Ilex vomitoria. A generally unappealing name, but Yaupon is a great tea plant (and a relative of Yerba mate, of South America..another drinkable holly). It, like probably all the holly group is a great bee plant, generous in attractants, and open architecture so all who come may drink and eat. Great semi-understory, edge of forest plant. Collect all the hollies why don't you. Specimen and photograph by Helen Low Metzman.

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All photographs are public domain, feel free to download and use as you wish.

  

Photography Information:

Canon Mark II 5D, Zerene Stacker, Stackshot Sled, 65mm Canon MP-E 1-5X macro lens, Twin Macro Flash in Styrofoam Cooler, F5.0, ISO 100, Shutter Speed 200

 

We Are Made One with What We Touch and See

 

We are resolved into the supreme air,

We are made one with what we touch and see,

With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair,

With our young lives each spring impassioned tree

Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range

The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.

- Oscar Wilde

  

You can also follow us on Instagram - account = USGSBIML

 

Want some Useful Links to the Techniques We Use? Well now here you go Citizen:

 

Best over all technical resource for photo stacking:

www.extreme-macro.co.uk/

 

Free Field Guide to Bee Genera of Maryland:

bio2.elmira.edu/fieldbio/beesofmarylandbookversion1.pdf

 

Basic USGSBIML set up:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-_yvIsucOY

 

USGSBIML Photoshopping Technique: Note that we now have added using the burn tool at 50% opacity set to shadows to clean up the halos that bleed into the black background from "hot" color sections of the picture.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bdmx_8zqvN4

 

Bees of Maryland Organized by Taxa with information on each Genus

www.flickr.com/photos/usgsbiml/collections

 

PDF of Basic USGSBIML Photography Set Up:

ftp://ftpext.usgs.gov/pub/er/md/laurel/Droege/How%20to%20Take%20MacroPhotographs%20of%20Insects%20BIML%20Lab2.pdf

 

Google Hangout Demonstration of Techniques:

plus.google.com/events/c5569losvskrv2nu606ltof8odo

or

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4c15neFttoU

 

Excellent Technical Form on Stacking:

www.photomacrography.net/

 

Contact information:

Sam Droege

sdroege@usgs.gov

  

301 497 5840

Christies’ clothes have always been highly coveted by my other Barbie dolls, and it still holds true now for the FR and NuFace girls coming into my collection! Christie And The Beat and All-American Christie are all too happy to lend their crucial fashion items to Nadja and Annik!

 

Letter generously translated by Immanuel Voigt; penned on 30.08.1915, the author writes;

 

"The funeral of the two English flyers which our Corps commander v. Francois [General der Infanterie Hermann von François] took part. You can see him standing alone in his turned down coat. To the right behind the tree is our Division commander, of which to the right is our Regimental commander and the like, our Brigade commander."

 

The honour guard is being provided by men of Infanterie-Regiment „Graf Bülow von Dennewitz“ (6. Westfälisches) Nr. 55.

Letter generously translated by Uwe Bock, written from a hospital bed on 26.11.1917, the author writes to a friend, telling her he's injured his right hand.

 

An unexploded shell from a large calibre howitzer is daubed with more "shell art". These large shells were effective against fortifications on the Western Front - provided they exploded.

san bruno avenue - portola district, san francisco, california

Generosity in bestowing gifts upon others.

MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

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 Lettice’s oldest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton is visiting. Although also a member of the aristocracy Gerald’s fate is very different to Lettice’s. He has been forced to gain some independence from his rather impecunious family in order to make a living. Luckily his artistic abilities have led him to designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, a business which, after promotion from Lettice and several commissions from high profile and influential society ladies, is finally beginning to turn a profit. The two are taking tea from Lettice’s beautiful and avant-garde Royal Doulton Falling Leaves tea set whilst they wait for Edith, Lettice’s maid, to prepare a light cold luncheon for them. Across the low black japanned coffee table between them is spread a long papyrus* scroll featuring beautiful and wonderfully colourful Egyptian hieroglyphic writing and images. Arriving in a wooden box also marked with hieroglyphs, it is one of two Lettice has in her possession.

 

“There really are remarkable, Lettice darling!” Gerald enthuses as he runs his hands with reverence across the fine fibrous paper. “And in such condition for something so ancient.”

 

Lettice looks across the table at her friend and laughs loudly.

 

“What’s so funny?” Gerald asks in innocent surprise, glancing up from the scroll at Lettice.

 

“Oh Gerald, you silly thing!” Lettice giggles, raising a dainty hand with prettily manicured nails to her smiling lips. “This isn’t a real Egyptian papyrus scroll! I know some of my clients can afford to have real papyri on their walls, but this is a very well executed imitation!”

 

“An imitation?” Gerald’s eyes grow wide. When Lettice nods, he goes on, “Well, it certainly is an excellent copy, I’d never have known.”

 

“It came from Lancelot de Vries antiques and curios shop in the Portobello Road**.” Lettice elucidates.

 

“Ahh,” Gerald murmurs, settling back in the comfortable white upholstered rounded back of Lettice’s tub armchair. “That explains it then. No wonder it’s so good. Old Lottie,” He casually uses a female nickname*** instead of the antique dealer’s real name, indicating that he knows Mr. de Vries well. “Is so incredibly talented that he could have made a successful career out of forging old masters, if he hadn’t decided to tow the straight and narrow and become an antiques and objet d'art dealer.”

 

“Gerald!” Lettice gasps.

 

“It’s true! Just look at the quality in this piece.” He waves his hand expansively towards the unfurled scroll. “I could have sworn it was the genuine article.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, Gerald darling, but I don’t fancy spending the money on a real papyrus scroll from ancient Egypt just to hang on a wall until this Tutmaina**** craze ends.”

 

“So, this isn’t for you then, Lettice darling?”

 

“No. I’m taking this on approval from Mr. de Vries, who just received a shipment of them. He’s selling them in his shop. They race out the door quicker than you can say knife, apparently. I’m going to show these to Mrs. Hatchett and see whether she would like an Egyptian themed reception room.”

 

“Knowing Dolly Hatchett as well as I do, and knowing just how much she admires you and your taste,” Gerald opines. “I think something more oriental,” He waves his hands around Lettice’s drawing room, indicating to her Chinoiserie furniture, her Japanese screen and her Chinese ceramics. “Will appeal to her more.”

 

“But she gave be carte blanche to decorate her suite of rooms as I see fit, Gerald.”

 

“Then why are you asking her for her opinion?” Gerald looks at his best friend with a knowing look. He doesn’t wait for a reply from her. “I’ll tell you why. Because you know that even though she made you that promise, she will want to be consulted. This is a bigger project than ‘The Gables,” He refers to the Hatchetts’ Sussex house in Rotherfield and Mark Cross which Lettice partially redecorated in 1922. “This is all about promoting Charles Hatchett’s power and influence as an MP. Dolly won’t want to set a foot wrong. She knows she can’t afford to as much for her own sake as for Charles’. She has been a social pariah, relegated as the pretty flibbertigibbet Gaiety Girl***** from the chorus line of ‘Chu-Chin-Chow’****** who dared to look beyond her class and marry a successful banker with political aspirations. Now she is a successful MP’s wife, so she needs to show that she has impeccable taste, even if the taste really isn’t her own.”

 

Lettice sighs heavily. “You’re right Gerald darling. It’s true”

 

“Of course I’m right.” Gerald picks up his cup of tea and takes a sip from it. “However, I also know that as such an arbiter of what is fashionable, if you told Dolly Hatchett that you wanted to paint her reception room violent purple with green polka dots because it was the height of fashion, she’d let you, even if she hated it.”

 

“You know I would never do that to anyone, Gerald darling.” Lettice takes up her own cup of tea from the edge of the table which houses her telephone and a vase of fresh red roses from her fiancée, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.

 

“I know.” he assures her.

 

The movement near to them, brings Gerald’s attention to the roses. Nodding at them, he asks, “Are those from your intended?”

 

Lettice looks at the fat blooms with their rich red velvety petals which are dispersed with fluffy white pompoms of Gypsophila****** and considers them, as if seeing them for the first time. “Yes.” she replies rather flatly.

 

Old enough to be her father, Lettice is engaged to be married to wealthy Sir John Nettleford-Huges. His engagement to Lettice came as something of a surprise to London society as he was always considered to be a confirmed old bachelor, and according to whispered upper-class gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son and heir to the title Duke of Walmsford, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.

 

“What of them?” Lettice goes on.

 

“Oh nothing.” Gerald remarks dismissively with an air of laissez-faire********. “I was just wondering.”

 

“I’ve known you all my life, Gerrald darling.” Lettice shakes her head and looks seriously at her best friend. “You were doing more than wondering. What is it? Come on. Spit it out!”

 

“Well, it’s just that when I was visiting Cyril at Hattie’s recently, Hattie showed me a book that had belonged to her mother. It’s called Floral Symbolica*********. She thought I might like to read it because it discusses the meaning of flowers, so that when I gave Cyril a bouquet of blooms, it would express my love for him.”

 

“And?” Lettice smiles.

 

“Well, dark red roses like those, are supposed to represent a more sophisticated and serious affection than a bright red rose, expressing eternal love, loyalty, and a heartfelt devotion.”

 

“And?”

 

“Oh look!” Gerald sighs sadly. “There’s no nice way for me to tell you this, but Cyril is friends with Paula Young, who I know is your intended’s latest conquest.”

 

Lettice’s heart begins to race at the mention of the young and pretty West End actress’ name. With a slight tremor, she lowers her teacup back into its saucer. “I know that too, Gerald darling. You know I do. John has been very forthright and honest about that facet of his life, and I know he won’t stop.”

 

“Well, Cyril knows about it too, and of course he knows through me that you and Sir John are engaged to be married.”

 

Lettice gulps as a shudder runs through her and she feels the blood drain from her face. “But how does he know about Miss Young and John?”

 

“Through Miss Young herself, I assume. From what Cyril’s mentioned about her, she is something of a parvenu, and she is rather indiscreet about her discretions. He told me as much the other night when I stayed with him at Hattie’s.”

 

“Oh no!” Lettice gasps, raising her hands to her cheeks which suddenly feel hot to the touch as they fill with embarrassed colour. “But Cyril is coming to Sylvia’s weekend house party now, and so are John and I! Oh Gerald!” Tears well in her eyes and threaten to spill over.

 

Gerald immediately thrusts his cup noisily back into its saucer and leaps up with sudden urgency. He scuttles around the low coffee table and wraps his arms around Lettice, pulling her to his chest as the tears start to spill from her sparkling blue eyes.

 

“Don’t worry, dear Lettice.” Gerald assures her. “I’ve spoken to him. I’ve told Cyril in no uncertain terms that he can’t mention that he knows anything about Sir John’s and Miss Young’s liaison to anyone, especially at the party, and that he is to keep mum**********.”

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice sobs. “John promised me that he would never do anything to shame me in public as far as his…” She intakes a large gulp of air. “His dalliances.”

 

“Well,” Gerald says in defence of Sir John, gently chuckling sadly as he strokes Lettice’s back comfortingly through her French blue cardigan***********. “I suppose he doesn’t imagine that you would ever know a poor West End musician who just happens to be a friend of sorts with his latest flame.”

 

Lettice sniffs and pulls a clean and freshly laundered lace trimmed handkerchief from the left-hand sleeve of her cardigan and dabs at her eyes and nose, as Gerald crouches down in front of her, so that he can look her squarely in the face.

 

“He won’t, will he?” She sniffs again.

 

“Cyril?” Gerald asks. When Lettice nods shallowly he goes on, “No of course he won’t. I know that he may not be the most discreet of people, but I really have made it perfectly clear to him how important it is that he doesn’t let on about any of it. For all his faults, he likes you very much, Lettice, and he’d never want to embarrass or hurt you.”

 

“Well, if you’re sure.” Lettice gulps again.

 

“Of course I am, Lettuce Leaf!” he replies, using his childhood nickname for her, which he knows she hates, in order to try and break her moment of worry by introducing a note of levity.

 

“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it!” she replies.

 

“That’s better.” Gerald smiles. “Now dry those eyes. Luncheon will be ready soon, and you don’t want to sit at the table all red and puffy eyed, do you?”

 

Just at that moment, Lettice’s Bakelite************ and chrome telephone starts to ring and jangle on the small side table next to her.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Both Lettice and Gerald glance with startled eyes at it in alarm, as though it has overheard their conversation and has an opinion of its own to express.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Lettice sniffs and takes a deep intake of breath. “I suppose it would be rather awful of me to expect Edith to answer the telephone when I’m right alongside it, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Beastly, Lettice darling!” Gerald replies.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“You know how she feels about that ‘infernal contraption’,” Gerald goes on quoting Lettice’s maid’s name for the telephone. “If you must irritate her, please do so after she’s served us luncheon. I don’t know about you, but I can barely boil a kettle, never mind cook a meal.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Gerald pauses and considers something. “Then again, maybe you should make her answer it. She might get so upset by having to do so, that she’ll hand in her notice.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Lettice sniffs again and dabs her eyes for good measure as she goes to lift the receiver.

 

“And, if she does give notice,” Gerald quickly adds as Lettice grasps the receiver. “I’ll hire Edith as a seamstress for my atelier. Her talents as a needlewoman are wasted here.”

 

“Not a chance!” Lettice replies defiantly. “She’s coming with me, not going with you.”

 

BBBBRRR…

 

Lettice picks up the handset out of its gleaming chrome cradle mid ring, causing the shrill jingle of the telephone to stop and quickly peter out.

 

“Mayfair 432,” Lettice announces in clearly enunciated syllables.

 

As Gerald returns to his tub chair, he can hear a deep male voice resonate from somewhere down the line, recognising them as Sir John’s tones, not that he can make out the words. The shock of knowing the man he and Lettice were just talking about is on the other end of the telephone call makes him freeze for a moment as a shiver runs up his spine.

 

“John darling!” Lettice exclaims almost a little too jovially. “How are you?” She listens to the response. “Oh, that’s good. Are we still having dinner at Le Bienvenue************* tonight?” She listens again. “Oh hoorah. Jolly good.” Sir John’s voice speaks again at the other end of the line, his tone serious. At length he pauses. “Oh no! Oh, poor Clemance. I must pay a call upon her then and do some sick visiting.” Sir John speaks up urgently. “Oh very well John. I won’t.” He speaks again. “No of course, John darling. You’re quite right. I don’t want to get sick before Sylvia’s party. I’ll telephone the Regent Street Flower Box directly and arrange for Monsieur Blanchet to send her a lovely bunch of flowers to brighten her day. You know Gerald and I were just talking about the meaning of flowers, John darling.” Sir John speaks again. “Yes. Yes, he’s here. We’re about to have luncheon, so I can’t speak for too long.” Lettice listens again. “Yes… yes… what about the party?” Sir John’s voice drones on, too indistinctly for Gerald to hear anything, and he feigns that he is not paying attention by looking down at his well manicured nails and rubbing them as if trying to buff them with the pads of his fingers on the opposite hand. “Oh.” Lettice sighs and her shoulders slump. “You want to ask her then do you?” Sir John speaks again. “Oh you did, John dear?” He mumbles something else. “She did? That was very kind of Sylvia to consider me like that.” There is more indistinct chatter at the other end of the telephone line. “Well,” Lettice tries to muffle a resigned sigh. “Well, if you feel you must, then I suppose you must.” Sir John’s voice seems to perk a little and he sounds less dour. “No. No, I don’t mind. Of course I don’t, especially if it will make you happy, dear John.” Gerald can see a light dim in her eyes. “Very well. Alright…” she falters for a moment and gulps. “I’ll see you at eight then.” she adds a little too brightly. “Yes, goodbye then.”

 

Lettice hangs the handset back on the cradle, the action causing the telephone to utter a single echoing ting as she does. She stares ahead of her, but her look is blank, suggesting that she sees nothing.

 

“What was that all about?” Gerald asks in concern as he looks at Lettice’s suddenly wan face.

 

“It was just John.” Lettice replies flatly.

 

“Yes, I could gather that, Lettice darling. What did he say?”

 

“Clemance is sick in bed with a nasty head cold. The doctor has told her to stay abed and keep warm to avoid it going to her lungs, so she won’t be coming to ‘The Nest’ now.”

 

“Oh, that is a pity. I was so looking forward to meeting Sir John’s sister. You speak of Mrs. Pontefract so highly.”

 

“So now, since Clemance isn’t coming,” Lettice continues, speaking as though she hasn’t heard Gerald talk. “He’s decided to invite Paula Young to come and spend the weekend with us.”

 

“What?” Gerald sits bolt upright in his seat.

 

“Yes. He asked Sylvia if she would mind, since she knows about his affair with Miss Young, and he feels that the rarified artistic company in attendance will be quite fine with his little arrangement of having both his fiancée and his mistress in the same house at the same time.”

 

“And what did Sylvia say to that?”

 

“Well, Sylvia is a bit of a free spirit when it comes to the sanctity of marriage, and matters of love and lust. She said she didn’t mind if he did ask Miss Young to join him, but only under the proviso that John asked me and got my permission first.”

 

“Which you evidently granted.” Gerald replies in breathless disbelief.

 

“I did.” Lettice replies flatly.

 

“You could have said no, Lettice. You should have said no!”

 

“Oh, how could I, Gerald darling?”

 

“Very simply.” he replies, folding his arms akimbo over his muted toned Fair Isle jumper************** and looking sternly at his best friend. “No darling, I’m sorry but you can’t invite that trollop*************** you share your bed with most nights to Miss Fordyce’s party.”

 

“I can’t Gerald darling.” Lettice defends.

 

“Well, I think you can. Just telephone him back right now. Where is he? Belgravia? His club?”

 

“He’s at home in Belgravia.”

 

“Well then, telephone him immediately and just tell him you’ve had a change of heart, and that no, Miss Young can’t come to the party at ‘The Nest’.”

 

“It’s not that simple, Gerald darling.” Lettice tries to explain, attempting to speak whilst using all her power to prevent herself from crying again. “This engagement is complex. John doesn’t want jealousy in his relationships. He certainly doesn’t want a jealous wife. He told me from the start that he has no intention of desisting from his dalliances, and that if I said yes to his proposal, I must accept him on those terms. He’ll be furious if I tell him no, now. It will be like me flying in the face of everything I agreed to when I said yes to him.”

 

“You don’t actually have to go through with it, you know, Lettice darling?”

 

“What? Going to stay with Sylvia at ‘The Nest’? I can’t Gerald darling! She’s throwing this party to show off her new feature wall. I’m her guest of honour. I can’t possibly withdraw so late in the piece, and with no real reason to decline. It would be rude, and undignified.”

 

“No, Lettice!” Gerald replies dourly. “I mean, you don’t have to go through with the marriage to Sir John. You are perfectly entitled to break it off, if you feel so inclined.”

 

“And risk the fury of Mater?” Lettice looks at Gerald in alarm and shakes her head vehemently. “No thank you! I think I’d rather put up with a hundred Miss Youngs than Mater in a black mood over my lack of securing an eligible husband! All the time she is investing in wedding plans. If it is all for naught, she will be fit to be tied! She sent me a clipping from the Wiltshire Times and Trowbridge Advertiser**************** a few weeks ago.”

 

“Why? What did it say?”

 

“Jonty Hastings is getting married.”

 

“Howley Hastings is getting married?” Gerald guffaws, using the childhood nickname given Jonty Hastings by he, Lettice and the other children of the big houses in the district who used to play with him, because of his propensity to cry whenever he was teased about anything. “Who’d want to marry Howley Hastings?”

 

“Sarah Frobisher apparently, according to the article.” Lettice replies.

 

“Sarah Frobisher? Sarah Frobisher?” Gerald ruminates, rolling the name around his mouth and off his tongue as he considers where he has heard that name before. “Wasn’t she that rather horsey looking niece of the Miss Evanses?” He refers to the two elderly genteel gossipy spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house, in Glynes village at the foot of Lettice’s and his family estates in Wiltshire. “You know, the gawky one with protruding teeth and spectacles who always laughed nervously whenever a boy spoke to her. Her father was in trade*****************. Yes, the Frobisher Clothing Mills in Trowbridge.”

 

“Yes, I think that’s her.”

 

“Well, those two deserve each other then, if you ask me, if she’s still as gawky now as she was when we were children. They can dance the Wibbly Wobbly Walk***************** together into the happily ever after, and good riddance to them both.”

 

“Oh! That’s cruel, Gerald. Don’t be beastly!” Lettice chides her best friend sharply. “You aren’t a spiteful person.”

 

“Well,” Gerald mumbles contritely. “You have to admit that Howley can’t dance. Think about your poor trampled feet the last time you had to dance with him. Why on earth did Sadie send you a clipping about Howley marrying that Frobisher creature?”

 

“I think to highlight the fact that another one of the few eligible bachelors she was able to find to invite to her 1922 husband hunting Hunt Ball for me is no longer eligible. Pickings are slim.”

 

“All I am saying, Lettice darling,” Gerald goes on kindly. “Is that, slim pickings or not, if you’re not going to be happy in the end, I happen to think that marrying Sir John is a mistake. An unhappy and loveless marriage isn’t worth it.”

 

“Now don’t you start too, Gerald!” Lettice quips. “I have enough problems with Margot and Dickie trying to dissuade me from marrying John. Even Cilla seems lukewarm about the idea, and John’s almost like an honourary uncle to her.”

 

“I’m not!” Gerald defends, holding up his palms. “I only said ‘if’. If has a great deal of meaning and implication for such a tiny word, you know. For example: if however, you think you will be happy with your lot in life with Sir John, marry him. As I have said to you before, I cannot even marry the person I love.”

 

“Oh yes, how foolish of me.” Lettice replies. “Forgive me for wallowing.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive, Lettice darling. You’re my best friend! I only want you to be happy.”

 

“Thank you, Gerald darling.” Lettice replies gratefully. “Meanwhile, now you can tell your Cyril that he won’t need to bite his tongue and keep his own counsel quite so much, if Miss Young is going to be at ‘The Nest’. John will be all over her, I’m sure. And if he isn’t, from what I can gather from John, she certainly will be.”

 

“Well,” Gerald sighs. “That will certainly enliven what is already going to be a rather lively weekend, I suspect.”

 

At that moment, Edith walks into the drawing room.

 

“Luncheon is served, Miss.” she announces with a bob curtsey.

 

“Thank you, Edith.” Lettice says gratefully.

 

“Yes, thank you Edith.” Gerald adds. “It’s good of you to feed me at such short notice.”

 

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Sir.” Edith replies with a beaming smile, thankful at Gerald’s recognition of her efforts. “It’s always a pleasure to have you at Cavendish Mews.”

 

As Lettice and Gerald both stand, and Edith turns to go, Gerald stops her. “By the way, Edith?”

 

“Yes Sir?” she asks, stopping and looking back at him.

 

“How’s your sewing going?”

 

“My sewing, Sir?” Edith asks, perplexed.

 

“Gerald!” Lettice cautions her friend.

 

“Yes, your frock making. Have you made anything new lately?”

 

“Oh,” Edith replies with a happy sigh and a smile. “It’s going well, thank you for asking, Sir, especially since Mrs. Boothby’s so…” She quickly swallows the word son, as she isn’t sure whether Lettice knows that the old Cockney charwoman****************** who comes to Cavendish Mews from Poplar every few days to help Edith with the harder housekeeping jobs, has a son, never mind a disabled one. “Found me a sewing machine. Now I don’t have to go to my Mum’s to do any sewing or alterations. I can do them here in my room.”

 

“Very good Edith. And have you made anything lately?” Gerald persists. “A new frock, perhaps?”

 

“Oh no, Sir.” Edith replies. “But I did make myself a lovely new white blouse with a Peter Pan collar******************* and black buttons a month ago now. I wear it on my days off quite a bit at the moment.”

 

“Well,” Lettice says breezily with a sigh. “That’s all very interesting, Edith, but Mr. Bruton and I have held you up and away from your chores long enough. You may go. We can serve ourselves since it’s just a casual cold luncheon for two today, so there is no need for you to wait table.”

 

“Yes, Miss. Very good, Miss.” Edith bobs another curtsey and scuttles away through the adjoining dining room and disappears through the green baize door that leads to the service area of the flat.

 

“Spoil sport.” Gerald mutters.

 

“I told you, Gerald.” Lettice repeats. “Edith isn’t for turning. When I get married, she’ll be coming with me.”

 

“I don’t think she’ll fancy being buried in the Wiltshire Downs, Lettice darling.”

 

“Perhaps not, Gerald darling, but I think she’ll quite enjoy an elevated position as housekeeper of John’s and my Belgravia townhouse after I become Lady Nettleford-Hughes.”

 

“You are positively Machiavellian sometimes, Lettice darling.” Gerald concedes in defeat as he proffers Lettice his arm.

 

The two walk out of the Cavendish Mews drawing room and into the dining room, where a cold luncheon of galantine of fowl******************** with a fresh garden salad await them on the dining room table.

 

*Papyrus paper is called papyrus, named after the Cyperus papyrus plant from which it is made. The word "papyrus" itself refers to both the plant and the writing material created from its stems. Documents written on this material are also referred to as papyri.

 

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

 

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

 

****Tutmania was a worldwide media frenzy and cultural obsession that followed the 1922 discovery of King Tutankhamun's tomb by Howard Carter and his team, sparking a popular fad for ancient Egyptian art, design, and culture in the Western world and a resurgence of national pride in Egypt itself. Egyptian motifs appeared on clothes, jewellery, hairstyles, fabrics, furniture and in architecture, and it helped solidify the Art Deco movement of design with its clean lines. The discovery of the tomb itself was one of the most significant archaeological finds of the Twentieth Century, made the previously lesser-known pharaoh one of the most famous figures in history.

 

*****Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.

 

******‘Chu Chin Chow’ is a musical comedy written, produced and directed by Oscar Asche, with music by Frederic Norton, based on the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. It was the most popular show in London’s West End during the Great War. It premiered at His Majesty’s Theatre in London on the 3rd of August 1916 and ran for 2,238 performances, a record number that stood for nearly forty years!

 

*******Gypsophila, known commonly as Baby’s Breath, is a genus of flowering plants in the carnation family. They are native to Eurasia, Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands. Turkey has a particularly high diversity of Gypsophila, with about thirty-five endemic species. Some Gypsophila are introduced species in other regions.

 

********Laissez-faire is the policy of leaving things to take their own course, without interfering.

 

*********‘Floral Symbolica; or, The Language and Sentiment of Flowers’ is a book written by John Ingram, published in London in 1870 by Frederick Warne and Co. who are perhaps best known for publishing the books of Beatrix Potter. ‘Flora Symbolica; or, The language and Sentiment of Flowers’ includes meanings of many species of flowers, both domestic and exotic, as well as floral poetry, original and selected. It contains a colour frontispiece and fifteen colour plates, printed in colours by Terry. John Henry Ingram (November the 16th, 1842 – February the 12th, 1916) was an English biographer and editor with a special interest in Edgar Allan Poe. Ingram was born at 29 City Road, Finsbury Square, Middlesex, and died at Brighton, England. His family lived at Stoke Newington, recollections of which appear in Poe's works. J. H. Ingram dedicated himself to the resurrection of Poe's reputation, maligned by the dubious memoirs of Rufus Wilmot Griswold; he published the first reliable biography of the author and a four-volume collection of his works.

 

**********We usually associate the term “to keep mum” with the Second World War, when it was a byline used on posters to dissuade gossip and the inadvertent sharing of vitally confidential for the war effort with fifth-columnists. However, the word "mum" meaning to be silent, not to speak, first appeared in William Langland's Fourteenth Century poem Piers Plowman, though the full phrase "mum's the word" gained popularity in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries. The word itself is onomatopoeic, derived from the "mmm" sound made by a closed mouth.

 

***********French blue is a sophisticated, deep blue colour that is characterized by its muted quality, subtle violet or grey undertones, and a rich, smoky depth, reminiscent of classical French design, the Mediterranean sky, or the deep blue uniforms of historical French soldiers.

 

************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, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

*************Le Bienvenue is the former name of L'Escargot, which is London's oldest French restaurant. Georges Gaudin opened Le Bienvenue at the bottom of Greek Street in Soho in 1896. He became famous for serving snails, and was reportedly the first in England to do so. Le Bienvenue even featured a snail farm in its basement, a unique talking point for customers. In 1927, two years after this story is set, Gaudin moved to larger premises at 48 Greek Street, the current location, in a Georgian townhouse built in 1741 which was once the private residence of the Duke of Portland and a pastoral getaway in what was then a rural part of London. When he moved, patrons of the restaurant encouraged him to rename it after his most popular dish, leading to the name L'Escargot.

 

**************Fair Isle is a traditional knitting style used to create patterns with multiple colours. It is named after Fair Isle, one of the Shetland Islands. Fair Isle knitting gained popularity when the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII) wore Fair Isle jumpers in public in 1921. Traditional Fair Isle patterns have a limited palette of five or so colours, use only two colours per row, are worked in the round, and limit the length of a run of any particular colour.

 

***************The term "trollop" was introduced in the early 1600s, with the earliest known evidence of its use appearing in the writings of George Wither in 1615. The term, a noun, was already established in the English language by that time.

