dried mud on the hem of one of Mrs. Hounslow’s petticoats.

 

“Oh yes, Mum.” Edith runs the bar of soap up and down the grater, sending a flurry of dusty flakes cascading down into the bowl as she speaks. “Mr. and Mrs. Willison had gone off to see their daughter receive an award of some kind at her school, so they let Frank do the window in their absence. Visual merchandising, he calls it.”

 

“Does he now?” Ada scrubs away the dried mud, revealing a shadow of brown stain beneath it on the linen.

 

“Oh it looked ever so splendid, Mum! Packets of tea, tins of golden syrup and black treacle, jars of jam and marmalade and colourful bunting.”

 

“Sounds like our Mr. Lovegrove down the High Street could learn a thing or two from Frank.” Ada remarks, more than a little tongue in cheek, smiling with delight at how proud her daughter is of her beau’s accomplishments as she brushes a loose strand of mousy brown hair streaked with silver that has escaped her bun, behind her ear.

 

“Well, I reckon he could, and all, Mum. There was even a pyramid of biscuit tins. Of course, McVities and Price was on the top.”

 

“So I should think, Edith love.” Ada remarks seriously. “There are no finer biscuits all of England than the ones your Dad keeps his eyes on. Fit for the King they are!” She breaks her seriousness and laughs jovially. “Well, it seems your young Frank is coming up in the world of business. I’m happy for him, Edith love.”

 

“I’m happy for him too, Mum. Guess what the window display was of, Mum?”

 

Ada considers her daughter’s question, albeit not seriously, for a few moments as she rummages through a tub of sheets, silently counting the number and keeping it in her head to work out what she will charge for all the laundry later. “I’m sure I couldn’t begin to hazard a guess, Edith love.”

 

“He was doing a window to advertise the British Empire Exhibition*********** at Wembley************.”

 

“Oh yes! Your Dad and I were talking about that, just the other day.”

 

“Really Mum?” Edith stops grating soap flakes for a moment.

 

“Yes, your Dad was reading me an article about it from the newspaper, by lamplight I might add,” Ada adds in pointedly at the end. “As I was doing my darning, also by lamplight.”

 

“Yes, yes, Mum. I take your point.” Edith rolls her eyes again.

 

“Well, it all sounds rather splendid, I must say, Edith love.”

 

“I think it will be quite a spectacle,” Edith muses. “I’ve read in Miss Lettice’s newspapers that there will be fifty-six displays and pavilions from around the Empire! Imagine that!”

 

“I hope she doesn’t catch you reading those newspapers of hers, Edith love.” Ada cautions her daughter.

 

“Oh, Miss Lettice doesn’t mind.” Edith replies breezily. “In fact, she encourages me to read them after she’s finished. She says that we women should all be aware of what is going on in the world, especially working women like me.”

 

“Does she indeed? It seems to me that your Miss Chetwynd has a lot of interesting ideas about what young women like you, should or shouldn’t be doing.”

 

“Oh she does, Mum! She’s ever so modern and forward thinking.” Edith drops the grater with a clatter into the enamel bowl and holds her arms out expansively, the half grated bar of yellow soap still in her right fist. “She says that if women want to go up in the world, and be taken seriously, then we need to keep abreast of what’s happening in the world, to prove that we aren’t stupid. Miss Lettice even says it won’t be too long before women like us will have the vote.*************”

 

“Well, I’m not at all sure that I agree with all Miss Chetwynd’s ideas, and I can’t say as I particularly like your head being turned by her talk about women’s suffrage************** and the like.” Ada sighs heavily. “But then again, she is one of those young flappers your Dad and I read about in the papers, and they don’t have any respect for the likes of your father’s or my opinion.”

 

“Oh, Miss Lettice isn’t like that at all, Mum. If she were sitting here, I’m sure she’d be ever so polite and listen to what you have to say.”

 

“Chance would be a fine thing!” Ada laughs, sitting back on her stool. “A fine lady like Miss Chetwynd in my scullery!” After she finishes chortling, she goes on, “Anyway, listening is one thing, Edith love. Doing is quite another. Besides, I’m sure that between the encouragement of your Miss Chetwynd and young Frank, you’ll do just as you like, with never a thought for what I consider proper for a young lady in your position.”

 

“Mum, as I said before, the world is changing.”

 

“I arrest my case. Well, the world may be changing in some respects, but it isn’t changing here in my laundry this very minute.”

 

“Perhaps not, Mum.” Edith concedes. “But Dad believes in women’s suffrage.”

 

“Your Dad,” Ada scoffs. “Believes in women’s suffrage so long as it doesn’t affect him getting his tea, nice and hot, when he comes home for it, Edith love.”

 

“Well, thinking of the world,” Edith says brightly in an effort to steer the conversation away from things she and her mother don’t necessarily agree on. “There will be palaces for industry, and art.”

 

“Where, Edith love?”

 

“At the British Empire Exhibition, Mum! Each colony will have its own pavilion to reflect its local culture and architecture.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Ada chuckles. “It will probably be quite a thing, getting to see all the countries of the world without even having to leave London.”

 

“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you, Mum, well you and Dad really.”

 

“What’s that, Edith love?”

 

“Well, Frank and I were talking, and we want to go and see the British Empire Exhibition,” Edith says tentatively. “And we thought, well, we were hoping, that you might like to come with us.”

 

“Oh what a lovely though, Edith love! Yes, I’m sure your Dad would love to go, and I know I would. Thank you!”

 

“Oh hoorah!” Edith drops the bar of soap on the edge of the copper and claps her soapy hands. “That will be ripping! We can all go! Frank is going to ask Granny McTavish.”

 

“Well, that will be nice, Edith love. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it, and your Dad and I would love to see her again.”

 

“We’ll make a day of it!” Edith says excitedly.

 

“How long is the British Empire Exhibition on for? I can’t remember.”

 

“It started last month, and it’s on until October.” Edith answers as she picks up the soap and grater again. “Why do you ask, Mum?”

 

“Well, I thought that maybe, if you and Frank were willing to wait, we’ll go when Bert gets his shore leave in June.”

 

“Oh.” Ediths face falls. “Oh, I’m sure Frank won’t mind.” She goes on a little less enthusiastically. “It will be lovely and summery then anyway: the best weather to enjoy all the wonders of the British Empire.”

 

“What’s the matter, Edith love?” Ada asks as she watches her daughter’s face cloud over.

 

“Do you think Bert would mind paying for his own ticket?”

 

“What a peculiar question to ask, Edith love.” Ada shakes her head. “I’m sure he won’t. What brought that out?”

 

“Well, its just that Frank and I thought we could pay for Granny McTavish, you and Dad, but I don’t know if we could stretch to paying for Bert too.”

 

“It’s good of you to buy a ticket for an old woman like Mrs. McTavish, but you mustn’t pay for us, Edith love! You Dad and I can buy our own tickets.”

 

“Oh, but Frank and I wanted to treat you.”

 

“You treat us to more than enough as it is, Edith love! Just look at that wonderful turkey you bought us for Christmas. No, you let us pay for ourselves, and save your money. You should be saving every penny of your wages that you can for when you and Frank have your own home.”

 

“Oh Mum! You’re as bad as Hilda!” Edith flaps her hand dismissively at her mother, swatting the idea of marriage away. “She keeps saying Frank will propose to me any day now.”

 

“And I shouldn’t wonder if he won’t, Edith love.” Ada replies sagely. “He obviously loves you. It’s only natural.”

 

“Well yes, but he’s not proposing yet.”

 

“But he will, Edith love, and when he does, it will be good to have some money behind you. Your Dad and I can help pay for your wedding breakfast***************, and I can help you sew your wedding dress and that of your bridesmaids, but you’ll need money to set up house together.”

 

“But Mum…”

 

“Don’t ‘but Mum’, me, my girl!” Ada wags a finger admonishingly at her daughter. “You want to talk about women’s rights? Well, it’s well within my right to say that your Dad and I will pay for our own tickets. You keep telling me that I don’t need to be doing as much laundry as I do, since your Dad got his promotion to line manager at McVities.”

 

“Well you don’t, Mum.”

 

“But that pin money**************** I make from it helps with the housekeeping, and enables me to pay for the occasional treat, like a trip to the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley.” Ada folds her arms akimbo and the steeliness in her jaw tells Edith that this is not a point she can win her mother over on. So that’s settled then. Your Dad and I will come, and Bert too, but we’ll pay our own way, thank you very much.”

 

“Oh, alright Mum.” Edith acquiesces.

 

“Good girl.” Ada purrs. “Are you still keeping your wages aside?”

 

“Yes Mum. I keep them in that tin you gave me for it*****************, when I went to work for old Widow Hounslow.”

 

“Good girl. You just keep putting any spare aside, and it will add up nicely, and be ready for the day that you do get married and need to set up house. Things may be changing in this world, but setting up home isn’t getting any cheaper.” Ada nods shrewdly. “You mark my words.”

 

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

 

**A dolly-peg, also known as a dolly-legs, peggy, or maiden, in different parts of Britain, was a contraption used in the days before washing machines to cloth in a wash-tub, dolly-tub, possing-tub or laundry copper. Appearing like a milking stool on a T-bar broomstick handle, it was sunk into the tub of clothes and boiling water and then used to move the water, laundry and soap flakes around in the tub to wash the clothes.

 

***A mangle (British) or wringer (American) is a mechanical laundry aid consisting of two rollers in a sturdy frame, connected by cogs and (in its home version) powered by a hand crank or later by electricity. While the appliance was originally used to squeeze water from wet laundry, today mangles are used to press or flatten sheets, tablecloths, kitchen towels, or clothing and other laundry.

 

****Robert Spear Hudson (1812 – 1884) was an English businessman who popularised dry soap powder. His company was very successful thanks to both an increasing demand for soap and his unprecedented levels of advertising. In 1837 he opened a shop in High Street, West Bromwich. He started making soap powder in the back of this shop by grinding the coarse bar soap of the day with a mortar and pestle. Before that people had had to make soap flakes themselves. This product became the first satisfactory and commercially successful soap powder. Despite his title of "Manufacturer of Dry Soap" he never actually manufactured soap but bought the raw soap from William Gossage of Widnes. The product was popular with his customers and the business expanded rapidly. In the 1850s he employed ten female workers in his West Bromwich factory. His business was further helped by the removal of tax on soap in 1853. In time the factory was too small and too far from the source of his soap so in 1875 he moved his main works to Bank Hall, Liverpool, and his head office to Bootle, while continuing production at West Bromwich. Eventually the business in Merseyside employed about 1,000 people and Hudson was able to further develop his flourishing export trade to Australia and New Zealand. The business flourished both because of the rapidly increasing demand for domestic soap products and because of Hudson's unprecedented levels of advertising. He arranged for striking posters to be produced by professional artists. The slogan "A little of Hudson's goes a long way" appeared on the coach that ran between Liverpool and York. Horse, steam and electric tramcars bore an advertisement saying "For Washing Clothes. Hudson's soap. For Washing Up". Hudson was joined in the business by his son Robert William who succeeded to the business on his father's death. In 1908 he sold the business to Lever Brothers who ran it as a subsidiary enterprise during which time the soap was manufactured at Crosfield's of Warrington. During this time trade names such as Rinso and Omo were introduced. The Hudson name was retained until 1935 when, during a period of rationalisation, the West Bromwich and Bank Hall works were closed.

 

*****A wash copper, copper boiler or simply copper is a wash house boiler, generally made of galvanised iron, though the best sorts are made of copper. In the inter-war years, they came in two types. The first is built into a brickwork furnace and was found in older houses. The second was the free-standing or portable type, it had an enamelled metal exterior that supported the inner can or copper. The bottom part was adapted to hold a gas burner, a high pressure oil or an ordinary wood or coal fire. Superior models could have a drawing-off tap, and a steam-escape pipe that lead into the flue. It was used for domestic laundry. Linen and cotton were placed in the copper and were boiled to whiten them. Clothes were agitated within the copper with a washing dolly, a vertical stick with either a metal cone or short wooden legs on it. After washing, the laundry was lifted out of the boiling water using the washing dolly or a similar device, and placed on a strainer resting on a laundry tub or similar container to capture the wash water and begin the drying and cooling process. The laundry was then dried with a mangle and then line-dried. Coppers could also be used in cooking, used to boil puddings such as a traditional Christmas pudding.

 

*****In the days before commercial washing machines and soap powder, soap flakes were often made by grating bars of washing soap into fine flakes. Soap flakes were used for a variety of purposes including bathing, laundering, and washing, including hair washing. Pure soap flakes were used alone or sometimes combined with other natural cleaning products such as baking soda, borax or washing soda to make a variety of more gregarious and specific cleaners. Soap flakes whilst labour intensive to make were an economical cleaning agent, and are still used today.

 

*******Barathea is a fine woollen cloth, sometimes mixed with silk or cotton, used chiefly for coats and suits. It was very popular during the Victorian era, and was often used to make widows weeds because it was good quality and would survive regular wear during the obligatory year of deep mourning and period of half mourning thereafter.

 

********With the arrival of wood and coal stoves in the 1880’s, a new toasting method was needed. This led to a tin and wire pyramid-shaped device which was the predecessor to what we know as the modern toaster. The bread was placed inside, and the device was heated on the stove. Fire was the source of heat for toasting bread until 1905 when the engineer Albert Marsh created a nickel and chromium composite, called Nichrome. Marsh’s invention was easily shaped into wires or strips and was low in electrical conductivity. Within months, other inventors were using Nichrome to produce electric toasters. The first successful version was brought out by Frank Shailor of General Electric in America in 1909. The D-12 model consisted of a cage-like device with a single heating element. It could only toast one side of the bread at once; the bread had to be flipped by hand to toast both sides. Better models soon followed, some with sliding drawers, others with mechanical ways to turn the bread, but the real innovation was the automatic pop-up toaster, conceived in 1919 by the American mechanic Charles Strite. The incorporated timer shut off the heating element and released a pop-up spring when the slice of toast was done. In 1926, the Waters-Genter Company used a redesigned version of the Strite’s toaster; it was called the “Toastmaster”. With a triple-loop logo inspired by its heating elements, it became part of the modern age of kitchen appliances. By the end of 1926 Charles Strite’s Toastmaster was available around the world, and became a standard in most upper-class and middle-class homes in Britain by the 1930s.

 

*********Originally sold in London’s Harrods department store in the early 1920s, the English Electric Premier System “Smoothwell” iron with a rubber, non-conducting handle, was supplied with its own trivet. Made in Birmingham, the ''Smoothwell Premier System'' appliance was patented as a revolutionary invention, powered by electricity. Many middle-class houses built for electricity after the war had a socket installed in the ceiling next to the light, allowing an electric iron such as the “Smoothwell” to be plugged in, allowing the modern Jazz Age housewife to iron over her kitchen table whether by day or night.

 

**********London United Tramways (LUT) began London's first electric tram service in July 1901. They electrified lines between Shepherd's Bush, Hammersmith, Acton and Kew Bridge. By 1906, ten municipal systems had been set up and by 1914 London operated the largest tram network in Europe. At their peak, over 3,000 trams carried a billion passengers a year over 366 miles of track. After the First World War tramways began to decline as the motor bus competed for passengers. By the late 1920s, the new buses offered higher standards of comfort, while the pre-war trams were shabby and in need of modernisation.

 

***********The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.

 

************A purpose-built "great national sports ground", called the Empire Stadium, was built for the Exhibition at Wembley. This became Wembley Stadium. Wembley Urban District Council was opposed to the idea, as was The Times, which considered Wembley too far from Central London. The first turf for this stadium was cut, on the site of the old tower, on the 10th of January 1922. 250,000 tons of earth were then removed, and the new structure constructed within ten months, opening well before the rest of the Exhibition was ready. Designed by John William Simpson and Maxwell Ayrton, and built by Sir Robert McAlpine, it could hold 125,000 people, 30,000 of them seated. The building was an unusual mix of Roman imperial and Mughal architecture. Although it incorporated a football pitch, it was not solely intended as a football stadium. Its quarter mile running track, incorporating a 220 yard straight track (the longest in the country) were seen as being at least equally important. The only standard gauge locomotive involved in the construction of the Stadium has survived, and still runs on Sir William McAlpine's private Fawley Hill railway near Henley.

 

*************In 1924 when this story is set, not every woman in Britain had the right to vote. In 1918 the Representation of the People Act was passed which allowed women over the age of thirty who met a property qualification to vote. Although eight and a half million women met this criteria, it was only about two-thirds of the total population of women in Britain. It was not until the Equal Franchise Act of 1928 that women over twenty-one were able to vote and women finally achieved the same voting rights as men. This act increased the number of women eligible to vote to fifteen million.

 

**************Suffrage refers to a person's right to vote in a political election. Voting allows members of society to take part in deciding government policies that affect them. Women's suffrage refers to the right of women to vote in an election.

 

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

 

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

 

*****************Prior to the Second World War, working-class people didn’t use banks, which were the privilege of the upper and middle-classes. For a low paid domestic like Edith, what little she saved she would most likely keep in a tin or jar, secreted away somewhere to avoid anyone stealing what she had managed to keep aside.

 

This cheerful laundry scene is not all you may suppose it to be, for the fact is that all the items are from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in thus tableau include:

 

The red brick copper in the centre of the image is a very cleverly made 1:12 artisan miniature from an unnamed artist. Believe it of not, it is made of balsa wood and then roughened and painted to look like bricks. I acquitted it from Doreen Jeffries’ Miniature World in the United Kingdom.

 

The great wrought mangle with its real wooden rollers is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

The dolly-peg is an antique Victorian dollhouse miniature and it’s tub is sitting behind it. I am just lucky that something from around 1860 just happens to be the correct scale to fit with my 1:12 artisan miniatures.

 

There is a panoply of items used in pre-war laundry preparation on the white painted surface of the copper. There are two enamel rather worn and beaten looking bowls and an enamel jug in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. The grater and the two small irons also come from there. The boxes of Borax, Hudson’s Soap and Robin’s Starch and the bottle of bleach in the green glass were made with great attention to detail on the labels by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Before the invention of aerosol spray starch, the product of choice in many homes of all classes was Robin starch. Robin Starch was a stiff white powder like cornflour to which water had to be added. When you made up the solution, it was gloopy, sticky with powdery lumps, just like wallpaper paste or grout. The garment was immersed evenly in that mixture and then it had to be smoothed out. All the stubborn starchy lumps had to be dissolved until they were eliminated – a metal spoon was good for bashing at the lumps to break them down. Robins Starch was produced by Reckitt and Sons who were a leading British manufacturer of household products, notably starch, black lead, laundry blue, and household polish.

 

On the little set if drawers on the wall, which came from Marie and Mick’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, stands a box of Jumbo Blue Bag and some Imp Soap, also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Reckitt and Sons who were a leading British manufacturer of household products, notably starch, black lead, laundry blue, and household polish also produced Jumbo Blue, which was a whitener added to a wash to help delay the yellowing effect of older cotton. Rekitt and Sons were based in Kingston upon Hull. Isaac Reckitt began business in Hull in 1840, and his business became a private company Isaac Reckitt and Sons in 1879, and a public company in 1888. The company expanded through the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. It merged with a major competitor in the starch market J. and J. Colman in 1938 to form Reckitt and Colman.

 

Imp Washer Soap was manufactured by T. H. Harris and Sons Limited, a soap manufacturers, tallow melters and bone boiler. Introduced after the Great War, Imp Washer Soap was a cheaper alternative to the more popular brands like Sunlight, Hudsons and Lifebuoy soaps. Imp Washer Soap was advertised as a free lathering and economical cleaner. T. H. Harris and Sons Limited also sold Mazo soap energiser which purported to improve the quality of cleaning power of existing soaps.

 

The rusted metal washing tub that is full of white linens is an artisan miniature and comes from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.

 

The stack of wood logs behind the mangle, used to feed the copper boiler, came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop, as does the basket hanging from the wall, the washboard and the airing rack.

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

 

Today however we have headed a short distance north-east across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, over Paddington and past Lisson Grove to the comfortably affluent suburb of Little Venice with its cream painted Regency terraces and railing surrounded public parks. Here in Clifton Gardens Lettice’s maiden Aunt Eglantine, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews, lives in a beautiful four storey house that is part of a terrace of twelve. Eglantine Chetwynd is Viscount Wrexham’s younger sister, and as well as being unmarried, is an artist and ceramicist of some acclaim. Originally a member of the Pre-Raphaelites* in England, these days she flits through artistic and bohemian circles and when not at home in her spacious and light filled studio at the rear of her garden, can be found mixing with mostly younger artistic friends in Chelsea. Her unmarried status, outlandish choice of friends and rather reformist and unusual dress sense shocks Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, and attracts her derision. In addition, she draws Sadie’s ire, as Aunt Egg has always received far more affection and preferential treatment from her children. Viscount Wrexham on the other hand adores his artistic little sister, and has always made sure that she can live the lifestyle she chooses and create art.

 

Lettice is taking tea with her favourite aunt in her wonderfully overcluttered drawing room, which unlike most other houses in the terrace where the drawing room is located in the front and overlooks the street, is nestled at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful and slightly rambunctious rear garden and studio. It is just another example of Lettice’s aunt flouting the conventions women like Lady Sadie cling to. The room is overstuffed with an eclectic collection of bric-à-brac. Antique vases and ornamental plates jostle for space with pieces of Eglantyne’s own work and that of her artistic friends on whatnots and occasional tables, across the mantle and throughout several glass fronted china cabinets. Every surface is cluttered to over capacity. As Lettice picks up the fine blue and gilt cup of tea proffered by her aunt, she cannot help but feel sorry for Augusta, Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid and Clotilde, the second parlour maid, who must feel that their endless dusting is futile, for no sooner would they have finished a room than they would have to start again since dust would have settled where they began. In addition to being a fine ceramicist, Eglantyne is also an expert embroiderer, and her works appear on embroidered cushions, footstools and even a pole fire screen to Lettice’s left as she settles back into a rather ornate corner chair that Eglantyne always saves for guests.

 

“Well, I think you did the right thing, my dear.” Aunt Egg says with conviction in her sparkling green eyes. “That Mrs. Hawarden’s taste sounds absolutely vulgar. Mind you, what can one expect from the wife of an industrialist in Manchester! They breed them differently up north.”

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice exclaims. “I never thought I would hear such words fall from your lips. You are the one who always chides any one of us if we utter anything that isn’t egalitarian! You scoff at Mater because she is such a snob.”

 

“Well, she is a snob.” Replies the older woman, picking up a dainty biscuit from the plate perched upon a footstool covered in her own petit point handiwork. “I’m simply making a frank observation.” She pops the biscuit into her mouth and chews on it.

 

When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large amber droplets hang from her ears, glowing in the diffused light filtering through the lace curtains that frame the window overlooking the garden. The earrings match the amber necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan, both in beautiful shades of golden yellow.

 

“Why on earth Mrs. Hawarden doesn’t simply go and reside in one of those awful Metroland*** Tudor Revival villas those developers keep advertising on the outskirts of London, I don’t know?” the older woman says once she finishes her mouthful of biscuit. “They would be better suited to be the blank canvas for her taste for dark brown stained woodwork and ubiquitous distemper. No, I say again, my dear, that it would be a travesty to tear apart all that wonderful history built up in that lovely house over many years.”

 

“That isn’t to say that it won’t happen, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies. “Mrs. Hawarden has plenty of money to splash around. I’m sure there are a plethora of other interior designers who would love the opportunity to receive a commission from her.”

 

“Be that as it may, at least it isn’t you who is pandering to that woman’s whims. Your father and I taught you well - even Sadie to a degree – to respect the history of a home. A home is merely a house with history.”

 

“Well, I do hope that other people will like my Modernist Revival style as Mr. Tipping**** calls it.” Lettice replies a little desultorily.

 

“As one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Great Britain, I have no doubt that there are far more people who will follow Mr. Tipping’s elegant and qualified taste, than will follow the whims of a vulgar and showy industrialist’s wife from Manchester who is of no consequence to anyone other than to herself.” The older woman nods matter-of-factly.

 

“I do hope you are right, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Of course I’m right, my dear.” Eglantine soothes from the comfort of her cream upholstered Chippendale wingback armchair. “Let me tell you a story. Once, some years ago, before you were born, I was very taken by the Ballet Russes who were performing here in London. I found their passion and colour exciting and stimulating. Your father, always happy to indulge my passions cultivated a friendship with a visiting Russian count, the Count Baronovska. However, it was his wife who truly fascinated me.

 

Why Aunt Egg?

 

Because my dear, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was everything I ever dreamed of being. She was elegant and worldly,

 

But you are elegant and worldly.

 

When compared alongside the Countess, I felt anything but either of those things.

 

I can hardly imagine that, Aunt Egg. You were famed as a beauty when you were younger, and you still are extremely elegant.”

 

“Ah, how you flatter me child.”

 

“And I have always thought of you as wise and worldly, Aunt Egg. It’s why I come to you for advice.”

 

“Well, in comparison to a Bright Young Thing like you, I am worldly wise, but I knew nothing compared to the Countess Baronovska.”

 

“Tell me what she was like.”

 

“She was tall and statuesque, with a proud bearing, yet she was in no way haughty. Her skin was flawless and snowy white, like porcelain. The almost translucent quality of her flesh was only highlighted by her dark curls which framed her face. Her swan neck was made for the display of pearl chokers. Like so many White Russians before the Revolution, she had a fortune in jewels and she wore them with style and panache: ropes of pearls and circlets of diamonds and rubies placed in ornate gold settings graced her throat and cascaded down the front of her gowns, all of which were exquisitely made, not in Paris or London like those your mother and I wore, but by her own seamstress in St Petersburg.”

 

“She sounds amazing.”

 

“And so she was to look at. I’m quite sure your father had a mild crush on the Countess.” Aunt Egg chortles

 

“Did Mater know?”

 

“Discretion was never your father’s strong suit my dear. He still wears his heart on his sleeve, so I have no doubt that Sadie knew – not that your father would have done anything to reproach himself with. He has always been a gentleman. However, whilst your father was in love with her beauty, I was in love with her intellect and power.”

 

“Power?”

 

“On yes. The Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was not like so many other members of the Russian court, filled with self importance and self entitlement. No, she cultivated her intellect and charms, and she used them to influence others to her advantage. I’m sure she only married the Count for his money, which sounds like an uncharitable thing to say, but she was a woman who had ambition in a time and a place where so few women, like your mother,” She rolls here eyes. “Did. She wanted the Count’s money to be used to greater benefit than the way he used it, which was to drink and play the gambling tables along with all the other Russian aristocrats.”

 

“So what did she do?”

 

“I’m not sure how, and she was so discreet that she would never confide it in me, but somehow she managed to get her husband to sign away all his wealth to her, so it was she who owned their lands and managed their fortune. It was she who gave her husband a small allowance and paid any of his unpaid gambling debts. The rest of the money she put to work by creating her own business, just like you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. In a time when it was almost unheard of that a woman ran her own business affairs, especially in a patriarchal society like Russia, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska did.”

 

“What business did she have?”

 

“The Countess was a woman who had her own unique style. She also loved beautiful objects and art, so she set up her own porcelain factory.”

 

“A porcelain factory? Truly, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Yes indeed. The Countess’ porcelain factory was in Crimea, and adjoined the Baronovska estate. As I said, the Countess had the most amazing mind, and she had a head for business. She was also smart that during a period when there was great worker discontent with other manufacturers treating those who worked in their factories no better than slaves, whilst living high off their hard work, the Countess made Baronovska Porcelain a place where people were not only happy to work, but made it a haven for young Russian artists who would never have had a chance to develop their talents were it not for her. As a result Baronovska Porcelain made high quality pieces that were beautifully designed and unique. With their connections within the inner circles of the Royal Court of the Tsar, pieces were highly sought after and commanded very high prices. Even today, if a piece of Baranovska Porcelain were to miraculously turn up at Sotheby’s or Bonham’s, it would command a very fine price.”

 

“She sounds like a very shrewd businesswoman.”

 

“You remind me of her a little. She was a woman who marched to the beat of her own heart, and stuck to her specific ideas about what was fashionable. She didn’t follow trends, she set them with her fine porcelain.”

 

“And she reminds you or me, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Why yes Lettice. See, by you refusing to do what that awful Hawarden woman wanted: paint her rooms oatmeal and strip back the many years of history that house her manufacturer husband bought her as a toy, you have stuck to your own ideals, just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.” She smiles at her niece. “I’m proud of you for not following her wishes, simply because she has the money to pay you for your services.”

 

“I’m starting to think that I perhaps should have been a little more direct with her.”

 

“Perhaps my dear, but she still may not have listened to you, and insisted on you doing her bidding against your own better and far superior judgement.” She reaches out and pats Lettice’s hands with her own gnarled bejewelled one. “Just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska, I know that you too will be a trend setter, and in the not too distant future, I’ll wager.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Nonsense my dear! Self-deprecation and hiding one’s talent under a bushel never did anyone any good, my dear. You will be the toast of London one day,” She taps her nose knowingly. “You mark my words.”

 

“Did you ever visit the factory, Aunt Egg?” Lettice says in an effort to change the subject.

 

“Actually, yes we did. That was when I received these two vases.” She indicates to two vases on the mantlepiece. “A gift from the Countess, whose generosity I can never repay.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg! I have always admired those.”

 

“Well, perhaps I will leave them to you in my will when I die, my dear.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg!”

 

“It’s a pity I didn’t buy more pieces whilst we were there. The Countess served us tea from the most delicate and dainty tea set with the same pattern painted upon it. Oh! It was the most beautiful tea set I think I have ever seen.” The older woman sighs. “Still hindsight is fine thing to have.”

 

“You said ‘we went’, Aunt Egg. Who is ‘we’?”

 

“Of course you weren’t born yet, but your father, your mother, Leslie, Lally and Lionel, even though he was only a toddler at the time, all visited the Count and Countess Baronovska in Russia. However, as I recall, the Count slipped off to St Petersburg as soon as it was polite for him to make a hasty retreat to the gambling tables allure. The Countess Baronovska had the most beautiful dacha in Crimea where we all stayed as her guests. She told Leslie and Lally as many Russian faerie tales that they could coax out of her. She had a soft spot for the children, since she and the Count had no children of their own.”

 

“Do you think the Countess planned it that way? It sounds to me like she had very definite plans for her future, and children may have been a hinderance.”

 

“In the case of children, I think not. I suspect that the Count was drawn to St Petersburg not just for the lavish life at court and the gambling, but for the allure of a number of women as well. I think the Countess would have liked to have had a large brood of her own. Although,” Aunt Egg’s voice becomes a little melancholy. “Considering what has come to pass in Russia, perhaps it is just as well that she never had children. The Countess invested some of the profits from her factory in the people who lived and worked on her estate and worked in her factory. She made sure that people had repaired roofs over their heads, nutritious food and access to healthcare, yet it still made no difference in the end. Like so many Russian Aristocrats, she fled when the Revolution came, and had to leave behind so much, including her beloved porcelain factory.” She sighs. “Goodness knows what has happened to it now.”

 

“Did you ever see the Countess Baronovska again?”

 

“Yes, your father and I did in,” She ruminates for a moment. “In 1919 as I recall. The Countess was still beautiful and elegant, in spite of what happened to her, and her somewhat diminished circumstances, although I do think she managed to escape with a king’s ransom in jewellery. She promised that we would stay in touch. We used to correspond for many years. I even sent her photographs of you as you grew up, and I told her about all your artistic attributes, which I know she would have appreciated, had she ever met you.”

 

“Where do you think she is now, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Goodness knows my dear. She has gone to ground, I know not where. However, I do know that it will be for her own good reasons that she has. Russian émigrés have been dispersed everywhere between here and Shanghai. Perhaps one day she will turn up again.”

 

“It’s sad that you have lost a friend who obviously meant a great deal to you, Aunt Egg.”

 

“We all lose people eventually my dear,” the older woman says with a sad smile. “Or they lose us. Death sees to that.”

 

“Please don’t talk like that, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Oh very well, my dear, if it troubles you to hear it, however true my statement is. At least I have some photos, many wonderful letters, and these two beautiful vases, to remind me of the lovely, clever and kind the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.”

 

*The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (later known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederic George Stephens and Thomas Woolner who formed a seven-member "Brotherhood" modelled in part on the Nazarene movement. The Brotherhood was only ever a loose association and their principles were shared by other artists of the time, including Ford Madox Brown, Arthur Hughes and Marie Spartali Stillman. Later followers of the principles of the Brotherhood included Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and John William Waterhouse. The group sought a return to the abundant detail, intense colours and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They rejected what they regarded as the mechanistic approach first adopted by Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo. The Brotherhood believed the classical poses and elegant compositions of Raphael in particular had been a corrupting influence on the academic teaching of art, hence the name "Pre-Raphaelite".

 

**The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

***The trains that killed the English countryside made the suburbs, for they brought semi-rural areas ripe for development within easy reach of city. This huge expansion of London and the regional cities between the two world wars democratised home ownership and the rows of almost identical rows of houses were derided by the wealthy upper classes and were nicknamed “Metroland”, after the commute via Metropolitan Railway people would need to take each day to and from work. It applied to land in Middlesex, west Hertfordshire and south Buckinghamshire. “Metroland” was characterised by the construction of Tudor Revival suburban houses.

 

****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

This overstuffed and cluttered late Victorian room might look a bit busy to your modern eye, but in the day, this would have been the height of conspicuous consumption fashion. What may also surprise you is that the entire scene is made up with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our story today, the two vases standing on the mantle with their blue and gilt banding of roses are “Baroness” pattern, made by Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.

 

The irises and tulips in the two vases and the foxgloves appearing to the far right of the photograph are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

Also on the mantlepiece are a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces! Between them stands a gilt carriage clock made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The pretty lace and floral fan behind it, leaning against the overmantle glass is a 1:12 artisan miniature that I acquired from a specialist doll house supplier when I was a teenager. The two “Japonism” style paper fans stuck into the fretwork around the overmantle mirror I acquired at the same time from the same shop as the lace fan. The one on the left-hand side is hand painted with flowers and has been lacquered before being attached to a little wooden handle.

 

The fireplace and its ornate overmantle is a “Kensignton” model made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The mirrored china cabinet with its fretwork front was also made by Bespaq, as were Aunt Egg’s white floral figured satin upholstered Chippendale chair and the ornate white upholstered corner chair. The peacock feather fire screen, brass fire tools and ornate brass fender come from various online 1:12 miniature suppliers.

 

The footstool on which the tea set stands is also made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects.

 

The hand embroidered footstool in front of Aunt Egg’s Chippendale wingback armchair and the hand embroidered pedestal fire were acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, as was the 1:12 artisan miniature sewing box on the small black japanned table to the left of Aunt Egg’s chair. The tapestry frame in front of Aunt Egg’s chair comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The tea set on the embroidered footstool in the centre of the image is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, and has been hand painted by artisan miniaturist Victoria Fasken.

 

The two whatnots are cluttered with vases from various online dolls’ house miniature suppliers, several miniature Limoges vases and white and lilac petunia pieces which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.

 

The Royal Doulton style figurines in the china cabinet are from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland and have been hand painted by me. The figurines are identifiable as particular Royal Doulton figurines from the 1920s and 1930s.

 

The white roses in the blue and white vase on the sofa table are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Aunt Egg’s family photos, all of which are all real photos, are 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 1:12 artisan miniature blue and white jasperware Wedgwood teapot on the round table near the bottom of the photo is actually carved from wood, with a removable lid which has been hand painted. I acquired it from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures. The hand blown blue and clear glass basket next to it comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The paintings around Aunt Egg’s drawing room come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The round pictures hanging on ribbons were made by me when I was twelve years old. The ribbons came from my maternal Grandmother’s sewing box, and the frames are actually buttons from her button box. The images inside (two Victorian children paintings on one and three Redoute roses on the other) were cut from a magazine.

 

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

 

The Oriental rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

Classic eye chart generously provided by Vista Optical at Lloyd Center mall.

 

I wasn't sure that these still existed, but I asked at Vista Optical if they had one. I explained that I wanted to photograph it and why. Two were found in a plastic bag in a storage closet. I selected the least crumpled one and it was hung on wall for me to shoot. Thanks, Vista!

 

Photo taken for Our Daily Challenge: Letters.

PictionID:44584267 - Catalog:14_012518 - Title:Atlas Details: Spaceplane; Heat Transfer Test Model FRT Date: 01/15/1963 - Filename:14_012518.TIF - - - Image from the Convair/General Dynamics Astronautics Atlas Negative Collection. The processing, cataloging and digitization of these images has been made possible by a generous National Historical Publications and Records grant from the National Archives and Records Administration---Please Tag these images so that the information can be permanently stored with the digital file.---Repository: San Diego Air and Space Museum

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

 

Today however we have headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, around Trafalgar Square and up Charing Cross Road, where, near the corner of Great Newport Street, Lettice is visiting A. H. Mayhew’s*, a bookshop in the heart of London’s specialist and antiquarian bookseller district, patronised by her father, Viscount Wrexham. It is here that Lettice hopes to find the perfect present for her oldest and dearest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton. Gerald is 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. It will soon be his birthday, and Lettice is treating him to an evening at the Café Royal** in Regent Street. However, she also wants something less ephemeral than a glittering evening out to dinner for Gerald to look back on in the years ahead as he turns twenty-five. Knowing how much he loves books, but also knowing that any profits his fledgling atelier makes must be re-invested in his business rather than indulging in books, Lettice has settled upon acquiring a beautiful and unusual volume for him from amongst the many tomes housed in Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop.

 

As Lettice lingers out the front of Mr. Mayhew’s, enjoying the luxury of peering through his tall plate glass windows that proudly bear his name and advertise that he does purchase libraries of old books, knowing that whether she is lucky enough to spot the perfect gift in the window display or not, somewhere amidst the full shelves inside, there will be a wonderful book for Gerald. She releases a shuddering sigh from deep within her chest as she remembers the last time she peered through these self-same windows in October of 1923 when the book she hoped to find was to give to Selwyn as a birthday gift in an effort to further solidify her commitment to him in his eyes. Her plan was to give him the book she bought – a copy of a volume of John Nash’s*** architectural drawings including his designs for the Royal Pavilion built for the Prince Regent in Brighton, Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace – at private dinner that he had arranged for the two of them at the Savoy****. However, from there everything had gone awry. When Lettice arrived at the Savoy and was shown to the table for two Selwyn had reserved for them, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events that year as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. What the pair hadn’t calculated for in their plans was that Lady Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her. The volumes in Mr. Mayhew’s window begin to shimmer and blur as tears begin to sting Lettice’s eyes and impair her vision.

 

“Still.” Lettice breathes bitterly as she allows her head to lower as she closes her eyes. “Still, I cannot think of Selwyn without wanting to cry.” she thinks. “What is wrong with me? Come on. Pull yourself together, girl. Don’t let Lady Zinnia win.”

 

She sniffs and sighs deeply, taking a few deep breaths as she slowly regains her composure. After a few minutes of standing in front of the shop’s window, appearing to all the passers-by to be just another keen window shopper, Lettice finally feels composed enough to enter the shop.

 

“You won’t get the better of me, Lady Zinnia,” she mutters through barred teeth. “And you won’t destroy my love of books, nor my love for my best friend.”

 

She walks up to the recessed door of the bookshop which she pushes open. A cheerful bell dings loudly above her head, announcing her presence. As the door closes behind her, it shuts out the general cacophony of noisy automobiles, chugging busses and passing shoppers’ conversations. The shop envelops her in a cozy muffled silence produced by the presence of so many shelves fully laden with the volumes of the past. She inhales deeply and savours the smell of dusty old books and pipe smoke, which comfort and assure her that she has come to a safe place that will assuage her damaged heart. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. Summer sunlight pours through the tall shop windows facing out to the street, highlighting the worn Persian and Turkish carpets whose hues, once so bright, vivid and exotic, have softened with exposure to the sunlight and any number of pairs of boots and shoes of customers, who like Lettice, searched Mayhew’s shelves for the perfect book to take away with them. Dust motes, something Lettice always associates with her father’s library in Wiltshire, dance blithely through beams of sunlight before disappearing without a trace into the shadows.

 

Lettice makes her way through the shop, wandering along its narrow aisles, reaching up to touch various Moroccan leather spines embossed with gilt lettering of titles and authors, until she nears the middle of the shop, where sitting at his desk before a small coal fire, smoking his pipe, sits the bespectacled proprietor, Mr. Mayhew, in his usual uniform of jacket, vest and bowtie, carefully cataloguing volumes he has acquired from a recent country house contents auction***** he attended in Buckinghamshire, his pipe hanging from his mouth, occasionally emitting puffs of acrid grey smoke as he works. The portly, balding gentleman is so wrapped up in his work that he does not notice Lettice as she walks up to his desk.

 

“Mr. Mayhew., how do you do” Lettice says, clearing her throat, her clipped tones slicing through the thick silence of the shop.

 

“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew sighs with delight, puffing out another small cloud of pipe smoke as he realises who is standing before him. Removing the pipe from his mouth, he peers over the top of his gold rimmed spectacles. “Why if it isn’t my favourite Wiltshire reader herself.” He takes one final pleasurable puff of his pipe before reaching behind him and putting it aside on the pipe rack sitting precariously on the little coal fire’s narrow mantle shelf.

 

“I’m almost certain that you say that to every reader whom you know well, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice rolls her eyes and smiles indulgently.

 

“Not every reader I know well come from Wiltshire though, Miss Chetwynd” the old man remarks with a chuckle, lifting himself out of the comfort of the well worn chair behind his desk, wiping his hands down the front of his thick black barathea vest.

 

“You’re just like my Aunt Egg, complimentary, but with an air of mystery.”

 

“There is no mystery to me, Miss Chetwynd.” He reaches out and takes Lettice’s dainty glove clad hand and squeezes it. “I am like,” He chuckles lightly. “An open book as it were.” He sweeps his free hand expansively around him, indicating to all the tomes lining the shelves that hedge his cluttered workspace. “I will pay a compliment to any customer who takes the time to enter my shop, appreciate my books, and speak to me with politeness: especially when they are as pretty as you, Miss Chetwynd.” He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.

 

“Oh, Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice laughs. “You speak such sweet, honeyed words.”

 

He gasps. “I do hope, Miss Chetwynd, that you don’t consider me to be as duplicitous as Richard III.” the old man says, picking up on Lettice’s literary Shakesperean reference******.

 

“Never, Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice exclaims

 

“Very good, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew replies. “I would hate for you to misjudge my motivations. I didn’t establish my little bookshop simply to make money. What a ludicrous idea that any shopkeeper would set up his establishment just to make money, when he can take equal measure of profit and pleasure from his endeavours. I have a great love of books, Miss Chetwynd, as I know you do too, my dear, both the written word and the engraving,” He waves his hands expansively at the floor to ceiling bookshelves around him, filled with hundreds of volumes on all manner of subjects. “As well you know.”

 

“Indeed Mr. Mayhew. I enjoy nothing more than spending time in my father’s library at Glynes, where more than one of your own volumes sits on his shelves.”

 

“And how is His Lordship, Miss Chetwynd? I sent him a beautiful 1811 calfskin vellum******* edition of Voltaire a few weeks ago with some lovely hand tinted engravings, a marbleised cover and colourful gilt bindings.”

 

“He is well, thank you Mr. Mayhew. I saw him just a few weeks ago, although it was only a fleeting visit, so he didn’t show me your volume of Voltaire.”

 

“A fleeting visit, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew queries. “What a pity you didn’t tarry longer with His Lordship. You must have him show you the Voltaire next time you go home to stay, Miss Chetwynd. Really it is rather lovely. It came to me after being sold at the second Stowe House Great Sale******** in 1921. I wanted to make sure it went to the right home, and I could think of no-one better than your father to be its custodian.”

 

“I have no doubt that it is, Mr. Mayhew. However, this time I went to Wiltshire not for pleasure, but to meet a gentleman who wishes to have a room redecorated as a surprise for his wife.”

 

“So, your interior design business is going well then, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew queries.

 

“It is indeed, Mr. Mayhew,” Lettice affirms. “Perhaps more successful than I had ever dreamed.”

 

“Well, that is splendid news, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew purrs rubbing his hands together. “And will you be accepting this gentleman’s commission.”

 

“Perhaps against my better judgement, I am, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice admits.

 

“Against your better judgement, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Well,” Lettice sighs. “The lady for whom this gentleman wants the room designed is his wife, and she is currently redecorating many other parts of the house. I am concerned that she won’t appreciate an interloper like me coming in and enforcing my designs upon her home. However, Mr. Gifford, the gentleman, assured me that if his wife doesn’t like it, he will accept any and all blame. So, in spite of my misgivings, I have accepted. Like Richard III, Mr. Gifford wooed me with his honeyed words.” Lettice sighs again. “In addition, he is the godson of Henry Tipping********* who has promised me a favourable review in Country Life********** if Mrs. Gifford likes the room.”

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew says comfortingly. “We all have doubts and misgivings sometimes, Miss Chetwynd, however it sounds like a reasonable gamble.”

 

“I do hope you are right, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“Now, what is it that I can entice you to add to your bookshelves today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew steps out from behind his cluttered desk and speaks as he moves. “Something to help inspire you with this fraught new commission, perhaps?”

 

“Oh, that is a lovely idea, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies. “However, it isn’t me that I’ve come looking for a book for.”

 

“Then to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“I want something for my friend, Mr. Bruton, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“The costumier?” Mr. Mayhew queries.

 

“The couturier.” Lettice corrects the bookseller.

 

“Of course, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“He turns twenty-five next week, and I would like to find him a beautiful book on fashion for him to enjoy.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Mayhew utters with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Well, I’m afraid that I don’t have anything contemporary, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Oh, I don’t want something contemporary, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice assures him. “Rather I want something that is beautifully illustrated that he might enjoy.”

 

“Well, in that case, Miss Chetwynd, I may have some things that might suit your friend Mr. Bruton. I just hope that I shan’t disappoint you, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew returns her smile.

 

“You never disappoint me, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice counters. “But you never cease to surprise me, either.” she adds with the heavy implication that she hopes he can find for her the perfect birthday present for Gerald.

 

As if she has uttered magic words to strike the old bookseller into action, Mr. Mayhew’s face animates. “Then let Mayhew’s not let you down today, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Mr. Mayhew picks up his spectacles and puts them on the bridge of his nose again before looking around him, squinting as he considers what buried treasures are hidden amidst the tomes on the shelves in the darkened, cosy interior of his bookshop. As a proprietor who knows his stock well – almost like one would know a family – he says, “I think I might have just the thing. Please, take a seat, Miss Chetwynd.” He indicates to the chair on the opposite side of the desk to his own. “If I may beg your indulgence, I won’t be too long.”

 

“You may, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

The bookseller makes a small bow before he bustles off, disappearing amidst the bookshelves.

 

Lettice initially perches herself on the edge of the rather hard Arts and Crafts wooden seat and peruses Mr. Mayhew’s cluttered desk which is piled with old leather volumes, some of which speak of times long ago with their worn covers and aged pages. Then she spies a book of beautiful rose prints standing open on top of the ornate mahogany bookshelf to the left of the fireplace. Standing up, she walks over to it and gently begins turning the pages, admiring the beautiful engraved*********** illustrations.

 

“That’s a very fine copy of Redouté’s*********** Roses from the 1820s with beautiful stipple engravings************. You have exquisite taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says as he returns with several volumes in his arms.

 

“Then it is my mother who has good taste, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies. “I was just admiring it because I know my mother has a copy of this book in the morning room at Glynes. I think my father is a little jealous of her having it.”

 

“I would be too, Miss Chetwynd.” the old bookseller remarks as he slips the volumes with a soft thud atop the other closed books on his desk. “Now! Here we are!” Mr. Mayhew indicates to the books he has come back with. “Hopefully there is something here that Mr. Bruton will like.”

 

Lettice returns to her seat, whilst Mr. Mayhew also returns to his behind the desk. He hands her a large but slender volume with a rust coloured cover. Lettice reads on its cover in bold black printed typeface that it is a catalogue of ladies’ shoes from historical times to the present.

 

“It’s from the early 1810s, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says proudly. “Around the time our beloved Miss Auten penned Sense and Sensibility, so even though it speaks of history in the title, the volume itself has become a part of history.”

 

Lettice murmurs her own delight as she turns the pages and looks at beautiful engravings of dainty shoes with fine court heels: each illustration clearly showing even the finest of details of each shoe. The illustrations are arranged in colours and dates, with three slippers illustrated on every page. “Delightful!” Lettice opines.

 

“Then there is this.” Mr. Mayhew holds out another volume, this time with an aquamarine coloured cover.

 

“Revue des Chapeaux,” Lettice reads.

 

“Published during the war, this book’s pages review in brilliant pictorial detail, millinery styles between 1913 and 1917.” Mr. Mayhew says with a sigh. “The photographs really are quite stylish, as is the presentation.”

 

Lettice turns the pages, admiring the images showing each hat usually contained, but occasionally stretching out of, a circle. The black and white photographs have been partially tinted before being printed to draw attention to some of the elegant ruffles and soft fabric roses of each hat. Lettice chuckles to herself as she spies a royal blue hat with a brim significantly smaller than some of the voluminous hats her mother wore before the war, the hat’s crown dominated by a bunch of pink hyacinths. “I used to have a hat similar to this.” Lettice muses, patting her own green cloche hat self-consciously as she does, as if distracted enough to believe that she is still wearing the old fashioned pre-war hat with its whimsical bouquet of flowers sticking from it.

 

“Did you indeed, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew purrs.

 

“Yes.” Lettice replies, suddenly snapping out of her reverie. “I think this one, however lovely, is perhaps not quite to Gerald’s taste.”

 

“Very well Miss Chetwynd.” the bookseller says obsequiously, withdrawing the offending volume. “As you wish.” He then fumbles a little as he takes a rather thin catalogue from beneath a much larger volume. He looks carefully at Lettice before asking, “You won’t be offended by a German volume, will you?”

 

Lettice laughs. “Good heavens, no, Mr, Mayhew! You sell my father antiquarian versions of Gothe*************! As his daughter, how could I possibly be offended?”

 

“No, of course not, Miss Chetwynd. Well,” Mr. Mayhew says rather awkwardly. “Will Mr. Bruton take offence?”

 

“I doubt it, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

“That’s good, because in the years of anti-German sentiment of the war, after the Lusitania’s sinking**************, I had to hide this beautiful catalogue, along with quite a number of other books which I have only just recently started returning to my post-war shelves.”

 

Lettice takes the Victorian catalogue from Mr. Mayhew’s hands and opens it.

 

“It is a catalogue of coats, furs and blouses from 1898 from a Berlin manufacturer.”

 

She flips through the fine pages beautifully illustrated with chromolithographs***************. Ladies with synched waists and protruding bosoms thanks to the influence of S-bend corsets**************** wearing feather and flower adorned hats and bonnets, show off fur tippets*****************, automobiling coats and jackets with leg-o’-mutton sleeves******************. “Beautiful!” Lettice murmurs with admiration, running her hand over one mode of a woman in a coat of deep violet with fur lapels.

 

“I thought you might like that one, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says proudly. “Of course, I only show this to a very small selection of privileged clients whom I think may be interested in it.”

 

“Well thank you, Mr, Mayhew.” Lettice replies with satisfaction. “I’m most grateful you did. I think this will do nicely for Gerald.”

 

“But wait, Miss Chetwynd. I do have one more volume to show you.” He holds up a very large buff coloured volume before handing it to Lettice. “It’s not marked, but this is a volume of Art Nouveau jewellery from Paris.”

 

Lettice gasps as she turns the pages of the volume in her lap as the sinuous, feminine lines of art nouveau appear in image after image in the shape of combs and pins, necklaces, cufflinks, brooches, cravat pins, hairpins, bracelets, hatpins and tiaras: fabulous creations made of gold, silver and platinum, studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mr. Mayhew smiles and nods as he looks at Lettice’s transfixed face.

 

“For all his love of modernity, Gerald does have a rather silly soft spot for Art Nouveau.” Lettice utters.

 

“Then might I recommend that volume, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Mr. Mayhew, yet again you never cease to amaze me with what you have within your shop. I think you have just found me, the perfect birthday gift for Gerald.”

 

“Splendid, Miss Chetwynd! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew claps. “I’ll return the others then.”

 

As he begins gather up the books, Lettice adds, “I’ll take the German catalogue too.” She smiles. “It seems a shame for it to remain hidden away. I’ll give it to Gerald for Christmas!”

 

“Very good, Miss Chetwynd.” the old bookseller acknowledges.

 

As he returns from having put the other two volumes back on the shelves from where they came, Mr. Mayhew asks Lettice, “By the way, Miss Chetwynd, I meant to ask you how your young aspiring architect liked the volume of John Nash’s architectural drawings you bought him?”

 

Lettice’s face, so bright and flushed with colour, suddenly drains and falls.

 

“Oh dear!” Mr, Mayhew gasps, putting his pudgy fingers to his mouth. “Did I just drop a social briquette, my dear Miss Chetwynd?”

 

Quickly recovering herself, Lettice blusters with false joviality, “No! No, Mr. Mayhew! Not at all!”

 

“However?” the old man asks, indicating for Lettice to go on with her unspoken statement.

 

“Well,” Lettice continues. “It’s just, I don’t actually know whether he liked it or not.” Remembering the book wrapped up gaily in bright paper and decorated with a satin ribbon left abandoned on her seat at the Savoy, she continues, “Things didn’t quite eventuate the way we’d planned for my friend’s birthday. He had to leave England quite unexpectedly, and I didn’t see him that night.” She pauses. “He… he’s gone to Durban for a year or so.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Mayhew exclaims, shocked by her statement, knowing what he does about Lettice’s attachment to Selwyn. “But he will be back, Miss Chetwynd?” He returns to his seat behind the desk and reaches for his pipe. Striking a match, he lights it and puffs away with concern on it as he looks to Lettice.