 

****************The Wiltshire Times and Trowbridge Advertiser is weekly newspaper which serves the towns of west Wiltshire, including Trowbridge. Printed in Trowbridge it was established in 1854 by Benjamin Lansdown, as The Trowbridge and Wiltshire Advertiser. Benjamin was born in Trowbridge and was the son of a woollen mill employee but this was not the path he wished to follow and he was apprenticed as a printer alongside Mr John Sweet. He bought a hard press and second-hand typewriter before starting his own newspaper, along with establishing his own stationery shop in Silver Street around 1860. He moved the business into 15 Duke Street around 1876. Duke Street became home to the impressive R. Hoe & Co printing press that allowed printers to use continuous rolls of paper, instead of individual sheets, to speed up the process and countless copies of the newspaper rolled off the press at Duke Street for many years. The newspaper was based there for more than one hundred years and the business remained within the Lansdown family for generations until it was finally sold in the early 1960s. Over the years in had various names including The Trowbridge and North Wiltshire Advertiser from 1860 until 1880, The Wiltshire Times and Trowbridge Advertiser from 1880 until 1949, The Wiltshire Times between 1950 and 1962 and The Wiltshire Times & News between 1962 and 1963. It then became known as the Wiltshire Times – the banner it holds today. In 2019, the Wiltshire Times and its sister paper the Gazette & Herald moved to offices on the White Horse Business Park in North Bradley, stating that its Duke Street building was no longer fit for purpose. These offices later closed in 2020 as the three Covid-19 pandemic lockdowns struck. The Wiltshire times is still serving the local community both in a paper and an online format with a small team of journalists who passionately believe in the value of good trusted journalism and providing in-depth local news coverage.

 

****************The term to be “in trade” most commonly means engaging in commercial activity, such as regularly buying, selling, or offering goods or services as part of a business. It can also refer to the goods themselves (stock-in-trade) kept by a business for sale, or a characteristic skill or behaviour consistently used in a particular line of work. Used as a slur by the British upper-classes, “in trade” implied that because a man had to work for his living, even if he was a steel magnate or something equally successful, he was not as good as, and would never be a gentleman, who traditionally did not work to earn money. Money and money talk was considered vulgar by the upper-classes. A man who was “in trade” would never marry the daughter of an aristocrat or member of the landed gentry.

 

*****************‘They All Walk the Wibbly Wobbly Walk’ is a song written by Paul Pelham and J. P. Long sung by the famous British music hall performer Mark Sheridan in 1912. It was a song often sung during the Great War, and associated by the British general public with the survivors of the conflict who trembled due to shell shock or had misshapen walks thanks to injuries inflicted upon them.

 

******************A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.

 

*******************A Peter Pan collar is a style of clothing collar, flat in design with rounded corners. It is named after the collar of Maude Adams's costume in her 1905 role as Peter Pan, although similar styles had been worn before this date. Peter Pan collars were particularly fashionable during the 1920s and 1930s.

 

********************A galantine of fowl is a traditional French cold dish made from a deboned fowl, typically chicken, which is stuffed with a forcemeat (a mixture of ground meats and other ingredients), then rolled into a cylindrical shape, and poached in stock. It is served cold, often coated in a clear, gelatinous aspic, and can be elaborately decorated with ingredients like pistachios, truffles, and vegetables.

 

This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The boxed and unboxed Egyptian papyrus scrolls you see on Lettice’s black japanned coffee table are 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Famed for his books, Ken Blythe also made other miniature artisan pieces from paper, including these scrolls, which can be fully wound out to reveal Egyptian hieroglyphics. To make a pieces as authentic as this makes them true artisan pieces. Most of the Ken Blythe books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words of the titles, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. 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 a great many pieces from his daughter from his estate. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

Lettice’s tea set sitting on the coffee table is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era called “Falling Leaves”.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples.

 

The fireplace is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace which is flanked by brass accessories including an ash brush with real bristles.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug, and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Letter generously translated by Nettenscheider; addressed to a Herr Pet. Niessen in Mönchengladbach, the author sends his regards. Photogr. Gerhard Mertens, Aachen. Postage cancelled in Aachen on 7.8.1914.

 

Landwehrmänner in Aachen shortly after the outbreak of war. The men are wearing "161" on their shoulder straps, however their ages tell us they're not the 20 year olds from 10. Rheinisches Inf-Rgt Nr. 161.

 

At the outset of the First World War, every man in Germany between 17 and 45 years of age is required to perform his mandatory military service. During these 28 years, the Germans can be assigned to different categories. Firstly there is the active service of two or three years for each 20-year-old man, which is then followed by a "reserve" for five or six years. The men are then assigned to the Landwehr, where they remain until the age of 39, with less regular exercises. Finally, the last category, the Landsturm, includes all men between 17 and 45 years of age who do not enter into any of the above categories.

On backpacking trip to climb Mt. Langley in the Eastern Sierra's, this guy came upon us at about 13,000 feet. First time in my 15 years of backpacking I had ever seen these in the wild. Wow! He was not afraid of us, eventually he got within about 50 feet us. Unfortunately those closer shots did not come out, as the sun was behind him, totally underexposing the shot(s). A magnificant animal.

Robert O'Hara Burke:

 

Robert O'Hara Burke (1821-1861), explorer, was born at St Clerans, County Galway, Ireland, second of the three sons of James Hardiman Burke and his wife Anne, née O'Hara. The Burkes were Protestant gentry and landowners, and the father and all his sons were soldiers. Burke was educated at Woolwich Academy, entered the Austrian army and served as lieutenant in a cavalry regiment. Discharged at his own request in June 1848, he took up a command in the Irish Mounted Constabulary until he migrated to Australia in 1853. In April he entered the Victoria police as an acting inspector stationed at Carlsruhe. Next January he was appointed senior inspector at Beechworth; soon afterwards he took leave to go to Europe in the hope of serving in the Crimean war but was too late. He returned to Beechworth and in 1858 became superintendent of police in the Castlemaine district. In 1860 he was given leave to take command of the exploring expedition to cross the continent from south to north organized by the Royal Society of Victoria and supported by the government.

 

Burke was impulsive, quick-tempered, arbitrary, generous, tender-hearted and charming, and those who did not quarrel with him loved him. He was recklessly brave, a dare-devil with a thirst for distinction as yet unsatisfied. His career seemed likely to peter out in humdrum police duties in Castlemaine. Although 'a well-bred gentleman and quite at home among people of the best class', at 39 he was slipping downhill into slovenly, eccentric habits. There is a strong tradition that he was also infatuated with Julia Matthews, a young siren of the Melbourne light theatre, but she was unresponsive to the ardour of the untidy, middle-aged country policeman with 7s. 8d. in his bank account. Leadership of the expedition was probably Burke's last chance of achieving distinction in his own, the world's and the divine Julia's eyes. He was very anxious for the appointment and admitted that he had used 'every fair, honourable and straightforward means' to get it.

 

The Burke and Wills expedition, as it has since been called, is a puzzling affair because there seems to have been no sufficient reason for it beyond the desire of the colonists of Victoria, which gold had made mighty, to make it mightier yet by 'taking the lead' in exploration, in which it had not even taken the first step. The objectives of the expedition were hazy and its route, from Cooper's Creek to the Gulf of Carpentaria, was decided less than a month before it set out. Burke's instructions, which were sent after him because they were not ready in time, were incoherent. A curious mixture of scientific curiosity, commercial initiative and sporting excitement added to the drama but the real object appears to have been to snatch from the South Australian explorer, McDouall Stuart, already in the field and formidable, the honour of making the first south-north crossing of the continent. Governor (Sir) Henry Barkly later described the expedition as 'the glorious race across the continent between the expeditions fitted out in this and the adjacent colony of South Australia'. The choice of a totally inexperienced leader is inexplicable if exploration were the real object, but excellent if it were exploit. Burke was a death or glory man and he achieved both.

 

The Burke and Wills expedition was the most costly in the history of Australian exploration, a symbol of the nouveau riche colony that promoted it. When the last bill came in, for the monument to the dead explorers, it had cost well over £60,000 and seven lives. Burke was the first Australian explorer to be provided with camels, over two dozen of them, both riding and pack animals, imported complete with cameleers. There were horses and wagons, abundant food for two years and lavish equipment, including 6 tons of firewood, 57 buckets and 45 yards of green gossamer for veils. The party consisted of three officers: Burke, Landells the camel-master, and William John Wills surveyor and meteorologist; two German scientific officers, Ludwig Becker naturalist and Herman Beckler medical officer and botanist; a foreman and nine assistants and the camel-drivers. The expedition left Melbourne on 20 August 1860 and made a stately progress through the settled districts to Swan Hill and Balranald and reached Menindee on the Darling at the beginning of October.

 

Burke wrote in a private letter from Menindee that he was determined that the cursed impedimenta, the ruin of so many explorers, would not ruin him; he was in haste and determined to travel light. He had already left much of his equipment and some of his provisions at Balranald, including the lime-juice which might have saved four of his men from death by scurvy, and at Menindee he dumped more provisions and transport. After quarrelling with Burke, Landells resigned at Menindee and Burke promoted Wills to second-in-command, replacing him as third officer by a local man, William Wright, who was barely literate and proved incompetent and unreliable. Burke's instructions were perfectly clear on one point: his base camp was to be at Cooper's Creek. Instead he divided his party, transport and provisions, dashing on to Cooper's Creek with the advance party and ordering Wright to follow him with as little delay as possible. Wright was in no hurry. He hung about Menindee for three months, and when he at last set out lost his way, half his men and still more time. Burke had had time to go to the Gulf of Carpentaria and back before Wright, with the vital reserve transport and provisions, managed to travel the four hundred miles (644 km) to Cooper's Creek.

 

Burke selected Wills, John King and Gray to accompany him to the gulf and left four men, under the command of William Brahe, one of the assistants, at Camp LXV at Cooper's Creek. He took provisions for twelve weeks and six camels and a horse, which he used only as pack animals. Other explorers trudged when they had to, but Burke, with the best transport in the history of Australian exploration at his command, is the only one who chose to explore on foot. The march to the gulf was made in extraordinarily favourable conditions, after a season of heavy rain. Charles Sturt's Stony Desert was like a garden, full of lily ponds, and Burke's expedition, in this also unique, was never short of water and was able to travel in an almost straight line to its objective, without losing time searching for water. Even so it took four months to do the 1500 miles (2414 km). They walked from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. with only a single day of rest in the whole period, and were half-starving in the fourth month. Gray could not stand the pace and died before they reached Camp LXV. Burke wrote, 'I am satisfied that the frame of man never was more severely taxed'. It was magnificent, but it was not exploration. Burke kept no journal; there was no time for scientific observation, and nothing useful was discovered as Burke's route was only practicable in unusual weather. Burke won the race to the north but McDouall Stuart found the all-weather route.

 

When the explorers reached Camp LXV on 21 April 1861, spent, starving and in rags, they found it deserted. Brahe's party had left that very day for Menindee, with six camels, twelve horses, all the clothes and most of the food. Wills and King were for following Brahe but Burke decided that since they had only two worn-out camels left and were in bad shape themselves they had no hope of catching up and would not survive the four-hundred-mile (644 km) journey unaided. Their best chance, he thought, was to make for the police station at Mount Hopeless, one hundred and fifty miles (241 km) away, and they set off in that direction, leaving a message of their intentions at Camp LXV on the off-chance.

 

Meanwhile Brahe had met Wright, who had at last arrived from Menindee, and, feeling uneasy about having left his post, decided to return to Camp LXV, which he reached fifteen days after he had left it. But he did not observe the signs of his leader's return that Burke had left and did not find his message, and departed, this time for good, for Menindee. Burke, Wills and King were too weak to get far on their journey to Mount Hopeless; they remained by Cooper's Creek, hoping to be rescued before they starved, but only King lived long enough to be found by Alfred Howitt's search party from Melbourne, which arrived in September 1861. Burke and Wills might also have survived if they had lived with the Aboriginals and shared their food as King did after their deaths. But Burke could not change the habits of a lifetime. He had been born and bred a member of the ruling race in a conquered country and could not bring himself to associate with natives. When they arrived in his camp, bearing gifts of fish, he behaved like an officer of the Irish constabulary plagued by the peasantry, and fired at them.

 

A royal commission appointed to inquire into the deaths of Burke and Wills censured Burke for having divided his party at Menindee and for entrusting Wright with an important command without sufficient knowledge of his character, and added that he had shown more zeal than prudence in leaving Cooper's Creek before the arrival of Wright and undertaking the journey to the gulf with inadequate provisions. Yet Burke had fulfilled the real object of the expedition. Indirectly, discovery was promoted because, although Burke's own journey was worthless as exploration, solid gains in geographical knowledge were made by the explorers Howitt, John McKinlay and William Landsborough, who led parties in search of him. Burke's ultimate contribution to the history of Victoria was oblique but significant. It had been a success story of needy Scotch crofters turned shepherd kings and of the glitter of treasure trove; the disaster of Burke and Wills added a dimension of tragedy.

 

A monument depicting Burke and Wills, by Charles Summers, stands at the corner of Collins and Swanston streets, Melbourne, and a portrait of Burke in oils by William Strutt is in the Melbourne Club.

 

William John Wills:

 

William John Wills (1834-1861), explorer, was born on 5 January 1834 at Totnes, Devon, England, son of Dr William Wills and his wife Sarah Mary Elizabeth, née Calley (Kelly). His father had studied medicine at Grainger's anatomical school, Guy's Hospital and St Thomas's, and became a member of the Royal College of Surgeons in 1827. As a youth William John, known as Jack, suffered a fever which left him with a 'slow and hesitating speech'. He was tutored by his father, and then attended St Andrew's Grammar School, Ashburton, in 1845-50. Articled to his father on 30 May 1850, he undertook courses at Guy's and St Bartholomew's hospitals, London.

 

Interested in Australia, Dr Wills bought a share in a Melbourne gold-mining company in 1852, but cancelled passages to Australia for himself and his sons William John and Thomas after objections from his wife. However, the brothers left Dartmouth in the Janet Mitchell, arriving at Williamstown, Port Phillip, on 3 January 1853. They became shepherds at Deniliquin, New South Wales, where they were joined by their father in October. They went to Ballarat, Victoria, where Dr Wills began to practise, assisted by William, who later worked in the River Wannon district, studied surveying and became an assistant at the astronomical and magnetical observatories at Melbourne under Professor G. B. Neumayer.

 

Wills's extensive correspondence shows an examining and factual mind, with an interest in natural phenomena, literature and exploration. Described as having a 'clear … complexion, an expressive eye that always outstripped his tongue … golden hair, a thick tawny beard, a smile at once intellectual and sympathising, a light, clean, agile frame', Wills had a keen sense of the ridiculous. He was encouraged by Neumayer who was a member of the exploration committee of the Royal Society of Victoria which organized the government expedition to cross Australia to the Gulf of Carpentaria. When Robert O'Hara Burke was made leader, he chose Wills as surveyor, astronomer and third-in-command.

 

The well-equipped expedition left Melbourne on 20 August 1860 but after a dispute at Menindee, George James Landells was dismissed and Wills became Burke's lieutenant. The party arrived at Cooper's Creek on 11 November and William Brahe was placed in charge of the depot. Burke, with Wills, J. King and Gray, six camels, one horse and three months provisions, left for the Gulf of Carpentaria on 16 December and reached it on 11 February 1861. Wills's diary of the journey evidences his own physical toughness in the tribulations of rough terrain, tropical rains, hostile Aboriginals, shortage of rations and illness; it describes Gray's death on 17 April and the return to Cooper's Creek on 21 April, only to find that Brahe had left that morning for Menindee, leaving a small cache of supplies. Against Wills's personal judgment the three survivors moved down Cooper's Creek towards Adelaide. Had they followed the route back to Menindee, they could have met Brahe returning to look for them.

 

After their supplies failed the trio lived precariously on fish and nardoo. Wills was left in camp whilst Burke and King sought Aboriginals to replenish their supplies of nardoo. Burke died on 28 June and King returned to find Wills dead in the camp. He had written a farewell letter dated 27 June to his father, and the last entry in his diary dated 29 June stated 'weaker than ever … my legs and arms are nearly skin and bone'. Relieving expeditions under A. W. Howitt, Landsborough, McKinlay and others were searching for the party. Howitt found King with friendly Aboriginals on 15 September, and buried Wills on 18 September; later he returned the remains of Burke and Wills to Melbourne and they were accorded a public funeral on 21 January 1863.

 

The government's inquiry into the tragedy criticized Burke's leadership and decisions, the appointment of Landells and William Wright, the unsuitability of Brahe, and the errors and delays of the exploration committee; but there was little or no criticism of Wills, who was a faithful second-in-command, subjugating personal doubts on Burke's decisions: it was natural that at 27 he should have deferred to the 40-year-old leader. As Dr Wills stated 'he fell a victim to errors not originating with himself'. Memorials to the expedition have been erected in Melbourne and many Victorian towns. A memorial to Wills was placed at Totnes, Devon, England, in August 1864.

 

Source: Australian Dictionary Of Biography.

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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.

 

Today however, we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith’s beloved parents, George and Ada live in their small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street. Although very 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 younger brother, Bert. 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. With Bert, on shore leave from his job as a first-class saloon steward aboard the SS Demosthenes* for a short while, Ada is organising a special Sunday meal to celebrate her two children being home in London at the same time, and Edith and her beau, Mayfair grocer’s boy, Frank Leadbetter, are to join George, Ada and Bert. We find ourselves in the heart of the Watsford’s family home, Ada’s cosy kitchen at the back of the terrace, where Ada’s worn round kitchen table is covered with vegetables, pots and pans as preparations are underway. Ada’s blouse sleeves are rolled up, and one of her worn aprons is wrapped around her waist over her cotton print dress. Her skin glistens with sweat from the heat radiating from the old blacklead range which is stoked and ready to be used to cook.

 

“Come on Bert!” Ada encourages her son as she wipes her damp forehead with the back of her left hand and glances over her shoulder from the range where her large old kettle is close to boiling and spies him sitting at the kitchen table in the ladderback chair usually occupied by Edith.

 

Bert, dressed in his navy blue Sunday best trousers, matching blue vest and shirt with his own sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sits quietly in front of a wooden chopping board, scratched from many years of Ada’s kitchen knife’s blade cutting things upon it, contemplating what he is doing as he carefully tries to remove the peel from the potato in his hands in one piece.

 

Ada’s face clouds and crumples as she spies her gleaming saucepan sitting next to him on the tabletop, still half empty. “You aren’t half slow at peeling those potatoes, love.”

 

“You can’t rush perfection, Mum.” Bert replies as he carefully slides the blade of the knife under the creamy yellow potato peel with his right hand as he turns it in his left.

 

“I’m not after perfection, love.” Ada replies, huffing a frustrated sigh through her nostrils, as she turns away from the range, crossing her arms akimbo across her chest, trying not to lose her patience with her beloved youngest child. “I just want my potatoes and carrots peeled before it’s time to serve tea. “Look!” she points first to the board and then to the small white bowl to Bert’s right. You’ve still got those potatoes and those carrots to peel!”

 

“What do you call them?” Bert indicates with a nod at a smaller saucepan in front of him with eight round, thick slices of carrot lining its base.

 

“Those aren’t enough carrots for the five of us, Bert!” Ada exclaims in horror. “I need at least another four peeling and slicing and in that pot!”

 

“Well, you could have done them if you hadn’t shelled Dad’s peas and used those dried peas** I brought you back all the way from Australia.”

 

“I bet you they don’t taste any different to British dried peas.” Ada sniffs.

 

“You’ll never know unless you try them, Mum.” Bert remarks in reply.

 

“Dried peas from a shop indeed!” Ada scoffs derisively as she glances at the offending package of dried peas in their box next to her blue and white jug containing Bisto Gravy Powder***. “That’s lazy that is, especially when your dad brings home fresh garden peas for us to enjoy from the allotment. I can dry my own peas. I don’t need shop bought ones.”

 

“It’s no lazier than you making gravy with Bisto’s Gravy Powder, Mum.” Bert remarks, smiling proudly as he carefully removes the knife from the potato with a complete peeling hanging from it.

 

“That’s not true! We’ve been having Bisto’s gravy on Sundays all your life and it never did you any harm.” Ada defends herself. Reaching across the table she tugs on her son’s left ear playfully. “And don’t be so cheeky to your mum!” she adds with a smirk, indicating that she’s not really cross with him over his remark. “Where are your manners?”

 

“Sorry Mum.” Bert apologises.

 

“I’ll give you ‘sorry mum’ in a minute if you don’t crack on with those potatoes and carrots.” Ada turns back to the range and taking a thick yellow cloth from the railing just under the mantle, uses it to pick up the kettle by its handle. With a slight groan at is heaviness, she lifts it up and pours hot water into the blue and white grape patterned jug on the table, containing several heaped spoonsful of gravy powder.

 

“I still don’t understand why you have to boil the potatoes, considering you’re going to roast them, Mum.” Bert casts the perfect peeling into a small bucket on the floor at the left side of his chair that his mother uses for kitchen scraps for his father to take to the allotment for compost.

 

“Lord, I don’t know how you hold onto a job working in the kitchens of that ship if you don’t know anything about cooking, Bert.” Ada remarks, rolling her eyes as she returns the kettle to the stove.

 

“It’s not a kitchen, Mum,” Bert corrects his mother as he takes up another potato and begins to slowly peel it. “It’s called a galley on a ship. Besides, I’m not employed to work in the galley, I’m a steward, employed to serve the food in the first-class dining saloon, on the right side of the galley doors,” A smug smile crosses his face as he speaks. “Thank you very much!”

 

“Oh well, pardon me, Your Highness!” Ada mocks her son, poking her nose in the air as she speaks. “I bet some of those cooks get paid better than you do, Bert, love.” she retorts, bringing her son sharply back down to earth from his lofty delusions of grandeur. “An army marches on its stomach**** and it is no different for that big ship of yours. You wouldn’t have a job serving meals if there was no-one to make them, would you now? I can’t imagine your fine first-class ladies getting their hands dirty making their own meals, any more than I can imagine Edith’s Miss Chetwynd. Can you?”

 

Bert doesn’t answer his mother’s rhetorical questions but instead concentrates on his careful peeling.

 

“I don’t know why you want to try and get the peelings off in one go, love.” Ada stirs the gravy in the jug. “It’s all just bound for your dad’s compost heap, long bits or short!”

 

“It’s a game, Mum.” Bert explains. “You know, fun?”

 

“You have a peculiar idea of fun, Bert!” Ada retorts, screwing up her nose.

 

“A skill then.”

 

“A better skill would be to learn how to cook, Bert love!” Ada keeps stirring the gravy. “Think how much you could impress a young lady if you could help her a bit around the kitchen.”

 

“Ha!” Bert laughs. “Only a lazy one, Mum, like Alice Dunn.”

 

“That’s no way to speak about our Vicar’s daughter*****, Bert!” Ada cries aghast as she stops stirring the contents of the jug for a moment.

 

“But it’s true, Mum.” Bert defends as he continues to peel the potato. “The Vicar Dunn has a housekeeper that cooks for them and all. Alice told me when I first met her. She lorded it over me.”

 

“Well, you were all younger and sillier then.” Ada puts her hands on her hips. “And the reason why the Vicar Dunn and his family have a housekeeper who cooks for them is because…”

 

“They’re rich!” Bert pipes up.

 

“Ha!” It’s Ada’s turn to laugh. “I’ve never heard of a wealthy vicar before.”

 

“Well, they’re certainly better off that we are.”

 

“Your dad and I have done well enough between the two of us. You haven’t ever wanted for much, Bert Watsford, and that’s a fact!” Before her son can interject again, Ada goes on, “What I was going to say about the housekeeper at the vicarage is that the Dunns have her because the Vicar and Mrs. Dunn, and young Alice, are busy doing good deeds around the parish all the time. Why just the other week, Mrs. Dunn and Alice held a jumble sale at All Souls****** Parish Hall to raise funds for farthing breakfasts******* for the poor children in the parishes of the East End who can’t even afford bread and margarine.” She takes up the spoon in the jug again and continues stirring the instant gravy vigorously to break up the lumps of powder. “You never went to school without a good breakfast, nor came home to an empty pantry!” She nods affirmatively. “Oh, by the way, Alice was asking after your welfare and when you were next on shore leave when I saw her at the jumble sale.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Bert says noncommittally, raising his eyebrows as he keeps peeling.

 

“If you ask me, I think Alice Dunn has taken a shine to you, Bert love.”

 

“Get away with you Mum!” Bert laughs before his face suddenly falls. “Oh blast!”

 

“Language, Bert!” Ada chides her son sternly. “You may work on a ship, but that doesn’t mean you have to cuss like a sailor********.”

 

“But look what you made me do, Mum!” Bert holds up the broken piece of potato peeling forlornly.

 

“That’s still no call for you to use foul language, love.” Ada replies, shaking her head in concern. “That’s not how your dad and I raised you. Besides,” She nods at the peeling as Bert drops it in the bucket. “Like I said before, it all goes into your dad’s compost, no matter how long or short the peeling is, and if you ask me, the shorter the peelings, the more potatoes and carrots you’ll peel.”

 

“So why do you boil the potatoes first if you’re going to roast them in the pan with the chicken anyway?” Bert asks as he takes up peeling the rest of the potato, speeding up now that he has broken the peel and showering the chopping board with shorter lengths of it.

 

“Because,” Ada explains as she peers into the jug and moves the spoon about, looking for lumps hidden deep within in the dark brown gravy mix. “Boiling potatoes for a bit before roasting them helps them have a crispier outside and a fluffier inside.”

 

“Sounds daft to me.” Bert replies, puffing out his cheeks.

 

“Daft sounding or not, it works, you mark my words.” Ada wags a finger at Bert. “And the starch from the potatoes will help thicken this gravy when I put it over the chicken and vegetables to roast.”

 

“I believe you, Mum.” Bert says with a sunny smile. “I’ve never had a cause to complain about a single one of your roasts in my whole life.”

 

“I should think you wouldn’t, Bert love!”

 

“So why are we having a special roast for tea today, anyway?”

 

“Well it’s a Sunday********** for a start, Bert love.”

 

“Yes, but this is a special one, Mum. Why?”

 

“Well, it isn’t every day I have my son and daughter together for a Sunday tea.” Ada replies. “You haven’t been on shore leave since Christmas. Edith is bringing Frank with her today too, so I want a nice tea for us all.”

 

“Do you think Frank is going to propose to Edith today, Mum?” Bert asks excitedly.

 

Ada sighs as she folds over the lid of the Bisto Gravy Powder box and takes it and the packet of dried Australian peas her son gave her as a gift and puts them out of the way on a shelf of the old, dark Welsh dresser that dominates her kitchen. “Oh, I doubt it love. Your dad and I were rather hoping that he’d propose on Easter Sunday when we had a picnic together at Roundwood Park***********, but he didn’t then, so I doubt he will today.” She turns back, shaking her head. Leaning against the edge of the dresser she observes a cheeky smile grace her son’s face as he finishes peeling the potato and drops it into her saucepan. She crosses her arms again. “And don’t you be smart and go placing the cat amongst the pigeons************ by asking about it, either.”

 

Bert gazes across at his mother with big doe eyes, feigning innocence. “Me, Mum?”

 

“You Bert!” She gives her son a warning look. “And don’t pretend that you weren’t thinking of asking. I know you were. So I’m asking you nicely, not to.” She eyes her son with a serious look. “Edith’s only just settled herself down and accepted that she just has to be patient and wait for Frank to ask when he’s good and ready.”

 

“What do you mean, Mum?”

 

“Well,” Ada tucks a stray damp strand of mousy brown hair streaked with silver grey that has fallen loose from the chignon at the base of her neck behind her ear distractedly. “Edith and Frank had the fiercest argument about it when they went up the Elephant************* not too long ago. I think it was their first proper falling out since they started stepping out together.”

 

“They patched things up, evidently?”

 

“Oh yes!” Ada agrees. “At the end of the day it wasn’t too much for them to overcome. Even so, your silly big sister was so spooked by it that she went and wasted some of her hard-earned wages that she should be saving on seeing some tea leaf reader************** she found in the newspapers.” She shakes her head. “Between your sister putting her faith in charlatans and you cussing like a sailor,”

 

“I never!”

 

“You did!” Ada shakes her head. “I don’t know what to think of the pair of you?”

 

“I’m alright, Mum.” Bert assures his mother, turning back to his chopping board and taking up a carrot which he begins to peel with quick, downward strokes. “Anyway, you wrote in your last letter that you and Dad had given Frank your blessing for him to ask Edith to marry him, so things must still be serious between them.”

 

“So we have, Bert love.” Ada walks back to the table. “But if there is one thing I have learned about Frank Leadbetter since I first met him, it’s that he doesn’t take a step like this lightly. He’ll want it to be the perfect setting when he asks Edith to marry him, and somehow, I suspect sitting around a Watsford family Sunday roast in my kitchen with his future in-laws is not where he has in mind to do it.”

 

“So when will he do it, Mum?”

 

“When he’s good and ready, Bert love, and not before.” Ada shakes her head. “And he doesn’t need any goading from you.”

 

“I won’t Mum.”

 

“And Edith could do without any embarrassment from her beloved, but cheeky little brother. Alright?”

 

“Alright Mum! I promise I won’t ask about when they’re getting married. I won’t even elude to it.”

 

“Good boy.” Ada coos. “But don’t worry,” She reaches out and ruffles her son’s hair lovingly with an indulgent smile. “I’ll write to you if you’re away when he does.”

 

“Oh Mum!” Bert drops the knife and carrot onto the chopping board and shoos his mother’s hands away as he tries to straighten and smooth his wavy sandy blonde locks. “Don’t do that! I’m going down the Royal Oak*************** after tea. I can’t go with my hair all messed up.”

 

“Oh good!” Ada replies. “You can take your dad with you. He could do with a pint down at the Royal Oak, and I could do with an evening without him under my feet.”

 

“Here, Ada love, can you fasten my tie for me? I’m all thumbs today.” George’s voice asks as he bustles into Ada’s kitchen through the hallway door leading from the front part of the house, tugging on his new cobalt blue cardigan knitted for him by Ada, as he adjusts it to sit straight down his front. A pale blue tie hangs undone trailing to either side of him from beneath one of his Sunday best starched detachable collars****************. “Where am I going?

 

“No Mum!” Bert cries.

 

Ada walks up to her husband as he stands next to the kitchen table. Running her sweat slicked palms and fingers down her apron, she peers at her husband’s collar and loose tie. She pulls the wider length to give more metreage and expertly begins creating a four-in-hand knot***************** with her husband’s tie. Ignoring her son’s protestations, Ada says, “Bert was just telling me that he’s going down the Royal Oak after tea today.”

 

“Mum no!” Bert says again imploringly.

 

Seemingly ignorant and deaf to his plaintive cries, Ada turns back to her son and adds, “Once Edith and Frank have left, of course, I should hope!”

 

“Of course I won’t go before they go, Mum!”

 

“Good!” Turning her attention back to her husband’s tie, Ada continues her expert knotting of it at the apex of the collar she has starched many times over, over the last few years. “And I just said that Bert could take you with him. You haven’t seen George or Agnes Whitehead for ages.”

 

“No Mum!” Bert says again, awkwardly.

 

“Stand still George and stop squirming.” Ada softly chides her husband. “I have enough to do as it is, what with the tea to prepare, and Bert muddle-puddling****************** with the potatoes and carrots, without you moving as I try and fasten your tie.”

 

“Sorry Ada love.” George apologises. “I just struggle with this particular collar.” He reaches up and runs the index finger of his left hand underneath the collar. “It’s so stiff and uncomfortable.”

 

Ada slaps it away sharply. “This is your Sunday best collar that I slaved, starched and sweated over for you, George!”

 

“Yes I know!” George returns his finger to the tight gap between the flesh of his throat and the collar, quickly snatching it away before his wife can slap it again. “I don’t see why I have to wear this confounded collar today, anyway. Why couldn’t I just wear one of my ordinary collars? It’s not like we’re going to a wedding today.” His eyes suddenly grow wide. “Or do we have something to celebrate that you know about, and I don’t?”

 

“Now don’t you start!” Ada replies, pushing the ends of George’s neatly fastened tie back into his hands. “I’ve just told Bert not to throw the cat amongst the pigeons.” She wags a finger at him. “Don’t you do it either, please.” She looks him sternly in the eye.

 

“I promise, I won’t!” George replies, stuffing the ends of his tie beneath his cardigan.

 

“I just want today to be lovely since both Bert and Edith are home, and Frank is coming too.” Ada explains. “I’ll go upstairs and put on my best bib and tucker******************* shortly.” She then quickly switches her attention back to her son. “And what do you mean, ‘no’, Bert?” Ada queries.

 

Bert squirms in his seat as he falls under the scrutinising gaze of his mother. “Well, I’m going out with Conlin Campbell down at the Royal Oak tonight, you see, Mum.” he explains with a strained voice, mentioning his friend of the same age as him who grew up in Harlesden with both Edith and Bert and went to sea with Bert when he took his first seafaring job. “He’s on shore leave too, and we’re catching up with a few of our old friends.”

 

“Well, I don’t see why that matters.” Ada retorts. “Your dad knows Conlin Campbell, and the other boys you knew growing up as well. You all get along. It’ll be good for him.”

 

“Oh Ada!” George replies with a knowing chuckle, smoothing the front of his tie down.

 

“What George?”

 

“Bert doesn’t want his old dad tagging along when…” His eyes glint with mischief from within the wrinkles of flesh around them.

 

“When what, George?” Ada persists.

 

“When there are also ladies joining he and Conlin Campbell.” He chuckles playfully again.

 

Ada’s gaze swings back to her son. “Is this true, Bert?” she asks with incredulity. “You didn’t mention any of the girls were joining you this evening.”

 

“Well,” Bert shrinks in his seat. “You… you didn’t ask… specifically… Mum.”

 

Ada eyes her son. “Very well. Now I’m asking. Who else is joining you at the Royal Oak this evening, Bert?”

 

“Only Jeannie Duttson and Alice Dunn, Mum.” Bert splutters, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he speaks, making George chuckle again. “No-one special.”

 

“I told you, Alice Dunn was asking after you!” Ada crows triumphantly, clapping her hands. “Didn’t I?”

 

“Alice was only being polite, Mum! She fancies Conlin, not me, and I certainly don’t fancy Alice Dunn.” Bert reddens further. “But I do rather fancy Jeannie Duttson.”

 

“Any blind man could tell that at New Year!” George laughs loudly.

 

“Dad!” Bert cringes.

 

“I didn’t!” Ada remarks in surprise.

 

“You were too busy playing gracious hostess, Mrs. Watsford.” George says, bowing melodramatically before his wife.

 

“Jeannie Duttson!” Ada breathes. “Well fancy that!”

 

“She’s a good sort, is Jeannie Duttson,” George opines.

 

“She is!” Ada agrees with a beaming smile. “Jeannie has a good head on her shoulders, just what Bert needs!”

 

“And she’s pretty.” George winks cheekily at his son.

 

“She’s got herself a nice little job as a typist at Drummond’s Solicitors up on the High Street.” Ada goes on.

 

“Oh yes! With… with…” George clicks his fingers as he tries to remember the name of the last of Edith’s old school chums who came to celebrate at the Watsford’s on New Year’s Eve.

 

“Katy Bramall.” Bert replies.

 

“That’s it, Bert!” George says with a satisfied sigh. “Clever boy. Katy Bramall.”

 

“Katy’s stepping out with a supervisor from the Holborn exchange********************.” Bert goes on.

 

“Is she now?” George replies with little interest. “Bully for her*********************!” Returning the conversation to Bert’s potential budding relationship with Jeannie, he addresses his wife. “Bert could do far worse than the likes of Jeannie Duttson, like that flibbertigibbet, Alice Dunn.”

 

“Oh George!” Ada chides her husband, scoffing. “Alice is lovely!”

 

“She’s an idle gossip, just like her mother.” George retorts. “No, let Conlin Campbell have her if he so pleases. You’ve picked the right young lady out of those two, Bert my boy.”

 

“So, when’s the big day then?” Ada asks Bert jokingly.

 

“Oh Mum!” he replies, smiling sheepishly. “Isn’t one potential wedding enough for this family?”

 

*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.

 

**Believe it or not, but dried peas have been a part of the British diet for a very long time, dating back to the start of agriculture in Britain, approximately 6,000 years ago. Evidence suggests peas were one of the earliest crops cultivated in Britain, along with wheat, barley, and broad beans. The practice of drying peas to preserve them also dates back to this period, with green or yellow split peas being boiled to create mushy peas or pease pudding. While the exact date of their introduction to England is difficult to pinpoint, it's clear that dried peas were a staple food source in the Middle Ages, and later became popular dishes like mushy peas. The Carlin pea, a specific variety of dried pea, is known to have been eaten in northern England since the Twelfth Century. In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, the preference shifted towards fresh, green peas, often referred to as "garden peas". However, dried peas continued to be a part of the British culinary landscape, particularly in regional dishes and later in the Twentieth Century in fish-and-chip shops. By the mid 1920s, when this story is set, dried peas were readily available in branded packages at local grocers.

 

***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 phrase "an army marches on its stomach" means that the supply of food is essential for a military campaign's success. It highlights the crucial role of logistics, specifically ensuring that soldiers have adequate provisions to stay healthy and strong while on the move. In essence, the saying emphasizes that a well-fed army is a capable army. Without sufficient sustenance, soldiers would be weakened, unable to march long distances or engage effectively in battle. This proverb is often attributed to Napoleon Bonaparte, who understood the importance of logistics in his military campaigns.

 

*****The vicar of All Souls Parish Church in Harlesden between 1918 and 1927 was Ernest Arnold Dunn. Whilst I cannot find any details about his family life, I’d like to think that he was a happily married man of god and could well have had a daughter named Alice who no doubt played the organ in church on Sundays.

 

******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.

 

*******A "farthing breakfast" was a cheap meal, typically offered by organizations like The Salvation Army, the Church of England and other religious institutions and charities to children in need, for a farthing (the smallest coin in the British monetary system). A farthing breakfast generally consisted of a slice of bread with jam or margarine, often with cocoa to drink.

 

********The phrase "swear like a sailor" is a common idiom that has been used for a long time to describe someone who uses a lot of curse words or swear words. It is rooted in the stereotype of sailors, who have historically been known for their colorful and sometimes crude language. The term "sailor" in this context doesn't necessarily refer to someone who works on a ship, but rather to the characteristics associated with seafaring life, such as a reputation for being boorish and using foul language.

 

*********Parboiling potatoes before roasting is a common and recommended technique for achieving a crispy exterior and fluffy interior. Parboiling helps to soften the potatoes and create a starchy slurry, which contributes to the formation of a crispy crust during roasting.

 

**********The Sunday roast is a deeply ingrained British tradition, typically featuring a roasted meat dish, usually beef, but in less well-off families, like the Watsfords, chicken or another cheaper meat would suffice, along with a variety of sides like Yorkshire pudding, roasted vegetables, and gravy. This meal is often enjoyed as a family gathering after a Sunday church service, with roots tracing back to the Fifteenth Century in the British Isles.

 

***********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 the Vulcan 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.

 

************The saying "to put the cat among the pigeons" is a British idiom that means to cause a disturbance or controversy, often by introducing something that is unexpected or unwanted. It refers to the commotion that would occur if a cat were to enter a group of pigeons, as the pigeons would likely become frightened and scattered. The phrase's origins are thought to be linked to a popular pastime in colonial India, where people would place a wild cat in a pen with pigeons and bet on how many birds the cat would catch with one swipe. This activity would naturally cause a great deal of commotion and disturbance among the pigeons. Over time, the phrase evolved to describe any situation where something is done that is likely to cause a stir or a lot of fuss. It implies that the action will disrupt things and lead to a reaction, often negative, from those involved.

 

*************The London suburb of Elephant and Castle, south of the Thames, past Lambeth was known as "the Piccadilly Circus of South London" because it was such a busy shopping precinct. When you went shopping there, it was commonly referred to by Londoners, but South Londoners in particular, as “going up the Elephant”.

 

**************Tea leaf reading, also known as tasseography, is a form of divination that involves interpreting the patterns and shapes of tea leaves left in a cup after the tea has been consumed.

 

***************Located at 95 High Street, Harlesden, the Royal Oak Tavern and Railway Hotel, as it was originally known, was built circa 1880 when Harlesden was at its boom as a smart middle-class London suburb, replacing a building on the site from 1757. The two-storey building featured Venetian blinds and a huge gaslight outside. This in turn was replaced by today’s 1892 re-build. Designed in the baroque style, it is four-storeys in height, built of red brick with stone banding and features a lot of ornate stone detailing. The Royal Oak still features its original 1892 tiles in the hallway, which depicts a Parliamentarian trooper hunting for King Charles II after the Battle of Worcester in 1651. King Charles hid in an oak tree, hence the name Royal Oak. Between 1914 and 1926, the pub was licenced by Mr. George Whitehead, (thus Ada’s mention of George and Mrs. Whitehead in her conversation with her husband and son).

 

****************Removable or detachable collars were shirt collars designed to be separate from the shirt itself and fastened with studs or other mechanisms. They were popular in the Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries, primarily among men who wore white shirts as part of their business or formal attire.

 

*****************The four-in-hand knot is a classic and simple necktie knot, popular in Britain since the 1850s, known for its ease of tying and slightly asymmetrical appearance. It's a versatile knot that can be worn for various occasions, from casual to formal.

 

******************Muddle-puddling is an old-fashioned term for dallying and taking your time.

 

*******************"Best bib and tucker" is an old-fashioned expression meaning one's finest or most formal clothes. It refers to putting on one's best outfit, often for a special occasion. While the phrase itself is used now, the items "bib" and "tucker" are less common in everyday clothing. A "bib" was a frill or ornamental piece at the front of a man's shirt, and a "tucker" was a decorative piece of lace or fabric that covered the neck and shoulders of a woman.

 

********************Before 1927 when there was a shift to automatic “Director” telephone exchanges, London had numerous manual exchanges, each with a specific These exchanges were operated by human operators who connected calls manually. This included HOL for the Holborn Exchange, which was also the first to be converted to a “Director” exchange, followed by others like Bishopgate and Sloane.

 

*********************The phrase “bully for someone” was usually used to express admiration of approval, but is often used ironically, especially when you do not think that someone has done anything special but they want you to praise them.

 

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:

 

Ada’s kitchen table is covered with things in preparation for her special Sunday roast.

 

On the chopping board and the table you will see potatoes and carrots. There are more in the small white bowl and on the table. They, the onion and the shallots come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, England. The kitchen knife on the chopping board with its inlaid handle and sharpened blade comes from English miniatures specialist Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniature store. Ada’s lovely shiny saucepans complete with peas, potatoes and carrots in them come from 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 floral gravy boat containing gravy was also made by her. The blue and white grape patterned jug comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. The box of Bisto Gravy Powder, Ideal Finest Dried Peas and Oxo stock cube box were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire with great detail paid to the packaging.

 

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.

 

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.

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table and the ladderback chair, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. The rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and bread bin are painted in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop. 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 jar of Marmite and a jar of Bovril which were also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

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).

Roma, Italy.

Macro photo of tooth wheel mechanism with imprinted RECEIVE, GIVE concept words

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 visiting the home of Edith’s, Lettice’s maid, beloved parents. 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 and her younger brother Bert all their young lives. Since her father’s promotion in 1922, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now. The money she makes from this endeavour she uses for housekeeping to make she and George’s life a little more comfortable, but she is able to hold back a little back as pin money* to indulge in one of her joys, collecting pretty china ornaments to decorate their home with.

 

We are in Ada’s front parlour, which is where most of her decorative porcelain finds from different shops, fairs and flea markets around London are proudly displayed. With busy stylised floral wallpaper and every surface cluttered with ornaments, it can only be described as highly Victorian in style, and it is an example of conscious consumption, rather than qualitative consumption, to demonstrate how prosperous the Watsford family is, especially now that George holds the management position that he does. Like many others of its kind in Harlesden and elsewhere in London, it is the room least used in the house, reserved for when special guests like the parish minister or wealthy old widow and the Watsford’s landlady, Mrs. Hounslow, pay a call. However today’s special guest is not either the minister, nor Mrs. Hounslow. It is Frank Leadbetter, Edith’s beau, who has arranged to visit Edith’s parents on his own, as he has a very important question to ask of them both.

 

Dressed in his Sunday best suit, Frank sits awkwardly in one of two Victorian high backed barley twist chairs. The combination of the formality of his suit and the hard and uncomfortable horsehair upholstery of the chair encourage Frank to sit with a ramrod stiff back in his seat. He looks awkwardly around the room, allowing his gaze to flit in a desultory fashion around the unfamiliar surrounds of the Watsford’s formal front parlour. Cluttering the surface of an old Victorian sideboard and an ornate whatnot, the cold stares of Queen Victoria, Edward VII, Queen Alexandra and the current King George V and Queen Mary stare out from the glazed surfaces of plates and other objects celebrating coronations and jubilees, whilst on the mantle, flanked by pretty statues of castles and churches, younger versions of George and Ada in sepia pose formally with Edith as a little girl and Bert as a baby, gazing out from brass frames with blank stares. Frank coughs awkwardly and nervously tugs at his stiff collar, feeling hot even though there is no fire going in the small grate of the fireplace.

 

“Now, now, young Frank!” George booms good naturedly from the one comfortable seat in the room, an old armchair with thick red velvet button back** upholstery. “No need to be nervous, me lad!”

 

“Oh, you don’t know why I’m here, Mr. Watsford.” Frank replies, running his right index finger nervously around the inside of his collar.

 

George chuckles. “I think I can guess, Frank.”

 

Frank gazes down at Ada’s dainty best blue floral china tea set on the lace draped octagonal table set between the cluster of chairs. A selection of McVitie’s*** biscuits brought home by George from the nearby factory sit in a fluted glass dish.

 

“Will Mrs. Watsford be long, do you think, Mr. Watsford?”

 

“I shouldn’t think so, Frank. She’s only gone to boil the kettle and fill the pot.”

 

As if knowing that she was being spoken about, Ada sweeps through the door of the parlour, holding aloft the glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid that Edith bought for her as a gift from the Caledonian Markets****. “Here we are then,” she says with a heightened level of exuberance. “Tea for three!” She carefully places the teapot in the centre of the tea table.

 

“Perfect timing, Ada love.” George replies, and without waiting, reaches across the void between him and the tea table and snatches up a biscuit.

 

“George!” she chides. “Where are your manners?” She looks askance at her husband, who settles back in his seat, quite unperturbed by his wife’s scolding. “Guests first.” She sweeps her hand across the table towards the biscuits as she lowers herself precariously onto the edge of the other high backed barley twist chair. “Frank?”

 

“Err… umm…” Frank stutters. “Ahh, no… no thank you, Mrs. Watsford. I… I’m not hungry.”

 

“Oh well, more for us then, Ada love.” George says cheerfully through a biscuit filled mouth, stretching out his hand to the glass dish again.

 

“George!” Ada cries, slapping her husband’s hand sharply, the sound echoing around the cluttered parlour.

 

George retreats in his seat, recoiling and rubbing his chastised hand rather like a dog nurses a limp paw.

 

“Shall I be mother then*****?” Ada asks rhetorically as she automatically picks up the milk jug. “You take milk, don’t you Frank?”

 

“Err… yes, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank replies as she slops some milk into his cup before adding a dash to her husband’s and her own.

 

“And sugar?”

 

“Err.. two please, Mrs. Watsford.”

 

“Ahh, a sweet tooth after my own heart.” Ada replies with an indulgent smile, putting two heaped teaspoons of sugar into Frank’s cup before adding one to George’s and two to her own. “Now!” she sighs, taking up the cottage ware teapot pouring tea into the cups. “You wanted to talk to us, Frank?”

 

“Well…” Frank begins.

 

“You know it feels jolly funny having you here Frank, but not Edith.” Ada interrupts the young man even as he begins. “I’m quite used to you coming with Edith now.”

 

“Well, you know… I… I really wanted this to be a conversation that I had alone with you and Mr. Watsford,” Frank indicates to George, still licking his wounds. “Mrs. Watsford. So, I asked Hilda to take Edith out shopping today.”

 

“And she isn’t missing you, Frank?” Ada queries, as she replaces the pot in the middle of the tea table.

 

“Err…” Frank blushers, heaving and puffing his cheeks out. “Well, I told Edith a bit of a tall tale. I said that I had to help Giuseppe, my chum with his restaurant in the Islington****** today.”

 

“Oh yes,” Ada remarks with a tone of distaste as she hands George his cup of tea. “Giuseppe. He was your Italian friend who gave you the wine that we shared that first time we met, wasn’t he?”

 

Frank blushes red at the painful memory of that first rather awkward Sunday luncheon he had at the Watsfords’ when he and Ada had had a disagreement about some of his beliefs about life. “Yes.”

 

“My, my.” Ada takes up her own cup of tea and cradles it in her lap as she smiles to herself. “Such subterfuge to be alone with us.”

 

“You might not enjoy poor Frank’s discomfort quite so readily, Ada.” George pipes up from his seat as he sips his tea, tempering his wife.

 

“I was merely asking a question, George love.” Ada replies with a smug smile.

 

“No you weren’t, and you know it.” George retorts. “You were bringing up difficult memories of that awkward first tea we all had together, when you know perfectly well that we have all come a long way from there.” He gives his wife a doleful look. “Stop raking over old coals that don’t need to be raked over.”

 

“I agree, George.” Ada replies calmly. “We have come a long way; however, I was merely reminding Frank that in spite of that, we still have some concerns about his philosophies about life.”

 

“You have concerns, Ada love. I don’t.”

 

“Well one of us has to, if Frank has come here asking for Edith’s hand.” Ada turns her attentions to their young guest. “That is why you are here, isn’t it, Frank?”

 

“Well… I…” Frank stammers.

 

“Of course it is, Ada love. Frank?” George asks, sitting up in his seat.

 

“Well yes, Mr. Watsford. That’s what I came for. I came to formally ask for Edith’s hand in marriage.”

 

George leaps from his seat, dropping his half drunk cup of tea into the tea table noisily, sloshing tea into the saucer in his haste, before he bustles around the small black japanned cane table on which a vase of flowers stands before patting Frank on the back. “Of course! Of course! We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we Ada?” He turns and beams at his wife before turning quickly back to Frank without waiting for a reply. “What took you so long, Frank my boy?”

 

“Well Mr. Watsford, I know Edith and I have been stepping out for a while now,” Frank explains, sighing with relief and smiling at George’s exuberant acceptance of his request for Edith’s hand. “But I wanted to have a few things in place before I asked you.”

 

“Jolly good! Jolly good!” George chuckles delightedly. “Have you got a ring yet?”

 

“I’m not quite there yet, Mr. Watsford, but I’m getting there. I… I also wanted to assure you that my intentions are genuine. I… I love Edith and I don’t want anyone else.”

 

“Well, of course you don’t, lad!” George puffs, rubbing the young man’s right shoulder comfortingly. “We knew the moment we saw you together, that you two were made for each other, didn’t we Ada?”

 

Ada doesn’t reply immediately.

 

“Oh, this is wonderful, Frank!” George shakes Frank’s hands, barely able to contain his joy. “Welcome to the family!”

 

“Now just hang on for a moment.” Ada’s voice cuts in, slicing the joy with its sharp edge. “Let’s not rush into this without a few clarifying things first.”

 

“What?” George asks. He snorts preposterously. “Whatever do mean, Ada love? Frank’s just said his intentions are good. I don’t need anything more than that.”

 

“Well I do.” Ada replies calmly.

 

“What… what is… is it, Mrs. Watsford?” Frank asks, his voice quavering with nerves.

 

“Now, if you’d both just sit down for a moment,” Ada says, replacing her cup on the table, indicating for the two men to resume their seats.

 

Deflated, both Frank and George return to their respective seats.

 

“Now, Frank,” Ada starts, leaning forward in her seat. “I would just like to say that in principle, I am as pleased as my husband is that you’re asking for Edith’s hand in marriage.”

 

“Then Ada…?” George begins, but his wife silences him by holding up the palm of her hand to him.

 

She goes on. “I’d already had words with Edith about the two of you eloping.”

 

“Oh I’d never do that to you, Mr. Watsford or my Gran, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her, looking earnestly into her unreadable face.

 

“Yes, I’m glad to hear it, as it confirms what Edith said, which was the same as you.” Ada turns to her husband. “Prospects?”

 

George looks quizzically at his wife. “Prospects?”

 

“Yes, prospects!” Ada’s eyes grow wide as she looks knowingly at him. She lowers her voice and whispers, “Remember, we discussed this?” When he looks uncomprehendingly at her again, she adds in a hiss, “When I said you’d go all doolally******* over Frank’s proposal, which you have?”

 

“Oh!” George pipes up. “Oh yes!” He sits up in his seat and turns to Frank. “Now young man, Both you and Edith have told us that you’re trying to improve your lot in life.” Ada scoffs from her seat. Ignoring her, he asks, “What are your prospects for Edith, once you’re married?”

 

“Well, it is true that I am trying to improve my circumstances. It’s one of the reasons why I have held off asking for Ediths hand until now. Like I said, I wanted to get a few things in place before I did.”

 

“Such as?” George’s bushy eyebrow arches over his right eye as he asks.

 

“Well, as you both know, I’ve been doing extra duties at Mr. Willison’s to build up my skills. I don’t want to be a delivery boy all my life.”

 

“No of course not, lad!” George pipes up.

 

“George!” Ada exclaims. “Let the boy finish. I want to hear what he has to say, not you.”

 

“Err… no, of course not.” George blusters. “Go on, Frank.”

 

“Well, I’ve been doing a bit of window dressing and arranging of products for Mr. Willison. I’ve also been taking a correspondence course on bookkeeping, which Edith doesn’t know about.”

 

“Why not?” Ada snaps.

 

“Because I wanted to complete it first and show that I’ve applied the skills before I told her: rather like a surprise, Mrs. Watsford.”

 

“Alright Frank.” Ada softens. “And have you?”

 

“Well, it’s a bit hard to get Mrs. Willison to relinquish anything about the shop’s books, but I did manage to do a bit of bookkeeping earlier this month when she was poorly and in bed. Technically she gave the task to her daughter, Miss Henrietta, but she wanted to do other things in her spare time, so it was reasonably easy to convince her to give it over to me to do, and Mrs. Willison did admit that I did a good job of it.”

 

“Well that’s something, isn’t it Ada?”

 

Ada nods in agreement with her husband, but keeps looking at Frank with an observant stare.

 

Frank continues. “And I’ve been tapped on the shoulder by friends of mine who are part of a trades union.” An uncomfortable look begins to cloud Ada’s features at the mention of unions. “And they tell me that soon there might be an opening or two in one of the suburban grocers for an assistant manager position, which would lead eventually to a position where I’d be running my own corner grocer.”

 

“In Metroland********?” George splutters. “My daughter all the way out there?”

 

“It’s not so bad, Mr. Watsford. The Chalk Hill, Grange and Cedars Estates are all built along the railway line not too far from Wembley Park, so Edith would be able to visit you easily, and you’d be able to come and visit us too. We’d live in a nice little flat above the shop with indoor plumbing and all electrified.” Ada tuts at the mention of electricity, but Frank continues to paint a vision of his and Edith’s rosy future. “The children we have, your grandchildren can grow up attending local schools and getting lots of fresh air.”

 

“Well, since you put it like that, I guess it’s not so bad, is it Ada?”

 

“Well,” Ada purses her lips. “I’m sure that Edith has told you that I hold no faith in that newfangled electricity, but living in Cavendish Mews she seems to have become a convert.”

 

“And a lovely new estate is far healthier for any children that we have, Mrs. Watsford. It’s far better than living in a house in Clapham Junction.”

 

“And how much will this flat of yours cost?” Ada asks seriously.

 

“Around five shillings a week for a two-up two down******** semi********* in the Chalk Hill Estate, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank says, gaining strength in his convictions, filling his voice with a new boldness and surety. “And, if we were to live in a flat above the grocers’ shop, it would be even less, and we’d still have all the modern conveniences like hot and cold running water and an inside privy.”

 

“Nothing wrong with an outdoor privy.” remarks George.

 

“Nothing wrong with an indoor one, either, Mr. Watsford. I only the best for Edith and our children.”

 

“Alright, young Frank.” George backs down.

 

“Now, going back to what I had eluded to before, Frank,” Ada continues. “You’re a good lad, Frank Leadbetter, and I can see that by your thoughtfulness and your manners. I know you love our Edith, and you obviously treat her very well…”

 

“As she deserves, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her.

 

“I know, Frank.” Ada tempers him. “However, the vehemence with which you spurn your new ideas around is still a bit frightening to me.”

 

“Oh, there’s nothing to be frightened of Mrs. Watsford.”

 

“But these labour unions of yours…” Ada’s voice trails off.

 

“I can assure you, Mrs. Watsford, the unions aren’t bad, and I am not a Communist.” Frank defends himself. “As I said just before, I only want the best for Edith and for the family I hope we will have together. I just want a better world for all of us, and the unions will help with that. However, I swear that I’m not associated with any of those militant factions that popped up after the Russian Revolution. I believe in peaceable actions, discussion and compromise.” Frank looks earnestly at Ada. “I would never put Edith in any danger. I’m a hard working man who just wants a good future. Some of the finer details of it may be different to yours and Mr. Watsford’s, Mrs. Watsford, but at the end of the day, our ideals are the same, and whatever I do, Edith and her wellbeing is central in everything I do, and everything I have planned.”

 

Ada sighs and smiles. “Alright Frank. So long as she is, I can only give you my blessing too.”

 

“Oh thank you, Mrs. Watsford!” Frank exclaims, standing up and walking over to Ada who rises from her seat and embraces Frank kindly.

 

“Good lad!” George says, standing up as well and beaming over his wife’s shoulder, winking at Frank.

 

He reaches down and snatches up two more biscuits from the fluted glass bowl on the tea table.

 

“George!” Ada scolds, not quick enough to catch him this time.

 

He smiles back at her gormlessly.

 

“At this rate I’m going to have to let out that vest of yours, George Wastford!” Ada remarks.

 

George turns to Frank. “Are you sure you want the joy of these moments of wedded bliss, Frank my boy?” he asks jokingly.

 

*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.

 

**Button back upholstered furniture contains buttons embedded in the back of the sofa or chair, which are pulled tightly against the leather creating a shallow dimple effect. This is sometimes known as button tufting.

 

***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 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.

 

*****The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”

 

******The Italian quarter of London, known commonly today as “Little Italy” is an Italian ethnic enclave in London. Little Italy’s core historical borders are usually placed at Clerkenwell Road, Farringdon Road and Rosebery Avenue - the Saffron Hill area of Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell spans Camden Borough and Islington Borough. Saffron Hill and St. Peter’s Italian Catholic Church fall within the Camden side. However, even though this was the traditional enclave for Italians, immigrants moved elsewhere in London, bleeding into areas like Islington and Soho where they established bars, cafes and restaurants which sold Italian cuisine and wines.