 

Lettice doesn’t reply straight away, watching the bookseller looking her earnestly in the face, awaiting a response. “I hope so.” When Mr. Mayhew’s face falls, she quickly adds, “Of course! Of course he will return, Mr. Mayhew! Of course!” She cannot countenance losing her steely resolve and breaking down in tears in Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop.

 

Sensing Lettice’s unhappiness and awkwardness, Mr. Mayhew quickly pipes up, “Well, you can give it to him when he returns, Miss Chetwynd.” He begins fumbling through the pile of books he had been cataloguing before Lettice’s arrival. “That’s the good thing about books,” he says as he rifles through the marbleised volumes with leather spines. “Unlike cakes and chocolate, they will keep.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice breathes, sighing with relief at Mr. Mayhew’s perceptiveness and kindness. “You’re quite right.”

 

“Aha!” Mr. Mayhew withdraws a volume from the pile. “Here it is.” He hands it to Lettice. “Have you ever read this?”

 

“Jane Eyre.” Lettice reads from the gilded letters on the spine. “No, Mr. Mayhew. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by the Brontë sisters.”

 

“Tut-tut, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Mayhew admonishes her teasingly. “You don’t know what literary treasures you have been missing out on all these years of your young life. Start with Miss Eyre. Take it from me as a gift.” He smiles.

 

“Oh, but Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice exclaims.

 

“Take it!” he sweeps her protestations aside. “I have plenty of other volumes of it on my shelves. It was just part of this lot, and I wanted it for the seven 1811 volumes of The History of Charles Grandison*******************.”

 

“But Mr. Mayhew…”

 

“You’ll be doing me a favour, Miss Chetwynd.” he assures her. “Really you will.”

 

Lettice turns the pretty volume over in her hands.

 

“Besides, I think you may just find Miss Eyre to be a little bit of an inspiration for you, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“How so, Mr, Mayhew?”

 

“Well, Jane Eyre came to know a lot about the vicissitudes of life.”

 

*A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.

 

**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.

 

***John Nash (18 January 1752 – 13 May 1835) was one of the foremost British architects of the Georgian and Regency eras, during which he was responsible for the design, in the neoclassical and picturesque styles, of many important areas of London. His designs were financed by the Prince Regent and by the era's most successful property developer, James Burton. Nash also collaborated extensively with Burton's son, Decimus Burton.

 

****The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

*****British and Irish country house contents auctions are usually held on site at the country house, and have been used to raise funds for their owners, usually before selling the house and estate. Such auctions include the sale of high quality antique paintings, furniture, objets d'art, tapestries, books, and other household items. Whilst auctions of estates was nothing new, by 1924 when this story is set, the sun was already setting on the glory days of the country house, and landed gentry who were asset rich but cash poor began selling off properties and their contents to pay for increased rates of income tax and death duties.

 

******In Shakespeare’s Richard III, after killing her first husband, Richard pursues Lady Anne, charming her and wearing her down until the mourning widow finally agrees to may him, only to discover that his charms are all a farce, and that in reality, he despises her, and thinks of her as mothing more than a trophy won, and to them be discarded. She opines to Queen Elizabeth:

“Even in so short a space, my woman's heart

Grossly grew captive to his honey words

And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,

Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;

For never yet one hour in his bed

Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,

But have been waked by his timorous dreams.”

 

*******Vellum is prepared animal skin or membrane, typically used as writing material. It is often distinguished from parchment, either by being made from calfskin, or simply by being of a higher quality. Vellum is prepared for writing and printing on single pages, scrolls, and codices.

 

********Stowe House is a grade I listed country house in Stowe, Buckinghamshire, England. It is the home of the private Stowe School and is owned by the Stowe House Preservation Trust. Over the years, it has been restored and maintained as one of the finest country houses in the UK. Stowe House is regularly open to the public. The house is the result of four main periods of development. Between 1677 and 1683, the architect William Cleare was commissioned by Sir Richard Temple to build the central block of the house. This building was four floors high, including the basement and attics and thirteen bays in length. From the 1720s to 1733, under Viscount Cobham, additions to the house included the Ionic North colonnaded portico by Sir John Vanburgh, as well as the re-building of the north, east and west fronts. The exterior of the house has not been significantly changed since 1779, although in the first decade of the Nineteenth Century, the Egyptian Hall was added beneath the North Portico as a secondary entrance. The house contained not one but three major libraries. Held by the aristocratic Grenville-Temple family since 1677, Reverend Luis C.F.T. Morgan-Grenville inherited Stowe House from his brother Richard G. Morgan-Grenville who died fighting at Ploegsteert Wood during the Great War in 1914. The Reverend sold Stowe House and most of its contents in 1921. The second Great Sale in October 1921, in which 3,700 lots were sold by Jackson-Stop Auctioneers.

 

*********Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

**********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

************Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759 – 1840), was a painter and botanist from Belgium, known for his watercolours of roses, lilies and other flowers at the Château de Malmaison, many of which were published as large coloured stipple engravings. He was nicknamed "the Raphael of flowers" and has been called the greatest botanical illustrator of all time

 

************Stipple engraving is a technique perfected by Pierre Joseph Redouté which helped him reproduce his botanical illustrations. The medium involved engraving a copper plate with a dense grid of dots that could be modulated to convey delicate gradations of colour. Because the ink rested on the paper in miniscule dots, it did not obscure the “light” of the paper beneath the colour. After the complicated printing process was complete, the prints were hand finished in watercolour to conform to the models Redouté provided.

 

*************Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) was a German polymath and writer, who is widely regarded as the greatest and most influential writer in the German language. His work has had a profound and wide-ranging influence on Western literary, political, and philosophical thought from the late Eighteenth Century to the present day. Goethe was a German poet, playwright, novelist, scientist, statesman, theatre director, and critic. His works include plays, poetry and aesthetic criticism, as well as treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour.

 

*************Following the torpedoing and subsequent sinking of the British Cunard passenger liner RSM Lusitania by a German submarine (U-boat) in 1915, resulting in the loss of 1,195 deaths including many women and children, there was a wave of anti-German sentiment throughout Britain. Mobs of angry people stormed through the streets of British cities, hurling bricks through the windows of shops and restaurants with German sounding names, stealing merchandise in some cases, setting fires in others. Hotels refused rooms to people with Germanic names like Muller or Schultz, even when they could produce documents proving their British citizenship. Homes were ransacked and people driven from them, cars were vandalised, music by Mozart, Strauss and other German composers banned, German books destroyed, bottles of German Mosel smashed and according to more than one report of the day – a few mentally deficient patriots did their bit for the cause by chasing poor dachshunds down the street kicking them, or killing them!

 

***************Chromolithography is a method for making multi-colour prints. This type of colour printing stemmed from the process of lithography, and includes all types of lithography that are printed in colour. When chromolithography is used to reproduce photographs, the term photochrome is frequently used.

 

****************Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.

 

*****************A tippet is a piece of clothing worn over the shoulders in the shape of a scarf or cape. Tippets evolved in the fourteenth century from long sleeves and typically had one end hanging down to the knees. By the 1920s, tippets were usually made of fox, mink or other types of fur.

 

******************A leg-o’-mutton sleeve (also known in French as the gigot sleeve) was initially named due to its unusual shape: formed from a voluminous gathering of fabric at the upper arm that tapers to a tight fit from the elbow to the wrist. First seen in fashionable dress in the 1820s, the sleeve became popular between approximately 1825 and 1833 – but by the time Queen Victoria ascended to the throne in 1837, the overblown sleeves had completely disappeared in favour of a more subdued style. The trend returned in the 1890s, with sleeves growing in size – much to the ridicule of the media – until 1906 when the mode once again changed.

 

*******************The History of Sir Charles Grandison, commonly called Sir Charles Grandison, is an epistolary novel by English writer Samuel Richardson first published in February 1753. The book was a response to Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, which parodied the morals presented in Richardson's previous novels.

 

This dark, cosy and slightly cluttered bookshop may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

All the books that you see lining the shelves of Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are all the books you see both open and closed on Mr. Mayhew’s desk. 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. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside five of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume and the others, the books contain dozens of double sided pages of images and writing. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. For example, published in 1917, “Revue des Chapeaux” (the book at the front on the right) reviews in brilliant pictorial detail, millinery styles between 1913 and 1917. The pages shown in my photo may be seen photographed from the actual book and uploaded to Flickr in these two links: here ( www.flickr.com/photos/taffeta/7062767671/in/album-7215762... ) and here ( www.flickr.com/photos/taffeta/7062758273/in/album-7215762... ). The other books are also real books, including the catalogue of historical ladies’ shoes from 1812, the French book of Art Nouveau jewellery and metalwork design, the jacket catalogue from a Berlin manufacturer and the copy of Les Roses (1824) by Pierre-Joseph Redouté in the background to the upper left-hand corner of the photograph. 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. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just a few of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

Also on the desk beneath the books are some old papers and a desk calendar which I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The photos you can see in the background, all of which are all real photos, are 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 aspidistra in the blue jardiniere that can just be seen to the right of the fireplace in the background, the pipe and pipe stand, and the map also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

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.

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

 

Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid’s, parents live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. Whilst far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, the Harlesden terrace has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her brother, Bert.

 

Whilst Edith made a wonderful impression when she met Mrs. McTavish, her young beau Frank Leadbetter’s grandmother, less can be said for Frank who whilst pleasing George, rubbed Ada the wrong way at the Sunday roast lunch Edith organised with her parents to meet Frank. Ever since then, Frank has been filled with remorse for speaking his mind a little more freely than he ought to have in front of Edith’s mother. Finally, Edith hit upon a possible solution to their problem, which is to introduce Mrs. McTavish to George and Ada. Being a kind old lady who makes lace, Edith and Frank both hope that Mrs. McTavish will be able to impress upon Ada what a nice young man Frank is, in spite of his more forward-thinking ideas, which jar with Ada’s ways of thinking, and assure her how happy he makes Edith. After careful planning, today is the day that George and Ada will meet Mrs. McTavish, over a Sunday lunch served in the Watsford’s kitchen.

 

The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has an especially comfortable and welcoming feeling about it, just as Edith had hoped for. Ada has once again pulled out one of her best tablecloths which now adorns the round kitchen table, hiding its worn surface and the best blue and white china and gilded dinner service is being used today. At Edith’s request, because Mrs. McTavish’s teeth are too brittle to manage a roast chicken for lunch, Ada has cooked a rich and flavoursome beef stew to which she has added some of her large suet dumplings: a suitably delicious meal that is soft enough for the old Scottish lady to consume even with her weak teeth. Now the main course is over, and everyone has had their fill.

 

“Well, I hope you have all had sufficient to eat.” Ada announces, pushing her Windsor chair back across the flagstones and standing up from at her white linen draped kitchen table.

 

“Och!” exclaims Mrs. McTavish. “I’ve had plenty, thank you Mrs. Watsford.” She rubs her belly contentedly. “Thank you for cooking something I could manage with my old teeth.”

 

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. McTavish,” Ada says with a warm smile. “My family enjoy my hearty beef stews, so it was no hardship to serve it.”

 

“Well your suet dumplings are lovely and soft, Mrs. Watsford.” the Scotswoman croons in her rolling brogue. “If you’d be willing to share the recipe, I’d like to try and make them for myself at home.”

 

“Yes, of course, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada enthuses, pleased to be able to share one of her many wonderful recipes, as she has done over the years with her daughter as she has grown up.

 

“That was a fine Sunday tea, Ada.” acknowledges her husband as he tops up his and Frank’s glasses with stout from the glazed brown pottery jug on the table.

 

“Why thank you, love.” Ada replies, blushing at the compliment as she runs her clammy hands down the front of her dress, a small outward display of nervousness known only to her family.

 

“Possibly one of your best yet, love.” George adds in an assuring fashion, noticing his wife’s action and recognising its symbolism.

 

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Watsford,” agrees Frank politely. “It was a delicious lunch, and more than enough for me. Thanks ever so!”

 

“Oh I hope you’ll have room for some of my cherry pie, Frank,” Ada says. “Edith told me you liked it so much the first time you had it here, that I made it for you again.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I can squeeze in a slice, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her.

 

“Thank you Mum.” smiles Edith up at her mother.

 

Edith is so grateful to her mother for all her efforts for the day. Not only was Ada easily convinced of the idea of meeting Frank’s grandmother, Mrs. McTavish, but that she readily agreed to hosting a Sunday lunch for her and produced a fine repast. Edith had helped her mother polish the silver cutlery on her Wednesday off, so it was sparkling as it sat alongside Ada’s best plates and glasses. To top it all off, Frank has bought a bunch of beautifully bright flowers on route from collecting his grandmother from her home in Upton Park to the Watsford’s home in Harlesden. Now they stood in the middle of the table in a glass bottle that serves as a good vase, a perfect centrepiece for Ada’s Sunday best table setting.

 

“Well!” Ada remarks in reply to her company’s satisfied commentary, picking up the now warm enough to touch deep pottery dish containing what little remains of her stew. “I think we might let tea settle down first and then we’ll have some pudding. What do you all say?”

 

Everyone readily agrees.

 

“Alright gentleman,” Ada addresses her husband and Frank, seated next to one another. “You have enough time for a smoke then, before I serve cherry pie. I’ll just pop it in the oven to warm.”

 

“Thanks awfully, Mrs. Watsford, but I don’t smoke.” Frank quickly explains.

 

“Ahh, but I do, Frank my lad.” pipes up George. He stands up and walks behind his wife and reaches up to the high shelf running along the top of the kitchen range and fetches down a small tin of tobacco and a pipe. “Come on, let’s you and I step out into the courtyard for a chat, man-to-man.”

 

“Dad!” Edith exclaims, looking aghast at her father. “Don’t!”

 

“Don’t worry Edith love, I don’t need to ask young Frank here’s intentions.” George chortles, his eyes glittering mischievously beneath his bushy eyebrows. “It’s quite clear he’s mad about you.”

 

“Dad!” Edith gasps again as both she and Frank blush deeply.

 

“That he is,” Mrs. McTavish agrees, reaching across to her grandson and pinching his left cheek as he sinks his head down in embarrassment. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, my bonny bairn: no mistake.” She smiles indulgently. “Get along with you now Francis!”

 

“Oh Gran!” murmurs Frank self-consciously. “How many timed must I say, I’m Frank now, not Francis.”

 

“Och! Nonsense!” the old Scottish woman says sharply, slapping her grandson’s forearm lightly. “You’ll always be Francis to me, my little bairn!”

 

“Come on Frank my lad,” George encourages the younger man, patting him gently on the back in a friendly way. He picks up his glass of stout. “Let’s leave our womenfolk to chat, and they call you what they like and we’ll be none the wiser for it.”

 

As George, followed by a somewhat reluctant Frank casting doleful looks at Edith, walk out the back door into the rear garden, Ada says, “Edith love, would you mind clearing the table, whilst I set the table for pudding.”

 

“Yes of course, Mum!” Edith replies, leaping into action by pushing back her ladderback chair.

 

“I’m pleased to see you make your husband go outside to smoke, Mrs. Watsford.” the old Scottish woman remarks with a satisfied smile. “I don’t approve of men smoking indoors.” she adds crisply.

 

“No, something told me that I didn’t think you would, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada replies with a bemused smile, not admitting that George usually smokes his pipe in the kitchen after every meal. She and her husband had agreed the night before as they both sat by the kitchen range warming their feet, Ada darning one of George’s socks and George puffing on his pipe pleasantly, that perhaps to give the very best first impression, George should smoke outside in the back garden whilst Mrs. McTavish was visiting.

 

“ ’Nyree’, my husband used to say to me. ‘Nyree, why don’t you let me smoke indoors like other wives let their husbands do?’ I’d always say that Mither* never let Faither** smoke his pipe in the house, so why should I let him?” She nods emphatically.

 

“Nyree,” Ada remarks, turning around from the oven where she has just put her cherry pie, stacked with ripe, juicy berries to warm. “That’s a pretty Scottish name.”

 

“Och,” chuckles Mrs. McTavish. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Watsford, but it’s quite literally as far removed from Scottish as you can get.”

 

“Where does it come from then, Mrs. McTavish?” Ada puts her hands on her hips. “It sounds so lovely.”

 

“Well, my family were fishing people going back many generations, and Faither was a seaman, and he sailed to places far further than the Hebrides*** that took him from home for months at a time when I was a wee bairn. Just before I was born, he came back from what was then the newly formed Colony of New Zealand****. He met some of the local islanders who were struck by his blonde hair. Apparently, they were all dark skinned and had dark hair, so they found him rather fascinating to look at.” She chuckles. “The story he told me years later was that they called him ‘Ngaire’, which he was told by some of his shipmates, who knew more about the natives of the colony, on the return voyage that it meant ‘flaxen’. Some of them told him that they named their own blonde daughters Nyree after the name ‘Ngaire’. So, when I was born, I had blonde hair, if you can believe that now.” She gently pats her carefully set white hair that sweeps out from underneath her old fashioned lace embroidered cap in the style of her youth. “So Faither told Mither that I should be called Nyree. So, Nyree I was.”

 

“What a lovely story, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith remarks, gathering the lunch plates together.

 

“Thank you, Edith dearie. Now, what can I do to help, besides telling old stories?” asks Mrs. McTavish with a groan as she leans her wrists on the edge of the table and starts to push herself somewhat awkwardly out of her chair.

 

“You don’t have to do anything, Mrs. McTavish,” Ada assures her, encouraging the older Scottish woman to resume her seat with a settling gesture. “You are our guest. Edith and I are very used to working together around this old kitchen of ours, aren’t we love?”

 

“Yes Mum.” Edith agrees, gathering up the dinner plates into a stack, scraping any remnants of stew and dumplings onto the top plate using the cutlery as she gathers it.

 

“You’re a good lass, dearie, helping your mam like that.” Mrs. McTavish opines as she settles back comfortably into the well-worn chair usually sat in by George and Ada’s son, Bert.

 

“Oh not really, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith replies dismissively. “Any daughter would help her mum.”

 

“Och, not just any lass, bairn. There are plenty I know of, up round my way, especially those who are domestics like you, who won’t lift a finger unless they have to on their days off. Slovenly creatures!”

 

“Well, I agree with you, Mrs. McTavish. I think that’s very lazy of them, not to mention thoughtless. We all ought to do our bit. Mum made a lovely lunch for us, so it’s only right that I should help tidy up. I’ll help wash the dishes properly later, Mum,” Edith addresses her mother. “I’ll just rinse them and stack them by sink for now.”

 

“Thanks Edith love.” Ada replies gratefully. As she puts out some of her best blue and white floral china cups she addresses Mrs. McTavish. “Yes, Edith’s a good girl, even if she does use fancy words now.” She glances at her daughter. “Lunch rather than tea.” She shakes her head but smiles lovingly. “What next I ask you?” she snorts derisively.

 

“Mum!” Edith utters with an exasperated sigh but is then silenced by her mother’s raised careworn hand.

 

“And her dad and I are very proud of her, Mrs. McTavish.”

 

“Now, thinking of Edith and being proud of your bairns,” Mrs. McTavish starts. “When Edith and Francis came to visit me at Upton Park the other week to suggest this lovely gathering of our two clans, such as they are,” She clears her throat with a growl and speaks a little louder and more strongly. “They told me, Mrs. Watsford, that you and your husband were a bit concerned about some of Francis’ more,” She pauses whilst she tries to think of the right word to use. “Radical, ideas.”

 

“Mrs. McTavish!” Edith exclaims, spinning around from the trough where she is rinsing the dishes, her eyes wide with fear as to what the old Scottish woman is about to say.

 

“Now, now, my lass!” The old Scottish woman holds up her gnarled hands with their elongated fingers in defence before reaching about herself and adjusting the beautiful lace shawl draped over her shoulders that she made herself when she was younger. “I won’t have any secrets between your mam and me if we’re to be friends, which I do hope we will be.” She turns in her seat and addresses Ada as the younger woman puts out the glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid that Edith bought for her from the Caledonian Markets*****. “When your Edith and my Francis came to visit me at home, and broached the subject of me coming here for tea, they suggested that I might be a calming voice that would soothe your disquiet about my Francis and his more unusual ideas.”

 

“Did they indeed?” Ada asks with pursed lips and a cocked eyebrow, looking at her daughter’s back as she stands at the trough, dutifully rinsing dishes with such diligence that she doesn’t have to turn around and face her mother.

 

“Now, don’t be cross with them, Mrs. Watsford.” Mrs. McTavish reaches out her left hand and grasps Ada’s right in it, starting the younger woman as much by the intimate gesture she wasn’t expecting as by how cold the older woman’s hand is. “You mustn’t blame them.” She turns and looks with affection at Edith’s back. “They are young, and in love after all. When your bràmair***** is perceived less than favourably by the other’s mam or da, you can hardly blame them for wanting to smooth the waves of concern, can you?”

 

“Well, I don’t know if I approve of them telling you what my feelings are about your grandson behind my back.” Ada folds her arms akimbo.

 

“Ahh, now Mrs. Watsford,” Mrs. McTavish says soothingly. “You were young and in love once too. Don’t deny it!” She wags her finger at Ada. “I believe you met Mr. Watsford at a parish picnic.”

 

“Yes, we both worship at All Souls****** and met at a picnic in Roundwood Park*******.” Ada smiles fondly at the memory of her in her flouncy Sunday best dress and George in a smart suit and derby sitting on the lush green lawns of the park.

 

“And no doubt if your mam or da was set against Mr. Watsford, you would have done anything to convince them otherwise.” Mrs. McTavish continues.

 

“Well, I didn’t have to. George was, and still is, a model of a husband.” Ada counters quickly.

 

“That may well be true, Mrs. Watsford, and I’m happy for you.” The old Scotswoman pauses. “But you would have, if he had been less that the perfect specimen of husband that he is.” She cocks a white eyebrow as she looks earnestly at Edith’s mother.

 

“Yes, I suppose I would have, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada concedes with a sigh.

 

“So, I have come today to plead my grandson’s case with you.” Mrs. McTavish announces plainly.

 

“I’d hardly call your son’s attitudes a case that requires pleading before me, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada scoffs in surprise at the old woman’s words.

 

“Well, you’ll forgive me for seeing things from a different perspective, Mrs. Watsford.” the Scotswoman elucidates. “For you see, from where I am sitting, it seems to me that Mr. Watsford quite likes Francis. They both have a common enjoyment of reading books, even if my Francis likes reading more serious books than the murder mysteries your husband prefers. You on the other hand are judge and jury, sitting in judgement of my Francis’ ideas because they are at odds to your own.”

 

“I think I see where he gets some of his outspokenness, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada remarks before turning away from her guest at picking up a blue and white floral milk jug from the great Welsh dresser behind her.

 

“Aye. I’ll not deny it, Mrs. Watsford. His parents, my husband and I all taught Francis to speak his mind and not be afraid to do so. I suppose we all come across a little bit abrasively as a clan to some, but we all have,” She pauses and smiles sadly. “Or rather, had, quite strong personalities and opinions about things. We all believed in free speech, so long as it is respectful. Now, Francis’ faither was the one who really encouraged him to look beyond his place in life though. He was a costermonger******** down in Covent Garden, but he always wanted to provide a better life for his wife and son. If ever he was sick, just like if his wife, my daughter, Mairi,” she clarifies. “Or I were sick, we couldn’t earn a shilling. I taught Mairi to sew lace like me, but all we ever got was piecemeal work, and it’s still the same for me today. Anyway, Francis’ faither taught his son to look for more stable work with someone else and then to save his pennies and perhaps one day own his own shop, rather than be a costermonger with a cart on the streets like him. And that is why Francis is always looking to improve himself. He’s looking for an opportunity to provide a good and steady income and a good life for your Edith.”

 

Edith turns back from rinsing the dishes and holding her breath watches the two other women in the kitchen: Mrs. McTavish, pale and wrinkled wrapped up in a froth of handmade lace and her mother standing over her, a thoughtful look on her face as she listens.

 

“Well,” Ada remarks after a few moments of deliberation. “I do find your grandson’s desire to improve himself admirable, even if my own aspirations don’t stretch to such lofty heights as his own. George and I are quite comfortable and happy with our lot.”

 

“But…” Mrs. McTavish prompts.

 

“But I find some of his ideas… disconcerting.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Such as his talking of our class being on their way up, and the upper classes coming down. Forgive me for saying it, Mrs. McTavish, but he does sound a little bit like one of those revolutionaries that we read about in the newspapers who overthrew the king of Russia back in 1918.”

 

“Och!” chortles the old Scotswoman. “My Francis is no revolutionary, I assure you. He may have his opinion, but he’s not a radical and angry young man who feels badly done by, by his social betters. He may lack some refinement when explaining what he believes, especially when he is excited and passionate about something, which he usually is.” She sighs. “But he just wants things to be bit better for him and your Edith, and for their bairns if God chooses to bless them with wee little ones.” She looks earnestly at Ada again. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want the same thing for your bairns, Mrs. Watsford, when you were younger and full of dreams?”

 

“Well of course George and I want the very best for Edith and Bert.” Ada admits. “I just have a different way of explaining it, and going about it, Mrs. McTavish.”

 

“These are different times, Mrs. Watsford.” Mrs. McTavish says matter-of-factly. “The world has just gone through the most terrible war we have ever known. Those who are left and didn’t pay the ultimate sacrifice expect, no deserve, better for fighting for King and country. We cannot deny them that wish, nor condemn them for having it. They deserve a better world in which to live, surely? If not, why did they fight?”

 

“Well, I cannot deny that.” Ada admits with a sniff. “All those poor young men we sent off, bright faced and excited, never to return.”

 

“Well then.” smiles Mrs. McTavish. “Although my grandson was too young to enlist, he, like you, Edith and I, is a survivor of the war on the home front, and it shaped our lives. Who can blame Francis for not wanting better in the aftermath of war?” She looks into Ada’s thought filled face. “Tell me, Mrs. Watsford. Do you think Edith has good sense?”

 

“Of course I do, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada retorts. “My Edith has a good head on her shoulders.”

 

“I’m glad you think so, Mrs. Watsford.” Mrs. McTavish replies. She turns her attentions to Edith, who still stands silently, leaning against the trough sink observing the interaction between her mother and Frank’s grandmother. “What do you think, Edith dearie?”

 

“Me?” Edith asks.

 

“Yes, you.” Mrs. McTavish says strongly. “Don’t you want and strive for more? Don’t you want a better life for you and my grandson?”

 

“Oh yes, Mrs. McTavish. I worked hard to get the position with Miss Lettice. She’s a much nicer mistress than wither old Widow Hounslow or Mrs. Plaistow were. I get better pay, and better working conditions. I think Frank is right. There are more possibilities in the world now, although we do have to work hard for them.”

 

“Well said, Edith dearie.” Mrs. McTavish agrees, turning back to Ada. “So you see Mrs. Watsford. I think that your Edith and my Francis are well matched. They both want a better life for themselves. They’ll do better working together than making valiant efforts separately. Francis may be a little headstrong sometimes, but Edith will keep him grounded.”

 

Ada remains silent, deep in thought at her companion’s argument.

 

“Well, have a pleaded my grandson’s case, Mrs. Watsford?” the old Scottish woman asks.

 

Just then, the kitchen door opens and George and Frank walk noisily back into the kitchen, chuckling amiably over a shared joke, comfortable in one another’s company.

 

“I say Ada!” George exclaims. “That cherry pie of yours smells delicious, love. Is it about ready for eating, do you suppose?”

 

“Yes, I think it’s just about ready.” Ada agrees. “Edith love, will you fetch the jug of cream from the pantry for me, please?”

 

“Yes Mum!” Edith replies as she goes to the narrow pantry door and peers inside for her mother’s garland trimmed jug.

 

“So, who is going to have the biggest slice of my cherry pie?” Ada asks as she places the pie on the table amidst her best china.

 

“I think that right goes to me, as head of the Watsford household.” pipes up George with confidence.

 

“I say, Mr. Watsford,” retorts Frank. “That isn’t very fair. Just because you’re head of the house, doesn’t mean you are automatically entitled to the biggest share of the pie.”

 

“That’s a rather radical thought, young Frank.” laughs George good-naturedly. “I’m not sure if I approve of it, though.”

 

“Who should get the biggest slice then, my bairn?” his grandmother asks.

 

“Oh you know my answer, Gran.” Frank replies. “I shouldn’t need to tell you.”

 

“Yes, but tell the others, dearie. They don’t know you quite as well as I. State your case as to who should get the biggest portion.”

 

“Yes,” encourages Ada. “Tell us, Frank. Who do you think should get the biggest slice of the pie?”

 

Frank looks at Ada as she stands, poised with the kitchen knife in her hand, ready to cut through the magnificent cherry pie full of ripe and colourful berries, edged with a golden crust of pastry. “Why you of course, Mrs. Watsford.” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re the one who made it for all of us. You deserve the biggest share for all your hard work.”

 

Ada considers the bright eyed young man sitting at her table. “I like your thinking, Frank.” she says at length with a smile as she cuts into the steaming pie before her.

 

*Mither is an old fashioned Scottish word for mother.

 

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

 

***The Hebrides is an archipelago comprising hundreds of islands off the northwest coast of Scotland. Divided into the Inner and Outer Hebrides groups, they are home to rugged landscapes, fishing villages and remote Gaelic-speaking communities.

 

****What we know today as New Zealand was once the Colony of New Zealand. It was a Crown colony of the British Empire that encompassed the islands of New Zealand from 1841 to 1907. The power of the British Government was vested in the governor of New Zealand. The colony had three successive capitals: Okiato (or Old Russell) in 1841; Auckland from 1841 to 1865; and Wellington, which became the capital during the colony's reorganisation into a Dominion, and continues as the capital of New Zealand today. During the early years of British settlement, the governor had wide-ranging powers. The colony was granted self-government with the passage of the New Zealand Constitution Act 1852. The first parliament was elected in 1853, and responsible government was established in 1856. The governor was required to act on the advice of his ministers, who were responsible to the parliament. In 1907, the colony became the Dominion of New Zealand, which heralded a more explicit recognition of self-government within the British Empire.

 

*****The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.

 

*****Bràmair in Gaelic is commonly used as a term for girlfriend, boyfriend or sweetheart.

 

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

 

*******Roundwood Park takes its name from Roundwood House, an Elizabethan-style mansion built in Harlesden for Lord Decies in around 1836. In 1892 Willesden Local Board, conscious of a need for a recreation ground in expanding Harlesden, started the process of buying the land for what is now Roundwood Park. Roundwood Park was built in 1893, designed by Oliver Claude Robson. He was allocated nine thousand pounds to lay out the park. He put in five miles of drains, and planted an additional fourteen and a half thousand trees and shrubs. This took quite a long time as he used local unemployed labour for this work in preference to contractors. Mr. Robson had been the Surveyor of the Willesden Local Board since 1875. As an engineer, he was responsible for many major works in Willesden including sewerage and roads. The fine main gates and railings were made in 1895 by Messrs. Tickner & Partington at theVulcan Works, Harrow Road, Kensal Rise. An elegant lodge house was built to house the gardener; greenhouses erected to supply new flowers, and paths constructed, running upward to the focal point-an elegant bandstand on the top of the hill. The redbrick lodge was in the Victorian Elizabethan style, with ornamented chimney-breasts. It is currently occupied by council employees although the green houses have been demolished. For many years Roundwood Park was home to the Willesden Show. Owners of pets of many types, flowers and vegetables, and even 'bonny babies' would compete for prizes in large canvas tents. Art and crafts were shown, and demonstrations of dog-handling, sheep-shearing, parachuting and trick motorcycling given.

 

********A costermonger is a person who traditionally sells fruit and vegetables outside from a cart rather than in a shop.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the table the is a cherry tart made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The blue and white crockery on the table I have bought as individual from several online sellers on E-Bay. I imagine that whole sets were once sold, but now I can only find them piecemeal. The cutlery I bought as a teenager from a high street dollhouse suppliers. The pottery ale jug comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in England. The glass of ale comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The cottage ware teapot in the foreground was made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics. The vase of flowers came from a 1:12 miniatures stockist on E-Bay. The tablecloth is actually a piece of an old worn sheet that was destined for the dustbin.

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are a tin of Macfie’s Finest Black Treacle, two jars of P.C. Flett and Company jam, a tin of Heinz marinated apricots, a jar of Marmite, some Bisto gravy powder, some Ty-Phoo tea and a jar of S.P.C. peaches. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, except the jar of S.P.C. peaches which comes from Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom. All of them have great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans.

 

Robert Andrew Macfie sugar refiner was the first person to use the term term Golden Syrup in 1840, a product made by his factory, the Macfie sugar refinery, in Liverpool. He also produced black treacle.

 

P.C. Flett and Company was established in Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands by Peter Copeland Flett. He had inherited a small family owned ironmongers in Albert Street Kirkwall, which he inherited from his maternal family. He had a shed in the back of the shop where he made ginger ale, lemonade, jams and preserves from local produce. By the 1920s they had an office in Liverpool, and travelling representatives selling jams and preserves around Great Britain. I am not sure when the business ceased trading.

 

The American based Heinz food processing company, famous for its Baked Beans, 57 varieties of soups and tinend spaghetti opened a factory in Harlesden in 1919, providing a great deal of employment for the locals who were not already employed at McVitie and Price.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.

 

S.P.C. is an Australian brand that still exists to this day. In 1917 a group of fruit growers in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley decided to form a cooperative which they named the Shepperton Fruit Preserving Company. The company began operations in February 1918, canning pears, peaches and nectarines under the brand name of S.P.C. On the 31st of January 1918 the manager of the Shepparton Fruit Preserving Company announced that canning would begin on the following Tuesday and that the operation would require one hundred and fifty girls or women and thirty men. In the wake of the Great War, it was hoped that “the launch of this new industry must revive drooping energies” and improve the economic circumstances of the region. The company began to pay annual bonuses to grower-shareholders by 1929, and the plant was updated and expanded. The success of S.P.C. was inextricably linked with the progress of the town and the wider Goulburn Valley region. In 1936 the company packed twelve million cans and was the largest fruit cannery in the British empire. Through the Second World War the company boomed. The product range was expanded to include additional fruits, jam, baked beans and tinned spaghetti and production reached more than forty-three million cans a year in the 1970s. From financial difficulties caused by the 1980s recession, SPC returned once more to profitability, merging with Ardmona and buying rival company Henry Jones IXL. S.P.C. was acquired by Coca Cola Amatil in 2005 and in 2019 sold to a private equity group known as Shepparton Partners Collective.

 

The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

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 recently visited her family home, Glynes, in Wiltshire after fleeing London in a moment of deep despair. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice to celebrate his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.

 

Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she stayed for a week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father fed her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up. However, rather than assuage her broken heart, her father’s ministrations only served to make matters worse as she grew even more morose. It was from the most unlikely of candidates, her mother Lady Sadie, with whom Lettice has always had a fraught relationship, that Lettice received the best advice, which was to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life: keep designing interiors, keep shopping and most importantly, keep attending social functions where there are plenty of press photographers. “You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn,” Lady Sadie said wisely. ‘But Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him. They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him that you share through the newspaper men. Tell them that you are waiting patiently for Selwyn’s return.”

 

Since then, Lettice has been trying to follow her mother’s advice and has thrown herself into the merry dance of London’s social round of dinners, dances and balls in the lead up to the festive season. Carefully heeding another piece of her mother’s advice, she has avoided being seen on the arm of any eligible young men, and just as Lady Sadie predicted, the press has been lapping up the story of Lettice’s broken heart as she shuns the advances of other young men whilst she awaits Selwyn’s eventual return from Durban, publishing the details in all their tabloids with fervour.

 

Today we are not at Cavendish Mews. Instead, we are just a short distance away in Knightsbridge on London’s busy shopping thoroughfare of the Brompton Road, where amidst the throng of London’s middle-class housewives and upper-class ladies shopping for amusement, Lettice is trying to throw herself enthusiastically into Christmas shopping with her best friend, Margot Channon, visiting Harrods**. The usually busy footpath outside the enormous department store with its famous terracotta façade seems even busier today as the crowds are swelled by visitors who have come in from the outer suburbs of London and elsewhere around England to join Lettice and Margot and do a spot of their own Christmas shopping. Around them, the vociferous collective chatter of shoppers mixes with the sound of noisy automobiles, chugging double decker busses and the occasional clop of horses hooves as they all trundle along the Brompton Road.

 

The two smartly dressed ladies enter London’s most expensive and grand department store, and following Lettice’s lead, they make their way upstairs to the toy department on Harrod’s top floor. The pair meander between tables laden with mountains of boxed dolls, teddy bears, toy tea sets and dolls’ house furnishings, jostling for space with excited children in toy heaven escorted by their frazzled nannies, or in a few cases, their distracted parents. Fleets of child sized tricycles, rocking horses, railway engines and pedal automobiles stand in line before the counters, their doll and teddy bear passengers awaiting their child drivers. Dolls houses with peaked roofs and beautiful gingerbreading stand open, displaying their tastefully decorated interiors for every passing girl to look at, admire and envy, whilst stacks of the latest sporting toys and equipment are ogled and pawed at by little boys. The air is punctuated with laughter, squeals of delight and the occasional sharp slap and harsh words of admonishment when a child does more than just look at what is on display.

 

“Even the most well-bred children become little monsters at Christmas time.” mutters Margot irritably as two giggling children in smart coats and hats tear past her, their hurried footsteps absorbed into the thick plush of patterned Art Nouveau carpet beneath their feet. “Not that I was of course. My nanny would have been dismissed immediately if I behaved in public the way some of these children are.”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply, but walks alongside her friend, looking absently at a selection of brightly decorated smiling golliwogs sitting on a three-tier display stand.

 

“You know what, Lettice darling?” Margot asks, picking up on a thread of conversation the two friends had begun as they looked through the windows of Harrods along the Brompton Road a few minutes before.

 

“What Margot?” Lettice asks rather distractedly as her gaze moves from the golliwogs to several plush toy poodles standing in front of a wonderful, fully rigged wooden sailboat.

 

“I may not be a great fan of Sadie,” Margot admits. “She’s difficult, exacting and far too critical of you as her daughter.”

 

Margot looks thoughtfully at Lettice, who appears somewhat diminished as she walks alongside her best friend, almost swimming in her familiar powder blue three-quarter length coat, her pale and wan face lacking its usual colour as she peers out from above her thick arctic fox fur stole wrapped around her. Even her smart hat, another millinery creation from her wonderful Putney discovery Harriet Milford, appears bigger on her today, and Margot notices that Lettice’s blonde hair, freshly set in soft Marcelle waves*** around her face, appears lacklustre in spite of her visit to the coiffeur.

 

“But,” Lettice asks, tentatively, pausing and looking at her friend dressed in a smart russet outfit of a three quarter length coat and matching hat, accessorised by a beautiful red squirrel stole.

 

“But what, Lettice darling?”

 

“Your sentence Margot. Don’t be coy, or worse obtuse,” Lettice tuts, looking her friend squarely in the face. “You may not be a fan of Sadie, but?”

 

“Well,” Margot says with a guilty lilt. “For once I jolly well agree with your mother.”

 

“You do?”

 

“I do!” admits Margot. “I think she was right to pack you off back here to London. It’s the only place you will get your shine back.” Margot pauses before adding. “You are looking a little peaky, my dear, if you will forgive me for saying.”

 

“I will, Margot darling. It’s a rare occurrence for Mater to ever insist I return to London.” Lettice snorts as they continue to slowly traverse the aisle lined with every conceivable toy and populated with a mass of wriggling and writhing excitable children. “Usually, it’s the other way around! Why must I come back to this big, horrible city when everything I could possibly need is right on my doorstep in dull old Wiltshire.”

 

“Moping about Glynes for too long would just have exacerbated your feelings of sadness.” Margot goes on. “Especially with your dear Pappa pandering to you.”

 

“Have you been talking to Mater about me?” Lettice asks in surprise, stopping in her tracks.

 

“No!” laughs Margot, looking back at her friend’s surprised face. “What a preposterous idea! We don’t even like one another! Why on earth would you ask that?”

 

“You’ll laugh when I tell you this,” explains Lettice. “But she intimated the exact same thing to me whilst I was staying down at Glynes.”

 

True to Lettice’s prediction, Margot does laugh. “Well, Sadie may lack empathy, but when it comes to matchmaking, it seems that she does have some common sense and knowledge.”

 

“So, you don’t think I’m foolish for doing what Mater suggested?”

 

“For getting on with things, or trying to at any rate?” Margot asks. “Good heavens, no! Why? Who has been saying you’re foolish for coming back to London?”

 

“When I arrived home, Cilla telephoned me and invited me to dine at the Langbourne Club****.”

 

“Humph!” opines Margot. “You’d think with her newly minted American millionaire husband, Cilla could find a new club to be a member of: somewhere more fitting than Fishmonger Hall Street to entertain you over luncheon.”

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Lettice brightens for a moment. “I rather enjoyed having tea and cucumber sandwiches surrounded by the working women of London.”

 

“Cilla would be wise to bury the fact that at one stage she and her mother were in such an impecunious position that she took up a secretarial course and worked in the city office of banker, just to keep the wolves away from the door.” mutters Margot bitterly. “Which she lied to all of us, her friends, about by saying it was a social experiment to aid her understanding of the conditions of working women in the city so she could help improve them.”

 

“Now, don’t be cruel, Margot.” Lettice chides her best friend mildly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

 

“But it’s true! Cilla lied to us all. I thought we were all friends.”

 

“We are, Margot darling.”

 

“But she lied to us, Lettice.”

 

“Only to save face, Margot darling. You know what that’s like. We all do.” Lettice soothes. “Anyway, you’re hardly a one to talk of impecunious circumstances when you think of some of the financial scraps you and Dickie have been in since you were married.” She cocks a knowing eyebrow. “We all know that he might be the future Marquess of Taunton, but he hasn’t a bean.”

 

“That’s besides the point, Lettice darling!” deflects Margot. “Anyway, what did Cilla have to say whilst you were luncheoning on soggy cucumber sandwiches and lukewarm milky tea with views of the Pool of London*****?”

 

“She thinks I’m silly to keep designing interiors and shopping and worse still for attending social functions, especially those where there are lots of photographers and reporters, whom she has noticed me talking to at length.”

 

“That’s because Cilla is a foolish girl who only ever reads silly romance novels and the social pages of the newspapers.” snaps Margot. “Now that she has her wealthy husband, and her future is secure, she thinks of little else.”

 

“I must confess,” Lettice admits guiltily. “I mean, I wasn’t really in the mood for her chatter anyway, but it was most awfully trying, listening to her prattle on about how wonderful life is, now that she’s Mrs. Georgie Carter.”

 

“It just goes to show you how thoughtless she is to talk like that around you when she knows of your heartbreak every bit as much as I do. It’s heartless and unthinking!”

 

“Never mind Margot darling. It’s done now. There’s no need to get cross over it.”

 

Seeming not to hear her friend, Margot continues, “She is just as self-obsessed as the heroines in those ridiculous romances she reads.” She casts her eyes up to the ornate white painted plaster cornicing above. “I’m glad I managed to introduce some alternatives to your reading repertoire.”

 

“Oh yes,” Lettice sparks up momentarily again. “I did enjoy ‘Whose Body?’******. Miss Sayers’ character of Lord Peter Wimsey is simply wonderful!”

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Lettice darling!” purrs Margot with delight, seeing a welcome spark in her friend’s blue eyes and a tentative smile on her pale lips. “And to see you enthusiastic about something for a change. In spite of your most valiant efforts to be gay and put on a brave face, I cannot help but notice how farouche******* you have been since you came back from Wiltshire. Now, thinking of Glynes, I think Sadie’s suggestion that we get you in front of as many flashing camera bulbs and reporters desperate to report on your perceived ill-fated wait for Selwyn was pure genius!”

 

“Margot!”

 

“I know! I don’t imagine you ever thought you’d hear me say that about Sadie, but she genuinely is right. If you can’t communicate with Selwyn because Lady Zinnia forbids it, then let the newspapers do it for you. If they report on your pining for him, he’ll find out about it soon enough. Even if he doesn’t read the society pages, other people of his acquaintance in Durban will, and they will pop any mention of him in front of his very nose. You and I both know that when our names or pictures appear, everyone clamours to ask us whether we’ve seen ourselves in the society pages.”

 

“As if we hadn’t.” scoffs Lettice, rolling her eyes.

 

“As if we hadn’t.” agrees Margot with an affirmative nod. “No! Ignore silly Cilla, her judgement and her feeble ideas. Let’s do what your mother suggests and keep you out and about.” Margot looks rather nervously at a display of rather ghoulish looking French bisque dolls stacked to her left. “Thinking of which, why did you want to come to Harrod’s toy department anyway? Being surrounded by all these children,” A piercing scream from a little boy or girl pierces the air, making Margot cringe. “Really is most disturbing.”

 

“Well, it is getting towards Christmas, and I don’t have anything for my nice and nephew.” Lettice admits. “I’ve been too preoccupied with, well with other things, as you know.” she adds guiltily.

 

“You don’t have to justify your distractedness to me, Lettice, darling!” Margot links arms comfortingly with her best friend. “You know perfectly well that I understand and support you.”

 

“Thank you Margot, you really are a brick.” Sighs Lettice.

 

“That’s more like my Lettice of old.” Margot smiles. “Now, do you have any idea what your niece and nephew want from Father Christmas this year? The sooner we are out of here, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“Do you think you’ll feel any differently about children, once you have your own, Margot darling?”

 

“Now don’t you start!” Margot snaps as she points a glove clad finger warningly at her friend.

 

“What did I say, Margot darling?”

 

“Oh, nothing.” Margot replies, deflating as quickly as she arced up. “I’m sorry, Lettice darling. Forgive me?”

 

“Of course, dear Margot, but whatever has happened to make you snap like that?”

 

“It’s just my awful mother-in-law the Marchioness is all.”

 

“Is she pressing you about starting a family again?”

 

“Again?” Margot laughs scornfully. “She never stops, even to draw breath. She tells me at every opportunity,”

 

“Which thankfully isn’t too many.” Lettice grasps her friend’s hands with her own glove encased ones.

 

“Thankfully no.” Margot agrees. “She tells me constantly that it’s my duty as a wife, and a Channon, to ensure the succession of the title by producing an heir. It isn’t as if,” She lowers her voice to a barely perceptible whisper as she moves her head close to Lettice’s. “Dickie and I haven’t been trying. We have. It just doesn’t seem to be happening. Unlike the Marchioness perceives, I’m not a clock that runs smoothly day in and day out.”

 

“Of course you aren’t, Margot darling.” Lettice assures her friend as tears start to well up in Margot’s eyes. “It will all happen, when time intends.”

 

A young girl nearby reaches up towards a teddy bear, and when she cannot reach it, her face turns from pale pink to red and then purple as she bellows loudly in protest with tears cascading down her fat cheeks.

 

“And when I do, I intend to give it to our nanny to take care of until it is at least of age.” Margot replies with disgust as she stares with open hostility at the crying child as a nanny in a grey cape and pillbox hat sweeps her up in her arms. “Filthy little beasts that children are.”

 

Lettice laughs at the combination of her best friend’s remark and look of repugnance.

 

“Come along Margot darling. Let’s keep going.”

 

Lettice comes to a halt before a glass fronted counter laden with such an array of wonderful toys and garlanded with festive tinsel******** that you can barely see it beneath all the festive cheer. Teddy bears of differing sizes jostle for space with a marvellous faerie tale castle upon which stand several painted lead and wooden soldiers. Two beautifully painted lead knights prepare to joust before its drawbridge entrance. Stacks of colourful bricks showing letters of the alphabet stand next to rocking wooden toys, whilst various games perch between them all.

 

“What are you thinking of?” Margot asks, looking at all the toys, before reaching out and giving a little model railway engine with red and grey livery and shiny brass workings a gentle nudge that projects it slightly further along the edge of the counter.

 

“Well,” Lettice begins. “I bought Harrold some jousting knights for Christmas last year. Lally said that between she and Charles posing as Father Christmas, Pappa and me, he ended up with a very fine collection.”

 

“So you think you might like to add to it?” Margot ventures as she gingerly picks up a knight in silver armour on horseback wearing cobalt blue livery.

 

“No,” Lettice says in a rather distracted fashion as she glances across the counter. “I don’t think I will this year. He has enough lead soldiers and knights.”

 

“Does any boy have enough lead soldiers and knights?” Margot laughs in rhetorical reply as she replaces the knight back onto the glassy surface of the counter.

 

“No, you’re right, dear Margot. But I was thinking I might buy him this.”

 

Lettice picks up a brightly decorated game box before her and holds it out to her best friend.

 

“The Wonderful Game of Oz*********,” Margot reads aloud, scruitinising the cover which features Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion and the Tin Man on it, with the Emerald City sparkling in the background.

 

“I bought Harrold ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’********** and ‘The Land of Oz’ for his birthday, and Lally said that he just devoured them. He adored all the characters. I thought that now Annabelle is a bit older, brother and sister could probably play this companionably together, at least for a little while, and give Lally and Nanny a small amount of respite.”

 

“That sounds promising, Lettice darling.”

 

“I thought so.”

 

“May I help you, ladies?” asks a young male assistant who has slipped up silently to the counter as Lettice and Margot have been chatting.

 

“Aside from clearing the department of every single child under the age of eighteen,” Margot remarks, handing the clean shaven young man in Harrods livery the game box. “You might wrap this up for us.”

 

“Very good, madam.” he replies obsequiously.

 

“And don’t stray too far,” Margot adds. “We aren’t quite done yet.”

 

“Of course, madam,” the shop assistant agrees with a differential nod before retreating to wrap the box.

 

“Thank you,” Lettice says to her friend.

 

“And for your niece?” Margot asks.

 

“Well, after I gave her a big teddy bear like this one, last year,” Lettice tugs on the paw of a beautiful big buff coloured mohair bear. “I have heard nothing from Annabelle but how very much she wants me to give her a bear this year.” She picks up a pretty toffee coloured bear with black glass eyes and a sweet face with a vermilion bow about his neck. “So I think that’s an easy choice.”

 

Margot considers the bear in her friend’s hands. “He is sweet.” she remarks.

 

“Yes, he does have a rather lovely face.” Lettice agrees. “Oh, and ever since she discovered Rupert Bear*********** in her father’s ‘Daily Express’ she has been obsessed by him.” She picks up a pretty and colourful box decorated with Rupert bear rambling across the idyllic English countryside towards his home in Nutwood. “So perhaps this as well.”

 

“My goodness Lettice!” remarks Margot. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so decisive when it comes to shopping before.”

 

“Well,” admits Lettice, glancing awkwardly around her. “I must confess that being surrounded by all these noisy and rambunctious children is rather unnerving.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.” replies Margot with a shudder.

 

“I don’t mind my own niece and nephew, in small doses, but all these excitable children really are too, too tiresome.”

 

“We’ll get these packaged up then, and we’ll go and take tea in the Georgian Restaurant************. Then we can talk more privately, and without a single child in sight, about your plans to keep Selwyn close to your heart, even if he is far away. What do you say, Lettice darling?”

 

“I think that sounds perfect, Margot darling!” Lettice sighs, smiling genuinely at her dear friend.

 

*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

**Harrods is a department store located on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge, London. It is owned by Harrods Ltd. In 1824, at the age of twenty-five, Charles Henry Harrod established a business at 228 Borough High Street in Southwark. He ran this business, variously listed as a draper, mercer, and a haberdasher, until at least 1831. His first grocery business appears to be as 'Harrod & Co. Grocers' at 163 Upper Whitecross Street, Clerkenwell, in 1832. In 1834, in London's East End, he established a wholesale grocery in Stepney at 4 Cable Street with a special interest in tea. Attempting to capitalise on trade during the Great Exhibition of 1851 in nearby Hyde Park, in 1849 Harrod took over a small shop in the district of Brompton, on the site of the current store. Beginning in a single room employing two assistants and a messenger boy, Harrod's son Charles Digby Harrod built the business into a thriving retail operation selling medicines, perfumes, stationery, fruits and vegetables. Harrods rapidly expanded, acquired the adjoining buildings, and employed one hundred people by 1881. However, the store's booming fortunes were reversed in early December 1883, when it burnt to the ground. Remarkably, Charles Harrod fulfilled all of his commitments to his customers to make Christmas deliveries that year—and made a record profit in the process. Begun in 1894, the present building with its famous terracotta façade was completed to the design of architect Charles William Stephens. The same year Harrods extended credit for the first time to its best customers, among them Oscar Wilde, Lillie Langtry, Ellen Terry, Charlie Chaplin, Noël Coward, Gertrude Lawrence, Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, Sigmund Freud, A. A. Milne, and many members of the British Royal Family. Beatrix Potter frequented the store from the age of seventeen. First published in 1902, her children’s book, ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’, was soon on sale in Harrods, accompanied by the world's first licensed character, a Peter Rabbit soft toy (Peter and toys of other Potter characters appeared in Harrods catalogues from 1910). In 1921, Milne bought the 18-inch Alpha Farnell teddy bear from the store for his son Christopher Robin Milne who would name it Edward, then Winnie, becoming the basis for Winnie-the-Pooh. On 16 November 1898, Harrods debuted England's first "moving staircase" (escalator) in their Brompton Road stores; the device was actually a woven leather conveyor belt-like unit with a mahogany and "silver plate-glass" balustrade. Nervous customers were offered brandy at the top to revive them after their 'ordeal'.