 

*******Doolally is British and Irish slang for a person who is eccentric or has gone mad. It originated in the military.

 

*******Metroland is a name given to the suburban areas that were built to the north-west of London in the counties of Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire and Middlesex in the early part of the Twentieth Century that were served by the Metropolitan Railway. The railway company was in the privileged position of being allowed to retain surplus land; from 1919 this was developed for housing by the nominally independent Metropolitan Railway Country Estates Limited (MRCE). The term "Metroland" was coined by the Met's marketing department in 1915 when the Guide to the Extension Line became the Metro-land guide. It promoted a dream of a modern home in beautiful countryside with a fast railway service to central London until the Met was absorbed into the London Passenger Transport Board in 1933.

 

********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.

 

*********A semi-detached house (known more commonly simply as a semi) is a house joined to another house on one side only by a common wall.

 

This cluttered and old fashioned, yet cosy front parlour may look realistic to you, however it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.

 

You may think that by 1926 when this story is set, that homes would have been more modern and less Victorian, and many were. However, there were a lot of people during this era who grew up and established their homes during the reign of Queen Victoria and did not want to update their homes, or could not afford to do so, so an interior like this would not have been uncommon in the 1920s and even in the lead up to and during the Second World War.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The old fashioned high backed Victorian chairs with their barley twist detailing and brass casters were made by Town Hall Miniatures

 

Ada’s collection of commemorative plates of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897, the Coronation of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra in 1902 and the Coronation of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911 on the sideboard and the whatnot are all made by the British miniature artist Rachel Munday. The plate of Edward VIII on the far left is a piece of souvenir ware from around 1905 and is made of very finely pressed tin.

 

The bust of Queen Victoria was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. It has been hand painted by me.

 

The Victorian Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) vase in the centre of the fireplace has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys.

 

The Watsford family photos on the mantlepiece are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal.

 

The church and castle statues at either end of the fireplace are made of resin and are hand painted. They came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Sitting on the central pedestal table is the cottage ware teapot Edith gave her mother as a gift a few years ago. 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 rood and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.

 

Also on the table, the glass dish of biscuits is an artisan piece. The bowl is made from real glass with the biscuits attached and hand painted. It came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The teacups, milk jug and sugar bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

Ada’s wicker sewing basket, sitting closed to show off its pretty florally decorated top, has knitting needles sticking out of it. The basket was hand made by Mrs. Denton of Muffin Lodge in the United Kingdom.

 

The fireplace, the whatnot, the central pedestal table, the embroidered footstool by the fireplace, the brass fire irons and the ornate black japanned cane table on which Ada’s sewing box stand also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The sideboard is a piece I bought as part of a larger drawing room suite of dolls house furniture from a department store when I was a teenager.

 

The collection of floral vases on the bottom two tiers of the whatnot came from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The vase of flowers are all beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.

 

The little white vase in the forefront of the photo is mid Victorian and would once have been part of a tiny doll’s tea service. It is Parian Ware. Parian Ware is a type of biscuit porcelain imitating marble. It was developed around 1845 by the Staffordshire pottery manufacturer Mintons, and named after Paros, the Greek island renowned for its fine-textured, white Parian marble, used since antiquity for sculpture. I have had it since I was about ten years old.

 

The ‘home sweet home’ embroidery and the painting on the wall come from online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures, as does the Art Nouveau vase on the left hand side of the picture.

Letter generously translated by Xiphophilos; authored in "Weste Kriegsschauplatz" in June 1915 and addressed to the author's cousins in Gundelsheim. Einheitsstempel; 12 Kompagnie, Landw. Inf. Reg. No. 122.

 

A pleasantly sharp Ausmarschbild depicting Landwehrmann Franz Majan of 12 Kompagnie, 4. Württembergisches Landwehr-Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 122.

 

______________________________________________

Notes.

 

w. Landwehr-Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 122

 

Aufgestellt in Ulm (R.Stb., I., II., III.)

Unterstellung:Festungsbesatzung Ulm, 5. b. L.I.Brig.

Kommandeur:Oberstleutnant Glück (w. I.R.Nr. 127)

 

I.:

II.:Oberstleutnant z. D. Vorwinkel (Bez.-Kdr. Mergentheim)

III.:Major z. D. Bazing (Bez.-Offz. Ulm)

  

Verluste:25 Offz., 744 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 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.

 

Annapurna trekking www.trekshimalaya.com/annapurna_region.php 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.trekshimalaya.com/everest_region.php 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.trekshimalaya.com/langtang_region.php 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.trekshimalaya.com/peak_climbing.php 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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, www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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 www.adventurestrekking.com 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.

 

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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.

 

Today however, we have travelled a short distance west from Cavendish Mews, skirting Hyde Park, around Hyde Park Corner, through Knightsbridge past the Brompton Road and Harrods with its ornate terracotta façade, past the great round Roman amphitheatre inspired Royal Albert Hall that was built in honour of Queen Victoria’s late husband prince Albert in 1861, past Kensington Palace, to Holland Park. It is here, in a cream painted stucco three storey Nineteenth Century townhouse with a wrought and cast iron glazed canopy over the steps and front door, flanked by two storey canted bay windows to each side with Corinthian pilasters, that we find ourselves. Lettice has come to the elegant and gracious home of her widowed future sister-in-law, Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract.

 

Lettice is engaged to Clemance’s elder brother, Sir John Nettleford Hughes. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John, according to London society gossip enjoys dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Although she did not become engaged to him then, Lettice did reacquaint herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by mutual friends Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate in 1924. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again later that year at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Soho, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. When Lettice’s understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, fell apart, Lettice agreed to Sir John’s proposal.

 

Even though Lettice is twenty-four now, as an unmarried young lady, she still must be discreet as to how often she sees her future husband unaccompanied, so as not to sully her reputation. Therefore, Clemance has arranged an afternoon tea for Lettice and Sir John at her elegant Holland Park home where she can be seen, for societal purposes, as a chaperone for Lettice. Clemance’s drawing room is elegantly appointed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of her continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. Clusters of floral chintz chairs and sofas are placed around the room in small conversational clutches, whilst elegant French antiques, collected by her and her late husband Harrison during their years living in France, stand around the walls. The room is papered in pale pink Georgian style wallpaper and hung with Eighteenth Century pastoral scenes in gilded frames, whilst the floor is parquet. The room smells of freshly arranged hothouse flowers, and a canary twitters in a cage.

 

The trio are discussing over a tea of chocolate sponge served with cream and strawberries, Lettice’s recent acceptance of world famous British concert pianist, Sylvia Fordyce’s commission to create a feature wall in the drawing room of ‘The Nest’, Sylvia’s discreet country retreat in Essex, which Lettice visited last week. Sylvia is the long-time friend of Sir John and Clemance, and the pair introduced Lettice to Sylvia at a private audience after a Schumann and Brahms piano concert. After a brief chat with Sir John and Clemance, Sylvia had her personal secretary show them out so that she could discuss “business” with Lettice. Anxious that like so many others, Sylvia would try to talk Lettice out of marrying Sir John, Lettice was surprised when Sylvia admitted that when she said that she wanted to discuss business, that was what she genuinely meant. Sylvia invited Lettice to motor up to Essex with her for an overnight stay at ‘The Nest’ upon the conclusion of her concert series to see the room for herself, and perhaps get some ideas as to what and how she might paint it.

 

“So,” Sir John says as he sips his tea from one of Clemance’s gilded Art Nouveau patterned Royal Doulton cups. “You’re taking Sylvia’s commission on then, Lettice my dear.”

 

“I am, John.” Lettice agrees, sitting alongside her fiancée on the low backed and comfortable flounced floral chintz sofa.

 

“Oh hoorah!” Clemance exclaims from her own matching armchair opposite, clapping her hands in delight, the action startling the little canary in its cane cage on the pedestal table next to her, causing it to flutter from its perch and twitter loudly in fright. “Oh!” Clemance puts her hands to her mouth as she turns and looks at her little pet. “Oh I’m sorry Josette!” she says in an apologetic tone to the bird, who flutters back to its perch and utters a sharp and shrill cheep at her. “Poor dear creature.”

 

“Who?” Sir John asks. “Sylvia?”

 

“No, Nettie!” Clemance replies using Sir John’s pet name used only by Clemance and his closest friends from his younger days, picking up her own delicate teacup and turning her attentions back to her brother and his fiancée. “Not Sylvia. And don’t be obtuse.” She gives John a peevish look. “There’s nothing poor about Sylvia. No, I was referring to poor Josette.” She indicates with her bejewelled hand in a sweeping gesture to her bird. “I don’t think the poor little creature coped very well with the travel from Paris to London, and she is still trying to adjust to life in Holland Park. I’ve consulted my book of canaries and caged birds,” She pats a blue tooled leather volume with the image of three gilded canaries and the title pressed into the cover atop a stack of books next to the cage. “But all their suggestions on settling birds into new homes seem not to work. The only thing that does seem to work is when I play the piano: Chopin mostly. But for the most part since our arrival in London, Josette sounds so disgruntled.”

 

As if she knows she is being spoken of, the canary utters another angry tweet, causing Lettice and Sir John to glance at one another and share a conspiratorial smile.

 

“Perhaps you should play something for Josette now, Clemmie.” Sir John chuckles, his smile broadening, nodding to Clemance’s beautiful maple grand piano with its lid held open filling a corner of her spacious drawing room.

 

“We might enjoy that too, Clemance.” Lettice adds cheekily, her shoulders quivering with her own laughter.

 

“Oh you two!” Clemance says, flapping her hand at the pair on the sofa opposite her. “You’re as bad as each other, thinking I’m a mad old woman, fussing after my little bird!”

 

“Well, you must confess, Clemmie darling,” Sir John opines to his sister. “It is a little odd, fretting so much over a little thing like that.” He now nods to the chirping bird in the cage.

 

“The only thing odd is your lack of affection for animals, Nettie.” Clemance replies, groaning as she places her hands on the round arms of her chair and pushes herself up and out of the comfortable seat that over the years of owning it, has moulded to her shape. “But then again, you’ve never been an animal lover, have you Nettie darling?”

 

“I call that jolly unfair, Clemmie!” Sir John protests. “I loved the dogs we had when we were growing up.”

 

“Not as much as I did.” Clemance retorts, grasping the single strand of pearls draped down the front of her wisteria patterned crêpe de chine day frock. “You and Mother were always kicking them out of the way.”

 

“John!” Lettice exclaims, depositing her own teacup onto the low maple occasional table in front of her with a clatter and turning in her seat to look at her fiancée with startled eyes. “You didn’t?”

 

“Well, they got in the way.” Sir John defends himself. “They were always under foot. And to correct dear Clemmie’s memory of our childhood, which has become clouded and skewed with the passing decades, I didn’t kick them. Mother did, but I didn’t.”

 

“What would you call it then?” Clemance asks.

 

“I nudged them with my foot, and encouraged them to move, which they always did.”

 

“Well,” Lettice adds with determination. “I certainly hope you won’t be encouraging our dogs to move that way when we’re married.”

 

“Are we getting dogs, Lettice darling?” Sir John asks with arched eyebrows.

 

“Indeed we are!” Lettice replies with a steeliness in her voice. “A house is not a home without dogs.”

 

“Then why don’t you have a dog now, if you love them so slavishly?” Sir John queries, taking another slice of chocolate sponge from the cake plate on the table and depositing it onto his own plate. He looks to his fiancée. “More cake?”

 

“Err, no thank you, John darling.” Lettice shakes her head at the offer. “Anyway, Cavendish Mews is hardly the place for a dog, really, unless it was a small dog.” Lettice explains. “It’s too small, and dogs, even little ones, need space to run around,” She looks at Sir John pointedly. “So that they don’t get under foot. They need nature, and London is in short supply of that.”

 

“There are plenty of parks, Lettice,” Clemance says with an expansive wave that causes her draped sleeve to flutter prettily through the air before settling again. “You could take your dog to one of them.”

 

“Or one of the squares around Mayfair.” Sir John adds.

 

“No.” Lettice disagrees. “Those places are for dogs on leashes. No dog can roam around freely when at the end of a leash.”

 

“Rather like a bird in a cage.” Sir John looks at Clemance.

 

Josette tweets loudly again.

 

“I’ll have you know that Josette was free to fly throughout Harrison’s and my Paris apartment.” Clemance defends herself again.

 

“No doubt making a mess wherever it flew.” Sir John shudders at the thought of bird droppings being discovered around the room.

 

“She,” Clemance says pointedly. “Didn’t make a great deal of mess, any more than she does now.” She folds her arms akimbo in defiance and determination. “And once Josette is settled here, I will allow her out of her cage for a few hours each day, but not yet. She’s too flighty at the moment. She’s as likely to fly out of the nearest open window at present, given half the chance.” She looks indulgently at her canary, who chirps and twitters before pecking lightly at a little silver bell attached to one of the bars of the cage.

 

“You know larks don’t sing when in cages, don’t you Clemmie darling?” Sir John asks his sister, smiling cheekily.

 

Placing her hands on her hips and leaning forward over the table towards her elder brother, Clemance goes on, “My we are full of trivia today, Nettie darling.” She smiles, showing that she is not angry with her brother, and that the lively banter between the two of them is quite normal. “As it happens, I do know that little gem of a fact. Luckily, Josette isn’t a lark. She’s a canary.”

 

“Oh enough of that, you two.” Lettice interrupts. “Please play us something on the piano, Clemance.”

 

“Very well my dear Lettice,” Clemance agrees, moving around the embroidered footstool in front of her chair and gliding between the pedestal table used for Josette’s cage and the rounded arm of the sofa. “But I must warn you that I am no Sylvia Fordyce.”

 

“I’m not expecting such perfection from any mere mortal, dear Clemance.” Lettice assures her with a laugh.

 

Taking a seat on the stool at the piano, Clemance turns to her twittering canary and asks, “So, what shall it be, Josette: a Chopin Polonaise, Mazurka or Nocturn?” When the bird utters a louder chirp when she says the word Mazurka, Clemance continues. “Very good, Josette. A Mazurka it is.

 

As Clemance noisily ruffles through her well-worn sheet music on the piano’s music rack whilst Josette seems to chirp orders at her, Sir John turns back to Lettice. Depositing his plate of half-eaten slice of cake back onto the table he takes her delicate hands in his, enfolding them gently in his own smooth ones. The intimacy of the act still comes as a surprise to Lettice who jumps a little. When Sir John reacts by retracting a little, Lettice apologises to her fiancée for her jumpiness, claiming that she is still trying to get used to the idea of them being engaged. This seems to appease Sir John, and he smiles at Lettice with his blue eyes.

 

“You’ll get used to it soon enough, my dear.” Sir John assures Lettice.

 

“Will I?” Lettice asks, unable to keep an edge of anxiousness out of her voice.

 

“Of course you will, Lettice darling,” he replies. His smile develops a remorseful tinge. “In time.” He squeezes her hands. “You’ll see.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice agrees with a dismissive snort and a beaming smile. “Of course I will.”

 

“We are going to make a good partnership, Lettice: you and I.”

 

“Is that all, John?” Lettice asks, looking earnestly at Sir John.

 

“I’m a successful businessman, Lettice,” Sir John replies with a quizzical look. “And you a budding businesswoman in a world of men. What more do we need?”

 

Lettice remains silent for a moment, contemplating her fiancée’s statement before swallowing the lump in her throat and uttering awkwardly. “Love?”

 

“Now Lettice,” Sir John says seriously in a lowered tone, making sure that Clemance cannot overhear them as she scrambles through her sheets of music. “Love can be quite overrated.”

 

“But I…” Lettice begins.

 

Sir John releases Lettice’s hand and raises his right hand, placing a finger to her lightly painted lips as he shushes her. “I blame the obsession the general populace have with moving pictures now for the focus on love matches nowadays. Love can make things complicated. You saw this with how things ended with your young Spencely.”

 

“Or it can make you happy.” She falls silent for a moment before murmuring almost inaudibly, “I was happy with Selwyn.”

 

“My parents did well enough without it, your grandparents too, didn’t they Lettice? I warned you from the start that my… ahem.” Sir John clears his throat before continuing. “My desires in that regard are complex. You know this. Rest assured Lettice my dear, that I have the greatest of respect for you as a human being, and fondness too.”

 

“Is that all, John?” Lettice whispers.

 

“Perhaps love may come in time, but you cannot, and must not, expect it,” Sir John replies remorsefully. “For I cannot promise it you, Lettice. At the moment, that is reserved for the West End actress Paula Young, until some other little slip of a thing usurps her, and that will happen. Already she is getting cloying and tiresome, so I think it is time to jump ship. You won’t want to be like Paula, full of expectations that are unrealistic which get dashed along with her heart. You know what a broken heart feels like, don’t you? Settle for deep respect and fondness.”

 

“But I…” Lettice begins, but is silenced by her future sister-in-law.

 

“Here we are, Josette.” Clemance says from the piano. “You like this one, so I hope our guests do too.”

 

Clemance begins playing the opening bars of Chopin’s Mazurka, Op 17. No. 4.* The soft, gentle notes of the classical piece echoing from beneath the soundboard seem to echo Lettice’s feelings deep within her chest: a mixture of nervousness and a certain amount of sadness. Clemance’s fingers of both hands move gracefully across the keyboard, bringing the music to life, the tune evidently pleasing Josette as she trills happily from her cage, eyeing her mistress though dark beady eyes.

 

“So tell me, Lettice darling,” Sir John says brightly, adeptly changing the subject as he snatches his plate of half-eaten cake off the table again and settles back into the cosy comfort of the overstuffed Edwardian sofa. “What exactly is Sylvia’s commission?”

 

Lettice is surprised by how easily Sir John can change, from doting fiancée to cool businessman, from serious and intense to exuding good humour and bonhomie as he is now as he lounges back on the sofa eating chocolate sponge cake with cream and strawberries, exuding every confidence, and it makes her wonder who she is really marrying. Perhaps Sir John is right. Love can complicate things, but it seems that her fiancée is intricate and impenetrable enough as it is.

 

“Oh yes!” calls Clemance from the piano as she keeps playing. “Do tell us, Lettice darling. Knowing Sylvia, it’s sure to be something dynamic.”

 

Lettice clears her throat awkwardly as she retrieves her cup of tea from the table and cradles it in her hands. “Well,” she begins, adding a false, bright joviality to her voice as she speaks. “It’s really to undo some work by Syrie Maugham**.”

 

“Oh!” chortles Sir John. “That will set the cat amongst the pigeons***!”

 

“So typically Sylvia,” Clemance agrees with a laugh of her own.

 

“Sylvia always enjoyed being controversial, didn’t she Clemmie, even when you first met as young ladies?”

 

“For as long as I’ve known her, Nettie.”

 

“What is she having you do, Lettice darling?” Sir John asks, intrigued, his empty fork paused midway between his mouth and his lap.

 

“Well, she had Syrie Maugham decorate her drawing room at ‘The Nest’.” Lettice begins.

 

“Oh, that’s her little country retreat, isn’t it?” Clemance asks.

 

“Yes, it is.” Lettice concurs. “It’s in Essex, just outside of Belchamp St Paul****. I went to stay there so I could see the room for myself.”

 

“Lucky you, Lettice darling.” Clemance remarks. “I haven’t been invited yet.”

 

“Be fair, Clemmie darling, you’ve not been back in the country all that long,” Sir John defends Sylvia. “And it has only been a few weeks since Sylvia saw you. She said she’d invite you when she came back from her tour of the provinces that her agent has arranged for her.”

 

Clemance stops playing the piano and turns around on her stool to catch the eye of her brother. “That’s so typically you, Nettie darling!” She shakes her head, smiling indulgently.

 

“What have I said now?” Sir John asks, pleading innocence.

 

“You hear what you want to hear, not necessarily what is said, a trait you also picked up from Mother.” Clemance replies. “Sylvia said she’d look me up in the book*****, not invite me to ‘The Nest’! Truthfully, I don’t know anyone, other than you Lettice, who has been there and can vouch for its existence.” She turns back around and picks up where she left off playing, causing Josette to chirp happily in appreciation.

 

“So, what doesn’t Sylvia like about Mrs. Maugham’s designs, Lettice?” Sir John asks. “She would have paid a pretty penny****** for her services, and no doubt she will be doing the same with yours, or at least I hope she will.”

 

“She doesn’t appreciate Syrie Maugham’s over reliance on white, and,” Lettice sighs. “I must confess I understand why. The drawing room doesn’t seem to reflect Sylvia at all.”

 

“And what does she want you to do, Lettice?” Sir John asks again.

 

“To paint a feature wall for her, reflecting more of her personality and passion.”

 

“Oh hoorah!” Clemance says as the music comes to a gentle end which is softly applauded by both Lettice and Sir John. “I’m sure that will look wonderful!”

 

Clemance stands and steps away from the piano. Josette twitters cheerfully in her cage now and seems far more content. Clemance smiles at her pet. “That’s cheered you up, hasn’t it, Josette?” she asks. As if replying, the canary utters a peal of happy twittering notes. Turning to Sir John and Lettice, she goes on, “See, I told you my piano playing would make her less irritable.”

 

“Indeed you did!” her brother replies in mild surprise. “Proof that music hath charms to soothe the savage beast*******.”

 

“I’d hardly call a canary a ‘savage beast’, John.” Lettice opines.

 

“That’s because you’ve never been bitten by her sharp beak,” Sir John wags his fork at Lettice. ‘Like I have.”

 

“What are you going to paint on Sylvia’s walls, Lettice?” Clemance asks, resuming her seat in her comfortable floral armchair.

 

“I thought I might take inspiration from some wonderful pieces of blue and white china she has in the drawing room of ‘The Nest’.”

 

“I’m sensing a pattern here, Lettice darling.” Sir John remarks from his corner of the sofa. “After what you did for dear Adelinda.” He references the ‘Pagoda Room’, a small room in ‘Arkwright Bury’, the Wiltshire home of his and Clemance’s nephew, Alisdair Gifford and his Australian wife Adelinda. Sir John encouraged Lettice to take up the commission of his nephew and redecorate the room in Eighteenth century chinoiserie style to act as a backdrop for Adelinda’s collection of fine blue and white china: a commission that gained Lettice a favourable review in Country Life******** by Henry Tipping*********.

 

“Not at all, John.” Lettice replies with certainty. This is something very new and different. For Mr. Gifford…”

 

“Oh Alisdair, please!” Sir John retorts. “After all, you will be family once we are married.”

 

“Very well John, Alisdair’s redecoration, it was mimicking what had once hung on the walls. What Sylvia wants is something truly unique to her, and her alone. I thought I would take inspiration from some of Sylvia’s blue and white porcelain and paint a pattern of white on blue perhaps, rather than blue on white, with a gilded element.”

 

“That sounds rather exciting, and daring!” Clemance enthuses, sitting forward in her seat.

 

“That’s what Sylvia said.” Lettice agrees.

 

“What do you think you might paint for her then?” Sir John asks.

 

“At first I was going to paint something from the garden: flowers, or leaves perhaps,” Lettice explains. “Then I thought of feathers, which she really liked the idea of. I became more convinced after we had dinner that night that feathers are the right choice.”

 

“And why is that, Lettice darling?” Clemance asks.

 

“Well you see, Sylvia told me her story over dinner.” Lettice glances seriously, first at Sir John and then at Clemance. “Her whole story, which she says really only you two know.”

 

“So, she told you about her father and mother?” Clemance asks.

 

Lettice nods. “Yes, that her father died young, and that her mother couldn’t cope and needed to reach out to her brother, Ninian**********.”

 

“And what did she tell you about her time with her Uncle Ninian?” Clemance asks, her eyes wary as she looks at Lettice.

 

“She told me that he recognised in her what her mother also did, that she had the talent to be an accomplished pianist, but in order to do that, her mother needed Ninian’s money and connections.”

 

“Quite right, my dear.” Clemance nods. “It is through her Uncle Ninian that Sylvia and I met.”

 

“She told me the same story you did, that you were both staying at the von Nyssens, in Charlottenburg: you to be finished and she to attend the Universität der Künste***********.”

 

“And what did she tell you about when she came back to England after her period at the Universität der Künste came to an end?” Sir John asks quietly from his seat, his plate now discarded and all his attention upon his fiancée.

 

“Everything I think.” Lettice replies matter-of-factly. “That her Uncle Ninian basically held her captive, trying to recoup the money he invested in her by marrying her off to one of his wealthy friends. She told me that he was controlling of everything in her life, and that she wasn’t even allowed to see her mother again, except one last time on Primrose Hill************. That was one of the reasons why I decided that I would paint feathers for her on her wall.” Lettice’s voice lowers and saddens as she opines, “It seems to me that Sylvia was rather like a bird in a cage during that period of her life: on display and never granted her freedom, yet unlike a lark, she did have to sing, or rather perform and play the piano for all her would-be suitors.”

 

“That’s a very apt summation.” Clemance says sadly. “That was a hard time for Sylvia, and of course being sequestered as she was by her uncle, I had no idea what had happened to her.”

 

“But then she broke free, and managed to forge a life of her own,” Lettice adds more cheerfully. “And that is also why I want to paint feathers for her, as a symbol of the freedom she has now, and the heights to which she has risen in her career.”

 

“So, Sylvia told you about the Brigadier then.” Clemance says.

 

“Oh, she told me about Brigadier Piggott the night we met at the Royal Albert Hall*************, but whilst I was staying with her in Essex, she also told me about her first husband, Mr. Pembroke, the impresario, who turned out to be a wastrel and…” She pauses as she thinks how best to coin the fact that Sylvia disclosed her first husband’s homosexuality to her. “And other things.” she finally concludes. “And how he was a victim of foul play.”

 

“I see.” Sir John says dourly.

 

“So, she has told you everything, then.” Clemance concludes.

 

“I only think she entrusted me and took me into her confidence because I am marrying you, John.”

 

“Oh, I shouldn’t imagine that would be the only reason, Lettice darling,” Sir John replies, clearing his throat and sitting up in his seat, all the comfort and languor in his stance gone as he is reminded of the serious and sad business of Sylvia Fordyce’s life. “But it probably helped.”

 

“Sylvia is very good at keeping her own counsel, Lettice.” Clemance adds. “After those terrible few years with her Uncle Ninian, I think Sylvia is apt at managing everything about her life by herself. She neither needs to seek advice, nor share anything about her life with anyone else if she chooses not to. She is fiercely independent.”

 

“Thus, why I want to paint feathers for her, Clemance.”

 

“I think that Ninian also has a great deal to answer for Sylvia’s poor choice in men. I think being thrust in front of much older men as a jeune fille à marrier************** whom she didn’t love created a perverse sense of what a marriage was like for her, certainly if the Brigadier was anything to go by. We never met her first husband. He never came to any of Gladys’ parties where we reacquainted ourselves.”

 

“Oh!” Clemance gasps. “Oh thinking of marriages, and perhaps to not too subtly turn our attention and conversation away from the sad early life of Sylvia Fordyce, I have some magazines I’d like to give you to peruse, Lettice.” She gets up again with another groan. “It will help give you some ideas about what your trousseau*************** might look like: not that I don’t think you wouldn’t know, being the fashionable Bright Young Thing**************** you are, with friends like Gerald Bruton to dress you.” She sighs. “But food for thought. Have you spoken to your mother yet, about me helping you pick your trousseau, my dear?”

 

“Not yet, Clemance, but I doubt there will be any issues with her handing the reigns entirely over to you.” Lettice replies breezily. “Sadie hates London and only comes up here when she absolutely has to.”

 

Clemance takes the few steps across from her seat to Lettice. She places a hand lightly on Lettice’s shoulder. “Well, she might feel differently helping her youngest daughter to choose her trousseau. I know I would.” Her blue eyes suddenly become a little cloudy and lose their brightness as she speaks. “Best you ask her before you agree.”

 

Lettice sighs heavily. “Yes Clemance, I will, I promise, when I next go home to Glynes*****************.”

 

“Good girl.” Clemance squeezes Lettice’s shoulder and then wends her way between the furnishings of the drawing room and walks out the door.

 

In her cage, Josette flits about in desultory fashion, clinging first to one of the bars of her cage and then landing on the perch and winging, before flying up to peck at the silver bell. As she does, a single pale yellow feather falls from her tail. Blown by the wind created by Josette’s flight, the feather glides soundlessly out of the cage between the bars and lands on the tabletop, next to a round sterling silver box with a raised lid that Clemance uses for birdseed. As Josette lands on the floor of the cage, the feather is blown off the table and it drifts down, landing on the parquet floor of the drawing room.

 

Noticing it fall, Lettice puts her teacup aside and stands up before talking over to the table and dropping down to pick the feather up off the floor. She envelops it in her left hand as she stands up. She pauses before the cage’s bars and looks at Josette. The little canary seems to look back at her with her alert black eyes. She twitters and sings. “Hullo Josette.” Lettice says quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

 

Josette continues to fly about her cage, twittering and singing, whilst Lettice watches her antics, momentarily mesmerised.

 

“I do hope you don’t feel like her.” Sir John’s voice drifts into her consciousness.

 

“What?” Lettice asks distractedly, spinning around to face her fiancée, who has returned to his languorous stance, leaning back into the soft upholstery and nest of cushions of the sofa. His arms are draped over the left arm of the sofa and across its back. Once again, he exudes the confidence of male privilege that his sex, class and enormous wealth bestows with every languid breath, wearing it every bit as well as the smart and well-cut Jermyn Street****************** tweed suit he is dressed in.

 

“Like a bird in a cage.” Sir John replies with a confident smile. “I hope you don’t feel like a bird in a cage, like you feel that Sylvia did when she got married to Josiah Pembroke. This fine marriage of ours is going to benefit us both, albeit in different ways. I will still be able to enjoy my dalliances with Paula and her like, and you, my dear Lettice, will be afforded the luxury of independence that few women of our class can enjoy.”

 

*Mazurkas, Op. 17. is a set of four mazurkas for solo piano by Frédéric Chopin, composed in 1832–1833 and published in 1834.

 

**Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.

 

***If you put the cat among the pigeons or set the cat among the pigeons, you cause fierce argument or discussion by doing or saying something. The idiom comes from colonial India, where a popular pastime was to put a wild cat in a pen with pigeons. Bets would be made on how many birds the cat would bring down with one paw-swipe. The period of the British colonisation of India may have introduced this concept, and hence the phrase to the English language.

 

****Belchamp St Paul is a village and civil parish in the Braintree district of Essex, England. The village is five miles west of Sudbury, Suffolk, and 23 miles northeast of the county town, Chelmsford.

 

*****In the 1920s, being listed in “the book” meant being listed in the telephone directory.

 

******The origin of the idiom “a pretty penny” dates back to the Sixteenth Century. The word “pretty” in this context does not refer to beauty but rather to a considerable or substantial amount. This phrase is used to describe something that is expensive or costs a significant amount of money.

 

*******“Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.” is the famous line uttered by a character in William Congreve's 1697 play “The Mourning Bride”. The meaning for “Music soothe the savage breast” quote can be interpreted as chest or heart. That is likely what William was referring to when he wrote his playwright. Still, as time went by, people began to incorrectly use the quote in numerous instances. As it is today, the phrase is misquoted wrongly in many places. The literal meaning of the incorrect quote is in reference to the power of music. Whoever began to misquote the phrase, wanted to say that music has the power to soothe even the most savage beast in the world. In a way, even though the quote is incorrect, it does make some sense. That’s because breast – as it was used back then – referred to feelings, emotions and heart.

 

******** 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.

 

*********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.

 

**********Ninian is a Christian saint, first mentioned in the 8th century as being an early missionary among the Pictish peoples of what is now Scotland. Whilst the meaning of Ninian is uncertain, it may have links to the Irish and Scottish Gaelic word naomh, meaning “saint,” “holy,” or “sacred.”

 

***********The Universität der Künste, Berlin (Berlin College of Music) ranks as one of the largest educational music institutes in Europe, rich in content and quality. It dates back to the Royal (later State) Academy of Music, founded under the aegis of the violinist Joseph Joachim, a friend of Brahms, in 1869. From the date of its foundation under directors Joseph Joachim, Hermann Kretzschmar, Franz Schreker and Georg Schünemann, it has been one of the leading academies of music in the German-speaking countries. Composers such as Max Bruch, Engelbert Humperdinck and Paul Hindemith, performers such as Artur Schnabel, Wanda Landowska, Carl Flesch and Emanuel Feuermann, and academics such as Philipp Spitta, Curt Sachs, Erich Moritz von Hornbostel and Kurt Singer taught there. Prominent teachers later included the two directors Boris Blacher and Helmut Roloff, and the composer Dieter Schnebel.

 

************Like Regent's Park, the park area of Primrose Hill was once part of a great chase, appropriated by Henry VIII. Primrose Hill, with its clear rounded skyline, was purchased from Eton College in 1841 to extend the parkland available to the poor people of north London for open air recreation. At one time Primrose Hill was a place where duels were fought and prize-fights took place. The hill has always had a somewhat lively reputation, with Mother Shipton making threatening prophesies about what would happen if the city sprawl was allowed to encroach on its boundaries. At the top of the hill is one of the six protected viewpoints in London. The summit is almost sixty-three metres above sea level and the trees are kept low so as not to obscure the view. In winter, Hampstead can be seen to the north east. The summit features a York stone edging with a William Blake inscription, it reads: “I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill.”

 

*************The Royal Albert Hall is a concert hall on the northern edge of South Kensington in London, built in the style of an ancient amphitheatre. Since the hall's opening by Queen Victoria in 1871, the world's leading artists from many performance genres have appeared on its stage. It is the venue for the BBC Proms concerts, which have been held there every summer since 1941.

 

**************A jeune fille à marier was a marriageable young woman, the French term used in fashionable circles and the upper-classes of Edwardian society before the Second World War.

 

***************A trousseau refers to the wardrobe and belongings of a bride, including her wedding dress or similar clothing such as day and evening dresses.

 

****************The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.

 

*****************Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella.

 

******************Jermyn Street is a one-way street in the St James's area of the City of Westminster in London. It is to the south of, parallel, and adjacent to Piccadilly. Jermyn Street is known as a street for high end gentlemen's clothing retailers and bespoke tailors in the West End.

 

This upper-class drawing room may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of 1:12 miniature pieces from my extensive collection, including items from my old childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The copy of the “Book of Canaries and Caged Birds” on display here is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, although the book’s interiors are beautiful, so too is the cover, and I couldn’t resist displaying it for you to see. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. In this case, the “Book of Canaries and Caged Birds”, written by W.A. Blackston, W. Swayland and A.F. Wiener was published by Cassel in London in the 1880s with 56 full colour chromolithographs, which are replicated inside this volume in 1:12 scale. To produce something in such detail makes this a true artisan piece. The books directly behind the “Book of Canaries and Caged Birds” are also Ken Blythe’s work, but are of the type that are not designed to be opened. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The gilt Art Nouveau teacup in front of the book, featuring a copy of a Royal Doulton leaves pattern, comes from a larger tea set which has been hand decorated by beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The tiny silver container with its removable lid was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

The wicker cage with the bird on its perch I acquired through an online stockist on E-Bay.

 

The wooden pedestal table is made from beautiful golden walnut and is an unsigned artisan piece that I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

In the background you can see Clemance’s grand piano which I have had since I was about ten years of age. It is made from walnut. The footstool has several sheets of music on it which were made by Ken Blythe. The sofa in the background to the left of the photo is part of a Marie Antionette suite with pretty floral upholstery which has been made by the high-end miniatures manufacturer, Creal.

 

All the paintings around Clemance’s drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of late Victorian paper from the 1880s.

 

The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.

He want me to wear those clothes and pose for him. He is so gentleman

24 carat.

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 south-east of Cavendish Mews, past the British Museum with its classically colonnaded entrance, and beyond Sir Christopher Wren’s architectural masterpiece of St Pauls Cathedral, past Fish Street Hill and Pudding Lane, where the Great Fire of London started. Within sight of the towering monument to the Great Fire of London* with its golden orb atop its Doric column we find ourselves in the south-east corner of the City of London borough in Lower Thames Street near the Billingsgate Dock at the Old Billingsgate Fish Market**. Here we find Edith, Lettice’s maid, who has travelled here with her beau, shop grocer’s boy and sometimes window dresser for grocer Mr. Walter Willison in Binney Street, Mayfair on their Sunday afternoon off. Edith and Frank have been stepping out together for some time now, and hope to make their arrangement formal soon with an official engagement announcement, and they enjoy spending their Sundays off together. In this case, Edith is mixing business with pleasure. She and Frank have come to enjoy watching the hustle and bustle of the market and have some fresh seafood as a Sunday luncheon treat, but Edith also needs to buy some fresh oysters to serve as hors d'oeuvres for the dinner party Lettice is hosting this evening for a group of her Embassy Club coterie friends - fashion designer Gerald Bruton who lives in nearby Soho and married couple Dickie and Margot Channon who live just around the corner from Cavendish Mews in a flat on Hill Street.

 

Clutching her green leather purse and small wicker basket hooked over her left arm close to her, Edith tries to make herself as unobtrusive as possible to the constant barrage of foot traffic passing through the narrow aisle she stands on the edge of. Old Billingsgate Fish Market is a bustling centre of activity, even though the pre-dawn hours of the handling of fresh catches, and the presence of casual workers and porters has passed. The market is a hive of activity with workers unloading crates, merchants selling their goods, people seeking casual work and the hoteliers, restaurant owners, housewives and maids, like herself, of London buying fish for Sunday luncheon or dinner, or for a meal in the week ahead. Outside the old Victorian market with its ornate cast iron columns, the streets are choked with lorries and horse drawn carts loaded with full and empty crates stamped with different fishmonger names, whilst between them people move precariously in the squashed spaces, coming and going. The sound of blasting horns from impatient drivers, the whinny of horses, the chug of engines, the clop of horses’ hooves, the calls of workmen and the general chatter of people adds to the multi sonorous cacophony of merchants calling out their wares and customers talking, heavy booted footsteps, the slap of fish flesh being tossed about and the rustle of newsprint and butchers’ paper as parcels are wrapped up and handed over into eager hands. The smell of the fish is strong and permeates Edith’s nose, but she doesn’t mind, as fresh fish has always been a treat that she associates with Good Friday fish dinners*** at home with her parents in Harlesden in the north-west of London.

 

Edith moves and presses herself further back against the edge of a wooden counter belonging to a stallholder as a Billingsgate porter walks past wearing his wood and tarred leather bobbin**** atop his head, upon which he balances fourteen round wicker baskets. She looks agog at the towering pile of baskets, amazed at how casual and cheerful the porter seems as he stops in front of another porter who only has two boxes balanced on his head. The latter lights two cigarettes in his mouth, dropping the match onto the water slicked concrete floor where it is immediately extinguished, and then withdraws one cigarette and offers it to the other porter, who smiles gratefully and thanks him as he takes it, and they chat away casually beneath the cast iron girders of the fish market’s roof.

 

“You’re starting to look like the fish being sold here, Edith.” Frank’s familiar voice says light heartedly, slicing through the noisy clamour around Edith.

 

Frank appears before Edith from behind the bulk of rather pudgy fishmonger in a fish blood and gut stained white coverall dustcoat wearing rather incongruously, a rather smart sleek black felt trilby***** hat. In each hand Frank has a sturdy newspaper wrapped parcel.

 

“Don’t be rude, Frank Leadbetter!” Edith responds, releasing the pent-up breath she didn’t realise she had been holding as she waited for her beau to return to her side.

 

“Well I’m sorry, Edith,” Frank apologises. “But you do! A slack mouth and eyes agog makes you look very fish like.”

 

“Oh! Much obliged!” Edith says sarcastically, making a mock bob curtsey. Loosening her hands from where she has them tightly wrapped around her arms, she playfully slaps her sweetheart’s upper arm. “Thank you very much!”

 

“You know me, Edith. I speak plainly, and I speak as I find.” Frank says as he adjusts the parcel in his left hand.

 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t when it comes to how you perceive my look.” Edith remarks a little peevishly. “Especially if it is an unflattering one. My Mum always says that if you can’t say anything nice, then you are best to say nothing at all.” She nods seriously.

 

“Does that mean that when you ask me whether you look pretty in your latest homemade frock you plan to wear to the Hammersmith Palais******, I should say yes, you do?”

 

“Don’t be cheeky!” Edith slaps Frank playfully again before accepting one of the parcels from him, feeling the warmth of it against her palm through her ecru lace gloves. “And anyway,” she adds. “If I want an honest opinion about my looks, I’ll seek out Hilda, thank you very much.”

 

“For a favourable opinion, more like!” snorts Frank. “Hilda doesn’t know the first thing about fashion, or care, and you know it. She’s not the least bit interested in that stuff. The only reason why she even wears anything remotely fashionable is because you give it to her, or insist she buys it.”

 

“Hilda’s not that bad, Frank.”

 

Frank doesn’t answer, but gives her a doubtful look, followed by one of his endearing gormless grins as he starts to tear at the newspaper of his own parcel.

 

“You took your time,” Edith opines as she starts to tear at her own parcel. “That isn’t because you went and bought some jellied eels******* for us to eat, is it?”

 

“As if I’d put cold jellied eels in with hot chips!” Frank replies with incredulity, pulling back the last of the newspaper and holding out the pile of steaming hot golden chips in his palm for Edith to see. Before he can react, Edith reaches forward and like one of the many scavenging seagulls around the fish market and Billingsgate Dock, she snatches one of his chips between her right index finger and thumb. “Here!” Frank blasts. “Now who’s being cheeky?”

 

Edith sighs with satisfaction as she pops the chip into her mouth, lowering her lids with delight as she feels the hot mass of flavoursome potato and batter fill her senses as she chews it. Swallowing she says, ignoring her sweetheart’s remark, “That’s just as well then, because I keep telling you, the best jellied eels come out of the Whitechapel eel, pie and mash house******** in Petticoat Lane********.”

 

“Says you, Edith.” Frank retorts as he watches Edith with beady eyes as she opens her own parcel of hot chips wrapped in newspaper*********, looking for an opportunity to steal a steaming hot chip from her. “There I must disagree with you. The best jellied eels come from right here in the Old Billingsgate Fish Market.”

 

“Have you ever tried the eels at Mrs. Cooke’s**********, Frank?”

 

“No, but I don’t need to,” Frank says with a smirk, as he quickly snatches two chips from atop Edith’s pile. He hurriedly stuffs them into his mouth and gobbles them up greedily, smiling as Edith’s eyes grow wide in surprise before she gives him a forgiving smile that tells him that his sweetheart isn’t really cross with him for taking two of her chips. Swallowing hard with a loud gulp that makes his Adam’s apple bounce up his throat above the line of his stiffened shirt collar*********** and tie, he goes on, “Because the jellied eels here are the best.” He looks at her defiantly. “Have you ever had jellied eels from here, Edith?”

 

“Well no,” Edith answers. Her look becomes defiant as she parrots Frank. “But then again, I don’t need to, since Mrs. Cooke’s jellied eels are the best. We should go there some time.”

 

“I’d rather save my pennies and take you for a proper, slap-up, meal at my chum Giuseppe’s little Italian restaurant up the Islington in Little Italy************, Edith.”

 

“So you said, that first afternoon I introduced you to my Mum and Dad,” remarks Edith as she picks up another hot chip daintily between her thumb and forefinger. “And subsequently, but you’ve yet to take me.”

 

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that,” Frank replies as he takes up three of his own chips with the fingers of his right hand. “And soon.”

 

“I’d like that Frank.” Edith opines with a smile.

 

The pair chuckle good naturedly and much away on their hot chips for a moment in companionable silence whilst around them the hustle and bustle of the fish market continues. “Watch out lad!” a serious voice booms behind Frank, startling him and making him jump. Stepping aside he lets a burly looking porter in a grubby ochre coloured dustcoat with short sleeves over the top of a navy woollen cable knit jumper ease past. The porter pushes a trolley loaded up with long wooden crates stencilled ‘Fleetwood Fish Merchants Association’************* in black lettering stamped crudely against the roughly planed planks of wood making up each box. He is closely followed by a much thinner, more nervous and better dressed older gentleman with a wrinkled face, dressed in a suit and bowler hat, with a silver fob chain************** hanging heavily from his black waistcoat. “There’s a cart waiting outside on Lower Thames Street.” The older man directs with a waving finger that the porter cannot see behind his broad back. As he passes, Frank thinks that with his nose in the air and a superior look on his face, the better dressed man has the appearance and stance of a butler or manservant of some kind. “Be careful with those!” the older man mutters irritably. “They are going to be served at Her Ladyship’s dinner tonight.” Frank nods at Edith with a knowing wink, understanding that she has thought the same of the older man as she sums him up as he passes. “I’m sure ‘er laydeeship and ‘er guests won’t taste no diff’rence wiv these fish once they’ve been fried up good n’ proper, whevva they’s been jostled ‘bout a bit or not.” the porter replies in his Cockney accent with a mirth filled chuckle. “Insolent man!” the toffee nosed butler mutters indignantly in reply. Edith and Frank chuckle again.

 

“So,” Edith says, returning to their earlier topic of conversation. “Where were you then, if you weren’t fetching me the famously good, but not as good as Mrs. Cooke’s, Old Billingsgate Fish Market jellied eels, then Frank?”

 

“What?” Frank asks before looking down and stuffing another claw full of greasy chips into his mouth.

 

“Where were you, Frank?” Edith reiterates, indicating at Frank with the chip she has just picked up.

 

“Gosh! Look at that one then!” Frank mutters through a mouth of half chewed hot potato and batter as he points to another porter in the middle distance who is parting the milling crowd of customers as he walks with four crates atop his bobbin. “How they don’t get a headache carrying those boxes on their heads, I’ll never know! My head’s sore just looking at him. Don’t you agree, Edith?”

 

Edith gives her beau a peculiar look. “You’re being remarkably mysterious, Frank.” Her brow crumples. “Are you doing it on purpose?”

 

“I’m not being mysterious!” Frank says with a disbelieving laugh.

 

“Then stop changing the subject. Where were you?” Edith persists.

 

Frank sighs. “Haven’t you ever heard of a queue before, Edith?” he answers.

 

“Yes, but there is a fish and chippery just over there,” Edith points through the sea of moving people around them to a stallholder selling hot chips and battered fish packaged up in newspaper to the milling crowd. “And you were gone a lot longer than it took for people to get served over there, Frank. And people were queuing.” She takes the chip and slips it into her own mouth, chewing it as she looks expectantly at Frank, awaiting an explanation.

 

“Well, these aren’t just any old chips you know.”

 

Edith pulls a doubtful face, her pretty face screwing up dubiously. “Surely you aren’t going to tell me that these hot chips are better than any others served by any of the other fish and chippery stalls here?”

 

“Now you know that some hot chips are better than others, Edith,” Frank continues, shaking his head. “And he’s the best there is in the Old Billingsgate Fish Market. Says it’s his batter that makes all the difference.” He taps his nose knowingly. “Trust me.”

 

“Well, they are good,” Edith agrees. “But I still don’t believe you, Frank Leadbetter, and,” she adds. “I still think that you are being mysterious, and are up to something.”

 

“I’m not up to anything, Edith!”

 

“I hope you aren’t thinking of proposing to me here in the middle of the busy fish market!”

 

Frank coughs and splutters, spitting out a few pieces of partially masticated chip pulp, which flies through the air, before handing a short distance away on the ground where it is promptly squashed unknowingly onto the wet concrete floor by the old fashioned pre-war Edwardian boot of an older looking housewife in a black three quarter length coat and matching cloche hat with a steely look of determination on her face as she trudges forth with her wicker basket in the crook of her arm. He muffles his barrage of coughs with the back of his right hand, before delving into his trouser pocket and withdrawing a crumpled white handkerchief.

 

Whilst he recovers his breath, Edith remarks with a smile, “Well, I’ll take that as a no, then.”

 

“Are you so desperate… to marry me… Edith Watsford,” Frank huffs as he tries to answer his sweetheart whilst still catching his breath and swallowing gulps of fishy air. “That you’d have… have me propose to you in a busy fish market?” When Edith giggles, he goes on, “I wouldn’t call Old Billingsgate the most romantic of rendezvous to propose marriage in, even if there would be a gawking crowd of onlookers if I bent down on one knee and proposed to you here and now.”

 

Edith chuckles again. “I suppose you’re right, Frank. And, I wouldn’t want you to propose to me here.”

 

“Well, I’m glad we have that point settled then.” Frank sighs with a nod.

 

“Just imagine the stories we’d tell the children on our anniversary when they ask where you proposed, Frank!” Edith chuckles. “Oh, your dad proposed to me in the middle of the Old Billingsgate Fish Market. It was the most romantic moment of my life!”

 

Frank chuckles. “I imagine that!”

 

“But you still haven’t told me why you took so long to come back with the chips, Frank.”

 

“But I have, Edith!” Frank says with exasperation. “I told you, it was the queues. Sidney had the best fish and chips to be had in Old Billingsgate. You have to be patient.”

 

Edith eats another two chips as her greatly reduce pile disappears. “You’re a terrible liar, Frank.”

 

Frank sighs in vexation as he finishes the last of his chips and bunches the greasy paper together in a ball in his hands. “How do you know I’m not telling the truth?”

 

Edith chuckles. “That’s my secret, Frank.”

 

“That’s jolly unfair, Edith!” Frank bemoans, looking imploringly at Edith with large, doleful blue eyes.

 

“Oh alright! I’ll tell you, Frank.” Edith accedes.

 

“Jolly good Edith.”

 

“But I’m not giving away all my secrets.” she adds. “I need to have some advantages as your future wife.”

 

“How?” Frank persists. “How do you know that I’m lying? Tell me!”

 

“We’ve been stepping out together for quite some time now, dear Frank.” Edith says kindly. “So, I’ve had plenty of time to observe you. When you don’t want to tell the truth, you have a habit of pretending you haven’t heard what was said, and trying to change the subject too quickly.” She shakes her head and smiles. “Besides, you won’t look me in the eye when you are telling a lie.”

 

Frank huffs. “Oh alright! Alright! I just ran into a friend when I went to buy us hot chips.” He looks Edith squarely in the eyes with an earnest look as he speaks. “We were chatting.”

 

“That’s better!” Edith smiles. “Now I know you are telling me the truth. What friend?”

 

“Well, he’s one of the chaps who lodges at my boarding house, actually. John Simpkin. But he’s a friend too.”

 

“What, here?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well that just shows you, doesn’t it?”

 

“Shows me what, Edith?”

 

“How even in a large city like London, you can still bump into friends in the most unlikely of places.”

 

Frank holds out his hand as Edith finishes the last of her hot chips. He screws up her newspaper into a ball as she hands it to him. He walks to a nearby dustbin and drops both his and her used greasy papers into it before wandering back over to her.

 

“Well, shall we go and get your Miss Lettice her dozen oysters for tonight’s dinner, then?”

 

“Yes!” Edith says, taking her beau’s proffered arm, with a smile. “I’d like that, Mr. Leadbetter. Do you know who sells the best oysters here by chance?”

 

“Right this way, Miss Watsford.” Frank replies, as slowly the pair of sweethearts meld into the slowly moving crowd, jostling for space beneath the cast iron girders of the Old Billingsgate Fish Market.

 

*The Monument to the Great Fire of London, more commonly known simply as the Monument, is a fluted Doric column, situated near the northern end of London Bridge. Commemorating the Great Fire of London, it stands at the junction of Monument Street and Fish Street Hill, two hundred and two feet in height and two hundred and two feet west of the spot in Pudding Lane where the Great Fire started on the 2nd of September 1666. Constructed between 1671 and 1677, it was built on the site of St Margaret, New Fish Street, the first church to be destroyed by the Great Fire. Another monument, the Golden Boy of Pye Corner, marks the point near Smithfield where the fire was stopped. The Monument comprises a Doric column built of Portland stone topped with a gilded urn of fire. It was designed by Robert Hooke. Its height marks its distance from the site of the shop of Thomas Farriner (or Farynor), the king's baker, where the blaze began. The viewing platform near the top of the Monument is reached by a narrow winding staircase of three hundred and eleven steps. A mesh cage was added in the mid Nineteenth Century to prevent people jumping to the ground, after six people died by suicide there between 1788 and 1842.

 

**In the 1920s when this story is set, the Old Billingsgate Fish Market was located on Lower Thames Street in the City of London, near the River Thames. It was a bustling riverside market, famous for being the largest fish market in the United Kingdom. The market was housed in a Victorian building that had been constructed in 1876. The first Billingsgate Market building was constructed on Lower Thames Street in 1850 by the builder John Jay, and the fish market was moved off the streets into its new riverside building. This was demolished in around 1873 and replaced by an arcaded market hall designed by City architect Horace Jones and built by John Mowlem and Co., and even though it was a new building, it was still known as the “Old Billingsgate Fish Market”. The building still stands on the site today although it no longer houses a market. In 1982, the fish market itself was relocated to a new site on the Isle of Dogs in the East End. The 1875 building was then refurbished by architect Richard Rogers, originally to provide office accommodation. Now used as an events venue, it remains a major London landmark.

 

***Eating fish on Good Friday is a tradition rooted in religious customs, specifically within Christianity. Many Christians abstain from eating meat on Good Friday, which is the day they commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, and fish is often consumed as an alternative. This practice stems from the idea that fish are cold-blooded and therefore distinct from the "flesh" of warm-blooded animals, making them acceptable to eat during periods of abstinence from meat.

 

****Billingsgate fish porters used specially designed hats, often referred to as "bobbins," to help them balance baskets and boxes on their heads. These hats, typically made from wood and tarred leather, featured a flat, hardened top that provided a stable platform for the cargo. This design allowed porters to carry large, rectangular boxes or stacks of round baskets of fish with relative ease and efficiency.

 

*****The trilby hat was invented in 1895, during the stage adaptation of George du Maurier's novel "Trilby". The hat gained popularity as a fashion item after the play's debut in London, and was named after the novel's main character.

 

******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.

 

*******Jellied eels is a traditional English dish that originated in the Eighteenth Century, primarily in the East End of London. The dish consists of chopped eels boiled in a spiced stock that is allowed to cool and set, forming a jelly. It is usually served cold. Eels were historically a cheap, nutritious and readily available food source for the people of London; European eels were once so common in the Thames that nets were set as far upriver as London itself, and eels became a staple for London's poor.

 

********The earliest known eel, pie and mash houses opened in London in the Eighteenth Century, and the oldest surviving shop, M.Manze in Peckham, has been open since 1902. At the end of the Second World War, there were around one hundred eel, pie and mash houses in London. In 1995, there were 87. In the present day, there are relatively few eel, pie and mash shops left as Londoners’ tastes change, although jellied eels are sold in some of London’s delicatessens and supermarkets for those who fancy the experience of jellied eels at home.

 

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

 

*********Fish and chips were traditionally wrapped in newspaper as a way to keep them warm and absorb excess grease, while also being a readily available and inexpensive packaging material. However, this practice is now largely discontinued due to hygiene concerns, with the potential for ink from the newspaper to leach into the food.

 

**********F. Cooke is a well-known name in London's pie and mash scene, with a history rooted in East London. While there isn't a specific F. Cooke shop currently in Whitechapel, their history is closely tied to the area and they are one of the oldest pie and mash establishments, originally founded in East London. F. Cooke's has a strong reputation for traditional pie and mash, including eel pies, and is known for its family-run business and classic recipes.

 

***********Removable or detachable collars were shirt collars designed to be separate from the shirt itself and fastened with studs or other mechanisms. They were popular in the Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries, primarily among men who wore white shirts as part of their business or formal attire.

 

************The Italian quarter of London, known commonly today as “Little Italy” is an Italian ethnic enclave in London. Little Italy’s core historical borders are usually placed at Clerkenwell Road, Farringdon Road and Rosebery Avenue - the Saffron Hill area of Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell spans Camden Borough and Islington Borough. Saffron Hill and St. Peter’s Italian Catholic Church fall within the Camden side. However, even though this was the traditional enclave for Italians, immigrants moved elsewhere in London, bleeding into areas like Islington and Soho where they established bars, cafes and restaurants which sold Italian cuisine and wines.

 

*************The Fleetwood Fish Merchants Association (FFMA) is a group in Fleetwood, the fishing town in Lancashire, focused on the fish and seafood processing industry. Established in the late Nineteenth Century, the Fleetwood Fish Merchants Association helps to represent the community of smaller fisheries and fishermen in and around Fleetwood, helping to supply fresh fish to Londoners.

 

**************A fob chain, also known as an Albert chain, is a decorative chain, originally designed for pocket watches, that typically features a T-bar or dog clip on one end to attach to the watch and often includes a fob (ornament or charm) on the other end.

 

This may look like a corner of the busy Old Billingsgate Market to you, with its wooden crates and pallets of fish, but the truth is that this scene is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for un this tableau include:

 

The pallet of fish on ice in the centre of the image comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The fish and all the ice is completely removable, and if you have noticed ice cubes inside some of the wine and champagne coolers in some of my past images from this series, I can tell you that the same ice cubes have been used.

 

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. Edith’s small wicker basket is another miniature from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.

 

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 boxes you see around the fish stall came from a specialist stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay. They have been aged and weathered on purpose.

 

The leaves of lettuce sticking out of the top box on the left 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.

 

The brick wall at the back is 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 advertising posters stuck on the brick wall are all 1:12 size replicas of real advertisements for Rinso, Gold Flake cigarettes, Hartley’s Table Jellies, Hovis Bread and Bisto Gravy from the 1920s. They have been printed with quality and high attention to detail on thick card. I acquired them all from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Rinso, was a brand of laundry soap and detergent, which was first introduced in the early Twentieth Century by the chemist Robert Spear Hudson (who also invented Hudson’s Soap). In 1908, Lever Brothers acquired R.S. Hudson, including the Rinso brand. Lever Brothers introduced Rinso to the United States in 1918, marking it as one of the first mass-marketed soap powders. Rinso gaining popularity as a replacement for bar soap. Rinso gained popularity for its effectiveness in cleaning clothes and was widely advertised, even sponsoring popular radio programs. While initially successful, Rinso eventually faced declining sales due to competition from newer detergents like Tide in the 1950s. In the mid-1960s, Rinso was rebranded as "Sunshine Rinso" but sales did not improve. By the mid-1970s, Rinso was removed from store shelves, though Rinso Blue, a liquid detergent, remained available in the US until the late 1980s.