 

***Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.

 

****Langbourne Club on Fishmonger Hall Street, provided a place where women who worked in the city could lunch and meet. Less luxurious than some of the West End clubs for women, it still offered companionship and comfort, particularly for single women working in offices who lived in bedsits and boarding houses. The club was entered from Fishmonger Hall Street, a narrow lane leading out of Upper Thames Street just west of London Bridge. Next door was the great facade of Fishmongers' Hall. Progressively, members of the Langbourne Club were allowed to invite their male friends to luncheon. There were organisations within the club which dealt with dances, musical and dramatic societies.

 

*****The Pool of London is a stretch of the River Thames from London Bridge to below Limehouse.

 

******Whose Body? is a 1923 mystery novel by English crime writer and poet Dorothy L. Sayers. It was her debut novel, and the book in which she introduced the character of Lord Peter Wimsey.

 

*******Farouche is an old fashioned term for someone who is sullen or shy when in company.

 

********One of the most famous Christmas decorations that people love to use at Christmas is tinsel. You might think that using it is an old tradition and that people in Britain have been adorning their houses with tinsel for a very long time. However that is not actually true. Tinsel is in fact believed to be quite a modern tradition. Whilst the idea of tinsel dates back to Germany in 1610 when wealthy people used real strands of silver to adorn their Christmas trees (also a German invention). Silver was very expensive though, so being able to do this was a sign that you were wealthy. Even though silver looked beautiful and sparkly to begin with, it tarnished quite quickly, meaning it would lose its lovely, bright appearance. Therefore it was swapped for other materials like copper and tin. These metals were also cheaper, so it meant that more people could use them. However, when the Great War started in 1914, metals like copper were needed for the war. Because of this, they couldn't be used for Christmas decorations as much, so a substitute was needed. It was swapped for aluminium, but this was a fire hazard, so it was switched for lead, but that turned out to be poisonous.

 

*********’The Wonderful Game of Oz’ was just one of the many pieces of promotional merchandise that was produced after the great success of the Oz series of books written by L. Frank Baum. Based on the books and characters, the game board and pieces are based on the John. R. Neil book illustrations. John. R. Neil illustrated all the Oz books except ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ which was illustrated by W. W. Denslow. In the game, you make your way through Oz, from Munchkinland to the Emarald City. It was published by Parker Brothers in Salem Massachusetts in 1921.

 

**********‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ is based on whimsical stories he told his children, Lyman Frank Baum’s book is known as the first American faerie tale. Following the adventures of Kansas girl Dorothy Gale and her friends the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion across the Land of Oz, ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ was just the first of fourteen Oz books written by L. Frank Baum. Originally published somewhat reluctantly, the book is now one of the best-known stories in American literature and has been widely translated into any number of languages. It led not only to further books but to successful Broadway shows, silent films and of course the MGM movie musical, ‘The Wizard of Oz’ in 1939 starring Judy Garland as Dorothy.

 

***********Rupert Bear is a British children's comic strip character and franchise created by artist Mary Tourtel and first appearing in the ‘Daily Express’ newspaper on the 8th of November 1920. Rupert's initial purpose was to win sales from the rival ‘Daily Mail’ and ‘Daily Mirror’. In 1935, the stories were taken over by Alfred Bestall, who was previously an illustrator for Punch and other glossy magazines. Alfred proved to be successful in the field of children's literature and worked on Rupert stories and artwork into his nineties. More recently, various other artists and writers have continued the series. About fifty million copies have been sold worldwide. Rupert is a bear who lives with his parents in a house in Nutwood, a fictional idyllic English village. He is drawn wearing a red jumper and bright yellow checked trousers, with matching yellow scarf. Originally depicted as a brown bear, his colour soon changed to white to save on printing costs, though he remained brown on the covers of the annuals.

 

************The Georgian Restaurant is a stalwart of Harrods Department Store, originally located on the top floor. Harry Gordon Selfridge was the founder of cafes and restaurants in department stores. His idea was that a restaurant or café dedicated strictly to the female clientele of a department store made the establishment a safe place where ladies could shop and socialise “unmolested”. Moreover, restaurants such as Harrods Georgian Restaurant served as a haven for ladies, tired of shopping, to stop and take light refreshments, before then continuing on with their shopping expedition, thus spending more money within the store. It worked wonderfully for Selfridges on Oxford Street and the idea was quickly taken up and replicated in all the major department stores of London.

 

This festive toyshop full of a wonderful array of toys may seem real to you, but it is in fact made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The toys on the countertop come from various different suppliers. The teddy bears, the coloured blocks with letters on them, the dualling medieval knights on horseback, the rocking toy, the rocking horse, the little steam railway engine, the castle and the soldiers on them all came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. ‘The Wonderful Game of Oz’, ‘Father Tuck’s Plays in Fairyland’ and the ‘Teddy Bear Game’ are all 1:12 artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. ‘Father Tuck’s Plays in Fairyland’ even has authentic cut outs found in the original box inside! The box with Rupert the bear on it comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

On the shelves in the background, the teddy bears, toy soldiers Noah’s Ark and animals, dolls, wooden pull toys and drum all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The little wooden trains and carriages I have acquired from various miniatures stockists over many years. The ‘Blow Football’ game is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The garlands on both the counter and the shelves behind come from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The wood and glass display cabinet buried beneath the toys and Christmas garlanding I obtained from a seller of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

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

 

Today however, Lettice is far from Cavendish Mews, back in Wiltshire where she is staying 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 and his wife. The current Viscount has summoned his daughter home, along with his bohemian artist younger sister Eglantyne, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews.

 

Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Gladys’ request that she redecorate her niece and ward, Phoebe’s, small Bloomsbury flat. Phoebe, upon coming of age inherited the flat, which had belonged to her parents, Reginald and Marjorie Chambers, who died out in India when Phoebe was still a little girl. The flat was held in trust by Lady Gladys until her ward came of age. When Phoebe decided to pursue a career in garden design and was accepted by a school in London closely associated with the Royal Society, she started living part time in the flat. Lady Gladys felt that it was too old fashioned and outdated in its appointment for a young girl like Phoebe. When Lady Gladys arranged for Lettice to inspect the flat, Lettice quickly became aware of Lady Gladys’ ulterior motives as she overrode the rather mousy Pheobe and instructed Lettice to redecorate everything to her own instructions and taste, whist eradicating any traces of Pheobe’s parents. Reluctantly, Lettice commenced on the commission which is nearing its completion. However, when Pheobe came to visit the flat whilst Lettice was there, and with a little coercion, Pheobe shared what she really felt about the redecoration of her parent’s home, things came to a head. Desperately wanting to express herself independently, Pheobe hoped living at the flat she would finally be able to get out from underneath the domineering influence of her aunt. Yet now the flat is simply another extension of Lady Glady’s wishes, and the elements of her parents that Pheobe adored have been appropriated by Lady Gladys. Determined to undo the wrong she has done by Pheobe by agreeing to all of Lady Glady’s wishes, in a moment of energizing anger, Lettice decided to confront Lady Gladys. However unperturbed by Lettice’s appearance, Lady Gladys advised that she was bound by the contract she had signed to complete the work to Gladys’ satisfaction, not Phoebe’s.

 

Thus, Viscount Wrexham has contrived a war cabinet meeting in the comfortable surrounds of the Glynes library with Lettice and Eglantyne to see if between them they can work out a way to untangle Lettice from Lady Gladys’ contract, or at least undo the damage done to Pheobe by way of Lettice’s redecoration of the flat.

 

Being early autumn, the library at Glynes is filled with light, yet a fire crackles contentedly in the grate of the great Georgian stone fireplace to keep the cooler temperatures of the season at bay. The space smells comfortingly of old books and woodsmoke. The walls of the long room are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, full thousands of volumes on so many subjects. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows facing out to the front of the house burnishes the polished parquetry floors in a ghostly way. Viscount Wrexham sits at his Chippendale desk, with his daughter sitting opposite him on the other side of it, whilst Eglantyne, a tall, willowy figure and always too restless to sit for too long, stands at her brother’s shoulder as the trio discuss the current state of affairs.

 

“So is what Gladys says, correct, Lettice?” the Viscount bristles from his seat behind his Chippendale desk as he lifts a gilt edged Art Nouveau decorated cup of hot tea to his lips. “Did you sign a contract?”

 

“Well yes of course I did, Pappa!” Lettice defends, cradling her own cup in her hands, admiring the beautifully executed stylised blue Art Nouveau flowers on it. “You told me that there should be a formal contract in place ever since I had that spot of unpleasantness with the Duchess of Whitby when she was reluctant to pay her account in full after I had finished decorating her Fitzrovia first-floor reception room.”

 

“And I take it, our lawyers haven’t perused it?” he asks as he replaces the cup in its saucer on the desk’s surface.

 

“No Pappa.” Lettice replies, fiddling with the hem of her silk cord French blue cardigan. “Should they have?”

 

The Viscount sucks in a deep breath audibly, his heckles arcing up.

 

“Cosmo.” his sister says calmingly, standing at his side, placing one of her heavily bejewelled hands on his shoulder, lightly digging her elegantly long yet gnarled fingers into the fabric of his tweed jacket and pressing hard.

 

The Viscount releases a gasp. He looks down upon the book he had been pleasurably reading before he summoned both his sister and daughter to his domain of the Glynes library, a copy of Padraic Colum’s* ‘The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles’** illustrated by Willy Pognay, and focuses on it like an anchor to manage the temper roiling within him. Trying very hard to suppress his frustration and keep it out of his steady modulation, the Viscount replies, “Yes my girl,” He sighs again. “Preferably you should have any contracts drawn up by our lawyers, and then signed by a client: not the other way around. And if it does happen to be the other way around, our lawyers should give it a thorough going over before you sign it.”

 

“But a contract is a contract, Pappa, surely?” Lettice retorts before taking another sip of tea.

 

The Viscount’s breathing grows more laboured as his face grows as red as the cover of ‘The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles’ on the tooled leather surface of the desk before him.

 

“Cosmo.” Eglantine says again, before looking up and catching her niece’s eye and tries to warn her of the thunderstorm of frustration and anger that is about to burst from the Viscount by giving her an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

 

The Viscount continues to breathe in a considered and deliberate way as he tries to continue, his deep voice somewhat strangulated by his effort not to slam his fists on the desktop and yell at his daughter. “A contact varies, Lettice. It depends on who has written it as to what clauses are contained inside, such as Gladys’ condition that she is to be completely satisfied with the outcome of the redecoration, or she may forfeit any unpaid tradesmen’s bills, not to mention your own. You should have read it thoroughly before you signed it.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice lowers her head and looks down dolefully into her lap.

 

The Viscount turns sharply in his Chippendale chair, withdrawing his shoulder from beneath his sister’s grounding grasp with an irritable shake and glares at his sister through angry, bloodshot eyes. When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, except when she decides the henna it, and she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck.

 

“I place the blame for this situation solely at your feet, Eglantyne!” the Viscount barks at his sister.

 

“Me!” Eglantyne laughs in incredulity. “Me! Don’t be so preposterous, Cosmo.” She grasps at one of the many strings of highly faceted, winking bugle beads that cascade down the front of her usual choice of frock, a Delphos dress***, this one of silver silk painted with stylised orange poppies on long, flowing green stalks. “I call that most unfair!” she complains. “I’m not responsible for Gladys’ lawyers, or their filthy binding contract.”

 

“No, but you’re responsible for introducing Lettice to that infernal woman!” the Viscount blasts. “Bloody female romance novelist!”

 

“Language!” Eglantyne quips.

 

“Oh, fie my language!” the Viscount retorts angrily. “And fie you, Eglantyne!”

 

Always being her elder brother’s favourite of all his siblings, and therefore usually forgiven of any mistakes and transgressions she has made in the past as a bohemian artist, and very seldom falling into his bad books, Eglantine is struck by the forcefulness of his anger. Even though she is well aware of his bombastic temper, it is easier to deal with when it is directed to someone or something else. This unusual situation with his annoyance being squarely aimed at her leaves her feeling flustered and sick.

 

“Me? I… I didn’t know that… that Gladys was vying to get Lettice… before her so… so.. so she could ask her to redecorate her ward’s flat, Cosmo!” Eglantyne splutters. “How… how could I know?”

 

“Coerced is more like it!” Cosmo snaps in retort. “And you must have had some inkling, surely! You were always good at reading people and situations: far better than I ever was!”

 

“Well, I didn’t, Cosmo!” Eglantine snaps back, determined not to let her brother get the upper hand on her and blame her for something she rightly considers far beyond her control. “I mean, all I was doing was trying my best to get Lettice out of her funk over losing Selwyn.” She turns quickly to Lettice and looks at her with apologetic eyes. “Sorry my dear.” Returning her attention to her brother, she continues, “I didn’t want her wallowing in her own grief, something you were only too happy to indulge her in whilst she was staying here at Glynes with you!” She tuts. “Feeding her butter shortbreads and mollycoddling her. What good was there in doing that?”

 

“She was staying with Lally.” the Viscount mutters through gritted teeth.

 

“Same thing really.” Eglantine says breezily. “Like father like daughter. Lettice needed something to restore her spark, and quiet walks in the Buckinghamshire countryside weren’t going do that. I knew that Gladys enjoyed being surrounded by London’s Bright Young Things****, and she had spoken to me about Lettice’s interior designs.”

 

“Aha!” the Viscount crows. “So, you did know she had designs on Lettice!”

 

“If you’d kindly let me finish, Cosmo.” Eglantyne continues in an indignant tone.

 

The Viscount huffs and lets his shoulders lower a little as he gesticulates with a sweeping gesture across his desk towards his sister for Eglantine to continue.

 

“What I was going to say was that Gladys telephoned me and asked me about Lettice’s interior designs after she read that article by Henry Tipping***** in Country Life******, which you and Sadie, and probably half the country read. How could I know from that innocuous enquiry that Gladys would engage Lettice in this unpleasant commission? She simply telephoned me at just the right time, so I orchestrated with Gladys for Lettice and the Channons to go and stay at Gossington.” She folds her arms akimbo. “Lettice was stagnating, and that is not good for her. As I said before, she needed to have her creativity sparked. I thought it would do Lettice good to be amongst the bright and spirited company of a coterie of young and artistic people, and I wasn’t wrong, was I Lettice?”

 

Startled to suddenly be introduced into the heated conversation between her father and aunt about her, Lettice stammers, “Well… yes. It was a very gay house party, and I did also receive the commission from Sir John Nettleford-Huges for Mr. and Mrs. Gifford at Arkwright Bury, Pappa.”

 

“That old lecher.” the Viscount spits.

 

“Sadie doesn’t think so,” Eglantyne remarks with a superior air, a smug smile curling up the corners of her lips. “She seemed to think he’d be a good match for Lettice two years ago at her ludicrous matchmaking Hunt Ball.”

 

“Now don’t you start on Sadie, Eglantyne.” the Viscount warns with a wagging finger, the ruby in the signet ring on his little finger winking angrily in the light of the library, reflecting its wearer’s fit of pique. “I’m in no mood for your usual acerbic pokes at Sadie.”

 

“Sir John is actually quite nice, Pappa.” Lettice pipes up quickly in an effort to defuse the situation between her father and aunt. “Once you get to know him.” she adds rather lamely when her father glares at her with a look that suggests that she may have lost all her senses. She hurriedly adds, “And that’s gone swimmingly, Pappa, and as a result, Henry Tipping has promised me another feature article on my interior designs there in Country Life.”

 

“There!” Eglantyne says with satisfaction, sweeping her arm out expansively towards her niece, making the mixture of gold, silver, Bakelite******* and bead bracelets and bangles jangle. “See Cosmo, it’s not all bad news. An excellent commission right here in Wiltshire that guarantees positive promotion of Lettice’s interior designs in a prestigious periodical.”

 

“Well, be that as it may,” the Viscount grumbles. “You are still responsible for dismissing Lettice’s justified concerns about Gladys and her rather Machiavellian plans to redecorate her ward’s flat to her own designs and hold Lettice to account for it. You told me that you aired your concerns with your aunt, Lettice. Isn’t that so?”

 

Lettice nods, looking guiltily at her favourite aunt, fearing disappointment in the older woman’s eyes as she does.

 

“Well,” Eglantyne concedes with a sigh. “I cannot deny that Lettice did raise her concerns with me when we had luncheon together, but her concerns did not appear justified at the time.”

 

Ignoring Eglantyne’s last remark, the Viscount continues, addressing his daughter, “And that was before she commenced on this rather fraught commission wasn’t it?”

 

“Well Pappa, as I told you, I had already agreed in principle to accept Gladys’ commission at Gossington. Gladys is a little hard to refuse.”

 

“Bombastic!” the Viscount opines.

 

“Pot: kettle: black.” Eglantyne pipes up, placing her hands on her silk clad hips.

 

“Don’t test my patience any more, Eglantyne!” the Viscount snaps. He returns his attentions to his daughter. “But you hadn’t signed any contracts at that stage, had you, Lettice?”

 

“Well no, Pappa.” Lettice agrees. “But I think that Gladys was having the contracts drawn up by her lawyers at that time.”

 

“Why didn’t you intervene when Lettice spoke to you, Eglantyne?” the Viscount asks his sister.

 

“Because I didn’t see any cause for alarm, Cosmo.” she replies in her own defence.

 

“But Lettice told you that Gladys coerced her into agreeing to redecorate the flat, didn’t she?”

 

“Well yes,” Eglantyne agrees. “But as I said to Lettice at the time, Gladys wears most people down to her way of thinking in the end. It is a very brave, or stupid, person who challenges Gladys when she has an idea in her head that she is impassioned about.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t think it was a bad thing necessarily, Cosmo. Not only was it not unusual for Gladys to get her way, but at the time, Lettice needed someone to take the lead. Her own initiative was somewhat lacking after all that business with Zinnia shipping Selwyn off to Durban. So, I wasn’t concerned, and I doubt that you would be concerned about it either, were you in my shoes.”

 

“Well I wasn’t.” he argues. “What about Lettice’s other concerns about taking on the commission?” he softens his voice as he addresses his daughter, “What did you say to your aunt again, my dear?”

 

“I said I was concerned that Gladys had ulterior motives, Pappa.” Lettice replies.

 

“Which she did!” the Viscount agrees. “Go on.”

 

“I illuded to the fact that I thought Gladys saw her dead brother and sister-in-law as some kind of threat to her happy life with Phoebe, and she wanted to whitewash them from Phoebe’s life.”

 

“And I suggested to Lettice that that was a grave allegation to make without proof, Cosmo.” Eglantyne explains. “And all she had to back her allegations up were some anecdotal stories, which count for nothing.”

 

“You accused Lettice of overdramatising.” the Viscount says angrily.

 

“I know I did, Cosmo.” Eglantyne admits. “I did assuage Lettice of the concerns she had that Gladys was going to insist on making changes Phoebe or she didn’t like. I admit, I was wrong about that. I assured Lettice that Gladys adores her niece, and whilst in hindsight I may not now use the word adore, I’m still instant that Gladys only wants what she thinks is best for Phoebe. Phoebe is the daughter Gladys never planned to have, but also the child Gladys didn’t know could bring her so much joy and fulfilment in her life, as a parent. And to be fair, Cosmo, if you’d ever met Phoebe, you’d understand why I said what I did.”

 

“Go on.” the Viscount says, cocking his eyebrow over his right eye.

 

“Well Pheobe is such a timid little mouse of a creature. She seldom expresses an opinion.”

 

“That’s because Gladys has been quashing those opinions, Aunt Egg.” Lettice adds.

 

“Well, we know that now, but from the outside looking in, you wouldn’t know that without the intimate knowledge that you have now received from Phoebe, Lettice.”

 

“So what you’re implying Pappa is, that I have to see through the redecoration to Phoebe’s pied-à-terre******** to Gladys’ specifications, even if Pheobe herself doesn’t like them?”

 

“It does appear that way, my dear.” the Viscount concedes.

 

“Even if it is plain that Gladys is bullying her and taking advantage of the situation for her own means?” Lettice asks hopefully.

 

“It’s a sticky situation, my dear.” the Viscount replies consolingly. “I mean, you don’t actually have to go through with it. It isn’t like you need her money. If she doesn’t pay the tradesmen’s bills you’ll be a little out of pocket, but it won’t bankrupt you.”

 

“But,” Eglantyne says warningly. “You do run the risk of Gladys spreading malicious gossip about your business. Whatever Gladys may or may not be, she’s influential.” She sighs deeply. “It would be such a shame to ruin the career you have spent so long building and making a success.”

 

“And your mother wouldn’t fancy the trouble and scandals this poisonous woman could create, either.” adds the Viscount as an afterthought. “Especially when it comes to your marriageability.”

 

“Are you suggesting that Selwyn isn’t going to come back to me, Pappa?” Lettice asks bitterly, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice as colour fills her face and unshed tears threatening to spill fill her eyes.

 

“No,” the Viscount defends. “You know your happiness and security is of the utmost importance to me, Lettice my dear. No, I’m just being a realist. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Zinnia doesn’t have something nasty up her sleeve to spring upon the pair of you, even when he does come back. If there is even the slightest smear on your character, Lettice, she will use that against you. Zinna hasn’t spoken to you since that night, has she?”

 

“No, thank goodness!” Lettice replies.

 

“Well, that may not be such a good thing.” the Viscount goes on. “Zinnia enjoys playing a long game that can inflict more pain.”

 

“Your father speaks the truth, Lettice, and he is wise to be a pragmatist.” Eglantyne remarks sagely.

 

The older woman reaches into the small silver mesh reticule********* dangling from her left wrist and unfastens it. She withdraws her gold and amber cigarette holder and a small, embossed silver case containing her choice of cigarettes, her favourite black and gold Sobranie********** Black Russians. She depresses the clasp of the case and withdraws one of the long, slender cigarettes and screws it adeptly into her holder. She then withdraws a match holder and goes to strike a match.

 

“Must you, Eglantyne?” the Viscount asks. “You know Sadie doesn’t like smoking indoors.”

 

Eglantyne ignores her brother and strikes a match and lights her Sobranie, sucking the end of her cigarette holder, causing the match flame to dance and gutter whilst the paper and tobacco of the cigarette crackles. Whisps of dark grey smoke curl as they escape the corners of her mouth.

 

“I’m in your bad books, Cosmo, so I may as well be in hers too.” she says, sending forth tumbling clouds of acrid smoke. “No-one will deny me my little pleasure in life.” She smiles with gratification as she draws on her holder again. “Not even Sadie. And correction: Sadie only dislikes it when a lady smokes.”

 

“Well, I can’t stop you any more than I seem to be able to stop Gladys from forcing Lettice to decorate this damnable flat the way she wants it, rather than the way Phoebe wants it.” the Viscount replies in a defeated tone.

 

The three fall silent for a short while, with only the heavy ticking of the clock sitting on the library mantle and the crackle of the fire to break the cloying silence.

 

“What about Sir John?” the Viscount suddenly says.

 

“Sir John Nettleford-Hughes?” Eglantyne asks quizzically, blowing forth another cloud of Sobranie smoke.

 

“No, no!” he clarifies with a shake of his head. “Not that Sir John: Sir John Caxton, Gladys’ husband. Surely, we can appeal to him. He wouldn’t want Pheobe to be unhappy.”

 

“He’s completely under Gladys’ thumb***********.” Eglantyne opines.

 

“Aunt Egg is right, Pappa. The day I went to Eaton Square************ to have it out with Gladys, I saw John, and he couldn’t wait to retreat to the safety of his club and leave we two to our own devices. He’s as completely ruled by Gladys as Phoebe is.”

 

“I suppose you could turn this to your advantage and have Phoebe commission you to undo your own redecoration.” the Viscount suggests hopefully.

 

“I don’t think that would work very well, Cosmo.” Eglantyne remarks.

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, I don’t think Gladys would take too kindly to Lettice and Phoebe going behind her back, and we’ve just discussed the difficulties a scorned woman could cause to Lettice’s reputation, both personally and professionally.”

 

“Besides,” Lettice adds. “I don’t think the allowance Phoebe inherits from her father’s estate is terribly large, and I don’t imagine it will be easy as a woman to win any garden design commissions to be able to afford my services.”

 

“There’s Gertude Jekyll*************.” Eglantyne remarks.

 

“Yes, but she has influential connections like Edward Lutyens**************.” Lettice counters. “And as you have noted, Aunt Egg, Phoebe is rather unassuming. She doesn’t know anyone of influence, and wields none of her own. Besides, I’m sure Gladys won’t pay Phoebe to pay me to undo her prescribed redecorations.”

 

“You could always redecorate the pied-à-terre without charge,” the Viscount suggests hopefully.

 

“As recompense for the damage I’ve done redecorating it now, you mean, Pappa?”

 

“In a sense.”

 

“The outcomes would be the same unpleasant ones for Lettice as if Phoebe could afford to commission her to do it, Cosmo.” Eglantyne warns.

 

“Gerald was right.” Lettice mutters.

 

“About what, my dear?” her father asks.

 

“Well, Gerald said that Gladys was very good at weaving sticky spiderwebs, and that I had better watch out that I didn’t become caught in one.” She sighs heavily. “But it appears as if I have become enmeshed in one well and truly.”

 

“Well, however much it displeases me to say this to you Lettice, let this be a lesson to you my girl! In future, make sure that you engage our lawyers to draw up the contracts for you.”

 

“But I didn’t have this contract drawn up, Pappa,” Lettice defends. “Gladys did.”

 

“Well, make sure our lawyers review any contracts created by someone else before you undertake to sign one if future.”

 

Eglantyne stares off into the distance, drawing heavily upon her Sobranie, blowing out plumes of smoke.

 

“So, I’m stuck then.” Lettice says bitterly. “And its my own stupid fault.”

 

Eglantyne’s eyes flit in a desultory fashion about the room, drifting from the many gilt decorated spines on the shelves to the armchairs gathered cosily around the library’s great stone fireplace to the chess table set up to play nearby.

 

“Unless your aunt can come up with something, I’m afraid I don’t see a way out for you, Lettice.” the Viscount says. He then adds kindly, “But I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself, my dear. We all have to learn life’s lessons. Sometimes we just learn them in harder ways.”

 

Eglantyne continues to contemplate the situation her niece finds herself in.

 

“Well, I’ve certainly learned my lesson this time, Pappa.”

 

Eglantyne withdraws the nearly spent Sobranie from her lips, scattering ash upon the dull, worth carpet beneath her mule clad feet. “I may have one idea that might work.”

 

“Really Aunt Egg?” Lettice gasps, clasping her hands together as she does.

 

“Perhaps, Lettice my dear.”

 

“What is it, Eglantyne?” the Viscount asks.

 

“I don’t want to say anything, just in case I can’t pull it off.” Eglantyne contemplates for a moment before continuing. “Just leave this with me for a few days.”

 

*Padraic Colum was an Irish poet, novelist, dramatist, biographer, playwright, children's author and collector of folklore. He was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival.

 

**“The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles” was a novel written by Padraic Colum, illustrated by Hungarian artist Willy Pognay, published by the Macmillan Company in 1921.

 

***The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

****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 Londo

 

*****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

******Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

*******Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, teapot handles, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

********A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

*********A reticule is a woman's small handbag, typically having a drawstring and decorated with embroidery or beading. The term “reticule” comes from French and Latin terms meaning “net.” At the time, the word “purse” referred to small leather pouches used for carrying money, whereas these bags were made of net. By the 1920s they were sometimes made of small heavy metal mesh as well as netting or beaded materials.

 

**********The Balkan Sobranie tobacco business was established in London in 1879 by Albert Weinberg (born in Romania in 1849), whose naturalisation papers dated 1886 confirm his nationality and show that he had emigrated to England in the 1870s at a time when hand-made cigarettes in the eastern European and Russian tradition were becoming fashionable in Europe. Sobranie is one of the oldest cigarette brands in the world. Throughout its existence, Sobranie was marketed as the definition of luxury in the tobacco industry, being adopted as the official provider of many European royal houses and elites around the world including the Imperial Court of Russia and the royal courts of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Spain, Romania, and Greece. Premium brands include the multi-coloured Sobranie Cocktail and the black and gold Sobranie Black Russian.

 

***********The idiom “to be under the thumb”, comes from the action of a falconer holding the leash of the hawk under their thumb to maintain a tight control of the bird. Today the term under the thumb is generally used in a derogatory manner to describe a partner's overbearing control over the other partner's actions.

 

************Eaton Square is a rectangular residential garden square in London's Belgravia district. It is the largest square in London. It is one of the three squares built by the landowning Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the Nineteenth Century that are named after places in Cheshire — in this case Eaton Hall, the Grosvenor country house. It is larger but less grand than the central feature of the district, Belgrave Square, and both larger and grander than Chester Square. The first block was laid out by Thomas Cubitt from 1827. In 2016 it was named as the "Most Expensive Place to Buy Property in Britain", with a full terraced house costing on average seventeen million pounds — many of such town houses have been converted, within the same, protected structures, into upmarket apartments.

 

*************Gertrude Jekyll was a British horticulturist, garden designer, craftswoman, photographer, writer and artist. She created over four handred gardens in the United Kingdom, Europe and the United States, and wrote over one thousand articles for magazines such as Country Life and William Robinson's The Garden. Her first commissioned garden was designed in 1881, and she worked very closely wither her long standing friend, architect Sir Edward Lutyens.

 

**************Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens 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 in the years before the Second World War. He is probably best known for his creation of the Cenotaph war memorial on Whitehall in London after the Great War. Had he not died of cancer in 1944, he probably would have gone on to design more buildings in the post-war era.

 

Cluttered with books and art, Viscount Wrexham’s library with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the Viscount’s library are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are the postcards and the box for them on the Viscount’s Chippendale desk. Most of the books I own that Ken 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, as can be seen on The Times Literary Supplement broadsheet on the Viscount’s desk. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. “The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles” by Padraic Colum, illustrated by Willy Pognay, sitting on the Viscount’s desk is such an example. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really do 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. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles and a blotter on a silver salver all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The silver double frame on the desk also comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables. The bottle of port and the port glasses I acquired from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay. Each glass, the bottle and its faceted stopper are hand blown using real glass.

 

Also on the desk to the left stands a stuffed white owl on a branch beneath a glass cloche. A vintage miniature piece, the foliage are real dried flowers and grasses, whilst the owl is cut from white soapstone. The base is stained wood and the cloche is real glass. This I acquired along with two others featuring shells (one of which can be seen in the background) from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The teapot and teacups, featuring stylised Art Nouveau patterns were acquired from an online stockist of dolls’ house miniatures in Australia.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The beautiful rotating globe in the background features a British Imperial view of the world, with all of Britain’s colonies in pink (as can be seen from Canada), as it would have been in 1921. The globe sits on metal casters in a mahogany stained frame, and it can be rolled effortlessly. It comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables in Lancashire. The silver double frame on the desk also comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables.

 

In the background you can see the book lined shelves of Viscount Wrexham’s as well as a Victorian painting of cattle in a gold frame from Amber’s Miniatures in America, and a hand painted ginger jar from Thailand 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.

Goal:

To create a Series Graphic piece conveying generosity, fullness, and giving.

 

Audience:

The churched and unchurched

 

Direction:

I hand drew the letters and ferns out and I wanted something that would get across to the onlooker that generosity wasn't just about giving but that it is a heart issue. I also wanted to draw a parallel between seeds and our resources (time, money, and talents) to show that sowing those things takes time and it is an investment into someone we can trust: God.

 

Any feedback and comments are welcome!

 

Check out my new website:

www.andstud.io

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

 

Today however we have headed slightly west from Mayfair, across Hyde Park to Kensington Gardens, where on a bench along the path overlooking the Serpentine, not too far from the statue of Peter Pan* stands, Lettice’s maid Edith and her best friend and fellow maid, Hilda, are sitting, knitting in the early afternoon sun. Edith and Hilda met when they worked as under house maids in the Pimlico household of industrialist Mr. Plaistow and his wife. The two girls used to share a room together, up under the eaves of the grand Regency terrace house. When Edith left Mrs. Plaistow to work for Lettice she felt badly for her friend, not being able to bring her with her, but subsequently Edith helped Hilda to leave Pimlico by arranging for Hilda to become the live-in maid for Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon, who live just a stone’s throw from Lettice’s Cavendish Mews flat in Hill Street.

 

Today is Sunday, a day that both ladies have free from their domestic duties to attend church and perhaps visit their families or enjoy themselves in the afternoon before returning to their jobs at four o’clock. Edith is stepping out with Frank Leadbetter, the young grocery delivery boy and sometimes window dresser of Mr. Willison’s Grocery in Binney Street, Mayfair. When Edith and Frank are not spending time together as a young courting couple, it is not unknown for the three of them to spend Sunday afternoons together, enjoying the delights of the latest moving pictures at the Premier in East Ham** or dancing at the Hammersmith Palais***, however today Frank is absent from the girls’ Sunday plans, with the young man escorting his elderly grandmother, Mrs. McTavish to Aberdeen in Scotland for the birthday of her brother, his Great Uncle, Finlay McBryde. Thus, the two friends are enjoying some time together instead, and they have decided to take advantage of the bright, sunny day and spend it sitting in the park, knitting. Around them, people promenade in their Sunday best: families of all classes, the children of wealthier families being taken for a Sunday afternoon perambulation in the park by their nannies, young couples enjoying the sunshine and men and women on their own, all going about their business in a more leisurely way as they enjoy what may be perhaps one of the last really sunny days of 1924. Beyond them, the bells of central London ring in the distance, calling the faithful who have not yet visited to afternoon prayers and masses.

 

“I do like your new hat, Hilda.” Edith remarks upon her best friend’s new cream coloured cloche.

 

Decorated with silk roses and long white feathers, the pretty bleached straw hat acquired from Mrs. Minkin’s Haberdashery in Whitechapel wraps around Hilda’s plump face and mousy brown waves fashionably.

 

“Oh, thank you Edith.” Hilda says with a smile, patting her crown self-consciously.

 

“See?”

 

“See what, Edith?”

 

Edith goes on. “I told you that you should have told Mrs. Channon that Miss Lettice had increased my wages sooner. Then you might have been able to afford your new hat sooner.”

 

“Oh, it just wasn’t the right time, Edith.” Hilda defends herself. “You know all about that spot of bother we had after the lobster dinner party,” Hilda pauses. Lowering her voice she continues in a conspiratorial whisper, “When Mrs. Channon had to hock her fur tippet to get me enough money to feed us all.”

 

“Oh yes, minced meat and potato stew for all.” Edith chuckles quietly in response. “But all that’s over and done with now, isn’t it, Hilda? It’s sorted?”

 

“Oh yes, we’re back to a more even keel.” Hilda scoffs in her seat, snorting as she does. “If you can ever call anything in Hill Street evenly keeled.” She pauses and counts her stitches. “It’s still the occasional robbing Peter to pay Paul*****, but there are no more mincemeat dinners for Mr. and Mrs. Channon.”

 

“But no more Lobster Newberg****** either, I’ll wager.” Edith clucks.

 

“Thank goodness, no!” Hilda gasps. “Don’t even jest about it, Edith!”

 

“Whyever not, Hilda?”

 

“Well, that night with that loud American millionaire Mr. Carter and his uppity wife: I was terrified that we were going to serve them something that they didn’t like, or that wasn’t done to Mr. Carter’s exacting tastes.”

 

“Well, you had me with you that night, and whilst there wasn’t anything wrong with the lobsters, or anything else we served that night, if there had been, you could have blamed me.”

 

“Never!” Hilda gasps. “I’d never blame my best friend for anything, especially since you were such a lifesaver that night! My nerves wouldn’t have coped with waiting table and cooking the lobster and the pudding that night.”

 

“Dessert,” Edith corrects her friend*******.

 

“Dessert,” Hilda repeats, smiling as she remembers the delicious gelatinous leftovers of Edith’s trifle******** which the pair scooped from one of Lettice’s large faceted Art Deco crystal bowls as they set about washing up the dishes from the Channon’s grand dinner party as the hosts and their guests enjoyed Hilda’s ground coffee in the Hill Street flat’s drawing room. “Anyway it wasn’t the moment in the aftermath of that bankrupting dinner party, what with all that going on, for me to ask for a wage increase. And even then, with Mrs. Channon’s father paying my wages, he hasn’t been as generous as your Miss Lettice has been.”

 

“Well, any wage increase is better than none, Hilda.”

 

“I’ll say, but you really can afford more of life’s little luxuries now, what with your extra shillings: a quarter pound of real cocoa, or some lovely Ivory********* lavender or rose scented soap.”

 

“I’m actually putting most of it away to keep for when Frank and I set up house, once we’re married.” Edith explains. She lowers her knitting to her lap momentarily. “Although I must confess I did use some of my new wages to buy that beautiful French lace the day we went to Mrs. Minkin’s to buy your hat.”

 

“Aha!” Hilda crows. “I knew you’d spend some of it. Mind you, it will be perfect as part of your trousseau**********.”

 

“Well,” Edith says with a sly smile. “I did think that when I saw it. It would make a lovely trim on some cami-knickers***********. Although it was a bit extravagant. I daren’t tell Mum. She’d be furious.”

 

“Well, why not? It’s your money, after all. You’ve earned it.”

 

“I should be saving as much as I can for after we’re married, after all, I’ll have to leave service once I’m Mrs. Frank Leadbetter************.”

 

“I don’t think a little treat every now and then does any real harm.” Hilda says, nudging her friend conspiratorially.

 

Edith smiles contentedly, pauses her knitting again and stares out at the expanse of undulating green grass where she sees a young married couple in their Sunday best, helping their baby to walk.

 

“Wait!” Hilda gasps, pausing her own knitting and swivelling in her seat on the park bench to face her friend. “He hasn’t proposed, and you haven’t told me yet, has he?”

 

“No, of course not, Hilda!” Edith retorts. “How could you even think such a thing?” She looks earnestly at her best friend. “You’ll be one of the first people I tell, Hilda!”

 

“That’s a relief, then!” Hilda puts a hand to her chest and heaves a sigh.

 

“Of course I’d tell you! You’re going to be my maid of honour: unless of course you get married before I do, in which case you can be my matron of honour.”

 

“Pshaw!” Hilda mutters dismissively as she takes up her knitting again. “Chance would be a fine thing.”

 

“You never know, Hilda.” Edith returns to her own ever growing rows of knitting. “One day, one of the ladies at Ms. Minkin’s knitting circle might have a handsome and eligible bachelor brother for you to meet. Wouldn’t that be just the thing?”

 

Hilda gives her friend a doubtful look, and they both laugh good-naturedly, but their laughter is tinged with a little sadness. Edith still hopes that her best friend will one day meet a young man, or even an older one, who will meet her desires for an intelligent match, and form a loving relationship with him.

 

“Mind you,” Edith continues her previous train of thought. “I have an idea as to how I can still make money after I am married.”

 

“How’s that then?”

 

“Well, you know how I told you that Miss Lettice apologised to me after she was all prickly with me.” When Hilda nods, Edith continues. “The day she did, she told me something else too, that got my mind to thinking.”

 

“What?” Hilda asks excitedly. “What did she say?”

 

“She told me that Mr. Bruton, you know her friend who makes frocks in Grosvenor Square?”

 

“I know of him, and you’ve shown me people wearing his frocks in cutouts stuck in your scrapbooks.”

 

“Well, she told me that Mr. Bruton told her that he’s take me on as a seamstress if he could afford to pay me the wages.”

 

Hilda screws up her nose. “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan. If he can’t afford to pay you, he won’t be much good.”

 

“But he might be able to by the time Frank and me is wed, Hilda, and then I can do what Mum does sometimes and make clothes, only I’d be getting paid better than she does for the piecework she used to take from awful old widow Hounslow and her crotchety and tight fisted old friends. I’d be working for a man who makes real gowns for real ladies! Just imagine that!”

 

“Yes, imagine!” Hilda says doubtfully.

 

“Oh, don’t pooh-pooh my idea, Hilda!”

 

“I’m not, but there’s no guarantee you will get to work for Mr. Bruton.”

 

“Well, no, but Frank hasn’t proposed yet, and there’s plenty of time until we are eventually married, Hilda.” She looks with hope filled dreams to her friend. “And even if a job doesn’t work out with Mr. Bruton, I’ve got good enough skills that someone else would be happy for me to take in piece work at home.”

 

“And Frank wouldn’t mind?” Hilda tempers. “He’s a proud man, Edith.”

 

“Oh no! Frank understands. We’ve even spoken about me doing a little something after we’re married, just to help make ends meet.”

 

“Well, that’s alright then, Edith.”

 

Edith sighs as she allows the late summer sun on an unusually sunny London day to soak into her bones as she allows the gentle, constant, rhythmic movement of her knitting to lull her comfortably. She listens to the noises around her as she lets her lids sink soporifically over her eyes: the twitter of birds in the undergrowth and in the trees behind her, the laughter and the occasional cry from the children playing on the lawns nearby and the click of heels and quiet chatter of the people passing by their bench. She lets her thoughts wander, and she imagines herself in a few years’ time, married to Frank and knitting booties and comforters for their babies.

 

“Oh pooh!” Hilda mutters, bringing Edith back to the present.

 

“What is it, Hilda?” Edith asks, pausing her knitting and opening her eyes.

 

Hilda is looking down at the knitting in her lap, a grumpy look crumpling her doughy face. Her sausage fingers begin tugging at the creamy coloured yarn.

 

“I dropped a stich in that last row!” Hilda grumbles, tugging at her carefully knitted stitches, undoing her work.

 

“Oh no!” Edith says consolingly.

 

“I’ll never be as good as you are at knitting, Edith!” Hilda opines. “Never!”

 

“I drop stitches too, you know.”

 

“You!” Hilda scoffs. “You can knit with your eyes closed, you can. I think you seldom drop a stitch.”

 

“That may be true,” Edith concedes. “But I still do, do it from time to time.” She then adds encouragingly. “And you’re doing it far less than you did when you first started.” She nods towards Hilda’s half completed scarf. “And your tension is so much more even now.”

 

“Thank you, Edith.” Hilda purrs, smiling proudly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as you, but I am getting better.”

 

“Of course you are, Hilda. I think it was a jolly good idea of yours to join Mrs. Minkin’s knitting circle.”

 

“Thank you Edith.”

 

“If for no other reason,” Edith smiles cheekily at her friend. “That one day, one of the ladies there might just introduce you to the most handsome and eligible bachelor brother you’d ever hope to meet.” She makes cow eyes************* at her friend and bats her eyelashes.

 

“Oh you!” Hilda hisses. “You’re hopeless, Edith!”

 

The two girls burst out laughing, happily enjoying the joke and the ease that comes with one another’s company after knowing each other for so long.

 

“Anyway, enough about all that! What about your beloved Miss Lettice,” Hilda asks. “Where has she gone now?”

 

“Over to her Aunt’s house, to try and smooth over the romance novelist Madeline St John. Apparently, she and Miss Lettice had quite a to do. Ms St John promised me some signed copies of her books, which I love. I hope Miss Lettice hasn’t jeopardised that!”

 

“Oh, I do hope not, Edith! Signed copies of Madeline St John’s novels! Cor!” Hilda breathes. “Lucky you!”

 

“I know! Lucky me, if I ever get them!”

 

*The statue of Peter Pan is a 1912 bronze sculpture of J. M. Barrie's character Peter Pan. It was commissioned by Barrie and made by Sir George Frampton. The original statue is displayed in Kensington Gardens, to the west of The Long Water, close to Barrie's former home on Bayswater Road.

 

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

 

***The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

  

*****Although legend has it that the expression “robbing Peter to pay Paul” alludes to appropriating the estates of St. Peter's Church, in Westminster, London, to pay for the repairs of St. Paul's Cathedral in the 1800s, the saying first appeared in a work by John Wycliffe about 1382.

 

******Lobster Newberg (also spelled lobster Newburg or lobster Newburgh) is an American seafood dish made from lobster, butter, cream, cognac, sherry and eggs, with a secret ingredient found to be Cayenne pepper. A modern legend with no primary or early sources states that the dish was invented by Ben Wenberg, a sea captain in the fruit trade. He was said to have demonstrated the dish at Delmonico's Restaurant in New York City to the manager, Charles Delmonico, in 1876. After refinements by the chef, Charles Ranhofer, the creation was added to the restaurant's menu as Lobster à la Wenberg and it soon became very popular. The legend says that an argument between Wenberg and Charles Delmonico caused the dish to be removed from the menu. To satisfy patrons’ continued requests for it, the name was rendered in anagram as Lobster à la Newberg or Lobster Newberg.

 

*******Before, and even after the Second World War, a great deal could be attained about a person’s social origins by what language and terminology they used in class-conscious Britain by the use of ‘”U and non-U English” as popularised by upper class English author, Nancy Mitford when she published a glossary of terms in an article “The English Aristocracy” published by Stephen Spender in his magazine “encounter” in 1954. There are many examples in her glossary, amongst which are the word “dessert” which is a U (upper class) word, versus “pudding” or “sweets” which are a non-U (aspiring middle-class) words. Whilst quite outdated today, it gives an insight into how easily someone could betray their humbler origins by something as simple as a single word.

 

********In Edwardian times, aspic and jellies were very much in vogue and commonly used in both sweet and savory courses to help chefs and cooks of grand aristocratic households and restaurants to keep foods fresh and appetising. By about 1912, with the advent of industrial refrigeration in restaurants the original use of aspic and jelly was rendered obsolete. Instead, the gelatinous medium provided chefs an opportunity to prepare dazzling visual creations to serve on London tables. This love of presentation and show carried through into the 1920s after the end of the Great War.

 

*********Ivory (known in France as Savon d'Ivoire) is an American flagship personal care brand created by the Procter & Gamble Company, including varieties of white and mildly scented bar soap that became famous for its claim of purity and for floating on water. Over the years, the brand has been extended to other varieties and products. The name Ivory was created by Harley Procter, one of the founders’ sons, who was inspired by the quote "all thy garments smell of myrrh and aloes and cassia out of the ivory palaces", from Psalm 45 of The Bible. In September 1879, Procter & Gamble trademarked "Ivory" as the name of its new soap product. As Ivory is one of Procter & Gamble's oldest products – it was first sold in 1879 – Procter & Gamble is sometimes called "Ivory Towers", and its factory and research center in St. Bernard, Ohio, is named "Ivorydale". Ivory's first slogan, "It Floats!", was introduced in 1891. The product's other well-known slogan, "99+44⁄100% Pure", which was in use by 1895, was based on the results of an analysis by an independent laboratory that Harley Procter hired to demonstrate that Ivory was purer than the castile soap available at the time.

 

**********A trousseau (now a rather archaic term) was used for a collection of personal possessions, such as clothes, that a woman takes to her new home when she gets married. A trousseau was often built up over many years by a young woman and her family. These days a bridal registry is more likely to fill the gap a trousseau would have filled in the past.

 

***********A camiknicker is a one piece bodysuit which comprises a camisole top, and loose French Knicker style bottom which gained popularity in the 1920s. They’re normally loose fitting enabling the wearer to step into them although some feature pop-studs or buttons at one side to give a more fitted look or a self tie belt to accentuate the wearer’s figure.

 

************Prior to and even after the Second World War, there was a ‘marriage bar’ in place. Introduced into legislation, the bar banned the employment of married women as permanent employees, which in essence meant that once a women was married, no matter how employable she was, became unemployable, leaving husbands to be the main breadwinner for the family. This meant that working women needed to save as much money as they could before marriage, and often took in casual work, such as mending, sewing or laundry for a pittance at home to help bring in additional income and help to make ends meet. The marriage bar wasn’t lifted until the very late 1960s.

 

*************To make cow eyes at someone is a wide-eyed expression meant to discreetly signal otherwise unstated romantic attraction to the one it is directed at.

 

Although it may look life-sized to you, this idyllic outdoor scene is in fact comprised of pieces from my miniatures collection, and the park background in in truth my front garden.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

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

 

The knitting, which is made of real stitches cast on large headed pins I acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The bench is made by Town Hall Miniatures, and acquired through E-Bay.

 

The brick footbath upon which the bench sits a very special piece, and one of my more recent additions to my miniatures collection. Made painstakingly by hand, this was made by my very dear Flickr friend and artist Kim Hagar (www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/), she surprised me with this amazing piece entitled “Wall” as a Christmas gift, with the intention that I use it in my miniatures photos. Each brick has been individually cut and then worn to give texture before being stuck to the backing board and then painted. She has created several floors in the same way for some of her own miniature projects which you can see in her “In Miniature” album here: www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/albums/721777203007....

In the centre of the medieval stone London Bridge stood the chapel dedicated to St. Thomas of Canterbury, facing downstream. The bridge was built between A.D. 1176 and 1209 under the supervision of Peter of Colechurch, Cheapside. Houses on the bridge are first shown in the records of 1201, and in 1205 they record the death, and burial, in the chapel of its builder. The building was two-storeys high and access to it was from both the bridge level and the river. The crypt (cellar) was vaulted and the upper chapel had a groined roof springing from 'clustered columns of great beauty'. Technically it was under the control of the Parish of St. Magnus, London Bridge but the chaplain and other members of the 'Brothers of the Bridge' enjoyed a certain amount of freedom from the parish priest. In 1483 the chaplain, after a disagreement with the parish priest, was granted the right to keep the alms collected during services for himself and his community with the proviso that he make a generous contribution to the finances of the parish. Fishermen from the South coast on their way to sell their fish at Billingsgate passing over the bridge were controlled by the times of the services in the chapel. To prevent forestalling, salt fish could not be sold until the Office of Prime, and freshwater fish had to wait for the end of the mass.

 

After the Reformation, the chapel was desecrated and turned into a house, and later a warehouse. In the second half of the 18th century both the chapel and the houses on the bridge were demolished, at which time the bones of Peter of Colechurch were unceremoniously dumped into the river.

 

www.stmagnusmartyr.org.uk/history/chapel-st-thomas-%C3%A0...

  

St Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge is a Church of England church and parish within the City of London. The church, which is located in Lower Thames Street near The Monument to the Great Fire of London,[1] is part of the Diocese of London and under the pastoral care of the Bishop of London and the Bishop of Fulham.[2] It is a Grade I listed building.[3] The rector uses the title "Cardinal Rector". [4]

St Magnus lies on the original alignment of London Bridge between the City and Southwark. The ancient parish was united with that of St Margaret, New Fish Street, in 1670 and with that of St Michael, Crooked Lane, in 1831.[5] The three united parishes retained separate vestries and churchwardens.[6] Parish clerks continue to be appointed for each of the three parishes.[7]

St Magnus is the guild church of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers and the Worshipful Company of Plumbers, and the ward church of the Ward of Bridge and Bridge Without. It is also twinned with the Church of the Resurrection in New York City.[8]

Its prominent location and beauty has prompted many mentions in literature.[9] In Oliver Twist Charles Dickens notes how, as Nancy heads for her secret meeting with Mr. Brownlow and Rose Maylie on London Bridge, "the tower of old Saint Saviour's Church, and the spire of Saint Magnus, so long the giant-warders of the ancient bridge, were visible in the gloom". The church's spiritual and architectural importance is celebrated in the poem The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot, who adds in a footnote that "the interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of the finest among Wren's interiors".[10] One biographer of Eliot notes that at first he enjoyed St Magnus aesthetically for its "splendour"; later he appreciated its "utility" when he came there as a sinner.

 

The church is dedicated to St Magnus the Martyr, earl of Orkney, who died on 16 April in or around 1116 (the precise year is unknown).[12] He was executed on the island of Egilsay having been captured during a power struggle with his cousin, a political rival.[13] Magnus had a reputation for piety and gentleness and was canonised in 1135. St. Ronald, the son of Magnus's sister Gunhild Erlendsdotter, became Earl of Orkney in 1136 and in 1137 initiated the construction of St. Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall.[14] The story of St. Magnus has been retold in the 20th century in the chamber opera The Martyrdom of St Magnus (1976)[15] by Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, based on George Mackay Brown's novel Magnus (1973).

 

he identity of the St Magnus referred to in the church's dedication was only confirmed by the Bishop of London in 1926.[16] Following this decision a patronal festival service was held on 16 April 1926.[17] In the 13th century the patronage was attributed to one of the several saints by the name of Magnus who share a feast day on 19 August, probably St Magnus of Anagni (bishop and martyr, who was slain in the persecution of the Emperor Decius in the middle of the 3rd century).[18] However, by the early 18th century it was suggested that the church was either "dedicated to the memory of St Magnus or Magnes, who suffer'd under the Emperor Aurelian in 276 [see St Mammes of Caesarea, feast day 17 August], or else to a person of that name, who was the famous Apostle or Bishop of the Orcades."[19] For the next century historians followed the suggestion that the church was dedicated to the Roman saint of Cæsarea.[20] The famous Danish archaeologist Professor Jens Jacob Asmussen Worsaae (1821–85) promoted the attribution to St Magnus of Orkney during his visit to the British Isles in 1846-7, when he was formulating the concept of the 'Viking Age',[21] and a history of London written in 1901 concluded that "the Danes, on their second invasion ... added at least two churches with Danish names, Olaf and Magnus".[22] A guide to the City Churches published in 1917 reverted to the view that St Magnus was dedicated to a martyr of the third century,[23] but the discovery of St Magnus of Orkney's relics in 1919 renewed interest in a Scandinavian patron and this connection was encouraged by the Rector who arrived in 1921

 

A metropolitan bishop of London attended the Council of Arles in 314, which indicates that there must have been a Christian community in Londinium by this date, and it has been suggested that a large aisled building excavated in 1993 near Tower Hill can be compared with the 4th-century Cathedral of St Tecla in Milan.[25] However, there is no archaeological evidence to suggest that any of the mediaeval churches in the City of London had a Roman foundation.[26] A grant from William I in 1067 to Westminster Abbey, which refers to the stone church of St Magnus near the bridge ("lapidee eccle sci magni prope pontem"), is generally accepted to be 12th century forgery,[27] and it is possible that a charter of confirmation in 1108-16 might also be a later fabrication.[28] Nonetheless, these manuscripts may preserve valid evidence of a date of foundation in the 11th century.