 

W.D. and H.O. Wills, a prominent tobacco company, introduced Gold Flake cigarettes around 1901. The brand became known for its marketing tactics, including the use of cigarette cards to encourage collectability and brand loyalty. At this time, the dangers of smoking were not yet widely known, and cigarette companies were able to advertise and promote their products freely. Over time, Gold Flake adapted its marketing and messaging. While maintaining its association with high quality and a premium feel, the brand expanded its target audience to include youth and lower socioeconomic classes. The messaging also evolved from emphasizing a "gracious" lifestyle to celebrating life experiences. ITC Limited launched the Gold Flake brand in India in the 1970s. The brand was initially positioned as a premium cigarette, targeting the affluent adult male segment of the population. It was associated with a lifestyle of respectability and aspiration. Gold Flake remains a widely sold cigarette brand in India, available in various forms like plain, filtered, and lights. The brand's history reflects the changing landscape of the tobacco industry, including evolving marketing strategies and growing awareness of the health risks associated with smoking.

 

Hartley's is a British brand of marmalades, jams and jellies. Hartley's products are manufactured at Histon, Cambridgeshire. Hartley's was a grocers founded by the entrepreneur Sir William Pickles Hartley in Colne which is now in the borough of Pendle, Lancashire. In 1871, a supplier failed to deliver a consignment of jam, so William made his own and packaged it in his own design earthenware pots. It sold well, and in 1874, the business moved to Bootle, near Liverpool, and marmalade and jelly was also produced. In 1884, the business was incorporated as William Hartley & Sons Limited and in 1886, it moved to Aintree, Liverpool where a new factory was built. Two years after the new factory had been opened in Aintree, Hartley constructed a purpose built village for the key employees in his company. The village was designed by Leek based father and son architects William Sugden and William Larner Sugden after they had won an architectural competition. The village had a total of forty nine houses, which surrounded a central bowling green, and later expansion took the total number of houses to seventy one. Within the village, all of the streets were named after ingredients in jam, including Sugar Street, Red Currant Court and Cherry Row. A second factory in Bermondsey, South London opened in 1901, supplied with pots and jars in its early decades from a facility in Rutherglen, Scotland acquired in 1898. With production having moved to Cambridgeshire in the 1960s, the Bermondsey factory was later converted into luxury apartments in 2003. The Hartley Village in Aintree was made a conservation area in 2011. In 2020, Hartley's No Added Sugar Apple Jelly Pot won the Lausanne Index Prize - Bronze Award.

 

Hovis Ltd is a British company that produces flour, yeast and bread. Founded in Stoke-on-Trent, it began mass-production in Macclesfield in 1886. The Hovis process was patented on the 6th of October 1887 by Richard "Stoney" Smith, and S. Fitton and Sons Ltd developed the brand, milling the flour and selling it along with Hovis-branded baking tins to other bakers. The name was coined in 1890 by London student Herbert Grime in a national competition set by S. Fitton and Sons Ltd to find a trading name for their patent flour which was rich in wheat germ. Grime won twenty-five pounds when he coined the word from the Latin phrase hominis vis, "the strength of man". The company became the Hovis Bread Flour Company Limited in 1898. When the abundance of certain B vitamins in wheatgerm was reported in 1924, Hovis increased in popularity.

 

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.

Letter on reverse (below) generously translated by xiphophilos: authored sometime around 16.9.1917 and addressed to a Herr Ernst Sutter in Höllstein (Baden). Briefstempel: Landsturm-Infanterie-Bataillon Bruchsal, 4. Kompagnie. Postage cancelled: Deutsche Feldpost, 16.6.17. Photogr. Herman Weber, Berlin N.

 

Assaulters from 1. Landsturm Infanterie Bataillon 'Bruchsal' (XIV. 3), possibly at the completion of a course or equipment issue - those helmets and bandoliers are pristine.

 

By this late stage of the war the British and French were fielding tanks in increasing numbers and the Germans had developed tactics to penetrate enemy lines using specially trained and equipped assault troops. Even the old Landsturm soldiers were now expected to "do their bit".

 

______________________________________________

Notes:

 

Mobil ab 21.8.1914. (4. Armee, 1917 der 30. b. Res.Div. zugeteilt, General-Gouvernement Belgien, Armee-Abtlg B, Armee-Abtlg. A, Brigade v. Sprösser der 6. b. L.Div., 19. Armee).

The Salvation Army Band were playing in Queen Street Cardiff, and they had the collection tins out.

 

The collectors were not hassling people to give money, but just stood around the band allowing members of the public to go to them to donate.

 

What a refreshing change in today's age.

Letter on reverse (below) generously translated by xiphophilos: authored on 25.6.1916 in Iseghem Belgium.

 

Pleasingly, Kraftradfahrer Max Eichler wears the elusive motorcyclist's badge on his collar. Similar to the Kraftfahrer badge, photographic examples of these yellow metal badges are quite scarce.

 

Motorcycles were generally used to deliver dispatches and messages between headquarters and were more often than not, restricted to rear echelon operations.

 

_____________________________________________

Notes:

 

Vorschrift: Nr.636

 

Seine Majestät der Kaiser und König haben zu bestimmen geruht, da0 die Kraftradfahrer die Uniformen der Kraftfahrtruppen tragen. Zur Unterscheidung von diesen führen sie auf dem schwarzen Spiegel der Lederröcke an Stelle des Kraftwagenabzeichen ein Kraftrad nach der Allerhöchst genehmigten Probe. Die Inspektion des Kraftfahrtwesens hat das Weitere zu veranlassen.

 

Berlin, den 13.August 1915

Kriegsministerium

In Vertretung v. Wandel

Lumbini | Nepal

Nicole Eisenman’s new sculpture, ‘Love or Generosity’, has jbeen installed outside the New Amsterdam Courthouse. Gender-fluid, and featureless save for a bulbous nose, with mussed hair and chubby hands,this one is a real giant, , about 5 metres high, and it seems taller because of the implied height of its bent posture; at full height it would be twice that size. The formal choice of the bent posture is ingenious, and allows the figure to serve as an intermediary between the large scale of the 10-storey courthouse and the much smaller, human scale. The height of the building is gestured to in the giant’s latent height, while its attention, and therefore ours, is directed to its palm, which, full of intriguing objects, is at our eye level. (humourinthearts.com/2021/05/07/nicole-eisenmans-love-or-g...)

Letter generously translated by xiphophilos; penned sometime around 4.5.1915 and addressed to the author's parents (Jakob Scheidt, Seilermeister [master rope maker] in Hofkirchen). Postage cancelled in München the same date.

 

A trio of Bavarian Landsturmmänner (or Landwehrmänner) conveniently wearing three different kinds Wachstuchmützen worn by this fourth-tier formation. Links nach rechts;

 

Wachstuchmütze M.1914; Wachstuchmütze M.1913; one of the aforementioned Wachstuchmützen covered by a stone-grey coloured cover.

Inspired by the generous and lovely Dirty Adored of BottleBird, this wonderful flower halter top from G.Field and the colour purple

Hair: [e] Elikatira

Skin: Curio- Pout

Eyes: Fashism

Tattoo: Para Designs

 

The Lotus Flower Philosophy

 

A lotus

The sacred gem of compassion

Floats serenely

On a shimmering lake

The soft petals

Awaken

Bathing in the light

Of a gleaming gold sunset

Caressed by the breeze

As it chants

With such eloquence

Yet so silent

Charming the depths of our souls

With its purity

Intoxicating our spirits

With its charm

Mesmerising our thoughts

With its tranquility

So alluring

Yet so untouchable

One of nature’s delicacies

Like the birth of a child

Like a mother’s love

Like friendship

A beauty

That cannot be described

But felt

In the depth of our souls

Where our hearts lay exposed

Craving the companionship

Of love

And compassion

This graceful lotus flower

Whose seed being the stagnant water

Sprouted radiantly through

The muddiest floors

With a pristine bloom

Teaching us

To never adhere ourselves

To the dirt in life

But to grow and progress

To the most important destination

And shine through

To the peaceful paradise

Just like a lotus

For it travels through

“The primeval mud of materialism

Through the waters of experience

And into the bright sunshine of enlightenment”

Revitalised

Despite the obstacles in its path

For life is a journey

Where every moment

Is a step closer to your purpose

And every experience

Is a source of wisdom

So live and let live.

 

The Lotus Flower Philosophy by ~tas-poetryy

A beautiful poem found by chance at my first search- it seemed to find me and asked to be included

 

Radiohead- Lotus Flower

I am continuing my whole My Little Pony looks

 

tragiclystyled.com/2013/02/04/spirit-of-generosity/

 

Hope you enjoy

  

+++ DISCLAIMER +++

Nothing you see here is real, even though the conversion or the presented background story might be based on historical facts. BEWARE!

  

Some background:

The Lockheed P-80 Shooting Star was the first jet fighter used operationally by the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) during World War II. Designed and built by Lockheed in 1943 and delivered just 143 days from the start of design, production models were flying, and two pre-production models did see very limited service in Italy just before the end of World War II. The XP-80 had a conventional all-metal airframe, with a slim low wing and tricycle landing gear. Like most early jets designed during World War II—and before the Allies captured German research data that confirmed the speed advantages of swept-wings—the XP-80 had straight wings similar to previous propeller-driven fighters, but they were relatively thin to minimize drag at high speed.

 

The Shooting Star began to enter service in late 1944 with 12 pre-production YP-80As. Four were sent to Europe for operational testing (demonstration, familiarization, and possible interception roles), two to England and two to the 1st Fighter Group at Lesina Airfield, Italy. Because of delays in delivery of production aircraft, the Shooting Star saw no actual combat during the conflict. The initial production order was for 344 P-80As after USAAF acceptance in February 1945. A total of 83 P-80s had been delivered by the end of July 1945 and 45 assigned to the 412th Fighter Group (later redesignated the 1st Fighter Group) at Muroc Army Air Field. Production continued after the war, although wartime plans for 5,000 were quickly reduced to 2,000 at a little under $100,000 each. A total of 1,714 single-seat F-80A, F-80B, F-80C, and RF-80s were manufactured by the end of production in 1950, of which 927 were F-80Cs (including 129 operational F-80As upgraded to F-80C-11-LO standards). However, the two-seat TF-80C, first flown on 22 March 1948, became the basis for the T-33 trainer, of which 6,557 were produced.

 

Shooting Stars first saw combat service in the Korean War, and were among the first aircraft to be involved in jet-versus-jet combat. Despite initial claims of success, the speed of the straight-wing F-80s was inferior to the 668 mph (1075 km/h) swept-wing transonic MiG-15. The MiGs incorporated German research showing that swept wings delayed the onset of compressibility problems, and enabled speeds closer to the speed of sound. F-80s were soon replaced in the air superiority role by the North American F-86 Sabre, which had been delayed to also incorporate swept wings into an improved straight-winged naval FJ-1 Fury.

 

This prompted Lockheed to improve the F-80 to keep the design competitive, and the result became the F-80E, which was almost a completely different aircraft, despite similar outlines. Lockheed attempted to change as little of the original airframe as possible while the F-80E incorporated two major technical innovation of its time. The most obvious change was the introduction of swept wings for higher speed. After the engineers obtained German swept-wing research data, Lockheed gave the F-80E a 25° sweep, with automatically locking leading edge slots, interconnected with the flaps for lateral stability during take-off and landing, and the wings’ profile was totally new, too. The limited sweep was a compromise, because a 35° sweep had originally been intended, but the plan to retain the F-80’s fuselage and wing attachment points would have resulted in massive center of gravity and mechanical problems. However, wind tunnel tests quickly revealed that even this compromise would not be enough to ensure stable flight esp. at low speed, and that the modified aircraft would lack directional stability. The swept-wing aircraft’s design had to be modified further.

 

A convenient solution came in the form of the F-80’s trainer version fuselage, the T-33, which had been lengthened by slightly more than 3 feet (1 m) for a second seat, instrumentation, and flight controls, under a longer canopy. Thanks to the extended front fuselage, the T-33’s wing attachment points could accept the new 25° wings without much further modifications, and balance was restored to acceptable limits. For the fighter aircraft, the T-33’s second seat was omitted and replaced with an additional fuel cell. The pressurized front cockpit was retained, together with the F-80’s bubble canopy and out fitted with an ejection seat.

 

The other innovation was the introduction of reheat for the engine. The earlier F-80 fighters were powered by centrifugal compressor turbojets, the F-80C had already incorporated water injection to boost the rather anemic powerplant during the start phase and in combat. The F-80E introduced a modified engine with a very simple afterburner chamber, designated J33-A-39. It was a further advanced variant of the J33-A-33 for the contemporary F-94 interceptor with water-alcohol injection and afterburner. For the F-80E with less gross weight, the water-alcohol injection system was omitted so save weight and simplify the system, and the afterburner was optimized for quicker response. Outwardly, the different engine required a modified, wider tail section, which also slightly extended the F-80’s tail.

 

The F-80E’s armament was changed, too. Experience from the Korean War had shown that the American aircrafts’ traditional 0.5” machine guns were reliable, but they lacked firepower, esp. against bigger targets like bombers, and even fighter aircraft like the MiG-15 had literally to be drenched with rounds to cause significant damage. On the other side, a few 23 mmm rounds or just a single hit with an explosive 37 mm shell from a MiG could take a bomber down. Therefore, the F-80’s six machine guns in the nose were replaced with four belt-fed 20mm M24 cannon. This was a license-built variant of the gas-operated Hispano-Suiza HS.404 with the addition of electrical cocking, allowing the gun to re-cock over a lightly struck round. It offered a rate of fire of 700-750 rounds/min and a muzzle velocity of 840 m/s (2,800 ft/s).In the F-80E each weapon was provided with 190 rounds.

 

Despite the swept wings Lockheed retained the wingtip tanks, similar to Lockheed’s recently developed XF-90 penetration fighter prototype. They had a different, more streamlined shape now, to reduce drag and minimize the risk of torsion problems with the outer wing sections and held 225 US gal (187 imp gal; 850 l) each. Even though the F-80E was conceived as a daytime fighter, hardpoints under the wings allowed the carriage of up to 2.000 lb of external ordnance, so that the aircraft could, like the straight-wing F-80s before, carry out attack missions. A reinforced pair of plumbed main hardpoints, just outside of the landing gear wells, allowed to carry another pair of drop tanks for extra range or single bombs of up to 1.000 lb (454 kg) caliber. A smaller, optional pair of pylons was intended to carry pods with nineteen “Mighty Mouse” 2.75 inches (70 mm) unguided folding-fin air-to-air rockets, and further hardpoints under the outer wings allowed eight 5” HVAR unguided air-to-ground rockets to be carried, too. Total external payload (including the wing tip tanks) was 4,800 lb (roughly 2,200 kg) of payload

 

The first XP-80E prototype flew in December 1953 – too late to take part in the Korean War, but Lockheed kept the aircraft’s development running as the benefits of swept wings were clearly visible. The USAF, however, did not show much interest in the new aircraft since the proven F-86 Sabre was readily available and focus more and more shifted to radar-equipped all-weather interceptors armed with guided missiles. However, military support programs for the newly founded NATO, esp. in Europe, stoked the demand for jet fighters, so that the F-80E was earmarked for export to friendly countries with air forces that had still to develop their capabilities after WWII. One of these was Germany; after World War II, German aviation was severely curtailed, and military aviation was completely forbidden after the Luftwaffe of the Third Reich had been disbanded by August 1946 by the Allied Control Commission. This changed in 1955 when West Germany joined NATO, as the Western Allies believed that Germany was needed to counter the increasing military threat posed by the Soviet Union and its Warsaw Pact allies. On 9 January 1956, a new German Air Force called Luftwaffe was founded as a branch of the new Bundeswehr (Federal Defence Force). The first volunteers of the Luftwaffe arrived at the Nörvenich Air Base in January 1956, and the same year, the Luftwaffe was provided with its first jet aircraft, the US-made Republic F-84 Thunderstreak from surplus stock, complemented by newly built Lockheed F-80E day fighters and T-33 trainers.

 

A total of 43 F-80Es were delivered to Germany in the course of 1956 and early 1957 via freight ships as disassembled kits, initially allocated to WaSLw 10 (Waffenschule der Luftwaffe = Weapon Training School of the Luftwaffe) at Nörvenich, one of three such units which focused on fighter training. The unit was quickly re-located to Northern Germany to Oldenburg, an airfield formerly under British/RAF governance, where the F-80Es were joined by Canada-built F-86 Sabre Mk. 5s. Flight operations began there in November 1957. Initially supported by flight instructors from the Royal Canadian Air Force from Zweibrücken, the WaSLw 10’s job was to train future pilots for jet aircraft on the respective operational types. F-80Es of this unit were in the following years furthermore frequently deployed to Decimomannu AB on Sardinia (Italy), as part of multi-national NATO training programs.

 

The F-80Es’ service at Oldenburg with WaSLw 10 did not last long, though. In 1963, basic flight and weapon system training was relocated to the USA, and the so-called Europeanization was shifted to the nearby Jever air base, i. e. the training in the more crowded European airspace and under notoriously less pleasant European weather conditions. The remaining German F-80E fleet was subsequently allocated to the Jagdgeschwader 73 “Steinhoff” at Pferdsfeld Air Base in Rhineland-Palatinate, where the machines were – like the Luftwaffe F-86s – upgraded to carry AIM-9 Sidewinder AAMs, a major improvement of their interceptor capabilities. But just one year later, on October 1, 1964, JG 73 was reorganized and renamed Fighter-Bomber Squadron 42, and the unit converted to the new Fiat G.91 attack aircraft. In parallel, the Luftwaffe settled on the F-86 (with more Sabre Mk. 6s from Canada and new F-86K all-weather interceptors from Italian license production) as standard fighter, with the plan to convert to the supersonic new Lockheed F-104 as standard NATO fighter as soon as the type would become available.

For the Luftwaffe the F-80E had become obsolete, and to reduce the number of operational aircraft types, the remaining German aircraft, a total of 34, were in 1965 passed through to the Türk Hava Kuvvetleri (Turkish air force) as part of international NATO military support, where they remained in service until 1974 and were replaced by third generation F-4E Phantom II fighter jets.

  

General characteristics:

Crew: 1

Length: 36 ft 9 1/2 in (11.23 m)

Wingspan: 37 ft 6 in (11.44 m) over tip tanks

Height: 13 ft 5 1/4 in (4.10 m)

Wing area: 241.3 sq ft (22,52 m²)

Empty weight: 10,681 lb (4.845 kg)

Max. takeoff weight: 18,464 lb (8.375 kg)

Zero-lift drag coefficient: 0.0134

Frontal area: 32 sq ft (3.0 m²)

 

Powerplant:

1× Allison J33-A-39 centrifugal compressor turbojet with 4,600 lbf (20 kN) dry thrust

and 27.0 kN (6,070 lbf) thrust with afterburning

 

Performance:

Maximum speed: 1,060 km/h (660 mph, 570 kn)

Cruise speed: 439 mph (707 km/h, 381 kn)

Range: 825 mi (1,328 km, 717 nmi)

Ferry range: 1,380 mi (2,220 km, 1,200 nmi)

Service ceiling: 50,900 ft (15,500 m)

Rate of climb: 7,980 ft/min (40.5 m/s)

Time to altitude: 20,000 ft (6,100 m) in 4 minutes 50 seconds

Lift-to-drag: 17.7

Wing loading: 51.3 lb/sq ft (250 kg/m²)

Thrust/weight: 0.249 dry

0.328 with afterburner

 

Armament:

4× 0.79 in (20 mm) M24 cannon (190 rpg)

2x wing tip auxiliary tanks with 225 US gal (187 imp gal; 850 l) each

Underwing hardpoints for a total ordnance load of 4,800 lb (2.200 kg), including

2× 1,000 lb (454 kg) bombs, up to 4× pods with nineteen unguided Mighty Mouse FFARs each,

and/or up to 8× 5” (127 mm) HVAR unguided air-to-ground rockets

  

The kit and its assembly:

The idea of a swept-wing F-80 had been lingering on my idea list for a while, and I actually tried this stunt before in the form of a heavily modified F-94. The recent “Fifties” group build at whatifmodellers.com and a similar build by fellow forum member mat revived the interest in this topic – and inspired by mat’s creation, based on a T-33 fuselage, I decided to use the opportunity and add my personal interpretation of the idea.

 

Having suitable donor parts at hand was another decisive factor to start this build: I had a Heller T-33 in store, which had already been (ab)used as a donor bank for other projects, and which could now find a good use. I also had an F-80 canopy left over (from an Airfix kit), and my plan was to use Saab J29 wings (from a Matchbox kit) because of their limited sweep angle that would match the post-WWII era well.

 

Work started with the fuselage; it required a completely new cockpit interior because these parts had already gone elsewhere. I found a cockpit tub with its dashboard from an Italeri F4U, and with some trimming it could be mounted into the reduced cockpit opening, above the OOB front landing gear well. The T-33’s rear seat was faired of with styrene sheet and later PSRed away. The standard nose cone from the Heller T-33 was used, but I added gun ports for the new/different cannon armament.

For a different look with an afterburner engine I modified the tail section under the stabilizers, which was retained because of its characteristic shape. A generous section from the tail was cut away and replaced with the leftover jet pipe from an Italeri (R)F-84F, slightly longer and wider and decorated with innards from a Matchbox Mystère IV. This change is rather subtle but changes the F-80 profile and appears like a compromise between the F-80 and F-94 arrangements.

 

The T-33 wings were clipped down to the connection lower fuselage part. This ventral plate with integral main landing gear wells was mounted onto the T-33 hull and then the Saab 29 wings were dry-fitted to check their position along the fuselage and to define the main landing gear wells, which had to be cut into them to match their counterparts from the aircraft’s belly.

Their exact position was eventually fixed when the new swept stabilizers, taken from a Hobby Boss F-86, were mounted to the tail. They match well with the swept wings, and for an odd look I kept their dihedral.

The fin was eventually replaced, too – mat’s build retained the original F-80 fin, but with all other surfaces swept I found that the fin had to reflect this, too. So, I implanted a shortened Italeri (R)F-84F fin onto the original base, blended with some PSR into the rest of the tail.

 

With all aerodynamic surfaces in place it was time for fine-tuning, and to give the aircraft a simpler look I removed the dog teeth from the late Tunnan's outer wings, even though I retained the small LERXs. The wing tips were cut down a little and tip tanks (probably drop tanks from a Hobby Boss F-5E) added – without them the aircraft looked like a juvenile Saab 32!

 

The landing gear was mostly taken over from the Heller T-33, I just added small consoles for the main landing gear struts to ensure a proper stance, because the new wings and the respective attachment points were deeper. I also had to scratch some landing gear covers because the T-33 donor kit was missing them. The canopy was PSRed over the new opening and a new ejection seat tailored to fit into the F4U cockpit.

 

A final addition was a pair of pods with unguided FFARs. AFAIK the Luftwaffe did not use such weapons, but they’d make thematically sense on a Fifties anti-bomber interceptor - and I had a suitable pair left over from a Matchbox Mystère IV kit, complete with small pylons.

  

Painting and markings:

Since the time frame was defined by the Fifties, early Luftwaffe fighters had to carry a bare metal finish, with relatively few decorations. For the F-80E I gave the model an overall base coat with White Aluminum from a Dupli Color rattle can, a very nice and bright silver tone that comes IMHO close to NMF. Panels were post-shaded with Revell 99 (Aluminum) and 91 (Iron Metallic). An anti-glare panel in front of the windscreen was painted in the Luftwaffe tone RAL 6014, Gelboliv (Revell 42).

For some color highlights I gave the tip tanks bright red (Feuerrot, RAL 3000; Revell 330) outer halves, while the inner halves were painted black to avoid reflections that could distract the pilot (seen on a real Luftwaffe T-33 from the late Fifties). For an even more individual touch I added light blue (Tamiya X-14, Sky Blue) highlights on the nose and the fin, reflecting the squadron’s color code which is also carried within the unit emblem – the Tamiya paint came closest to the respective decal (see below).

 

The cockpit interior was painted with zinc chromate green primer (I used Humbrol 80, which is brighter than the tone should be, but it adds contrast to the black dials on the dashboard), the landing gear wells were painted with a mix of Humbrol 80 and 81, for a more yellowish hue. The landing gear struts became grey, dry-brushed with silver, while the inside of the ventral air brakes were painted in Feuerrot, too.

 

Then the model received an overall washing with black ink to emphasize the recessed panel lines, plus additional panel shading with Matt Aluminum Metallizer (Humbrol 27001), plus a light rubbing treatment with grinded graphite that emphasized the (few leftover) raised panel lines and also added a dark metallic shine to the silver base. Some of the lost panel lines were simulated with simple pencil strokes, too.

 

The decals/markings primarily came from an AirDoc aftermarket sheet for late Fifties Luftwaffe F-84Fs. The tactical code (“BB-xxx” was then assigned to the WaSLw 10 as unit code, but this soon changed to a similar but different format that told about the unit’s task as well as the specific unit and squadron within it; this was replaced once more by a simple xx+yy code that was only connected to a specific aircraft with no unit reference anymore, and this format is still in use today) was puzzled together from single letters/digits from the same decal set. Some additional markings like the red band on the fuselage had to be scratched, but most stencils came from an all-bare-metal Luftwaffe F-84F.

 

After some more detail painting the model was sealed with semi-gloss acrylic paint, just the anti-glare panel and the di-electric fairings on the nose and the fin tip became matt.

  

A thorough kitbashing build, but the result looks quite plausible, if not elegant? The slightly swept wings suit the F-80 with its organic fuselage shape well, even though they reveal the designs rather baroque shape. There’s a sense of obsolescence about the F-80E, despite its modern features? The Luftwaffe markings work well on the aircraft, too, and with the red and blue highlights the machine looks more attractive despite its simple NMF livery than expected.

I am so very glad I knew Florence, she was a very good person and influence in my life...

she was a pleasant surprise to me coming back to Arcadia from Germany at that time of my life...

the cultural and environmental adjustments I encountered...

 

I had no idea of finding love and wanting to settle down... I was at a crossroads in my life to return home in Arcadia to regroup..

I wanted to finish college and have a career, not homestead...

 

I'm glad she thought she loved me for a while... I enjoyed her and the times we had..

I'm glad I loved her, and had the opportunity to know her while we did...

she was a very generous and sharing person and friend..

good kisser too..

 

I've googled her... she has two gorgeous daughters so she has loved others, and been loved...

she did the right thing...

I have little curosity about contacting her and playing catch up, there's no point in it...

she's changed over the years and I only knew the confused part of her back then so it wasn't like I knew the real her...

I do appreciate the her I knew, the Florence that loved me for a while... big smile..

I also appreciate the Florence that didn't love me, the one that banned me from her life..

 

I should have known better than with a girl like her, one I could not have...

many of the loves of my life were women I couldn't have... enjoying them was okay, but I couldn't have them..

I have no regrets, rather praise God for bringing us together and apart..

   

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.

 

This afternoon we have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, on Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. Lettice has important business with the patrician Mr. Chilvers, the gallery owner, with whom she wishes to discuss acquiring a new painting.

 

“Shall I call you a taxi, Miss?” Edith, Lettice’s maid, asked as Lettice bustled into drawing room of Cavendish Mews, swathed in fox furs to protect her from the chilly late morning autumnal London air outside, announcing she was going to Portland Gallery.

 

“Oh, you are a brick, Edith!” Lettice replied breezily, but then continued just before Edith set down her feather duster and prepared to walk down to the taxi rank in the next street, “But really there’s no need. It’s such a lovely day outside, I think I’ll walk.”

 

Edith looked out of the drawing room window at the dull grey skies hanging above the terrace opposite and crumpled her nose, before she looked back with surprise at her mistress as she fiddled with the large pearl studded hatpin that was skewered through her hair at the back of her head, holding her elegant red felt broad brimmed hat in place.

 

“Are you quite alright, Miss?”

 

Lettice stopped fiddling with the hatpin. “Oh, quite Edith. I’ve got it fastened now.” She sighed as she turned to her Chippendale china cabinet and caught a glimpse of her modish reflection in the spotless glass not long cleaned by Edith. “There! It’s nice and secure.” She tugged on the brim of her hat as she spoke, just to prove the point.

 

“I didn’t mean about your hat, Miss.” Edith scoffed.

 

“Then what did you mean, Edith?”

 

“Well, if you’ll pardon me, Miss, but you don’t walk anywhere,” Edith replied matter-of-factly.

 

“Well, a girl is afforded the luxury of changing her mind and habits every now and then, isn’t she, Edith?” Lettice retorted blithely.

 

“On a day when it looks like rain?” The maid looked sceptically at her mistress through appraising screwed up eyes.

 

“I’ll take a brolly, then.” Lettice huffed as she slipped on a pair of bright red leather cuff length gloves. “Will that satisfy you Edith?”

 

“Yes Miss.” Edith replied, sounding every bit like she felt quite the opposite as Lettice swept out.

 

A short while later, as Lettice walked up the street towards Bond Street, the sharp clicking sound of her heels on the concrete footpath blending with the noise of footsteps and the chugging of engines as pedestrians and motor cars passed her, she sighed and breathed deeply, smiling happily to herself. With her snakeskin handbag jostling around the crook of her right arm, and one of her stumpy handled umbrellas swinging in her left, she allowed her mind to drift as she walked brusquely.

 

For nearly a year Lettice has been patiently awaiting the return of her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Now Lettice has been made aware by Lady Zinnia that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice has been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he has become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, yesterday morning she knew exactly what to do to resolve the issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.

 

Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice recently reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening.

 

Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. Last night, turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded.

 

As she walked, Lettice’s thoughts drifted back to the previous evening when she had sat on the sofa next to Sir John in his elegant drawing room, as they discussed the future after he had agreed to hold to his terms if she married him.

 

“Would you mind horribly, if we waited until after Christmas and New Year, before we announce our engagement to my family, John?” Lettice asked cautiously. Sir John’s bright face darkened slightly as she did so, and she thought she could see a sadness in his eyes. “You do mind.”

 

“No, no I don’t mind,” he replied a little awkwardly. “I… I just don’t understand why, Lettice.”

 

“I’m not ashamed of you, or of our engagement, if that’s what you’re worried about, John.” Lettice assured him quickly with an earnest look.

 

Sir John’s face brightened again, as relief softened his features, rather like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

 

“No, “ Lettice went on. “I just don’t want there to be any speculation that your proposal of marriage is something I am rushing into on the tail of my break with Selwyn.”

 

“His break with you, you mean, Lettice.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice chuckled sadly. “His break with me. Thank you for reminding me of that fact.”

 

“He’s a damn fool to let you slip though his fingers, Lettice, and I must say.” Sir John’s brow crumpled as he spoke.

 

“Thank you, John.”

 

“But going back to your point about speculations. I thought your parents would be thrilled for us. I mean, it was your mother who asked me to come to her Hunt Ball in 1922 as a potential suitor.”

 

“Oh and they will be, John.” Lettice replied hurriedly, pushing aside and ignoring her father’s very vocal aspersions that Sir John is an old lecher. “They will. It’s just that,” She paused as she gathered her thoughts. “Being my father’s favourite, he always pays extra attention to me, and considering how upset I was after Lady Zinnia sent Selwyn to Durban, it would seem odd - out of character - if I just blurted out and said that Selwyn and I no longer have an arrangement, and now I’m marrying you. If we…”

 

“Let the dust settle?”

 

“Exactly, John!” Lettice enthused. “Then, they will be more receptive to our engagement, and not think it so odd.”

 

Lettice observed as Sir John ruminated, considering her reasoning.

 

“Very well,” he finally replied. “You know your parents better than I, Lettice.”

 

“Oh thank you, John!” she exclaimed.

 

“But not too long, mind you.” he tempered her enthusiasm. “I’d like our intentions known early in the new year, so that we may marry in November.”

 

“Of course, John.”

 

“Anyway, how could I refuse my bride-to-be anything?” His eyes softened as she stared at her.

 

As he chuckled good naturedly, Lettice added with hope in her voice, “I have another condition of our marriage, John.”

 

His chuckles grew as he said, “Of course you do, Lettice. In my experience, it seems it is every bride’s prerogative to have conditions.”

 

“I didn’t think you were overly familiar with brides, John.”

 

“Well, I’ve never really been the marrying kind, before you that is, as you know Lettice. However, many an elicit affair of mine has ended with the peal of wedding bells, so I suppose in my own oblique way, I’ve known a good many brides.” He glanced anxiously up into Lettice’s face as he spoke, gauging her reaction to his statement. “I hope that doesn’t shock you too much.”

 

“As I said before, John. Now that I know you better, and am starting to understand you better too,” she replied kindly. “No, it doesn’t.”

 

“Jolly good!” he sighed with relief. “So, what is it then?”

 

“What is what, John?”

 

“What is the bride-to-be’s condition then?”

 

“Oh that!” Lettice laughed, waving her hand dismissively before her, the diamonds on her fingers glinting in the lamplight of Sir John’s drawing room. “Well, now I think about it, there are actually two.”

 

“Two now?” Sie John’s eyebrows knitted as he spoke. “Best you tell me them then, lest the groom has any counter conditions of his own.”

 

“Well, the first I don’t think you’ll mind too much, John.”

 

“Then indulge me, Lettice.” Sir John mused with an indulgent smile. “What is it?”

 

“Well, if I am to be mistress of your houses once we are married,”

 

“Our houses, you mean, Lettice.” Sir John corrected her.

 

“Our houses,” Lettice replied. “I should very much like to keep on my maid, Edith.”

 

“Well, as chatelaine of several houses, I’ll be more than happy to hand over the staffing to you, my dear. But you’ve talked about her before. Isn’t she just an ordinary maid-of-all work?”

 

“Yes and no. She was an under parlour maid in her previous position. However, if she comes with me, I want her to have a new position.”

 

“Oh yes?”

 

“I should like her to be my lady’s maid.”

 

Sir John looked surprised at her suggestion. “But I thought you were so proud of being a modern woman, Lettice, and had no need for a lady’s maid. You said so yourself when we met at Gossington. You told me that it’s the 1920s, so you don’t need a maid to fasten you into your outfits nowadays.”

 

“Well, I don’t really, and I get my hair done by a professional coiffeuse*.”

 

“Then what would you propose this maid of yours?”

 

“Edith.”

 

“Edith, do?” Sir John queried. “As my future wife, I don’t mind indulging you, Lettice. However,” he cautioned. “I will not fritter my money away on staff who do nothing.”

 

“Well Edith wouldn’t do nothing. I’ve discovered, thank in part to Gerald Bruton, that she’s an excellent seamstress, and with a mother who is laundress, she knows how to goffer** lace to perfection, so whilst I don’t need her to dress me, she does an excellent job of maintaining my wardrobe.”

 

“So, a Mistress of the Robes*** for the future Lady Nettleford-Hughes, then?”

 

“I’d like that, John.”

 

He chuckled again, still with good humour as he replied, “Well, then you shall have your wish.” Sitting back on the Regency striped sofa next to Lettice he continued, “And what is your second condition, My Lady?”

 

“Well, were you speaking in earnest before, when you said I could buy and hang the Picasso?”

 

Lettice held her breath as she waited for Sir John to answer.

 

“I said so, didn’t I?”

 

“You did.”

 

“Then you may. Go and see Chilvers this week, and tell him to put that daub, however ghastly it is, on my account and take it home with you to Cavendish Mews.”

 

“Oh John!” Lettice threw her arms around Sir John in unbridled delight at his agreement. “Thank you!”

 

In her reverie, Lettice almost walks past the impressive three storey Victorian Portland Gallery building with its Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and features large plate glass windows through which passers by may look at the beautiful objets d’art artfully presented in them by Mr. Chilvers. Currently one window artfully displays a clutch of pottery pieces by Bernard Leach****, whilst the other has a single modernist vase of white marble set up against a rich red velvet curtain, giving it a very dramatic look.

 

Lettice momentarily looks at her reflection in the the full length plate glass doors on which the Portland Galleries’ name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand, before walking proudly inside. As the door closes behind her, shutting out the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging busses and the clatter of footsteps on the busy pavement and the chatter of shoppers, the air about her changes. In the crisp and cool silence of the gallery Lettice’s heels click across the black and white marble floor. Her eyes flit in a desultory fashion around the red painted gallery hung with brightly coloured paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand a myriad of different sculptures and other artistic pieces.

 

“Ah! Miss Chetwynd!” a mature frock coated man greets Lettice with a broad smile. Taking her hand, he kisses it affectionately, yet with respect. “How do you do.”

 

“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets the smartly dressed gallery owner with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”

 

Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with the beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough***** from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving a in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and enjoy a thriving arts scene. As one of his more high profile customers, Mr. Chilvers happily fawns over Lettice, delighted that she chooses to patronise his very exclusive gallery for pieces to decorate the interiors of her clients’ homes with.

 

“Always a pleasure to have you present in my humble little establishment, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers remarks obsequiously, releasing Lettice’s fingers and clasping his hands together in front of him. “Now, when you telephoned this morning, you mentioned you wanted to buy a painting.” His dark eyes glitter with anticipation. “Which one of my beauties has taken your fancy?”

 

“Well, Mr. Chilvers,” Lettice remarks as she strides across the floor of the gallery, smoothly gliding around pedestals and tables displaying pieces of art. “You’ll hardly be surprised when I tell you that I’m interested in…” But the words she is about to utter die on her tongue as she stares up at the painting hanging above the fireplace. Her mouth slackens and her throat becomes suddenly dry as she looks at it. “Where is it, Mr. Chilvers?”

 

“Ahh! I feared as much.” Mr. Chilvers sighs with regret. “The Picasso.”

 

“Yes! Where have you moved ‘The Lovers’ to, Mr. Chilvers?”

 

“I’m afraid that the Picasso is no longer available, Miss Chetwynd.” he replies, opening his hands in a meek gesture of apology.

 

“No longer available?” Lettice utters disbelievingly.

 

“I’m afraid it’s been sold, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers elucidates. When he sees Lettice’s face fall, he continues, “I did try to warn you at my little autumnal soirée, that there were others in the room that evening, who had taken a fancy to ‘The Lovers’. Mister Picasso’s new works are causing quite a sensation this season in fashionable avant-guard circles.”

 

“But I was ready to buy it.” Lettice manages to utter in a strangulated voice.

 

“I’m very sorry, Miss Chetwynd.” he apologises again. “But it is too late.”

 

“I don’t suppose you could give me the name of the person who acquired it, Mr. Chilvers?” Lettice asks furtively with s sly gaze and a shy smile.

 

“Miss Chetwynd!” the gallery owner chides her mildly with a disapproving look. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, would countenance asking me such a thing! Many is the time you have acquired art from me that someone else has desired. You know as well as I do that discretion is my byword, and is therefore that of the Portland Gallery. I would never compromise the anonymity of my purchasers.”

 

“Yes, of course! How foolish of me!” Lettice excuses herself with a shaking head. “Forgive me, Mr. Chilvers.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive, Miss Chetwynd.” he purrs. “But, perhaps there is something else I can show you that might take your fancy?”

 

He indicates above the mantle upon which stand several pieces of art pottery, to the selection of paintings in wooden and gilded frames hanging above it. Lettice looks at the street scenes, landscapes and seascapes painted in watercolours and oils. All are lovely, but uninspiring in her eyes as she stares at their muddy browns and ochres.

 

“No, thank you, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice says shaking her head slowly, unable to avoid keeping the disappointment from her voice as she speaks. “They lack the… the…” In her regret at having not bought the Picasso on the evening of the Portland Gallery’s autumn show, she cannot find the words as she gesticulates around her.

 

“The vitality, perhaps, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Chilvers ventures politely.

 

“Exactly, Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice sighs in a deflated fashion. “The vitality, the colour, the movement, of Mr. Picasso’s works.”

 

“Well, I might be able to get another piece of Picasso’s work, Miss Chetwynd, but as I said, his pieces have been creating quite a stir, so it may be a little while before I get one.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, even if you do, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice sighs. “It won’t be ‘The Lovers’, will it?”

 

“Sadly, not, Miss Chetwynd.” the gallery owner replies regretfully.

 

The pair fall into silence for a short while.

 

“I do have the work of a promising young English artist named Roland Penrose****** coming as part of a shipment from France, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers says optimistically. “He is a friend of Picasso, and Penrose’s work has been influenced greatly by him. His work is quite striking, I can assure you. I really think you will like it.”

 

“No, no, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice rebuts sadly. “Thank you, but no. It was ‘The Lovers’ I had set my heart upon.”

 

“I understand, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“It’s my own idiotic fault for not buying it when you encouraged me to.”

 

The pair fall into silence again as they both look up at the paintings hanging on the gallery wall in front of them.

 

“It is funny, is it not, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Chilvers remarks. “What passions can stir the heart.”

 

“Indeed it is, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice replies with another deep sigh, as she contemplates her own passion, recent heartbreak, and now the renewal of her life that she is about to embark on, as Lady Nettleford-Hughes.

 

*A coiffeuse is the old fashioned term for a woman who is a hairdresser.

 

**Goffer means to crimp, plait, or flute (linen, lace, etc.) especially with a heated iron.

 

***A Mistress of the Robes is a position held by a woman of high rank in the royal household who is in charge of a queen’s wardrobe

 

****Bernard Howell Leach was a British studio potter and art teacher. He is regarded as the "Father of British studio pottery".

 

*****In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some 80 people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage.

 

******Sir Roland Algernon Penrose was an English artist, historian and poet. He was a major promoter and collector of modern art and an associate of the surrealists in the United Kingdom. After studying architecture at Queens' College, Cambridge, Penrose switched to painting and moved to France, where he lived from 1922 and where in 1925 he married his first wife the poet Valentine Boué. During this period he became friends with the artists Pablo Picasso, Wolfgang Paalen and Max Ernst, who would have the strongest influence on his work and most of the leading Surrealists.

 

Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection. This tableau is particularly special because almost everything you can see is a handmade artisan miniature piece.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our photo the copy of “Place du Théâtre Francois, Paris” is a 1:12 miniature painted by hand in the style of Pissarro by miniature artist Ann Hall. The frame was handmade too.

 

The two pen and watercolour images hanging to the right of the photograph are by miniature artist R. Humphreys. I acquired these through Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The jug and bowl on the fireplace mantle had been hand fashioned and painted by an unknown miniature artisan ceramicist, as are the two vases that flank it. The jug and bowl I acquired from a private collector of miniatures selling their collection on E-Bay, whilst the vases came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The jug and the vase on the stands to either side of the fireplace are by unknown artisans as well. They were acquired from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The two pedestals either side of the fireplace were made by the high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

after my new year trip into the mountains I needed some new gaiters. I asked on another forum if anyone had any recommendations, and a member there offered to send me a set of canvas gaiters in more or less pristine condition, completely free. Here they are. These are not cheap.

 

I think such generosity deserves acknowledging.

...it is early morning in the middle-city urban tier at the level where people are not rich and still not poor...

 

a needle perforated old junkie walks around asking working class people if they could spare him some fractions of a credit, he is unlucky today, so he decides to sit down and shot up the last stash he has in to his torn veins...

 

the Drunk Reflagan from the aquatic kingdom is more lucky, he just got enough to get his first alcohol and is starting to get rather loud so a platform host cleaning the floor rushes over to tell him off...

 

most people don´t notice any of this, because their mind are dull and grey from overworking almost all day and then at night hooking up to the forbidden computer-net every night just to watch pirate movies about people living better lives or streaming new from their home world...

  

Sleeper-cabbed ERF B series TBC620X laid-up since retirement

I've posted a photo of this stone before....but I'm posting this anyway. It looks quite different all bright and in color. I love what Portra does with these tones. Also, I just love this stone.

 

Oakwood Cemetery/ Austin, TX

 

Mamiya 645 Pro TL / Sekor 80 1.9 / Portra 160

 

You know you wanna like me on Facebook!

  

Prints I Tumblr I Twitter I Instagram I Website

  

An amazingly generous package from BusyB for the "matchboxes are the best" Group Halloween Matchbox swap on Swap-bot.com. So much cute Halloween stuff!!

Letter generously translated by Immanuel Voigt; authored in Mölln on 19.12.1915 and addressed to the sender's wife Frau Anna Ließ in Bremervörde Nordhannover. Postage cancelled in Mölln on 30.12.1915.

 

"There were officers and a few artists who are participating tonight, who sang all sorts of beautiful and nice songs, which turned my sad mood from this afternoon into joy."

 

Black felt Tschako wearing Jäger from Lauenburgisches Jäger-Bataillon Nr. 9 gather for a Gruppenfoto in Mölln on 9 November 1915. These Ersatz Tschako were blackened to resemble the leather versions.

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 she is at home in her drawing room, entertaining her old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy whose family, unlike Lettice’s, are in straitened circumstances owing to Gerald’s father, Lord Bruton, refusing to modernise and move with the times. Gerald has gained some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. His atelier has received some favourable reviews over the last few years and his couturier is finally starting to turn a profit thanks to an expanding clientele.

 

“Well,” Gerald exclaims as he languidly sinks back into the rounded back of one of Lettice’s white upholstered Art Deco tub armchairs. “Who’d ever have imagined you working for Dolly Hatchett again?”

 

Lettice has recently agreed to redecorate the first floor principle rooms of the newly acquired Queen Anne’s Gate* townhouse of Dolly Hatchett, wife of the Labour MP for Tower Hamlets**, Charles Hatchett. Lettice decorated their Sussex home, ‘The Gables’ in picturesque country style in 1921, much to her parent’s horror, firstly because Mrs. Hatchett was a chorus girl before becoming Charles Hatchett’s wife, and secondly because Mr. Hatchett was aspiring to be a Labor politician at the time.

 

“Whatever do you mean, Gerald darling?” Lettice asks.

 

“I always thought I was going to be the only one out of the two of us courting Mrs. Middling-Mediocre-Middle-Class for business!” Gerald replies with arched eyebrows.

 

“Mrs. Hatchett came to me, thank you Gerald,” Lettice corrects. “Not the other way around. And I see you are still being as much of a snob towards poor Mrs. Hatchett as you were when I first introduced you. You have a great deal to thank Mrs. Hatchett for.”

 

“I’m only teasing, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald counters with a smirk as he uses Lettice’s hated childhood nickname.

 

“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how much I hate it! “ scowls Lettice. “We aren’t five anymore.”

 

“I know! You are far too easy to tease, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald persists, eliciting a shudder from Lettice. “Anyway, I know I owe a great deal of my success to Dolly Hatchett. She may only have been middling middle-class when you introduced us, but her circle of influence now has brought in more than a few high profile and wealthy clients for me to dress.”

 

“Aha!” Lettice crows.

 

“However, what surprises me is that you are taking her on again after all that bloodiness*** with your family, what with Chalie Hatchett being a Labor MP and all that, darling.”

 

“Well, Mater and Pater don’t actually know about it yet.” Lettice admits guiltily, casting her eyes downwards demurely for a moment as her face flushes with embarrassment.

 

“Oh!” Gerald opines, cupping his face in his hands and pulling a dramatic face like Munch’s ‘The Scream’****

 

“But I will!” Lettice hurriedly adds.

 

“I thought you were in the bad books with your parents enough as it is, what with your engagement to scandalously lecherous Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.”

 

For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her then beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Having been made aware by Lady Zinnia in October 1924 that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John, according to London society gossip enjoys a string of dalliances with pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s 1924 autumn show in Soho, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. Turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded. In an effort to be discreet, at Lettice’s insistence, they did not make their engagement public until the New Year. When Sir John and Lettice announced their engagement in the palatial Glynes drawing room before Lettice’s parents, the Viscount and Lady Sadie the Countess, Lettice’s elder brother Leslie and his wife Arabella, and the Viscount’s sister Eglantyne (known by all the Chetwynd children affectionally as Aunt Egg), it was received somewhat awkwardly by the Viscount initially, until Lettice assured him that her choice to marry Sir John has nothing to do with undue influence or mistaken motivations. The rest of the family were equally ambivalent, or even hostilely against the marriage.

 

“Now don’t tell me that you’ve turned against me now too, Gerald darling!” Lettice mewls as she sits forward in her seat. “Oh you can’t! You just can’t! What with Mater and Pater being lukewarm about my engagement at best, Lally being so beastly about the wedding, and Aunt Egg being totally against the idea, I need someone in my corner! Even Margot and Dickie aren’t keen on my marriage to John. Please Gerald!”

 

“Calm yourself Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald replies, sitting forward in his seat, raising his hands in both a defensive and an assuring gesture. “Of course I’m not turning against you! Don’t overreact and jump to conclusions. We have enough drama queens***** at Hattie’s.” He remarks coolly, mentioning the boarding house full of theatrical homosexuals, including his own West End oboist lover Cyril, run by his friend Harriet Milford. “You’re my best friend, and keeper of all my deepest and darkest confidences.” He coughs awkwardly. “Well, most of them anyway. You know I can’t even marry my lover, so how can I possibly stand piously in judgement over your choices?”

 

“You do judge me though, don’t you Gerald.” Lettice counters. “Be honest.”

 

“I can’t say that the path you’ve chosen to take with Sir John is one I’d have intended for you, Lettice darling.” he admits. “I would much rather have seen you happily in a love match and married to Selwyn Spencely, rather than in a marriage of convenience that is more like a business proposal with Sir John. You know I’ve never been keen on Sir John because of his reputation as a philanderer with a string of Gaiety Girls****** in his wake. However, since Selwyn surprised us all by breaking his well fashioned mould of being a decent and respectable chap by deserting you for a diamond mine owner’s daughter, I can hardly blame you for seeking affection elsewhere.” He looks earnestly at his friend across the low black japanned coffee table. “I just want you to be happy, Lettice darling. That’s all. If you say you can be happy with Sir John, then I’ll support you.”

 

“Oh, thank you darling!” Lettice sighs, releasing the pent-up breath she has been unaware of holding on to. “That means the world to me. I will be happy with Sir John.” she assures her friend. “At least he has made sure that I’m going in with my eyes open.”

 

“That’s good.” Gerald opines.

 

“And he has said that he will allow me to break our engagement if I so choose to do.”

 

“That’s even better and very magnanimous of him, although in saying that, it is usually the lady’s prerogative to break her engagement if she so chooses.”

 

“Well, I’m not going to, am I?” Lettice asks rhetorically. “But going to back to my parents and Mrs. Hatchett,” she remarks, carefully steering the conversation back to safer territory. “I don’t think they’ll particularly like it, but since my interior design business has become such a success, I hardly think they can object to her.”

 

“Don’t you believe it, Lettice darling.” Gerald remarks doubtfully. “Sadie will make her opinions clear.”

 

“I’m not so sure she will now.” Lettice counters confidently. “And even if she does, Dolly Hatchett is hardly the awkward, mousy and unsure wife of a banker we met in 1921. I think you’ve done wonders transforming her into the suitable wife successful MP for Towers Hamlets, Charles Hatchett, needs.”

 

“They say that ‘clothes maketh the man’, so why not the woman?” Gerald replies, settling back into his chair. “The power of clothes can be transformative.”

 

“I agree, Gerald darling. She’s so self-assured and self-possessed now. I was really remarkably surprised when we met again! She is transformed.”

 

“Oh she is still little Dolly Hatchett the chorus girl from Chu Chin Chow******* under the layers of crêpe de chiné, satin and velvet, Lettice darling.”

 

Lettice laughs. “She said the very same thing to me when I saw her.”

 

“All the same, transformation or not, I don’t think Sadie will like you taking Dolly Hatchett on as a client again. In Sadie’s eyes she is still, and always will be, a little social climbing parvenu. The fact she is on the wrong side of politics only makes her existence in your life, however transient, all the worse. I think the only sin you could commit that could possibly be worse would be to take on Wanetta Ward the American moving picture actress again.”

 

“Well, luckily for me then, Miss Ward is currently on a break from the Gainsborough Studios******** filming schedule and is in America.”

 

“I thought she was estranged from her parents.”

 

“She hasn’t gone to see her parents. The bright lights of Los Angeles and the American motion picture industry have wooed her. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one of those new Hollywood moving picture studios doesn’t offer her a contract.”

 

“Big enough to break the one she has with Gainsborough?”

 

“I can imagine it. You’ve seen her, darling. She is a moving picture star, and if Edith is anything to go by, the kinema********* public will follow her, no matter where she goes, and that means they can make more money with her potential.”

 

“Hhhmmm…” Gerald purrs.

 

“What?” Lettice asks.

 

“Maybe I was wrong about you, Lettice darling?”

 

“Me?” Lettice raises a hand to her throat. “How?”

 

“Well, listening to the way you are talking so openly about money, maybe you are better suited to a marriage of convenience and business arrangement with Sir John, rather than a love match with Selwyn. I can’t imagine the despicable Duchess, Lady Zinna, approving of you speaking so candidly about money!”

 

“Oh pooh Lady Zinnia!” Lettice replies defiantly, flapping her hand at Gerald as if trying to sweep the phantom of the Duchess of Walmsford away. “I won’t have her name spoken here!”

 

However, as Lettice settles back in her seat, smiling, there is a sadness in the corners of her painted lips. Selwyn’s rejection of her by breaking her engagement, and the way she was told with glee and unbridled delight by his mother still hurts her deeply, and for all her bravado with her marriage of convenience with Sir John, like Gerald, she too would have preferred a love match with Selwyn Spencely to a business arrangement with Sir John in her heart of hearts. She sniffs and sighs quietly to herself as she ponders the thought of her upcoming marriage. Whilst she and Sir John haven’t set a date yet, the engagement has been announced in The Times and it won’t be too long before they will have to choose a day, or at the very least a month for their wedding. Long engagements are less popular in the class of Sir John and Lettice’s parents than they are in the middle and lower classes where money must be saved and households arranged.

 

“Thinking of Edith,” Gerald interrupts Lettice’s thoughts. “Where has she gotten to? I thought she was supposed to be making us some tea.”

 

Lettice glances up at the brightly painted clock on the mantle and looks at the sunflower yellow face as it reads ten past eleven. “Goodness, I was so lost in our conversation, I’d completely forgotten our elevenses!”

 

“Well, my stomach certainly hasn’t.” Gerald replies, stroking the pale blue pin stripped cream flannel of his double breasted summer suit stretched over his stomach. “I’m hoping Edith has some of her home made sponge cake for us as a treat. I say Lettice darling, do you think she might?”

 

“I couldn’t say.” Lettice remarks, standing up and sauntering over to the servant’s call bell next to the fireplace and depressing it purposefully, eliciting the hollow tinkling of a bell in the service area of the flat.

 

“Let’s hope so, then.” Gerald replies.

 

“I have to say that’s a rather bold pattern you’re wearing, Gerald.” Lettice remarks, returning to her seat and smoothing the peach, red, blue-grey and black floral pattered silk georgette of her skirt fastidiously across her knee.

 

“Why thank you darling!” Sitting up more straightly in his seat, Gerald smooths his own suit proudly. “American.” he admits with a knowing smile. “I acquired it from a contact of mine in the rag trade********** who traverses the Trans-Atlantic*********** and picked it up in New York. It’s rather fetching, isn’t it?”

 

“Very.” Lettice concurs before adding with an air of desperation. “You will still make my wedding frock won’t you, Gerald darling, even if you don’t altogether approve of my marriage to John?”

 

“Well of course I will, Lettice. Business is business.”

 

“Is that all I am Gerald?” Lettice scoffs jokingly.

 

“And you’re my best friend!” Gerald adds with a cheeky grin and a mischievous glint in his eye. “But I’m not the one you should be asking or talking to about this. Sadie will be the one who will organise your trousseau************ for you.”

 

“Yes, John’s sister Clemance asked me if I’ve spoken to Mater about the idea of her taking over the job of helping me organise and shop for my trousseau.”

 

“Which is why I worry that you are already in enough trouble with this marriage of yours, and your wish for your future sister-in-law to help organise it rather than Sadie, without adding me making your wedding frock and Dolly Hatchett to the mix.”

 

“I’m sure Mater won’t mind if Clemance takes on the job of arranging my trousseau.” Lettice replies with a dismissive wave. “You know how much she hates London at the best of times.”

 

“Yes, but she does rather love clothes, Lettice darling, except mine of course. I’m too close to you and therefore by proxy her, for Sadie to countenance me dressing you for your wedding day.”

 

“She didn’t mind you making Bella’s wedding frock.” Lettice quips.

 

“No, Lady Isobel didn’t mind me making Bella’s wedding frock, Lettice.” He gives his friend a knowing look. “You really need to stop dragging your dainty little heels and put your plan into action if you want to have some say over your wedding clothes. You can’t keep procrastinating. You have to talk to Sadie about it, and soon.” He nods sagely.

 

“I know.” Lettice sighs. “I just dread…”

 

However Lettice is cut off mid-sentence by the appearance of her maid, Edith as she staggers through the green baize door leading from the service part of the flat into the dining room. She and Gerald watch, mesmerised, from the comfort of their seats as Edith slowly traverses the dining room and into the adjoining drawing room, carefully carrying not a tea tray as they expected, but a large and heavy looking wooden crate.

 

“Beg pardon, Miss.” Edith says with a groan, placing the box a little unceremoniously upon the black japanned coffee table. “I know I was meant to be serving tea for you and Mr. Bruton, but this package just arrived for you.”

 

“Oh pooh the tea, Edith!” Gerald says excitedly, his hunger momentarily forgotten as he leans forward and inspects the box with great interest.

 

“Who is it from?” Lettice asks, unable to contain her own excitement as she leans forward in her own seat.

 

“I couldn’t say Miss.” Edith replies curtly, giving her mistress a doubtful look. “The deliveryman simply said that I was to give the box to you in person, and to give you this.” She withdraws a pale blue envelope from her morning uniform cotton apron pocket and hands it to Lettice, before withdrawing Lettice’s silver letter opener and handing it to her as well.

 

“I say! How thrilling!” Gerald enthuses. “A present, and a big one! Perhaps from your fiancée, since he is not adverse to giving you rather lovely and expensive gifts?” he adds hopefully as he refers to the rather large Picasso painting of ‘The Lovers’ that Sir John recently gave Lettice as an engagement gift to his bride-to-be.

 

“Well, I hardly think this is a Picasso.” Lettice remarks, nodding in the direction of the crate, as she slips the blade of the letter opener under the lip of the envelope and slides it along the top of the letter deftly, the paper making a sharp tearing sound as she does.

 

“No, but it could be something equally wonderful, like a piece of Eighteenth Century porcelain.” Gerald adds. “Let’s be a little imaginative, Lettice darling!”

 

Lettice withdraws the letter from the sliced open envelope.

 

“Will that be all, Miss?” Edith asks.