 

Archaeological evidence suggests that the area of the bridgehead was not occupied from the early 5th century until the early 10th century. Environmental evidence indicates that the area was waste ground during this period, colonised by elder and nettles. Following Alfred's decision to reoccupy the walled area of London in 886, new harbours were established at Queenhithe and Billingsgate. A bridge was in place by the early 11th century, a factor which would have encouraged the occupation of the bridgehead by craftsmen and traders.[30] A lane connecting Botolph's Wharf and Billingsgate to the rebuilt bridge may have developed by the mid-11th century. The waterfront at this time was a hive of activity, with the construction of embankments sloping down from the riverside wall to the river. Thames Street appeared in the second half of the 11th century immediately behind (north of) the old Roman riverside wall and in 1931 a piling from this was discovered during the excavation of the foundations of a nearby building. It now stands at the base of the church tower.[31] St Magnus was built to the south of Thames Street to serve the growing population of the bridgehead area[32] and was certainly in existence by 1128-33.[33]

The small ancient parish[34] extended about 110 yards along the waterfront either side of the old bridge, from 'Stepheneslane' (later Churchehawlane or Church Yard Alley) and 'Oystergate' (later called Water Lane or Gully Hole) on the West side to 'Retheresgate' (a southern extension of Pudding Lane) on the East side, and was centred on the crossroads formed by Fish Street Hill (originally Bridge Street, then New Fish Street) and Thames Street.[35] The mediaeval parish also included Drinkwater's Wharf (named after the owner, Thomas Drinkwater), which was located immediately West of the bridge, and Fish Wharf, which was to the South of the church. The latter was of considerable importance as the fishmongers had their shops on the wharf. The tenement was devised by Andrew Hunte to the Rector and Churchwardens in 1446.[36] The ancient parish was situated in the South East part of Bridge Ward, which had evolved in the 11th century between the embankments to either side of the bridge.[37]

In 1182 the Abbot of Westminster and the Prior of Bermondsey agreed that the advowson of St Magnus should be divided equally between them. Later in the 1180s, on their presentation, the Archdeacon of London inducted his nephew as parson.

 

Between the late Saxon period and 1209 there was a series of wooden bridges across the Thames, but in that year a stone bridge was completed.[39] The work was overseen by Peter de Colechurch, a priest and head of the Fraternity of the Brethren of London Bridge. The Church had from early times encouraged the building of bridges and this activity was so important it was perceived to be an act of piety - a commitment to God which should be supported by the giving of alms. London’s citizens made gifts of land and money "to God and the Bridge".[40] The Bridge House Estates became part of the City's jurisdiction in 1282.

 

Until 1831 the bridge was aligned with Fish Street Hill, so the main entrance into the City from the south passed the West door of St Magnus on the north bank of the river.[41] The bridge included a chapel dedicated to St Thomas Becket[42] for the use of pilgrims journeying to Canterbury Cathedral to visit his tomb.[43] The chapel and about two thirds of the bridge were in the parish of St Magnus. After some years of rivalry a dispute arose between the church and the chapel over the offerings given to the chapel by the pilgrims. The matter was resolved by the brethren of the chapel making an annual contribution to St Magnus.[44] At the Reformation the chapel was turned into a house and later a warehouse, the latter being demolished in 1757-58.

The church grew in importance. On 21 November 1234 a grant of land was made to the parson of St Magnus for the enlargement of the church.[45] The London eyre of 1244 recorded that in 1238 "A thief named William of Ewelme of the county of Buckingham fled to the church of St. Magnus the Martyr, London, and there acknowledged the theft and abjured the realm. He had no chattels."[46] Another entry recorded that "The City answers saying that the church of ... St. Magnus the Martyr ... which [is] situated on the king's highway ... ought to belong to the king and be in his gift".[47] The church presumably jutted into the road running to the bridge, as it did in later times.[48] In 1276 it was recorded that "the church of St. Magnus the Martyr is worth £15 yearly and Master Geoffrey de la Wade now holds it by the grant of the prior of Bermundeseie and the abbot of Westminster to whom King Henry conferred the advowson by his charter.

 

In 1274 "came King Edward and his wife [Eleanor] from the Holy Land and were crowned at Westminster on the Sunday next after the Feast of the Assumption of Our Lady [15 August], being the Feast of Saint Magnus [19 August]; and the Conduit in Chepe ran all the day with red wine and white wine to drink, for all such as wished."[50] Stow records that "in the year 1293, for victory obtained by Edward I against the Scots, every citizen, according to their several trade, made their several show, but especially the fishmongers" whose solemn procession including a knight "representing St Magnus, because it was upon St Magnus' day".

An important religious guild, the Confraternity de Salve Regina, was in existence by 1343, having been founded by the "better sort of the Parish of St Magnus" to sing the anthem 'Salve Regina' every evening.[51] The Guild certificates of 1389 record that the Confraternity of Salve Regina and the guild of St Thomas the Martyr in the chapel on the bridge, whose members belonged to St Magnus parish, had determined to become one, to have the anthem of St Thomas after the Salve Regina and to devote their united resources to restoring and enlarging the church of St Magnus.[52] An Act of Parliament of 1437[53] provided that all incorporated fraternities and companies should register their charters and have their ordinances approved by the civic authorities.[54] Fear of enquiry into their privileges may have led established fraternities to seek a firm foundation for their rights. The letters patent of the fraternity of St Mary and St Thomas the Martyr of Salve Regina in St Magnus dated 26 May 1448 mention that the fraternity had petitioned for a charter on the grounds that the society was not duly founded.

 

In the mid-14th century the Pope was the Patron of the living and appointed five rectors to the benefice.[56]

Henry Yevele, the master mason whose work included the rebuilding of Westminster Hall and the naves of Westminster Abbey and Canterbury Cathedral, was a parishioner and rebuilt the chapel on London Bridge between 1384 and 1397. He served as a warden of London Bridge and was buried at St Magnus on his death in 1400. His monument was extant in John Stow's time, but was probably destroyed by the fire of 1666.[57]

Yevele, as the King’s Mason, was overseen by Geoffrey Chaucer in his capacity as the Clerk of the King's Works. In The General Prologue of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales the five guildsmen "were clothed alle in o lyveree Of a solempne and a greet fraternitee"[58] and may be thought of as belonging to the guild in the parish of St Magnus, or one like it.[59] Chaucer's family home was near to the bridge in Thames Street.

 

n 1417 a dispute arose concerning who should take the place of honour amongst the rectors in the City churches at the Whit Monday procession, a place that had been claimed from time to time by the rectors of St Peter Cornhill, St Magnus the Martyr and St Nicholas Cole Abbey. The Mayor and Aldermen decided that the Rector of St Peter Cornhill should take precedence.[61]

St Magnus Corner at the north end of London Bridge was an important meeting place in mediaeval London, where notices were exhibited, proclamations read out and wrongdoers punished.[62] As it was conveniently close to the River Thames, the church was chosen by the Bishop between the 15th and 17th centuries as a convenient venue for general meetings of the clergy in his diocese.[63] Dr John Young, Bishop of Callipolis (rector of St Magnus 1514-15) pronounced judgement on 16 December 1514 (with the Bishop of London and in the presence of Thomas More, then under-sheriff of London) in the heresy case concerning Richard Hunne.[64]

In pictures from the mid-16th century the old church looks very similar to the present-day St Giles without Cripplegate in the Barbican.[65] According to the martyrologist John Foxe, a woman was imprisoned in the 'cage' on London Bridge in April 1555 and told to "cool herself there" for refusing to pray at St Magnus for the recently deceased Pope Julius III.[66]

Simon Lowe, a Member of Parliament and Master of the Merchant Taylors' Company during the reign of Queen Mary and one of the jurors who acquitted Sir Nicholas Throckmorton in 1554, was a parishioner.[67] He was a mourner at the funeral of Maurice Griffith, Bishop of Rochester from 1554 to 1558 and Rector of St Magnus from 1537 to 1558, who was interred in the church on 30 November 1558 with much solemnity. In accordance with the Catholic church's desire to restore ecclesiastical pageantry in England, the funeral was a splendid affair, ending in a magnificent dinner.

 

Lowe was included in a return of recusants in the Diocese of Rochester in 1577,[69] but was buried at St Magnus on 6 February 1578.[70] Stow refers to his monument in the church. His eldest son, Timothy (died 1617), was knighted in 1603. His second son, Alderman Sir Thomas Lowe (1550–1623), was Master of the Haberdashers' Company on several occasions, Sheriff of London in 1595/96, Lord Mayor in 1604/05 and a Member of Parliament for London.[71] His youngest son, Blessed John Lowe (1553–1586), having originally been a Protestant minister, converted to Roman Catholicism, studied for the priesthood at Douay and Rome and returned to London as a missionary priest.[72] His absence had already been noted; a list of 1581 of "such persons of the Diocese of London as have any children ... beyond the seas" records "John Low son to Margaret Low of the Bridge, absent without licence four years". Having gained 500 converts to Catholicism between 1583 and 1586, he was arrested whilst walking with his mother near London Bridge, committed to The Clink and executed at Tyburn on 8 October 1586.[73] He was beatified in 1987 as one of the eighty-five martyrs of England and Wales.

 

Sir William Garrard, Master of the Haberdashers' Company, Alderman, Sheriff of London in 1553/53, Lord Mayor in 1555/56 and a Member of Parliament was born in the parish and buried at St Magnus in 1571.[74] Sir William Romney, merchant, philanthropist, Master of the Haberdashers' Company, Alderman for Bridge Within and Sheriff of London in 1603/04[75] was married at St Magnus in 1582. Ben Jonson is believed to have been married at St Magnus in 1594.[76]

The patronage of St Magnus, having previously been in the Abbots and Convents of Westminster and Bermondsey (who presented alternatively), fell to the Crown on the suppression of the monasteries. In 1553, Queen Mary, by letters patent, granted it to the Bishop of London and his successors.[77]

The church had a series of distinguished rectors in the second half of the 16th and first half of the 17th century, including Myles Coverdale (Rector 1564-66), John Young (Rector 1566-92), Theophilus Aylmer (Rector 1592-1625), (Archdeacon of London and son of John Aylmer), and Cornelius Burges (Rector 1626-41). Coverdale was buried in the chancel of St Bartholomew-by-the-Exchange, but when that church was pulled down in 1840 his remains were removed to St Magnus.[78]

On 5 November 1562 the churchwardens were ordered to break, or cause to be broken, in two parts all the altar stones in the church.[79] Coverdale, an anti-vestiarian, was Rector at the peak of the vestments controversy. In March 1566 Archbishop Parker caused great consternation among many clergy by his edicts prescribing what was to be worn and by his summoning the London clergy to Lambeth to require their compliance. Coverdale excused himself from attending.[80] Stow records that a non-conforming Scot who normally preached at St Magnus twice a day precipitated a fight on Palm Sunday 1566 at Little All Hallows in Thames Street with his preaching against vestments.[81] Coverdale's resignation from St Magnus in summer 1566 may have been associated with these events. Separatist congregations started to emerge after 1566 and the first such, who called themselves 'Puritans' or 'Unspottyd Lambs of the Lord', was discovered close to St Magnus at Plumbers' Hall in Thames Street on 19 June 1567.

 

St Magnus narrowly escaped destruction in 1633. A later edition of Stow's Survey records that "On the 13th day of February, between eleven and twelve at night, there happened in the house of one Briggs, a Needle-maker near St Magnus Church, at the North end of the Bridge, by the carelessness of a Maid-Servant setting a tub of hot sea-coal ashes under a pair of stairs, a sad and lamentable fire, which consumed all the buildings before eight of the clock the next morning, from the North end of the Bridge to the first vacancy on both sides, containing forty-two houses; water then being very scarce, the Thames being almost frozen over."[83] Susannah Chambers "by her last will & testament bearing date 28th December 1640 gave the sum of Twenty-two shillings and Sixpence Yearly for a Sermon to be preached on the 12th day of February in every Year within the Church of Saint Magnus in commemoration of God's merciful preservation of the said Church of Saint Magnus from Ruin, by the late and terrible Fire on London Bridge. Likewise Annually to the Poor the sum of 17/6."[84] The tradition of a "Fire Sermon" was revived on 12 February 2004, when the first preacher was the Rt Revd and Rt Hon Richard Chartres, Bishop of London.

 

Parliamentarian rule and the more Protestant ethos of the 1640s led to the removal or destruction of "superstitious" and "idolatrous" images and fittings. Glass painters such as Baptista Sutton, who had previously installed "Laudian innovations", found new employment by repairing and replacing these to meet increasingly strict Protestant standards. In January 1642 Sutton replaced 93 feet of glass at St Magnus and in June 1644 he was called back to take down the "painted imagery glass" and replace it.[86] In June 1641 "rail riots" broke out at a number of churches. This was a time of high tension following the trial and execution of the Earl of Strafford and rumours of army and popish plots were rife. The Protestation Oath, with its pledge to defend the true religion "against all Popery and popish innovation", triggered demands from parishioners for the removal of the rails as popish innovations which the Protestation had bound them to reform. The minister arranged a meeting between those for and against the pulling down of the rails, but was unsuccessful in reaching a compromise and it was feared that they would be demolished by force.[87] However, in 1663 the parish resumed Laudian practice and re-erected rails around its communion table.[88]

Joseph Caryl was incumbent from 1645 until his ejection in 1662. In 1663 he was reportedly living near London Bridge and preaching to an Independent congregation that met at various places in the City.[89]

During the Great Plague of 1665, the City authorities ordered fires to be kept burning night and day, in the hope that the air would be cleansed. Daniel Defoe's semi-fictictional, but highly realistic, work A Journal of the Plague Year records that one of these was "just by St Magnus Church"

 

Despite its escape in 1633, the church was one of the first buildings to be destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666.[91] St Magnus stood less than 300 yards from the bakehouse of Thomas Farriner in Pudding Lane where the fire started. Farriner, a former churchwarden of St Magnus, was buried in the middle aisle of the church on 11 December 1670, perhaps within a temporary structure erected for holding services.[92]

The parish engaged the master mason George Dowdeswell to start the work of rebuilding in 1668. The work was carried forward between 1671 and 1687 under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren, the body of the church being substantially complete by 1676.[93] At a cost of £9,579 19s 10d St Magnus was one of Wren's most expensive churches.[94] The church of St Margaret New Fish Street was not rebuilt after the fire and its parish was united to that of St Magnus.

 

The chancels of many of Wren’s city churches had chequered marble floors and the chancel of St Magnus is an example,[95] the parish agreeing after some debate to place the communion table on a marble ascent with steps[96] and to commission altar rails of Sussex wrought iron. The nave and aisles are paved with freestone flags. A steeple, closely modelled on one built between 1614 and 1624 by François d'Aguilon and Pieter Huyssens for the church of St Carolus Borromeus in Antwerp, was added between 1703 and 1706.[97] London's skyline was transformed by Wren's tall steeples and that of St Magnus is considered to be one his finest.[98]

The large clock projecting from the tower was a well-known landmark in the city as it hung over the roadway of Old London Bridge.[99] It was presented to the church in 1709 by Sir Charles Duncombe[100] (Alderman for the Ward of Bridge Within and, in 1708/09, Lord Mayor of London). Tradition says "that it was erected in consequence of a vow made by the donor, who, in the earlier part of his life, had once to wait a considerable time in a cart upon London Bridge, without being able to learn the hour, when he made a promise, that if he ever became successful in the world, he would give to that Church a public clock ... that all passengers might see the time of day."[101] The maker was Langley Bradley, a clockmaker in Fenchurch Street, who had worked for Wren on many other projects, including the clock for the new St Paul's Cathedral. The sword rest in the church, designed to hold the Lord Mayor's sword and mace when he attended divine service "in state", dates from 1708.

Duncombe and his benefactions to St Magnus feature prominently in Daniel Defoe's The True-Born Englishman, a biting satire on critics of William III that went through several editions from 1700 (the year in which Duncombe was elected Sheriff).

 

Shortly before his death in 1711, Duncombe commissioned an organ for the church, the first to have a swell-box, by Abraham Jordan (father and son).[103] The Spectator announced that "Whereas Mr Abraham Jordan, senior and junior, have, with their own hands, joinery excepted, made and erected a very large organ in St Magnus' Church, at the foot of London Bridge, consisting of four sets of keys, one of which is adapted to the art of emitting sounds by swelling notes, which never was in any organ before; this instrument will be publicly opened on Sunday next [14 February 1712], the performance by Mr John Robinson. The above-said Abraham Jordan gives notice to all masters and performers, that he will attend every day next week at the said Church, to accommodate all those gentlemen who shall have a curiosity to hear it".[104]

The organ case, which remains in its original state, is looked upon as one of the finest existing examples of the Grinling Gibbons's school of wood carving.[105] The first organist of St Magnus was John Robinson (1682–1762), who served in that role for fifty years and in addition as organist of Westminster Abbey from 1727. Other organists have included the blind organist George Warne (1792–1868, organist 1820-26 until his appointment to the Temple Church), James Coward (1824–80, organist 1868-80 who was also organist to the Crystal Palace and renowned for his powers of improvisation) and George Frederick Smith FRCO (1856–1918, organist 1880-1918 and Professor of Music at the Guildhall School of Music).[106] The organ has been restored several times - in 1760, 1782, 1804, 1855, 1861, 1879, 1891, 1924, 1949 after wartime damage and 1997 - since it was first built.[107] Sir Peter Maxwell Davies was one of several patrons of the organ appeal in the mid-1990s[108] and John Scott gave an inaugural recital on 20 May 1998 following the completion of that restoration.[109] The instrument has an Historic Organ Certificate and full details are recorded in the National Pipe Organ Register.[110]

The hymn tune "St Magnus", usually sung at Ascensiontide to the text "The head that once was crowned with thorns", was written by Jeremiah Clarke in 1701 and named for the church.

 

Canaletto drew St Magnus and old London Bridge as they appeared in the late 1740s.[112] Between 1756 and 1762, under the London Bridge Improvement Act of 1756 (c. 40), the Corporation of London demolished the buildings on London Bridge to widen the roadway, ease traffic congestion and improve safety for pedestrians.[113] The churchwardens’ accounts of St Magnus list many payments to those injured on the Bridge and record that in 1752 a man was crushed to death between two carts.[114] After the House of Commons had resolved upon the alteration of London Bridge, the Rev Robert Gibson, Rector of St Magnus, applied to the House for relief; stating that 48l. 6s. 2d. per annum, part of his salary of 170l. per annum, was assessed upon houses on London Bridge; which he should utterly lose by their removal unless a clause in the bill about to be passed should provide a remedy.[115] Accordingly, Sections 18 and 19 of 1756 Act provided that the relevant amounts of tithe and poor rate should be a charge on the Bridge House Estates.[116]

A serious fire broke out on 18 April 1760 in an oil shop at the south east corner of the church, which consumed most of the church roof and did considerable damage to the fabric. The fire burnt warehouses to the south of the church and a number of houses on the northern end of London Bridge.

 

As part of the bridge improvements, overseen by the architect Sir Robert Taylor, a new pedestrian walkway was built along the eastern side of the bridge. With the other buildings gone St Magnus blocked the new walkway.[117] As a consequence it was necessary in 1762 to 1763 to remove the vestry rooms at the West end of the church and open up the side arches of the tower so that people could pass underneath the tower.[118] The tower’s lower storey thus became an external porch. Internally a lobby was created at the West end under the organ gallery and a screen with fine octagonal glazing inserted. A new Vestry was built to the South of the church.[119] The Act also provided that the land taken from the church for the widening was "to be considered ... as part of the cemetery of the said church ... but if the pavement thereof be broken up on account of the burying of any persons, the same shall be ... made good ... by the churchwardens"

 

Soldiers were stationed in the Vestry House of St Magnus during the Gordon Riots in June 1780.[121]

By 1782 the noise level from the activities of Billingsgate Fish Market had become unbearable and the large windows on the north side of the church were blocked up leaving only circular windows high up in the wall.[122] At some point between the 1760s and 1814 the present clerestory was constructed with its oval windows and fluted and coffered plasterwork.[123] J. M. W. Turner painted the church in the mid-1790s.[124]

The rector of St Magnus between 1792 and 1808, following the death of Robert Gibson on 28 July 1791,[125] was Thomas Rennell FRS. Rennell was President of Sion College in 1806/07. There is a monument to Thomas Leigh (Rector 1808-48 and President of Sion College 1829/30,[126] at St Peter's Church, Goldhanger in Essex.[127] Richard Hazard (1761–1837) was connected with the church as sexton, parish clerk and ward beadle for nearly 50 years[128] and served as Master of the Parish Clerks' Company in 1831/32.[129]

In 1825 the church was "repaired and beautified at a very considerable expense. During the reparation the east window, which had been closed, was restored, and the interior of the fabric conformed to the state in which it was left by its great architect, Sir Christopher Wren. The magnificent organ ... was taken down and rebuilt by Mr Parsons, and re-opened, with the church, on the 12th February, 1826".[130] Unfortunately, as a contemporary writer records, "On the night of the 31st of July, 1827, [the church's] safety was threatened by the great fire which consumed the adjacent warehouses, and it is perhaps owing to the strenuous and praiseworthy exertions of the firemen, that the structure exists at present. ... divine service was suspended and not resumed until the 20th January 1828. In the interval the church received such tasteful and elegant decorations, that it may now compete with any church in the metropolis.

 

In 1823 royal assent was given to ‘An Act for the Rebuilding of London Bridge’ and in 1825 John Garratt, Lord Mayor and Alderman of the Ward of Bridge Within, laid the first stone of the new London Bridge.[132] In 1831 Sir John Rennie’s new bridge was opened further upstream and the old bridge demolished. St Magnus ceased to be the gateway to London as it had been for over 600 years. Peter de Colechurch[133] had been buried in the crypt of the chapel on the bridge and his bones were unceremoniously dumped in the River Thames.[134] In 1921 two stones from Old London Bridge were discovered across the road from the church. They now stand in the churchyard.

Wren's church of St Michael Crooked Lane was demolished, the final service on Sunday 20 March 1831 having to be abandoned due to the effects of the building work. The Rector of St Michael preached a sermon the following Sunday at St Magnus lamenting the demolition of his church with its monuments and "the disturbance of the worship of his parishioners on the preceeding Sabbath".[135] The parish of St Michael Crooked Lane was united to that of St Magnus, which itself lost a burial ground in Church Yard Alley to the approach road for the new bridge.[136] However, in substitution it had restored to it the land taken for the widening of the old bridge in 1762 and was also given part of the approach lands to the east of the old bridge.[137] In 1838 the Committee for the London Bridge Approaches reported to Common Council that new burial grounds had been provided for the parishes of St Michael, Crooked Lane and St Magnus, London Bridge.

 

Depictions of St Magnus after the building of the new bridge, seen behind Fresh Wharf and the new London Bridge Wharf, include paintings by W. Fenoulhet in 1841 and by Charles Ginner in 1913.[139] This prospect was affected in 1924 by the building of Adelaide House to a design by John James Burnet,[140] The Times commenting that "the new ‘architectural Matterhorn’ ... conceals all but the tip of the church spire".[141] There was, however, an excellent view of the church for a few years between the demolition of Adelaide Buildings and the erection of its replacement.[142] Adelaide House is now listed.[143] Regis House, on the site of the abandoned King William Street terminus of the City & South London Railway (subsequently the Northern Line),[144] and the Steam Packet Inn, on the corner of Lower Thames Street and Fish Street Hill,[145] were developed in 1931.

 

By the early 1960s traffic congestion had become a problem[147] and Lower Thames Street was widened over the next decade[148] to form part of a significant new east-west transport artery (the A3211).[149] The setting of the church was further affected by the construction of a new London Bridge between 1967 and 1973.[150] The New Fresh Wharf warehouse to the east of the church, built in 1939, was demolished in 1973-4 following the collapse of commercial traffic in the Pool of London[151] and, after an archaeological excavation,[152] St Magnus House was constructed on the site in 1978 to a design by R. Seifert & Partners.[153] This development now allows a clear view of the church from the east side.[154] The site to the south east of The Monument (between Fish Street Hill and Pudding Lane), formerly predominantly occupied by fish merchants,[155] was redeveloped as Centurion House and Gartmore (now Providian) House at the time of the closure of old Billingsgate Market in January 1982.[156] A comprehensive redevelopment of Centurion House began in October 2011 with completion planned in 2013.[157] Regis House, to the south west of The Monument, was redeveloped by Land Securities PLC in 1998.[158]

The vista from The Monument south to the River Thames, over the roof of St Magnus, is protected under the City of London Unitary Development Plan,[159] although the South bank of the river is now dominated by The Shard. Since 2004 the City of London Corporation has been exploring ways of enhancing the Riverside Walk to the south of St Magnus.[160] Work on a new staircase to connect London Bridge to the Riverside Walk is due to commence in March 2013.[161] The story of St Magnus's relationship with London Bridge and an interview with the rector featured in the television programme The Bridges That Built London with Dan Cruickshank, first broadcast on BBC Four on 14 June 2012.[162] The City Corporation's 'Fenchurch and Monument Area Enhancement Strategy' of August 2012 recommended ways of reconnecting St Magnus and the riverside to the area north of Lower Thames Street.

 

A lectureship at St Michael Crooked Lane, which was transferred to St Magnus in 1831, was endowed by the wills of Thomas and Susannah Townsend in 1789 and 1812 respectively.[164] The Revd Henry Robert Huckin, Headmaster of Repton School from 1874 to 1882, was appointed Townsend Lecturer at St Magnus in 1871.[165]

St Magnus narrowly escaped damage from a major fire in Lower Thames Street in October 1849.

 

During the second half of the 19th century the rectors were Alexander McCaul, DD (1799–1863, Rector 1850-63), who coined the term 'Judaeo Christian' in a letter dated 17 October 1821,[167] and his son Alexander Israel McCaul (1835–1899, curate 1859-63, rector 1863-99). The Revd Alexander McCaul Sr[168] was a Christian missionary to the Polish Jews, who (having declined an offer to become the first Anglican Bishop in Jerusalem)[169] was appointed professor of Hebrew and rabbinical literature at King's College, London in 1841. His daughter, Elizabeth Finn (1825–1921), a noted linguist, founded the Distressed Gentlefolk Aid Association (now known as Elizabeth Finn Care).[170]

In 1890 it was reported that the Bishop of London was to hold an inquiry as to the desirability of uniting the benefices of St George Botolph Lane and St Magnus. The expectation was a fusion of the two livings, the demolition of St George’s and the pensioning of "William Gladstone’s favourite Canon", Malcolm MacColl. Although services ceased there, St George’s was not demolished until 1904. The parish was then merged with St Mary at Hill rather than St Magnus.[171]

The patronage of the living was acquired in the late 19th century by Sir Henry Peek Bt. DL MP, Senior Partner of Peek Brothers & Co of 20 Eastcheap, the country's largest firm of wholesale tea brokers and dealers, and Chairman of the Commercial Union Assurance Co. Peek was a generous philanthropist who was instrumental in saving both Wimbledon Common and Burnham Beeches from development. His grandson, Sir Wilfred Peek Bt. DSO JP, presented a cousin, Richard Peek, as rector in 1904. Peek, an ardent Freemason, held the office of Grand Chaplain of England. The Times recorded that his memorial service in July 1920 "was of a semi-Masonic character, Mr Peek having been a prominent Freemason".[172] In June 1895 Peek had saved the life of a young French girl who jumped overboard from a ferry midway between Dinard and St Malo in Brittany and was awarded the bronze medal of the Royal Humane Society and the Gold Medal 1st Class of the Sociâetâe Nationale de Sauvetage de France.[173]

In November 1898 a memorial service was held at St Magnus for Sir Stuart Knill Bt. (1824–1898), head of the firm of John Knill and Co, wharfingers, and formerly Lord Mayor and Master of the Plumbers' Company.[174] This was the first such service for a Roman Catholic taken in an Anglican church.[175] Sir Stuart's son, Sir John Knill Bt. (1856-1934), also served as Alderman for the Ward of Bridge Within, Lord Mayor and Master of the Plumbers' Company.

 

Until 1922 the annual Fish Harvest Festival was celebrated at St Magnus.[176] The service moved in 1923 to St Dunstan in the East[177] and then to St Mary at Hill, but St Magnus retained close links with the local fish merchants until the closure of old Billingsgate Market. St Magnus, in the 1950s, was "buried in the stink of Billingsgate fish-market, against which incense was a welcome antidote".

 

A report in 1920 proposed the demolition of nineteen City churches, including St Magnus.[179] A general outcry from members of the public and parishioners alike prevented the execution of this plan.[180] The members of the City Livery Club passed a resolution that they regarded "with horror and indignation the proposed demolition of 19 City churches" and pledged the Club to do everything in its power to prevent such a catastrophe.[181] T. S. Eliot wrote that the threatened churches gave "to the business quarter of London a beauty which its hideous banks and commercial houses have not quite defaced. ... the least precious redeems some vulgar street ... The loss of these towers, to meet the eye down a grimy lane, and of these empty naves, to receive the solitary visitor at noon from the dust and tumult of Lombard Street, will be irreparable and unforgotten."[182] The London County Council published a report concluding that St Magnus was "one of the most beautiful of all Wren's works" and "certainly one of the churches which should not be demolished without specially good reasons and after very full consideration."[183] Due to the uncertainty about the church's future, the patron decided to defer action to fill the vacancy in the benefice and a curate-in-charge temporarily took responsibility for the parish.[184] However, on 23 April 1921 it was announced that the Revd Henry Joy Fynes-Clinton would be the new Rector. The Times concluded that the appointment, with the Bishop’s approval, meant that the proposed demolition would not be carried out.[185] Fr Fynes-Clinton was inducted on 31 May 1921.[186]

The rectory, built by Robert Smirke in 1833-5, was at 39 King William Street.[187] A decision was taken in 1909 to sell the property, the intention being to purchase a new rectory in the suburbs, but the sale fell through and at the time of the 1910 Land Tax Valuations the building was being let out to a number of tenants. The rectory was sold by the diocese on 30 May 1921 for £8,000 to Ridgways Limited, which owned the adjoining premises.[188] The Vestry House adjoining the south west of the church, replacing the one built in the 1760s, may also have been by Smirke. Part of the burial ground of St Michael Crooked Lane, located between Fish Street Hill and King William Street, survived as an open space until 1987 when it was compulsorily purchased to facilitate the extension of the Docklands Light Railway into the City.[189] The bodies were reburied at Brookwood Cemetery.

 

The interior of the church was restored by Martin Travers in 1924, in a neo-baroque style,[191] reflecting the Anglo-Catholic character of the congregation[192] following the appointment of Henry Joy Fynes-Clinton as Rector.[193] Fr Fynes, as he was often known, served as Rector of St Magnus from 31 May 1921 until his death on 4 December 1959 and substantially beautified the interior of the church.[194]

Fynes-Clinton held very strong Anglo-Catholic views, and proceeded to make St Magnus as much like a baroque Roman Catholic church as possible. However, "he was such a loveable character with an old-world courtesy which was irresistible, that it was difficult for anyone to be unpleasant to him, however much they might disapprove of his views".[195] He generally said the Roman Mass in Latin; and in personality was "grave, grand, well-connected and holy, with a laconic sense of humour".[196] To a Protestant who had come to see Coverdale's monument he is reported to have said "We have just had a service in the language out of which he translated the Bible".[197] The use of Latin in services was not, however, without grammatical danger. A response from his parishioners of "Ora pro nobis" after "Omnes sancti Angeli et Archangeli" in the Litany of the Saints would elicit a pause and the correction "No, Orate pro nobis."

 

In 1922 Fynes-Clinton refounded the Fraternity of Our Lady de Salve Regina.[198] The Fraternity's badge[199] is shown in the stained glass window at the east end of the north wall of the church above the reredos of the Lady Chapel altar. He also erected a statue of Our Lady of Walsingham and arranged pilgrimages to the Norfolk shrine, where he was one of the founding Guardians.[200] In 1928 the journal of the Catholic League reported that St Magnus had presented a votive candle to the Shrine at Walsingham "in token of our common Devotion and the mutual sympathy and prayers that are we hope a growing bond between the peaceful country shrine and the church in the heart of the hurrying City, from the Altar of which the Pilgrimages regularly start".[201]

Fynes-Clinton was General Secretary of the Anglican and Eastern Orthodox Churches Union and its successor, the Anglican and Eastern Churches Association, from 1906 to 1920 and served as Secretary to the Archbishop of Canterbury's Eastern Churches Committee from 1920 to around 1924. A Solemn Requiem was celebrated at St Magnus in September 1921 for the late King Peter of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes.

At the midday service on 1 March 1922, J.A. Kensit, leader of the Protestant Truth Society, got up and protested against the form of worship.[202] The proposed changes to the church in 1924 led to a hearing in the Consistory Court of the Chancellor of the Diocese of London and an appeal to the Court of Arches.[203] Judgement was given by the latter Court in October 1924. The advowson was purchased in 1931, without the knowledge of the Rector and Parochial Church Council, by the evangelical Sir Charles King-Harman.[204] A number of such cases, including the purchase of the advowsons of Clapham and Hampstead Parish Churches by Sir Charles, led to the passage of the Benefices (Purchase of Rights of Patronage) Measure 1933.[205] This allowed the parishioners of St Magnus to purchase the advowson from Sir Charles King-Harman for £1,300 in 1934 and transfer it to the Patronage Board.

 

St Magnus was one of the churches that held special services before the opening of the second Anglo-Catholic Congress in 1923.[207] Fynes-Clinton[208] was the first incumbent to hold lunchtime services for City workers.[209] Pathé News filmed the Palm Sunday procession at St Magnus in 1935.[210] In The Towers of Trebizond, the novel by Rose Macauley published in 1956, Fr Chantry-Pigg's church is described as being several feet higher than St Mary’s Bourne Street and some inches above even St Magnus the Martyr.[211]

In July 1937 Fr Fynes-Clinton, with two members of his congregation, travelled to Kirkwall to be present at the 800th anniversary celebrations of St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall. During their stay they visited Egilsay and were shown the spot where St Magnus had been slain. Later Fr Fynes-Clinton was present at a service held at the roofless church of St Magnus on Egilsay, where he suggested to his host Mr Fryer, the minister of the Cathedral, that the congregations of Kirkwall and London should unite to erect a permanent stone memorial on the traditional site where Earl Magnus had been murdered. In 1938 a cairn was built of local stone on Egilsay. It stands 12 feet high and is 6 feet broad at its base. The memorial was dedicated on 7 September 1938 and a bronze inscription on the monument reads "erected by the Rector and Congregation of St Magnus the Martyr by London Bridge and the Minister and Congregation of St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall to commemorate the traditional spot where Earl Magnus was slain, AD circa 1116 and to commemorate the Octocentenary of St Magnus Cathedral 1937"

 

A bomb which fell on London Bridge in 1940 during the Blitz of World War II blew out all the windows and damaged the plasterwork and the roof of the north aisle.[213] However, the church was designated a Grade I listed building on 4 January 1950[214] and repaired in 1951, being re-opened for worship in June of that year by the Bishop of London, William Wand.[215] The architect was Laurence King.[216] Restoration and redecoration work has subsequently been carried out several times, including after a fire in the early hours of 4 November 1995.[217] Cleaning of the exterior stonework was completed in 2010.

 

Some minor changes were made to the parish boundary in 1954, including the transfer to St Magnus of an area between Fish Street Hill and Pudding Lane. The site of St Leonard Eastcheap, a church that was not rebuilt after the Great Fire, is therefore now in the parish of St Magnus despite being united to St Edmund the King.

Fr Fynes-Clinton marked the 50th anniversary of his priesthood in May 1952 with High Mass at St Magnus and lunch at Fishmongers' Hall.[218] On 20 September 1956 a solemn Mass was sung in St Magnus to commence the celebration of the 25th anniversary of the restoration of the Holy House at Walsingham in 1931. In the evening of that day a reception was held in the large chamber of Caxton Hall, when between three and four hundred guests assembled.[219]

Fr Fynes-Clinton was succeeded as rector in 1960 by Fr Colin Gill,[220] who remained as incumbent until his death in 1983.[221] Fr Gill was also closely connected with Walsingham and served as a Guardian between 1953 and 1983, including nine years as Master of the College of Guardians.[222] He celebrated the Mass at the first National Pilgrimage in 1959[223] and presided over the Jubilee celebrations to mark the 50th anniversary of the Shrine in 1981, having been present at the Holy House's opening.[224] A number of the congregation of St Stephen's Lewisham moved to St Magnus around 1960, following temporary changes in the form of worship there.

 

In 1994 the Templeman Commission proposed a radical restructuring of the churches in the City Deanery. St Magnus was identified as one of the 12 churches that would remain as either a parish or an 'active' church.[226] However, the proposals were dropped following a public outcry and the consecration of a new Bishop of London.

The parish priest since 2003 has been Fr Philip Warner, who was previously priest-in-charge of St Mary's Church, Belgrade (Diocese in Europe) and Apokrisiarios for the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Serbian Orthodox Church. Since January 2004 there has been an annual Blessing of the Thames, with the congregations of St Magnus and Southwark Cathedral meeting in the middle of London Bridge.[227] On Sunday 3 July 2011, in anticipation of the feast of the translation of St Thomas Becket (7 July), a procession from St Magnus brought a relic of the saint to the middle of the bridge.[228]

David Pearson specially composed two new pieces, a communion anthem A Mhànais mo rùin (O Magnus of my love) and a hymn to St Magnus Nobilis, humilis, for performance at the church on the feast of St Magnus the Martyr, 16 April 2012.[229] St Magnus's organist, John Eady, has won composition competitions for new choral works at St Paul's Cathedral (a setting of Veni Sancte Spiritus first performed on 27 May 2012) and at Lincoln Cathedral (a setting of the Matin responsory for Advent first performed on 30 November 2013).[230]

In addition to liturgical music of a high standard, St Magnus is the venue for a wide range of musical events. The Clemens non Papa Consort, founded in 2005, performs in collaboration with the production team Concert Bites as the church's resident ensemble.[231] The church is used by The Esterhazy Singers for rehearsals and some concerts.[232] The band Mishaped Pearls performed at the church on 17 December 2011.[233] St Magnus featured in the television programme Jools Holland: London Calling, first broadcast on BBC2 on 9 June 2012.[234] The Platinum Consort made a promotional film at St Magnus for the release of their debut album In the Dark on 2 July 2012.[235]

The Friends of the City Churches had their office in the Vestry House of St Magnus until 2013.

 

Martin Travers modified the high altar reredos, adding paintings of Moses and Aaron and the Ten Commandments between the existing Corinthian columns and reconstructing the upper storey. Above the reredos Travers added a painted and gilded rood.[237] In the centre of the reredos there is a carved gilded pelican (an early Christian symbol of self-sacrifice) and a roundel with Baroque-style angels. The glazed east window, which can be seen in an early photograph of the church, appears to have been filled in at this time. A new altar with console tables was installed and the communion rails moved outwards to extend the size of the sanctuary. Two old door frames were used to construct side chapels and placed at an angle across the north-east and south-east corners of the church. One, the Lady Chapel, was dedicated to the Rector's parents in 1925 and the other was dedicated to Christ the King. Originally, a baroque aumbry was used for Reservation of the Blessed Sacrament, but later a tabernacle was installed on the Lady Chapel altar and the aumbry was used to house a relic of the True Cross.

The interior was made to look more European by the removal of the old box pews and the installation of new pews with cut-down ends. Two new columns were inserted in the nave to make the lines regular. The Wren-period pulpit by the joiner William Grey[238] was opened up and provided with a soundboard and crucifix. Travers also designed the statue of St Magnus of Orkney, which stands in the south aisle, and the statue of Our Lady of Walsingham.[239]

On the north wall there is a Russian Orthodox icon, painted in 1908. The modern stations of the cross in honey-coloured Japanese oak are the work of Robert Randall and Ashley Sands.[240] One of the windows in the north wall dates from 1671 and came from Plumbers' Hall in Chequer Yard, Bush Lane, which was demolished in 1863 to make way for Cannon Street Railway Station.[241] A fireplace from the Hall was re-erected in the Vestry House. The other windows on the north side are by Alfred Wilkinson and date from 1952 to 1960. These show the arms of the Plumbers’, Fishmongers’ and Coopers’ Companies together with those of William Wand when Bishop of London and Geoffrey Fisher when Archbishop of Canterbury and (as noted above) the badge of the Fraternity of Our Lady de Salve Regina.

The stained glass windows in the south wall, which are by Lawrence Lee and date from 1949 to 1955, represent lost churches associated with the parish: St Magnus and his ruined church of Egilsay, St Margaret of Antioch with her lost church in New Fish Street (where the Monument to the Great Fire now stands), St Michael with his lost church of Crooked Lane (demolished to make way for the present King William Street) and St Thomas Becket with his chapel on Old London Bridge.[242]

The church possesses a fine model of Old London Bridge. One of the tiny figures on the bridge appears out of place in the mediaeval setting, wearing a policeman's uniform. This is a representation of the model-maker, David T. Aggett, who is a Liveryman of the Worshipful Company of Plumbers and was formerly in the police service.[243]

The Mischiefs by Fire Act 1708 and the Fires Prevention (Metropolis) Act 1774 placed a requirement on every parish to keep equipment to fight fires. The church owns two historic fire engines that belonged to the parish of St Michael, Crooked Lane.[244] One of these is in storage at the Museum of London. The whereabouts of the other, which was misappropriated and sold at auction in 2003, is currently unknown.

In 1896 many bodies were disinterred from the crypt and reburied at the St Magnus's plot at Brookwood Cemetery, which remains the church's burial ground.

 

Prior to the Great Fire of 1666 the old tower had a ring of five bells, a small saints bell and a clock bell.[246] 47 cwt of bell metal was recovered[247] which suggests that the tenor was 13 or 14 cwt. The metal was used to cast three new bells, by William Eldridge of Chertsey in 1672,[248] with a further saints bell cast that year by Hodson.[249] In the absence of a tower, the tenor and saints bell were hung in a free standing timber structure, whilst the others remained unhung.[250]

A new tower was completed in 1704 and it is likely that these bells were transferred to it. However, the tenor became cracked in 1713 and it was decided to replace the bells with a new ring of eight.[251] The new bells, with a tenor of 21 cwt, were cast by Richard Phelps of the Whitechapel Bell Foundry. Between 1714 and 1718 (the exact date of which is unknown), the ring was increased to ten with the addition of two trebles given by two former ringing Societies, the Eastern Youths and the British Scholars.[252] The first peal was rung on 15 February 1724 of Grandsire Caters by the Society of College Youths. The second bell had to be recast in 1748 by Robert Catlin, and the tenor was recast in 1831 by Thomas Mears of Whitechapel,[253] just in time to ring for the opening of the new London Bridge. In 1843, the treble was said to be "worn out" and so was scrapped, together with the saints bell, while a new treble was cast by Thomas Mears.[254] A new clock bell was erected in the spire in 1846, provided by B R & J Moore, who had earlier purchased it from Thomas Mears.[255] This bell can still be seen in the tower from the street.

The 10 bells were removed for safe keeping in 1940 and stored in the churchyard. They were taken to Whitechapel Bell Foundry in 1951 whereupon it was discovered that four of them were cracked. After a long period of indecision, fuelled by lack of funds and interest, the bells were finally sold for scrap in 1976. The metal was used to cast many of the Bells of Congress that were then hung in the Old Post Office Tower in Washington, D.C.

A fund was set up on 19 September 2005, led by Dickon Love, a member of the Ancient Society of College Youths, with a view to installing a new ring of 12 bells in the tower in a new frame. This was the first of three new rings of bells he has installed in the City of London (the others being at St Dunstan-in-the-West and St James Garlickhythe). The money was raised and the bells were cast during 2008/9 by the Whitechapel Bell Foundry. The tenor weighed 26cwt 3qtr 9 lbs (1360 kg) and the new bells were designed to be in the same key as the former ring of ten. They were consecrated by the Bishop of London on 3 March 2009 in the presence of the Lord Mayor[256] and the ringing dedicated on 26 October 2009 by the Archdeacon of London.[257] The bells are named (in order smallest to largest) Michael, Margaret, Thomas of Canterbury, Mary, Cedd, Edward the Confessor, Dunstan, John the Baptist, Erkenwald, Paul, Mellitus and Magnus.[258] The bells project is recorded by an inscription in the vestibule of the church.

 

The first peal on the twelve was rung on 29 November 2009 of Cambridge Surprise Maximus.[260] Notable other recent peals include a peal of Stedman Cinques on 16 April 2011 to mark the 400th anniversary of the granting of a Royal Charter to the Plumbers' Company,[261] a peal of Cambridge Surprise Royal on 28 June 2011 when the Fishmongers' Company gave a dinner for Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh at their hall on the occasion of his 90th birthday[262] and a peal of Avon Delight Maximus on 24 July 2011 in solidarity with the people of Norway following the tragic massacre on Utoeya Island and in Oslo.[263] On the latter occasion the flag of the Orkney Islands was flown at half mast. In 2012 peals were rung during the Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant on 3 June and during each of the three Olympic/Paralympic marathons, on 5 and 12 August and 9 September.

The BBC television programme, Still Ringing After All These Years: A Short History of Bells, broadcast on 14 December 2011, included an interview at St Magnus with the Tower Keeper, Dickon Love,[264] who was captain of the band that rang the "Royal Jubilee Bells" during the Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant on 3 June 2012 to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II.[265] Prior to this, he taught John Barrowman to handle a bell at St Magnus for the BBC coverage.

The bells are currently rung every Sunday around 12:15 (following the service) by the Guild of St Magnus.

 

Every other June, newly elected wardens of the Fishmongers' Company, accompanied by the Court, proceed on foot from Fishmongers' Hall[267] to St Magnus for an election service.[268] St Magnus is also the Guild Church of The Plumbers' Company. Two former rectors have served as master of the company,[269] which holds all its services at the church.[270] On 12 April 2011 a service was held to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the granting of the company's Royal Charter at which the Bishop of London, the Rt Revd and Rt Hon Richard Chartres KCVO, gave the sermon and blessed the original Royal Charter. For many years the Cloker Service was held at St Magnus, attended by the Coopers' Company and Grocers' Company, at which the clerk of the Coopers' Company read the will of Henry Cloker dated 10 March 1573.[271]

St Magnus is also the ward church for the Ward of Bridge and Bridge Without, which elects one of the city's aldermen. Between 1550 and 1978 there were separate aldermen for Bridge Within and Bridge Without, the former ward being north of the river and the latter representing the City's area of control in Southwark. The Bridge Ward Club was founded in 1930 to "promote social activities and discussion of topics of local and general interest and also to exchange Ward and parochial information" and holds its annual carol service at St Magnus.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Magnus-the-Martyr

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 just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, in front of Mr. Willison’s grocers’ shop. Willison’s Grocers in Mayfair is where Lettice has an account, and it is from here that Edith, Lettice's maid, orders her groceries for the Cavendish Mews flat, except on special occasions, when professional London caterers are used. Mr. Willison prides himself in having a genteel, upper-class clientele including the households of many titled aristocrats who have houses and flats in the neighbourhood, and he makes sure that his shop is always tidy, his shelves well stocked with anything the cook of a duke or duchess may want, and staff who are polite and mannerly to all his important customers. The latter is not too difficult, for aside from himself, Mrs. Willison does his books, his daughter Henrietta helps on Saturdays and sometimes after she has finished school, which means Mr. Willison technically only employs one member of staff: Frank Leadbetter his delivery boy who carries orders about Mayfair on the bicycle provided for him by Mr. Willison. He also collects payments for accounts which are not settled in his Binney Street shop whilst on his rounds.

 

Edith, is stepping out with Frank, so as she nears the shop, she hopes that the errand she has to run for today will allow her to have a few stolen minutes with Frank under the guise of ordering a few provisions required immediately. As she crosses Binney Street, Edith is delighted to see Frank busily decorating the front window. Mr. Willison always has a splendid window display of tinned and canned goods, but as she approaches the window she can see that it is especially festive, draped with patriotic bunting of Union Jacks and blue and red flags. As Frank, crouched in the window, carefully places a jar of Golden Shred marmalade next to a box of Ty-Phoo tea and in front of a jar of Marmite where it glows in the light pouring through the plate glass, Edith taps gently, so as not to startle her beau.

 

Frank smiles broadly and waves enthusiastically as he looks up and sees his sweetheart on the other side of the glass and he beckons her in as he slips back into the shadowy confines of the grocer’s.

 

“Please come in, milady!” he says cheekily as he opens the plate glass shop door for her, bows and doffs an invisible cap as the bell tinkles prettily overhead. “Pray what may we get to you? Let Willison’s the Grocer’s satisfy your every whim.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith giggles as she steps across the threshold. “Get along with you!”

 

Stepping into the shop she immediately smells the mixture of comforting aromas of fresh fruits, vegetables and flour, permeated by the delicious scent of the brightly coloured boiled sweets coming from the large cork stoppered jars on the shop counter. The sounds of the busy street outside die away, muffled by shelves lined with any number of tinned goods and signs advertising everything from Lyon’s Tea* to Bovril**.

 

“Where is Mrs. Willison?” Edith continues warily, her eyes darting to the spot behind the end of the return counter near the door where the proprietor’s wife usually sits doing her husband’s accounts, looking imperiously down her nose at Edith through her gold framed pince-nez***.

 

“Luckily the old trout is out with Mr. Willison attending Miss Henrietta’s school.” Frank explains.

 

“Don’t tell me that impudent little minx is in trouble?” Edith asks with a cheeky spark of hope in her voice. She knows that it’s uncharitable, and unchristian of her to wish the young girl ill, but she is still riled over the last time Edith met Frank near the rear door of Mr. Willison’s grocers, where, as he stole a kiss from her, Henrietta spied upon them. Henrietta, who had seen the young couple from a lace framed upstairs window where she was often seen spying on the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, called out loudly to her disapproving mother downstairs in the shop that Edith and Frank were loitering in the back lane, which caused the woman with her old fashioned upswept hairstyle and her high necked starched shirtwaister**** blouse to come hurrying to the back door as fast as her equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corset***** and button up boots would allow her, where she promptly berated both Edith and Frank with her acerbic tongue, accusing them of lowering the tone of Mr. Willison’s establishment by loitering with intent and fraternising shamelessly. Edith’s cheeks flush at the mere memory of that embarrassing moment with Mrs. Willison.

 

“No,” Frank goes on. “Miss Henrietta is receiving an award at school today for an essay she penned.”

 

“With poison, no doubt.” mutters Edith. She sighs heavily before continuing, “I hate how you call her ‘Miss Henrietta’. She’s no better than you, Frank. In fact she’s a darn sight lesser if you ask me.”

 

“Now, now, Edith. Calm down.” Frank places his slender hands on her forearms and wraps his long and elegant fingers around them comfortingly. “You may well be right, but she is my employer’s daughter.”

 

“And full of her own self-importance.” Edith interrupts.

 

Frank politely ignores her outburst as he continues, “So I must address her as such.”

 

“Well, it’s not right, Frank.” Edith sulks.

 

“That much is true too,” Frank agrees with a sad nod. “And you know I am a man who wants to right the wrongs dealt to hardworking fold like you and I, but this is one fight I can’t have yet, Edith. This bit of deference I need to keep up if I want to keep my job.”

 

“All the same, Frank. I don’t think it’s right.” Edith opines again.

 

“Anyway, let’s not let Henrietta Willison spoil this wonderfully rare moment where we find each other alone together, Edith.” Frank says, pulling her into an embrace. Quickly looking around the quiet shop interior filled with groceries to make sure no-one will see them, Frank gently kisses Edith lovingly on the lips.

 

After a few stolen moments, Frank reluctantly breaks their kiss.

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith exclaims, her head giddy with pleasure and voice heady with love.

 

“Now, Miss Watsford,” Frank asks in a mock businesslike tone. “What can I do for the maid of the Honourable Miss Chetwynd today?”

 

“Well, it’s a funny coincidence, but you happened to be putting what I need in your window display, just as I arrived, Frank.” Edith elucidates. “I need a jar of Golden Shred orange marmalade urgently.”

 

“Urgently?” Frank queries. “Gosh, that does sound extreme.”

 

“But I do, Frank. Miss Lettice has a potential new client coming up from Wiltshire today, and being a somewhat impromptu visit, I haven’t any cake to serve them. I was just about to make my Mum’s pantry chocolate cake when I realised that I’m out of orange marmalade.”

 

“Well that does sound like a serious situation.” Frank agrees.

 

“Don’t tease me Frank! I’m serious.” Edith’s pretty pale blue eyes grow wide. “If I don’t provide something nice to eat for Miss Lettice’s potential new client, everything could go awry, and then I’d get into such trouble.”

 

“Well, I can’t have my best girl getting into trouble because she is missing the essential ingredient to her mum’s delicious chocolate cake, can I?” Frank says. “However I don’t understand why you have marmalade in a cake. It sounds a bit odd to me.”

 

“That’s because you aren’t a baker, Frank. Mum taught me this recipe for chocolate cake which is based on cheap everyday staples you have in the pantry, and that’s why she calls it a pantry chocolate cake.”

 

“Go on,” Frank says, placing his elbows on the counter and resting his smiling face in his hands. “You have my full attention.”

 

“Well, I use the marmalade to give the cake a nice citrus flavour in addition to the chocolate, and it keeps it moist, so it doesn’t dry out when baking. This way, I don’t have to worry about peeling or squeezing oranges either.”

 

“Fascinating!” Frank breathes, smiling broadly as he listens to Edith.

 

“And that’s why I need the marmalade, Frank.” Edith says nervously. “I’ll be lost without it.”

 

“Well, that is a problem, but it’s one I think I can remedy easily.” He smiles as he fossicks behind the counter and withdraws a jar of orange marmalade from somewhere unseen beneath it. Smiling proudly, as though he is a magician who has just conjured his best magic trick, he places it on the surface of counter.

 

“Oh you’re a brick, Frank!” Edith exclaims with eyes sparkling at the sight of the jar as she reaches out and takes it, placing it carefully into her basket.

 

“I’ll add that to Miss Lettice’s account, shall I?”

 

“If you would, Frank.”

 

As Frank writes the purchase on a scrap of lined paper to give to Mrs. Willison to enter into Mr. Willison’s ledger in her fine looping copperplate when she returns, he asks, “So do you like my window display then, Edith?”

 

“Oh yes!” gushes Edith. “Very much so, Frank. It’s wonderfully gay and patriotic.”

 

“I should hope it would be!” Frank replies, as he finishes scrawling Edith’s purchase on the paper with a slightly blunt pencil.

 

“Why, what’s it in aid of, Frank?”

 

“Edith!” Frank gasps. “I must have failed abysmally if you can’t tell.” He frowns, lines of concern furrowing his young brow. “Mr. Willison will never let me arrange the window again if you’re anything to go by.”

 

“Oh, get on with you, Frank!” Edith laughs.

 

However, Frank doesn’t join in her light hearted laughter and continues to look dourly at the back of the window display he has set up. “I’m serious, Edith. Mr. Willison finally let me arrange a window on my own because I implored him that I wanted to do it, and you can’t even identify what it’s promoting.”

 

“Well,” Edith defends, blushing as she does so. “To be fair, I was more concentrating on you, Frank.” When the worried look still doesn’t vanish from his face she adds. “Now that you aren’t standing in it, distracting me, I’ll go and take another look.”

 

She turns around and walks over to the window and peers through the side over the tops of a pyramid of Sunlight soap and a stack of Twinings tea varieties. An equally high pyramid of biscuit varieties, all in bright and colourful tins stands on the other side, whilst several more tins of biscuits appear at the back of the wide window ledge used for advertising. In front of them stand tins of golden syrup and black treacle, jars of marmalade, packets of tea and jelly crystals, containers of baking powder and cocoa, and at the very front of the window, almost flush against the glass, a cardboard cut out of a gollywog advertising Robertson’s marmalade and a little boy smiling as he promotes Rowntree’s clear gums, which Edith knows Mr. Willison keeps safely out of reach behind the shop counter and away from sticky little fingers. Edith gasps as she realises why Frank had hung bunting in the window, for at the back of the display, where usually there would be an advertisement for Lyon’s Tea or Bisto Gravy******, there is a poster promoting the British Empire Exhibition******* at Wembly********. A crowd of figures from British history and the nations of the British Empire crowd for space along several rows, many proudly waving the flags of Empire, whilst the exhibition name and dates are flanked by two very proud stylised Art Deco lions.

 

“The British Empire Exhibition!” Edith gasps, as Frank’s head appears next to a Huntley and Palmer********* biscuit tin on the opposite side of the display to her. “Now that you aren’t crouched in the window, I can see it clearly, Frank.”

 

“Mr. Willison gave me strict instructions to fill the window with only British made products.”

 

“And you’ve done a splendid job, Frank.” Edith replies, causing her beau to smile with pride and blush with embarrassment at her effusive compliment. As she looks at all the products again, she adds, “And I’m glad to see McVite and Price********** at the top of the pyramid of biscuits.

 

“Well, I couldn’t very well step out with the daughter of a McVitie and Price Line Manager and not have it on the top, could I, Edith?”

 

“Indeed no, Frank.” Edith smiles. “Dad will be pleased as punch when I tell him.”

 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Edith.” Franks says with a sigh.

 

“I think it will be quite a spectacle,” Edith muses, as she stares at the poster. “I’ve read in the newspapers that there will be fifty-six displays and pavilions from around the Empire! Imagine that! There will be palaces for industry, and art.”

 

“And housing and transport too***********, don’t forget.” adds Frank. “Each colony will be assigned its own distinctive pavilion to reflect local culture and architecture.”

 

“I would like to see the Queen’s Dolls’ House************.” Edith sighs. “I hear it is a whole world in miniature, and it even has electric lights.”

 

“Well, isn’t that fortunate?”

 

Edith pauses mid thought and looks quizzically at Frank. “I suppose it would be,” she considers. “If you were a doll living in the Queen’s Doll House.”

 

Frank starts laughing, quietly at first before growing into louder and louder guffaws.

 

“What, Frank?” Edith asks, blushing. “What have I said? What’s so funny?”

 

After a few moments, Frank manages to recover himself. “You do make me laugh, dear Edith.” He wipes the tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. “Thank you.” He sighs. “I was really saying it’s fortunate because, I was going to ask you whether you would like to go and see the British Empire Exhibition. I’m just as keen to see all the marvellous wonders of Empire as you are.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith gasps, any discomfort and displeasure at her beau laughing at her forgotten as she runs around to his side of the window and throws her arms around his neck. “Frank, you’re such a brick! I’d love to!” And without another word, she places her lips against his and kisses him deeply.

 

*Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J. Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in Britain, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J. Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England.

 

**Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.

 

***Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

****A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

 

*****Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.

 

******The first Bisto product, in 1908, was a meat-flavoured gravy powder, which rapidly became a bestseller in Britain. It was added to gravies to give a richer taste and aroma. Invented by Messrs Roberts and Patterson, it was named "Bisto" because it "Browns, Seasons and Thickens in One". Bisto Gravy is still a household name in Britain and Ireland today, and the brand is currently owned by Premier Foods.

 

*******The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.

 

********A purpose-built "great national sports ground", called the Empire Stadium, was built for the Exhibition at Wembley. This became Wembley Stadium. Wembley Urban District Council was opposed to the idea, as was The Times, which considered Wembley too far from Central London. The first turf for this stadium was cut, on the site of the old tower, on the 10th of January 1922. 250,000 tons of earth were then removed, and the new structure constructed within ten months, opening well before the rest of the Exhibition was ready. Designed by John William Simpson and Maxwell Ayrton, and built by Sir Robert McAlpine, it could hold 125,000 people, 30,000 of them seated. The building was an unusual mix of Roman imperial and Mughal architecture. Although it incorporated a football pitch, it was not solely intended as a football stadium. Its quarter mile running track, incorporating a 220 yard straight track (the longest in the country) were seen as being at least equally important. The only standard gauge locomotive involved in the construction of the Stadium has survived, and still runs on Sir William McAlpine's private Fawley Hill railway near Henley.

 

*********Huntley and Palmers is a British firm of biscuit makers originally based in Reading, Berkshire. The company created one of the world’s first global brands and ran what was once the world’s largest biscuit factory. Over the years, the company was also known as J. Huntley and Son and Huntley and Palmer. Huntley and Palmer were renown for their ‘superior reading biscuits’ which they promoted in different varieties for different occasions, including at breakfast time, morning and afternoon tea and reading time.

 

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

 

***********The Palace of Engineering was originally called the Palace of Housing and Transport when the British Empire Exhibition opened. It contained a crane capable of moving 25 tons (a practical necessity, not an exhibit) and contained displays on engineering, shipbuilding, electric power, motor vehicles, railways, including locomotives, metallurgy and telegraphs and wireless. In 1925 there seems to have been less emphasis on things that could also be classified as Industry, with instead more on housing and aircraft. The Palace of Industry was slightly smaller. It contained displays on the chemical industry, coal, metals, medicinal drugs, sewage disposal, food, drinks, tobacco, clothing, gramophones, gas and Nobel explosives.

 

************Queen Mary's Dolls' House is a dollhouse built in 1:12 scale in the early 1920s, completed in 1924, for Queen Mary, the wife of King George V. It was designed by architect Sir Edwin Lutyens, with contributions from many notable artists and craftsmen of the period, including a library of miniature books containing original stories written by authors including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and A. A. Milne illustrated by famous illustrators of the time like Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac. The idea for building the dollhouse originally came from the Queen's cousin, Princess Marie Louise, who discussed her idea with one of the top architects of the time, Sir Edwin Lutyens, at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition of 1921. Sir Edwin agreed to construct the dollhouse and began preparations. Princess Marie Louise had many connections in the arts and arranged for the top artists and craftsmen of the time to contribute their special abilities to the house. It was created as a gift to Queen Mary from the people, and to serve as a historical document on how a royal family might have lived during that period in England. It showcased the very finest and most modern goods of the period. Later the dollhouse was put on display to raise funds for the Queen's charities. It was originally exhibited at the British Empire Exhibition in 1924 and again in 1925, where more than 1.6 million people came to view it, and is now on display in Windsor Castle, at Windsor, as a tourist attraction.

 

This bright window display may look like it is full of real products from today and yesteryear, but just like Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House, these items are all 1:12 scale miniature pieces from my own collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The window is full of wonderful British household brands, some of which like Robertson’s Golden Shred Marmalade, Marmite, Oxo stock cubes and Twinings tea we still know today. All these pieces have been made by various artisans including Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire and Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, or supplied from various stockists of 1:12 miniatures including Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop and Shephard’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, or through various online stockists. I created the Union Jack bunting that is draped to either side of the display. I also recreated the British Empire Exhibition poster.

 

The two carboard displays at the very front for Rountree’s Gums and Golden Shred Marmalade are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. The Golliwog advertising Robertson’s Golden Shred Marmalade in particular has some nostalgia for me, and takes me back to my own childhood. The famous Robertson's Golliwog symbol (not seen as racially charged at the time) appeared in 1910 after a trip to the United States to set up a plant in Boston. His son John bought a golliwog doll there. For some reason this started to appear first on their price lists and was then adopted as their trade mark. I have pins with the Robertson’s Golliwog on it that I collected as a child. 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 these advertising pieces for miniature shops. What might amaze you, looking at these cardboard stand-ups is that they are just like their real life equivalents, both front and back! To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a real 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 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.

 

Golden Shred orange marmalade and Silver Shred lime marmalade still exist today and are common household brands both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson’s Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson’s Silver Shred is a clear, tangy, lemon flavoured shredded marmalade. Robertson’s marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.

 

In 1859 Henry Tate went into partnership with John Wright, a sugar refiner based at Manesty Lane, Liverpool. Their partnership ended in 1869 and John’s two sons, Alfred and Edwin joined the business forming Henry Tate and Sons. A new refinery in Love Lane, Liverpool was opened in 1872. In 1921 Henry Tate and Sons and Abram Lyle and Sons merged, between them refining around fifty percent of the UK’s sugar. A tactical merger, this new company would then become a coherent force on the sugar market in anticipation of competition from foreign sugar returning to its pre-war strength. Tate and Lyle are perhaps best known for producing Lyle’s Golden Syrup and Lyle’s Golden Treacle.

 

Peter Leech and Sons was a grocers that operated out of Lowther Street in Whitehaven from the 1880s. They had a large range of tinned goods that they sold including coffee, tea, tinned salmon and golden syrup. They were admired for their particularly attractive labelling. I do not know exactly when they ceased production, but I believe it may have happened just before the Second World War.

 

Founded by Henry Isaac Rowntree in Castlegate in York in 1862, Rowntree's developed strong associations with Quaker philanthropy. Throughout much of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, it was one of the big three confectionery manufacturers in the United Kingdom, alongside Cadbury and Fry, both also founded by Quakers. In 1981, Rowntree's received the Queen's Award for Enterprise for outstanding contribution to international trade. In 1988, when the company was acquired by Nestlé, it was the fourth-largest confectionery manufacturer in the world. The Rowntree brand continues to be used to market Nestlé's jelly sweet brands, such as Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums, and is still based in York.

 

Twinings is a British marketer of tea and other beverages, including coffee, hot chocolate and malt drinks, based in Andover, Hampshire. The brand is owned by Associated British Foods. It holds the world's oldest continually used company logo, and is London's longest-standing ratepayer, having occupied the same premises on the Strand since 1706. Twinings tea varieties include black tea, green tea and herbal teas, along with fruit-based cold infusions. Twinings was founded by Thomas Twining, who opened Britain's first known tea room, at No. 216 Strand, London, in 1706; it still operates today. Holder of a royal warrant, Twinings was acquired by Associated British Foods in 1964. The company is associated with Earl Grey tea, a tea infused with bergamot, though it is unclear when this association began, and how important the company's involvement with the tea has been. Competitor Jacksons of Piccadilly – acquired by Twinings during the 1990s – also had associations with the bergamot blend. In April 2008, Twinings announced their decision to close its Belfast Nambarrie plant, a tea company in trade for over 140 years. Citing an "efficiency drive", Twinings moved most of its production to China and Poland in late 2011, while retaining its Andover, Hampshire factory with a reduced workforce. In 2023, Twinings ceased production of lapsang souchong, replacing it with a product called "Distinctively Smoky", widely considered to be inferior quality.

 

In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.

 

Bird’s were best known for making custard and Bird’s Custard is still a common household name, although they produced other desserts beyond custard, including the blancmange. They also made Bird’s Golden Raising Powder – their brand of baking powder. Bird’s Custard was first formulated and first cooked by Alfred Bird in 1837 at his chemist shop in Birmingham. He developed the recipe because his wife was allergic to eggs, the key ingredient used to thicken traditional custard. The Birds continued to serve real custard to dinner guests, until one evening when the egg-free custard was served instead, either by accident or design. The dessert was so well received by the other diners that Alfred Bird put the recipe into wider production. John Monkhouse (1862–1938) was a prosperous Methodist businessman who co-founded Monk and Glass, which made custard powder and jelly. Monk and Glass custard was made in Clerkenwell and sold in the home market, and exported to the Empire and to America. They acquired by its rival Bird’s Custard in the early Twentieth Century.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

Oxo is a brand of food products, including stock cubes, herbs and spices, dried gravy, and yeast extract. The original product was the beef stock cube, and the company now also markets chicken and other flavour cubes, including versions with Chinese and Indian spices. The cubes are broken up and used as flavouring in meals or gravy or dissolved into boiling water to produce a bouillon. Oxo produced their first cubes in 1910 and further increased Oxo's popularity.

 

Bournville is a brand of dark chocolate produced by Cadbury. It is named after the model village of the same name in Birmingham, England and was first sold in 1908. Bournville Cocoa was one of the products sold by Cadbury. The label on the canister is a transitional one used after the First World War and shared both the old fashioned Edwardian letter B and more modern 1920s lettering for the remainder of the name. The red of the lettering is pre-war whilst the orange and white a post-war change.

 

Peek Freans is the name of a former biscuit making company based in Bermondsey, which is now a global brand of biscuits and related confectionery owned by various food businesses. De Beauvoir Biscuit Company owns but does not market in the United Kingdom, Europe and United States; Mondelēz International owns the brand in Canada; and English Biscuit Manufacturers owns the brand in Pakistan. Peek, Frean & Co. Ltd was registered in 1857 by James Peek (1800–1879) and his nephew-in-law George Hender Frean. The business was based in a disused sugar refinery on Mill Street in Dockhead, South East London, in the west of Bermondsey. With a quickly expanding business, in 1860, Peek engaged his friend John Carr, the apprenticed son of the Carlisle-based Scottish milling and biscuit-making family, Carr's. From 1861, Peek, Frean & Co. Ltd started exporting biscuits to Australia, but outgrew their premises from 1870 after agreeing to fulfil an order from the French Army for 460 long tons of biscuits for the ration packs supplied to soldiers fighting the Franco-Prussian War. After hostilities ended, the French Government ordered a further 16,000 long tons (11 million) sweet "Pearl" biscuits in celebration of the end of the Siege of Paris, and further flour supplies for Paris in 1871 and 1872, with financing undertaken by their bankers the Rothschilds. The consequential consumer demands of emigrating French expatriate soldiers, allowed the company to start exporting directly to Ontario, Canada from the mid-1870s. On 23 April 1873, the old Dockhead factory burnt down in a spectacular fire,[1] which brought the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII) out on a London Fire Brigade horse-drawn water pump to view the resulting explosions. In 1906, the Peek, Frean and Co. factory in Bermondsey was the subject of one of the earliest documentary films shot by Cricks and Sharp. This was in part to celebrate an expansion of the company's cake business, which later made the wedding cakes for both Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten (later Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh) and Charles, Prince of Wales (later King Charles III), and Lady Diana Spencer. In 1924, the company established their first factory outside the UK, in Dum Dum in India. In 1931, five personnel from the Bermondsey factory went to Australia to train the staff in the new factory in Camperdown, in Sydney. In 1949, they established their first bakery in Canada, located on Bermondsey Road in East York, Ontario, which still today produces Peek Freans branded products. After 126 years, the London factory was closed by then owner BSN on Wednesday 26 May 1989.

 

Carr's is a British biscuit and cracker manufacturer, currently owned by Pladis Global through its subsidiary United Biscuits. The company was founded in 1831 by Jonathan Dodgson Carr and is marketed in the United States by Kellogg's. In 1831, Carr formed a small bakery and biscuit factory in the English city of Carlisle in Cumberland; he received a royal warrant in 1841. Within fifteen years of being founded, it had become Britain's largest baking business. Carr's business was both a mill and a bakery, an early example of vertical integration, and produced bread by night and biscuits by day. The biscuits were loosely based on dry biscuits used on long voyages by sailors. They could be kept crisp and fresh in tins, and despite their fragility could easily be transported to other parts of the country by canal and railway. Carr died in 1884, but by 1885, the company was making 128 varieties of biscuit and employing 1000 workers. In 1894 the company was registered as Carr and Co. Ltd. but reverted to being a private company in 1908. Carrs Flour Mills Limited was incorporated after acquiring the flour-milling assets. It became part of Cavenham Foods in 1964 until 1972, when it was sold to United Biscuits group, along with Cavenham's other biscuit brands Wright's Biscuits and Kemps for $10 million. United Biscuits was sold by its private equity owners to the Turkish-based multinational Yıldız Holding in 2014; in 2016 all UB brands including Carr's were combined with Yildiz's other snack brands to form Pladis Global.

 

Macfarlane Lang and Company began as Lang’s bakery in 1817, before becoming MacFarlane Lang in 1841. The first biscuit factory opened in 1886 and changed its name to MacFarlane Lang & Co. in the same year. The business then opened a factory in Fulham, London in 1903, and in 1904 became MacFarlane Lang & Co. Ltd. In 1948 it formed United Biscuits Ltd. along with McVitie and Price.

 

A co-operative wholesale society, or CWS, is a form of co-operative federation (that is, a co-operative in which all the members are co-operatives), in this case, the members are usually consumer cooperatives. The best historical examples of this are the English CWS and the Scottish CWS, which are the predecessors of the 21st Century Co-operative Group. Indeed, in Britain, the terms Co-operative Wholesale Society and CWS are used to refer to this specific organisation rather than the organisational form. They sold things like tea, cocoa and biscuits.

 

Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884 by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.

 

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

Generous thanks to Albert S. Bite for graciously allowing me to use his high quality photo as a basis for this graphic illustration.

 

Albert S. Bites’ original photo can be viewed here. If you have an interest in pictures of vintage lorries, trucks, automobiles and vehicles of all types would strongly suggest to visit Albert S. Bites interesting photostream.

 

The WC-52 Truck, Cargo, 3/4 ton, 4x4 was developed at a Dodge subsidiary, the Fargo Motor Corporation. Between 1942 and 1945, 59,114 WC-52s were built for U.S. use and shipment to allies, especially the Soviet Union where the trucks became quite common. They were utilized very broadly for many purposes in all branches of the U.S. military through World War II and the Korean War. The M-37 3/4 ton 4x4 Dodge truck gradually replaced the WC models during the mid- to late-1950s.

  

The 3/4 ton G-502 series of Dodge WC trucks was introduced in late 1941, replacing the G505 1/2 ton trucks of the period 1939-1941. The most versatile of the 3/4 ton "Weapons Carriers" was the WC-51 or WC-52, two trucks that were identical except for the presence (WC-52) or absence (WC-51) of the front-bumper-mounted winch. Although called a "weapons carrier" it had folding troop seats down both sides of the cargo area and was primarily used to haul personnel and ammunition. Numerous variations were produced, including the M-6 Gun Motor Carriage (GMC) which mounted a 37mm Anti-tank Gun in the cargo bed of the WC-52 base vehicle.

 

The WC-52 was equipped with a Braden MU-2 winch, mounted in the center, front. The WC-52 frame was specially made, extended to accomodate the winch. The winch capacity was originally 5,000 lbs. with 3/8 in. wire rope, but was increased to 7,500 lbs. in October 1943. The higher capacity winch was equipped with 7/16 in. wire rope and a heavier shear pin.

 

ibid.

www.olive-drab.com/idphoto/id_photos_wc52.php

 

Side note: The Dodge 3/4 ton truck (M43) was also used as an military ambulance, fitted with a box bed and rear folding doors, the cargo area could be fitted to accommodate up to four litter hangers. I drove many of these while in Vietnam and over my military tenure.

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

 

Tonight however we have headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, past Trafalgar Square and down The Strand to one of London’s most luxurious and fashionable hotels, The Savoy*, where, surrounded by mahogany and rich red velvet, gilded paintings and extravagant floral displays, Lettice is having dinner with the son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely to help celebrate his birthday. The pair have made valiant attempts to pursue a romantic relationship since meeting at Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie’s, Hunt Ball. Yet things haven’t been easy, their relationship moving in fits and starts, partially due to the invisible, yet very strong influence of Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, the current Duchess of Walmsford. Although Lettice has no solid proof of it, she is quite sure that Lady Zinnia does not think her a suitable match for her eldest son and heir. From what she has been told, Lettice also believes that Lady Zinnia has tried matchmaking Selwyn unsuccessfully with his cousin Pamela Fox-Chavers. In an effort to prove that they are serious about being together, Selwyn suggested at a dinner in the self-same Savoy dining room a few months ago, that be seen together about town, and the best way to do that is to be seen at the functions and places that will be popular because they are part of the London Season. Taking that approach, the pair have discarded discretion, and have been seen together at many different occasions and their photograph has graced the society pages of all the London newspapers time and time again.

 

Lettice strides with the assured footsteps of a viscount’s daughter as she walks beneath the grand new Art Deco portico of the Savoy and the front doors are opened for her by liveried doormen. She still gets a thrill at being so open about her relationship with Selwyn amidst all the fashionable people populating the Savoy dining room, especially after the pair have been very discreet about their relationship for the past year.

 

Lettice is ushered into the grand dining room of the Savoy, a space brilliantly illuminated by dozens of glittering electrified chandeliers cascading down like fountains from the high ceiling above. Beneath the sparkling light, men in white waistcoats and women a-glitter with jewels and bugle bead embroidered frocks are guided through the cavernous dining room where they are seated in high backed mahogany and red velvet chairs around tables dressed in crisp white tablecloths and set with sparkling silver and gilt china. The large room is very heavily populated with theatre patrons enjoying a meal before a show and London society out for an evening. The space is full of vociferous conversation, boisterous laughter, the clink of glasses and the scrape of cutlery against crockery as the diners enjoy the magnificent repast served to them from the hotel’s famous kitchens. Above it all, the notes of the latest dance music from the band can be heard as they entertain diners and dancers who fill the parquet dance floor.

 

A smartly uniformed waiter escorts Lettice to a table for two in the midst of the grand dining salon, but Lettice stops dead in her tracks on the luxurious Axminister carpet when she sees someone other than Selwyn awaiting for her at the white linen covered table.

 

“Surprise.” a cool female voice enunciates, the single word lacking the usual joyful lilt when spoken. “Miss Chetwynd, we finally meet.”

 

Seated at the table is a figure Lettice recognises not only from old editions of her mother’s copies of The Lady** and Horse and Hound***, but from a more recent social engagement, when she attended the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show**** in May. Her pale white face and calculating dark eyes appraise Lettice coldly as she stands, frozen to the floor.

 

“Lady Zinnia!” Lettice gasps with an involuntary shiver, before quickly recovering her manners and dropping an elegant curtsey. “Your Grace.”

 

“How very clever of you to recognise me, my dear.” Lady Zinnia replies with a proud smile that bears no warmth towards Lettice in it. “Please, do join me, won’t you? I was just arranging for some caviar to be served upon your arrival. You can serve the caviar now that my guest is here.”

 

“Very good, Your Grace.” the waiter answers with deference.

 

As Lettice allows herself, as if sleepwalking, to take her place adjunct to the Duchess of Walmsford with the assistance of the waiter withdrawing and pushing in her chair for her, she takes in the mature woman’s elegant figure. Dressed in a strikingly simple black evening gown adorned with shimmering black bugle beads with satin and net sleeves, her only jewellery is a long rope of perfect white pearls. Her careful choice of a lack of adornment only serves to draw attention to her glacially beautiful features. Her skin, pale and creamy, is flawless and her cheekbones are high. Her dark wavy cascades of hair only betrays her maturity by way of a single streak of white shooting from her temple, but even this is strikingly elegant as it leaves a silvery trail as it disappears into the rest of her almost blue black tresses. Her dark sloe blue eyes pierce Lettice to the core.

 

“You know, you’re even more beautiful in the flesh than you are in the newspapers my dear Miss Chetwynd,” begins Lady Zinnia. “Although I can still see beneath that polished, cosmopolitan chic exterior of yours, the wild bucolic child of the counties who dragged my son through the muddy hedgerows back before the war.”

 

“And I can still see the angry mother that bundled Selwyn away.” replies Lettice.

 

“Touché, my dear.” Lady Zinnia says with a slight smile curling up the corners of her thin lips. “I’m pleased that I left such a lasting impression upon you.”

 

“I was expecting to have dinner with Selwyn this evening, Your Grace.” Lettice says, deciding that there is no point in bartering barbs thinly disguised as pleasantries with the hostile duchess.

 

“Oh, I know you were, Miss Chetwynd, but I’m afraid that there was a slight change of plans.” Lady Zinnia answers mysteriously. “Oh, and I think we can dispense with the formalities. Lady Zinnia will be quite satisfactory.”

 

“A change of plans, Your Gr… Lady Zinnia?”

 

“Yes,” She chuckles quietly as she reaches down into her lap below the linen tablecloth and fumbles about for something. “So I will have to do, I’m afraid.” She withdraws a Moroccan leather case with her initials tooled on its front in ornate gilded lettering. “I know you don’t partake, but do you mind if I smoke, Miss Chetwynd?” She depresses a clasp in the side and it opens to reveal a full deck of thin white cigarettes. “It’s not so much of a taboo as it once was for a woman to smoke in public.”

 

“Feel free to catch on fire, Lady Zinnia.” Lettice replies as the older woman withdraws a silver lighter from the clutch purse she must have on her lap.

 

“Oh how deliciously droll, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia replies, apparently unruffled by Lettice’s own hostile barb. “Did you read that line in Punch****?”

 

“Where is Selwyn, Lady Zinnia?” Lettice asks, leaning forward, unable to keep the vehemence out of her voice.

 

“I’m afraid that my son,” She emphasises the last two words with heavy gravitas. “Had to go away quite suddenly, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia screws a cigarette in an unconcerned fashion into a small amber holder with a gold end.

 

“Go away?”

 

“Yes, Miss Chetwynd.” She looks directly at Lettice with her piercing stare, as if she were pinning a delicate butterfly to a mounting board with a sharp pin. “He was suddenly offered an opportunity to showcase his architectural panache in a place far more accepting of this preferred new modernist style he favours than London ever will.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Durban.” Lady Zinnia answers matter-of-factly before placing the cigarette holder to her lips and lighting the cigarette dangling from it with her silver lighter.

 

“Durban!” Lettice gasps. “As in, South Africa?”

 

“I’m glad to see you know your geography, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia says as she withdraws the cigarette holder from her lips and exhales an elegant plume of acrid silver grey smoke which tumbles out over itself. “Your father didn’t waste the money he spent on your expensive education.” She sighs with boredom. “Yes, Durban in South Africa.”

 

“But he didn’t indicate any of this to me.” Lettice mutters in disbelief.

 

“Oh, it was very sudden, Miss Chetwynd, and he hadn’t long to make up his mind.” the Duchess replies cooly. “As I indicated, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and they seldom come around, as I’m sure you know only too well yourself, Miss Chetwynd, being the successful young interior designer that you are.”

 

Lettice silently presses the book of architecture sitting on the chair at her side that she bought at Mayhew’s****** just a few weeks ago for Selwyn for his birthday, wrapped in bright paper and tied with a gayly coloured ribbon by herself.

 

“He really had no choice but to leap at the chance.” continues Lady Zinnia.

 

“He would never have gone without saying goodbye to me first.” Lettice insists.

 

“You’d be amazed what I can make people do, Miss Chetywnd.” Lady Zinnia replies threateningly and then takes another drag on her cigarette, before blowing out a fresh plume of smoke. “Even my own beloved son.”

 

“You?” Lettice’s eyes, glistening with tears that threaten to burst forth, growing wide in shock. “You did this?”

 

“Well, let’s be honest, shall we? I really had no choice, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia replies. “No doubt you will despise me for it, but when you reach my age, my dear, you realise that you cannot be friends with everyone in this life. Besides,” she goes on, taking another drag on her cigarette, the paper crackling slightly as her cheeks draw inwards. “You cannot blame me entirely, when you yourself are at least partially to blame for this, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Me?” Lettice splutters hotly, her dainty hands clenching in anger at the older woman’s accusation. “How do you come to that conclusion?”

 

“Well, if you hadn’t blundered blithely into my son’s life, spoiling all my well laid plans,” Her dark eyes widen, increasing her look of vehemence towards Lettice. “There would be no need for him to go, now would there, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Durban. Durban!” Lettice keeps repeating hollowly.

 

“Yes, it’s rather a lovely place: beautiful sunny weather this time of year, although it a little out of the way, I must confess.” Lady Zinnia smiles at her own harsh amusement. “Perhaps when you one day get married, your husband will take you there for your honeymoon.”

 

Lettice looks with vehemence across the table at her companion, her view of her features slightly blurred by the tears in her eyes. “Yes, Selwyn can show me the buildings he designed during his stay there.” she replies with determination.

 

“Bravo, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia rests her almost spent cigarette in the black marble ashtray she has been provided with by the Savoy staff and quietly slowly claps her hands, her white elbow length gloves muffling the sound. “Such spirited words. I must admire your pluck. No wonder my dear Selwyn is attracted to you. He is determined to create his own world, against social conventions too.”

 

Just at that moment, two waiters approach their table. One carries a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne and two long crystal champagne flutes, whilst the other bears an ornate silver tray upon which stand a fan of biscuits, a plate of lemon slices and a bowl of glistening, jewel like caviar.

 

“Shall I pour, Your Grace?” the waiter with the champagne asks as he places the ice bucket on the edge of the table.

 

“Oh yes, please do!” enthuses Lady Zinnia jovially. “We are in a celebratory mood tonight, aren’t we Miss Chetwynd?” She does not even bother to look at Lettice as she speaks, and Lettice does not reply as her head sinks.

 

“May I be so bold as to ask what Your Grace is celebrating?” the waiter asks politely.

 

“Indeed you may,” replies Lady Zinnia. “My son is going to Durban for a year to design beautiful homes for South African families. He set sail this morning for Cape Town, and we are wishing him every success.”

 

“Congratulations to His Grace, Your Grace.” the waiter says as the cork in the champagne bottle pops and he pours sparkling golden effervescent champagne into the two glasses.

 

“Thank you!” Lady Zinnia replies, taking up her glass. “Well, Miss Chetwynd, shall we toast Selwyn’s success?”

 

She holds her glass up, and for appearance’s sake before the two waiters and the other guests of the Savoy dining room surreptitiously watching them from the nearby tables, Lettice picks up her own glass and connects it with the Duchess’, but she does not smile as she does so.

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, Miss Chetwynd, but I’m famished.”

 

Lady Zinnia proceeds to select a biscuit which she places on her gilt edged white plate. She places a small scoop of sticky black caviar on it and tops it with a thin slice of lemon. Lettice does the same, but unlike Lady Zinnia, she does not attempt to eat anything on her plate.

 

Once the pair of waiters have retreated, Lettice turns back to Lady Zinnia and asks, “Why do you dislike me so as a prospective wife for your son, Lady Zinnia?” She shakes her head. “I make him happy. He makes me happy. I don’t understand.”

 

“No,” the duchess releases a bitter chuckle. “I don’t suppose you do.”

 

“What’s wrong with me? I come from a good family. My father’s estate is still quite successful. Unlike many other estates, Glynes is still turning a profit year on year. I’m well educated, like you are yourself.”

 

“I don’t think you are entirely unsuitable, Miss Chetwynd,” Lady Zinnia concedes, eyeing her young companion with a fresh look of consideration. “Although I would prefer Selwyn to pick a girl from a more notable linage.”

 

“We can trace our lineage back to Tudor times.”

 

“And mine can be traced back to the Norman Conquest.”

 

“Then why did you send him to my mother’s Hunt Ball in the first place, Lady Zinnia?”

 

“Well, I only sent Selwyn as my emissary to support dear Sadie. I must confess that I never really had a lot of time for your mother. I’d hardly call her a friend: more of a polite acquaintance. She prattles on, like so many other women of our generation, about pointless, meaningless things which I find fearfully tiresome.” She sighs. “Ahhh… but I do have time for your father. He was always very witty and he believed in the emancipation of women, a cause we had in common. He wasted his intelligence on someone as blinkered and old fashioned like your mother,” She sighs again. “However, that was the decision he made. So, when Sadie sent an invitation to her first Hunt Ball since before the war, I didn’t want to attend myself and be stuck with her idle gossip, but I did want to support her in some way, on account of your dear father, so I sent Selwyn instead. I didn’t realise that she was using the occasion to attempt to find you a husband.” She pauses and takes a dainty bite out of the caviar covered biscuit. “If I had known, I would never have sent Selwyn. I have my own plans for him.”

 

“Pamela?” Lettice asks quietly.

 

“Yes. Selwyn told me that he had shared with you the plans that his Uncle Bertrand and I had made to match Pamela and him, thus uniting our two great families.”

 

“Selwyn will never marry her, Lady Zinnia. He doesn’t love her.” Lettice hisses quietly.

 

“Temper, temper, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia cautions in reply. “As I said before, you would be amazed what I have made people do.”

 

“And Pamela doesn’t love him either.” adds Lettice.

 

“And that is a problem, even I must admit to. One reluctant party is one thing, but two is quite another.”

 

“She’s met a very nice banker’s son.”

 

“Yes, I know, my dear - Jonty Knollys.”

 

Lettice laughs bitterly. “Of course you know. You seem to have spies everywhere.”

 

Ignoring her remark, Lady Zinnia carries on, “So you see my dear Miss Chetwynd, I do not have anything against you perse, but you have been rather a fly in Bertrand’s and my ointment. When I saw you with your friend at the Great Spring Show, I knew you were going to be trouble, and when Bertrand told me that he and Rosamund met you at the Henley Regatta, and Rosamund told me that she had observed that there were little intimacies exchanged between the two of you, I knew that with Pamela taking an interest in young Mr. Knollys and Bertrand willing to break his and my long laid plans because Knollys is equally as wealthy as the Spencelys are, I had to step in to separate you two.”

 

“But why, Lady Zinnia?”

 

“As I said, I would prefer Selwyn to make a more advantageous match with a girl from a family not unlike that with the lineage and solid financial background of the Spencelys. Mr. Knollys may not have the lineage, but he does have the money to support Pamela handsomely, and she will cultivate enough social connections that people will overlook her husband’s lack of them. However, I am not without some understanding of the human heart, and I do admire a woman with spirit who is well educated and can stand her own ground, so I made a pact with Selwyn.”

 

“A pact?”

 

“Yes. I told him that if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with you, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about you as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and I planned. If however, he still feels the same way about you when he returns, I agreed that I would concede and will allow him to marry you.”

 

“But if you knew that Lord Fox-Chavers was wavering towards agreeing to a match between Jonty Knollys and Pamela…”

 

“Aha, but Selwyn doesn’t, and now that he has made this agreement with me, even if you wrote to him, he will not break our pact and he won’t read your letters. He gave me his solemn promise, and he forfeits his right to marry you if he breaks it. Besides, I have made Bertrand make the same pact with Pamela.”

 

Lettice shakes her head in disbelief at what Lady Zinnia is saying between mouthfuls of caviar. “Why have you done this? All you are doing is making Selwyn, Pamela, Jonty and I miserable.” Lettice finally asks in exasperation. “If you love Selwyn, if you don’t really dislike me, why are you putting the pair of us through such pain unless you are an exceedingly perverse individual? I don’t understand your motives.”

 

“Perhaps I am perverse.” chortles Lady Zinnia. “I must confess, I actually quite enjoy being a little perverse. It’s really quite simple my dear Miss Chetwynd, I don’t want my son marrying an infatuation. I nearly made the same mistake and married for love, and I can tell you that if I had, I would not be in as advantageous a position socially or financially today. I want Selwyn to have a clear head before he proposes marriage, and I want him to follow the course I have firmly had set out for the last twenty years. I cannot let something as irritating as the first flushes of young love ruin my well laid plans.” She takes another bite of her caviar and after finishing her mouthful she continues, “Rest assured Miss Chetwynd that however perverse you may think me, I am as much a woman of my word as my son is of his. If he comes back from Durban in a year and he tells me that he still loves you as deeply and passionately that he wants to marry you, I shan’t stand in his way.” She takes out another cigarette from her case and screws it into her cigarette holder. “However, a year is an eternity for the flames of love, however strong you may think they are. A year is more than adequate time for it to be snuffed out and extinguished.” She smiles meanly as she lights her cigarette. Blowing out another plume of cascading grey smoke she concludes, “Don’t imagine for one moment that Selwyn will want to marry you upon his return. He will be a changed man: changed for the better I hope, and free of the shackles of foolish youthful love.” She spits the last word like it is something distasteful. “If I were you, I’d seek another suitor to marry you within the next year. It will help you save face and avoid unnecessary embarrassment.”

 

Lettice feels the grand Savoy dining room swimming about her as she tried to take in everything Lady Zinnia says. Without even saying a word in goodbye, she manages to raise herself out of her seat and begins to wend her way between the tables of diners, some of whom notice her elegant figure as she slips silently, unsteadily past. Never once does she look back. Never once does she allow her emotions to break free as her footsteps quicken, as she pushes more urgently past the elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen milling about the room. It is only when, after what feels like a lifetime, she reaches the portico of the Savoy and she feels the cool air of the London evening on her cheeks that she allows the tears to fall, and down they cascade, like a dam that burst its banks, in an endless pair of rivulets.

 

*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

***Horse and Hound is the oldest equestrian weekly magazine of the United Kingdom. Its first edition was published in 1884. The magazine contains horse industry news, reports from equestrian events, veterinary advice about caring for horses, and horses for sale.

 

****May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.

 

*****Punch, or The London Charivari was a British weekly magazine of humour and satire established in 1841 by Henry Mayhew and wood-engraver Ebenezer Landells. Historically, it was most influential in the 1840s and 1850s, when it helped to coin the term "cartoon" in its modern sense as a humorous illustration. From 1850, Sir John Tenniel (most famous for his illustrations for Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass”, was the chief cartoon artist at the magazine for over fifty years. After the 1940s, when its circulation peaked, it went into a long decline, finally closing in 1992. It was revived in 1996, but closed again in 2002.

 

******A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau:

 

The caviar petit fours and the silver tray of biscuits have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The bowl of caviar and the two champagne flutes comes from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The two slightly scalloped white gilt plates and the wonderful creamy white roses in the vase on the table come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The cutlery and the lemon I acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The lemon slices I acquired through an online miniature stockist of miniatures on E-Bay. The silver champagne cooler on the table is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of champagne itself is hand made from glass and is an artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The bottle is De Rochegré champagne, identified by the careful attention paid to recreating the label in 1:12 scale.

 

The two red velvet upholstered high back chairs I have had since I was six years old. They were a birthday present given to me by my grandparents.

 

The painting in the background in its gilded frame is a 1:12 artisan piece made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.

 

The red wallpaper is beautiful artisan paper given to me by a friend, who has encouraged me to use a selection of papers she has given me throughout the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Letter generously translated by xiphophilos, authored in the field on 31.05.1918 the sender laments the war and tells his girlfriend he hopes the killing will end soon.

 

Three Allied casualties of the Kaiserschlacht lie beside a partially destroyed house sometime around March 1918.

 

The 1918 Spring Offensive or Kaiserschlacht was a series of German attacks along the Western Front beginning on 21st March 1918, which marked the deepest advances by either side since 1914. The Germans had realised that their only remaining chance of victory was to defeat the Allies before the overwhelming human and matériel resources of the United States could be fully deployed. They also had the temporary advantage in numbers afforded by the nearly 50 divisions freed by the Russian surrender (the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk).

qwikLoadr™ Video...

Natalie Merchant | Kind and Generous Official! • mail.RU™

 NOTE: @ 2:43 she jumps through like a drum with a star! on it

treeSparrow | Molecular Model [5.14.19] gwennie2006! • YouTube™

 Little Drummer Boy

Queens of the Stone Age | No One Knows Live! Reading • YouTube™

 NOTE: @4:19 she point to the light.

 

blueSun | part I [4.19.19] gwennie2006! • YouTube™

blueSun | part II [4.19.19] gwennie2006! • YouTube™

blueSun | part III Eagle! [4.19.19] gwennie2006! • YouTube™

blueSun | part IV buttercup [4.19.19] gwennie2006! • YouTube™

 

Okay, so like there was a big Base drum at Chelsea Fire today, and an old Police Cruiser on tow truck, with the trunk open?? rather strange, and nothing in the Mystic.....still. Eye in the Sky at the Converse HQ with new patina sign too. First Responders!! Cement Mixer at the Bus Stop, see comment too. Guide through the BrickYard to Scollay Square, and the blonde woman was at theKitchen place. Homeland Security at the Stoolies too, last time they were there they had a sniffing dog too. School bus drive by at Scollay square as well, and Sp[r]y!! at work when I got there...all day too.

 

blogger gwennie2006 | Blue Wave part III Osprey...

gwennie2006.blogspot.com/2019/04/blue-wave-part-iii-osprey...

 

Tenuous Link: Bass Drum

 

NOTE: When I did that collage I wasn't sure who was doing the various things, but it was so obvious [for years] that someone was. 9 months later October 23, 2016 I found out it was Deanna's mother Katherine, and the Mayor of Somerville, and most likely Fox25 News [Bob Ward].

 

NOTE 2: On July 17, 2017 I contacted the FBI and spoke to a woman for almost an hour, gave her tons of information and proof. I had initially hoped to meet with them, and explain more thoroughly the many, many years of work involved. They have the evidence, I gave it to them and some of it has since been removed, which makes it more incriminating to them.

 

Everything.

 

The current series at Indy Metro Church is entitled 'Everything'. The focus is simple, yet profound...an act of generosity, big or small, will produce a ripple effect that will impact each person it touches.

 

As the church, we are committed to living generously and inspiring others to do the same. This recent 'challenge' has further fueled my desire to live a Christ-centered, grace-filled, life of generosity.

 

I'd like to share a couple quick stories in hopes that you will be spurred to take a step outside of you comfort zone and let that chain of generous events start happening wherever you are.

 

Dollar Store.

Last weekend, I ran into the dollar store to grab a couple things and noticed a older woman and a sweet little lady she kept calling mother. As I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation, I just wanted to 'awww' at their comments about the cheesy knick-knacks.

 

As I walked to the checkout, they stepped in line behind me. I heard the daughter say, "Mom, that is beautiful." As I turned to see what she had picked up, the mom was holding one of those dream catchers, telling her daughter that it would bring her good luck (I didn't think that was how those 'worked' but...nonetheless).

 

I swiped my card and the cash back option popped up. I quickly turned around to count how many items the ladies had sat on the counter. (This dollar store happened to be a 'real' dollar store...where everything is actually a dollar.) I chose my cash back amount and as the cashier handed me my $10 bill, I handed it right back and asked her to put it toward the ladies behind me.

 

My attempt to be discreet about the whole thing, was foiled by the cashiers response. She kept asking what I meant and looking at me like I was a crazy person. But, I guess that is a valid response to our culture's 'it's all about me' attitude.

 

Gatorade.

Today, I was on my way to drop a carload of stuff off at Goodwill and drove by a couple guys holding up those side-of-the-road-advertising signs...you know, like the Cash 4 Gold ones. It wasn't extremely hot, but it was the middle of the afternoon and pretty sunny...so, I decided I'd stop and buy them a cold drink.

 

I drove up to the next gas station, bought them each a Gatorade and pack of cookies and headed back to drop off the little snack. I hoped out of my car and walked up to them. I'll admit, it was a little awkward at first, but that didn't last long. The first guy asked me why I was doing this and I told him just because...he asked if he could give me a hug. The second guy was a little hessitant to take my tiny gift and told me to give it to the other guy.

 

I told them to have a good one and started walking back to my car. As I turned around the second guy yelled at me and asked to 'see my ink'. So, I walked back and I got to explain what my tattoos meant and before I knew it, he was talking my ear off.

 

He showed me an old gang-related tattoo on his arm that he was in the process of getting covered up. He told me about the amazing things Jesus had done in his life and how He had rescued him. He even invited me to his church.

 

The three of us chatted a little while longer as the traffic zoomed by and then I jumped in my car and drove away.

 

--

For a couple ideas on how you can be generous, check out these suggestions for

cultivating generosity .

Walking along the Promenade at Portobello the other day, some very nice soul had laid out this box full of windfall apples with a note telling everyone to help themselves, and that they were great for making Apple Crumble. What a lovely gesture.

Divided reverse. Letter generously translated by xiphophilos, authored sometime around 4.10.1914 and sent to a Herr Hugo Kitzing in Lauenhain. Einheitsstempel: Mobiles Landw.-Inf.-Regt. Nr. 101 Ersatz-Bataillon. Datumsstempel: Wossarken, 4.10.14.

 

The author communicates to relatives his brother Arno has been shot through the heart and killed and the fate of his other brothers is unknown.

 

___________________________________________________________________

Notes:

 

s. Landwehr-Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 101 (Vier Bataillone)

 

Aufgestellt in Bautzen (R.Stb., III., IV.) und Zittau (I., II.)

Unterstellung:Festungsbesatzung Graudenz

Kommandeur:Oberst a. D. Graf Pfeil

 

I.:Oberstleutnant z. D. Notrott (Bez.-Kdr. Zittau)

II.:Major a. D.

v. Rosenberg-Lipinsky

III.:Oberstleutnant z. D. Schurig (Bez.-Kdr. Löbau)

IV.:Oberstleutnant a. D.

v. Erdmannsdorf

 

Das V. Bataillon ist im Juni 1915 in Dresden aus Abgaben der Ersatz-Bataillone (Stellv. Gen. Kdo. des XII. A.K.) entstanden. Kommandeur war Major a. D. Reum. Das VI. Bataillon, das diese Nummer nach Eintreffen des V. Bataillons erhielt, war das 1. mob. Ers.-Btl./s. L.I.R.Nr. 101. (s. S. 88) Es befand sich seit November 1914 beim Regiment. Es focht als erstes Bataillon des Regiments schon bei Tannenberg. Kommandeur war Oberstleutnant z. D. v. Göckel. (Bez.-Kdr. Flöha) Zugeteilt war die preußische Reserve-Festungs-MG.-Abteilung Nr. 2, die sächsisch wurde. Gem. sächsischem K.M. v. 7.9.15 setzte sich das s. L.I.R.Nr. 101 (Kommandeur war Oberstleutnant Schurig) aus dem I.-III. Bataillon und das s. L.I.R.Nr. 103 (s. S. 163) (Kommandeur war Oberst z. D. Kloss) aus dem IV.-VI. Bataillon des s. L.I.R.Nr. 101 zusammen.

 

Verluste: s. L.I.R.Nr. 101 und s. L.I.R.Nr. 103 zusammen: 32 Offz., ca. 2050 Uffz. und

Mannschaften.

I'm a huge sucker for these black and white close-ups, as you've probably noticed. Here's HIFK's Matt Generous from tonight's Liiga game between HIFK and Lukko.

generously reposted from right here:

www.flickr.com/photos/cantaloupeisland/

 

thanks again cantaloupeisland.

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

 

Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews. We have travelled north-west from Mayfair, beyond Paddington and Maida Hill, past Kensal Town and Harlesden where Edith’s parents George and Ada live in their red brick terrace house, to Wembley Park. Here, in a purpose built stadium* surrounded by landscaped pleasure gardens and adjoined by a vast amusement park is the British Empire Exhibition**, the great colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park which opened on the 23rd of April. It is at the Exhibition that the wonders of Empire may be seen, in various pavilions in all their glory: from the vast golden wheat farms of the dominions of Australia and Canda and the tea plantations of British India to the exotic climes of Malaya***, Ceylon****, Bermuda and the British protectorates in South Africa. In addition are the pavilions for the British Government and the vast Palaces of Art, Industry and Engineering, divided by the tree lined avenue of the King’s Walk. There are cafes and kiosks, restaurants and cinemas, all to entertain the vast throng of people from all around the Empire and around the world who pour through the gates each day. It is amongst all the movement, noise colour and patriotic gaiety that Lettice’s maid, Edith, and her sweetheart, grocer’s delivery boy Frank, have come with Edith’s parents and seafaring salon steward brother, Bert, and Frank’s Scottish grandmother, Mrs. McTavish have come to enjoy the spectacle of Empire too.

 

We find Edith alone on a park bench on the edge of a brick path opposite the Canadian Pavilion with trees and greenery of a central green space behind her, festive patriotic bunting and Union Jacks draped through the branches. Dressed in a pretty floral printed summer cotton frock that she has made especially for their visit to the British Empire Exhibition, and wearing her wide brimmed summer hat decorated with ornamental flowers and bows from Mrs. Minkin’s Haberdashery in Whitechapel, she enjoys the moment alone as Frank searches for some sustenance for them whilst the rest of the family group have made their way back to the Palace of Engineering. Edith smiles and allows her lids to lower over her blue eyes as she allows the sun to soak into her stockinged legs and lace glove clad hands. She listens to the people chatting as they walk past her, all agog over the wonders of the Empire.

 

“Here we are then, Edith,” comes Frank’s familiar tones, resounding happily over the hubbub of human chatter, laughter and the distant trill of fairground music. “One serving of the best quality hot chips that British Empire has to offer!”

 

Edith allows her lids to flutter open and looks up at her young beau’s happy face smiling down at her, as he hands her a crumpled bundle of newspaper, already showing little greasy spots where the oil from the chips held within the parcel is seeping through. She quickly peels off her lace gloves and slips them into the front of her green leather handbag, slung over the arm of the bench.

 

“Oh, thanks ever so, Frank!” Edith replies gratefully, reaching up and taking her parcel eagerly from his outstretched hand.

 

Moving over on the bench to make room for him, Edith heart leaps a little in her chest as Frank slips in next to her, his thigh in his Sunday best suit trousers pressed up against hers. The newspaper crumples noisily as they both pull at the pages of yesterday’s London tabloids to reveal nests of golden yellow hot chips, sending forth aromatic steam that quickly permeates the air around them.

 

“And!” Frank adds, delving into the pocket of his vest, wincing as he grabs it. “A piping hot meat pie!”

 

He quickly dumps the golden hot pastry unceremoniously on the edge of Edith’s unwrapped chips and blows on his fingers, scalded by the heat of the pie. Edith looks at it in a rather unimpressed fashion, screwing up her pert nose as she reaches down and picks off a piece of blue cotton from Frank’s vest pocket off the daintily decorated edge of the pie and drags it away, rolling it between her thumb and middle finger to release it, allowing it to be blown away by the wind.

 

“Oh Frank!” She looks at him with doleful eyes as he smiles at her in a guilty fashion. “Would it have been that hard to have it thrown in with the chips?”

 

“Yes!” Frank defends himself. “You try carrying two parcels of hot chips and then buy a pie from a separate stand!”

 

Clipping the front of his tweed flat cap with her fingers, Edith laughs and shakes her head. “Oh Frank!” she sighs. “You are hopeless!”

 

“But you love your Frank anyway, don’t you Edith?”

 

“I do adore you nonetheless.” Edith concedes.

 

“Well, no matter if you don’t want any of the pie!” Frank says, his smile broadening. “More for me then. I’m not afraid of a bit of cotton from my waistcoat pocket. It just so happens to be very clean in there.” He opens the slit in his blue waistcoat and glances in at all the crumbs now clinging to the lining of his pocket. “Or rather, it was.”

 

Edith giggles, her girlish chuckles emboldening Frank to reach down and pick up the hot pie again, lifting it to his mouth and taking a big bite, piping hot mincemeat and gravy spilling into his mouth, scalding his tongue and roof of his mouth.

 

“Ow!” he exclaims, quickly dropping it back onto the edge of Edith’s chips. “That’s bloody hot!” he manages to say through a mouth of pie as he opens his mouth and breathes in the air around him to try and cool down the mince in his mouth.

 

“Language!” Edith chides him as a middle-aged woman in a muddy brown three quarter length coat and straw hat not unlike her own, only decorated with feathers, stomps past them on the arm of an older lady and scowls disapprovingly at Frank.

 

“Well it is.” Frank struggles to say as he continues to suck in cool air and roll the hot meat and pastry around on is tongue in an effort to cool it down.

 

“That’ll teach you for being so ungallant, Frank Leadbetter!” Edith laughs good-naturedly.

 

“That’s not funny.” Frank says after a few moments as he swallows the meat and pastry, feeling the heat of it as it works its way down his throat to his stomach, wiping his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

 

“Oh yes it is!” Edith giggles, taking out her own hand embroidered lace trimmed handkerchief from her handbag and offering it to the grateful Frank. She shakes her head again as he accepts it.

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a knife in your basket, have you Edith?”

 

“I don’t, Frank,” she replies apologetically. “But I do have some tea.” She reaches down and withdraws the orange striped red thermos flask***** and two white enamelled cups. “Here.” She pours some tea into one of the cups and hands it to him. “Anyway, now that you’ve bitten a hole in it, that will allow the pie to cool, and in a bit we’ll pull it apart with our fingers.”

 

“Ta.” he replies, taking the cup of milky tea gratefully. “That’s a good idea, Edith.”

 

“Not ‘ta’, Frank.” Edith corrects him. She pours tea into her own cup. “It’s ‘thank you’ if you’re to be a union leader one day.”

 

“Ta is spoken by a man of the people, Edith.”

 

“But a man of the people must also be able to socialise with the upper crust.” Edith responds seriously. “I’m just trying to help.”

 

“I know, Edith. You’re more than just a pretty face.” Frank opines, reaching his left hand across the wooden slats of the bench and discreetly clasping Edith’s dainty, careworn right hand in his behind the cover of the unfurled chip grease oiled newspaper.

 

“Oh Frank!” She looks over to her beau and smiles fulsomely. “You really are quite sweet.”

 

“I know!” Frank replies, leaning over further and snatching one of her chips from the pile on her lap with his free right and eating it, winking cheekily at her as he does.

 

“Oi!” She slaps his hand away, and laughs again.

 

The pair settle back into the wooden slats of the comfortable wooden bench, allowing themselves the luxury of soaking up the sun of the wonderfully sunny London Sunday. Around them the vociferous chatter of the many visitors to the British Empire exhibition walking by blends with the laughing and occasional crying of children, the strains of ‘The Maid with the Flaxen Hair’****** played by the gaily uniformed brass band in the rotunda nearby and the screams and squeals of delight from the people enjoying the rides in the Exhibition’s amusement park.

 

“I think we were lucky to get this seat.” Edith says as she watches a middle aged woman in a lemon yellow frock with a matching cardigan and cloche hat push a perambulator with large wheels past them, a trail of four children of varying ages following in her wake laughing and moaning. “There are so many people here today.”

 

“Today and every day from what I’ve read in the papers. Apparently, it’s really popular. I don’t remember seeing this many people in one place since the first Armistice Day in 1919*******.” Frank agrees as he looks around him, observing a shiny Railodok******* bus full of gentlemen in suits and bowlers, ladies in jackets, fur stoles and cloches and young children in sailor suits and boaters slowly rumble past. “Still, it’s good that people have come out to see all the wonders of the Empire. It makes me proud to be British.”

 

“Oh me too, Frank!” Edith enthuses in return. “It makes me feel like I’m part of something ever so much bigger. It’s wonderful!”

 

“Better than a date to see ‘The Enchanted Cottage’********* at the Premier in East Ham********** then?”

 

“I’ll say, or a trip to the Hammersmith Palais***********. Where else do you get to see the wonders of the Empire without even having to leave London?”

 

“And enjoy the company of your handsome sweetheart at the same time.” Frank leans back against the sun warmed back of the bench, looks lazily across at Edith, and gives her a cheeky smile as he puts another chip, this time one of his own, in his mouth.

 

“You’ve got tickets on yourself, Frank Leadbetter.” Edith begins, determined not to let Frank’s obvious teasing of her go unanswered without a little of her own in return. “I could be walking on my Dad’s arm right now, and he’s every bit as handsome as you are, even more so.”

 

“And older.” Frank jokes jovially.

 

“And more worldly.” Edith counters cheekily, stabbing at his pride.

 

“Alright! Alright! I concede!” Frank says, raising his hands, one still holding his enamel cup, aloft.

 

“Thank you!” Edith says smugly as she chews on another chip.

 

The pair laugh happily and smile at one another.

 

“So, what have you enjoyed the most out of what we’ve seen so far, then Edith?”

 

Edith pauses with a chip held between her index finger and thumb midway between her lap and her mouth and considers her answer for a few moments before answering.

 

“Well, I loved the Australian Pavilion and seeing the bush landscape for myself.” She remembers the Australian dairy farm display with branches of Australian gum trees set up behind sheaths of wheat and cut outs of cows against a blue painted sky. “It helps me to picture what Bert sees when his ship docks over there, even if he did say the display is nowhere near as beautiful as the real thing. It gives me an idea of what it must look like. So much better than an illustration in a book from the library.”

 

“I liked Freda the Friesian.” Frank adds with a wry smile, remarking on the life size taxidermied Friesian cow standing to the left of the tableau with a bucket at her feet and a sign in front of her, proudly displaying her name.

 

“Imagine going out there to live though.” Edith remarks, remembering the large welcoming map of Australia near the entrance that encouraged British farmers with capital, lads who could work or farms or girls to be domestics to immigrate half way around the world to Australia.

 

“No, it’s too far away for me.” Frank replies. “Even if they did have a beautiful orchid display.”

 

“The Canadan Pavilion is very beautiful,” Edith remarks, pointing to grand classically designed white building standing across from them in its temporary garden surrounds.

 

“The butter display of His Royal Highness was very impressive!” Frank gasps, picturing the tableau behind glass they had seen in the pavilion, made entirely of Canadian butter depicting the Prince of Wales next to a horse on a Canadian ranch.

 

“Those butter displays are amazing!” Edith agrees, thinking of the one in the Australian Pavilion made of Australian butter showing Jack Hobbs************ playing Test Cricket in Melbourne.

 

“What about the metalwork displays in the Nigerian Pavilion?” Franks asks, remembering the vast window display beneath a mud brick archway showing a man and a young boy in traditional garb making metal bowls and plates over a brazier.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone so exotic looking!” Edith colours as she recalls their dark skin, so very different to her own pale pink flesh. “And their costumes! Colourful beads and hats! Who would ever have pictured men wearing them?”

 

“And the elephants!” Frank gasps before eating another chip.

 

“I’ve never seen an elephant in the flesh before!” remarks Edith after swallowing her mouthful of chip. “And there they were, cavorting about in the lake, splashing about and spraying water!”

 

“Have you never been to the zoo for an elephant ride*************, Edith?” Frank asks.

 

“Never, Frank. I’ve never been to the zoo, ever!”

 

“Then I shall have to take you sometime, Edith. You don’t know what you’re missing out on. We’ll add it to our list of places to go.”

 

“I’d like that.” Edith replies gratefully, blushing as she does.

 

“I’m glad we weren’t close enough to get drenched by the shower of water from the elephant trunks.” Frank admits. “Like that couple picnicking by the lake.”

 

“Oh yes! Poor them!” Edith says. “And poor gardeners! Did you see how the elephants just pulled up flowers from the garden beds with their trunks and ate them**************!” Edith takes a sip of tea. “I must confess, I was glad to be far enough away from them. They are so enormous, just walking around like that, that they scare me.”

 

“Oh I shouldn’t worry too much, Edith,” Frank assures her. “They all have attendants who make sure they don’t get up to too much mischief.”

 

“Well, I don’t see how such little men can command such big creatures as elephants, Frank.”

 

“They wouldn’t let them roam about if they were dangerous, Edith.”

 

“Maybe not, Frank,” Edith nurses her cup. “But they still scare me, just the same.”

 

The pair fall silent for a little while and continue to eat their chips and sip their tea, watching the people parade pass them: young and old, rich and poor, all enjoying the spectacle of the British Empire on London soil.

 

“Your Mum and my Gran seemed fascinated by the electric stove displays in the Palace of Industry***************.” Frank remarks.

 

“Well both of them use coal ranges, Frank, and I don’t know about your Gran, but I’m fairly sure that Mum has never seen a gas stove before.”

 

“Really Edith?”

 

“Oh no, Frank. I’m lucky working for Miss Lettice and having a gas stove to cook on, but prior to Mrs. Plaistow’s where I had a position before Miss Lettice, I’d never seen a gas stove either. I wish old Widow Hounslow,” Edith refers to the doughy and misery widow who is her parents’ landlady. “Would cough up**************** the money to pull out the old coke range in Mum’s kitchen and put in a nice new clean gas stove. What a difference it would make!”

 

“Do you think she will?”

 

“Pshaw!” Edith scoffs bitterly. “I’ll ride in one of those flying boats***************** we saw in the Palace of Engineering before old Widow Hounslow gives my Mum a new anything for around the house!”

 

“Well, I doubt Mr. Soloman who owns Gran’s house will install one for her either. But then again, I don’t think Gran would know how to work one if he did. She has an uncanny knack of knowing if the bread oven is too hot or too cold just by waving her hand in it, and it works. She never has burnt bread from too hot an oven, nor a sunken cake from one not warm enough.”

 

“Mum’s the same. I’m amazed by how well she knows that old range”

 

“And I don’t think Gran’s Rumbledethumps****************** would taste the same cooked in a gas oven.”

 

“I’ll have to try and make your Gran’s recipe in Miss Lettice’s oven one day, Frank.”

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

“Cheeky!” Edith laughs before taking a sip of tea. “Mind you, your Gran has to part with the recipe first.” she adds with an encouraging glance at her beau.

 

“I’ll see if I can work on her, and convince her that you’re the one she should pass her precious recipe on to. I don’t see how she can expect me to be happy if she’s the only one who knows how to make them the way I like them.”

 

“She just wants to remain your best girl, Frank.” She pauses and smiles cheekily. “Or should that be, Francis?”

 

“Don’t call me that, Edith!” Frank hisses. “I’m not a little boy! No-one will take me seriously if I’m known as Francis.”

 

“I would.”

 

“Anyway, changing the subject, but thinking of the Palaces of Industry and Engineering, you were right about your dad.”

 

“I was?” Edith queries, unsure as to what Frank is referring to.

 

“You know, when you said your dad likes trains and was keen to see the Flying Scotsman******************* in the Palace of Engineering.” Frank elucidates. “He must be really keen if he’s taken Gran and your mum and Bert back for a second look, considering the crowds.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith blushes. “I don’t think he’s that keen.”

 

“What do you mean, Edith? He took Gran, your mum and brother back into the Palace of Engineering to see it. I saw them walk in that direction.” He points through the greenery behind them to the top of the vast Palace of Engineering behind them.

 

“Dad says that’s what he’s doing,” Edith smiles shyly as she colours more and takes another sip of her tea. “But what I think he was really doing was trying to give you and I a little bit of time to ourselves, without anyone else getting under foot as it were.”

 

“Oh!”

 

The look of surprise on Frank’s face shows that he never suspected Edith’s father of even contemplating such a thing, making Edith giggle yet again.

 

“Well,” Frank coughs and clears his throat. “If I do wish to have some quiet time with my best girl, I can do that with her in the Tunnel of Love******************** in the Exhibition Amusement Park.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith gasps. “You are awful!”

 

The pair then laugh again and continue to enjoy the last of their hot chips sitting together on the bench, all the while watching the passing parade of visitors to the British Empire Exhibition.

 

*A purpose-built "great national sports ground", called the Empire Stadium, was built for the Exhibition at Wembley. This became Wembley Stadium. Wembley Urban District Council was opposed to the idea, as was The Times, which considered Wembley too far from Central London. The first turf for this stadium was cut, on the site of the old tower, on the 10th of January 1922. 250,000 tons of earth were then removed, and the new structure constructed within ten months, opening well before the rest of the Exhibition was ready. Designed by John William Simpson and Maxwell Ayrton, and built by Sir Robert McAlpine, it could hold 125,000 people, 30,000 of them seated. The building was an unusual mix of Roman imperial and Mughal architecture. Although it incorporated a football pitch, it was not solely intended as a football stadium. Its quarter mile running track, incorporating a 220 yard straight track (the longest in the country) were seen as being at least equally important. The only standard gauge locomotive involved in the construction of the Stadium has survived, and still runs on Sir William McAlpine's private Fawley Hill railway near Henley.

 

**The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.

 

***British Malaya refers to a set of states on the Malay Peninsula and the island of Singapore that were brought under British hegemony or control between the late Eighteenth and the mid-Twentieth Century. Unlike the term "British India", which excludes the Indian princely states, British Malaya is often used to refer to the Federated and the Unfederated Malay States, which were British protectorates with their own local rulers, as well as the Straits Settlements, which were under the sovereignty and direct rule of the British Crown, after a period of control by the East India Company.

 

****Ceylon is then old colonial name for Sri Lanka.

 

*****When we think of thermos flasks these days we are often reminded of the plaid and gawdy floral varieties that existed in the 1950s, 60s and 70s. Invented in 1892 by Sir James Dewar, a scientist at Oxford University, the "vacuum flask" was not manufactured for commercial use until 1904, when two German glass blowers formed Thermos GmbH. They held a contest to name the "vacuum flask" and a resident of Munich submitted "Thermos", which came from the Greek word "Therme" meaning "hot". In 1907, Thermos GmbH sold the Thermos trademark rights to three independent companies: The American Thermos Bottle Company of Brooklyn, New York; Thermos Limited of Tottenham, England; Canadian Thermos Bottle Co. Ltd. of Montreal, Canada. The three Thermos companies operated independently of each other, yet developed the Thermos vacuum flask into a widely sought after product that was taken on many famous expeditions, including: Schackelton\'s trip to the South Pole; Lieutenant Robert E. Peary\'s trip to the Arctic; Colonel Roosevelt\'s expedition to Mombassa and into the heart of the African Congo with Richard Harding Davis. It even became airborne when the Wright Brothers took it up in their airplane and Count Zepplin carried it up in his air balloon.

 

******‘The Maid with the Flaxen Hair’ (‘La fille aux cheveux de lin’) is a musical composition created for solo piano by French composer Claude Debussy. It is the eighth piece in the composer's first book of Préludes, written between late 1909 and early 1910.

 

*******Armistice Day or Remembrance Day is a memorial day observed in Commonwealth member states since the end of the First World War to honour armed forces members who have died in the line of duty. It falls on the 11th of November every year. Remembrance Day is marked at eleven o’clock (the time that the armistice was declared) with a minute’s silence to honour the fallen. Following a tradition inaugurated by King George V in 1919, the day is also marked by war remembrances in many non-Commonwealth countries.

 

********A Railodock bus was an electric bus used to transport people between the different exhibition buildings on the site of the British Empire Exhibition.

 

*********‘The Enchanted Cottage’ is a 1924 American silent drama film directed by John S. Robertson based upon a 1923 play by Arthur Wing Pinero. Oliver Bashforth (played by the film’s producer, American silent film actor Richard Barthelmess), physically wrecked by the late war and hating himself because of his twisted body and hollow cheeks, breaks his engagement with his boyhood sweetheart and quits his family to seek isolation in a lonely cottage in the woods. There he meets Laura Pennington (May McAvoy), a lonely little governess, whose plainness makes her unattractive to men. They marry and then both commit themselves to intense depression because they are both so ugly. However, with the dawning of real love, both commence to see each other through the beauty of the soul, with the consequence that each appears as handsome to each other as either could wish. In the week of their enchantment, they have found love and they look forward to a future happiness and to the creation of children who will embody the beauty they do not possess.

 

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

 

***********The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

************Sir John Berry Hobbs was an English professional cricketer who played for Surrey from 1905 to 1934 and for England in 61 Test matches between 1908 and 1930. Known as "The Master", he is widely regarded as one of the greatest batsmen in the history of cricket.

 

*************A hangover from the Victorian days of the zoological gardens, when zoos were as much about entertainments as seeing exotic animals, rides on the London Zoo’s elephants and camels were a popular attraction in the 1920s and 30s, and continued through until the 1960s. People often sat or stood along the pathways, feeding the elephants sticky buns and other such foods as they passed within touching distance: a far cry from today’s zoo experience which is far more educational for the visitor, and enjoyable for the animals in residence.

 

**************This incident of the elephants spraying visitors to the British Empire Exhibition with water and eating the ornamental floral beds is based on a true event that happened the following year on the 17th of July 1925, when two elephants, Simla and Saucy went for a bathe in the Wembley Lake. Simla began to attack Saucy for some reason and showers of water rose in all directions, and spectators on the bank of the lake had to flee to avoid being drenched. Desperate efforts were made by the attendants to get Simla out of the lake, for fear of his tusks piercing and killing Saucy, who was an older elephant. Eventually Simla was coaxed to dry land by his Indian attendants, and there consoled himself by lunching substantially on the floral decorations of the lake side!

 

***************The Palaces of Industry and Engineering focussed upon Britan’s expertise, dominance, and capabilities in those areas. For their contribution to the British Empire Exhibition, the British Gas Industry put money towards a British Empire Gas Exhibit in the Palace of Industry, which demonstrated the application of gas in both an industrial and domestic capacity to educate the public in all the ways in which gas could serve households and businesses alike.

 

****************The term “to cough up” might sound funny coming from Edith in the 1920s, but in fact it is a very old Middle English slang term dating back to the time of the Goths invading Britain.

 

*****************A flying boat is a type of fixed-winged seaplane with a hull, allowing it to land on water. It differs from a floatplane in having a fuselage that is purpose-designed for flotation, while floatplanes rely on fuselage-mounted floats for buoyancy. Ascending into common use during the Great War, flying boats rapidly grew in both scale and capability during the interwar period, during which time numerous operators found commercial success with the type. Flying boats were some of the largest aircraft of the first half of the Twentieth Century, exceeded in size only by the bombers developed during the Second World War. Their advantage lay in using water instead of expensive land-based runways, making them the basis for international airlines in the interwar period. They were also commonly used as maritime patrol aircraft and air-sea rescue, particularly during times of conflict.

 

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

 

*******************No. 4472 Flying Scotsman is a LNER Class A3 4-6-2 "Pacific" steam locomotive built in 1923 for the London and North Eastern Railway (LNER) at Doncaster Works to a design of Nigel Gresley. It was employed on long-distance express passenger trains on the East Coast Main Line by LNER and its successors, British Railways' Eastern and North Eastern Regions, notably on The Flying Scotsman service between London King's Cross and Edinburgh Waverley after which it was named. Retired from British Railways in 1963 after covering 2.08 million miles, Flying Scotsman has been described as the world's most famous steam locomotive. It had earned considerable fame in preservation under the ownership of, successively, Alan Pegler, William McAlpine, Tony Marchington, and, since 2004, the National Railway Museum. 4472 became a flagship locomotive for the LNER, representing the company twice at the British Empire Exhibition and in 1928, hauled the inaugural non-stop Flying Scotsman service. It set two world records for steam traction, becoming the first locomotive to reach the officially authenticated speed of 100 miles per hour on the 30th of November 1934, and setting the longest non-stop run of a steam locomotive of 422 miles on the 8th of August 1989 whilst on tour in Australia.

 

********************The Tunnel of Love is an amusement park ride that commenced as an off spin of the late Nineteenth Century American boat ride called ‘old mill’. In early incarnations of old mill attractions, riders of the Tunnel of Love boarded a two-passenger boat that floated along guided tracks throughout dark passages. Many were either a relaxing, romantic rides encouraging cuddling, or they were themed as haunted attractions where couples would cling to one another. The darkness provided a degree of privacy, and the frightening scenes offered a socially acceptable excuse for physical contact during an era when public affection – holding hands, hugging, and kissing – especially between two unmarried people, was considered inappropriate.

 

Although it may look life-sized to you, this idyllic outdoor scene at the British Empire Exhibition is in fact comprised of pieces from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Edith’s pretty straw picture hat 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.

 

Edith’s handbag handmade from soft leather is part of a larger collection of hats and bags that I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.

 

Made of polymer clay glazed to look oily and stuck to miniature newspaper print, the two servings of golden hot chips on the bench were made in England by hand by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The pie is also a 1:12 miniature artisan piece, but is my an unknown artist, and acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The basket I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The Thermos flask came as part of another picnic set I acquired from a miniatures collector through E-Bay. The two enamelled teacups come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The bench is made by Town Hall Miniatures, and acquired through E-Bay.

 

The brick footbath upon which the bench sits a very special piece, and one of my more recent additions to my miniatures collection. Made painstakingly by hand, this was made by my very dear Flickr friend and artist Kim Hagar (www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/), she surprised me with this amazing piece entitled “Wall” as a Christmas gift, with the intention that I use it in my miniatures photos. Each brick has been individually cut and then worn to give texture before being stuck to the backing board and then painted. She has created several floors in the same way for some of her own miniature projects which you can see in her “In Miniature” album here: www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/albums/721777203007....

 

The Union Jack bunting hanging from the trees I made myself.

 

The setting for this scene is my front garden, and the tree behind the bench is a slow growing miniature conifer. I am not sure what variety it is, but it is a Cypress pine.

Letter on reverse generously translated by Nettenscheider; penned on 16.05.1916 and addressed to the sender's parents in Osternburg (Oldenburg). Einheitsstempel: Landwehr Infanterie Regiment Nr. 77. 11. Kompanie. 111 Infanterie Division. Postage cancelled a day later.

 

Produced in the field using canvas, wood and some paint, a sign trumpeting the fall of Kut is photographed before being installed on the front-lines in view of the opposing British troops.

 

The Siege of Kut Al Amara (7 December 1915 – 29 April 1916), was the besieging of an 8,000 strong British-Indian garrison in the town of Kut, 160 kilometres (100 mi) south of Baghdad, by the Ottoman Army. Following the surrender of the garrison on 29 April 1916, the survivors of the siege were marched to imprisonment at Aleppo, during which many died.

 

__________________________________________

Notes.

 

111. Division ab 14. Oktober --- Stellungskämpfe in Flandern und Artois. bis 23. Juni --- Stellungskämpfe in Flandern und Artois.

 

Shah lolak Waterfall is located in Charmehin, about 66 Km drive from Isfahan. it has 70 meter height .

  

آبشار زیبای شاه لولاک ( شاهلورا، شاهلران، شالور) چرمهین دارای 70 متر ارتفاع و از دل کوه شاهلولاک جاری است. این کوه دارای 2700 متر ارتفاع جز ارتفاعات گردنه رخ و از رشته کوههای زاگرس می باشد و در 66 کیلومتری شهر اصفهان واقع شده است.

آبشار داراي سه قسمت آبشارهاي فصلي (هلكي )ابشار دائمي وآب چكانهاست .

منحصربفردبودن آبشار ازاين جهت است كه آبشار بصورت چشمه از قلب كوه سرچشمه مي گيرد در حالي كه اغلب آبشارها ي موجود كشوربصورت جوي روان از روي سطح كوه به سمت پائين سرازير مي گردند.

 

قسمت زيرين آبشار دائمي با قنديل هاي عظيم نمكين به طرز باشكوهي آراسته گرديده است ،با توجه به ارتفاع زياد آبشار واستقرار قنديل هاي فوق آب هنگام ريزش با اكسيژن هوا تركيب شده ودر برخورد با قنديل ها به صورت پودر به زمين

پاشيده مي شود. سطح روئين اين قنديل ها با خزه وجلبك پوشيده شده كه به زيبايي آن مي افزاید

...

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

 

Tonight however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Sadly, it is a sombre occasion that has brought Lettice back to Wiltshire. 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 their estate, Garstanton Park, abuts the Glynes estate. 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. For many years Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt has been battling cancer, as it and the radiotherapy* used to treat it ravishes her body. Yet whilst all attentions were paid to her, no-one expected her husband Lord Sherbourne to suddenly have a stroke and drop to the ground whilst on his estate business. Lettice has returned to Glynes upon receiving news of her honorary uncle’s sudden turn.

 

We find ourselves in the Glynes library, a place of refuge for both Lettice and her father from the Viscountess, Lady Sadie, where they are surrounded by the comforting smell of old books and woodsmoke. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. The thick velvet curtains are drawn over the tall windows facing out to the front of the house, helping to make the grand room cosy and keep it warm. The fire, a constant in the library, crackles contentedly whilst an ornate ormolu clock ticks away the minutes contentedly on the mantle. Dwarfed by the vast collection of books, Lettice and her father sit opposite one another in silence at the Viscount’s desk, both with heads cast down.

 

“None of my latest postcards seem worth filing in my album tonight.” the Viscount remarks, running his hands over the green leather cover of his postcard album, its use tooled in ornate gilt letters across the front.

 

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise, Pappa.” Lettice replies from her seat opposite him at his Chippendale desk.

 

“I just thought it might be a good thing, to distract me and take my mind off things.” the Viscount remarks as his fingers stray and he toys with one of the postcards he has taken from his box of cards as it stands in front of his postcard album. “The King always says that his stamp collection gave him solace during the darkest days of the war.”

 

“I suppose our minds just can’t be distracted sometimes, Pappa,” Lettice consoles her father lovingly.

 

“Perhaps.” he acquiesces quietly.

 

“Even by the pastimes and pursuits we enjoy the most.” Lettice adds.

 

“Then maybe a glass of port might assuage our sadness a little?” the Viscount suggests tentatively.

 

Lettice nods her ascent in a shallow fashion and her father gets up and walks over to the small demilune table in the corner of the library, returning with the decanter and two glasses which he fills generously with the rich golden red liquor which shimmers in the golden candescence of the library’s chandelier lighting.

 

“To Sherbourne.” the Viscount says sadly, raising his glass to his daughter.

 

“To Uncle Sherbourne.” Lettice responds with reverence, raising her own glass to clink with his.

 

The pair take a sip of their port and then deposit their glasses upon the gilt edged leather surface of the Viscount’s desk before falling back into their stupored silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they reflect on the events of the evening.

 

After being told by her father over the telephone that her honorary uncle, Lord Sherbourne, had collapsed whilst out on his estate, Lettice with the aid of her maid, Edith, hurriedly packed a valise with the essentials required for a short stay at Glynes. She then went with her old childhood chum, Gerald, who by good fortune just happened to be visiting when the news reached Lettice, back to his bachelor flat in Soho. She waited in his Morris Tourer** on the street whilst he scuttled upstairs and quickly threw a few things into a bag. Then they motored down without delay through the afternoon and early evening to Wiltshire. Gerald dropped Lettice off outside Glynes whilst he then motored on to his own family home, Bruton Hall, on his father’s estate, which also adjoins that of Lettice’s parents, agreeing that they would see each other at Garstanton Park, the Victorian home of the Tyrwhitts, a little later.

 

Lettice barely had time to hand her valise to Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, before she was bundled into the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler with her father the Viscount, her mother Lady Sadie and her elder sister Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally) who had come down to Wiltshire just as Lettice had. They set off at speed over the small distance to Garstanton Park. In the entrance hall the quartet were greeted by the strained face of her eldest brother Leslie. Leslie delivered the grim news that according to Doctor Moreton, the Glynes village physician, Lord Sherbourne had suffered a series of strokes. He was found unconscious by Briers, the Garstanton Park Estate Manager, outside his offices and had never regained consciousness. Doctor Moreton advised that he was unlikely to rally and that it was only a matter of time before Lord Sherbourne died.

 

Leslie escorted them all up to Lord Sherbourne’s grand apartments on the second floor where his wife Arabella, daughter of Lord Sherbourne, and Lord Sherbourne’s wife, Lady Isobel and son, Nigel, were keeping vigil around Lord Sherbourne’s bed. It was a sad sight for Lettice, to see the man she had grown up calling Uncle Sherbourne lying pale and lifeless and dwarfed in his large bed. Lord Sherbourne was always a big, jovial and character filled man, and the physically reduced form lying silently beneath the heavy comforters of the bed didn’t really seem to be him. By the time Gerald arrived with his parents, Lord and Lady Bruton and his elder brother Roland, the end was very close, and before the Georgian longcase clock in the Garstanton Park entrance hall chimed nine o’clock at night, Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt had slipped away with a final ragged and gurgling breath, leaving them all in mourning.

 

With nothing left to do or wait for, Gerald, his brother and parents, Lettice, her parents and Lally, left Leslie, Arabella, Lady Isobel and the newly minted Lord Tyrwhitt, Nigel, at Garstanton Park and returned to their own homes for the evening.

 

“It’s good of you to keep me company, my darling girl.” the Viscount says softly at length, breaking the silence that hangs thickly throughout the Glynes library. “You know you don’t have to. I’ll be alright here with my books to console me.”

 

“To be honest, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep, Pappa.” Lettice admits. “I’d much rather be here with you than alone in my bedroom.”

 

“Well, I appreciate the company, darling girl.” He sips his port thoughtfully.

 

“Me too, Pappa.” Lettice idly picks up one of her father’s scattered postcards, one featuring a carriage, and stares down at it, not really seeing the image of the brougham drawn by two horses. She casts it aside. “I don’t know how Mamma can do it.”

 

“Your mother has always had a very healthy sleep regime, no matter what else may be going on around her.” her father chuckles. “Maybe even a little too healthy.”

 

“I still don’t understand how she can, considering…” Her voice trails off.

 

“It just doesn’t seem real.” muses the Viscount quietly as he mulls over his thoughts. “Any of it.”

 

“I know Pappa.” Lettice agrees sadly.

 

“I mean, I was only talking with him yesterday. He telephoned me in the morning, and we arranged to meet down in the village to discuss acquiring books for the school with the funds raised at the village fête.”

 

“Uncle Sherbourne seemed perfectly fine at the village fête too.” Lettice adds.

 

“Ahh yes,” the Viscount smiles, cradling his port in his hand as he settles back against the back of his Chippendale chair. “That was a grand day, wasn’t it my girl?”

 

“Oh, it was Pappa, although it feels a hundred years ago now.” sighs Lettice. “The village hall decked out in bunting, and the villagers dressed in their best and enjoying themselves.”

 

“Young Bella did your mother proud with the second-hand clothing stall.” her father remarks. “Did both of us proud, really.”

 

“Well, she did feel the weight of being a Chetwynd now, and she was determined to do her bit to make the day a success, even with the addition of Miss Evans’ awfully old fashioned picture hat.”

 

“Was that the great monstrosity of feathers and fruit that stood in prime position on Bella’s trestle?”

 

“It was.”

 

“I thought I recognised it, but I couldn’t quite place it on the day.”

 

“The elder Miss Evans put it there in pride of place herself, so Bella didn’t dare move it.” Lettice laughs.

 

“Nor did anyone else, I’ll wager.” remarks the Viscount. “No wonder Mrs. Maginot looked so aghast when she saw it sitting there. I now recall Geraldine Evans telling your mother and I at least a dozen times at different church services in 1911 that Mrs. Maginot made it for her at great expense for the King’s Coronation.”

 

“She must have left an impression on you, Pappa, if you remember that all these years later.”

 

“I don’t think she’d ever let us forget it, my darling girl.” the Viscount chortles before taking another draught of his port.

 

“It was so good to see Aunt Gwyneth and Aunt Isobel out and about that day too. Gerald tells me that Aunt Gwyneth still has respiratory problems, and of course Aunt Isobel has her radiation treatments to recoup from.”

 

“Yes, poor Gwyneth. The hard winter this last year really did weigh down on her, but I partially blame old Bruton as much as I do the wintery weather. After all, he’s the one who fitters any money they make from selling off parcels of the Bruton estate without investing it in the maintenance of the roof or blocking out the draughts so poor Gwyneth can keep warm and dry. There is a pervasive sense of damp throughout Bruton Hall these days, even in the summer months, and I’ll wager that’s gotten into Gwyneth’s lungs. She really needs a few months seaside holiday down at Lyme Regis.” he opines. “Not that they can probably even afford that.”

 

“Yes, Gerald has told me that Bruton Hall is slowly crumbling down around his parents’ ears.”

 

“I’m only lucky that it’s not the same here.” remarks the Viscount as he looks around him. “It’s not easy trying to keep things going. Leslie and I have to keep on top of things before they become too much of a problem.”

 

“Well, I know Leslie has been a great help to you, assisting with house and estate business.”

 

“I don’t suppose young Gerald is helping his parents at all.”

 

“In a financial way, do you mean, Pappa?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh no, Pappa.” Lettice replies dourly. “His fashion house is only just getting established, so any money he makes from his enterprise must go back into it to help strengthen it against lean times. He currently has a few rather influential clients whose accounts are frightfully in arrears, but he daren’t say anything to them, lest they influence their friends to look for frocks elsewhere.”

 

“Rather like your mother’s cousin Gwendolyn was with you, eh?”

 

“Ugh!” groans Lettice, remembering the difficulties she had getting her mother’s cousin, the Duchess of Whitby, to pay for Lettice’s redecoration services of her London home. “Yes, every bit like her, Pappa – maybe even worse. Anyway, why should Gerald put his hard earned money into a house that he will never inherit, especially if as you say, Lord Bruton and Roland just squander any money they should put towards the maintenance of Bruton Hall?”

 

“Well, I thought for his mother’s comfort, he might.”

 

“I think if he felt that any money would go to Aunt Gwyneth’s comfort, he would, Pappa.” Lettice intimates before sipping her glass of port again. She looks at her father seriously. “However, he knows better.”

 

“Well, it’s a shabby state of affairs, I must say.” the Viscount says with a resigned sigh.

 

“It’s very sad indeed, Pappa.”

 

“I’ll tell you in confidence, Lettice, I worry about the fate of both Bruton Hall and Garstanton Park,” the Viscount admits quietly. “As I doubt our new Lord Tyrwhitt will do as well as Sherbourne did as lord of the manor.”

 

“Nigel, do you mean?” Lettice queries. When her father nods, she exclaims. “Pappa, that’s most unkind of you!” She pulls her little gold Longines*** watch from the pocket of her frock, the same dress she had worn to the Henley Regatta**** with Selwyn Spencely earlier in the day, and looks at the face. “He’s only been Lord Tyrwhitt for a few hours. How can you pass such a harsh judgement on him?”

 

“He’s his mother’s son, just like Bella was her father’s daughter, my darling girl.” the Viscount elucidates matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders. “Bella is a country girl, through and through, just like Sherbourne was. That’s why she’s a good match for Leslie. They both love the country. She knows one end of a cow from the other, can manage horses, has a head for farming and can judge a cattle show. Nigel on the other hand,” He rolls his eyes, looking to the ornate Georgian plaster ceiling above. “Well he’s a city person, just like Isobel. He spends more time in their house around the corner from you in Mayfair than he does down here.”

 

“That’s not fair, Pappa. He keeps Aunt Isobel company when she comes up to London for her radiation therapy.”

 

“And he stays up there long after she has come back.” the Viscount retorts with a cocked eyebrow. “How many times have I seen young Tyrwhitt’s face alongside yours in the London society pages? Far more than I have seen it in the county papers where it belongs, let me assure you, my girl!”

 

“Well Nigel can’t help it if his penchant for music, which incidentally he inherited from Uncle Sherbourne, keeps him up in London.”

 

“It’s more than that, my darling girl!” the Viscount insists. “His heart is there, not here. He longs for the bright lights and bustle of London, just like you do. He’ll never make a good squire if he has no love of the countryside he owns.”

 

“Well, I think you are being too harsh on him, Pappa.” Lettice defends her friend. “You’ll see.”

 

“Oh, we will all see, my darling girl, in the fullness of time.” he replies dourly. “We will all see in the fullness of time.”

 

*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.

 

**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.

 

***Compagnie des Montres Longines, Francillon S.A., or simply Longines, is a Swiss luxury watchmaker based in Saint-Imier, Switzerland. Founded by Auguste Agassiz in 1832, the company has been a subsidiary of the Swiss Swatch Group and its predecessors since 1983. Its winged hourglass logo, registered in 1889, is the oldest unchanged active trademark registered with the World Intellectual Property Organisation

 

Cluttered with books and art, Viscount Wrexham’s library with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.

 

***The Henley Royal regatta is a leisurely “river carnival” on the Thames. It was at heart a rowing race, first staged in 1839 for amateur oarsmen, but soon became another fixture on the London social calendar. Boating clubs competed, and were not exclusively British, and the event was well known for its American element. Evenings were capped by boat parties and punts, the air filled with military brass bands and illuminated by Chinese lanterns. Dress codes were very strict: men in collars, ties and jackets (garishly bright ties and socks were de rigueur in the 1920s) and crisp summer frocks, matching hats and parasols for the ladies.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the Viscount’s library are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are the postcards and the box for them on the Viscount’s Chippendale desk. Most of the books I own that Ken has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. The same can be said of this selection of his postcards, which are authentic 1:12 scale examples of real postcards. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really do 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. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles and a blotter on a silver salver all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The silver double frame on the desk also comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables. The bottle of port and the port glasses I acquired from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay. Each glass, the bottle and its faceted stopper are hand blown using real glass.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

The past has been generous with Teruel and leaves a Mudejar legacy that today is recognized as a world heritage site. Four towers, that of El Salvador and San Martín, that of San Pedro and that of the Cathedral of Santa María de Mediavilla, apart from its roof and dome, form this unique Mudejar ensemble.

 

The Torre de San Martín (English: St. Martin's Tower) is a medieval structure in Teruel, Aragon, northern Spain. Built in Aragonese Mudéjar style in 1316 and renovated in the 16th century, it was added to the UNESCO Heritage List in 1986 together with other Mudéjar structures in Teruel.

 

The tower was built between in 1315 and 1316. In 1550 its lower section was restored due to the erosion caused by humidity. note the buttresses supporting the base of the Tower. Like other structures in Teruel, it is a gate-tower decorated with ceramic glaze. The road passes through an ogival arch. The tower takes its names from the annexed church of St. Martin, dating to the Baroque period.

 

The tower follows the scheme of the Almohad minarets, with two concentric square towers between which are the stairs. The inner tower has three floors covered with cross vaults.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teruel

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 just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, at Mr. Willison’s grocers’ shop. Willison’s Grocers in Mayfair is where Lettice has an account, and it is from here that Edith, Lettice's maid, orders her groceries for the Cavendish Mews flat, except on special occasions, when professional London caterers are used. Mr. Willison prides himself in having a genteel, upper-class clientele including the households of many titled aristocrats who have houses and flats in the neighbourhood, and he makes sure that his shop is always tidy, his shelves well stocked with anything the cook of a duke or duchess may want, and staff who are polite and mannerly to all his important customers. The latter is not too difficult, for aside from himself, Mrs. Willison does his books, his daughter Henrietta helps on Saturdays and sometimes after she has finished school, which means Mr. Willison technically only employs one member of staff: Frank Leadbetter his delivery boy who carries orders about Mayfair on the bicycle provided for him by Mr. Willison. He also collects payments for accounts which are not settled in his Binney Street shop whilst on his rounds.

 

Lettice’s maid, Edith, is stepping out with Frank. Whilst Edith made a wonderful impression when she met Mrs. McTavish, her young beau Frank Leadbetter’s grandmother, less can be said for Frank who whilst pleasing Edith’s father, rubbed her mother the wrong way at the Sunday roast lunch Edith organised with her parents to meet Frank. Ever since then, Frank has been filled with remorse for speaking his mind a little more freely than he ought to have in front of Edith’s mother. Finally, Edith hit upon a possible solution to their problem, which is to introduce Mrs. McTavish to her parents. Being a kindly old lady who makes lace, with impeccable manners, Edith and Frank both hope that Mrs. McTavish will be able to impress upon Edith’s mother what a nice young man Frank is, in spite of his more forward-thinking ideas, which jar with her ways of thinking, and assure her how happy he makes Edith. After careful planning, today was the day that Edith raised the idea with her parents in their kitchen in Harlesden, and the response from Edith’s mother was most encouraging. Now Edith cannot wait to tell Frank the good news, so she takes a circuitous route from Down Street Railway Station* to Cavendish Mews so that she can walk past Willison’s Grocers in the hope of seeing Frank.

 

As she nears the grocer’s shop, she notices the side delivery door opening and hears the cheerful sound of Frank’s whistle accompanied by the click of chainrings and whir of the spokes of his Willison’s Grocers delivery bicycle. He wheels the smart black bicycle with a wicker basket on the front out and leans it against the brick wall of the grocers. Edith notices the basket is full of groceries, so she is lucky to have caught him as he prepares to make a delivery within the neighbourhood. Frank closes the door behind him and walks his bicycle up the alleyway towards the front of the shop, and unknowingly towards Edith, who stands on the street opposite the shopfront.

 

“Frank!” Edith calls. “Frank!” She waves her handkerchief at her beau to catch his attention as he looks around to see where her voice is coming from. Looking up the street to make sure there is no traffic coming, she scuttles across the road and joins Frank out the front of the grocers which is plastered with advertisements for different household products and pantry staples.

 

“Edith! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Frank says with a beaming smile as he gazes across at her. “I’m afraid I’m just about to dash out on a delivery for the Duchess of Maybury’s cook.”

 

“Yes,” Edith nods towards the basket on the front of the bicycle in which sits a Willison’s shopping bag full of groceries. A bottle top with a gleaming lid and a leafy head of romaine lettuce poke out of it, “I can see that Frank.”

 

“Oh it’s alright,” Frank replies. “I can tarry for a few minutes,” He looks anxiously over his left shoulder to the shop window behind him which is stacked full of produce and colourful advertising posters: his latest window display. “So long as old Mrs. Willison doesn’t catch us. You know what she’ll think.” He raises his eyebrows.

 

“Yes,” Edith sighs knowingly. “That we’re lowering the tone of the establishment by fraternising out the front.”

 

“Exactly.” Frank agrees with a quick nod of ascent. “So, quickly, before I push off to Grosvenor Square**, what can I do for my best girl on a Wednesday afternoon? A jar of black Astrakhan caviar***? Or,” He delves into the paper shopping bag like a magician reaching into his magical top hat, making it crumple noisily in the process. “A packet of Rowntree’s Jelly Crystals****?” he asks, withdrawing a prettily decorated box with the name emblazoned in cursive writing over a drawing of cornucopia of fruits spilling across a table. He sniffs the box theatrically, as if he can smell every fruit illustrated on the front of the box.

 

“Oh get away with you, Frank!” giggles Edith prettily as she swats at him kittenishly. “No, I’ve just come to tell you that everything went well this afternoon, Frank.” She beams proudly.

 

Frank’s face crumples as he looks into his sweetheart’s happy and expectant face as he tries to recollect what she is talking about. After a few minutes deliberation he gives up. “What went well, Edith?”

 

“Oh Frank!” she sighs in exasperation, her smile falling away as disappointment clouds her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember!”

 

He shrugs his shoulders, the v in his knitted vest rising and falling about his neck as he does.

 

“You don’t remember, then.” Edith mutters, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are impossible sometimes, Frank Leadbetter!” she tuts. “I went to talk to Mum today,” She pauses. “About having your granny over for lunch one Sunday. Remember?”

 

“Oh!” Frank’s eyes grow wide and clear as he recollects the conversation that Edith had with him on Sunday as they waited in the queue for a table at the Lyons Corner House***** on Tottenham Court Road. “Oh yes! How did it go then?”

 

“Splendidly, Frank!” Edith enthuses, restoring her good humour, rising up on her toes in pleasure. “In fact, it went better than I’d hoped for.”

 

“So your mum said yes then?”

 

“She did!” Edith acknowledges. “And best of all, Dad was home then too, and he’s just as pleased about meeting her as Mum is. He said it was ‘a capital idea’! Now what do you think of that then?”

 

“That sounds spiffing, Edith!” Frank replies excitedly with a slightly quavering laugh.

 

“And Mum agreed because she knows as well as Dad that we’re serious about one another, so she agreed. I said that your granny wasn’t up to hosting lunch herself, being older and all… oh, and I told Mum about her bad teeth not being up to lots of chewing. So, Mum said she’s make one of her beef stews with suet dumplings.”

 

“Oh Gran will like that.”

 

“Yes, I thought she would.”

 

“I will too.” adds Frank with a smirk.

 

“And Mum said that she’d make her cherry pie for you, since you like it so much.”

 

“Oh ripping!” exclaims Frank. “Well, that is a turn up for the books!” He pauses and thinks. “Perhaps I actually made a better impression on her than I thought I had, if she’s willing to bake me her cherry pie.”

 

“Well, thinking of making a good impression, I think that we had better have a word with your granny about what happened when you came over for lunch.”

 

“About me rubbing your mum up the wrong way, do you mean?”

 

“Well, yes Frank.” Edith mutters guiltily. She quickly looks up into his youthful face. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that. I want us to all put our best foot forward this time. We don’t want any mistakes. If we’re honest with your granny, she’ll understand that to help us aid your cause, she can say all those nice things that she does. We won’t be asking her to lie to Mum, just… just…”

 

“Gild the lily?” Frank proffers hopefully.

 

“Gild the what?”

 

Frank chuckles. “It means to praise something highly. To talk it up.”

 

“You do have some funny turns of phrase sometimes, Frank.” Edith laughs.

 

“I guess it comes from reading all those books I do.”

 

“I expect so. I love it though, Frank. I never know what you’re going to say, and I always learn something new.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you find me educational, if nothing else.” Frank says teasingly, fishing for a compliment.

 

“Oh, you know I find much more in you than someone to educate me, Frank!” Edith replies with a shy smile. “Anyway, going back to what we were saying just before, if we get your granny to talk you up a bit in front of Mum, gild the… the…”

 

“Lily, Edith.”

 

“Yes, that,” Edith gesticulates as if pushing it aside. “Then it can’t do any harm. Can it?”

 

“I suppose not.” Frank shrugs.

 

“Of course it can’t, Frank, and it will help Mum look on you more favourably as my beau, and her future son-in-law… one day.” Edith adds quickly, seeing the surprise in Frank’s eyes. The pair have agreed that they want to save some money first between them before they officially become engaged.

 

“So how to do we arrange it then, Edith?”

 

“Well, Mum told me to have a chat with you and your granny. Then I can let her know by sending her a postcard****** between now and next Wednesday with details as to what she says. So, maybe you and I should give up going to the pictures this Sunday and go and have a chat with her instead. What do you think, Frank?”

 

“I think it sounds like a fine plan, Edith.”

 

Suddenly there is a loud rapping on the glass. Edith and Frank both turn with wide and startled eyes and see a steely faced Mrs. Willison peering at them through a small amount of exposed glass in the grocer’s window. She suspiciously eyes the pair through her pince-nez*******. Her face disappears into the dark inner gloom of the shop. Then the alert bell rings cheerily as she opens the plate glass door with Mr. Willison’s name painted in neat gilt lettering upon it. Stepping across the threshold she stands astride the stoop, half in, half out of the shop, and folds her arms akimbo. Edith looks up, unnerved, at the proprietor’s wife and bookkeeper, her upswept hairstyle as old fashioned as her high necked starched shirtwaister******** blouse down the front of which runs a long string of faceted jet black beads.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Watsford. May I help you?” Mrs. Willison asks haughtily, her eyes drifting meaningfully to the table in front of the window covered in boxes containing onions, carrots, potatoes, apples and oranges. “Is there something we have missed from your order for the Honourable Miss Chetwynd earlier in the week?”

 

“Err… no, Mrs. Willison,” Edith manages to stammer under the sharp gaze of the old Edwardian shopkeeper. “I was… was, just…”

 

“Then I strongly suggest you go about your business, Miss Watsford, and stop tarrying in front of my husband’s establishment, fraternising with Mr. Leadbetter in the public thoroughfare.” Mrs. Willison scrutinises Edith’s fashionable and brightly coloured frock with the pretty lace collar. The hem of the skirt is following the current style and sits higher than any of Mrs. Willison’s own dresses and it reveals Edith’s shapely stockinged calves. She wears her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers over her neatly pinned chignon. “What you both choose to do on your days off is your own affair, but I do not want Willison’s to gain a reputation of ill repute as a meeting place for young people with idle time on their hands.” She turns her attentions to Frank. “I thought I saw you leaving for Grosvenor Square a little while ago, Mr. Leadbetter. You should have been back by now since it’s only around the corner, but I can see by the basket that you haven’t been there yet.”

 

Err… yes, I mean, no, Mrs. Willison.” Frank stammers.

 

“Mrs. Dulwich will be expecting you.” Mrs. Willison says matter-of-factly, her voice moderate and her tone even. “We don’t want Her Grace waiting for her dinner now, do we?”

 

“Err… no, Mrs, Willison.” Frank replies in sheepish apology.

 

“Then off you!” replies Mrs. Willison crisply, clapping her hands. “Quick sticks!”

 

“We’ll meet on Sunday, “ Frank says as he hurriedly adjusts his cap on his head. “I’ll let Gran know to be expecting us both.”

 

Then without tarrying any longer, Frank gets astride his bicycle and starts off down the road away from the grocers, heading south down Binney Street towards Grosvenor Square. With one final peevish look at Edith, Mrs. Willison steps back into the darkness of her shop’s interior, and allows the door to close behind her, the bell tinkling prettily as she does.

 

Left on her own, Edith begins to walk the short distance back to Cavendish Mews. Usually after such a rebuke as that she received from Mrs. Willison, Edith would be upset, but today, with the good news that her mother will host luncheon for Mrs. McTavish, she has a spring in her step. There is a lightness in her heart that everything is going to begin to fall nicely into place for she and Frank as their relationship strengthens and their bond grows deeper.

 

*Once part of the Great Northern Piccadilly and Brompton Railway – which gave rise to the modern Piccadilly line, Down Street station was closed in 1932, a mere twenty-five years after opening. Squashed quite closely between Hyde Park Corner and Dover Street (now known as Green Park), it suffered from low passenger numbers due to both the proximity of its neighbours, and the wealth of its local residents, who could afford more comfortable means of transport. Down Street wasn’t out of action for too long, however; in 1939, it was earmarked for use during the war effort. Once the platforms were bricked up, it was home to the Railway Executive Committee, before playing host to Winston Churchill and his War Cabinet before the Cabinet War Rooms were built – Churchill was known to affectionately refer to it as “The Barn”. There was no further use for it after the war, which means Down Street has stood empty ever since.

 

**Grosvenor Square is a large garden square in the Mayfair district of Westminster, Greater London. It is the centrepiece of the Mayfair property of the Duke of Westminster, and takes its name from the duke's surname "Grosvenor". It was developed for fashionable residences in the Eighteenth Century.

 

***Astrakhan caviar combines high quality Ossetra and Siberian caviar. According to testimonies it has “a wonderful nutty flavour, and a pleasant iodine finish”.

 

****Founded by Henry Isaac Rowntree in Castlegate in York in 1862, Rowntree's developed strong associations with Quaker philanthropy. Throughout much of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, it was one of the big three confectionery manufacturers in the United Kingdom, alongside Cadbury and Fry, both also founded by Quakers. In 1981, Rowntree's received the Queen's Award for Enterprise for outstanding contribution to international trade. In 1988, when the company was acquired by Nestlé, it was the fourth-largest confectionery manufacturer in the world. The Rowntree brand continues to be used to market Nestlé's jelly sweet brands, such as Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums, and is still based in York.

 

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

 

******One hundred years ago, postcards were the most common and easiest way to communicate with loved ones not only across countries whilst on holidays, but across neighbourhoods on a daily basis ‘de leurs jours’ with the minutiae of life on them. This is because unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily basis or , there were several deliveries done a day. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman. This means that people in the early Twentieth Century amassed vast collections of picture postcards which today are highly collectible depending upon their theme.

 

*******Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

********A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful Edwardian shopfront 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:

 

Frank’s black metal delivery bicycle with its basket on the front came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The sign on the body of the bicycle I made myself with the aid of the brown paper bag in the front of the basket which bears the name “Walter Willison’s Tea and Grocery”. The paper bag is actually filled with grocery items, which along with the bag were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Edith’s green leather handbag leaning against the bicycle I acquired as part of a larger collection of 1:12 artistan miniature hats, bags and accessories I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. Her small wicker basket I acquired from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The onions, carrots, potatoes and oranges on the display table all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, and are just some of the dizzying and ever growing array of realistic looking fruit and vegetables in 1:12 scale that they supply to collectors. Also on the display table is a box of apples which are all very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The white cloth bags at the base of the table I have had since I was a teenager. The romaine lettuce in the bicycle basket and in the wicker basket on the ground I acquired from an auction house some years ago as part of a lot of hand made artisan miniatures. The bag of carrots came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The wooden boxes the fruit and vegetables are in, the basket with the greenery in it and the pottery jug all came from the same 1:12 miniatures supplier online that Edith’s basket came from.

 

The tree that is blurred in the foreground and the red metal wall mounted letterbox both came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The advertisements along the wall of the shop are all 1:12 size posters made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken is known mostly for the 1;12 miniature books he created. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but he also produced other items, including posters. All of these are genuine copies of real Edwardian posters. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these items miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

A co-operative wholesale society, or CWS, is a form of co-operative federation (that is, a co-operative in which all the members are co-operatives), in this case, the members are usually consumer cooperatives. The best historical examples of this are the English CWS and the Scottish CWS, which are the predecessors of the 21st century Co-operative Group. Indeed, in Britain, the terms Co-operative Wholesale Society and CWS are used to refer to this specific organisation rather than the organisational form. They sold things like tea and cocoa. The English and Scottish Co-operative Wholesale Society opened its own new Luton cocoa factory in 1902. The factory was demolished in 1970.

 

W.D. & H.O. Wills was a British tobacco manufacturing company formed in Bristol.. It was the first British company to mass-produce cigarettes, and one of the founding companies of Imperial Tobacco along with John Player & Sons. Brands they manufactured included Cinderella Cigarettes and Firefly Cigarettes.

DRS have been very generous over the years providing many visitors to the Mid Norfolk Railway for their diesel galas, and 2022 was no exception, with 57312 featuring on the Saturday and Sunday. The GM loco arrived late on Friday evening, initially having been stopped at Colchester with a governor problem, and then getting stuck behind at Greater Anglia service at Diss which had hit a pheasant. Wearing plain blue having had the Rail Operations Group vinyls removed after a period of hire, 57312 is pictured at Wymondham Abbey with the 12:00 from Dereham, double heading with resident D1933 Aldeburgh Festival.

The pristine Iskele shoreline is home to the five-star Arkin Iskele Hotel. Magnificent freshwater pools are scattered around the site on an open terrace, where you may cool off in peace and quiet while admiring the stunning views of the Mediterranean Sea.

 

The 5* Arkin Iskele hotel rests on the stunning and upcoming coastline of Iskele. As you gaze at the stunning shoreline, you can cool off in exquisite freshwater pools. The Arkin Hotel’s golden sands and piers extend generously into the crystal waters of the Mediterranean Sea, offering the perfect spot for swimming, paddling, or simply relaxing by the sea. It’s perfect for soaking up the sun.

 

The hotel also offers room service, a kid’s club where children are taken care of and where they can enjoy a plethora of different arts, crafts and fun activities during their stay. There is also an aqua park featuring five unique slides for a splashing good time! With cosy sun loungers and beach umbrellas.

 

Arkin Iskele features a bar and lush gardens in addition to its 24-hour front desk. On-site, there is an international buffet restaurant to enjoy main meals and water slides for kids where they can have a splashing good time. The on-site spa offers body scrubs, body wraps and massages for anyone looking for a soothing wellness experience. Turkish baths and saunas are also available.

 

There are multiple bars to enjoy freshly prepared drinks and cocktails as well as a patisserie where cakes and tasty pastries are served at specific hours of the day. There is also an ice cream stand to find delight in many different flavours of ice cream. There is also a shuttle service nearby which is available to take guests to Famagusta.

 

Getting out and about after a day at the beach will not leave you disappointed in this phenomenal location. The Arkin Iskele Hotel is located very close to the gateway of the Karpas Peninsula, providing the perfect base from which to explore the spectacular natural beauty and unspoiled countryside of this region.

 

A protected beach area is found near the hotel where sea turtles lay their eggs. If you get there at the right time, you will be able to witness the mothers burying their eggs and little hatchlings scrabbling towards the sea - a breathtaking site for children as well. If you would like more information about turtle-watching sessions, please speak with your Rep.

 

As a great perk, Iskele is very close to the ancient Roman ruins of Salamis, an ideal day trip for both adults and children offering a chance to explore ancient gymnasiums and temples and discover profound artefacts.

 

There is also an opportunity to see Othello's Tower and Citadel mentioned in Shakespeare's play!

 

There are a variety of cafes, bistros, bars and restaurants in the charming historic town of Famagusta which is less than 25 minutes away. Iskele is also a stunning port town to explore, known for its incredible seafood restaurants and piers overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

 

Trikomo is a town in Cyprus. It is under the de facto control of Northern Cyprus and is the administrative center of the Iskele District of Northern Cyprus, which mainly extends into the Karpas Peninsula , while de jure it belongs to the Famagusta District of the Republic of Cyprus . It gained municipality status in 1998. Before 1974 Trikomo was a mixed village with a Greek Cypriot majority.

 

In 2011 Trikomo had 1948 inhabitants.

 

Trikomo is located in the north-eastern part of the Messaria plain , 9 km south of the village of Ardana , about two kilometers from the Bay of Famagusta and four kilometers north-west of the village of Sygkrasi .

 

In Greek Trikomo means "three houses". In 1975 the Turkish Cypriots renamed it Yeni İskele to commemorate the origins of the town's current inhabitants. In Larnaca before 1974 Turkish Cypriots resided in the neighborhood called Skala ("İskele" in Turkish), so that when they settled in the village they renamed it with the same name (lit. "new İskele", later shortened to İskele ). Yeni means "new", so Yeni İskele literally means "New Scale/İskele".

 

Before the 1974 Turkish invasion of Cyprus , the population of Trikomo consisted almost entirely of Greek Cypriots , most of whom fled during the conflict while the rest were subsequently deported to the south. Among these, worthy of mention is Georgios Grivas (1898-1974), general of the Greek army , leader of the guerrilla organization EOKA, protagonist of the liberation struggle against the English and of the paramilitary organization EOKA B.

 

The Turkish Cypriot municipality of Larnaca which had been established in 1958 moved to Trikomo in 1974, soon after the Turkish invasion of the island .

 

In Trikomo is the Church of the Panagia Theotokos , deconsecrated and home to an icon museum displaying rare examples of medieval iconography in Cyprus. The church is divided into two sections, one Orthodox and one Catholic. The first is the oldest, dating back to the Byzantine era , while the second was built in the 12th century, during the period in which the island was ruled by the Lusignans

 

Before 1974 Trikomo was a mixed village with a Greek Cypriot majority. In the 1831 Ottoman census, Muslims made up approximately 18.4% of the population. However, by 1891 this percentage dropped significantly to 3.4%. In the first half of the 20th century the population of the village increased steadily, from 1,247 inhabitants in 1901 to 2,195 in 1960.

 

Most of Trikomo's Greek Cypriots were displaced in August 1974, although some remained in the town after the Turkish army took control. In October 1975 there were still 92 Greek Cypriots in the city, but in 1978 they were moved to the south side of the Green Line . Currently, like the rest of the displaced Greek Cypriots, Trikomo Greek Cypriots are scattered across the south of the island, especially in the cities. The number of Greek Cypriots from Trikomo displaced in 1974-78 was approximately 2,330 (2,323 in the 1960 census).

 

Today the village is inhabited mainly by displaced Turkish Cypriots from the south of the island, especially from the city of Larnaca and its district . In 1976-77, some families from Turkey, especially from the province of Adana , also settled in the village . Since the 2000s, many wealthy Europeans, Turks and Turkish Cypriots from other areas of the north of the island (including returnees from abroad) have purchased properties, built houses and settled in the vicinity of the city. According to the 2006 Turkish Cypriot census, the population of Trikomo/İskele was 3,657.

 

The city annually hosts the Iskele Festival , which takes place for ten days in summer, and is the oldest annual festival in Cyprus, having first been held in Larnaca in 1968. In 1974, the event was moved to Trikomo together to the Turkish Cypriot inhabitants of Larnaca who had moved there. The program includes an international folk dance festival, concerts by Turkish Cypriot and mainland Turkish musicians, various sports tournaments, stalls offering food and various competitions, along with other performances and competitions highlighting the city's cultural heritage.

 

The current mayor of the city is Hasan Sadıkoğlu, who was first elected in 2014 as an independent candidate. It was re-elected in 2018 as the candidate of the right-wing National Unity Party (UBP), winning with 54.6% of the vote. In the 2018 local elections, four members of the UBP, two members of the pro-settler Renaissance Party (YDP), and two members of the left-wing Turkish Republican Party (CTP) were elected to the eight-member city council .

 

Trikomo is twinned with:

Flag of Türkiye Beykoz, Istanbul

Flag of Türkiye Büyükçekmece, Istanbul

Flag of Türkiye Finike, Antalya , since 2015

Flag of Türkiye Mamak, Ankara

Flag of Türkiye Pendik, Istanbul

Flag of Türkiye Samsung , since 2006

 

Turkish Cypriot sports club Larnaka Gençler Birliği (also called İskele Gençlerbirliği ) was founded in 1934 in Larnaca, and was playing in the Süper Lig of the Northern Cyprus Football Federation in the 2018–19 season

 

Northern Cyprus, officially the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC), is a de facto state that comprises the northeastern portion of the island of Cyprus. It is recognised only by Turkey, and its territory is considered by all other states to be part of the Republic of Cyprus.

 

Northern Cyprus extends from the tip of the Karpass Peninsula in the northeast to Morphou Bay, Cape Kormakitis and its westernmost point, the Kokkina exclave in the west. Its southernmost point is the village of Louroujina. A buffer zone under the control of the United Nations stretches between Northern Cyprus and the rest of the island and divides Nicosia, the island's largest city and capital of both sides.

 

A coup d'état in 1974, performed as part of an attempt to annex the island to Greece, prompted the Turkish invasion of Cyprus. This resulted in the eviction of much of the north's Greek Cypriot population, the flight of Turkish Cypriots from the south, and the partitioning of the island, leading to a unilateral declaration of independence by the north in 1983. Due to its lack of recognition, Northern Cyprus is heavily dependent on Turkey for economic, political and military support.

 

Attempts to reach a solution to the Cyprus dispute have been unsuccessful. The Turkish Army maintains a large force in Northern Cyprus with the support and approval of the TRNC government, while the Republic of Cyprus, the European Union as a whole, and the international community regard it as an occupation force. This military presence has been denounced in several United Nations Security Council resolutions.

 

Northern Cyprus is a semi-presidential, democratic republic with a cultural heritage incorporating various influences and an economy that is dominated by the services sector. The economy has seen growth through the 2000s and 2010s, with the GNP per capita more than tripling in the 2000s, but is held back by an international embargo due to the official closure of the ports in Northern Cyprus by the Republic of Cyprus. The official language is Turkish, with a distinct local dialect being spoken. The vast majority of the population consists of Sunni Muslims, while religious attitudes are mostly moderate and secular. Northern Cyprus is an observer state of ECO and OIC under the name "Turkish Cypriot State", PACE under the name "Turkish Cypriot Community", and Organization of Turkic States with its own name.

 

Several distinct periods of Cypriot intercommunal violence involving the two main ethnic communities, Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots, marked mid-20th century Cyprus. These included the Cyprus Emergency of 1955–59 during British rule, the post-independence Cyprus crisis of 1963–64, and the Cyprus crisis of 1967. Hostilities culminated in the 1974 de facto division of the island along the Green Line following the Turkish invasion of Cyprus. The region has been relatively peaceful since then, but the Cyprus dispute has continued, with various attempts to solve it diplomatically having been generally unsuccessful.

 

Cyprus, an island lying in the eastern Mediterranean, hosted a population of Greeks and Turks (four-fifths and one-fifth, respectively), who lived under British rule in the late nineteenth-century and the first half of the twentieth-century. Christian Orthodox Church of Cyprus played a prominent political role among the Greek Cypriot community, a privilege that it acquired during the Ottoman Empire with the employment of the millet system, which gave the archbishop an unofficial ethnarch status.

 

The repeated rejections by the British of Greek Cypriot demands for enosis, union with Greece, led to armed resistance, organised by the National Organization of Cypriot Struggle, or EOKA. EOKA, led by the Greek-Cypriot commander George Grivas, systematically targeted British colonial authorities. One of the effects of EOKA's campaign was to alter the Turkish position from demanding full reincorporation into Turkey to a demand for taksim (partition). EOKA's mission and activities caused a "Cretan syndrome" (see Turkish Resistance Organisation) within the Turkish Cypriot community, as its members feared that they would be forced to leave the island in such a case as had been the case with Cretan Turks. As such, they preferred the continuation of British colonial rule and then taksim, the division of the island. Due to the Turkish Cypriots' support for the British, EOKA's leader, Georgios Grivas, declared them to be enemies. The fact that the Turks were a minority was, according to Nihat Erim, to be addressed by the transfer of thousands of Turks from mainland Turkey so that Greek Cypriots would cease to be the majority. When Erim visited Cyprus as the Turkish representative, he was advised by Field Marshal Sir John Harding, the then Governor of Cyprus, that Turkey should send educated Turks to settle in Cyprus.

 

Turkey actively promoted the idea that on the island of Cyprus two distinctive communities existed, and sidestepped its former claim that "the people of Cyprus were all Turkish subjects". In doing so, Turkey's aim to have self-determination of two to-be equal communities in effect led to de jure partition of the island.[citation needed] This could be justified to the international community against the will of the majority Greek population of the island. Dr. Fazil Küçük in 1954 had already proposed Cyprus be divided in two at the 35° parallel.

 

Lindley Dan, from Notre Dame University, spotted the roots of intercommunal violence to different visions among the two communities of Cyprus (enosis for Greek Cypriots, taksim for Turkish Cypriots). Also, Lindlay wrote that "the merging of church, schools/education, and politics in divisive and nationalistic ways" had played a crucial role in creation of havoc in Cyprus' history. Attalides Michael also pointed to the opposing nationalisms as the cause of the Cyprus problem.

 

By the mid-1950's, the "Cyprus is Turkish" party, movement, and slogan gained force in both Cyprus and Turkey. In a 1954 editorial, Turkish Cypriot leader Dr. Fazil Kuchuk expressed the sentiment that the Turkish youth had grown up with the idea that "as soon as Great Britain leaves the island, it will be taken over by the Turks", and that "Turkey cannot tolerate otherwise". This perspective contributed to the willingness of Turkish Cypriots to align themselves with the British, who started recruiting Turkish Cypriots into the police force that patrolled Cyprus to fight EOKA, a Greek Cypriot nationalist organisation that sought to rid the island of British rule.

 

EOKA targeted colonial authorities, including police, but Georgios Grivas, the leader of EOKA, did not initially wish to open up a new front by fighting Turkish Cypriots and reassured them that EOKA would not harm their people. In 1956, some Turkish Cypriot policemen were killed by EOKA members and this provoked some intercommunal violence in the spring and summer, but these attacks on policemen were not motivated by the fact that they were Turkish Cypriots.

 

However, in January 1957, Grivas changed his policy as his forces in the mountains became increasingly pressured by the British Crown forces. In order to divert the attention of the Crown forces, EOKA members started to target Turkish Cypriot policemen intentionally in the towns, so that Turkish Cypriots would riot against the Greek Cypriots and the security forces would have to be diverted to the towns to restore order. The killing of a Turkish Cypriot policeman on 19 January, when a power station was bombed, and the injury of three others, provoked three days of intercommunal violence in Nicosia. The two communities targeted each other in reprisals, at least one Greek Cypriot was killed and the British Army was deployed in the streets. Greek Cypriot stores were burned and their neighbourhoods attacked. Following the events, the Greek Cypriot leadership spread the propaganda that the riots had merely been an act of Turkish Cypriot aggression. Such events created chaos and drove the communities apart both in Cyprus and in Turkey.

 

On 22 October 1957 Sir Hugh Mackintosh Foot replaced Sir John Harding as the British Governor of Cyprus. Foot suggested five to seven years of self-government before any final decision. His plan rejected both enosis and taksim. The Turkish Cypriot response to this plan was a series of anti-British demonstrations in Nicosia on 27 and 28 January 1958 rejecting the proposed plan because the plan did not include partition. The British then withdrew the plan.

 

In 1957, Black Gang, a Turkish Cypriot pro-taksim paramilitary organisation, was formed to patrol a Turkish Cypriot enclave, the Tahtakale district of Nicosia, against activities of EOKA. The organisation later attempted to grow into a national scale, but failed to gain public support.

 

By 1958, signs of dissatisfaction with the British increased on both sides, with a group of Turkish Cypriots forming Volkan (later renamed to the Turkish Resistance Organisation) paramilitary group to promote partition and the annexation of Cyprus to Turkey as dictated by the Menderes plan. Volkan initially consisted of roughly 100 members, with the stated aim of raising awareness in Turkey of the Cyprus issue and courting military training and support for Turkish Cypriot fighters from the Turkish government.

 

In June 1958, the British Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, was expected to propose a plan to resolve the Cyprus issue. In light of the new development, the Turks rioted in Nicosia to promote the idea that Greek and Turkish Cypriots could not live together and therefore any plan that did not include partition would not be viable. This violence was soon followed by bombing, Greek Cypriot deaths and looting of Greek Cypriot-owned shops and houses. Greek and Turkish Cypriots started to flee mixed population villages where they were a minority in search of safety. This was effectively the beginning of the segregation of the two communities. On 7 June 1958, a bomb exploded at the entrance of the Turkish Embassy in Cyprus. Following the bombing, Turkish Cypriots looted Greek Cypriot properties. On 26 June 1984, the Turkish Cypriot leader, Rauf Denktaş, admitted on British channel ITV that the bomb was placed by the Turks themselves in order to create tension. On 9 January 1995, Rauf Denktaş repeated his claim to the famous Turkish newspaper Milliyet in Turkey.

 

The crisis reached a climax on 12 June 1958, when eight Greeks, out of an armed group of thirty five arrested by soldiers of the Royal Horse Guards on suspicion of preparing an attack on the Turkish quarter of Skylloura, were killed in a suspected attack by Turkish Cypriot locals, near the village of Geunyeli, having been ordered to walk back to their village of Kondemenos.

 

After the EOKA campaign had begun, the British government successfully began to turn the Cyprus issue from a British colonial problem into a Greek-Turkish issue. British diplomacy exerted backstage influence on the Adnan Menderes government, with the aim of making Turkey active in Cyprus. For the British, the attempt had a twofold objective. The EOKA campaign would be silenced as quickly as possible, and Turkish Cypriots would not side with Greek Cypriots against the British colonial claims over the island, which would thus remain under the British. The Turkish Cypriot leadership visited Menderes to discuss the Cyprus issue. When asked how the Turkish Cypriots should respond to the Greek Cypriot claim of enosis, Menderes replied: "You should go to the British foreign minister and request the status quo be prolonged, Cyprus to remain as a British colony". When the Turkish Cypriots visited the British Foreign Secretary and requested for Cyprus to remain a colony, he replied: "You should not be asking for colonialism at this day and age, you should be asking for Cyprus be returned to Turkey, its former owner".

 

As Turkish Cypriots began to look to Turkey for protection, Greek Cypriots soon understood that enosis was extremely unlikely. The Greek Cypriot leader, Archbishop Makarios III, now set independence for the island as his objective.

 

Britain resolved to solve the dispute by creating an independent Cyprus. In 1959, all involved parties signed the Zurich Agreements: Britain, Turkey, Greece, and the Greek and Turkish Cypriot leaders, Makarios and Dr. Fazil Kucuk, respectively. The new constitution drew heavily on the ethnic composition of the island. The President would be a Greek Cypriot, and the Vice-President a Turkish Cypriot with an equal veto. The contribution to the public service would be set at a ratio of 70:30, and the Supreme Court would consist of an equal number of judges from both communities as well as an independent judge who was not Greek, Turkish or British. The Zurich Agreements were supplemented by a number of treaties. The Treaty of Guarantee stated that secession or union with any state was forbidden, and that Greece, Turkey and Britain would be given guarantor status to intervene if that was violated. The Treaty of Alliance allowed for two small Greek and Turkish military contingents to be stationed on the island, and the Treaty of Establishment gave Britain sovereignty over two bases in Akrotiri and Dhekelia.

 

On 15 August 1960, the Colony of Cyprus became fully independent as the Republic of Cyprus. The new republic remained within the Commonwealth of Nations.

 

The new constitution brought dissatisfaction to Greek Cypriots, who felt it to be highly unjust for them for historical, demographic and contributional reasons. Although 80% of the island's population were Greek Cypriots and these indigenous people had lived on the island for thousands of years and paid 94% of taxes, the new constitution was giving the 17% of the population that was Turkish Cypriots, who paid 6% of taxes, around 30% of government jobs and 40% of national security jobs.

 

Within three years tensions between the two communities in administrative affairs began to show. In particular disputes over separate municipalities and taxation created a deadlock in government. A constitutional court ruled in 1963 Makarios had failed to uphold article 173 of the constitution which called for the establishment of separate municipalities for Turkish Cypriots. Makarios subsequently declared his intention to ignore the judgement, resulting in the West German judge resigning from his position. Makarios proposed thirteen amendments to the constitution, which would have had the effect of resolving most of the issues in the Greek Cypriot favour. Under the proposals, the President and Vice-President would lose their veto, the separate municipalities as sought after by the Turkish Cypriots would be abandoned, the need for separate majorities by both communities in passing legislation would be discarded and the civil service contribution would be set at actual population ratios (82:18) instead of the slightly higher figure for Turkish Cypriots.

 

The intention behind the amendments has long been called into question. The Akritas plan, written in the height of the constitutional dispute by the Greek Cypriot interior minister Polycarpos Georkadjis, called for the removal of undesirable elements of the constitution so as to allow power-sharing to work. The plan envisaged a swift retaliatory attack on Turkish Cypriot strongholds should Turkish Cypriots resort to violence to resist the measures, stating "In the event of a planned or staged Turkish attack, it is imperative to overcome it by force in the shortest possible time, because if we succeed in gaining command of the situation (in one or two days), no outside, intervention would be either justified or possible." Whether Makarios's proposals were part of the Akritas plan is unclear, however it remains that sentiment towards enosis had not completely disappeared with independence. Makarios described independence as "a step on the road to enosis".[31] Preparations for conflict were not entirely absent from Turkish Cypriots either, with right wing elements still believing taksim (partition) the best safeguard against enosis.

 

Greek Cypriots however believe the amendments were a necessity stemming from a perceived attempt by Turkish Cypriots to frustrate the working of government. Turkish Cypriots saw it as a means to reduce their status within the state from one of co-founder to that of minority, seeing it as a first step towards enosis. The security situation deteriorated rapidly.

 

Main articles: Bloody Christmas (1963) and Battle of Tillyria

An armed conflict was triggered after December 21, 1963, a period remembered by Turkish Cypriots as Bloody Christmas, when a Greek Cypriot policemen that had been called to help deal with a taxi driver refusing officers already on the scene access to check the identification documents of his customers, took out his gun upon arrival and shot and killed the taxi driver and his partner. Eric Solsten summarised the events as follows: "a Greek Cypriot police patrol, ostensibly checking identification documents, stopped a Turkish Cypriot couple on the edge of the Turkish quarter. A hostile crowd gathered, shots were fired, and two Turkish Cypriots were killed."

 

In the morning after the shooting, crowds gathered in protest in Northern Nicosia, likely encouraged by the TMT, without incident. On the evening of the 22nd, gunfire broke out, communication lines to the Turkish neighbourhoods were cut, and the Greek Cypriot police occupied the nearby airport. On the 23rd, a ceasefire was negotiated, but did not hold. Fighting, including automatic weapons fire, between Greek and Turkish Cypriots and militias increased in Nicosia and Larnaca. A force of Greek Cypriot irregulars led by Nikos Sampson entered the Nicosia suburb of Omorphita and engaged in heavy firing on armed, as well as by some accounts unarmed, Turkish Cypriots. The Omorphita clash has been described by Turkish Cypriots as a massacre, while this view has generally not been acknowledged by Greek Cypriots.

 

Further ceasefires were arranged between the two sides, but also failed. By Christmas Eve, the 24th, Britain, Greece, and Turkey had joined talks, with all sides calling for a truce. On Christmas day, Turkish fighter jets overflew Nicosia in a show of support. Finally it was agreed to allow a force of 2,700 British soldiers to help enforce a ceasefire. In the next days, a "buffer zone" was created in Nicosia, and a British officer marked a line on a map with green ink, separating the two sides of the city, which was the beginning of the "Green Line". Fighting continued across the island for the next several weeks.

 

In total 364 Turkish Cypriots and 174 Greek Cypriots were killed during the violence. 25,000 Turkish Cypriots from 103-109 villages fled and were displaced into enclaves and thousands of Turkish Cypriot houses were ransacked or completely destroyed.

 

Contemporary newspapers also reported on the forceful exodus of the Turkish Cypriots from their homes. According to The Times in 1964, threats, shootings and attempts of arson were committed against the Turkish Cypriots to force them out of their homes. The Daily Express wrote that "25,000 Turks have already been forced to leave their homes". The Guardian reported a massacre of Turks at Limassol on 16 February 1964.

 

Turkey had by now readied its fleet and its fighter jets appeared over Nicosia. Turkey was dissuaded from direct involvement by the creation of a United Nations Peacekeeping Force in Cyprus (UNFICYP) in 1964. Despite the negotiated ceasefire in Nicosia, attacks on the Turkish Cypriot persisted, particularly in Limassol. Concerned about the possibility of a Turkish invasion, Makarios undertook the creation of a Greek Cypriot conscript-based army called the "National Guard". A general from Greece took charge of the army, whilst a further 20,000 well-equipped officers and men were smuggled from Greece into Cyprus. Turkey threatened to intervene once more, but was prevented by a strongly worded letter from the American President Lyndon B. Johnson, anxious to avoid a conflict between NATO allies Greece and Turkey at the height of the Cold War.

 

Turkish Cypriots had by now established an important bridgehead at Kokkina, provided with arms, volunteers and materials from Turkey and abroad. Seeing this incursion of foreign weapons and troops as a major threat, the Cypriot government invited George Grivas to return from Greece as commander of the Greek troops on the island and launch a major attack on the bridgehead. Turkey retaliated by dispatching its fighter jets to bomb Greek positions, causing Makarios to threaten an attack on every Turkish Cypriot village on the island if the bombings did not cease. The conflict had now drawn in Greece and Turkey, with both countries amassing troops on their Thracian borders. Efforts at mediation by Dean Acheson, a former U.S. Secretary of State, and UN-appointed mediator Galo Plaza had failed, all the while the division of the two communities becoming more apparent. Greek Cypriot forces were estimated at some 30,000, including the National Guard and the large contingent from Greece. Defending the Turkish Cypriot enclaves was a force of approximately 5,000 irregulars, led by a Turkish colonel, but lacking the equipment and organisation of the Greek forces.

 

The Secretary-General of the United Nations in 1964, U Thant, reported the damage during the conflicts:

 

UNFICYP carried out a detailed survey of all damage to properties throughout the island during the disturbances; it shows that in 109 villages, most of them Turkish-Cypriot or mixed villages, 527 houses have been destroyed while 2,000 others have suffered damage from looting.

 

The situation worsened in 1967, when a military junta overthrew the democratically elected government of Greece, and began applying pressure on Makarios to achieve enosis. Makarios, not wishing to become part of a military dictatorship or trigger a Turkish invasion, began to distance himself from the goal of enosis. This caused tensions with the junta in Greece as well as George Grivas in Cyprus. Grivas's control over the National Guard and Greek contingent was seen as a threat to Makarios's position, who now feared a possible coup.[citation needed] The National Guard and Cyprus Police began patrolling the Turkish Cypriot enclaves of Ayios Theodoros and Kophinou, and on November 15 engaged in heavy fighting with the Turkish Cypriots.

 

By the time of his withdrawal 26 Turkish Cypriots had been killed. Turkey replied with an ultimatum demanding that Grivas be removed from the island, that the troops smuggled from Greece in excess of the limits of the Treaty of Alliance be removed, and that the economic blockades on the Turkish Cypriot enclaves be lifted. Grivas was recalled by the Athens Junta and the 12,000 Greek troops were withdrawn. Makarios now attempted to consolidate his position by reducing the number of National Guard troops, and by creating a paramilitary force loyal to Cypriot independence. In 1968, acknowledging that enosis was now all but impossible, Makarios stated, "A solution by necessity must be sought within the limits of what is feasible which does not always coincide with the limits of what is desirable."

 

After 1967 tensions between the Greek and Turkish Cypriots subsided. Instead, the main source of tension on the island came from factions within the Greek Cypriot community. Although Makarios had effectively abandoned enosis in favour of an 'attainable solution', many others continued to believe that the only legitimate political aspiration for Greek Cypriots was union with Greece.

 

On his arrival, Grivas began by establishing a nationalist paramilitary group known as the National Organization of Cypriot Fighters (Ethniki Organosis Kyprion Agoniston B or EOKA-B), drawing comparisons with the EOKA struggle for enosis under the British colonial administration of the 1950s.

 

The military junta in Athens saw Makarios as an obstacle. Makarios's failure to disband the National Guard, whose officer class was dominated by mainland Greeks, had meant the junta had practical control over the Cypriot military establishment, leaving Makarios isolated and a vulnerable target.

 

During the first Turkish invasion, Turkish troops invaded Cyprus territory on 20 July 1974, invoking its rights under the Treaty of Guarantee. This expansion of Turkish-occupied zone violated International Law as well as the Charter of the United Nations. Turkish troops managed to capture 3% of the island which was accompanied by the burning of the Turkish Cypriot quarter, as well as the raping and killing of women and children. A temporary cease-fire followed which was mitigated by the UN Security Council. Subsequently, the Greek military Junta collapsed on July 23, 1974, and peace talks commenced in which a democratic government was installed. The Resolution 353 was broken after Turkey attacked a second time and managed to get a hold of 37% of Cyprus territory. The Island of Cyprus was appointed a Buffer Zone by the United Nations, which divided the island into two zones through the 'Green Line' and put an end to the Turkish invasion. Although Turkey announced that the occupied areas of Cyprus to be called the Federated Turkish State in 1975, it is not legitimised on a worldwide political scale. The United Nations called for the international recognition of independence for the Republic of Cyprus in the Security Council Resolution 367.

 

In the years after the Turkish invasion of northern Cyprus one can observe a history of failed talks between the two parties. The 1983 declaration of the independent Turkish Republic of Cyprus resulted in a rise of inter-communal tensions and made it increasingly hard to find mutual understanding. With Cyprus' interest of a possible EU membership and a new UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan in 1997 new hopes arose for a fresh start. International involvement from sides of the US and UK, wanting a solution to the Cyprus dispute prior to the EU accession led to political pressures for new talks. The believe that an accession without a solution would threaten Greek-Turkish relations and acknowledge the partition of the island would direct the coming negotiations.

 

Over the course of two years a concrete plan, the Annan plan was formulated. In 2004 the fifth version agreed upon from both sides and with the endorsement of Turkey, US, UK and EU then was presented to the public and was given a referendum in both Cypriot communities to assure the legitimisation of the resolution. The Turkish Cypriots voted with 65% for the plan, however the Greek Cypriots voted with a 76% majority against. The Annan plan contained multiple important topics. Firstly it established a confederation of two separate states called the United Cyprus Republic. Both communities would have autonomous states combined under one unified government. The members of parliament would be chosen according to the percentage in population numbers to ensure a just involvement from both communities. The paper proposed a demilitarisation of the island over the next years. Furthermore it agreed upon a number of 45000 Turkish settlers that could remain on the island. These settlers became a very important issue concerning peace talks. Originally the Turkish government encouraged Turks to settle in Cyprus providing transfer and property, to establish a counterpart to the Greek Cypriot population due to their 1 to 5 minority. With the economic situation many Turkish-Cypriot decided to leave the island, however their departure is made up by incoming Turkish settlers leaving the population ratio between Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots stable. However all these points where criticised and as seen in the vote rejected mainly by the Greek Cypriots. These name the dissolution of the „Republic of Cyprus", economic consequences of a reunion and the remaining Turkish settlers as reason. Many claim that the plan was indeed drawing more from Turkish-Cypriot demands then Greek-Cypriot interests. Taking in consideration that the US wanted to keep Turkey as a strategic partner in future Middle Eastern conflicts.

 

A week after the failed referendum the Republic of Cyprus joined the EU. In multiple instances the EU tried to promote trade with Northern Cyprus but without internationally recognised ports this spiked a grand debate. Both side endure their intention of negotiations, however without the prospect of any new compromises or agreements the UN is unwilling to start the process again. Since 2004 negotiations took place in numbers but without any results, both sides are strongly holding on to their position without an agreeable solution in sight that would suit both parties.

Divided reverse. Letter generously translated by xiphophilos authored on 20th May 1916 and addressed to a Herr Johann Halder in Wengen (Allgäu).

 

Infanterist Josef Holzer advises his cousin he is in positions in the mountains (Upper Alsace) and that he is faring well. The 6.Bavarian Landwehr Division was rated as fourth class, it was only used in the calmest sectors of the front.

 

______________________________________________

Notes:

 

Name: Josef Holzer

Geburtsdatum: 29. Mai 1876

Geburts-ort: Grund Gem Großholzhausen O A Wangen Württemberg

Truppengattung: Infanterie

Formation: Ersatztruppenteile der Landwehr-Infanterie-Regimenter

Truppenteil: bayer. Landwehr-Infanterie-Regiment No. 12 Ersatz-Bataillon

 

b. Landwehr-Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 12

 

Aufgestellt in Neu-Ulm (R.Stb., I., II.) und Neuburg/Donau (III.)

Unterstellung:2. gem. L.Brig.

Kommandeur:Oberstleutnant Frhr. v. Bouteville (Unteroffizierschule

Fürstenfeldbruck)

 

I.:Major z. D. Streling (Truppenübungsplatz

Hammelburg)

II.:Major a. D. Bolte, Johann

III.:Major a. D. Schleicher

 

Verluste:7 Offz., ca. 350 Uffz. und Mannschaften.

 

Trekking in Nepal is part of adventure trekking tourism and Adventure Trekking in Nepal and Trekking in Himalaya. Natures to renew one’s own self regard, to relive oneself, to realize Nepal beauty, to interact with its generous, friendly peoples are highlights of Trekking in Nepal. Trekking is one long term activity that draws repeat visitors. So, Nepal is final purpose for trekking. Offers numerous options walking excursion to meet snowy peaks, their foot hills, valleys but however there is amazing for each who hope Trek in Nepal hill, mountain area. Typical trekking and Hiking in Nepal as unique combination of natural glory, spectacular trekking trips to hard climbing and Everest Base Camp Trek is most rewarding way to skill Nepal natural beautification and cultural array is to walking, trekking, width and the height of country. Trekking is important of Travel Nepal for Trekking Tours in Himalaya on description Nepal Tour of large range of ecological features for Nepal Travel Holiday. The country nurtures a variety of flora and scenery. Addition to natural atmosphere is rich Himalayan culture. Many of visitor trek to different part of Nepal every year to experience its rustic charm, nature and culture. Most treks through areas between 1000 to 5185m, though some popular parts reach over 5648 meters. Trekking is not climbing, while the climb of Himalayan peaks and enjoy walking Holiday in Nepal and Trekking Tours Nepal might be an attraction for travelers. Every travelers knows for the Trekking in Nepal from all over the words an inspiring knowledge. Attraction for your Travel Holiday in Nepal of beauty and its excellent culture.

 

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Annapurna trekking region of Nepal enjoy with magnificent view close to highest and impressive mountain range in the world. Day exploration in Pokhara and morning morning flight to Jomsom or drive to Besishisahar from Kathmandu begin of trek. High destination, Muktinath 3800m and in generally highest point of whole Annapurna is 5416m. Thorangla la is situated in Buddhist Monastery, an eternal flame, and Hindus Vishnu Tempe of Juwala Mai making it a pilgrimage site for both Hindus and Buddhists and Muktinath is on the way down from popular trekking it call Thorang la pass which is incredible view in Annapurna region. Whenever possible we will arrive at lodging mid-afternoon, which should leave plenty time for explore the local villages, enjoy the hot springs at Tatopani, continue to Ghorepani where there is forever the possibility of sunrise hike to Poon Hill for spectacular views of Dhaulagiri, Fishtail, Nilgiri and the Annapurna Himalaya range. Continue on to Birethanti finally between with the Baglung road where we will catch cab to Pokhara, next day drive or fly to Kathmandu.

 

Everest trekking

region, although fairly effortless compare to some of other trek, takes you high along trails to Tengboche monastery Everest Solu Khumbu is the district south and west of Mount Everest. It is inhabited by sherpa, cultural group that has achieve fame because of the develop of its men on climbing expeditions. Khumbu is the name of the northern half of this region above Namche, includes highest mountain (Mt. Everest 8848m.) in the world. Khumbu is in part of Sagarmatha National Park. This is a short trek but very scenic trek offers really superb view of the world's highest peaks, including Mt. Everest, Mt. Lhotse, Mt. Thamserku, Mt. Amadablam and other many snowy peaks. Fly from Kathmandu to Lukla it is in the Khumbu region and trek up to Namche Bazzar, Tyangboche and into the Khumjung village, a very nice settlement of Sherpas people. This trek introduction to Everest and Sherpa culture with great mountain views, a very popular destination for first time trekkers in Nepal. Justifiably well-known world uppermost mountain (8848m.) and also for its Sherpa villages and monasteries. Few days trek from Lukla on the highland, takes you to the entry to Sagarmatha National Park and town of Namche Bazaar is entrance of Everest Trek. Environment of the towering Himalayas is a very delicate eco-system that is effortlessly put out of balance.

 

Langtang trekking region mixture of three beautiful trek taking us straight into some of the wildest and most pretty areas of Nepal. Starting from the lovely hill town of Syabrubensi our trek winds during gorgeous rhododendron and conifer forests throughout the Langtang National Park on the way to the higher slopes. Leads up to the high alpine yak pastures, glaciers and moraines around Kyanging. Along this route you will have an chance to cross the Ganja La Pass if possible from Langtang Valley. Trail enters the rhododendron (National flower of Nepal) forest and climbs up to alpine yak pastures at Ngegang (4404m). From Ngegang we make a climb of Ganja La Pass (5122m). We start southwest, sliding past Gekye Gompa to reach Tarkeghyang otherwise we take a detour and another unique features of trekking past, the holy lakes of Gosainkund (4300 m.) cross into Helambu via Laurebina to Ghopte (3430 m) and further to Trakegyang. Northern parts of the area mostly fall within the boundaries of Langtang National park.

 

Peak Climbing in Nepal is great view of Himalayas and most various geological regions in asia. Climbing of peaks in Nepal is restricted under the rules of Nepal Mountaineering Association. Details information and application for climbing permits are available through Acute Trekking. First peak climbing in Nepal by Tenzing Norgey Sherpa and Sir Edmund Hilary on May 29, 1953 to Mt. Everest. Trekking Agency in Nepal necessary member from Nepal Mountaineering Association. Our agency will arrange equipment, guides, high altitude porters, food and all necessary gears for climbing in Nepal. Although for some peaks, you need to contribute additional time, exertion owing to improved elevation and complexity. Climbing peaks is next step beyond simply trekking and basic mountaineering course over snow line with ice axe, crampons, ropes etc under administration and coaching from climbing guide, who have substantial mountaineering knowledge and for your climbing in mountain.

 

Everest Base Camp Trek well noon its spectacular mountain peaks and the devotion and openness of its inhabitants, the Everest region is one of the most popular destination for tourists in Nepal. While numerous of the routes through the mountains are difficult, there are plenty places to rest and enjoy a meal along the way. Additionally, don't worry about receiving lost. Just ask a local the way to the next village on your route, and they will direct you. Most Sherpas under the age of fifty can at least understand basic English, and many speak it fluently.

 

Annapurna Base Camp Trek is the major peaks of the western portion of the great Annapurna Himalaya, Annapurna South, Fang, Annapurna, Ganagapurna, Annapurna 3 and Machhapuchhare and including Annapurna first 8091 meters are arranged almost exactly in a circle about 10 miles in diameter with a deep glacier enclosed field at the center. From this glacier basin, known as the Annapurna base camp trek (Annapurna sanctuary trek), the Modi Khola way south in a narrow ravine fully 12 thousand ft. deep. Further south, the ravine opens up into a wide and fruitful valley, the domain of the Gurungs. The center and upper portions of Modi Khola offer some of the best short routes for trekking in Nepal and the valley is situated so that these treks can be easily joint with treks into the Kali Gandaki (Kali Gandaki is name of the river in Nepal) region to the west.

 

Upper Mustang Trekking name Make an escapade beginning from world deepest gorge Kaligandaki valley into world's highest area of Lo-Mangthang valley that passes through an almost tree-less barren landscape, a steep stony trail up and down hill and panorama views of high Annapurna Himalaya including Nilgiri, Annapurna, Dhaulagiri and numerous other peaks. The trek passes through high peaks, passes, glaciers, and alpine valleys. The thousands years of seclusion has kept the society, lifestyle and heritage remain unaffected for centuries and to this date.

 

Helicopter Tour in Nepal having high mountains and wonderful landscape of countryside but is effortlessly reachable by land transport, is known as helicopter tours country. Helicopter services industry in Nepal is now well well-known with many types and categories of helicopters for the fly to different of Nepal. The pilots are very knowledgeable expert with 1000 of flying hours knowledge in Nepal. We have service for helicopter is outstanding reputations and established records for reliable emergency and rescue flight too. Here we would like to offer some of amazing helicopter tour in Himalaya country of Nepal. Further more details information about Nepal tour itinerary for helicopter tour in different part of Nepal contact us without hesitation.

 

Kathmandu Pokhra Tour is an exclusive tour package specially designed for all level travelers. Kathmandu Pokhara tour package is effortless tour alternative for Nepal visitors. This tour package vacation the historically significant and ethnically rich capital (Kathmandu ) of Nepal and the most stunning city of world by the nature, Pokhara. Mountain museum and world peace stupa are another charming of Pokhara tour. Pokhara is the center of escapade tourism in Nepal. Package tour to Kathmandu Pokhara is design to discover highlighted areas of Kathmandu and Pokhara valley. Nepal is the country which is socially and geographically different that’s why we powerfully recommend you discover Nepal to visit once in life time. It is hard to explore all Nepal in one Nepal tours trip in this way we design this trip to show you the highlights of Nepal especially in Kathmandu and Pokhara.

 

Adventure trekking in the southern part of the asia continent there lays a tiny rectangular kingdom squeezed between two hugely populated countries, China to the north and India to the south, this country is Nepal a world of its own. Adventure trekking is a type of tourism, involving exploration or travel to remote, exotic and possibly hostile areas. Adventure trekking in Nepal is rapidly growing in popularity, as tourists seek different kinds of vacations. The land of contrast is presumably the exact way to define the scenery of Nepal for you will find maximum world highest peaks high high up above the clouds determined for the gods above. Straight, active and attractive learning experience adventure trekking in Nepal that engross the whole person and have real adventure. Mt. Everest, Kanchenjunga, Daulagiri, and Annapurna and many more are there for the offering for mountain-lovers, adventurers and travelers.

 

Trekking in Nepal

Adventure Trekking

Adventure Trekking in Nepal

Trekking in Himalaya

Everest Base Camp Trek

Nepal Tour

Nepal Travel Holiday

Travel Holiday in Nepal

Hiking in Nepal

Trek in Nepal

Nepal Holiday

Annapurna Trekking

Everest Trekking

Langtang Trekking

Peak Climbing in Nepal

Everest Base Camp Trek

Annapurna Base Camp Trek

Upper Mustang Trekking

Helicopter Tour in Nepal

Adventure Trekking

Kathmandu Pokhra Tour

Nepal Peak Climbing

Nepal Helicopter Tour

Tea House Trek in Nepal

High Pass Trekking in Nepal

Everest Helicopter Trekking

Island Peak Climbing

 

Trekking in Nepal - Nepal Trekking - Tea House Trekking - Lodge Trekking - Kathmandu Pokhara Tour - High Pass Trekking - Luxury Trekking in Nepal - Luxury Tour in Nepal - Helicopter Tour in Nepal - Nepal Helicopter Tour - Annapurna Trekking - Annapurna Base Camp Trek - Annapurna Sanctuary Trek - Annapurna Panirama Trekking - Ghorepani Trekking - Jomsom Muktinath Trekking - Annapurna Circuit Trekking - Annapurna Round Trekking - Tilicho Mesokanto Trekking - Tilicho Lake Mesokanto Pass Trekking - Upper Mustang Trekking - Everest Trekking - Everest Base Camp Trek - Everest Panorama Trekking - Gokyo Trekking - Gokyo Everest Trekking - Renjola Pass Trekking - Kongmala Pass Trekking - Three Pass Trekking - Jiri Everest Trekking - Langtang Trekking - Langtang Valley Trekking - Gosaikunda Trekking - Helambu Trekking - Tamang Heritage Trekking - Chisapani Nagarkot Trekking - Kathmandu Valley Cultural Trekking - Langtang Gosaikunda Helambu Trekking - Ganjala Pass Trekking - Peak Climbing in Nepal - Nepal Peak Climbing - High Pass Trekking - Nepal For All Season - Package Tour in Nepal - Island Peak Climbing - Mera Peak Climbing - Pisang Peak Climbing - Adventure Trekking - Adventures Trekking - Mustang Trekking - Upper Mustang Trek - Lower Mustang Trekking - Seasonal Package Trekking Tours in Nepal - Annapurna Trekking Region - Annapurna Base Camp Trek - Everest Trekking Region - Gokyo Trekking - Langtang Trekking Region - Tea House Trek or Lodge Trek - Three Pass Trekking or Everest High Pass Trekking

Divided reverse. Brief letter generously translated by xiphophilos, the author notes this photograph is a memento of the time spent in positions in the Vosges.

 

Unteroffizier Theodor Ruge from the Garde-Schützen-Bataillon standing in front of the entrance to what appears to be a sturdy blockhaus constructed around a natural rock formation somewhere on the Hartmannswillerkopf.

 

The Garde-Schützen-Bataillon was one of the first formations deployed to the western front, where it participated in the attacks on Belgium and northern France. After fighting near the Aire on 13th September 1914 the battalion suffered significant losses with only 213 men, out of an original 1,250 remaining fit for action.

Lochend House, the original home of Charles James Fox Campbell, after whom Campbelltown is named. Charles was a Justice of the Peace and Worshipful Master of his Lodge. In 1851 he stood unsuccessfully for the Legislative Council. He was a generous supporter of people in need.

In 1868 the citizens along the Paradise bridge road and adjoining areas petitioned the Governor to name the new council Campbelltown in his honour.

 

Charles Campbell was born 1807 in Kingsburgh House on the Isle of Skye into a prominent family, the Campbells of Melford, Argyllshire.

The Campbell family was related to Elizabeth Campbell, wife of Governor Macquarie of New South Wales, thought to be a factor influencing the family’s move to Australia.

 

Charles came to New South Wales with his parents and siblings in 1821 in the ship ‘Lusitania’, chartered by his father and brother-in-law. His father was given a large grant of land near Parramatta.

Aged 16 Charles was orphaned and from then devoted himself to pastoral pursuits.

 

Campbell came to South Australia in 1838, droving the first herd of cattle overland from New South Wales, with an expedition led by Joseph Hawdon. The expedition also included Evelyn Sturt, brother of Captain Charles Sturt the explorer and founder of South Australia. In 1842 he bought land on the banks of the River Torrens and shortly after built this house. He sought advice from friend George Strickland Kingston, the State’s first architect, in the design of the house. Kingston also designed Ayers House, parts of Government House, the Adelaide Gaol, and the first monument to Colonel Light in Light Square, Adelaide.

 

In those days, sheep and cattle grazed on the River Torrens flat. With permanent water, and rich soil, the area was soon settled by market gardens and fruit growers.

 

Lochend was built of river stone and included a stucco porch, hall and living room with a finely moulded ceiling. The roof was of wooden shingles and Campbell later added three bedrooms and a cellar.

 

About 1844, just eight years after South Australia was settled by Europeans, Campbell built a two roomed house, the start of Lochend. Around the house he planted four acres of vegetables and fruit gardens and used the remaining 156 acres for grazing or growing crops. In 1846 he sold most of this land, leaving only 60 acres around Lochend. This was the beginning of Campbell Town.

 

In 1850 Campbell married Martha Levi, the daughter of a pastoral family. Between May 1851 and June 1857 they had four sons. At the time, living at Lochend was like living in the bush. He kept a pack of staghounds at Lochend for hunting wild dogs and kangaroos in the nearby hills.

 

In 1852, the Campbells leased the house to James Scott, a stockholder from the Darling River in New South Wales. By this time, the house had six rooms.

 

In 1858 Campbell moved to a new homestead on Nor West Bend Station, near Morgan on the River Murray. It was here, while opening a bottle of wine, that Campbell suffered a small cut to his hand, leading to his untimely death on 5 March 1859 from blood poisoning. He was aged 52 years. He was buried at Nor West Bend, and later reinterred in an above ground vault at West Terrace Cemetery.

 

Charles had sold Lochend to Scott in January 1858 for £2,600 and it stayed in his family until 1875. The Scott family enlarged the house. It had 11 rooms, a stable, coachhouse and cottage, all surrounded by vegetable and fruit gardens and 58 acres of crop land by 1875.

 

Lochend subsequently passed to the widowed Mrs Jessie (Scott) MacDonald.

Mrs MacDonald shifted to Glenelg in 1875 and the property passed to David Mundy, a retired sheep farmer who built the two storey ‘Lochiel Park’ just south east of Lochend. In 1898 Mundy sold Lochiel Park to his neighbour Jonah Hobbs who named his home Hobbs' House.

 

From 1898 to 1957 Lochend and Lochiel Park were owned or lived in by members of the Hobbs family, an extensive family of market gardeners, horticulturalists and fruit growers long connected to Campbelltown.

 

The Hobbs sold both houses to the Government in 1947 and Lochiel Park became a Reformatory for Boys. Lochend was used as the house for the grounds manager and his family.

 

In the early 1980’s ownership of Lochend was transferred to Campbelltown Council.

After negotiations concerning the building’s seriously deteriorating state, and advice from Heritage Architect Simon Weidenhofer, the restoration was underway.

Assistance was given by the Campbelltown Council, Campbelltown Historical Society, and Rostrevor/Campbelltown and Athelstone Kiwanis Clubs.

 

Lochend is included on South Australia’s Heritage list.

Ref: Campbelltown Historical Society, Lochend Story Boards and publications.

   

A generous crop of cone flowers and many others serves to attract birds, bees ,butterflies etc to our garden. It also harbours a healthy population of mosquitos this fairly wet summer.

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 Lettice’s maid, Edith, who together with her beau, local grocery delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, have wended their way north-east from Cavendish Mews, through neighbouring Soho to the Lyons Corner House* on the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road. As always, the flagship restaurant on the first floor is a hive of activity with all the white linen covered tables occupied by Londoners indulging in the treat of a Lyon’s luncheon or early afternoon tea. Between the tightly packed tables, the Lyons waitresses, known as Nippies**, live up to their name and nip in and out, showing diners to empty tables, taking orders, placing food on tables and clearing and resetting them after diners have left. The cavernous space with its fashionable Art Deco wallpapers and light fixtures and dark Queen Anne English style furnishing is alive with colour, movement and the burbling noises of hundreds of chattering voices, the sound of cutlery against crockery and the clink of crockery and glassware fills the air brightly.

 

Amidst all the comings and goings, Edith and Frank wait patiently in a small queue of people waiting to be seated at the next available table, lining up in front of a glass top and fronted case full of delicious cakes. Frank reaches around a woman standing in front of them in a navy blue dress with red piping and a red cloche and snatches a golden yellow menu upon which the name of the restaurant is written in elegant cursive script. He proffers one to Edith, but she shakes her head shallowly at him.

 

“You’ve brought me here so many times, Frank, I practically know the Lyons menu by heart, Frank.”

 

Frank’s face falls. “You don’t mind coming here again, do you Edith?” he asks gingerly, almost apologetically.

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith laughs good naturedly. She tightens her grip comfortingly around his arm as she stands beside him with it looped through his. “Of course I don’t mind? Why should I mind? I love coming here. This is far grander than any other tea shop around here, and the food is delicious.”

 

“Well so long as you don’t think it’s dull and predicable, Edith.”

 

“How could anything be dull and predictable with you involved in it, Frank?”

 

Frank blushes at his sweetheart’s compliment. “Well it’s just that we seem to have fallen into rather a routine, going to the Premier in East Ham*** every few weeks, before coming here for tea.”

 

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, Frank. You know I love going to the pictures, and a slap-up tea from here is nothing to sneeze at.”

 

“Well, so long as you don’t mind, Edith.”

 

“Frank Leadbetter, I don’t mind anything that I do with you.” Edith squeezes his arm again. “Anyway, it isn’t like we haven’t done other things on our days off as well between our visits here. We go walking in Hyde and Regent’s Parks and Kensington Gardens, and we do go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais****, so it’s not always the same.”

 

“And you’ve been a good sport, coming with me to the National Portrait Gallery.” Frank adds with a happy smile.

 

“Oh, I loved gong there, Frank!” enthuses Edith. “Like I told you, I never knew that there were galleries of art that were open to then public. If I had, I might have gone sooner.” She smiles with satisfaction. “But then again, if I had known about it, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of you introducing me to it. I’m looking forward to us going back again one day.”

 

“But I suspect you enjoy the pictures more than the National Gallery.” Frank chuckles knowingly.

 

“Well,” Edith feels a flush fill her cheeks with red. “It is true that I perhaps feel a bit more comfortable at the pictures than the gallery, Frank, but,” She clarifies. “That’s only because my parents never took me to the gallery when I was growing up, like your grandparents did with you.”

 

“Whereas your parents took you to the pictures.”

 

“Oh yes Frank!” Edith sighs. “It was a cheap bit of escapism from the everyday for the whole family: Mum, Dad, Bert and me.” Her voice grows wistful as she remembers. “I used to look forward to going to the pictures on a Saturday afternoon with Mum and Dad and Bert. We’d walk into the entrance of the Picture Coliseum***** out of the boring light of day and into the magic darkness that existed all day there. I grew to love the sound of the flick and whir of the protector, knowing as I sat in my red leather seat in the balcony that I was about to be transported to anywhere in the world or to any point in time. Dad and Mum still love going there on the odd occasion to see a comedy. The pictures became even more important to me as a teenager after I left home and went into service for nasty old Widow Hounslow. She never gave me anything to be happy about in that cold house of hers as I skivvied for her in my first job, day in and day out, from sunrise to sunset, so the escape to a world of romance filled with glamorous people where there was no hard work and no dirty dishes or floors to scrub became a precious light in my life.”

 

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Frank chuckles.

 

“You know Frank, because I thought everyone went to the pictures, I’ve never actually asked you whether you enjoy going to them. Perhaps with your grandparents taking you to the gallery, you might not like it. Do you Frank?”

 

“Oh yes I do, Edith,” Frank assures his sweetheart. “I’m happy if you are happy, but even before I met you, I used to go to the pictures. Whilst I might not be as enamoured with the glamour and romance of moving picture stars like Wanetta Ward like you are, I do like historical dramas and adaptations of some of the books I’ve read.”

 

“Does that mean you didn’t enjoy ‘A Woman of Paris’******?” Edith asks with concern.

 

Frank turns away from his sweetheart and rests his arms on the glass topped counter, and gazes through it at the cakes on display below. “Oh, yes I did, Edith.” he mutters in a low voice in reply.

 

Edith hooks her black umbrella over the raised edge of the cabinet and deposits her green handbag on its surface and sidles up alongside Frank. “It doesn’t sound like you did, Frank.” she refutes him quietly.

 

“No, I really did, Edith.” he replies a little sadly. “Edna Purviance******* is so beautiful. I can well understand your attraction to the glamour of the moving pictures and their stars.”

 

“But something tells me that you didn’t like the film.” Edith presses, nudging Frank gently. “What was it?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Edith.” Frank brushes her question off breezily as he turns his head slight away from her so she cannot see it.

 

“Well, it must be something. I chose the film, so I shall feel awful if you didn’t want to see it.” Edith tries to catch his eye by ducking her head, but fails. “You should have said something, Frank.”

 

A silence envelops them momentarily, at odds to all the gay noise and chatter of the Corner House around them. At length Frank turns back to Edith, and she can see by the glaze and glint of unshed tears in his kind, but saddened eyes, that this is why he turned away. “I didn’t mind seeing ‘A Woman in Paris’, Edith. Honestly, I didn’t.” He holds up his hands. “Like you are with me, I’m happy to go anywhere or do anything with you.”

 

“Then what is it, Frank?” Edith says with a concerned look on her face. “Please, you must trust me enough to tell me.”

 

Frank reaches out his left hand and wraps it loving around her smaller right hand as it sits on the surface of the counter, next to her handbag. “Of course I trust you Edith. I’ve never trusted a girl before, the way I trust you.” He releases her hand and runs his left index finger down her cheek and along her jaw lovingly. “You’re so good and kind. Goodness knows what you see in me, but whatever it is, Edith, I’m so glad you do.”

 

“What’s gotten into you, Frank?” she replies in consternation. “What was it about the film that has upset you so much and given you such doubts?”

 

The awkward silence falls between the two of them again as Edith waits for Frank to formulate a reply. His eyes flit between the shiny brass cash register, the potted aspidistra standing in a white jardinière on a tall plant stand, the Art Deco wallpaper and Lyons posters on the walls and the cakes atop the counter. He looks anywhere except into his sweetheart’s anxious face.

 

“It was the relationship between Jean’s mother and Marie in the film, Edith.” he says at length.

 

“What of it, Frank?”

 

“It reminded me of the relationship between your mum and me, Edith.”

 

“What?” Edith queries, not understanding.

 

“Well,” Frank elucidates. “Jean’s mum didn’t like Marie and refused to accept her.”

 

“I keep telling you, Frank,” Edith reassures her beau, looking him earnestly in the face. “Mum doesn’t dislike you. She just struggles with some of your more,” She nudges him again, giving him a consoling, and cheeky smile. “Progressive ideas. Anyway, Jean’s mum and Marie made up at the end of the film and went off to set up an orphanage in the countryside.”

 

“Are you suggesting that your mum and I might do the same?” Frank laughs a little sadly, trying to make light of the moment.

 

“That’s better, Frank.” Edith encourages, seeing him smile.

 

Frank looks back down again at all the cakes on display in the glass fronted cabinet. Cakes covered in thick white layers of royal icing like tablecloths jostle for space with gaily decorated special occasion cakes covered in gooey glazed fruit and biscuit crumbs. Ornate garlands of icing sugar flowers and beautifully arranged slices of strawberries indicate neatly where the cakes should be sliced, so that everyone gets the same portion when served to the table. Frank even notices a pink blancmange rabbit sitting on a plate with a blue and white edge.

 

“I love coming here because there are so many decadent cakes here.” Frank admits, changing the subject delicately, but definitely. “It reminds me of when my Gran was younger. She used to bake the most wonderful cakes and pies.”

 

“Oh, Mum loves baking cakes, pies and puddings too.” Edith pipes up happily. “She’s especially proud of her cherry cobbler which she serves hot in winter with hot custard, and cold in summer with clotted cream.”

 

“Being Scottish, Gran always loved making Dundee Cake********. She used to spend ages arranging scorched almonds in pretty patterns across the top.”

 

“That sounds very decadent, Frank.” Edith observes.

 

“Oh it was, Edith!” Frank agrees. “Mind you, I don’t think it would have taken half as long if she hadn’t been continually keeping my fingers out of the bowl of the decorating almonds and telling me that the cake ‘would be baked when it is done, and no sooner’.”

 

Edith chuckles as Frank impersonates his grandmother’s thick Scottish accent as he quotes her.

 

“Mum always made the prettiest cupcakes for Bert’s and my birthdays.” Edith points to the small glass display plate of cupcakes daintily sprinkled with colourful sugar balls and topped with marzipan flowers and rabbits sitting on the counter.

 

“I bet you they were just as lovely as those are, Edith.”

 

“Oh, better Frank,” she assures him. “Because they were made with love, and Mum is a very proud cook.”

 

“I did notice that when I came for Sunday roast lunch.”

 

Edith continues to look at the cakes on display on stands on the counter’s surface, some beneath glass cloches and others left in the open air, an idea forming in her mind, formulating as she gazes at the dollops of cream and glacé cherries atop a chocolate cake, oozing cream decadently from between its slices.

 

“That’s it Frank!” she gasps.

 

“What is, Edith?”

 

“That’s the solution to your woes about Mum, Frank.” She snatches up her bag and umbrella from the counter.

 

Frank doesn’t understand so he asks yet again, “What is, Edith?”

 

Edith rests her elbow on the glass topped counter as she looks Frank squarely in the face. “Who is your greatest advocate, Frank? Who always speaks well of you in front of others.”

 

“Well, you do, Edith.” He gesticulates towards her.

 

“Yes, I know that,” she admits. “But besides me, who else always says the nicest things about you?”

 

“Well Gran does.” Frank says without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“Exactly Frank!” Edith smiles. “You need someone other than me in your corner, telling Mum what a wonderful catch you are. And that someone is your Gran, Frank!” Her blue eyes glitter with hope and excitement. “See, now that you’ve met Mum and Dad, and I’ve met your Gran, it’s time that they met. I bet Mum and your Gran would bond over cake baking and cooking, and of course Mum would believe anything a wise Scottish woman who can bake a Dundee Cake would say.”

 

“And everything she would say would be about me!” Frank exclaims. “Edith! You’re a genius!”

 

Frank cannot help himself as he reaches out and grasps Edith around the waist, lifting her up and spinning her around in unbridled joy, causing her to squeal, and for the people waiting in line around them to chuckle and smile indulgently at the pair of young lovers before them.

 

“Oh, put me down Frank!” squeaks Edith. “Let’s not make a scene.”

 

Reluctantly he lowers his sweetheart to the ground and releases her from his clutches.

 

“Now, all we need to do is talk with Mum and Dad, and your Gran, and settle on a date.” Edith says with ethusiasm.

 

“We’ll talk about it over tea and cake, shall we, Edith?” Frank asks with an excited lilt in his voice.

 

“Ahem.” A female voice clearing her throat politely interrupts Edith and Frank’s conversation. Turning, they find that whilst they have been talking, they have reached the front of the queue of people waiting for a table, and before them stands a bright faced Nippie with a starched cap with a red ‘L’ embroidered in the centre atop a mop of carefully coiffed and pinned curls, dressed in a black alpaca dress with a double row of pearl buttons and lace apron. “A table for two, is it?”

 

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

 

**The name 'Nippies' was adopted for the Lyons waitresses after a competition to rename them from the old fashioned 'Gladys' moniker - rejected suggestions included ‘Sybil-at-your-service’, ‘Miss Nimble’, Miss Natty’ and 'Speedwell'. The waitresses each wore a starched cap with a red ‘L’ embroidered in the centre and a black alpaca dress with a double row of pearl buttons.

 

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

 

****The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

*****Located in the west London inner city district of Harlesden. The Coliseum opened in 1912 as the Picture Theatre. In 1915 it was renamed the Picture Coliseum. It was operated throughout its cinema life as an independent picture theatre. Seating was provided in stalls and balcony levels. The Coliseum closed in December 1975 for regular films and went over to screening adult porn films. It then screened kung-fu movies and even hosted a concert by punk rock group The Clash in March 1977. It finally closed for good as a picture theatre in the mid-1980’s and was boarded up and neglected for the next decade. It was renovated and converted into a pub operated by the J.D. Weatherspoon chain, opening in March 1993. Known as ‘The Coliseum’ it retains many features of its cinematic past. There is even cinema memorabilia on display. There is a huge painted mural of Gary Cooper and Merle Oberon in “The Cowboy and the Lady” where the screen used to be. Recently J.D. Weatherspoon relinquished the building and it is now operated as an independent bar renamed ‘The Misty Moon’. By 2017 it had been taken over by the Antic pub chain and renamed the ‘Harlesden Picture Palace’.

 

******’A Woman of Paris’ is a feature-length American silent film that debuted in 1923. The film, an atypical drama film for its creator, was written, directed, produced and later scored by Charlie Chaplin. The plot revolves around Marie St. Clair (Edna Purviance) and her beau, aspiring artist Jean Millet (Carl Miller) who plan to flee life in provincial France to get married. However when plans go awry, Marie goes to Paris alone where she becomes the mistress of a wealthy businessman, Pierre Revel (Adolphe Menjou). Reacquainting herself with Jean after a chance encounter in Paris a year later, Marie and Jean recommence their love affair. When Jean proposes to Marie, his mother tries to intervene and Marie returns to Pierre. Jean takes a gun to the restaurant where Marie and Pierre are dining, but ends up fatally shooting himself in the foyer after being evicted from the restaurant. Marie and Jean’s mother reconcile and return to the French countryside, where they open a home for orphans in a country cottage. At the end of the film, Marie rides down a road in a horse drawn cart and is passed by a chauffer driven automobile in which Pierre rides with friends. Pierre's companion asks him what had happened to Marie after the night at the restaurant. Pierre replies that he does not know. The automobile and the horse-drawn wagon pass each other, heading in opposite directions.

 

*******Edna Purviance (1895 – 1958) was an American actress of the silent film era. She was the leading lady in many of Charlie Chaplin's early films and in a span of eight years, she appeared in over thirty films with him and remained on his payroll even after she retired from acting, receiving a small monthly salary from Chaplin's film company until she got married, and the payments resumed after her husband's death. Her last credited appearance in a Chaplin film, ‘A Woman of Paris’, was also her first leading role. The film was not a success and effectively ended Purviance's career. She died of throat cancer in 1958.

 

********Dundee Cake is a traditional Scottish fruit cake that has gained worldwide fame since its first appearance over three hundred and fifty years ago. The Dundee Cake is one of Scotland's most famous cakes and, it is said, was liked by the Queen at tea-time. The story goes that Mary Queen of Scots didn’t like cherries, so a fruit cake was made and decorated with the distinctive almond decoration that has now become very familiar to those of us in the know. A more likely story is that the Dundee Cake recipe was created in the 1700s, later to be mass-produced by the Marmalade company Keiller’s Marmalade.

 

An afternoon tea made up with sweet cakes like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate everything you can see here in and on this display case, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau:

 

The sweet cupcakes on the glass cake stand have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The pink blancmange rabbit on the bottom shelf of the display cabinet in the front of the right-hand side of the case was made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America. All the other cakes came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The glass and metal cake stands and the glass cloche came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The glass cake stands are hand blown artisan pieces. The shiny brass cash register also comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.

 

The J. Lyons & Co. Ltd. tariff is a copy of a 1920s example that I made myself by reducing it in size and printing it.

 

Edith’s handbag handmade from soft leather is part of a larger collection of hats and bags that I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.

 

The black umbrella came from an online stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The wood and glass display cabinet I obtained from a seller of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The storage shelves in the background behind the counter come from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late Eighteenth Century. The plates, milk jug, silver teapots, coffee pots and trays on it all come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Miniatures.

 

The aspidistra in the white planter and the wooden plant stand itself also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House shop, as does the 1920s Lyons’ Tea sign you can see on the wall.

 

The Art Deco pattern on the wall behind the counter I created myself after looking at many photos of different Lyons Corner House interiors photos. Whilst not an exact match for what was there in real life, it is within the spirit of the detailing found in the different restaurants.

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

 

Today however we have headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, around Trafalgar Square and up Charing Cross Road, where, near the corner of Great Newport Street, Lettice is visiting A. H. Mayhew’s*, a bookshop in the heart of London’s specialist and antiquarian bookseller district, patronised by her father, Viscount Wrexham. It is here that Lettice hopes to find the perfect birthday present for the son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely. The pair have made valiant attempts to pursue a romantic relationship since meeting at Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie’s, Hunt Ball the previous year. Yet things haven’t been easy, their relationship moving in fits and starts, partially due to the invisible, yet very strong influence of Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, the current Duchess of Walmsford. Selwyn is not one to make a fuss about his birthday, but under Lettice’s persistent pressure, he has acquiesced and agreed to an intimate dinner with Lettice at The Savoy Hotel** in a few weeks. This gives Lettice just enough time to find a present for Selwyn. As Lettice lingers out the front of Mr. Mayhew’s, peering through his tall plate glass windows that proudly bear his name and advertise that he does purchase libraries of old books, she hopes that somewhere amidst the full shelves inside, there is the book she hopes to give to Selwyn that will further solidify her commitment to him in his eyes.

 

She sighs and walks up to the recessed door of the bookshop which she pushes open. A cheerful bell dings loudly above her head, announcing her presence. As the door closes behind her, it shuts out the general cacophony of noisy automobiles, chugging busses and passing shoppers’ conversations dissipates, the shop enveloping her in a cozy muffled silence produced by the presence of so many shelves fully laden with volumes. She inhales deeply and savours the comforting smell of dusty old books and pipe smoke. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. Sunlight pours through the tall shop windows facing out to the street, highlighting the worn Persian and Turkish carpets whose hues, once so bright, vivid and exotic, have softened with exposure to the sunlight and any number of pairs of boots and shoes of customers, who like Lettice, searched Mayhew’s shelves for the perfect book to take away with them. Dust motes, something Lettice always associates with her father’s library in Wiltshire, dance blithely through beams of sunlight before disappearing without a trace into the shadows.

 

Lettice makes her way through the shop, wandering along its narrow aisles, reaching up to touch various Moroccan leather spines embossed with gilt lettering of titles and authors, until she nears the middle of the shop, where sitting at his desk before a small coal fire, smoking his pipe, sits the bespectacled Mr. Mayhew in his jacket, vest and bowtie, carefully checking titles on his desk’s surface against a hand written inventory. The portly, balding gentleman is so wrapped up in his work that he appears not to notice Lettice as she stands before him.

 

“Good afternoon Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice says, her clipped tones slicing through the thick silence of the shop.

 

“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew sighs with delight as he realises who is standing before him, removing his gold rimmed spectacles and setting them aside atop his old cash box featuring an old photograph of a Georgian Mansion cut from an old book that could not be salvaged and sold. “Why if it isn’t my favourite Wiltshire reader herself.” He takes one final pleasurable puff of his pipe before putting it aside.

 

Lettice rolls her eyes and smiles indulgently. “I’m quote sure you say that to every reader whom you know well, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“Ahh,” the old man remarks, lifting himself out of the comfort of the well worn chair behind his desk, wiping his hands down the front of his thick black barathea vest. “But not every reader I know as well as you come from Wiltshire, Miss Chetwynd.” He reaches out and takes Lettice’s dainty glove clad hand in his and raises it to his lips.

 

“You kiss me like I’m the Queen, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice laughs.

 

“Well, you are royalty, of a sort, to me, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew replies as he releases her hand. “You and your father.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice muses happily. “I don’t suppose you have many customers who are such avid collectors or rare antiquarian editions of Goethe*** as my father.”

 

“Now, now, Miss Chetwynd, you play your own part in the success of Mayhew’s,” the old bookseller chortles. “Thanks to you showing an interest in fine editions yourself, under your father’s wonderful tutelage.”

 

“Well, I’d hardly classify myself as a collector, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice scoffs. “At least not like my father is, but then I live in a neat modern flat in Mayfair which does not afford me the space of a library like my father has.”

 

“More’s the pity, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew opines. “I feel every home should have a library.”

 

“You’d be far wealthier if they did, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“That may be true, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew agrees. “But you misjudge my motivations.” he chides Lettice mildly. “I didn’t establish my little bookshop simply to make money. What a ludicrous idea that any shopkeeper would set up his establishment simply to make money, when he can take equal measure of profit and pleasure from his endeavours. I have a great love of books, Miss Chetwynd, both the written word and the engraving,” He waves his hands expansively at the floor to ceiling bookshelves around him, filled with hundreds of volumes on all manner of subjects. “As well you know. And I feel that a house is not a home without at least a small library of books.”

 

“Then I suppose my flat may be classified as a home in your eyes, Mr. Mayhew, since I do have a number of beautiful volumes from you in my own bookshelves.”

 

“Of course you do, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” the old man purrs pleasurably. “You are a discerning woman of good taste.”

 

“And deep pockets, just like my father.” Lettice laughs good-heartedly.

 

“Now, what is it that I can entice you to add to your bookshelves today, Miss Chetwynd?” He steps out from behind his cluttered desk and speaks as he moves. “Now let me see. I did recently get a splendid edition of some Georgian interior designs that might appeal to you. Did you find that Regency cabinet maker’s book I found for you, useful, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Oh I did Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies, acknowledging one of a number of fine and rare books the old bookseller has found Lettice since her move to London and the establishment of her interior design business.

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew clucks, clapping his hands in delight.

 

“However, it isn’t me that I’ve come looking for a book for.” Lettice quickly adds before Mr. Mayhew begins the task of locating the book of Georgian interiors unnecessarily.

 

“Oh,” the bookseller replies a little downheartedly. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have any new antiquarian versions of Gothe that I think His Lordship would like.” He scratches his balding head. “Although I do have quite a fine newly published edition of Padraic Colum’s**** ‘The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles’***** illustrated by Willy Pognay, which luckily for you, Miss Chetwynd,” He wags a chubby finger at Lettice. “I forgot to mention to your father when he ordered his last shipment of books.”

 

“Oh I’m not looking for a book for my father either, Mr. Mayhew, at least not today.”

 

“Oh?” the older gentleman turns back to Lettice. “Your friend Mr. Bruton perhaps?”

 

“No, not him either, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“Then who are you looking for a volume for, Miss Chetwynd? You know I have no head for guessing games, and I have no doubt that a lady as sociable as you would be well connected to many a distinguished person who would enjoy a volume from my humble little establishment.”

 

“You are a flatterer, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice laughs, blushing at the bookseller’s remark. She pauses for a moment before continuing. “I am actually looking for a book on architecture today. A very close friend of mine, who just happens to be a budding architect, is celebrating their birthday soon.”

 

“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew replies. “And would this budding young architect happen to have recently had success with a commission for a house in Hampstead, Miss Chetwynd?” he asks discreetly.

 

“You are well informed in here, aren’t you, Mr. Mayhew?” Lettice gasps in surprise.

 

Mr. Mayhew smiles enigmatically and taps his nose knowingly. “Well, contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally have my eye drawn to the social pages of the London newspapers by Mrs. Mayhew, especially when she recognises the name of the daughter of one of my most regular and loyal customers.”

 

“Well, suppose you and your social informant were correct,“ Lettice begins discreetly.

 

“Yes, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew coaxes with a wry smile.

 

“And assume that the aforementioned up-and-coming architect expressly stated the fact that he was particularly enamoured in older English architecture for his own amusement.”

 

“Yes, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“If you wanted to show your sincerity and your interest in the architect’s personal amusement, what would you recommend, Mr. Mayhew?”

 

“Well, Miss Chetwynd. I’d certainly want to give him something very special indeed.”

 

“Yes, I thought you might say that, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice smiles.

 

“Then I have not disappointed you, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew returns her smile.

 

“You never disappoint me, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice counters. “But you never cease to surprise me.” she adds with the heavy implication that she hopes he can find for her the perfect birthday present for Selwyn.

 

“Then let Mayhew’s not let you down on that count either, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“You never do, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies with a sigh of comfort, releasing a pent-up breath she didn’t realise she had been holding.

 

Mr. Mayhew picks up his spectacles and puts them on the bridge of his nose again before looking around him, squinting as he considers what volumes lie on the shelves in the darkened, cosy interior of his bookshop. As a proprietor who knows his stock well – almost like one would know a family – he says, “I think I might have just the thing. Please, take a seat, Miss Chetwynd.” He indicates to the chair on the opposite side of the desk to his own. “If I may beg your indulgence, I won’t be too long.”

 

“You may, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

The bookseller makes a small bow before he bustles off, disappearing amidst the bookshelves.

 

Lettice perches herself on the edge of the rather hard Arts and Crafts wooden seat and peruses Mr. Mayhew’s cluttered desk which is piled with old leather volumes, some of which speak of times long ago with their worn covers and aged pages. On the corner of the desk, precariously balanced and in danger of falling off if the proprietor were to push the books further across his desk, sits a photograph of Mrs. Mayhew in a dainty gilt frame. Next to it sits a desk calendar, set to the wrong date. Lettice listens and hears Mr. Mayhew muttering quietly behind a bookshelf nearby as he searches for what he hopes to find. Discreetly she changes the date on the calendar to the correct date for the old bookseller, smiling as she does so. In front of the photo and calendar sits a small brass pot of ink in which stands a quill feather pen, the fibres of which are yellow with age and dust. She toys with it in an amused fashion.

 

“Here we are, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Mayhew replies triumphantly as he returns holding two thick volumes in his arms. He pauses as he catches Lettice stroking the quill on his desk. “What’s your penmanship like, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

Lettice turns around and smiles up at the old, balding bookseller. “Nowhere near as good as yours, I’ll wager, Mr. Mayhew.” she laughs. “Especially with this old implement. I prefer a fountain pen. I think you must be the only man left in London who uses a quill pen.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I’m not the only man in London who still uses one,” he replies as he squeezes around the corner of his desk and returns to his side of it, dropping the volumes with a soft thud atop several other closed books. “After all, I’m sure the King has to use a quill to sign the edicts and official documents that he has to witness.”

 

“I’m sure even His Majesty uses a fountain pen now, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice assures him. “I know Queen Mary does.”

 

“Ahh, where is your sense of romance for the art of writing, Miss Chetwynd? You must admit that if Miss Austen penned beautiful pieces of literature like ‘Persuasion’ and ‘Pride and Prejudice’ with a quill pen, that there is still a good reason to use one.”

 

“I don’t think Miss Austen had the luxury of the fountain pen being invented when she was alive, Mr. Mayhew,” Lettice laughs. “Or I am sure she would have used one as an alternative to a quill.”

 

“Perhaps, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew says with a cheeky smile. “But I’ll have you know that the fountain pen was actually invented before Miss Austen’s death in the early 1800s.”

 

“Is that so, Mr. Mayhew?”

 

“Indeed it is, Miss Chetwynd. It was invented in England by a man named Frederick Fölsch in 1809.”

 

“My goodness, Mr, Mayhew! Once again, I am amazed by your knowledge of such things.”

 

The bookseller basks in Lettice’s praise for a few moments before adding somewhat self-deprecatingly, “It does help that I work in a bookshop, surrounded by such knowledge, Miss Chetwynd.” He coughs and clears his throat. “Now, thinking of books, here are two volumes I think your young architect friend might like.”

 

He presents Lettice with a thick grey bound volume with black lettering embossed boldly upon its front.

 

“The Mansions of England in the Olden Times******,” Lettice reads aloud. “Pictured by Joseph Nash.”

 

“I’m afraid it is only volume two of a four volume set from 1840, Miss Chetwynd, but it is still very beautiful. ‘The Mansions of England in the Olden Times’ is considered to be Joseph Nash’s master work. He was a wonderful watercolourist, as you will see.” He indicates with open hands for Lettice to open the volume. “I think your friend might appreciate the watercolours therein.”

 

With the reverence her father taught her to have for books, particularly old and rare ones, Lettice gingerly opens the volume. Her hand gently caresses the beautifully marbled end papers before she starts turning the old pages catching the slight waft of the mixture of dust and woodsmoke of an old library, as she turns the pages.

 

“This book smells faintly like my father’s library, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice remarks.

 

“Well, I did acquire this from the family of the late Earl of Ellenborough*******, as the library stamp inside indicates. Sadly there are many estates that are now having to part with their treasures, since they can no longer afford to keep them.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice muses sadly. “I’m only grateful that Pater is not in that position, and he can keep his beautiful library at Glynes.”

 

“As am I, Miss Chetwynd.” acknowledges the bookseller.

 

Lettice pauses at a plate featuring the withdrawing room of Bramall Hall in Cheshire. The painting of the grand room with its ornate Elizabethan ceiling, oak panelled walls and stained glass is populated with matching Elizabethan characters: a couple by the fire, a woman in a bay window and a small child in the foreground on the edge of a rather large carpet. Her nose screws up slightly in distaste.

 

“Not to your liking, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew asks, picking up on her slight change in expression.

 

“Possibly not to the liking of the intended recipient, Mr. Mayhew. However renown a watercolourist Joseph Nash was, I don’t think my friend would like the rooms populated with imagined characters of the era. It seems a little fey.” She closes the book carefully and gently moves it aside.

 

“Then perhaps this will be more to your friend’s tastes.”

 

The old bookseller hands over a buff coloured volume of ‘The Royal Palaces, Historic Castles and Stately Homes of Great Britain’********.

 

Lettice accepts it and flips through the pages, and quickly discovers Clendon, the family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford, and Selwyn’s ancestral family home in Buckinghamshire, amongst the plates.

 

“I think my friend is intimately familiar with many of these houses and castles, Mr. Mayhew, so I fear it may not hold the appeal to him as it might for another reader.” She closes the volume.

 

“Does your friend have a particular era of architecture that he likes, Miss Chetwynd?” the bookseller asks solicitously, anxious to gain a good sale from Lettice if at all possible.

 

“Well, he does like John Nash’s********* work,” Lettice replies. “Especially the work he did around Regent’s Park.”

 

Mr. Mayhew thinks for a moment before replying. “Then I may be able to render assistance, Miss Chetwynd, although I will warn you, it may be a costly gift.”

 

“I don’t mind, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice says steadfastly. “Selw… err, my friend’s happiness has no price.”

 

“Very well, Miss Chetwynd. Please wait here a moment.”

 

Mr. Mayhew slips away through the narrow aisles lined with full bookshelves again, this time disappearing through a door at the far end of the shop which is obviously a storeroom where the bookseller keeps things that are yet to be put on display, or items that may only be shown to certain customers. He returns a few minutes later with a smart half Morocco binding with gilt lettering which he places before her.

 

“This is a volume of John Nash’s architectural drawings including his designs for the Royal Pavilion built for the Prince Regent in Brighton, Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace, his collaboration with James Burton on Regent Street and his best-known collaborations with Decimus Burton of Regent's Park and its terraces and Carlton House Terrace.”

 

Lettice gasps as she carefully looks through the large book at the wonderful neoclassical and picturesque style architectural drawings in the book. Page after page of exquisitely rendered images show with clarity every detail of some of John Nash’s most famous buildings. When Lettice turns to a page showing the details of Buckingham Palace she sighs and says, “Mr. Mayhew, yet again you never cease to amaze me with what you have within your shop. I think you have just found me, the perfect birthday gift.”

 

*A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.

 

**The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

***Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) was a German poet, playwright, novelist, scientist, statesman, theatre director, and critic. His works include plays, poetry, literature and aesthetic criticism, and treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour. He is considered to be the greatest German literary figure of the modern era.

 

****Padraic Colum was an Irish poet, novelist, dramatist, biographer, playwright, children's author and collector of folklore. He was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival.

 

*****”The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles” was a novel written by Padraic Colum, illustrated by Hungarian artist Willy Pognay, published by the Macmillan Company in 1921.

 

******”The mansions of England in the Olden Times” was a four volume set published between 1839 and 1849 by English watercolourist and lithographer, Joseph Nash (1809 – 1878) who specialised in historical buildings. The four volume set is considered to be his major life’s work.

 

*******Edward Law, 1st Earl of Ellenborough, born in 1790, was a British Tory politician. He was four times President of the Board of Control and also served as Governor-General of India between 1842 and 1844. He died in 1844.

 

********”The Royal Palaces, Historic Castles and Stately Homes of Great Britain” is an interesting work on the Royal palaces, historic castles and stately homes of Great Britain. With an informative introduction by John Geddie, followed by the plates. Published in 1913 by Otto Schulze and Company, it features ninety-six full-page monochrome photograph plates including Buckingham Palace, Balmoral Castle, Kensington Palace and Edinburgh Castle.

 

*********John Nash (18 January 1752 – 13 May 1835) was one of the foremost British architects of the Georgian and Regency eras, during which he was responsible for the design, in the neoclassical and picturesque styles, of many important areas of London. His designs were financed by the Prince Regent and by the era's most successful property developer, James Burton. Nash also collaborated extensively with Burton's son, Decimus Burton.

 

This dark, cosy and slightly cluttered bookshop may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

All the books that you see lining the shelves of Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are all the books you see both open and closed on Mr. Mayhew’s desk. 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. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside one of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume and the others, the books contain dozens of double sided pages of images and writing. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. “The mansions of England in the Olden Times” was a four volume set published between 1839 and 1849 by English watercolourist and lithographer, Joseph Nash (1809 – 1878) who specialised in historical buildings. The four volume set is considered to be his major life’s work. “The Royal Palaces, Historic Castles and Stately Homes of Great Britain” is an interesting work on the Royal palaces, historic castles and stately homes of Great Britain. With an informative introduction by John Geddie, followed by the plates. Published in 1913 by Otto Schulze and Company, it features ninety-six full-page monochrome photograph plates including Buckingham Palace, Balmoral Castle, Kensington Palace and Edinburgh Castle. 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. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

Also on the desk are some old leatherbound volumes, and to the left stands a calendar with its back facing the camera, Mr. Mayhew’s pot of ink and quill pen, a cashbox tin with a historical building image on its top and a pair of Mr. Mayhew’s spectacles. All these I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The photos you can see in the background, all of which are all real photos, are 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 aspidistra in the blue jardiniere in the background, the pipe and pipestand, and the map also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

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.

One of six photos taken recently in Humber Bay Park, Toronto.

 

Thanks for visiting, enjoy each day and stay safe and healthy. #BeKind

A Big Issue seller's dog receives his Christmas present from a kind woman.

Picture for the MacroMondays theme on Mar. 21st 2011: Generosity.

 

No matter how we treat her, the mother earth always treats us with generosity. Like the wild Taiwan raspberry grow along the roads no matter how much air pollution we cause. Recently I was so disturbed by the tragedy happened in Japan. When I saw this little fruit stands along an asphalt road, my heart is filled with admiration for earth's generosity.

 

~萬芳社區, 文山區, 台北

Wanfang Community, Taipei, Taiwan

- ISO 100, F5.6, 1/10 secs

- Canon 550D with EF 100mm f/2.8 macro lens + 20mm extension tube

   

Generosità del Gennargentu.

© All rights reserved.

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

 

Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is staying with her parents for Christmas whilst Lettice visits her own family in Wiltshire. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. What is especially exciting is that Edith's younger brother, Bert, is home for Christmas too. He is a dining saloon steward aboard a passenger ship, so he is lucky to be on shore leave just in time of Christmas!

 

The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has a particularly festive feel about it, as it is Christmas Morning and not only are there strings of brightly coloured paper chains strung around the room, draped over the old Welsh dresser, across the mantle of the kitchen range and across the room from corner to corner, hanging in jolly festoons, but the kitchen table is covered in Christmas cards and presents. Edith, her parents and brother all sit around the table, arrayed in pyjamas and robes, exchanging Christmas gifts in the warmth of the old kitchen range, before they get ready and begin preparations for a very special Christmas Day lunch.

 

“Oh thank you, Edith love!” George gasps as he tears away the paper around a stack of books. “Conan Doyle.” he purrs in delight as he appraises the covers. “How delightful.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Dad.” Edith says joyfully. “I hope you haven’t read them.”

 

“Even if I have, Edith love,” her father replies with unbridled pleasure. “They aren’t as fine as these copies,” He runs his fingers lovingly along the spines. ‘Especially if I only borrowed them from the local lending library. Now I shall have my very own copies to go back to time and time again, whenever I please.”

 

“Three volumes!” gasps Ada as she places a freshly refilled pot of tea into the centre of the table, where there is just space to put it amidst the piles of presents, collection of cards and discarded wrapping. “You spoil your dad, Edith love!”

 

“And why shouldn’t I be spoiled, Ada?” George asks rhetorically. “After all, it is Christmas.” Then without waiting for a response from his wife he faces his daughter and says, “Merry Christmas, Edith love. I think you’ll like your gift from your Mum and me.”

 

“I’m sure I will, Dad.” Edith assures him with a smile. “And you will get your own share of spoiling, Mum.” she adds, glancing at her mother, who pulls a face and flaps her hand dismissively at her daughter.

 

“I’m looking forward to seeing that, chortles George as he takes up an old Edwardian edition of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’* with a beautiful blue leather binding with gilding on its cover and spine.

 

“How did you manage to afford three volumes of Conan Doyle for Dad, Edith?” Bert whispers to his sister.

 

“Well,” she hisses quietly back. “Miss Lettice uses a bookseller down Charring Cross who happens to do a brisque trade in well priced second-hand volumes from old country house libraries.”

 

“Clever big sister.” Bert nods his approval as he and his sister see how happy their father looks as he thumbs his new edition lovingly.

 

“Now it’s your turn, Edith love.” Ada says, pushing a present across the table over the tablecloth to her daughter. “From your dad and me. Merry Christmas, love.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Edith love.” adds George, putting his book aside as he pays attention to his daughter sitting across from him at the table.

 

“Bookends!” gasps Edith as she opens the bulky and heavy Christmas gift from her parents. “Oh, how did you know Mum and Dad?”

 

“Call it intuition, Edith love.” Ada remarks with a happy smile from her comfortable seat in her Windsor chair next to her daughter.

 

“Or careful eavesdropping from your Mum.” George adds with a chuckle.

 

“You’ve got some crust, George Watsford!” Ada turns to her portly husband wrapped up in his deep red and green chequered robe in his seat at the table and gives him an admonishing wag with her finger. “Whose idea was it to get these for Edith? Eh?” She cock an eyebrow knowingly at her husband.

 

“Mine.” he admits quietly.

 

“And why did we settle on these bookends as a gift, may I ask?” Ada continues before he can add anything else.

 

George’s cheeks flush bright red. “Because I overheard Edith talking about getting some from the Caledonian Markets** to Frank one Sunday when they were both here for tea.” George admits guiltily.

 

“Now who’s been eavesdropping, eh?” Ada crows triumphantly with a cheeky smile as she watches her husband squirm in his seat, before bursting out laughing and gently giving his hand a loving squeeze.

 

“Oh Dad!” laughs Edith. “You are a one!”

 

“Do you really like them, Edith?” Bert asks from his seat next to his sister.

 

“Oh yes, Bert! Don’t you think they are beautiful?” Edith replies enthusiastically. “I’ve been wedging my books between my sewing box and my sewing machine on the chest of drawers at Miss Lettice’s. Every time I go to do some sewing, all my romance novels fall down.” She admits. “Now I won’t need to worry.” She pauses. “Why, do you want them, Bert?” She suddenly looks down protectively upon the gaily glazed bookends of cottages painted a bright yellow with red roofs.

 

“Oh no, Edith!” Bert assures her, holding his hands up in defence. “I’ve got nowhere to put them when I’m aboard ship, and anyway they could get broken in some of the stormy seas we go through en route to Australia and back.” Then he adds, “No, I just hope you won’t find my gift a disappointment after them, is all.”

 

“Oh Bert!” gasps Edith. “How can you even think such a thing?” She reaches across to him and tousles his unruly bed hair lovingly. “You always put such thought into my nice gifts. Just look at that wonderful picnic basket you brought me back from Australia. Whatever you give me, I know I shall love!”

 

“Alright then,” Bert says, suitably reassured. “Open my gift up next then.”

 

“Not until you’ve opened up yours from me first, Bert.” she replies.

 

“Oh, alright then.” Bert agrees. “Card first though.”

 

“Good boy! Cards are always first,” agrees his mother from across the table as she tops up her favourite gilt edged teacup featuring a bright yellow sunflower with more tea from the Brown Betty*** sitting amidst the cards and Christmas wrapping detritus quickly covering the kitchen tabletop.

 

Bert admires the bright old fashioned Victorian lettering spelling Happy New Year intertwined with Christmas garlands on Edith’s card to him. He reads her season’s greetings written inside in his sister’s neat copperplate writing. “Thanks awfully, Edith.” he says at length.

 

“Merry Christmas Bert!” Edith replies cheerfully. “It’s so wonderful to have you home this Christmas.”

 

“Here! Here!” agrees their father as he takes a sip of morning tea from his own blue and white teacup. “Edith missed you so much last Christmas, didn’t you love?”

 

“I did, Dad.”

 

“We all missed him.” Ada remarks, joining her daughter in an agreeing nod.

 

“Yes we did. And it’s especially grand you’re here,” adds George. “Considering that this will be an extra special Christmas this year, what with Edith’s young man, Frank, and his gran joining us for Christmas tea later on.”

 

“Best you crack on with opening your gift then, Bert!” urges Edith, indicating with widened eyes at the rectangular parcel wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine before him. “Or else we won’t have exchanged gifts before they arrive.”

 

“Well,” remarks Ada, patting the sides of her head where her mousey brown hair streaked with silver greys has been wound up in curling papers. “I certainly don’t want Mrs. McTavish to find me sitting here in my robe and curling papers. So yes, hurry up and unwrap your gift, Bert!”

 

Bert gasps as he tears the brown shop paper away to reveal a smart copy of ‘The Eye of Osiris’***. “Oh hoorah Edith! What a spiffing big sister you are to be sure!” He jumps up from his seat and enfolds his sister in a warm embrace.

 

“Merry Christmas, Bert.” she says again as he holds her closely to him and she inhales his sleep accented scent intermixed with Lux Flakes***** and Sunlight Soap******.

 

Sitting back in his chair again, Bert remarks, “I’ll get into trouble for falling asleep waiting table in the dining saloon if this is as good as ‘The Red Thumb Mark’, Edith. I didn’t want to put that down and turn out the light at night. I kept getting growled at by the other stewards I was sharing a cabin with when I was reading it, because all they wanted to do was kip, and all I wanted to do was read ‘The Red Thumb Mark’.”

 

Edith and Bert laugh happily together at Bert’s anecdote.

 

“I told you we should have bought him a torch******* for Christmas, Ada,” George chuckles from his chair. “Rather than a diary.”

 

“Oh no, Dad!” exclaims Bert. “I needed a new diary for 1924.” He picks up the brown leatherette********* diary from beneath the cream and brown Richard Austin Freeman mystery novel and holds it proudly aloft. “I need something to record my adventures on the high seas in.”

 

“Not too high, I hope,” mutters Ada in mild concern. “Or too adventurous, or too many, Bert love.”

 

“Never, Mum.” Bert assures her. “Haven’t I always come home to you?”

 

“Yes,” agrees his mother. “And I want you to keep doing so.” She wags her finger warningly at him. “So make sure you do, Bert love.”

 

“Well, keep giving me ripping presents, Mum,” he replies cheekily. “And I will! You can save the torch for me for my birthday.” He laughs good-naturedly.

 

“Oh you are an awful tease, Bert.” chuckles Edith.

 

“Right!” he says in return. “I’ve opened my gift. Now it’s time to open yours Edith, and then we can all see what you and Frank are giving Mum, since you made such a fuss about it and all.”

 

“Alright Bert.” Edith acquiesces as she picks up the creamy white envelope with her name written on it in her brother’s messy hand. “I love the card.” she remarks after opening it, smiling down at the portly Father Christmas standing with a sack full of toys with the jolly face.

 

“Oh, fie the card, Edith.” Bert says, gently nudging the white tissue paper wrapped gift. He then looks apologetically at Ada’s aghast face. “Sorry Mum, I know that flies in the face about what you taught us about cards, but I had to nurse this home on the voyage and it nearly got broken along the way.”

 

“What on earth is it then?” laughs Edith.

 

“Open it up and you’ll see, Edith.” Bert replies softly as he holds his breath in anticipation.

 

Edith’s dainty, careworn fingers tremble as she carefully unwraps the white tissue from around the misshapen bundle, revealing first a pink and then a yellow gilt edged flower. She gasps.

 

“What is it, Edith love?” Ada asks, intrigued as she cranes her neck to see what sits within the frothy froufrou of tissue paper.

 

“It’s a trinket box in the shape of a flower basket!” Edith exclaims, lifting it carefully out of its protective nest and holding it aloft so that her parents can see the dainty piece of creamy white pottery with hand painted flowers. “Oh it’s so pretty! Thank you Bert!”

 

“You’re welcome Edith!” Bert replies. “Merry Christmas!”

 

“I say, Bert old chap,” George declares in admiration of his son’s thoughtful gift to his sister. “That’s a fancy little box and that’s a fact!”

 

“Where on earth did you get it, Bert?” Ada asks in an adulated whisper.

 

“Well, as you know, we stop in Cobh on the voyage to Australia.” Bert begins.

 

“Where Bert?” George asks, perplexed, his forehead furrowing as he asks.

 

“Cobh, Dad… err Queenstown.”

 

“Oh, Queenstown in Ireland? Well, why didn’t you just say so**********.”

 

“Oh hush, George!” Ada hisses, waving her left hand distractedly at her husband. “Bert doesn’t need you interjecting into his story.”

 

“Well,” George exclaims open mouthed in mock horror. He folds his arms akimbo as he snuggles into the sagging cushions wedged behind him. “Pardon me for breathing on Christmas Day in my own house.”

 

Ada gives him a momentary wry look before returning her attention to her son, leaning forward towards him as she speaks. “Ignore your father, Bert love, and go on with your story.”

 

“Oh yes, do, Bert! I’d love to know where this pretty trinket box came from.” Edith says, running her fingers admiringly over the dainty painted flowers.

 

“Well, when we docked in Cobh… err I mean Queenstown, to take on passengers for the voyage to Australia, a few bumboats*********** came up alongside the Demosthenes************ and Irish tinkers came aboard to sell their wares to the waiting first and second-class passengers. Anyway, I was off duty and was wandering down to the stewards’ lounge for a cup of tea, when I saw a few of the stewardesses clustering around a tinker who had come below decks to sell her wares. We don’t often get the pleasure of someone selling stuff to the crew, so I joined them to see what she had. They were oohing and aahing over all the lace she had, but I spotted the trinket box for Edith.”

 

“I hope she didn’t fleece you, and you got a good price for it.” Ada says. “It’s awfully pretty, but those Irish can be rogues.”

 

“I can’t tell you, Mum.” Bert replies, blushing as he does. “It’s a Christmas gift, so there is to be no talk as to its cost.”

 

“She fleeced you, then,” Ada declares with an indulgent smile. “Well and truly! You always were a soft touch.”

 

“Oh enough about me, and my gift for Edith.” Bert flaps his hand at his mother. “I want to see what Edith and Frank have bought you in that big box.”

 

“So do I,” agrees George, his interest piqued by the box wrapped up in butcher’s paper and tied with red and yellow twine. “It’s been intriguing me ever since Edith brought it out this morning.”

 

Ada glances up at the old ticking kitchen clock hanging on the wall. “Well, I really don’t know if we’ll have time. I mean, Edith and I have so much to do before Frank and Mrs. McTavish get here for their Christmas tea.”

 

“What nonsense, Ada!” George balks. “You’ve plenty of time.”

 

“And two spare sets of hands,” pipes up Bert. “What with Dad and me here.”

 

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Mum,” Edith pleads. “I know you don’t like to be the centre of attention…”

 

“You’re not wrong there, Edith love.” Ada agrees, tugging her worn but comfortably cosy russet coloured robe more tightly across her chest.

 

“But Frank and I did find these for you, especially.” Edith adds pointedly.

 

“Then I should wait until Frank gets here then, before opening my gift shouldn’t I?”

 

“No you shouldn’t, Mum. Frank was quite insistent that you were to open our gift on Christmas morning! You can thank him when he gets here for Christmas lunch. Now, open it up!”

 

“Christmas lunch.” Ada scoffs lightly a she shakes her head. “It’s Christmas tea in this house, my girl.”

 

“Christmas lunch, Christmas tea - who cares? Just open the box up, Mum!”

 

With trembling fingers Ada tugs at the knot in the string and shudders in surprise as the box lid springs up slightly after being freed of the restraint of the twine. Delving into the protective layers of paper noisily, Ada withdraws a beautiful, white gilt glazed teapot featuring a portrait of Queen Victoria.

 

“Oh Edith, love!” gasps Ada. “It’s beautiful!”

 

“I knew you’d love it, Mum, as soon as I saw it!” Edith sighs happily. “Merry Christmas!”

 

“Oh thank you, and merry Christmas to you, love.”

 

“I know exactly where that is going!” chortles George knowingly.

 

“In the front room with all the rest of my royalty ware.” Ada admires the well proportioned teapot. “Where else would it go?”

 

“Nowhere else, Ada love. You chose well, Edith love.” her father says approvingly. “I only wish I could get such enthusiasm from your mum when I give her my Christmas gifts.”

 

“A box of lace hankies and a pair of new leather gloves for church services on Sunday can hardly compare to this, George.” Ada purrs in delight as he holds the creamy porcelain up to the light.

 

“You don’t know what a personal risk I took buying them for you from Bishop’s up in the High Street.” George mutters. “If any of my workmates at McVities caught me buying lace hankies and gloves, I’d be a laughingstock, and that’s a fact!”

 

“Haven’t I thanked you enough, George Watsford?” Ada asks, leaning over to her husband as he proffers her his puckered lips and kisses him lovingly.

 

“Never enough, Ada love.” George replies as their kiss breaks.

 

“Greedy.” she giggles girlishly in reply.

 

“Since you won’t let me give you some of my wages, Mum, just like Dad I may as well buy you some nice things and spoil you.” Edith says.

 

“Oh this must have cost a fortune!” Ada appraises the transfer image of Queen Victoria flanked by all the flags of the Empire on the pot. “For shame, Edith! You shouldn’t have spent your money on me.”

 

“Nonsense Mum! Frank and I bought it together at the Caledonian Markets one Sunday. It was so reasonably priced that we were able to buy you something else too.” Edith indicates to the inside of the box with anxious eyes.

 

“What? More! You really do spoil me, Edith love.”

 

“You deserve to be spoiled Mum!” Edith insists. “Now keep going!”

 

With more rustling of paper, Ada takes out a matching jug featuring the same image of Queen Victoria.

 

“Do you like it, Mum?” Edith asks, holding her breath.

 

“Like it, Edith? Oh, I love it!” Ada throws the empty box to the flagstone floor, gets up from her chair and hugs her daughter, batting her eyelids as she attempts to keep back the tears of appreciation and joy. “How lucky am I to have such a wonderful daughter to spoil me like this.”

 

“Ahem!” Bert clears his throat.

 

“Oh, and son, of course, Bert.” Ada quickly amends her statement as she glances at her beloved younger child.

 

“It’s alright, Mum. My floral teacup for your collection is nothing compared to those two pieces.” He looks admiringly at the teapot and jug, before turning to his sister and giving her an approving nod.

 

“Nonsense!” retorts Ada. “I love my beautiful cup and saucer. I’ll find a spot for it here on the dresser after we’ve had Christmas tea.”

 

“I agree, with Bert.” adds George. “They are beautiful pieces you bought your mum, Edith love.”

 

“And well worth the wait to see.” Bert agrees.

 

“You’re very generous to both your mother, and me.” George pats his stack of Arthur Conan Doyle novels contentedly. “And it’s very good of Frank to pitch in and help you buy us such nice Christmas gifts.”

 

“Yes it is,” adds Ada in agreement. “Your young Frank is growing on me, Edith love. He’s a generous spirit, and not just because of the gifts you and he can give me or your dad. He has a generosity that comes from the heart. Generosity counts for a lot in my books.” Ada nods sagely. “Now, thinking of young Frank, we should all get cracking on with our day. Christmas tea won’t cook itself, will it, Edith love? There’s much to do, and here we still all are, in our robes and pyjamas. Let’s get these gifts out of the way so they don’t get damaged or in the way. We’ll have plenty of time to indulge this afternoon and tonight, after we’ve had tea.”

 

“Yes Mum!” agrees Edith with a happy smile. “Merry Christmas everyone!”

 

“Merry Christmas!” George, Ada and Bert reply cheerfully in unison.

 

*’The Hound of the Baskervilles’ is the third of the four crime novels by British writer Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. It was first published in March 1902. Originally serialised in ‘The Strand Magazine’ from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set in 1889 largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Holmes and Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his apparent death in ‘The Final Problem’, and the success of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ led to the character's eventual revival.

 

**The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.

 

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

 

****’The Eye of Osiris’ is a detective mystery novel originally published in 1911 by Richard Austin Freeman. A pioneer of the inverted detective story, in which the reader knows from the start who committed the crime, Richard Austin Freeman is best known as the creator of the "medical jurispractitioner" Dr. John Thorndyke who was first introduced in ‘The Red Thumb Mark’ in 1907. The brilliant forensic investigator went on to star in dozens of novels and short stories over the next decades, including ‘The Eye of Osiris’ in which he made his second appearance.

 

*****Up to the end of the Nineteenth Century, washing clothes at home usually entailed the tedious task of cutting chips off of large hunks of laundry soap to use in creating sudsy water. A Monsieur Charpy employed at Lever Brothers in England developed a technology that allowed production of a very thin sheet of soap that then could be flaked. The company began selling what they first named "Sunlight Flakes" in England in 1899, though the name was changed to "Lux" in 1900. As a trade name, Lux had multiple advantages. The name is short and easy to remember; in Latin it means "light" (and so is related to Sunlight); and by association it suggests luxury.

 

******Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884 by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.

 

*******The inventor of the modern torch as we know it was the British naturalised American, David Misell. He did so on March the twelfth, 1898 (US Patent No. 617,592). In the year 1899 he ceded the patent to the American Electrical Novelty and Manufacturing Company.

 

*********Synthetic leather came onto the international fabric scene with the invention of Naugahyde in 1920. This substance was formulated by U.S. Rubber Company, which had been founded in 1892.

 

**********First called “Cove” in 1750, the Irish port of Cobh was renamed by the British as “Queenstown” in 1849 to commemorate a visit by Queen Victoria to Ireland. In 1921 when the Irish Free State was established the name was changed to Cobh, in its Irish form. Being a relatively recent change, this explains why George wasn’t sure where Bert was speaking of. Cobh would have known as Queenstown all of George’s life up until 1921.

 

***********A bumboat is a small vessel carrying provisions for sale to moored or anchored ships in port. The term originally denoted a scavenger's boat in the Seventeenth Century, removing ships' refuse, often also bringing produce for sale.

 

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

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful Christmas scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the table the Christmas presents are scattered. The cards are from husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio. Edith's stylised Art Deco bookends are hand painted by an unknown miniature artisan. I acquired them from a seller on E-Bay. Edith's pretty basket jewellery box has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. Ada's jug and teapot featuring Queen Victoria were made by miniature artisan Rachael Munday. I acquired them through Kathleen Knight's Dolls House Miniatures. The parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The books on the table 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. These books are amongst the rarer exceptions that have been designed not to be opened. Nevertheless, the covers are beautifully illustrated. What might amaze you even more 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. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just one of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

The paper chains festooning Ada’s kitchen I made myself using very thinly cut paper. It was a fiddly job to do, but I think it adds festive cheer and realism to this scene, as fancy Christmas decorations would have been beyond the budget of Edith’s parents, and homemade paper chains were common in households before the advent of cheap mass manufactured Christmas decorations.

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are jars of Marmite and Bovril. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. Also on the dresser on the pull out drawer is a Christmas cake from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Also from them is the cranberry glass cake stand, made of real glass, on which the cake sits. Next to it stands a cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

Bovril is the trademarked name of a thick and salty meat extract paste similar to a yeast extract, developed in the 1870s by John Lawson Johnston. It is sold in a distinctive bulbous jar, and as cubes and granules. Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.

 

The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

Explainer: While I wish I could fully dress, wig-up and make-up regularly, those days are rare. So I post these AI renderings. FYI: the photos are AI generated, from actual photos of me, enhanced slightly with FaceApp and then dressed from outfits I see and love on the interweb. Enjoy them or not! I do, that's all that matters! Love, Crystal

The past has been generous with Teruel and leaves a Mudejar legacy that today is recognized as a world heritage site. Four towers, that of El Salvador and San Martín, that of San Pedro and that of the Cathedral of Santa María de Mediavilla, apart from its roof and dome, form this unique Mudejar ensemble.

 

The Torre de San Martín (English: St. Martin's Tower) is a medieval structure in Teruel, Aragon, northern Spain. Built in Aragonese Mudéjar style in 1316 and renovated in the 16th century, it was added to the UNESCO Heritage List in 1986 together with other Mudéjar structures in Teruel.

 

The tower was built between in 1315 and 1316. In 1550 its lower section was restored due to the erosion caused by humidity. Like other structures in Teruel, it is a gate-tower decorated with ceramic glaze. The road passes through an ogival arch. The tower takes its names from the annexed church of St. Martin, dating to the Baroque period.

 

The tower follows the scheme of the Almohad minarets, with two concentric square towers between which are the stairs. The inner tower has three floors covered with cross vaults.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teruel