 

“Oh yes,” Lettice says distractedly, waving her hand dismissively at Edith as she focuses on the contents of the letter. “Just the tea, if you could manage it, thank you, Edith.”

 

“Yes Miss.” Edith bobs a curtsey and turns to go.

 

“I don’t suppose you happen to have one of your rather delicious and decadent sponge cakes on then offing, do you Edith?” Gerald asks hopefully.

 

“I might, sir.” Edith answers with a wry smile.

 

“Oh hoorah!” Gerald says, clapping his hands with delight. “How ripping!”

 

As Edith retreats to the kitchen through the green baize door, Lettice read the letter.

 

“Who is this intriguing package from, Lettice darling?” Gerald asks. “I’m simply dying to know!”

 

“It’s from my new client.” Lettice replies as she scans the letter’s contents.

 

“Well I must say!” Gerald responds with outrage. “I never get any gifts from Dolly Hatchett for making her frocks!”

 

“No, not Mrs. Hatchett,” Lettice replies, her brow crumpling as she speaks. “Another client I have agreed to take the commission of.”

 

“Another client. Who?”

 

Lettice uses the edge of the letter opener to prise open the lid of the wooden crate. Placing it aside, a froth of white tissue paper suddenly cascades forth freed from the confines of its prison. Lettice’s gaze immediately falls upon the neck of a bottle.

 

“A bottle of good quality German Mozelle!” Gerald exclaims as Lettice withdraws the bottle and a single dainty wine glass from amidst the paper.

 

“How very thoughtful of her.” Lettice muses with a smile as she puts the bottle and glass onto the surface of the coffee table.

 

Gerald delves into the paper which scrunches crisply beneath his touch as he withdraws a rather lovely vase of hand painted blue and white china.

 

“Is this a gift from your Mrs. Clifford of Arkwright Bury?” Gerald asks.

 

“No, this is from Sylvia Fordyce.” Lettice answers.

 

Gerald falls silent for a moment and looks down at the vase in his hands. “Sylvia Fordyce? As in Sylvia Fordyce the concert pianist?”

 

“The very one, Gerald darling.” Lettice replies. “I’ve taken on a commission to paint a feature wall for her.”

 

“Well, you are full of surprises today, Lettice darling!” Gerald says, placing the vase on the table next to the sleek green bottle of Mozelle. “Rather like a magician pulling a rabbit from his hat. How on earth did that come about?”

 

“Well Sylvia is a friend of John’s, well more of Clemance’s than John’s really, but she wanted to meet me, and she asked me to paint a feature wall for her at her country home. She took me there a few weeks ago.”

 

“My goodness!” Gerald repeats. “You are the lucky one, Lettice! She’s famous for being quite a private person.”

 

“I know, darling.” Lettice purrs in reply with a confident smile. “I’m very honoured. She has a lovely house, and she had Syrie Maugham************* decorate it for her, but Sylvia isn’t happy with the amount of white she used in her colour scheme, and she wants me to inject a bit of colour with a hand painted feature wall.”

 

“Well that’s even more of a compliment to you, Lettice darling, if Sylvia Fordyce wants you to undo something Syrie Maugham has done.”

 

“I agree, Gerald darling.” Lettice continues to purr as she withdraws the lid of one of Sylvia’s ginger jars from the mantlepiece of ‘The Nest’s’ drawing room from amidst the froth of white paper. Placing it carefully on the top of the paper she goes on, “I decided to take some inspiration from her blue and white porcelain, and asked if she would lend me a few pieces whilst she was on tour.” She delves back into the box and withdraws the hand painted blue and white coffee pot and milk jug from the set she drank from at ‘The Nest’, its gilded edges gleaming under the light of the chandelier above. “And this is them.”

 

“And the wine?” Gerald queries.

 

“A gift to,” Lettice withdraws the letter again and scans it. “‘Help with my artistic and creative flow’.” she reads aloud.

 

“Well this is a delicious turn of events for you, Lettice darling!” Gerald remarks. “A commission from Sylvia Fordyce! Fancy that!”

 

“Yes, and hopefully this commission, plus the promise of a favouable review in The Lady************** as assured by Sylvia, might soften the blows of me wanting to control the acquisition of my own trousseau.”

 

“And decorating for Dolly Hatchett.” Gerald adds.

 

“Well,” Lettice sighs, sinking back into her seat, swinging the letter about in her hand. “I might wait until after I get back from Paris and the ‘Exposition internationale des arts décoratifs et industriels modernes’*************** before I drop that tiny social briquette, Gerald darling.”

 

“Very wise!” Gerald replies, tapping his nose knowingly. “I can’t wait to get back to Hattie’s and tell Charles Dunnage your news!”

 

“And why is that, Gerald darling? Why would one of Harriet Milford’s theatrical lodgers possibly be interested in my titbit of news?”

 

“Because, Lettice darling, he is a great fan of Sylvia Fordyce. He’ll be fit to be tied and will burst his corset stays when he hears that I’ve touched items that belong to Sylvia Fordyce.”

 

“Oh Gerald darling!” Lettice titters. “The very idea of Charles Dunnage wearing a corset!”

 

“But he does, Lettice darling! He’s so pompous about being a ‘thespian of the Shakespearean age’ and so vain about his looks that he really does wear one to smother his paunch, as he also has a distinct weak spot for anything sweet from Hattie’s kitchen, as you’ve seen.”

 

Lettice and Gerald both burst out laughing, enjoying the moment of their close friendship where they share anything with one another.

 

*Queen Anne’s Gate is a street in Westminster, London. Many of the buildings are Grade I listed, known for their Queen Anne architecture. Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner described the Gate’s early Eighteenth Century houses as “the best of their kind in London.” The street’s proximity to the Palace of Westminster made it a popular residential area for politicians.

 

**The London constituency of Tower Hamlets includes such areas and historic towns as (roughly from west to east) Spitalfields, Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Wapping, Shadwell, Mile End, Stepney, Limehouse, Old Ford, Bow, Bromley, Poplar, and the Isle of Dogs (with Millwall, the West India Docks, and Cubitt Town), making it a majority working class constituency in 1925 when this story is set. Tower Hamlets included some of the worst slums and societal issues of inequality and poverty in England at that time.

 

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

 

****‘The Scream’ is a composition created by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch in 1893. The Norwegian name of the piece is ‘Skrik’ (Scream), and the German title under which it was first exhibited is ‘Der Schrei der Natur‘ (The Scream of Nature). The agonized face in the painting has become one of the most iconic images in art, seen as symbolizing the anxiety of the human condition. Munch's work, including The Scream, had a formative influence on the Expressionist movement.

 

*****You may be surprised to learn that the term “drama queen”, so commonly used today to refer to someone who reacts to situations in an exaggerated or overly emotional way, dates back to 1923 where it was first referenced in the Washington Post.

 

******Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.

 

*******‘Chu Chin Chow’ is a musical comedy written, produced and directed by Oscar Asche, with music by Frederic Norton, based on the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. It was the most popular show in London’s West End during the Great War. It premiered at His Majesty’s Theatre in London on the 3rd of August 1916 and ran for 2,238 performances, a record number that stood for nearly forty years!

 

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

 

*********Kinema is an early spelling of the word cinema, and was commonly used throughout the 1920s and into the early 1930s when it changed to cinema.

 

**********The slang term “rag trade”, referring to the garment, clothing, or fashion industry, first appeared in common usage between 1835 and 1845, but really began in the Eighteenth Century to describe the sale of rags or second-hand clothes.

 

***********A transatlantic cruise involves sailing across the Atlantic Ocean, typically between Europe and North America, offering a unique travel experience with several days at sea to relax and enjoy the ship's amenities. In the 1920s there were many big shipping lines like Britain’s Cunard and the White Star Line, as well as smaller companies such as the French Line, who traversed the Atlantic with luxury ocean liners, appealing to the wealthy and up-and-coming middle-classes for comfortable business and travel options, and to the lower classes who were still immigrating, albeit in much smaller numbers as a result of immigrant caps, from Europe and Britain to America.

 

************A trousseau is a word used to describe the clothes, linen, and other belongings collected by a bride for her marriage. For an upper-class bride, it would refer only to her clothing, including her wedding frock.

 

*************Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.

 

**************The Lady is one of Britain's longest-running women's magazines. It has been in continuous publication since 1885 and is based in London. It is particularly notable for its classified advertisements for domestic service and child care; it also has extensive listings of holiday properties.

 

***************The International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewelry and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.

 

This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The green bottle of Mozelle on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire with careful attention paid to the lable, which is a genuine Mozelle wine lable from Germany. The wine glass is spun from real glass too and is also an artisan miniature. It is part of a set of six which I acquired from a high street stockist of dolls and dolls house miniatures when I was a young teenager. The letter opener is made of silver and is an artisan miniature made by the Little Green Workshop who specialise in high-end artisan miniature pieces. The blue and white vase on the coffee table and the blue and white gilt ginger jar in the crate come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The tiny blue and white coffee pot and creamer are part of a complete set, all of which are hand painted and come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House shop as well. The crate, which I purchased from an E-Bay seller in the United Kingdom.

 

The letter that you see on Lettice’s coffee table is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Famed for his books, Ken Blythe also made other miniature artisan pieces from paper, including this letter, which is contained inside an envelope which even has a postmark. The letter itself, whilst deliberately not in focus in this photo is written in a tiny legible hand! To make a piece as small and authentic as this makes it a true artisan piece. Most of the Ken Blythe books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words of the titles, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. 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.

 

The green glass comport on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made from hand spun glass and acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The very realistic red rose floral arrangement to the right of the photo has been made by hand by the Doll House Emporium in America who specialise in high end miniatures. The faceted glass vase on the mantlepiece is an artisan miniature made from real glass. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The tulips in the vase are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature from Melody Jane’s Dolls House Suppliers in England. The telephone is a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

Lettice’s black leather diary with the silver clasp was also made by the Little Green Workshop in the United Kingdom. The pencils on top of it are 1:12 miniature as well, acquired from Melody Jane Dolls’ House Suppliers, and each is only one millimetre wide and two centimetres long.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples. To the left of the fireplace is a Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the legs and inside the bureau. The Hepplewhite chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven. To the right of the fireplace is a Chippendale cabinet which has also been decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks.

 

On the top of the Hepplewhite bureau stand three real miniature photos in frames including an Edwardian silver frame, a Victorian brass frame and an Art Deco blue Bakelite and glass frame.

 

On the left hand side of the mantle is an Art Deco metal clock hand painted with wonderful detail by British miniature artisan Victoria Fasken.

 

In the middle of the mantle is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in England, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925.

 

The fireplace is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace which is flanked by brass accessories including an ash brush with real bristles.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug, and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Untermyer Gardens, Yonkers, New York

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 is nursing a broken heart. Her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, has been sent to Durban for a year by his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wants to end so that she can marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lettice returned home to Glynes to lick her wounds, however it 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 and wait patiently for Selwyn’s eventual 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. However, even she could only keep this up for so long, and on New Year’s Eve, her sister, Lally, suggested that she spend a few extra weeks resting and recuperating with her in Buckinghamshire before returning to London and trying to get on with her life. Lettice happily agreed, however her rest cure ended abruptly with a letter from her Aunt Egg in London, summoned Lettice back to the capital and into society in general. Through her social connections, Aunt Egg has contrived an invitation for Lettice and her married Embassy Club coterie friends Dickie and Margot Channon, to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party of Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their amusing weekend parties at their Scottish country estate 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, so they attract a mixture of witty writers and artists mostly.

 

Now we find ourselves in the cosy and cluttered, old fashioned Art and Crafts decorated drawing room of Gossington, the Scottish Baronial style English Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland belonging to Sir John and Lady Gladys, where Lettice, Margot and Dickie have joined their hosts along with a few stragglers who arrived on a later train to Carlisle who were chauffeured to the house from the railway station there.

 

Lady Gladys stands by one of the full length windows looking out at the countryside beyond. Her face crumples up as she stares at the roiling and dark clouds in the sky. She pats her finger waved grey hair anxiously, as though trying to protect it from being spoiled by the rain she perceives is coming, “Looks like the weather is on the turn, John.”

 

“What’s that, Gladys?” her husband pipes up, glancing over the top of his book from his Savonarola chair by the crackling fire.

 

“I said it’s starting to cloud over.” she replies in a slightly louder voice, turning to face him so he can hear her more clearly. “I do hope that it doesn’t rain on Pheobe and the other ramblers.”

 

“I’m sure they can all shelter in a barn somewhere.” he replies. “It will be a new and novel experience for some of them.”

 

Snorts and muffles giggles come from a few of the guests sitting about the room enjoying indoor pursuits.

 

Sir John looks over at the clusters of heads lowered together and chuckles good-naturedly as he remarks, “Don’t get so self-righteous you lot!” He closes his book. “I bet it would be a new and novel experience for most of you too!”

 

Lady Gladys wanders across the room, toying with the long string of pearls about her neck and takes a seat, just as Lettice appears at the door of the drawing room.

 

“Oh, do come in Lettice,” Lady Gladys says warmly from a corner of the Knole sofa* upholstered in William Morris’** ‘Strawberry Thief’ fabric. “Come and sit with me.” She softly pats the cushion next to her, the action emitting a small cloud of dust motes.

 

“Thank you Lady Caxton.” Lettice replies as she walks across the room, squeezing between the clusters of chairs and occasional tables, some occupied by the late arriving guests, including Dickie and Margot, playing a range of parlour games on offer from the Gossington games cupboard.

 

“Ah!” the hostess wags her finger admonishing at Lettice. “I might be older than your mother, my dear, but here, we are egalitarian. We are all on a first name basis. I am Gladys and Sir John is just, John. Hmmm?”

 

“Very well, thank you, Gladys.” Lettice replies awkwardly, a little startled by this revelation, as she sits on the opposite end of the sofa, closest to the fire.

 

“Gladys is an old Fabian*** from before you were born, Lettice.” Sir John adds with a kindly wink from his seat opposite her.

 

“Not so much of the old, thank you John!” Gladys remarks, pretending to be offended. “Remember, I’m younger than you.”

 

“That doesn’t say much when you compare yourself to all these youngsters!” He waves his hand about the room.

 

“That’s why I like young people,” Gladys smiles indulgently at Lettice, directing her comment to her rather than her husband. “They help keep me young with their talk of nightclubs, the latest shows and the like.”

 

“More like it gives you fodder for your next novel, Gladys.” He looks lovingly at his wife, a mischievous glint in his sparkling blue eyes and a cheeky smile playing across his lips. “Writing vicariously through others.”

 

“It pays to keep up to date with the latest trends, John. I don’t want to fall out of fashion.”

 

“I don’t think your novels will ever fall out of fashion, Lady… err, Gladys.” Lettice remarks magnanimously.

 

“You’re a flatterer, that’s for certain!” Lady Gladys chuckles. “You’ll get on. I shall graciously accept your compliment.” Her pale, wrinkled face stills for a moment as a far away look glazes over her eyes. “We none of us think we will fall out of fashion, but we do, in one way or another – especially as we get older. Take this room for example. Decorated in what was once the height of fashion. Would you decorate your home in this way, my dear Lettice?”

 

From her vantage point, Lettice gazes around the room. Looking at the William Morris ‘Strawberry Thief’ pattern on the sofa, woven carpet and the Morris ‘Poppies’ wallpaper, Lettice estimates the room, like most around the grey stone castle, were decorated in the late Nineteenth Century during the heyday of the Arts and Crafts Movement. A hotch-potch of furnishings that jostle comfortably for space suggests a period of prosperity driven acquisition over the ensuing years up until the Great War, yet each piece is of high quality and well made, implying her hosts’ dedication to the arts, as do the ornaments that cover surfaces around the room, all of which are beautiful and handmade. Old paintings of Scottish landscapes remind Lettice of Sir John’s proud heritage, whilst the large number of books tell her of Lady Caxton’s literary pursuits and success.

 

“Oh, I think it’s charming,” Lettice replies. “You obviously have an eye for fine workmanship and artistry.”

 

“But?” Lady Gladys picks up Lettice’s unspoken thought.

 

“But no, I wouldn’t decorate my home like this.”

 

“That’s the correct answer, Lettice.” Lady Gladys replies kindly. “And, if I were your age, I wouldn’t either. It’s fusty and old fashioned.”

 

“It is lovely though, and all my modern ideas would look out of place in a room like this. You need to have older things here, not what is fashionable and up-to-date. It would look out of place.”

 

“Tea, Lettice?” Gladys leans forward towards the low beautifully hand embroidered footstool before her and picks up an empty cup. “Or would you prefer coffee?”

 

“Oh, tea will be fine Lady Cax… err, I mean, Gladys.” She chuckles awkwardly at such familiarity with people she barely knows. “White and one sugar, please.”

 

“Good. I’ve never been one for coffee myself.” Lady Gladys pours tea from the silver pot into the cup over the sugar, and adds a slosh of milk, before she passes it to Lettice to stir. “I do hope you found your room to be satisfactory, Lettice.”

 

“It’s lovely. Thank you. I shall feel like Sleeping Beauty when I retire.”

 

“Hhmmm,” Gladys smiles understandingly. “Yes. I thought you’d like the décor in there.”

 

“The Art Nouveau wallpaper is lovely. It is William Morris, like in here, is it not?”

 

“Yes,” Lady Gladys remarks with a surprised lilt in her voice. “How clever of you to notice. It’s ‘Sweet Briar’, so your reference to Briar Rose is most apt, my dear.”

 

“My Aunt Eglantine has it in her bedroom in Chelsea. She loves William Morris too.”

 

“And you, Lettice? Do you like William Morris?” Lady Gladys asks.

 

“I like a mixture of old and new, Lad… Gladys. I think a well placed antique on a modern table adds elegance, and I think a William Morris cushion,” She pulls the cushion from behind her back and looks at it thoughtfully. “Could look splendid as an accent on a plain coloured settee.”

 

“How is Eglantine?” Sir John asks, changing the subject as he takes a sip of his own cup of tea.

 

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with my Aunt, Sir John, until my aunt told me of my invitation to this weekend.”

 

“Just John, my dear.” he corrects Lettice politely, causing her to blush. “Remember the old Fabian in the room.” He nods at his wife. “And yes, Gladys and I have similar artistic and literary pursuits to her, so we know Eglantyne quite well.”

 

“I have some of her pieces,” Lady Gladys remarks proudly and indicates firstly to two dainty pots of hand painted petunias on the mantlepiece, which are part of Eglantyne’s pre-war work, and then to a pedestal next to a very full bookcase, where one of Lettice’s aunt’s more modern pottery pieces sits. “She is a wonderful ceramicist and artist. She can create such beautiful sinuous lines in pottery. It really is remarkable.”

 

“She doesn’t do that so much now,” Lettice remarks.

 

“That’s a pity.” Lady Gladys replies a little sadly. “It’s a shame to waste such a gift.”

 

“Her arthritis slows her somewhat when it comes to ceramics, and she is seldom happy with the results. She’s following different pursuits these days.”

 

“She paints now, doesn’t she?” Sir Caxton asks.

 

“She does… John. She’s currently painting a piece for the Royal Academy.”

 

“Excellent! We shall look forward to seeing that, shan’t we Gladys?”

 

“Oh indeed, John. And of course, she has her embroidery.” Lady Gladys adds.

 

Lettice laughs softly. “I fear sometimes that if I sit still in her drawing room for long enough, one day she might embroider me.”

 

A thunderclap breaks outside. It’s noise echoes through the atmosphere inside, sending a collective shiver through the guests in the room.

 

“I told you, John. Pheobe and the others are sure to get rained upon now.” She glances around the high wing of the Knole sofa to the window. Looking back at Lettice, she picks up her own teacup and tops it up with tea from the pot before continuing, “Pheobe, our niece and ward, has taken all the other young guests for the weekend on a ramble about the estate to help everyone work up an appetite for dinner. I do hope they will be back soon, especially now that it’s going to pour.”

 

“I bet they all went to the pub in the village for a lark.” Dickie remarks from where he sits. “And they are quite cosy and warm in there. They’ll be back when they are good and ready.”

 

“You may be right, young Dickie!” Sir John chortles.

 

“I’m puzzled,” Lettice says, her face crumpling up in thought. “As to why you asked me here for the weekend.”

 

“Puzzled, my dear?” Lady Gladys asks.

 

“Yes. I must confess I was very surprised to receive your kind invitation – delighted, but surprised. I mean, we’ve never met as far as I’m aware. Is it because of your connection to my aunt?”

 

“Well, that does have a little to do with it, Lettice,” Sir John explains. “You are your aunt’s favourite niece…”

 

“She says that to all of us Si… err, John.”

 

“Well, be that as it may, she has spoken to us about you and your talents over many years, particularly since you have come of age. However, Gladys and I keep our own eye on the artistic scene in London, so your name has been mentioned to us a number of times on different occasions.”

 

“Really?” Lettice asks in astonishment.

 

“Oh yes,” adds Lady Gladys. “Surely you must know that you’re gaining quite a reputation now, for your stylish interior designs.”

 

“Especially after that article in Country Life, showing the work you did for Margot and Dickie,” Sir John nods in the direction of the couple, ensconced together on an Art Nouveau sofa, happily playing cards. “It looked wonderful! So fresh and elegant with all those clean lines that are so fashionable now.”

 

“We did so want to finally meet you, dear Lettice.” Lady Gladys adds.

 

“Well,” Lettice blushes. “I’m very flattered, and honoured to be invited to Gossington. Your weekend parties are famous for being filled with fun and enjoyment.”

 

“Then I hope we shall not disappoint, dear Lettice.” Sir John beams.

 

“I’m sure with the return of the others, you won’t be starved for wit and aristocratic intelligentsia.” Lady Gladys adds. “Your aunt tells us that you can be quite witty yourself, and you obviously have intelligence amongst other attributes.”

 

Lettice notices a look exchanged between her two hosts but can’t read what it means.

 

“Ahem, Lettice,” Sir John clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m afraid that Gladys and I have a confession to make.”

 

“A confession?”

 

“Yes,” Lady Gladys explains. “I’m afraid that we’ve invited you here with an ulterior motive, my dear.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Not that we aren’t delighted to have you here for your charm, beauty and obvious intelligence.” Sir John assures her with hands raised in defence.

 

“Yes.” Lady Gladys soothes in agreement with her husband. “As I said before, we’ve heard such great things about your interior designs, so you are under no obligation to agree to our request.”

 

Lettice suddenly looks about the room again, her eyes darting anxiously from surface to cluttered surface as she makes a calculated assumption. Her eyes grow wide and her cheeks pale. “You’re your request, La… Gladys?”

 

“Gladys my dear, you’ll scare the poor girl! She’ll think we want her to redecorate this old pile of stones from the cellar to the battlements.”

 

“Oh no!” Lady Gladys assures Lettice. “We don’t want you to redecorate our home! No, I have far too many treasures here to ever think of parting with. Good heavens no!”

 

“Then what?” Lettice asks cautiously.

 

“Well, it’s Pheobe.” Lady Gladys explains. “She’s moving to London. Now that she’s of age, she has decided to pursue a career in garden design, and she’s been accepted to a school in Regent’s Park associated to the Royal Academy, so she’ll be in London more often than she has been.”

 

Lettice looks on, puzzled and unsure as to how she can be of service to her hosts’ ward. “You want me to decorate her rooms in your London townhouse?”

 

“Oh no my dear!” Sir John defends. “Like here, our London house is very much an Arts and Crafts relic.”

 

“No. Pheobe’s father, my youngest brother Reginald, was part of the civil service in India before the war.” Lady Gladys continues. “He and Pheobe’s mother, Marjorie, died of cholera out there.”

 

“Oh, I am sorry.” Lettice says sadly, putting her hand to her chest.

 

“Thank you my dear. My brother bought a pied-à-terre**** in Bloomsbury for when they were in London.”

 

“Gladys actually lived in it when she worked as my secretary before she married me.” Sir John adds.

 

“Yes.” Lady Gladys acknowledges. “Anyway, when Reginald died, he bequeathed his pied-à-terre to his only surviving child, Pheobe. It was to be held in trust for her by us until she came of age. Now she is of age, we’re giving her the flat to live in. It will be more efficient, as when we go to London, we take staff from here, and when we aren’t in London, there is only a caretaker looking after the house. Pheobe can manage the flat without the need for any live-in staff, and she can finally have some independence from us, which I suspect she craves.”

 

“The flat hasn’t been redecorated since Reginal and Marjorie lived there.” Sir John adds.

 

“It’s so old fashioned.” Lady Gladys agrees. “It isn’t good for Pheobe to live in a flat surrounded by the ghosts of parents she hardly even knew. You’ll be sitting next to her at dinner tonight, and dear Nettie, who has some considerable sway with Pheobe. We’ve suggested that Pheobe talk to you herself. We’ll obviously foot any bills if she likes your ideas, which we’re quite sure she will. Will you consider it, my dear Lettice? It would be such a great favour to us, and to Pheobe of course.”

 

“Well, I’ll certainly consider it, Gladys.” Lettice replies.

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” Lady Gladys claps her hands in delight. “I knew you’d be open to the idea!”

 

*The original Knole Settee (also known as the Knole Sofa) is a couch chair that was made in the 17th century, probably around 1640. It is housed at Knole in Kent, a house owned by the Sackville-West family since 1605 but now in the care of the National Trust. It was originally used not as a comfortable sofa but as a formal throne-like seat on which an aristocrat or monarch would have sat to receive visitors. It was wide enough that a monarch and consort could be seated side by side. As of 2021, it is kept at Knole House in a transparent case.

 

**William Morris (24th of March 1834 – 3rd of October 1896) was a British textile designer, poet, artist, writer, and socialist activist associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement. He was a major contributor to the revival of traditional British textile arts and methods of production. His literary contributions helped to establish the modern fantasy genre, while he helped win acceptance of socialism in fin de siècle Great Britain. In 1861, Morris founded the Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co. decorative arts firm with Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Webb, and others, which became highly fashionable and much in demand. The firm profoundly influenced interior decoration throughout the Victorian period, with Morris designing tapestries, wallpaper, fabrics, furniture, and stained glass windows. In 1875, he assumed total control of the company, which was renamed Morris & Co.

 

***The Fabian Society is a British socialist organisation whose purpose is to advance the principles of social democracy and democratic socialism via gradualist and reformist effort in democracies, rather than by revolutionary overthrow. The Fabian Society was also historically related to radicalism, a left-wing liberal tradition.

 

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

 

This very cluttered and overstuffed room may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The Knole Sofa covered in William Morris’ ‘Strawberry Thief’ pattern comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The cushions on it, and on the Savonarola chair opposite also feature the Morris ‘Strawberry Thief’ pattern in 1:12 size, and came from an American seller on E-Bay. The Savonarola chairs are made by high-end miniature furniture manufacturer JBM Miniatures.

 

The large embroidered footstool in front of the fireplace was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique English 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 small round footstool in front of Sir John’s Savonarola chair has been hand embroidered as well, and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the united Kingdom.

 

The silver tea and coffee set on the large embroidered footstool, consisting of milk jug, sugar bowl coffee pot and teapot come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The silver tray upon which they stand also comes from Warwick Miniatures. The four dainty floral teacups with gilt edging scattered about the room are part of a larger tea set that I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The books on the table to the left of the photograph between the two Savonarola chairs are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. They are novels written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 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 copies of real Victorian bindings. 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.

 

The wonderfully detailed red and white chess set in the foreground of the photograph came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The set came in its own hand crafted compartmented wooden box with a working sliding lid which can be seen just in front of the Pig-a-Back and Ludo game boxes. The chess game is set up correctly with a match in progress. I wonder who will win? The table on which the chess game is being played comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, whilst the two red velvet seated chairs drawn up to it, I acquired from an auction some years ago. The pieces date from the 1970s and are very well made.

 

The box of Ludo and Pig-a-Back are both 1:12 artisan pieces, produced authentically to scale with great attention to detail by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Sir John and Lady Gladys’ family photos on the mantlepiece are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal. Only one, the larger square frame at the back, leaning against the tall blue vase on the left-hand side of the mantle is sterling silver. I t was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.

 

The two small vases of primroses on the mantle are delicate 1:12 artisan porcelain miniature ornaments made and painted by hand by ceramicist Ann Dalton.

 

The two dark blue double handled gilt vases with floral banding at either end of the mantlepiece, I have had since I was a child. I was given them as a birthday gift when I was nine.

 

The two tall blue glazed jugs featuring irises at either end of the fireplace came from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, as did the brown glazed jug on the tall pedestal in the corner of the room next to the bookcase.

 

The grey marble French barrel clock on the mantlepiece is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England.

 

The Georgian style fireplace with its heavy wooden surround and deep mantle in the background was made by Town Hall Miniatures supplied through Melody Jane’s Dolls’ House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The glass fronted bookcase is a replica of a bookcase belonging to Abraham Lincoln and is part of the Lincoln Collection, made and distributed in America.

 

Lady Gladys’ book collection inside the glass fronted bookcase are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe was famous in miniature collectors’ circles mostly for the miniature books that he made: all being authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. Each book is a 1:12 replica of a life sized volume with an authentic cover. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago and through his estate courtesy of the generosity of his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The paintings hanging on the walls are all 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The wallpaper is William Morris’ ‘Poppies’ pattern, featuring stylised Art Nouveau poppies. William Morris papers and fabrics were popular in the late Victorian and early Edwardian period before the Great War.

 

The miniature Arts and Crafts rug on the floor is made by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney.