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Last night offered a nice view of the conjunction of the young crescent moon and the planet Mercury in the western skies of the Northern Latitudes. Mars was also visible, although higher above the moon. You can see some stars of the constellation Cetus just to the right of the moon. The ½ second exposure was just enough to bring out the Earthshine on the moon.
Tech Specs: Canon 6D, Canon EF70-200mm f/2.8L USM lens, tripod mounted. ½ second exposure at ISO 640, f/2.8, 140mm. Imaging was done on March 29, 2017 from Weatherly, Pennsylvania.
My very lovely friend Tiffany Michelle Lloyd very kindly offered to use her skills to improve my rather scratchy, spotted old photos and she did a wonderful job with them. I thought it would be nice to re-post them one at a time and add a few notes.
This one was taken probably in the late 1970s or perhaps very early 80s. Back then there was no internet and it was terribly lonely for girls like me. Our only real outlet here in the UK were magazines and my favourite was World of Transvestism, which I am sure many of you UK ladies will remember.
At this time I lived with my mother but I still found times when I could dress up and be Elaine. I took these photos using an SLR camera and then developed and printed them myself to avoid taking them to the local chemist, which could have been embarrassing.
My outfit was very much the fashion at the time wearing a sweet pussy bow blouse with puffed sleeves and a fishtail skirt. I remember dreaming and wishing I could wear clothes like this each day and work in an office in the city being one of the girls and surrounded by nice male colleagues. I can't remember whether I thought of myself as a real girl or as an accepted Tgirl.
I do remember that I was very shy and quiet at the time though, and so loved dressing as a girl.
Anyway I shall post more soon.
Thank you again Tiffany! x
Keep safe everyone x
.:* SL Frees & Offers *:.
Credits/Blog: slfreeworldforall.blogspot.com.es/2015/05/o-japanese-airs...
Fantasy Fair 2015 Event
FAMESHED
EVENT@1ST
EVA - Eden of Virtual Arts
Slink / [White~Widow] / 7 Deadly s{K}ins / /Wasabi Pills/ / [SAKIDE] / :adoness: / Glaze / :Diamante
Eternal Dream Poses
Place: Yanagi
Segaia offers African sunsets and stunning views of a dam on your doorstep - a watering-place where Zebra, Kudu, Impala, warthog and the odd leopard come to drink. Birdlife is prolific, as are large numbers of frogs, both of which treat visitors to their songs. One of the jewels of northern Gauteng, Segaia Bush Retreat offers an escape to the magic of the bush that reminds of areas far more remote. It is the perfect getaway for weary, ‘traffic-jammed’ city dwellers who do not want to spend hours on the road to get to a weekend destination, but require an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity combined with fresh air.
Info source URL: www.sa-venues.com/visit/segaiabushretreat/
=========
The photo was taken during 2018-08 at Segaia Bush Retreat, Buffelsdrift, Gauteng, South Africa.
Photography, as a powerful medium of expression and communications, offers an infinite variety of perception, interpretation and execution.
攝影，作為一種強而有力的表達及溝通工具，提供了千變萬化的感受、詮釋及表現。
~ Ansel Adams
P.S. Non-HDR
My earlier photo, during the day, made me long for more. The Point offers you a wonderful view. So, I picked the blue hour for the second shot.
The bundle of light on the left side is a Brittany’s ferry slowly passing by; coming in from Bilbao, Spain. Sailing time is 24 hours.
Portsmouth (a.k.a. Pompey) is a port city and naval base on England’s south coast, situated on the Portsea Island. It’s known for its maritime heritage and Portsmouth historic dockyards.
Here you see the Spinnaker Tower, as part of the urban re-development of what had once been HM Gunwharf, Portsmouth. This was one of several such facilities which were established around Britain and the Empire by the Board of Ordnance, where cannons, ammunition and other armaments were stored, repaired and serviced ready for use on land or at sea. Later known as HMS Vernon, the military site closed in 1995. It opened to the public as Gunwharf Quays after six years of reconstruction; which included the restoration of some of the surviving 18th and 19th-century Gun Wharf buildings. The landmark Spinnaker Tower opened on October 2005 a few years later.
The Spinnaker Tower is a 170 metres (560 ft) landmark observation tower. Being taller than London Eye, Blackpool Tower and Big Ben, the Spinnaker Tower has established itself as one of the national icons of Britain. Its shape was chosen by Portsmouth residents from a selection of entries. The tower, designed by local architectural firm called “HGP Architects” and engineering consultants Scott Wilson. It was built by Mowlem. Obviously, it reflects Portsmouth's maritime history through its modelled sail; a spinnaker.
Not close up!
Gunwharf Quays is now a waterfront outlet shopping center. Although, there are no gates, notices/signs or a visible entrance, it is not a public space. Private company rules apply. And one of them is that is not allowed to take pictures with the help of a three legged thing. Security is pretty strict about this. The many CCTV cams smell you from miles away. Although I was approached by a nice and very understanding security guard (who let me finish 1 or 2 photos during his lecture on the rules), I finally opted for an angle a bit further away; from The Point.
Technical stuff
This HDR consisting of one photo. The shot was done at 250ISO, f20, 30 seconds and 18mils. That I only used 30 seconds was motivated by the fact that the ferry at a longer exposure would no longer be recognisable as a ship but just white lines 😉.
De HDR process was done with the help of Aurora HDR 2018. Further post-production was done in Adobe Lightroom CC. It included, balancing the lighting, giving the image a bit more umph by using the curve tool, sharpening the image with the use of a High Pass tool and highlighting the dynamic nature of the ferry. Finally I added some small copyright signs. The latter is, alas, there to stay due to the frequent copying of my photos. So, don't bother commenting on that.
Special offer for 99 Sale
Amelie Lingerie comes bra ana panties in 10 selected colors Yellow - Turquoise - nude - salmon - hot pink - royal - oil blue - marine - dark plum - red and is rigged for Maitreya Lara/Petite - Freya - hourglass - Legacy/Perky - Kupra - Reborn.
Larceny Barrel Proof offers a new opportunity to experience our acclaimed wheated Bourbon mashbill in its purest form: non-chill filtered and bottled at full barrel proof. Released three times per year in January, May, and September, each offering is a bold yet balanced special Small Batch Bourbon rich with depth and distinction. Much like Larceny Small Batch and Old Fitzgerald Bottled-in-Bond, Larceny Barrel Proof is a welcome reminder of just how good wheated Bourbons can be.
Tasting Notes
Color: Dark sepia
Aroma: Toasted bread, with maple and cinnamon
Taste: Rich molasses coats the tongue, with notes of fig and hazelnut
Finish: Nuanced flavor fades into lingering warmth
heavenhilldistillery.com/larceny-barrel-proof.php
Whisky Tasting, 03/23/2024, Nashville, TN
Canon EOS-1DS
EF 35.0 mm ƒ/1.4 L
ƒ/1.4 35.0 mm 1/30 400
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All images available for licensing via me. I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database with thousands of hand-picked images of dogs, cats, as well as horses, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.
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***********Stefan Sobot offered to edit this shot for me and I think I am now in love with it ;) Go and visit his photo stream at: this link
Original Porsche 911 993 GT2, one of around 50 in the world, one of two in Australia.
The insignia on the back says "911 GT" and this is what the car was called until an update where they started calling it the GT2.
This was an incredibly hard shot to edit. If anyone wants a go, feel free with this shot.
Not going to promise this, but hopefully at the end of the week I will have some photo shoot shots to post.
Taken at Woodsy. To keep up to date with new releases, special offers and the events that Jinx items will be available at special prices please visit the Jinx main store and subscribe to the subscribomatic.
Jinx main store: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Sea%20of%20Beckoning/96/19...
Cuba, near Viñales, a tobaco farmer whom we visited, picked three large dried tobaco leaves, rolled a single sigar and offered us. Proudly confirming us the best tobacos in the world are grown here in this location.
Mengening Beach, Bali - Indonesia
We offer the photography tours to various spot including some of the hidden beauty of Bali. Not just showing you the place, we also will sharing some landscape photography advise and tips.
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All images are copyrighted by PANDU ADNYANA. Do NOT use my images on personal or professional websites, blogs or any other digital or printing media without my explicit permission.
All images available for licensing via me. I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database with thousands of hand-picked images of dogs, cats, as well as horses, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.
For licensing and commission requests: info{at}elkevogelsang.com -
FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE
© Elke Vogelsang
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licensing dog images
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Boasting the widest beach in Aruba and famous for its pristine and soft white sands, Eagle Beach offers beautiful Caribbean ocean views, ample parking, shaded areas, some beach huts, and a variety of water sports.
Eagle Beach is home to two of the most photographed and renowned fofoti trees in Aruba, with its trademark silhouette pointing in the direction of the Caribbean. These trees have been starring in various Aruba advertising campaigns as unique and highly recognizable features.
Several of the Aruba low rise hotels are nearby or just across the road. Some provide cabanas and lounges for their guests.
Localizada ao longo da costa oeste da ilha, este trecho intocado de 0,7 milhas de areia branca e fina atrai visitantes e moradores locais por sua beleza natural e cena gastronômica animada. No entanto, a praia, também a mais larga da ilha, continua sendo um santuário tranquilo com muito espaço para que todos possam tomar sol, brincar ou passear. Mesmo se você não estiver hospedado em uma das propriedades à beira-mar, há muito estacionamento gratuito se você estiver dirigindo aqui durante o dia, e o acesso à praia é gratuito. E enquanto Aruba é notoriamente ventosa por causa dos ventos alísios que sopram em toda a ilha, a água em Eagle Beach é calma, sem algas ou rochas e é excelente para natação e atividades aquáticas. Embora não haja formações de corais ou recifes, há uma abundância de peixes coloridos e caranguejos nadando na água.
An der Westküste der Insel gelegen, zieht dieser unberührte, 1,1 km lange, puderweiße Sandstrand Besucher und Einheimische gleichermaßen wegen seiner natürlichen Schönheit und lebhaften Restaurantszene an. Der Strand, auch der breiteste der Insel, bleibt jedoch ein ruhiger Zufluchtsort mit viel Platz für alle zum Sonnenbaden, Spielen oder Spazierengehen. Auch wenn Sie nicht in einem der Strandhotels übernachten, gibt es viele kostenlose Parkplätze, wenn Sie für den Tag hierher fahren, und der Zugang zum Strand ist kostenlos. Und während Aruba wegen der Passatwinde, die über die Insel wehen, bekanntermaßen windig ist, ist das Wasser am Eagle Beach ruhig, ohne Algen oder Felsen und eignet sich hervorragend zum Schwimmen und für Wasseraktivitäten. Obwohl es keine Korallenformationen oder Riffe gibt, gibt es eine Fülle von bunten Fischen und Krebsen, die im Wasser schwimmen.
Gelegen langs de westkust van het eiland, trekt dit ongerepte 1,1 mijl lange stuk poederachtig wit zand zowel bezoekers als de lokale bevolking vanwege de natuurlijke schoonheid en de levendige eetcultuur. Het strand, ook het breedste van het eiland, blijft echter een rustig toevluchtsoord met genoeg ruimte voor iedereen om te zonnebaden, te spelen of een wandeling te maken. Zelfs als u niet in een van de accommodaties aan het strand verblijft, is er voldoende gratis parkeergelegenheid als u hier een dagje naartoe rijdt, en de toegang tot het strand is gratis. En terwijl Aruba bekend staat om de wind vanwege de passaatwinden die over het eiland waaien, is het water op Eagle Beach kalm zonder zeewier of rotsen en uitstekend geschikt voor zwemmen en wateractiviteiten. Hoewel er geen koraalformaties of riffen zijn, zwemt er een overvloed aan kleurrijke vissen en krabben in het water.
Ubicado a lo largo de la costa oeste de la isla, este prístino tramo de 0.7 millas de arena blanca atrae a visitantes y lugareños por igual por su belleza natural y su animada escena gastronómica. Sin embargo, la playa, también la más ancha de la isla, sigue siendo un santuario tranquilo con mucho espacio para que todos puedan tomar el sol, jugar o dar un paseo. Sin embargo, incluso si no se hospeda en una de las propiedades frente a la playa, hay mucho estacionamiento gratuito si conduce aquí durante el día, y el acceso a la playa es gratuito. Y aunque Aruba es famosa por el viento debido a los vientos alisios que soplan en la isla, el agua en Eagle Beach es tranquila, sin algas ni rocas, y es excelente para nadar y realizar actividades acuáticas. Aunque no hay formaciones de coral o arrecifes, hay una gran cantidad de peces de colores y cangrejos nadando en el agua.
Situato lungo la costa occidentale dell'isola, questo tratto incontaminato di 0,7 miglia di sabbia bianca e polverosa attira visitatori e gente del posto per la sua bellezza naturale e la vivace scena gastronomica. Tuttavia, la spiaggia, anche la più ampia dell'isola, rimane un tranquillo santuario con tanto spazio per prendere il sole, giocare o fare una passeggiata. Anche se non alloggi in una delle proprietà sulla spiaggia, tuttavia, c'è un ampio parcheggio gratuito se guidi qui per la giornata e l'accesso alla spiaggia è gratuito. E mentre Aruba è notoriamente ventosa a causa degli alisei che soffiano sull'isola, l'acqua di Eagle Beach è calma senza alghe o rocce ed è eccellente per nuotare e fare attività acquatiche. Anche se non ci sono formazioni coralline o barriere coralline, c'è un'abbondanza di pesci colorati e granchi che nuotano nell'acqua.
Située le long de la côte ouest de l'île, cette étendue immaculée de 0,7 mile de sable blanc poudreux attire les visiteurs et les habitants pour sa beauté naturelle et sa scène gastronomique animée. Cependant, la plage, également la plus large de l'île, reste un sanctuaire tranquille avec beaucoup d'espace pour que chacun puisse bronzer, jouer ou se promener. Même si vous ne séjournez pas dans l'une des propriétés en bord de mer, il y a beaucoup de places de parking gratuites si vous conduisez ici pour la journée, et l'accès à la plage est gratuit. Et tandis qu'Aruba est célèbre pour ses vents en raison des alizés qui soufflent sur l'île, l'eau d'Eagle Beach est calme, sans algues ni rochers et est excellente pour la baignade et les activités nautiques. Même s'il n'y a pas de formations coralliennes ou de récifs, il y a une abondance de poissons colorés et de crabes nageant dans l'eau.
島の西海岸に沿って位置する、この手付かずの 0.7 マイルのパウダー状の白い砂浜は、その自然の美しさと活気のあるダイニング シーンのために観光客や地元の人々を魅了します。しかし、島で最も広いビーチは、誰もが日光浴をしたり、遊んだり、散歩したりするのに十分なスペースがあり、静かな聖域のままです。ただし、ビーチフロントの宿泊施設に滞在していなくても、ここを 1 日運転している場合は無料の駐車場がたくさんあり、ビーチへのアクセスは無料です。アルバ島は貿易風が吹くため風が強いことで知られていますが、イーグル ビーチの水は海藻や岩がなく穏やかで、水泳やウォーター アクティビティに最適です。サンゴ礁やサンゴ礁はありませんが、水中には色とりどりの魚やカニが泳いでいます。
يقع على طول الساحل الغربي للجزيرة ، هذا الامتداد البكر الذي يبلغ طوله 0.7 ميل من الرمال البيضاء البودرة يجذب الزوار والسكان المحليين على حد سواء لجمالها الطبيعي ومشهد تناول الطعام المفعم بالحيوية. ومع ذلك ، يظل الشاطئ ، وهو أيضًا الأوسع في الجزيرة ، ملاذًا هادئًا مع مساحة كبيرة للجميع لأخذ حمام شمس أو اللعب أو التنزه. حتى إذا كنت لا تقيم في أحد العقارات المواجهة للشاطئ ، فهناك الكثير من مواقف السيارات المجانية إذا كنت تقود سيارتك هنا طوال اليوم ، والوصول إلى الشاطئ مجاني. وبينما تشتهر أروبا بالرياح بسبب الرياح التجارية التي تهب عبر الجزيرة ، فإن المياه على شاطئ إيجل هادئة مع عدم وجود أعشاب بحرية أو صخور وممتازة للسباحة والأنشطة المائية. على الرغم من عدم وجود تكوينات مرجانية أو شعاب مرجانية ، إلا أن هناك وفرة من الأسماك الملونة وسرطان البحر تسبح في الماء.
Hi everyone! ^_^
The offers period closed yesterday (21/06/2012) and Pinkuru has a new owner! the chosen offer was Manoliyo's, congratulations!!!
I wanted to thank all of you who were interested in her and everyone who have send their offers ^_^ many thanks!
***
Hola a todos! ^_^
El período de ofertas terminó ayer (21/06/2012) y Pinkuru ya tiene dueño! la oferta elegida ha sido la de Manoliyo, muchiiiisimas felicidades!!!!!!
Quería agradecer a todos los que os habeis interesado por ella y a todos los que habeis enviado vuestras ofertas ^_^ mil gracias!
Not the great splash of color that some sunsets offer up but still an beauty!! Some rays of hope to end the day a bit of gold to warm the soul!! Photo taken at El Franco Lee Park!! Want to take this time to wish all of my Flickr friends a Happy Thanksgiving!! I know that it is really an American Holiday but we pause and give thanks for the many blessings that we have received this year!! In spite of the difficulties that we have had this year we still have so much to be thankful for!! Most of all am thankful for the many friends that I have both here on Flickr and those that stand by me when times get tough!! I am blessed to live in a place where we have such an abundance! A huge thank you for each and every one of my Flickr friends for your support and for your comments! Have a wonderful and blessed day!
Some of you will know that I am no fan of Explore and so make no big deal about it!! I take each photo one at a time and find many more photos that should be recognized!! I would normally change the settings so that most people can't see the photo but since it is Thanksgiving I'll let it be this one time! Happy Thanksgiving once again!!
DSC07909uls
This year I'll offer up a bunch of vintage builds. If you're able/willing, please become the new custodian of one or several of these. The store should be open October 15th trough November 30th on www.creationsforcharity.org
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is paying an unexpected call on her beloved parents whilst her mistress is away visiting her own parents in Wiltshire. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. Usually even before she walks through the glossy black painted front door, Edith can smell the familiar scent of a mixture of Lifebuoy Soap, Borax and Robin’s Starch, which means her mother is washing the laundry of others wealthier than she in the terrace’s kitchen at the rear of the house. Yet with her father’s promotion, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now, and today, rather than soap and starch greeting her on the street, she can hear familiar laughter.
“Mum!” Edith calls out cheerily as she opens the unlocked front door and walks in. “Mum, it’s me! Is that Bert with you?”
She takes a deep breath and holds it with anticipation as she runs down the narrow corridor with excited footsteps past the front room and down into the kitchen, which serves as the heart of Edith’s parent’s home. Bursting through the kitchen door she beams and gasps with delight, for there at Ada’s old and worn round kitchen table sits her mother and her brother Bert. Edith’s little brother works aboard the SS Demosthenes as a dining saloon steward, sailing between England and Australia. Australia was where Bert spent Christmas 1922, so he wasn’t with his family for Christmas. Yet now, just like in the postcard he sent from Queensland showing a bird called a kookaburra inside the shape of the great southern continent surrounded by yellow wattle flowers, he is home on shore leave.
“Bert!” Edith gasps in delight. “You’re home!”
“Hullo Edith!” Bert says with an equally happy smile as he leaps out of the comfortable Windsor chair usually inhabited by their father and enfolds his sister in an embracing hug.
“Oh Bert.” Edith presses herself against her brother, the comforting smell of their mother’s lux soap flakes filling her nostrils. Pressing her hands against his hips, she breaks their embrace and pushes herself back. “Let me look at you then!”
Although a year younger than his sister, Bert is taller than Edith now, after a final growth spurt when he was in his late teens. Dressed in one of their mother’s home knitted jumpers and a pair of grey flannel trousers his skin looks sun kissed after spending a few days ashore in Melbourne during the height of summer in the southern hemisphere before sailing back, and the sun has given his sandy blonde hair some natural highlights.
“The sea air agrees with you, Bert.”
“More likely the Australian sun!” Ada remarks as she picks herself up out of her own chair with a slight groan. “Just look at those colourful cheeks and those freckles.” She waves her hand at her son lovingly. “We don’t usually see them until high summer.”
“Hullo Mum!” Edith walks up and embraces her mother. ‘How are you?”
“Oh, I’m grand now our Bert is home, and you are too, Edith love.” Ada says in reply, a broad smile gracing her lips and a happy brilliance in her brown eyes. “Now, put that basket down and have a seat. I’ll pop the kettle on and brew us a fresh pot.” She begins to bustle around the great blacklead range and moves the heavy kettle onto the hob. Turning back to the table she picks up the beautiful, glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid, which Edith bought for her from the Caledonian Market**, and makes a grand sweeping gesture to show Edith it’s presence. “See Edith, a special occasion calls for the use of my special teapot.”
“Any day should be a special enough day for you to use that pretty teapot that Edith gave you, Mum.” Bert says, sitting back down at the table.
“That’s what I tell her!” Edith agrees.
“But then it wouldn’t be a special teapot any more, would it?” Ada says, stepping behind Bert and going to the small tough sink the corner of the kitchen where she turns the squeaky taps and rinses out the pot. “No. It’s a special teapot for special occasions.” She takes up the yellow tea towel with red stitching that hangs over a metal rail above the range and dries the pot. “I used it on Christmas Day didn’t I, Edith love?”
“Yes,” Edith agrees. “But you haven’t used it a day since then.”
“That’s because there hasn’t been a special occasion worthy of using it,” Ada defends. “Until Bert came home, that is.” She gently squeezes her son’s left shoulder.
“I give up!” Edith throws her hands in the air. She shucks off her black three quarter length coat and hangs it on a hook by the back door. She then places her hat on one of the carved knobs of the ladderback chair drawn up to the table next to her mother’s usual seat.
“Oh I told you, Edith!” Ada chides. “Don’t put your pretty hat there, love.” She walks over to the Welsh dresser that dominates one wall of the crowded kitchen and pulls out the battered tea cannister. “It might get damaged. Such a pretty hat should sit on the table where it’s safe. You know Edith made that, don’t you Bert?”
“Yes, I do, Mum.” Bert acknowledges cheerfully. “Our Edith is the cleverest girl I know.”
“I keep saying Mum, the hat’s nothing special. And besides, I didn’t make it. It came from Petticoat Lane***, just like my coat, and it’s not new. I simply decorated the hat with bits and bobs I picked up from a Whitechapel haberdasher Miss Lettice’s char****, Mrs. Boothby, told me about.”
“Well, homemade or not, it’s still too pretty to hang there.”
“It’s my hat, Mum. I always hang it there and it’s always fine, and I promise you, it’ll be fine there today.”
“Well, suit yourself, love. You’re an adult now, just the same as Bert.” Ada remarks dismissively but looks at her daughter doubtfully as she scoops out some black dried tea leaves and puts the heaped spoonfuls into the pot. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“So,” Bert sinks back into his seat and toys with his teacup decorated with pink roses, slowly turning it in its saucer. “What’s the gossip with you then, Edith? How’s your Frank then? Mum says that she and Dad haven’t met him yet.”
“It’s become quite the mute point.” Ada remarks as she turns back from the dresser and folds her arms akimbo, frowning at her daughter.
“And I hope,” Edith defends herself, challenging her mother’s steely stare. “That she told you why.”
“I did!” Ada says crisply.
“Word is you’re meeting his mum soon, Edith.” Bert says excitedly.
“Well, not his mum. His parents died of the Spanish Flu, but I’m meeting his Granny, who is a bit like his surrogate mum.”
“That’s nerve wracking.” Bert replies.
“I know! I’m so nervous.” Edith confides, lowing her voice as she leans across the table conspiratorially and reaches for the battered McVitie and Price biscuit tin.
“That’s why I can’t get a girl to come home here.” Frank says with a wink and slight indicating nod to their mother. “Imagine meeting Mum.” He lifts the lid off the tin for his sister and lets her make her selection. “They’re all too scared of her.”
“Cheeky!” Ada says, laughing good naturedly and swatting her son with the tea towel. “Any girl would be lucky to have me as a prospective mother-in-law.” She shuffles her shoulders and tilts her head upwards as her face forms into a dignified expression. “Or boy.” she adds with undisguised meaning and importance.
“So, me and Frank are just fine, thanks Bert. We’re just tickety-boo.*****!” Edith tells her brother before popping a biscuit into her mouth.
“Tickety-boo!” Bert enthuses. “You are up on all the latest small talk and phrases, living with your Miss Chetwynd up in Mayfair.”
“She comes home with new phrases all the time.” Ada places the freshly refilled cottage ware teapot down on the table between them all. “Goodness knows I can’t keep up with her. It’s the influence of all those fine ladies and gentlemen and moving picture stars that frequent Mis Chetwynd’s flat.”
“Moving picture stars? Really” Bert asks excitedly.
“Oh Bert!” Edith scoffs, flapping her hand playfully at him. “I only answer the door to them, or serve them tea. And Miss Lettice has only had one moving picture star to tea since I’ve been there: Wanetta Ward.” She sighs. “She’s so beautiful! She works for Gainsborough Pictures******. You’re more likely to have a longer conversation with a moving picture star on board your ship as a dining saloon steward, Bert, than ever I will at Miss Lettice’s.”
“I doubt that. There aren’t that many moving picture stars sailing between Australia and home, well none that I know of. Although they are mad for moving pictures over there. There are picture houses everywhere, and they even make their own films there, just like here.”
“Anyway, I’m not the interesting one, Bert.” Edith says, seeing a way to turn the conversation to her brother and his news. “You are. Tell me about life on the ship this voyage.”
A short while later over tea and biscuits, Edith is brought up to date with Bert’s latest adventures on board his ship, and the interesting people he has served as a first-class saloon steward.
“Oh!” Ada suddenly gasps. “Bert! Aren’t you going to give Edith her present?”
“Present?” Edith asks with a querying look to her brother.
“Yes, Edith love. Don’t you remember Bert wrote it in his last postcard to us?”
Edith casts her mind back a few weeks to when her mother showed her the postcard Bert had sent from Australia.
“Right you are Mum!” Bert agrees. “So Edith, on Christmas Day, the Second Officer, Mr. Collins, organised a trip for we lads and some of the girls on the ship’s staff who were away from home for Christmas and that were at a loose end. A lot found their own amusements in Melbourne. It’s such a big and vibrant city, full of fun things to do. But about twenty of us didn’t have anywhere to go, so we said yes.”
“What did you do, Bert? What had Mr. Collins organised?” Edith asks in suspense.
“Well, Mr. Collins was born in Melbourne. Well no, actually he was born a few hours outside of Melbourne in the country at a place called Yarra Glen. It’s quite famous and lots of toffs go there to holiday, not that was where Mr. Collins took us.” Bert quickly adds, seeing the excitement in his sister’s face. “No, Mr. Collins was born on a farm out there – something they call a cattle station – and he took us all out there for a picnic on his parent’s station.”
“But a station is a railway station.” Edith mutters, shaking her head, her face crumpling in disbelief.
“Well in Australia there are railway stations and cattle station, which are big farms. So, Mr. Collins packed us all into a railway carriage at Flinders Street Railway Station and off we went. We left at ten in the morning and we didn’t get to the railway station at the Yarra Glen until nearly midday.”
“Was it hot?” Edith asks. “You always say Australia is hot around this time of year.”
“Well it was, but it was alright because we opened up our window in our carriage and poked our heads out so we could look at the passing countryside, so we had a nice breeze. The countryside is so different to here. It’s all yellow grasses and funny trees with washed out leaves: no real greenery at all so to speak, but it’s still really beautiful in its own way.”
“Hmph!” Ada snorts from her chair. “Nothing beats the Kentish countryside for beauty.”
“Well I guess beauty is a subjective thing, Mum.” Bert goes on, “Mr. Collins was telling us on the train trip down that sometimes travelling artists set up camp on his parent’s property just so that they can paint the landscape.”
“Fancy that, Frank!” Edith enthuses. “Did you like it?”
“Oh yes! It’s very pretty, in a foreign kind of way. Not many flowers. But we saw jumping kangaroos from the train on the trip down. They sat in the grass and watched us pass, and then some of them just up and jumped away. They can move very quickly when they jump. Anyway, we finally pulled into Yarra Glen. We had to wait whilst a big party of toffs and all their mountains of luggage were taken care of and packed up into cars. Mr. Collins says that there is a famous opera singer who lives out there, named Nellie Melba*******.”
“I’ve heard nellie Melba sing before!” Ada exclaims, dropping her pink and yellow floral teacup into her saucer and clapping her hands.
“You have, Mum?” Edith asks, the look of lack of comprehension on her face matching her brother’s as they both look to her.
“Well, not live of course!” Ada says, taking up her cup of tea before continuing. “But once when I was at Mrs. Hounslow’s, I heard her sing. She was playing records on her gramophone, and I asked who it was, and she invited me to stand in her parlour and listen to her recording of Nellie Melba sing ‘Ave Maria’.” Her children pull a face at the mention of their landlady, the rich and odious old widow whom they both grew up hearing about regularly, and seeing on the rare occasions she would deign to stop by to collect their rent in person, rather than her rent collector. “Now don’t be like that, children! Mrs. Hounslow’s husband died a hero in the siege of Mafeking in the Boer War.”
“And neither you, nor she will ever let us forget it.” Bert drones, rolling his eyes.
“Now I won’t have a bad word said about her, Bert.” Ada wags her finger admonishingly at her son. “She’s helped pay for many a meal in this house with her sixpences and shillings over the years, especially during the war when things were hard. You should be grateful to her. We all should be.”
“Pshaw!” Edith raises her eyes to the ceiling above. “Enough about old Widow Hounslow! Go on with your story, Bert.”
“Well,” Bert continues. “Miss Melba must have been home and hosting a big house party, but once they were all packed off, we were ushered to a charabanc******** which took us out to Mr. Collins’ family farm. Once we got to the house – which they call a homestead – Mrs. Collins, Mr, Collins’ mum, had picnic baskets for us, full of delicious sandwiches and pies and cakes. There was even beer and stout for us to drink. When Mr. Collins lead us away from the house to where we were to take our picnic, he took us to a place where there was a stream, so we could dunk the bottles of beer and stout into it to keep them warm. We tethered them to the bank with string he gave us. And so, we sat under these big trees with white bark and ate and drank and had a jolly time of it, all at Mr. Collin’s expense.”
“That was nice of him, Bert.” Edith remarks.
“It was! We were ever so grateful. He had brought a cricket bat and stumps from the house with him, so we played some cricket after luncheon until it got too warm, and then we sang Christmas carols.”
“It must have felt odd, singing Christmas carols in the summer sunshine.”
“Not really Edith.” Bert replies. “Christmas is Christmas all over the world, no matter what the weather, if you are in high spirits.”
“And the gift?” Ada says, patting her son’s arm as a reminder.
“So, when we were walking back from out picnic by the stream, I was carrying one of the picnic baskets, and I noticed what a pretty painted lid it had. When we arrived back at the homestead, I asked Mr. Collins’ mother about it. It turns out that Mr. Collin’s brother and his wife live on the property as well. She cooks for the farmhands and helps keep house for old Mrs. Collins, and she also makes picnic baskets from the reeds growing around the stream we used to keep our beer and stout warm. Her husband carves the lids and she paints them, and she sells them in Yarra Glen.” Bert reaches under the table and pushing his seat backwards, he stands up and places a picnic basket on the table. “So this is for you. It’s the picnic basket I brought back to the house, and then brought all the way from Australia for you. A belated Merry Christmas, big sister.”
Edith gasps and raises her hands to her mouth as a smile fills her face. The beautiful picnic hamper sitting proudly on the table has woven pale reed sides and two hinged lids on the top, both painted with stylised leaves and creamy yellow daisies.
“Oh Bert!” Edith gasps, as tears well in her eyes. “Oh it’s lovely!” She gets up and hurries over to her brother and embraces him. “Thank you so much!”
“I’m so glad you like it, Edith.” Bert replies. “I got more than a bit of ribbing from the other chaps on the sailing home. They took up calling me ‘Basket Bert’.”
“Oh they didn’t, Bert?” Edith cries. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you be sorry for, Edith, but I afraid that I think it will stick,” Frank adds. “However it’s worth it, if you like the basket. I thought if things were still going well with Frank, you two might use it to go on a picnic in summer.”
“Oh, I will Bert!” Edith replies as she runs her hand along the thin and elegant handle. “It’s wonderful! Thank you so much!”
*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.
**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.
***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.
****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.
*****Believed to date from British colonial rule in India, and related to the Hindi expression “tickee babu”, meaning something like “everything's alright, sir”, “tickety-boo” means “everything is fine”. It was a common slang phrase that was popular in the 1920s.
******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.
*******Dame Nellie Melba was an Australian operatic lyric coloratura soprano. She became one of the most famous singers of the late Victorian era and the early Twentieth Century, and was the first Australian to achieve international recognition as a classical musician. She took the pseudonym "Melba" from Melbourne, her home town. Melba studied singing in Melbourne and made a modest success in performances there. After a brief and unsuccessful marriage, she moved to Europe in search of a singing career. She succeeded in London and Paris. Her repertoire was small; in her whole career she sang no more than 25 roles and was closely identified with only ten. She was known for her performances in French and Italian opera, but sang little German opera. She returned to Australia frequently during the Twentieth Century, singing in opera and concerts, and had a house, “Coombe Cottage” built for her in the Yarra Valley outside of Melbourne.
********A charabanc or "char-à-banc" is a type of horse-drawn vehicle or early motor coach, usually open-topped, more common in Britain, but also found in places like Australia during the early part of the Twentieth Century. It has benched seats arranged in rows, looking forward, commonly used for large parties, whether as public conveyances or for excursions.
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:
The central focus of our story, sitting on Ada’s table, is the wicker picnic basket that Bert brought home for Edith. In truth it is not Australian made, but was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside.
In front of the basket stands Ada’s cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched rood and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
Surrounding the cottage ware teapot are non-matching teacups, saucers, a milk jug and sugar bowl, all of which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom.
Sitting on the table in the foreground is a McVitie and Price’s Small Petite Beurre Biscuits tin, containing a selection of different biscuits. The biscuits were made by hand of polymer clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. 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.
Edith’s black dyed straw hat with purple roses and black feathers was made by an unknown artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. This hat is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.
In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from The Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are a tin of Macfie’s Finest Black Treacle, two jars of P.C. Flett and Company jam, a tin of Heinz marinated apricots, a jar of Marmite, some Bisto gravy powder, some Ty-Phoo tea and some Oxo stock cubes. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans.
Robert Andrew Macfie sugar refiner was the first person to use the term term Golden Syrup in 1840, a product made by his factory, the Macfie sugar refinery, in Liverpool. He also produced black treacle.
P.C. Flett and Company was established in Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands by Peter Copeland Flett. He had inherited a small family owned ironmongers in Albert Street Kirkwall, which he inherited from his maternal family. He had a shed in the back of the shop where he made ginger ale, lemonade, jams and preserves from local produce. By the 1920s they had an office in Liverpool, and travelling representatives selling jams and preserves around Great Britain. I am not sure when the business ceased trading.
The American based Heinz food processing company, famous for its Baked Beans, 57 varieties of soups and tinend spaghetti opened a factory in Harlesden in 1919, providing a great deal of employment for the locals who were not already employed at McVitie and Price.
Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.
In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.
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.
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).
Just to share with you my photography fellows. 6 or 7 years ago I started shooting tiny flowers, bugs and landscapes, I wanted to share them with you guys in Flickr, many of you offered me help to improve my photography but one of my mentors in England called Pete, someone whose friendship has changed my life for the better. He in England, me in Honduras, 2 different countries and cultures, languages, races but with the same goal, to spread some joy to poor children in my place.
2 weeks ago I was awarded by the NGO Vital Voices Honduras with the Leadership in Human Rights 2016, I never ever expected to be awarded, it was never my intention to be recognized like that but one thing takes you to another and now I want to share my little success and I want to inspire others to use our hobby to something meaningful.
I have always said "Photography has changed my life"
If you want to get to know this brown, short and old woman, many of you won´t understand a word as it is in Spanish, there is a video they made about my job in Brighter Lives. Thanks for watching.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, and her beau, grocery boy Frank Leadbetter, are visiting Edith’s friend and fellow maid Hilda. It is a beautiful, sunny Sunday and Sundays all three have as days off from their jobs as domestic servants and delivery boy. Taking advantage of this, all three are going to spend the afternoon at Hammersmith Palias de Danse*. As usual, Frank collects Edith from Cavendish Mews and the pair then go to the home of Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon, where Hilda works as a live-in maid.
Being Hilda’s day off, her employers usually decamp for the day, and today they are visiting their friend Priscilla who recently married American dry goods heir Georgie Carter. The pair have just returned to London from their honeymoon which took in much of Europe before visiting Georgie’s family in Philadelphia. The quartet will dine at the Café Royal**, doubtless at the expense of Georgie since the Channons seem perpetually to have financial difficulties, but as a result, the Channons have invited the Carters back to their Hill Street flat for after supper coffee, which means that Hilda must do one of her most hated jobs: grind coffee beans to make real coffee for Georgie Carter, who is particular about his American style coffee. We find the trio in the kitchen of the Hill Street flat, the ladies’ dancing frocks and Frank’s suit at odds with their surrounds as Hilda grinds the coffee beans sitting in a white china bowl in the large wooden and brass coffee grinder. By preparing the coffee, ready to make before she goes out, it will be easy to serve when her employers and their guests return after dinner, and the beans will still be fresh enough for Georgie’s liking.
“You know,” Frank remarks as he stands at Edith’s elbow and watches Hilda turn the handle of the coffee grinder with gusto. “I don’t see why they can’t just drink Camp Coffee*** like the rest of us.”
“Oh Frank!” gasps Edith, looking up at her beau and patting his hand with her own as he squeezes her left shoulder lovingly. “You know perfectly well why not, Frank. Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s friend, Mr. Carter is an American gentleman, and just like Miss Wanetta Ward the American moving picture star, he doesn’t like British coffee.”
“What rot!” Frank scoffs at the suggestion. “There’s nothing wrong with British coffee! If British coffee isn’t to Mr. Carter’s taste, let him have tea then, and save poor Hilda the effort of having to grind up coffee beans for his lordship.” He slips off the jacket of his smart Sunday blue suit, revealing his crisp white shirt, red tie and smart navy blue vest. He drapes it over the back of the Windsor chair Edith sits in. “Come on old girl,” he says to Hilda as he moves around the deal pine kitchen table. “Give me a go then. Give your arms a chance to recuperate before we go dancing.”
“You’re such a Socialist, Frank Leadbetter.” pipes up Hilda as with a grunt, she pushes the handle of the grinder mechanism over a particularly recalcitrant coffee bean.
“What?” gasps Frank as he takes over grinding from the grateful maid. “I thought you’d come to my defence, Hilda, especially as I’m being so chivalrous as to grind coffee beans for you.”
“Oh I am grateful, Frank, ever so.” Hilda replies, rubbing her aching forearms with her fat, sausage like fingers. “But just because you are being gallant, doesn’t mean I can’t call you a Socialist.”
“Because a hard working man like me thinks I’m every bit as good as this friend of your Mr. and Mrs. Channon, I’m now a Socialist?” Frank asks in an appalled voice. “You’re as bad as Edith’s mum.” He nods in his sweetheart’s direction.
“Mum thinks Frank might be a Communist.” Edith explains. “Even though we’ve both told her that he isn’t.”
“Handsome is as handsome does.” remarks Hilda with a cheeky smile as she glances at Frank winding the red knob topped brass handle of the grinder.
“I’m neither, I’ll have you know, Hilda Clerkenwell!” Frank retorts. “I’d prefer to think of myself as more of a progressive thinker when it comes to the rights and privileges of the working man,” He looks poignantly at Hilda. “And woman.”
“Same thing.” Hilda retorts matter-of-factly as she starts to straighten the russet grosgrain bandeau**** embellished with gold sequins which has slipped askew whilst she has been grinding coffee beans.
“Pardon my ignorance,” Edith begins gingerly. “But what exactly is a Socialist?”
“Socialism is a political movement that wants to reform various economic and social systems, transferring them to social ownership as opposed to private ownership.” remarks Hilda as she runs her hands down the back of her hair.
“Well done, Hilda!” Frank congratulates her.
“You sound surprised, Frank.” Hilda says with a cheeky smile. “Don’t they have smart girls where you come from, present company excluded, Edith!” Hilda adds hurriedly so as not to offend her best friend.”
“Oh, you know I’m not very political,” Edith assures Hilda, yet at the same time self consciously toys with her blonde waves as she speaks.
“I must confess, Hilda, I am a little surprised.” Frank admits. “I don’t know many girls who are interested in social rights and can give explanations so eloquently.”
“I’m so sorry Frank!” Edith defends herself. “I know you’ve tried to teach me, but I can’t help it. I get confused between this ist and the other ist. They all seem the same to me.” She blushes with mild embarrassment at her own ignorance.
“No, no, Edith!” Frank assures her as he stops grinding the coffee beans and reaches out his left hand, clasping her right one as it rests on the tabletop and squeezes it reassuringly. “This isn’t a criticism of you! It was a compliment to Hilda. You’re wonderful, and there are things that you understand and are far better at than me.”
“Than both of us, Edith.” adds Hilda quickly, the look of concern about her friend taking umbrage clear on her round face.
“Yes, inconsequential things.” Edith mumbles in a deflated tone.
“No, not at all.” Frank reassures her soothingly as he takes up grinding coffee again. “What good am I to myself if I can’t cook a meal to feed myself.”
“And for all my love of reading, Edith, you know I can’t sew a stitch.” Hilda appends. “I could never have made this beautiful frock.” She grasps the edge of the strap of her russet coloured art satin***** dress as she speaks. “Not in a million years. We’re all good at different things, and no-one could say you weren’t smart, Edith.”
“That’s right.” Frank concurs, smiling at his sweetheart. “One of the reasons why I’ve always admired you is because you aren’t some silly giggling Gertie****** like some of the housemaids I’ve known. You aren’t turned by just a handsome face, and your head isn’t filled with moving picture stars and nothing else.”
“Well, I do like moving picture stars, Frank.” Edith confesses.
“Oh I know, Edith, and I love you for that too.” Frank reassures her. “But it’s not all that is in there. You have a good head on your shoulders.”
“And a wise one too.” Hilda interjects. “How often do I ask you for advice? I’ve always asked you for your opinion on things for as long as we’ve been friends.”
“You are clever, and insightful, and you want a better life for yourself too, and that’s why I really love you. We want the same things from life.” Frank says in a soft and soothing tone full of love as he gazes at Edith. “You are very pretty, and no-one can deny that – not even you,” He holds out an admonishing finger as Edith goes to refute his remark. “But beauty, however glorious will fade. Just look at our Dowager Queen Mother*******. When beauty fades, wit and intelligence remain, and you have both of those qualities in spades, Edith.”
“Oh Frank.” Edith breathes softly. “You aren’t ashamed of me then?”
“Of course I’m not Edith! How could I ever be ashamed of you? I’m as proud as punch******** to step out with you! You’re my best girl.”
Frank winds the gleaming brass coffee grinder handle a few more times before stopping. He pulls out the drawer at the bottom and as he does, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans fills the air around them, wafting up his, Edith and Hilda’s nostrils. He sighs with satisfaction at a job well done.
“Good enough for his American lordship?” Frank asks Hilda.
She peers into the drawer. “Good enough.” she acknowledges with another of her cheeky smirks, nodding affirmatively.
“I still think he could jolly well grind his own, you know, Hilda!” Frank opines.
“Socialist.” she laughs in reply as she walks around Frank, withdraws the drawer of ground coffee and knocks the contents into the small, worn Delftware coffee cannister with careful taps, so as not to spill and waste any of the hard-won grinds.
“I bet you, your Wanetta Ward doesn’t grind her own coffee, Edith.” Frank goes on as he walks back around to Edith and slips his jacket on again.
“I bet you she does, Frank!” Edith counters.
“What? A moving picture star grinding her own coffee? I don’t believe it!”
“Miss Ward is a very unorthodox person, Frank, even for an American.” she assures him. “I think she might surprise you if you ever get the pleasure of meeting her one day.”
“Maybe.” Frank says doubtfully. “Well now that coffee is ground, we should really get going.” He runs his hands around the back of his jacket collar to make sure it is sitting straight. “The Hammersmith Palais waits for no-one, not even those who slave for undeserving Americans.” He laughs good heartedly. “Shall we go?”
“Oh yes!” enthuses Edith as Frank chivalrously pulls out her chair for her as she stands up. “I’ll fetch our coats.”
With her pretty blue floral sprigged frock swirling about her figure, Edith hurries over to the pegs by the door where Frank’s, Hilda’s and her own coat and hats hang. She moves lightly across the floor, practicing her dance steps as she goes, silently moving to the music she hears the band playing in her head.
“I really wonder why I bother sometimes.” Hilda says despondently as she pulls her brown coat on over the top of the luxurious man-made silk frock that Edith made for her and decorated with lace trimming and small bursts of sequins.
“Like I said,” Frank mutters. “He should settle for Camp Coffee like the rest of us, or have tea.”
“Not grinding coffee, Frank!” Hilda scoffs in reply. “I mean go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais week after week. What’s the point?”
“What do you mean, Hilda?” Edith asks gently, slipping her arms into her own black three-quarter length coat as Frank holds to open for her.
“I mean why do I bother going dancing when no man at the Palais ever looks at me, even in this beautiful new frock you made me, Edith.” She picks up the lace trimmed hem of her dance dress and lifts it despondently.
Edith and Frank both glance anxiously at one another for a moment. Both know they are thinking exactly the same thing. What Hilda says is true. Whenever the three of them go to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse there are always far more women in attendance than men. The Great War decimated the male population, and almost drove an entire generation of young men into extinction. Sadly, this means that more and more women are finding themselves without a gentleman to step out with, and are deemed surplus to needs by society. In spite of any of his faults, Edith knows how lucky she is to have a young man like Frank. Even the attentions of pretty girls are less in demand with fewer men in circulation desiring their company. Unlike Edith, Hilda is a little on the plump side, enjoying the indulgence of sticky buns from the bakers and an extra serving of Victoria Sponge at the Lyons Corner Shop********* at the top of Tottenham Court Road. Her face is friendly, with soft brown eyes and a warm smile, but she isn’t pretty. Even with the judicious application of a little powder and rouge acquired from the make-up counter of Selfridges********** her skin lacks the fresh gleam that Edith has, and for as long as she has known her, Edith has always found Hilda to have a very pale complexion. When the three of them do go dancing, Frank is often the only man she dances with when he partners her around the dancefloor, and more often than not, Hilda ends up taking the part of the man, dancing with any number of other neglected wallflowers, just to ward of the tedium of waiting for someone to ask her to dance. The plight, for plight it was, of women like Hilda was all too common, in the post-war world of the 1920s.
“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place, Hilda.” Frank says.
“What do mean, Frank?”
“Well, a girl with brains like you needs a man who will stimulate her mentally. Perhaps you might find the man of your dreams at a library.”
“A library!” Hilda’s mind conjures up images of pale bookish young men in glasses with phlegmatic characters who would much rather shake her hand limply and discuss the benefits of Socialism, rather than sweep her off her feet romantically.
“Not at all helpful, Frank!” hisses Edith as she watches her best friend’s face fall.
“I was only joking.” Frank shrugs apologetically, unsure what to say.
Edith hurries over and wraps her arm around Hilda’s slumping shoulders consolingly. “A faint heart never won a fair lady, Hilda.” She pulls Hilda to her lovingly. Hilda looks up at her friend sadly, yet thoughtfully. “And I think it works the same in reverse.”
Seeing a way to make amends for his ill-timed joke, Frank pipes up, “That’s exactly right, Hilda. Edith wouldn’t have been anywhere near as attractive to me if she hadn’t had a bit of pluck.”
“And you look splendid in the dance frock I made for you, Hilda,” Edith adds. “Really you do.”
“Do you really think so, Edith?” Hilda asks, looking at her friend.
“Of course I do! I’m a professional seamstress, and you are my best friend. I wouldn’t make something that didn’t suit you!”
“No, no of course not.” Hilda replies.
“And didn’t Mrs. Minkin say that russet satin would suit your colourings?”
“She did.”
“Well then,” Edith replies matter-of-factly. “There is nothing more to be said.”
“That’s right.” agrees Frank, and without further ado, he sweeps Hilda into his arms.
With the ease of a natural dancer, Frank begins to waltz his partner carefully across the black and white chequered linoleum floor of the Channon’s kitchen, guiding her around the kitchen table and the chairs gathered around it, past the black and white stove and the dresser cluttered with crockery and provisions.
“Oh Frank!” Hilda says, laughing joyously as she allows herself to be swept away. “You really are a one!”
Edith smiles as she sees a light return to her best friend’s eyes, and a smile appear upon her pert lips. She considers herself so fortunate not just because she has a chap to step out with, but because Frank is so kind and considerate. Not just any man would understand or appreciate Edith’s wish to include Hilda in their excursions to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse, and not every man would be as willing to take a turn with her on the dancefloor, as has been proven. Then again, Frank is no ordinary man, and as time goes on and she gets to know him better, the more she is becoming aware that her sweetheart is a very special man indeed. She laughs as Frank dips Hilda, making her squeal in delight, before raising her up again and restoring her to her feet.
“There!” Frank says with a huff as he catches his breath. “Now that your feet are suitably warmed up, you’re ready to go, Miss Clerkenwell. We’ll have no more talk of you not wanting to come dancing with us.”
“Today might be the day you meet someone, Hilda. Don’t give up on the chance.” Edith enthuses.
“Oh alright you two!” Hilda acquiesces. “I give up. Let’s go then.”
“That’s the spirit, Hilda!” Frank says. “That pluck will win you a fine and handsome gentleman with a brain that you deserve.”
“I can hardly battle both of you, can I?” Hilda laughs as she carefully places her floppy brimmed brown velvet and copper faille poke-style bonnet decorated with a beige rose and leaves atop her head.
The three friends walk out of the kitchen door that leads out onto the flat’s back stairs and begin to descend to the street. Hilda locks the door behind her and the coffee grinder and the as of yet to be ground coffee beans sit on the table, ready for when she returns later that day to serve to Margot, Dickie and their friends Priscilla and Georgie Carter.
*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.
**The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
***Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink's slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.
****A bandeau is a narrow band of fabric worn round the head to hold the hair in position. Although bandeaus existed long before the 1920s, there was a resurgence in popularity for embroidered grosgrain ribbons to be worn around the head across the forehead in the 1920s, and they are synonymous with 1920s flapper fashion.
*****The first successful artificial silks were developed in the 1890s of cellulose fibre and marketed as art silk or viscose, a trade name for a specific manufacturer. In 1924, the name of the fibre was officially changed in the U.S. to rayon, although the term viscose continued to be used in Europe.
******Although obscure as to its origin, the term “giggling Gertie” is of English derivation and was often used in a derisive way to describe silly children and young people, usually girls, who were deemed as being flippant and foolish.
*******Queen Alexandra was Queen of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, and Empress of India, from the twenty-second of January 1901 to the sixth of May 1910 as the wife of King-Emperor Edward VII. Daughter of King Christian IX of Denmark, at the age of sixteen Alexandra was chosen as the future wife of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, the son and heir apparent of Queen Victoria. When she arrived in England she was famed for her beauty and her style of dress and bearing were copied by fashion-conscious women. From Edward's death, Alexandra was queen mother, being a dowager queen and the mother of the reigning monarch. Alexandra retained a youthful appearance into her senior years, but during the Great War her age caught up with her. She took to wearing elaborate veils and heavy makeup, which was described by gossips as having her face "enamelled".
********Although today we tend to say as “pleased as punch”, the Victorian term actually began as “proud as punch”. This expression refers to the Punch and Judy puppet character. Punch's name comes from Punchinello, an Italian puppet with similar characteristics. In Punch and Judy shows, the grotesque Punch is portrayed as self-satisfied and pleased with his evil actions.
*********J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.
********** Selfridges, also known as Selfridges & Co., is a chain of upscale department stores in the United Kingdom that is operated by Selfridges Retail Limited, part of the Selfridges Group of department stores. It was founded by Harry Gordon Selfridge in 1908. Harry Gordon Selfridge, Sr. was an American-British retail magnate who founded the London-based department store. His twenty year leadership of Selfridge’s led to his becoming one of the most respected and wealthy retail magnates in the United Kingdom. He was known as the 'Earl of Oxford Street'.
***********Faille is a type of cloth with flat ribs, often made in silk. It has a softer texture than grosgrain, with heavier and wider cords or ribs. Weft yarns are heavier than warp, and it is manufactured in plain weaving. It was especially popular in the Nineteenth Century, and its popularity, although somewhat dwindling, did carry through into the early decades of the Twentieth Century.
This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
On Hilda’s deal table stands her coffee grinder with its brass handle, wooden base and drawer, and red knobs. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The little Delftware canister and the white china bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The coffee beans in the bowl are really black carraway seeds. The vase of flowers comes from an online shop on E-Bay.
Hilda’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.
In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.
All images available for licensing via me. I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database with hundreds of hand-picked images of dogs, cats, as well as horses, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.
For licensing and commission requests: info{at}elkevogelsang.com -
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20200124_Finja_WhateverYouAreSaying
Solitude offers a joy in dance, too. No audience needed, you know the moves by heart.
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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 left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday.
As the Morris drove slowly up the rather uneven and potholed driveway running through a wild and unkempt looking park that must once have been a landscaped garden, both Lettice and Gerald were taken aback by the house standing on the crest of an undulating hill overlooking a cove. When described as a Regency “cottage residence”, the pair were expecting a modest single storey house of maybe eight to ten rooms with a thatch roof, not the sprawling double storey residence of white stucco featuring arched French doors and windows with sea views, a wraparound cast iron verandah and high pitched slate tiled roof with at least a dozen chimneys.
Now settled in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, Lettice looks about her, taking in the stripped back, slightly austere and very formal furnishings.
“I say old bean,” Gerald addresses Dickie from his seat next to Lettice on the rather hard and uncomfortable red velvet settee. “If this is what your father calls a ‘cottage residence’, no wonder you jumped at the chance to take it.”
“Apparently the Prince Regent** coined the term ‘cottage residence’ when he had Royal Lodge built at Windsor,” Dickie explains cheerily from his place standing before the crackling fire, leaning comfortably against the mantle. “And of course my ancestors being the ambitious breed they were, set about building a ‘cottage’ to rival it.”
“Was it built for a previous Marquess of Taunton?” Lettice asks with interest.
“Heavens no, darling!” their host replies, raising his hands animatedly. “It was built back around 1816 for one of the second Marquess’ bastard sons, who served as a ship’s captain and returned from fighting the Frenchies a decorated war hero.” Dickie points to two portraits at the end of the room, either side of a Regency sideboard.
“That would explain the maritime theme running through the art in here.” Lettice points casually to several paintings of ships also hanging about the walls.
“Aren’t they ghastly, Lettice darling?” Margot hisses as she glances around at the oils in their heavy frames. “We need some femininity in this old place, don’t you think?” She giggles rather girlishly as she gives her friend a wink. “Daddy has promised me the pretty Georgian girl in the gold dress that hangs in my bedroom in Hans Crescent. I think it could look lovely in here.”
“If you please, my love!” Dickie chides his new wife sweetly, giving her a knowing look.
“Oh, so sorry my love!” she replies, putting her dainty fingers to her cheeky smile.
“As the Marquess’ prolific illegitimate progeny were well known up and down the coast of Cornwall and beyond,” Dickie continues his potted history of the house. “And what with him being a hero of the Napoleonic wars, his father, my ancestor the second Marquess, thought it best to set him up in a fine house of his own.”
“That was far enough away from the family seat.” Gerald adds.
“That was far enough away from the Marchioness, more like!” Dickie corrects. “Last thing you want to do is rub your good lady wife’s nose into the fruits spawned from the sewing of your wild oats.”
Margot looks across at her husband from her armchair with a look of mock consternation. “I do hope, my sweet, that I’m not to be confronted with any illegitimate offspring when I’m Marchioness of Taunton.”
“Certainly not my love. The Marquess’s wife, Georgette, was fierce by all accounts, but she’d be a pussy cat compared to your fierceness, Margot.”
“I should think so.” Margot smiles with satisfaction.
“Anyway,” Dickie adds with a roguish smile. “I made sure I did away with any illegitimate offspring I had, prior to marrying you.”
The four friends laugh at Dickie’s quick, witty response, just as the door to the drawing room is forced open by a heavy boot, startling them all.
Looking to the door as it creaks open noisily on its hinges, an old woman with a wind weathered face with her unruly wiry white hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing a rather tatty apron over an old fashioned Edwardian print dress, walks in carrying a tea tray. Although weighed down heavily with a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, four cups and saucers and a glass plate of biscuits, the rather frail looking old woman seems unbothered by its weight, although her bones crack noisily and disconcertingly as she lowers the tray onto the low occasional table between the settee and armchairs.
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot acknowledges the old woman.
“Omlowenhewgh agas boes!***” the elderly woman replies in a gravelly voice, groaning as she stretches back into an upright position.
“Yes… Yes, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot replies in an unsure tone, giving Lettice a gentle shrug and a quizzical look which her friend returns. “I’ll pour the tea myself I think.”
“Pur dha****.” she answers rather gruffly before retreating back the way she came with shuffling footsteps.
“What did she say?” Lettice asks Dickie once the door to the drawing room has closed and the old woman’s footfalls drift away, mingling with the distant sound of the ocean outside.
“Why look at me, old girl?” Dickie replies with a sheepish smile and a shrug as big as his wife’s.
“Because your Cornish, Dickie.” Lettice replies.
“Only by birth darling!” he defends with a cocked eyebrow and a mild look of distain.
“But it’s your heritage, Dickie.” counters Lettice disappointedly. “You’re supposed to know these things.”
“You know I went to Eaton, where they beat any hint of Cornish out of me my father and mother hadn’t already chased away prior to me going there.”
“It sounded like swearing to me,” Gerald adds in disgust, screwing up his nose. “Local dialect. So guttural.”
“Like ‘be gone you city folk, back from whence you came’?” Margot giggles.
“And who’d blame her?” Dickie pipes up. “After all, she and Mr. Trevethan have had run of this place ever since the old sea captain died. I mean, this place was supposed to be for Harry…”
“God bless Harry.” Margot, Lettice and Gerald all say in unison with momentarily downcast eyes.
“But of course, he never lived to be married and be given this place as a wedding gift, so Mr. and Mrs. Trevethan have been looking after the place for around four decades I’d reckon, give or take a few years.”
“So, there is a Mr. Trevethan then?” Lettice asks.
“Oh yes,” Dickie elucidates as he moves from the fireplace and takes his seat in the other vacant armchair. “He’s the gardener and odd job man.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole house doesn’t fall down around our ears.” Gerald remarks disparagingly. “Getting the Morris safely over those potholes in your driveway was no mean feat, old bean.”
“They’re old, dear chap.” Dickie defends his housekeeper and gardener kindly. “Be fair. They’ve done a pretty good job of caretaking the old place, considering.”
“Poor chap.” mutters Gerald. “Looking at that old harridans’ haggard old face every day.”
“Oh Gerald!” gasps Lettice, leaning over and slapping his wrist playfully. “You are awful sometimes! For all you know, she was the beauty of Penzance when she and Mr. Trevethan were first courting. And,” she adds loftily. “I’ll have you know that I think the Cornish dialect sounds very beautiful,” She takes a dramatic breath as she considers her thoughts. “Rather like an exotic language full of magic.”
“You’ve been reading too much King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.” Gerald cheekily criticises his friend’s reading habits lightly.
“Oh, thinking of which, I have a new novel for you, Lettice darling! It’s called ‘Joanna Godden’***** by Sheila Kaye-Smith. I’ve just finished it.” Margot takes up a volume from the round Regency side table next to her and passes it across to Lettice’s outstretched hands. “It’s a drama set in Kent. I’m sure you’ll like it. Now, shall I be mother?******” she asks, assuming her appropriate role of hostess as she reaches for and sets out the Royal Doulton teacups, a wedding gift from relations, and takes up the silver teapot, also a wedding gift. Expertly she pours the tea and then hands the cups first to her guests and then to her husband before picking up her own.
“I hope that old harridan didn’t spit in the tea.” Gerald looks uneasily at the cup of reddish tea he holds in his hands. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice tuts, shaking her head in mock disapproval before chuckling light heartedly. “You do like to dramatise, don’t you?”
“If you announce her intentions like that,” Margot adds. “I’m sure she will, since she has the habit of listening at the keyhole.” She smiles cheekily as she finishes her sentence and settles back in her armchair.
“What?” Gerald splutters, depositing his cup rather clumsily and nosily on the Regency occasional table at his left elbow and looking over his shoulder to the door.
Margot, Dickie and Lettice all burst out laughing.
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice says gaily through her mirthful giggles. “You’re always so easy to bait.”
Gerald looks at his friends, smiling at his distress. “Oh!” He swivels back around again and tries to settle as comfortably as possible into the hard back of the settee. “I see.” He takes up his cup and glowers into it as he stirs it with his teaspoon, his pride evidently wounded at his friends’ friendly joke.
Lettice takes up her own cup of tea, adding sugar and milk to it and stirring, before selecting a small jam fancy from the glass dish of biscuits. Munching the biscuit she gazes about the room again, appraising the mostly Regency era furnishings of good quality with a few examples of lesser well made early Victorian pieces, the maritime oil paintings, the worn and faded Persian carpet across the floor and the vibrantly painted red walls, deciding that as well as formal, the room has a very masculine feel about it. “It’s really quite an elegant room, you know.” she remarks. “It has good bones.”
“Oh don’t look too closely at our less elegant damp patches or cracks to those so-called good bones, darling girl.” Dickie replies.
“Nor the chips to the paintwork and plaster or the marks we can’t quite account for.” Margot adds with a sigh. “I think I’d have been happy for Daddy to commission Edwin Lutyens******* to demolish this pile of mouldering bricks and build us a new country house.”
“Margot! What a beastly thing to say!” Lettice clasps the bugle beads at her throat in shock. “To demolish all this history, only to replace it with a mock version thereof. Why it is sheer sacrilege to even say it!”
“Blame it on my Industrial Revolution new money heritage,” Margot defends her statement. “Unlike you darling, with your ancestry going back hundreds of years and your romance for everything old.”
“I can’t see any damp patches, Dickie, or cracks.” Lettice addresses her male host again.
“That’s because it’s so dark in here,” Margot explains. “Even on an unseasonably sunny day like today, the red walls and the red velvet furnishings camouflage the blemishes.”
“All the more reason not to change the décor then, dear girl.” remarks Gerald as his gingerly sips his tea, still not entirely convinced of Mrs. Trevethan’s actions prior to the tea being deposited on the table.
“No! No, Gerald!” Margot counters. “That’s why I need you Lettice darling, and your vision. I want the place lightened up, smartened up and made more comfortable.”
“Those chairs are rather beautiful,” observes Lettice, indicating to the armchairs in which her host and hostess sit, admiring their ormolu mounted arms, sturdy legs and red velvet cushions.
“These things!” Margot scoffs, looking down at the seat beneath her. “They are so uncomfortable!” She rubs her lower back in an effort to demonstrate how lumpy and hard they are. “I can’t wait to banish them to the hallway. I can’t possibly sit pleasurably in these, or on that,” She indicates to the settee upon which Lettice and Gerald sit. “And read a book. They aren’t designed for comfort. No, what we want, and need is some soft, modern comfort in here to make life here more pleasurable for us and our guests. I want to sit in here and enjoy the afternoon sun streaming through those from the luxury of a new settee, or invite guests to snuggle into plush new armchairs.”
“Margot does have a point, Lettice darling.” Gerald adds, looking mournfully at Lettice as he bounces gingerly on his half of the settee, the flattened velvet seat barely yielding to his moving form.
Lettice looks around again. “There are no portraits of women in here, nor children.”
“That’s because there aren’t any, anywhere in the house.” Margot replies.
“What?” Lettice queries.
“The captain was a confirmed old bachelor all his life.” adds Dickie.
“But he looks quite dashing in his naval uniform,” Lettice observes. “Surely with his successful career, looks and a house like this to boot, he must have had every eligible woman in Cornwall dashing to knock down his door.”
“Even Mrs. Trevethan’s mother, who no doubt was even more beautiful than her daughter at the time the captain was looking for a bride.” Gerald chuckles, his response rewarded with a withering look from Lettice.
“He may well have been a desirous prospect, Lettice darling,” Dickie agrees. “But he remained unmarried all his life, and he lived to a great age.”
“There is a rumour,” adds Margot, leaning forward conspiratorially for dramatic effect. “That there was a sweetheart: a local lady of good breeding and family. However, her father didn’t approve of an illegitimate son-in-law, even if he did have a successful naval career and a grand new residence. We don’t know whether she was coerced, or if she really didn’t love him, but whatever the cause, she refused him. They say that her refusal of his marriage proposal broke his heart, and he swore then and there that he would never marry.”
“Oh how romantic!” Lettice enthuses.
“There is also talk in the family,” Dickie adds. “That there is a lost portrait of her.”
“A lost portrait?” breathes Lettice excitedly.
“Yes, by Winterhalter******* no less.” Margot explains.
“Oh how thrilling!” Lettice gasps, clutching her beads with exhilaration this time.
“Have you found it yet, old bean?” Gerald asks.
“No! Of course not,” replies Dickie. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a lost portrait, would it? Do try to keep up old chap!”
“Not that I haven’t gone sneaking around the house looking for it atop cupboards and at the back of wardrobes.” Margot adds eagerly.
“That’s undoubtedly because that cussing old harridan Mrs. Trevethan and her husband probably stole it as soon as the captain had taken his last breath,” explains Gerald. “And now it hangs over their drawing room fireplace in the gatekeeper’s lodge.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Gerald!” scoffs Dickie. “The Trevethans are a kindly pair, if perhaps a little rough and eccentric for our tastes. They love this house as much as we…” He glances at his wife before correcting himself. “Well, as much as I, do. No, we just haven’t found it yet. We may never find it because it might have been taken by someone else long ago, destroyed by the old captain himself in a fit of emotional rage…”
“Or,” adds Margot. “It could simply be a Channon family legend.”
“Exactly.” agrees Dickie with a satisfied sigh as he reaches over and takes up a chocolate biscuit, taking a large bite out of it. “It wouldn’t be the first if it is.”
“I know!” Lettice pipes up with a cheeky smile on her face. “Let’s play sardines******** together tonight, and then one of us might stumble across it in the most unlikely of hiding places.”
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**The Prince Regent, later George IV, was king of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and King of Hanover from the death of his father, King George III, on 29 January 1820 until his own death ten years later. He had already been serving as Prince Regent since 5 February 1811, during his father's final mental illness. It is from him that we derive the Regency period in architecture, fashion and design.
***”Omlowenhewgh agas boes” is Cornish for “bon appetit”.
*****“Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
*****‘Joanna Godden’ is a 1921 novel by British writer Sheila Kaye-Smith (1887 – 1956). It is a drama set amongst the sheep farmers of Romney Marsh in Kent.
******The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
*******Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens (1869 – 1944) was an English architect known for imaginatively adapting traditional architectural styles to the requirements of his era. He designed many English country houses, war memorials and public buildings, and was one of the architects of choice for the British upper classes between the two World Wars.
********Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
********Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
This beautiful Regency interior with its smart furnishings may not be all that it seems, for it is made up entirely with miniatures from my collection, including a number of pieces that I have had since I was a child.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The two walnut Regency armchairs with their red velvet seats and ormolu mounts are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. So too are the two round occasional tables that flank the settee and one of the armchairs.
The round walnut coffee table was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Creal miniatures.
The red velvet mahogany settee, the Regency sideboard and the two non matching mahogany and red velvet chairs at the far end of the room I have had since I was around six or seven, having been given them as either birthday or Christmas gifts.
The irises in the vase on the sideboard are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The vase in which it stands is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The detail in this Art Deco vase is especially fine. If you look closely, you will see that it is decorated with fine latticework.
Also made of real glass are the decanters of whiskey and port and the cranberry glass soda syphon also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The white roses behind the syphon are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as is the glass plate of biscuits you can see on the coffee table.
The two novels on the occasional table next to the armchair come from Shepherds Miniatures in England, whilst the wedding photo in the silver frame is a real photo, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in England.
On the occasional table beside the settee stands a miniature 1950s lidded powder bowl which I have had since I was a teenager. It is stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp indicating the era.
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the coffee table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The silver Regency tea caddy (lettice’s wedding gift to Margot and Dickie if you follow the “Life at Cavendish Mews” series), the slender candlestick and the tall two handled vase on the mantle were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The British newspapers that sit in a haphazard stack on the footstool in the foreground of the picture are 1:12 size copies of ‘The Mirror’, the ‘Daily Express’ and ‘The Tattler’ made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. There is also a copy of ‘Country Life’ which was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1921 edition of ‘Country Life’.
The plaster fireplace to the right of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Niagara USA offers a breathtaking view of one of nature’s marvels and an experience that will last a life time.
The Niagara Falls are the most powerful waterfalls in North America. These voluminous waterfalls are situated on the Niagara River, which drains Lake Erie into Lake Ontario and forms the international border between the Canadian province of Ontario and the U.S. state of New York and forms the southern end of the Niagara Gorge.
A Capped Langur during an early morning foraging giving me the chance to frame him from close. Caring a hang at my close presence he offered me this very natural pose. Pics was taken in Manas National Park, Assam, India.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight however we have headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, past Trafalgar Square and down The Strand to one of London’s most luxurious and fashionable hotels, The Savoy*, where, surrounded by mahogany and rich red velvet, gilded paintings and extravagant floral displays, Lettice is having dinner with the son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely. The pair have made valiant attempts to pursue a romantic relationship since meeting at Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie’s, Hunt Ball the previous year. Yet things haven’t been easy, their relationship moving in fits and starts, partially due to the invisible, yet very strong influence of Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, the current Duchess of Walmsford. Although Lettice has no solid proof of it, she is quite sure that Lady Zinnia does not think her a suitable match for her eldest son and heir. From what she has been told, Lettice also believes that Lady Zinnia is matchmaking Selwyn with his cousin Pamela Fox-Chavers. In an effort to see what her potential rival for Selwyn’s affections is like, Lettice organised an ‘accidental’ meeting of she, Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show** a few weeks ago. As a result of this meeting, Selwyn has finally agreed to explain to Lettice his evident reluctance to introduce her to his mother as a potentially suitable match. Yet as she walks beneath the grand new Art Deco portico of the Savoy and the front doors are opened for her by liveried doormen, Lettice is amazed that surrounded by so many fashionable people, Selwyn thinks the Savoy dining room is the place to have a discreet dinner, especially after they have been very discreet about their relationship for the past year.
Lettice is ushered into the grand dining room of the Savoy, a space brilliantly illuminated by dozens of glittering electrified chandeliers cascading down like fountains from the high ceiling above. Beneath the sparkling light, men in white waistcoats and women a-glitter with jewels and bugle bead embroidered frocks are ushered into the dining room where they are seated in high backed mahogany and red velvet chairs around tables dressed in crisp white tablecloths and set with sparkling silver and gilt china. The large room is very heavily populated with theatre patrons enjoying a meal before a show and London society out for an evening. The space is full of vociferous conversation, boisterous laughter, the clink of glasses and the scrape of cutlery against crockery as the diners enjoy the magnificent repast served to them from the hotel’s famous kitchens. Above it all, the notes of the latest dance music from the band can be heard as they entertain diners and dancers who fill the parquet dance floor.
A smartly uniformed waiter escorts Lettice to a table for two in the midst of the grand dining salon, where Selwyn, dressed in smart white tie stands and greets Lettice.
“My Angel!” he gasps, admiring her as she stands before him in a champagne coloured silk crepe gown decorated with sequins with a matching bandeau set amidst her Marcelled** hair. “Don’t you look ravishing!”
“Thank you, Selwyn.” Lettice purrs in pleasure as she allows the waiter to carefully slide the seat of the chair beneath her as she sits. “That’s very kind of you to say so.” She gracefully tugs at her elbow length white evening gloves.
Sparkling golden French champagne is poured into their crystal flutes from a bottle sitting in a silver cooler on the linen covered table by their obsequious waiter. The expansive menu is consulted with Lettice selecting Pied de Veau*** and Selwyn choosing Cambridge Sausages**** both dishes served with a light Salade Romaine*****. Polite conversation is exchanged between the two. Lettice is given congratulations on the great success of the publication of her article in ‘Country Life’******, which Selwyn has finally seen. Selwyn is asked how Pamela’s coming out ball went. The pair dance elegantly around the true reason they are there.
It is only when a large silver salver of cheeses is put down and they are served Vol-au-Vent de Volaille à la Royale******* on the stylish gilt edged white plates of the Savoy that Lettice finally plucks up the courage to start the conversation that they have been trying to avoid.
Cutting a small piece of flaky golden pastry and spearing it with a piece of tenderly cooked chicken and a head of mushroom Lettice inserts it into her mouth and sighs with delight.
“There is nothing nicer than dinner at the Savoy, is there my Angel?” Selwyn addresses his dinner partner.
“Indeed no,” Lettice agrees after swallowing her dainty mouthful. “However, I must confess that I was surprised that you chose the Savoy dining room for us to meet. It’s the most indiscreet place to have a discreet dinner.” She deposits her polished silver cutlery onto the slightly scalloped edge of her plate. “We’ve been so careful up until now, choosing places where we are less likely to garner attention. Here we sit amongst all the most fashionable people of London society. There are bound to be friends of both your parents and mine who will see us sitting here together at a table for two.” She glances around at the bejewel decorated ladies looking like exotic birds in their brightly coloured frocks and feathers and their smartly attired male companions. “There are even photographers here this evening.”
“I know my Angel.” Selwyn replies matter-of-factly before putting a small amount of his own vol-au-vent into his mouth.
“Whilst I know my mother won’t mind seeing my name associated with yours, or a picture of the two of us together at the Savoy,” She glances nervously at Selwyn as he serenely chews his second course. “I thought we were trying to avoid Zinnia’s attention.”
Selwyn finishes his mouthful and then takes a slip of champagne before elucidating somewhat mysteriously. “A change of plans, my Angel.”
“A change of plans, Selwyn?” Lettice queries, running her white evening glove clad fingers over the pearls at her throat as she worries them. “What does that mean? I don’t understand.”
“You and I have had some rather awkward conversations over my refusal to introduce you to Zinnia, haven’t we, Lettice?”
“We have, darling Selwyn. And I thought that was what we were going to talk about this evening.”
“And so we will, but I also want this evening to be a statement of intention.”
“A statement of intention?” Lettice’s heart suddenly starts to beat faster as she licks her lips.
“Yes. . I invited you here this evening because it is one of the most fashionably public places to be seen. I want people to see us together this evening, my darling, whether it be Zinnia’s spies amongst us, or just the general citizenry of society. I also thought that since there is a rather ripping band playing tonight, that you and I might cut a rug******** a bit later and that perhaps we might get photographed. Zinnia won’t want to meet you, unless your presence is waved in front of her like a red rag to a bull.”
“I’m not sure I like that term when used in conjunction with your mother, Selwyn darling.” Lettice says warily.
“But it’s true. For all her forthrightness and ferocity, Zinnia is very good at playing ostriches when she wishes, and pretending not to see things she doesn’t want to see.” Selwyn explains before taking another sip of champagne. “I should have done this earlier, like when we agreed that I would escort you to your friend Priscilla’s wedding in November last year. However, I wasn’t man enough to stand up to her. Now I want to make a statement about you, about us,” He reaches out and places his pale and elegant right hand bearing a small signet ring over Lettice’s evening glove clad left hand, staring Lettice directly in the eye. “And I need Zinnia to sit up and take notice.”
Lettice picks up her champagne flute in her right hand and quickly sips as small amount of the effervescent beverage to whet her suddenly dry throat. She considers what Selwyn has just said along with other things people have said to her about Selwyn and Lady Zinnia over the last year since she reacquainted herself with Selwyn.
“The day I attended Priscilla’s wedding without you,” Lettice begins. “I met Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.”
“Sir John!” Selwyn scoffs, releasing Lettice’s hand, leaving a warm patch that Lettice can still feel through the thin fabric of her white glove. “He’s one of Zinnia’s cronies. I’m quite sure that they had,” Selwyn pauses whilst he finds the right word. “An understanding, shall we say, when they were both younger.” He looks at Lettice again. “I hope I didn’t shock you, my Angel.”
“Not at all, Selwyn darling.” Lettice assures him. “After all, I am twenty-three now, and a lady who has set forth into the world.”
“I’m glad my Angel. I’d never want to shock you with something like that.”
“It doesn’t shock me, Selwyn darling, but it would explain some things he said to me that day when I was cornered by him.”
“Cornered?”
“Yes. I now think he deliberately sought me out and cornered me so he could tell me what he did.”
“What did Sir John say?” Selwyn queries.
“I didn’t really pay that much attention to it,” Lettice begins, glancing down at her partially eaten vol-au-vent. “At least not at first. I thought he was just spitting venom at me because I spurned his affections the evening of Mater’s Hunt Ball when I met you.”
“What did he say?” Selwyn presses anxiously.
“When I explained your absence as my escort – he only knew because he is related to Cilla’s mother and she had been crowing to him about your attendance at the wedding – he laughed when I said that you were at Clendon********* meeting Pamela. He said it was not a coincidence that you were forced to cancel your own plans in preference for spending time with your cousin. He said that your mother had orchestrated it.”
“And so she had, my Angel.” Selwyn conforms. “And that is why I said that I should have been more of a man and stood up to Zinnia at that time. However,” He releases a pent up breath which he exhales shudderingly. “Zinnia is not someone to cross, especially when she is determined, or in a foul mood, of which she was both.”
“Sir John said that even though we had been discreet about spending time together, that your mother already knew about our assignations.”
“I would imagine him to be quite correct.”
“I accused him of telling her, but he denied it.”
“I would doubt that even as a crony of Zinnia, he would have had the pleasure of breaking the news of your existence as a potential future daughter-in-law to her. Zinnia’s talons reach far and wide, and her spies exist in some of the most unlikely places. What else did Sir John have to say?”
“He said that your mother is the one who would undoubtedly arrange your marriage to suit her own wishes. He implied that I ought not tip my cap at you since you were not free to make your own decision when it came to the subject of marriage. He said that even your father wouldn’t cross your mother on that front.”
Selwyn chuckles sadly. “Sir John is well informed.”
“So it’s true then?”
“What is, darling?”
“That you aren’t free to marry.”
“No, of course not. Not even Zinnia with all her bluster can force me to marry someone I don’t want to.”
Lettice releases a breath she didn’t even realise she was holding in her chest beneath the silk crepe and sparkling beading of her gown.
“However, Zinnia and my Uncle Bertrand have their own plans as regards Pammy and her relationship to me, and they are both applying pressure to both of us.”
“Sir John said that too.” Lettice utters deflatedly.
“I should like to point out, my Angel, that I was not aware as to the plans and plotting afoot for Pammy and I when I met you again at your mother’s ball.” Selwyn assures Lettice. “I didn’t even know about it in the lead up to Priscilla’s wedding. It was only that weekend at Clendon when I was first reintroduced to Pammy and I inadvertently overheard snippets of private conversations Zinnia and my uncle that I realised that they had been hatching their plot to bind us into a marriage of convenience to bind our families closer together for almost as long as Pammy has been alive.”
“So this wasn’t something new, then?”
“It was to me, Lettice darling, but not to them. Do you remember I told you at the Great Spring Show that my real aunt, Bertrand’s first wife, Miranda, was a bolter**********?”
“Yes Selwyn.”
“And that he fled to America and that was where he met Rosalind?”
“Yes Selwyn.”
“Well, the reason why he fled to New York was because the failure of his marriage to Miranda and her desertion of him led to quite a scandal. The scandal clung to Pammy, long after Miranda was gone, and I think after a he married Rosalind, being connected to an element of scandal herself, being a divorcée, she hatched the plan with Uncle Bertrand and Zinnia with Pammy’s social well being at heart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean that from the outside, there is nothing unusual or untoward about two distant cousins marrying. The fact that the Spencely and Fox-Chavers happen to be two very distinguished and wealthy old families who would doubtless look to intermarry across the generations also throws off any whiff of scandal.”
“Are you saying they planned to marry you two so that Pamela would be untarnished by her mother’s actions?”
“Yes.”
“But how is the child responsible for her mother’s sins, Selwyn?”
“You know as well as I do, coming from a family as old and well established as your own, Lettice, that scandal sticks like glue.”
“Then why throw a ball for Pamela? Why introduce her to society?”
“Because as the next Duke of Walmsford, it is only fitting that I should marry a suitable girl from a suitable family who has been presented in society. Certain families won’t allow their daughters to socialise with poor Pammy, and I’m quite sure that whilst they send their eligible sons, just as many would never countenance a marriage between them and Pammy.”
“So if Pamela marries well, into a family who would welcome her, she is absolved of any wrongdoings of her mother. There is no whiff of scandal and she rises above reproach.”
“Exactly.” Selwyn sighs. “Clever girl.”
Lettice takes a larger than usual gulp of champagne as she allows the thoughts just formed from their conversation to sink in. “And how does Pamela feel about this? Does she even know that she is being matched with you, Selwyn?”
“Yes she does,” Selwyn explains. “Although I was the one who told her. However, like me, she has no desire to see us to get married. She barely knows me, and both of us treat each other like siblings rather than potential romantic marriage prospects.”
“Does she know why your mother, aunt and uncle hatched this plan?”
“Well,” Selwyn replies uncertainly. “She knows her mother deserted Uncle Bertrand, but I don’t think she realises that Miranda’s legacy to her is a tainted one, and I’m quite sure she doesn’t know about some of the other debutante’s families attitudes towards her because of Miranda’s actions.”
“So what is she to do, if no decent bachelor will have her, and you won’t marry her?”
“I didn’t say that no eligible bachelors would consider marriage with Pammy, Angel, only some.” Selwyn says with a smile. “And half of those who won’t marry her would only have wanted to marry her for her money.”
“You sound as if you know something.” Lettice remarks, giving her dinner partner a perplexed look.
“Oh I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, my Angel.” he replies mysteriously.
“So, what would you say then, Selwyn darling?” Lettice prods.
“I’d go so far as to say that being the happy and pretty young thing that she is, Pammy is in no short supply of admirers whose families would overlook her mother’s status as a bolter.”
“Because they want to marry her for her Fox-Chavers money?”
“Well, there are a few of those, I’ll admit,” Selwyn agrees. “But that is why her dear cousin Selwyn is escorting her to all these rather tedious London Season occasions. I can keep those wolves away. However even if we discount them, there are still a few rather decent chaps who are vying for Pammy’s attentions.”
“Are there any that Pamela is interested in?” Lettice asks hopefully.
“As a matter of fact there are two young prospects whom she is quite keen on, or so she confides in me.”
“Oh that’s wonderful, Selwyn!” Lettice deposits her glass on the linen covered surface of the table and claps her hands in delight, beaming with a smile of happy relief. The her face falls. “But then, what are we all to do? Hasn’t your mother charged you with chaperoning Pamela throughout the Season?”
“Well, that was the other reason why I decided to bring you to the Savoy, my Angel.” Selwyn remarks. “We need to be seen together about town, and the best way to do that is to be seen at the functions and places that will be popular because they are part of the London Season, like cricket matches at Lords, and the Henley Regatta************.”
“And the Goodwood races!” adds Lettice with enthusiasm. “And Cowes week************!”
“That’s the spirit, my Angel!” Selwyn encourages her with equal enthusiasm. “Zinnia has charged me with chaperoning Pammy for her own end, but we will use the Season to thwart her with our own ends in mind.”
“Oh Selwyn, how clever you are! What a darling you are!”
Just at that time, the waiter who served them their vol-au-vents and player of cheese approaches the table. Noticing their half eaten meals and their cutlery sitting idle, he tentatively asks, “Shall I clear now, Your Grace?”
“If you would fetch us clean plates and cutlery for the cheese.” Selwyn replies. “Which I think we shall enjoy after a turn on the dancefloor. Don’t you agree, my Angel?” He stands up, pushing his chair back and offering Lettice his hand.
“I do indeed, Selwyn darling!” Lettice pulls her napkin from her lap and drops it on the tabletop.
The waiter pulls out Lettice’s chair, and taking Selwyn’s hand, Lettice allows him to lead her proudly across the dining room of the Savoy. Pairs of eyes note the handsome young couple and lips whisper behind glove clad hands and fans as remarks are made as to who they are and that they appear to be together as a couple, yet for the first time since the night of her mother’s Hunt ball, Lettice doesn’t care what people are thinking or saying. She feels light, as though floating on a cloud, and as she falls comfortably into Selwyn’s strong arms and they begin to sway to the music, she feels proud to be with Selwyn: the man she is falling in love with, and who intends to marry her.
*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
**May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
***Pied de Veau is a dish of calves feet served in a thick creamy chicken sauce, often served with carrots and onions.
****Cambridge Sausages are made from coarse ground lean and fatty pork with binder (rice in some receipts) and a heavy admixture of sweet spices such as mace, ginger and nutmeg, linked, in medium skins.
*****Salade Romaine is a salad made of Romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, parmesan cheese, and a delicious olive garden dressing.
******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.
*******Vol-au-Vent de Volaille à la Royale is a dish of sliced chicken with mushroom and quenelles cooked in a cream sauce served in a puff pastry casing. The Savoy’s kitchens were famous for their deliciously light and tasty vol-au-vent selections, with 1920s menus often containing a selection of four to six varieties as plats du jour.
********The term “cutting a rug” emerged in the 1920s from American culture and became common parlance on both sides of the Atlantic by the 1930s. It came about because of African American couples doing the Lindy Hop (also known as the Jitterbug). This was vigorous, highly athletic dancing that when done continuously in one area made the carpet appear as though it was “cut” or “gashed”. Selwyn using this language would have been at the front of the latest fashion for exciting youthful language from America.
*********Clendon is the family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford in Buckinghamshire.
**********A Bolter is old British slang for a woman who ended her marriage by running away with another man.
***********The Henley Royal regatta is a leisurely “river carnival” on the Thames. It was at heart a rowing race, first staged in 1839 for amateur oarsmen, but soon became another fixture on the London social calendar. Boating clubs competed, and were not exclusively British, and the event was well known for its American element. Evenings were capped by boat parties and punts, the air filled with military brass bands and illuminated by Chinese lanterns. Dress codes were very strict: men in collars, ties and jackets (garishly bright ties and socks were de rigueur in the 1920s) and crisp summer frocks, matching hats and parasols for the ladies.
************Cowes Week is one of the longest-running regular regattas in the world, and a fixture of the London Season. With forty daily sailing races, up to one thousand boats, and eight thousand competitors ranging from Olympic and world-class professionals to weekend sailors, it is the largest sailing regatta of its kind in the world. Having started in 1826, the event is held in August each year on the Solent (the area of water between southern England and the Isle of Wight made tricky by strong double tides). It is focussed on the small town of Cowes on the Isle of Wight.
This splendid array of cheeses on the table would doubtless be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate each cheese and biscuit on this silver tray, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene, are in reality 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau:
The silver tray of biscuits have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The cheeses and the vol-au-vents come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as do the two slightly scalloped white gilt plates and the wonderful golden yellow roses in the vase on the table. The cutlery I acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The silver champagne cooler on the table is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of champagne itself is hand made from glass and is an artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The bottle is De Rochegré champagne, identified by the careful attention paid to recreating the label in 1:12 scale. The two glasses of sparkling champagne are made of real glass and were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The two red velvet upholstered high back chairs I have had since I was six years old. They were a birthday present given to me by my grandparents.
The painting in the background in its gilded frame is a 1:12 artisan piece made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The red wallpaper is beautiful artisan paper given to me by a friend, who has encouraged me to use a selection of papers she has given me throughout the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday. After the retirement of the housekeeper, Mrs. Trevethan, from the main house to the gatekeeper’s cottage the previous evening, the quartet of Bright Young Things** played a spirited game of sardines*** and in doing so, potentially solved the romantic mystery of ‘Chi an Treth’ after discovering a boxed up painting, long forgotten, of a great beauty.
Now we find ourselves in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ Regency breakfast room with views through the French doors, overlooking the wild coast on a remarkably sunny day for this time of year. Dickie, Margot and Gerald are all seated around the table in their pyjamas and robes enjoying breakfast, some with more gusto than others, as Lettice stumbles into the room and joins them at the table.
“All hail the discoverer of lost treasures and the solver of mysteries!” cries Dickie dramatically as he doffs an invisible hat towards his friend.
“Oh!” gasps Gerald, raising his right hand gingerly to his temple. “Must you be so loud Dickie? Is he always like this in the mornings, Margot darling?”
“He is, Gerald,” Margot sighs from her seat opposite him at the breakfast table as she takes a slice of thinly sliced toast and spreads marmalade across it with as little noise as possible.
“Morning Dickie!” Lettice returns Dickie’s welcome, walking up to him and placing a kiss firmly on the top of his head amidst his sleep tousled sandy hair. “Good morning, Margot. Good morning, Gerald.” Stumbling down the room and reaching her seat at the table opposite Dickie she picks up her glass tumbler and then turns to Gerald to adds. “It could be worse.”
“What could be?” Gerald asks, taking the pot from Margot’s outstretched hand and proceeding to plop a generous spoonful of marmalade on his own toast slices.
“Dickie’s frightfully jolly morning personality trait.” she replies, walking back the way she came to the sideboard, where she helps herself to orange juice. “His cousin, the Earl McCrea, plays the bagpipes every morning to wake the guests when he’s on his Scottish estate.”
“How frightful,” Gerald winces at the thought before continuing in a withering voice. “After a night of champagne like we had last night, that’s the last thing I should want.”
“Apparently the Prince of Wales quite likes it though**** when he visits.” Margot adds. “Coffee, Lettice darling?”
“Tea,” Lettice replies laconically before turning her attention to the lidded chaffing dishes on the sideboard. Lifting one, she quickly drops it when she sees and smells what lies beneath it with a loud clatter that elicits a groan from Gerald, Margot and herself.
“Mrs. Trevethan’s kedgeree,” Margot remarks without looking up as she pours tea from a silver teapot into Lettice’s teacup.
“Ugh,” mutters Lettice.
“It takes some getting used to.” adds Margot.
“Is an acquired taste, I’d say.” observes Gerald wryly, looking about the plates at the table. “Since no-one appears to be having any.”
“I think my stomach will settle for a boiled egg and an apple.” Lettice places her glass of orange juice gingerly on the tabletop and reaches across to grab an apple from the glass comport in the centre of the table. She then sits before reaching for an egg from the cruet proffered by Margot.
“Freshly boiled by Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot says with a smile.
“What’s taking that woman so long to bring me a bloody aspirin?” quips Gerald.
“God how much did we drink last night?” Lettice asks.
“Before, or after you found the Winterhalter*****?” Dickie asks.
“That explains why my head is fit for cracking, just like an egg, this morning then.” Lettice rubs her own temples and winces. “I think I could do with a couple of aspirin too.”
“Surely they have heard of aspirin down here.” Gerald grumbles, his train of thought about his own sore head undisturbed by the conversation around him.
“It is only Cornwall, Gerald darling,” Margot gives him an aghast look. “Not the middle of the Sahara Desert or the Antarctic, you know.”
“I might have more luck getting some aspirin in the Sahara.”
“Now Gerald, there’s no need to be cantankerous, just because your hangover is purportedly worse than ours.” Margot quips.
“Was Mrs. Trevethan cross with the mess, we,” Lettice pauses, blushes and corrects herself. “I… made last night in the storeroom?”
“Not at all, dear girl!” Dickie pipes up cheerily, deliberately hitting his own egg with gusto to break the shell, eliciting a scowl from Gerald which he returns with a teasing smile. “Margot and Gerald did a capital job of tidying most of the mess up, and I think the old dear is rather pleased to have people to look after again.”
“She can’t care that much about us if it takes this long to fetch me an aspirin.”
“Oh do shut up, Gerald old boy,” Dickie barks, surprising even himself at the sudden change to his usual affable self. Taking a few deep breaths, he looks across the coffee pot, teacups and marmalade pot to his friend and continues in laboured syllables. “Look, we all need the bloody aspirins this morning, and they will get here when Mrs. Trevethan gets them to us. Alright, old boy?”
Gerald shrinks back in his seat, whilst both Margot and Lettice smirk at one another.
“I do like your bed jacket, Lettice darling.” Margot remarks. “It suits you. Did Gerald make it for you?”
“This?” Lettice pulls on the burnt orange brocade of her jacket, making the marabou feather trim quiver prettily about her pale face. “No. I actually bought this at Marshall and Snelgrove’s****** because I saw it and I liked the colour.”
“And what shall we do today?” Dickie asks the table, casting Gerald a warning look that makes Gerald think twice about saying that his head feels too poorly to do anything.
“Well,” Lettice remarks, turning around in her seat to peer through the French doors across the lawn and the windswept tree line. “It’s a fine day today. It might be nice to take advantage of the good weather and go exploring down along the cove.” She turns back. “That’s if no-one else has any other more appealing ideas of course.”
Margot smiles and starts nodding. “That sounds splendid, Lettice darling! You could bring your paints with you. There’s a rather nice vista featuring an old lighthouse that I know you would enjoy painting.”
“Capital idea, old girl!” Dickie agrees. “The bracing sea breeze will be a perfect way to dust off the fuzzy heads from last night.”
Gerald quietly sinks further back in his seat but says nothing.
At that moment, the door to the breakfast room creaks open and Mrs. Trevethan shuffles in, wearing the same rather tatty apron over another old fashioned Edwardian print dress of a rather muddy brown colour, carrying a silver tray on which she has several tumblers and a small jar of aspirin. When her eyes fall upon Lettice, she smiles broadly. “Metten daa******* Miss Chetwynd.” she says, dropping a bob curtsey.
“Good morning Mrs Trevethan.” Lettice replies.
The old woman shuffles across the room and around the oval breakfast table where she removes a glass and the jar of tablets and deposits them in front of Gerald. “Your aspirins, sir.”
Dickie gives him a knowing smile, and Gerald mutters a thank you in reply.
“I am sorry about the mess we made last night, Mrs, Trevethan.” Lettice apologises to the old Cornish woman as she places a glass tumbler on the table before her, feeling the heat of a fresh blush rising up her throat and into her cheeks as she speaks. “It really was an accident.”
“Oh!” scoffs the woman with a dismissive wave of her hand as if shooing a sand fly away. “That’s quite alright. It’s nice to have young people, any people, about the house again after so long. You did make a fine mess, but you cleaned it up pretty well.”
“Oh, that was Margot and Gerald’s doing, not mine.” she looks sheepishly to her two friends at either side of her at the table as she sips her orange juice. “I was quite shaken by the whole incident.”
“Well, that was quite a pile of things you brought down,” Mrs. Trevethan laughs as she looks down upon the slight girl before her. “Especially for one your size! But look at what hidden treasure you uncovered with it!”
“That’s true, Lettice old girl!” Dickie remarks. “If it weren’t for you, that Winterhalter might have sat there another century, evading would-be treasure hunters.”
“If it’s a Winterhalter, Dickie,” tempers Lettice. “It may not be. It may not be her.”
“Who?” Gerald asks, perplexed, passing Lettice the aspirin bottle after taking out two tablets for himself. “Winterhalter was a man.”
“The captain’s lost love of course, Gerald!” scoffs Lettice. “Don’t be dim.”
“Sorry, it’s the hangover.”
“Oh that’s Miss Rosevear in the painting,” Mrs. Trevethan remarks. “There is no doubt of that.”
Lettice eyes the old Cornish woman up and down. Even with her weather-beaten face and white hair indicating that she is of an advanced age, a quick calculation in her still slightly muffled head suggests that she cannot be so old as to have known the lady when the portrait was painted.
Mrs. Trevethan starts laughing again as she observes the changes on Lettice’s face, betraying her thoughts. “No dear, I’m not that old, but I still knew Miss Rosevear when I was young, and she was older, and even then, she was still a beauty. It’s her face make no mistake.”
“Really Mrs. Trevethan?” Margot gasps, sitting forward in her chair, her half finished cup of coffee held aloft as she sits in the older woman’s thrall. “How?”
“What was she like?” Lettice adds excitedly.
“Is there truth to the legend?” Dickie asks.
“Well, Mrs. Channon, I was a maid for the Rosevears when I was a girl and first went into service.” The old woman’s eyes develop a far away sheen as she reminisces. “Mr. Rosevear had a beautiful old manor about half-way between here and Truro. Burnt down now of course, but you can still see the ruins from the train, if you know where to look. There’s even an old halt******** where the house used to be: Rosevear Halt. My first ride on a train was taken from Rosevear Halt up to London when I was taken with a few of the other maids to clean Mr. Rosevear’s rented London house for the Season.”
“And Miss Rosevear?” Lettice asks with trepidation, hoping to glean information about the mysterious beauty in the painting and from the legend.
“Oh, Miss Elowen was the youngest of the three Rosevear daughters. They were all beautiful, but she was the loveliest, in my opinion anyway. She could dance and play the spinet, and she had a voice that could have charmed the angels from the heavens.” A wistful look crosses her face. “And she was blithe, or had been before my time at the house, I was told by some of the other maids. Her elder sisters were far more serious than she: set upon always wearing the most fashionable clothing and focussing upon good marriages, whereas the youngest Miss Rosevear, she just took life as it came to her without complaint. Although, she always had an air of sadness about her when I knew her.”
“Without complaint? What happened to her, Mrs. Trevethan?” Dickie asks, swept up in the tale as much as his wife and Lettice. “Why didn’t she marry my ancestor of sorts, the captain?”
“I don’t rightly know, sir, why she didn’t marry him. As I said, this all happened before my time with the Rosevears, but there were others amongst the older household staff who were witness to what happened, so I have some inkling. I think Mr. Rosevear took against the captain because,” Mrs. Trevethan pauses, lowering her eyes as she speaks. “And you’ll pardon me for speaking out of turn, sir.”
“Yes,” replies Dickie. “Go on.”
“Well, I think he took against the captain because he wasn’t a legitimate son of the Marquis of Taunton. The Rosevears were an old family you see, and well respected in the district. It might not have looked proper for someone of her family’s standing to marry the illegitimate son of the Marquis, even if he was a naval hero and well set up by his father. However,” She pauses again. “I don’t think things would have gone so badly for him, if it wasn’t for the other two Miss Rosevears.”
“What do you mean, Mrs, Trevethan?” asks Margot.
“Well, I said that Miss Elowen was the prettiest of all three, and I stand by that. Even when she was in her forties when I first met her, she had a look that could stop idle chatter in a room. Her two sisters weren’t so fortunate, and their looks had begun to fade by the time she met the captain, may God rest his soul. Miss Doryty, the eldest was ten years her little sister’s senior, and for all her plotting and planning for a good marriage, a good marriage never found her, nor her sister, Miss Bersaba. Miss Doryty was her father’s favourite as to look at one, you would like to see the other in appearance and temperament. I think she took against the captain because her little sister was likely to marry before her two siblings and Miss Doryty wasn’t going to have that any more than Miss Bersaba was. Miss Doryty was the eldest and felt it her right to marry first, and Miss Bersaba wanted Miss Doryty married off so that then she could get wed herself. Even when I worked for the Rosevears, both ladies still talked about her would-be suitors up in London, yet not a one ever materialised, and I never knew of them ever going to London. Miss Doryty always was bitter, and a bully. I think she swayed her father’s opinion on the captain. I also know, because I heard her say it often enough within my earshot, that she was of the opinion that it was Miss Elowen’s responsibility as the youngest daughter to care for her father and unmarried sisters into their dotage, since their mother had been in the churchyard many a year already.”
“And did she?” Lettice asks sadly, her hand rising to her mouth in upset.
“Like I said, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Elowen took whatever life dealt her with forbearance. She never complained, even though her sisters obviously treated her in a lesser way than they should their own kin.”
“And, she never married?” asks Margot.
“None of the Miss Rosevears did, Mrs. Channon. They lived alone in the Big House. I was still in service there after Mr. Rosevear died. The ladies continued to do good deeds in the district, and they used the house for tombolas and fetes to raise money for the poor. Then I met and married Mr. Trevethan and I had to leave the Rosevears’ service. I heard from friends who stayed on after I’d gone, that the house slowly fell into disrepair, but I was in Penzance with my own family, so I never went back to see for myself.”
“And you say there was a fire at the house?” Dickie asks.
“There was, sir.”
“How did it start, do you know?” continues Dickie.
“I couldn’t say for certain sir, but I’d imagine it started from a fallen log. The Rosevears had ever so many fireplaces without fireguards. It's why I won’t have Mr. Trevethan light a fire in any of the fireplaces here that don’t have fireguards. All you need is for a smouldering log to fall on a carpet, and before you know it… whoosh!” The old woman gesticulates dramatically interpreting the way of wild flames.
“And did Miss Rosevear die in the fire?” Margot asks. “How thrilling if she did.”
“And you say I love dramatics,” Gerald grumbles, looking at Dickie.
“What a terrible thing to say, my love.” Dickie looks at his wife with horrified eyes.
“Oh yes, but wouldn’t it be terrifically romantic?” gushes Margot in reply.
“None of the Rosevears died it the fire, Mrs. Channon. In fact, no one died in it, thank God! But the family lost a great deal of standing with the loss of the Big House and all its contents, and the sisters moved to Truro and lived in much reduced circumstances, I’m told. And that’s where they died. I don’t know who died first, Miss Bersaba or Miss Doryty, but my friend who used to help char for them after they moved to Truro said that the two elder sisters health declined dramatically, and Miss Elowen fulfilled the destiny predicted by her eldest sister, and she spent her life looking after her sisters.”
“Do you know if, after her sisters died, whether Elowen ever saw the captain again, Mrs. Trevethan?” Lettice asks tentatively.
“I can’t say for certain, Miss Chetwynd,” the old woman replies. “But almost certainly no, to my knowledge. Taking care of her sisters, Miss Rosevear became something of a recluse in Truro, and after Miss Doryty and Miss Bersaba had joined their parents in the churchyard, it was too late for Miss Elowen. She was set in her ways and lived as she had for many a year prior, alone and hidden from the world. The captain too. Mr. Trevethan and I only served him for about five years before he died, and he never left the property once during that time. He barely left the house. And I’d lived in Penzance my whole married life and we all knew about the sea captain in the house on the hill by the cove, and I never once heard of him coming to town. So, miss, I’d say he was much the same, a recluse. And so ends my tale.”
“Well, “ Dickie announces, releasing a pent up breath he didn’t realise he had been holding on to. “Thank you so much for sharing it with us, Mrs. Trevethan. I shall know who to come to the next time I want to know anything about local history.”
“I should be getting back now, sir. I have to reorganise that storeroom, and then there’s lunch to prepare.”
“Oh, we’ve decided to go down to the cove today so Miss Chetwynd can paint the landscape.” Margot announces with a smile. “Could you pack us a picnic luncheon to take with us, rather than having us eat it here, Mrs. Trevethan?”
“Oh, pur dha********* Mrs. Channon.” replies Mrs. Trevethan before dropping a quick bob curtsey and shuffling out through the breakfast room door again.
“Well, what a tragic tale!” enthuses Margot, taking up a slice of marmalade covered toast and taking a bite.
“Not so much tragic as just sad, my love.” Dickie replies.
“I say again,” Gerald grumbles. “You say I’m the one who loves drama.”
“Well you do, Gerald,” Lettice chimes in, stirring extra sugar into her almost forgotten cup of tea. “And we love you for it.” She assures him. “But I happen to agree with Margot. It is a tragic tale, more so than just sad. Sad is too… too…”
“Insipid?” Gerald offers.
“Thank you, Gerald. Yes, too insipid a word for it. The loss of youth and true love makes this a tragic tale.”
Dickie chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, I wouldn’t doubt that there was a little bit of wax lyrical about Mrs. Trevethan’s version of the story, as it would be with any local legend. However, what I think is important about the story is that it tells us exactly who the lady is in the Winterhalter painting. It gives us provenance, which makes it all the more valuable.”
“If it’s a Winterhalter, Dickie!” Lettice reminds him again. “It may not be.”
“Well, whether it is or it isn’t,” Margot adds in. “All this talk won’t get us out into this unseasonable sunshine and down to the cove so Lettice can paint the lighthouse. Let’s finish up breakfast and get ready to go out.”
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**The 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.
***Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
****As a youth the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII and then Duke of Windsor) became a proficient player of the highland bagpipe, being taught by William Ross and Henry Forsyth. He frequently, until his later years, played a tune round the table after dinner, sometimes wearing a white kilt. He was also known to wake the guests at his house on the Windsor Great Park, Fort Belvedere, with a rousing rendition of a tune on the bagpipes.
*****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
******Marshall & Snelgrove was an up-market department store on the north side of Oxford Street, London, on the corner with Vere Street founded by James Marshall. The company became part of the Debenhams group.
*******“Metten daa” is Cornish for “good morning”.
********A halt, in railway parlance in the Commonwealth of Nations and Ireland, is a small station, usually unstaffed or with very few staff, and with few or no facilities. A halt station is a type of stop where any train carrying a passenger is scheduled to stop for a given period of time. In Edwardian times it was not unusual for wealthy families with large houses close to the railway line to have their own halt stop for visiting guests or mail and other deliveries.
*********”Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
Contrary to what your eyes might tell you, even though the food looks quite edible, this upper-class Regency country house domestic scene is actually made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the breakfast table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot on the left hand size of the picture comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom, as does the jam pot to the right of the toast rack. The toast rack, egg cruet set, cruet set and coffee pot were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The eggs and the toast slices come from miniature dollhouse specialists on E-Bay. The apples in comport on the centre of the table are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The comport in which they stand is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England as is the glass of orange juice on the table, the jug of orange juice and the bunch of roses on the sideboard at the back of the photograph. The remaining empty glass tumblers are all hand made of spun glass and came from a high street dolls’ specialist when I was a teenager.
The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and Regency sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.
The fireplace in the background of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The two candelabra on it were made by Warwick Miniatures, and the Georgian Revival 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 vases came from a miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
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All pictures: © Elke Vogelsang
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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.
Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.
That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.
The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.
“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.
“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.
Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.
“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.
“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”
“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.
“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”
“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”
“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”
“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.
“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.
“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.
“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.
“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”
“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”
Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.
“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.
“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.
“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.
“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.
“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”
“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.
“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”
“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.
All three of them laugh good heartedly.
“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”
“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.
“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”
“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.
“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.
“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.
“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.
“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”
“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.
“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”
“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”
“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”
Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”
“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”
“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”
“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.
The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.
“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”
“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.
“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”
“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”
“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.
“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”
“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”
“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”
“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.
“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”
“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.
“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”
“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.
“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.
“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”
“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.
“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”
“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”
“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”
“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.
“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.
“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”
The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.
“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”
“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.
“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”
“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”
The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”
“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”
“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.
“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”
“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.
“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.
Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.
“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.
“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”
“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”
Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.
“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.
“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”
“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.
“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”
“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.
“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”
Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.
“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”
“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.
“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”
“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”
Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.
“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”
“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”
“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.
“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”
“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”
“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”
With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.
“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.
“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”
“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.
“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”
“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”
“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.
“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.
“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”
“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.
Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.
Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.
Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.
“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.
“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.
*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
**A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.
****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.
*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.
******Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.
*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.
The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.
Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.
The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.
The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.
The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we are just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, at Mr. Willison’s grocers’ shop. Willison’s Grocers in Mayfair is where Lettice has an account, and it is from here that Edith, Lettice's maid, orders her groceries for the Cavendish Mews flat, except on special occasions like the soirée that Lettice threw for Dickie and Margot Channon’s engagement, when professional London caterers are used. Mr. Willison prides himself in having a genteel, upper-class clientele including the households of many titled aristocrats who have houses and flats in the neighbourhood, and he makes sure that his shop is always tidy, his shelves well stocked with anything the cook of a duke or duchess may want, and staff who are polite and mannerly to all his important customers. The latter is not too difficult, for aside from himself, Mrs. Willison does his books, his daughter Henrietta helps on Saturdays and sometimes after she has finished school, which means Mr. Willison technically only employs one member of staff: Frank Leadbetter his delivery boy who carries orders about Mayfair on the bicycle provided for him by Mr. Willison. He also collects payments for accounts which are not settled in his Binney Street shop whilst on his rounds.
Lettice’s maid, Edith, is stepping out with Frank, and to date since he rather awkwardly suggested the idea to her in the kitchen of the Cavendish Mews flat, the pair has spent every Sunday afternoon together, going to see the latest moving pictures at the Premier in East Ham*, dancing at the Hammersmith Palais or walking in one of London’s many parks. They even spent Easter Monday at the fair held on Hampstead Heath***. Whilst Lettice is away in Cornwall selecting furniture from Dickie and Margot’s Penzance country house, ‘Chi an Treth’, to be re-purposed, Edith is taking advantage of a little more free time and has come to Willison’s Grocers under the pre-text of running an errand in the hope of seeing Frank. The bell rings cheerily as she opens the plate glass door with Mr. Willison’s name painted in neat gilt lettering upon it. Stepping across the threshold she immediately smells the mixture of comforting smells of fresh fruits, vegetables and flour, permeated by the delicious scent of the brightly coloured boiled sweets coming from the large cork stoppered jars on the shop counter. The sounds of the busy street outside die away, muffled by shelves lined with any number of tinned goods and signs advertising everything from Lyon’s Tea**** to Bovril*****.
“Miss Watsford!” exclaims Mr. Willison’s wife as she peers up from her spot behind the end of the return counter near the door where she sits doing her husband’s accounts. “We don’t often have the pleasure.”
Edith looks up, unnerved, at the proprietor’s wife and bookkeeper, her upswept hairstyle as old fashioned as her high necked starched shirtwaister****** blouse down the front of which runs a long string of faceted bluish black beads. “Yes,” Edith smiles awkwardly. “I… I have, err… that is to say I forgot to give Fr… err, Mr. Leadbeater my grocery list when he visited the other day.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Willison queries. “I could have sworn that we had it.” She starts fussing through a pile of papers distractedly. “That isn’t like you Miss Watsford. You’re usually so well organised.”
“Well,” Edith thinks quickly. “It… it isn’t really the list. It’s just that I left a few things off. Miss Chetwynd… well, you see she fancies…”
“Oh, well give me the additions, Miss Watsford,” Mrs. Willison thrusts out her hand efficiently, the frothy white lace of her sleeve dancing around her wrist. “And I’ll see to it that they are added to your next delivery. We don’t want the Honourable Miss Chetwynd to go without, now do we?”
With a shaky hand Edith reluctantly hands over her list of a few extra provisions that aren’t really required, especially with her mistress being away for a few days. As she does, she glances around the cluttered and dim shop hopefully.
“Will there be anything else, Miss Watsford?” Mrs. Willison asks curtly.
“Err… yes.” Edith stammers, but falls silent as she continues to look in desperation around the shop.
Mrs. Willison suspiciously eyes the slender and pretty domestic through her pince-nez*******. She scrutinises Edith’s fashionable plum coloured frock with the pretty lace collar. The hem of the skirt is following the current style and sits higher than any of Mrs. Willison’s own dresses and it reveals Edith’s shapely stockinged calves. She wears her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers over her neatly pinned chignon. “Is that a few frock, Miss Watsford?” the grocer’s wife continues.
“Ahh, yes it is, Mrs. Willison. I made it myself from scratch with a dress pattern from Fashion for All********,” Edith replies proudly, giving a little twirl that sends her calf length skirt flaring out prettily, and Mrs. Willison’s eyebrows arching with disapproval as the young girl reveals even more of her legs as she does. “Do you like it?”
“You seem a little dressed up to run an errand here, Miss Watsford.” Mrs. Willison says with bristling disapprobation.
“Well, I… I err… I do have some letters to post too, Mrs. Willison,” Edith withdraws two letters from her wicker basket and holds them up in her lilac glove clad hand.
“Well, we mustn’t keep you from your errand, now must we, Miss Watsford? Now what else did you require before you leave?” the older woman emphasises the last word in her sentence to make clear her opinion about young girls cluttering up her husband’s shop.
“An apple.” Edith says, suddenly struck with inspiration. “I’d like an apple for the journey, Mrs. Willison.”
“Very good, Miss Watsford.” the older woman starts to move off her stool. “I’ll fetch…”
“No need, Mrs. Willison!” Frank’s cheerful voice pipes up as he appears from behind a display of tinned goods. “I’ll take care of Miss Watsford. That’s what I’m here for. You just stay right there Mrs. Willison. Right this way, Miss Watsford.” He ushers her with a sweeping gesture towards the boxes of fresh fruit displayed near the cash register.
“Oh Fran…” Edith catches herself uttering Frank’s given name, quickly correcting herself. “Err… thank you, Mr. Leadbetter.”
Mrs. Willison lowers herself back into her seat, all the while eyeing the pair of young people critically as they move across the shop floor together, their heads boughed conspiratorially close, a sense of overfamiliarity about their body language. She frowns, the folds and furrows of her brow eventuated. Then she sighs and returns to the numbers in her ledger.
“What are you doing here, Edith?” Frank whispers to his sweetheart quietly, yet with evident delight in his voice.
“Miss Lettice is away down in Cornwall on business, so I thought I’d stop in on my way through in the hope of seeing you, Frank.” She glances momentarily over her shoulder. “Then Mrs. Willison greeted me. I thought I was going to get stuck with the disapproving old trout and not see you.”
“The weather looks good for Sunday, Edith. It’s supposed to be sunny. Shall we go to Regent’s Park and feed the ducks if it is?”
“Oh, yes!” Edith clasps her hands in delight, her gloves muffling the sound. “Maybe there will be a band playing in the rotunda.”
“If there is, I’ll hire us a couple of deck chairs and we can listen to them play all afternoon in the sunshine.”
“That sounds wonderful, Frank.”
“Well,” pronounces Frank loudly as the stand over the wooden tray of red and golden yellow apples. “This looks like a nice juicy one, Miss Watsford.”
“Yes,” Edith replies in equally clear tones. “I think I’ll have that one, Mr. Leadbeater.”
“Very good, Miss Watsford. I’ll pop it into a paper bag for you.”
“Oh, don’t bother Fr… Mr. Leadbeater. I’ll put it in my basket.”
Frank takes the apple and walks back around the counter to the gleaming brass cash register surrounded by jars of boiled sweets. “That will be tuppence please, Miss Watsford.” He enters the tally into the noisy register, causing the cash draw to spring open with a clunk and the rattle of coins rubbing against one another with the movement.
Edith hooks her umbrella over the edge of the counter, pulls off her gloves and fishes around in her green handbag before withdrawing her small leather coin purse from which she takes out tuppence which she hands over to Frank.
“Here,” Frank says after he deposits her money and pushes the drawer of the register closed. He slides a small purple and gold box discreetly across the counter.
Edith gasps as she looks at the beautifully decorated box featuring a lady with cascading auburn hair highlighted with gold ribbons, a creamy face and décollétage sporting a frothy white gown and gold necklace. She traces the embossed gold lettering on the box’s lid. “Gainsborough Dubarry Milk Chocolates!”
“Can’t have my girl come all this way to see me and not come away with a gift.” Frank whispers with a beaming smile dancing across his face.
“Seeing you is gift enough, Frank.” Edith blushes.
“Ahem!” Mrs. Willison clears her throat from the other end of the shop. “Will they be going on the Honourable Miss Chetwynd’s account, Frank?” she asks with a severe look directly at her husband’s employee.
“Um… no Mrs. Willison. Don’t worry. I’ll be paying for them.” Frank announces loudly. Bending his head closer to Edith, he whispers, “I can see why Mr. Willison has her in here when he isn’t. You can’t get away with anything without her knowing: ghastly old trout.”
Edith giggles as she puts the small box of chocolates and the apple into her basket. “I’ll save them for Sunday.” she says with a smile. “We can share them whilst we listen to the band from our deckchairs.”
Frank smile broadens even more. “Righty-ho, Edith.”
“Righty-ho, Frank.”
“Well, as I was saying, Miss Watsford,” Mrs. Willison pronounces from her stool. “We mustn’t keep you from your errands. I’m sure you have a lot to do, and it is almost midday already.”
“Yes indeed, Mrs. Willison.” Edith agrees, unable to keep the reluctance out of her voice. “I really should be getting along. Well, goodbye Mr. Leadbeater. Thank you for your assistance.” She then lowers her voice as she says, “See you Sunday.”
Both Frank and Mrs. Willison watch as the young lady leaves the shop the way she came, by the front door, a spring in her step and a satisfied smile on her face, her basket, umbrella and handbag slung over her arm.
“Frank!”
Frank cringes as Mrs. Willison calls his name. Turning around he sees her striding with purpose behind the counter towards him, wending her way through the obstacle course of stacks of tins and jars of produce, hessian sacks of fresh vegetables and fruits and boxes of bottles.
“Yes, Mrs Willison?”
“Frank,” she says disappointingly. “I can’t stop you from stepping out with a girl in your own time,” She comes to a halt before him, domineering over him with her topknot, her arms akimbo. “And I’d say the Honourable Miss Chetwynd is foolishly modern enough to let you take her maid out on Sundays.” She looks at him with disapproving eyes. “However, I’d be much obliged if you kept your dalliances to your own time, and kindly keep them out of my husband’s establishment during business hours!”
“Yes Mrs. Willison!” Frank replies, sighing gratefully, now knowing that he isn’t going to be given notice for chatting with Edith during work hours.
“And I’ll make an adjustment to your wages this week for the chocolates.” she adds crisply.
“Yes Mrs. Willison.” Frank nods before hurrying away back to the stock room.
*The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.
**The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.
***Hampstead Heath (locally known simply as the Heath) is a large, ancient London heath, covering 320 hectares (790 acres). This grassy public space sits astride a sandy ridge, one of the highest points in London, running from Hampstead to Highgate, which rests on a band of London Clay. The heath is rambling and hilly, embracing ponds, recent and ancient woodlands, a lido, playgrounds, and a training track, and it adjoins the former stately home of Kenwood House and its estate. The south-east part of the heath is Parliament Hill, from which the view over London is protected by law.
****Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J. Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in Britain, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J. Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England.
*****Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.
******A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
*******Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".
********”Fashion for All” was one of the many women’s magazines that were published in the exuberant inter-war years which were aimed at young girls who were looking to better their chances of finding a husband through beauty and fashion. As most working-class girls could only imagine buying fashionable frocks from high street shops, there was a great appetite for dressmaking patterns so they could dress fashionably at a fraction of the cost, by making their own dresses using skills they learned at home.
This cluttered, yet cheerful Edwardian shop 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:
Central to the conclusion of our story is the dainty box of Gainsborough Dubarry Milk Chocolates. This beautifully printed confectionary box comes from Shepherd’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Starting in the Edwardian era, confectioners began to design attractive looking boxes for their chocolate selections so that they could sell confectionary at a premium, as the boxes were often beautifully designed and well made so that they might be kept as a keepsake. A war erupted in Britain between the major confectioners to try and dominate what was already a competitive market. You might recognise the shade of purple of the box as being Cadbury purple, and if you did, you would be correct, although this range was not marketed as Cadbury’s, but rather Gainsborough’s, paying tribute to the market town of Gainsborough in Lincolnshire, where Rose Bothers manufactured and supplied machines that wrapped chocolates. The Rose Brothers are the people for whom Cadbury’s Roses chocolates are named.
Also on the shop counter is an apple which is very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay it is made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The brightly shining cash register, probably polished by Frank, was supplied by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The cylindrical jars, made of real spun glass with proper removable cork stoppers which contain “sweets” I acquired as a teenager from an auction as part of a larger lot of miniature items. Edith’s lilac coloured gloves are made of real kid leather and along with the envelopes are artisan pieces that I acquired from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Edith’s green leather handbag I acquired as part of a larger collection of 1:12 artistan miniature hats, bags and accessories I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The umbrella comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. Edith’s basket I acquired as part of a larger lot of 1:12 miniatures from an E-Bay seller in America.
The packed shelves you can see in the background is in fact a Welsh dresser that I have had since I was a child, which I have repurposed for this shot. You can see the dresser more clearly in other images used in this series when Edith visits her parent’s home in Harlesden. The shelves themselves are full of 1:12 artisan miniatures with amazing attention to detail as regards the labels of different foods. Some are still household names today. So many of these packets and tins of various foods would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. They come from various different suppliers including Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom, Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom, Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering and Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Items on the shelves include: Tate and Lyall Golden Syrup, Lyall’s Golden Treacle, Peter Leech and Sons Golden Syrup, P.C. Flett and Company jams, Golden Shred and Silver Shred Marmalades, Chiver’s Jelly Crystals, Rowtree’s Table Jelly, Bird’s Custard Powder, Bird’s Blancmange Powder, Coleman’s Mustard, Queen’s Gravy Salts, Bisto Gravy Powder, Huntly and Palmers biscuits, Lyon’s Tea and Typhoo Tea.
In 1859 Henry Tate went into partnership with John Wright, a sugar refiner based at Manesty Lane, Liverpool. Their partnership ended in 1869 and John’s two sons, Alfred and Edwin joined the business forming Henry Tate and Sons. A new refinery in Love Lane, Liverpool was opened in 1872. In 1921 Henry Tate and Sons and Abram Lyle and Sons merged, between them refining around fifty percent of the UK’s sugar. A tactical merger, this new company would then become a coherent force on the sugar market in anticipation of competition from foreign sugar returning to its pre-war strength. Tate and Lyle are perhaps best known for producing Lyle’s Golden Syrup and Lyle’s Golden Treacle.
Peter Leech and Sons was a grocers that operated out of Lowther Street in Whitehaven from the 1880s. They had a large range of tinned goods that they sold including coffee, tea, tinned salmon and golden syrup. They were admired for their particularly attractive labelling. I do not know exactly when they ceased production, but I believe it may have happened just before the Second World War.
P.C. Flett and Company was established in Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands by Peter Copeland Flett. He had inherited a small family owned ironmongers in Albert Street Kirkwall, which he inherited from his maternal family. He had a shed in the back of the shop where he made ginger ale, lemonade, jams and preserves from local produce. By the 1920s they had an office in Liverpool, and travelling representatives selling jams and preserves around Great Britain. I am not sure when the business ceased trading.
Golden Shred orange marmalade and Silver Shred lime marmalade still exist today and are common household brands both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson’s Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson’s Silver Shred is a clear, tangy, lemon flavoured shredded marmalade. Robertson’s marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.
Chivers is an Irish brand of jams and preserves. For a large part of the Twentieth Century Chivers and Sons was Britain's leading preserves manufacturer. Originally market gardeners in Cambridgeshire in 1873 after an exceptional harvest, Stephen Chivers entrepreneurial sons convinced their father to let them make their first batch of jam in a barn off Milton Road, Impington. By 1875 the Victoria Works had been opened next to Histon railway station to improve the manufacture of jam and they produced stone jars containing two, four or six pounds of jam, with glass jars first used in 1885. In around 1885 they had 150 employees. Over the next decade they added marmalade to their offering which allowed them to employ year-round staff, rather than seasonal workers at harvest time. This was followed by their clear dessert jelly (1889), and then lemonade, mincemeat, custard powder, and Christmas puddings. By 1896 the family owned 500 acres of orchards. They began selling their products in cans in 1895, and the rapid growth in demand was overseen by Charles Lack, their chief engineer, who developed the most efficient canning machinery in Europe and by the end of the century Chivers had become one of the largest manufacturers of preserves in the world. He later added a variety of machines for sorting, can making, vacuum-caps and sterilisation that helped retain Chivers' advantage over its rivals well into the Twentieth Century. By the turn of the century the factory was entirely self-sufficient, growing all its own fruit, and supplying its own water and electricity. The factory made its own cans, but also contained a sawmill, blacksmiths, coopers, carpenters, paint shop, builders and basket makers. On the 14th of March 1901 the company was registered as S. Chivers and Sons. By 1939 there were over 3,000 full-time employees, with offices in East Anglia as well as additional factories in Montrose, Newry and Huntingdon, and the company owned almost 8,000 acres of farms. The company's farms were each run independently, and grew cereal and raised pedigree livestock as well as the fruit for which they were known.
Founded by Henry Isaac Rowntree in Castlegate in York in 1862, Rowntree's developed strong associations with Quaker philanthropy. Throughout much of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, it was one of the big three confectionery manufacturers in the United Kingdom, alongside Cadbury and Fry, both also founded by Quakers. In 1981, Rowntree's received the Queen's Award for Enterprise for outstanding contribution to international trade. In 1988, when the company was acquired by Nestlé, it was the fourth-largest confectionery manufacturer in the world. The Rowntree brand continues to be used to market Nestlé's jelly sweet brands, such as Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums, and is still based in York.
Bird’s were best known for making custard and Bird’s Custard is still a common household name, although they produced other desserts beyond custard, including the blancmange. They also made Bird’s Golden Raising Powder – their brand of baking powder. Bird’s Custard was first formulated and first cooked by Alfred Bird in 1837 at his chemist shop in Birmingham. He developed the recipe because his wife was allergic to eggs, the key ingredient used to thicken traditional custard. The Birds continued to serve real custard to dinner guests, until one evening when the egg-free custard was served instead, either by accident or design. The dessert was so well received by the other diners that Alfred Bird put the recipe into wider production. John Monkhouse (1862–1938) was a prosperous Methodist businessman who co-founded Monk and Glass, which made custard powder and jelly. Monk and Glass custard was made in Clerkenwell and sold in the home market, and exported to the Empire and to America. They acquired by its rival Bird’s Custard in the early Twentieth Century.
Queen’s Gravy Salt is a British brand and this box is an Edwardian design. Gravy Salt is a simple product it is solid gravy browning and is used to add colour and flavour to soups stews and gravy - and has been used by generations of cooks and caterers.
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.
Huntley and Palmers is a British firm of biscuit makers originally based in Reading, Berkshire. The company created one of the world’s first global brands and ran what was once the world’s largest biscuit factory. Over the years, the company was also known as J. Huntley and Son and Huntley and Palmer. Huntley and Palmer were renown for their ‘superior reading biscuits’ which they promoted in different varieties for different occasions, including at breakfast time.
In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.
www.wwt.org.uk/wetland-centres/martin-mere/
WWT Martin Mere Wetland Centre
Fish Lane, Burscough
Lancashire
L40 0TA
T: 01704 895181
F: 01704 892343
E: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk
Opening times
Open 7 days a week, except 25 December
Winter (27 October to February)
9.30am to 5.00pm
Early Closing on 24 December (last admission 2pm)
Summer (March to 27 October)
9.30am to 5.30pm
Facilities
Eating
The brand new Mere Side cafe offers a delicious selection of hot and cold food, a variety of coffees and chilled drinks, and tempting home-made cakes. From healthy vegetarian salads to hearty meat dishes, all can be enjoyed overlooking the beautiful wetlands.
Small Breakfast menu available from 10am -11.30am. Hot food served from 11.45am - 2.30pm.
Shopping
The gift shop stocks a wide range of wildlife books, outdoor clothing, bird feeders/boxes, postcards and stationary, children’s gifts and souvenirs of your visit to the centre, including a unique range of products featuring the artwork of WWT founder Sir Peter Scott.
There is also an In Focus optics shop at the centre selling everything you will ever need to watch wildlife – from budget binoculars starting at around £15 to deluxe telescopes at over £1000. In Focus is the ideal place to get honest, friendly advice about buying your first pair of binoculars and test them in what must be the best location anywhere in the North West of England.
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Visitor information and associated terms and conditions of entry
We hope you have a great day with us. Our Wetland Centres are designed to give you an unforgettable experience getting close to nature. Your safety is paramount, as is the safety of the wildlife that visits or lives at our Wetland Centres. To ensure everyone has a safe and enjoyable day, we have terms and conditions of entry that everyone needs to observe.
1. Visitors are asked to respect the habitats and wildlife of the centre by keeping to the paths and defined tracks at all times and keeping loud noise to a minimum as this may cause stress to wildlife.
2. Contrary to popular belief, birds should not be fed bread as they cannot digest it. Please feed them grain instead - you will be able to purchase grain at centres where feeding is permitted.
3. Please ensure that children are supervised at all times and please be aware that some of our ponds and lakes are deep. Children under the age of 16 must be accompanied by an adult.
4. Safety signs are there for your protection - please obey the signage and do not attempt to go beyond any enclosure barriers. Please do not: Climb on any trees or shrubs
Prune or pick any flowers or vegetation
Enter any water body
5. The last admission to the Centre is 30 minutes prior to the advertised closing time.
6. Due to the limited availability of car parking spaces, vehicles may only be left for the duration of the visit to the centre.
7. Mobility scooters are very welcome on site. For more information on what we offer for people with disabilities, please see www.wwt.org.uk/visit/visit/accessibility/
8. Unfortunately we can't allow dogs or pets of any kind on site, with the exception of assistance dogs on duty, as our wildlife may become distressed. Assistance dogs must be kept on the lead and under control and harnesses must state "working or assistance dog". Please ensure any dog waste is removed. If any of our birds/animals behaviour is affected by the presence of your dog, we may have to ask you to move away from the area.
9. So we don't distress our wildlife, we do not allow the following on site: Scooters, bicycles, tricycles, roller skates/blades/wheelies or skateboards
Barbecues
Footballs or frisbees
10. Pond dipping is not allowed on our wildlife reserve ponds. This is to prevent the spread of invasive non-native plants and the chytridiomycosis disease which affects amphibians. Pond dipping in the grounds may only be undertaken with equipment provided by WWT.
11. In accordance with UK law smoking is prohibited in all buildings (including hides). Visitors who wish to smoke are asked to consider the welfare and comfort of other visitors, especially children, by not smoking in or around picnic areas, play areas or areas where children's activities are being held. In periods of extreme dry weather WWT reserves the right to designate the whole site non-smoking in order to reduce the risk of fire.
12. Photography is permitted on site for personal use only. All commercial/stock library photography, filming, recording, etc. must be agreed in advance with the centre. Please contact Nick Brooks on 01704 891 227 for any commercial filming or photographic enquiries.
13. WWT reserves the right to ask for additional identification to aid proof of membership.
2013 admission prices
Prices are shown inclusive of Gift Aid and without. The Gift Aid admission price includes a voluntary donation, which enables us to claim the tax back as part of the Government's Gift Aid scheme. For further information on Gift Aid click here.
Pricing
Adult
Gift Aid £11.10
No Gift Aid £10.09
Concession (65+, full-time students, unemployed)
Gift Aid £8.20
No Gift Aid £7.45
Child (4-16 years)
Gift Aid £5.40
No Gift Aid £4.91
Family (2 adults and 2 children, 4-16 years)
Gift Aid £29.80
No Gift Aid £27.09
Children (under 4 years) Free Free
Essential helpers assisting disabled visitors Free Free
Under 16s must be accompanied by an adult.
Accessibility
WWT Martin Mere Wetland Centre has the following facilities:
Free accessible car parking provision – 2 designated spaces
Trained assistance dogs welcome
Hearing induction loop in reception
Maps can be enlarged, please ask ahead of your visit
Manual wheelchair available to loan
The paths around the site are level access
Roaming volunteers, grounds and reception staff on hand if you require assistance
There is step-free entry to all our hides
Accessible toilets
Restaurant staff are friendly and helpful and will carry trays to the table if required
Pond-dipping with station for wheelchair-users
Accessible boat safari – maximum 2 manual wheelchair-users per trip
Waterplay – accessible (boardwalks / gravel) for children using wheelchairs
Eco Garden – a great sensory experience
In addition we have friendly and helpful staff, so if you need restaurant staff to carry a tray to your table or help open a gate – please just ask!
Eat, drink, refresh
The visitor centre is the heart of Martin Mere and the central place to find information on what to see, to buy seed to feed to the birds, to browse our retail shop and to eat (at the Mere Side Cafe).
The Mere Side Cafe has a selection of hot and cold food, sandwiches, cakes and drinks. Childrens boxes are available as well as high chairs and the option to heat up a baby's bottle. Additionally in the building there are disabled toilets and baby changing facilities.
The building has six indoor rooms where there’s always plenty to see and do in the warmth. Films will often be shown in our theatre about beavers or swans and there is a free activity room where families can play and learn in comfort.
The main foyer is home to a bio-diversity exhibition that was kindly donated to us to allow us to have an interactive display promoting the diversity of nature and life. The exhibition has a mixture of touch screen displays, hand held objects, an introductory DVD and large displays to read and learn about bio-diversity.
In addition, at weekends and during holidays there is another craft room where children can design then purchase crafts such as badges, pencil cases and themed activities depending on the season.
Shopping
Gift shop
The retail shop has a wide selection of gifts and souvenirs from small gifts for children to jewellery and display items, as well as a bird care and book area.
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In Focus shop
Established over 30 years ago, In Focus are the UK’s leading binocular and telescope specialists.
The In Focus shop at Martin Mere has arguably the best testing facilities for binoculars and telescopes in Britain, and carries an extensive range of binoculars and telescopes from beginners’ compacts for £15 to top end kit.
They also stock tripods, hide clamps, digiscoping kits and a wide range of bird watching accessories.
All of the In Focus staff are expert birders who work commission-free to give non-biased advice about choosing binoculars and telescopes. All sales support WWT’s conservation work.
If you wish to visit In Focus but not Martin Mere, you pay the admission price and this can be refunded when you leave if you get your receipt stamped by a member of staff at In Focus.
Group visits
What is there for groups?
Martin Mere Wetland Centre provides a perfect destination for groups, from keen wildlife enthusiasts, photographers or conservation and environmental groups to those just wanting a relaxing day out.
There are beautiful walks around the grounds where you can view birds from around the world, and a nature trail with ten lookout hides from which to watch wildlife throughout the seasons, including summer wading birds and the wintering swans and geese. We also have a visitor centre with spectacular views across the Swan Lake and we have a gift shop and the Mere Side Cafe, which serves food and drinks.
You are welcome to visit at your leisure but for those wanting a little more structure we offer guided walks tailored to your group’s requirements.
Activities
A range of seasonal guided tours and events are available to groups year round at Martin Mere Wetland Centre. Tours are priced at £10 and must be pre-booked.
Among those available are duckling nursery tours in the spring, summer waders walks in the summer and swan feeds in the winter. Guided tours of the waterfowl gardens and a community reedbed walk are also run year-round.
Contact the centre to find out which events
will be available when you visit.
Benefits for groups
Reduced entry prices for groups of 12 or more (payable as one payment on arrival)
Free familiarisation visit for the group leader
Complimentary admission for group organiser
Free coach parking
Free entry for the coach driver
Voucher for use in the Coffee Shop for the driver
Guided tour available for small additional cost for groups that have pre-booked
Meet and greet with complimentary welcome pack
Group admission prices 2012
Free to WWT members
The following discounted rates apply to groups of 12 or more:
Adult: £9.50
Concession: £7.00 (over 65 years, full-time students, unemployed)
Child: £4.60 (4-16 years)
No deposit is required and groups will be asked to pay at the admissions desk on the day of visit.
Accessibility
The centre has level access and hard-surfaced paths with tarmac on main routes (and compacted gravel on minor paths)
All hides are accessible to wheelchairs
Low-level viewing windows and level access to ground floor bird hides.
Free wheelchair loan
Trained assistance dogs only (i.e. Guide dogs). No other dogs permitted
Accessible toilets in car-park and throughout the visitor centre
Free car parking on site. Tarmac surface and reserved bays for disabled visitors
Making a booking
For further information or to make a group booking, please contact Belinda on 01704 895181, or email: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk
School visits
At WWT Martin Mere we provide unique and unforgettable learning experiences for schools.
To find out more about what’s on offer for you and your pupils,
Venue hire
If you would like to hire a room at Martin Mere call Belinda on 01704 891238 or email: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk for further information or to obtain a quote.
The centre can be hired during the day for corporate meetings or conferences, or in the evening for functions. Rooms can also be hired for children's birthday parties.
Children's parties are available at the following prices:
Children under the age of 4 is £6.00 per child (1 parent free and then a ration of 1 adult free per 3 children).
Children aged 4 - 12 is £8.00 per child (1 parent free and then a ratio of 1 adult free per 5 children)
Lunches boxes can also be purchased for £3.95 per child and they include a sandwich, fruit drink, crisps and a piece of fruit
Rooms available to hire:
Meeting Room - Maximum of 15 delegates
Lecture Theatre - Maximum of 100 delegates
Half of Greenwood Building - 20 to 30 delegates
Full Greenwood Building - Maximum of 60 delegates
How to find us
WWT Martin Mere Wetland Centre
Fish Lane, Burscough
Lancashire
L40 0TA
T: 01704 895181
F: 01704 892343
E: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk
Martin Mere Wetland Centre is located six miles from Ormskirk and 10 miles from Southport. It is easily accessible by public and private transport.
WWT Martin Mere is now offering a scheme where visitors who travel to the Centre without a car can receive discount entry on admission.
The reduced admission prices are:
Adult: £9.50
Child: £4.60
Concession: £7.00
By car
Situated off the A59, the Centre is signposted from junction 8 on the M61, junction 3 on the M58 and junction 27 on the M6. It is free to park at the Centre.
By rail
There are three railway stations in close proximity to Martin Mere: Burscough Bridge Interchange (on the Southport - Manchester line) is approximately two miles, New Lane (on the Southport – Manchester line) is approximately 0.8 miles and Burscough Junction (on the Liverpool to Preston line via Ormskirk) is approximately three miles.
Visit: www.traveline-northwest.co.uk for details of North West timetables and journey planner.
By foot
Martin Mere has created a new trail from Burscough Bridge Interchange. The well signposted two mile trail is along local footpaths and includes walking over agricultural land so may not be suitable for prams or wheelchairs. It is also advised to wear good walking boots. The trail begins from behind the Manchester platform at Burscough Bridge Interchange and incorporates local tea rooms and the new Martin Mere reedbed walk. The signs are made out of recycled plastic.
Please be aware that at certain times of the year, summer in particular, the footpath can become overgrown in certain places and it is advised to call the Centre prior to walking it at this time of year. If the path at the station is overgrown you can use an alternative route: Walk down the side of the house on the platform and turn left onto the road, turning left down Moss Nook Road. At the top of Moss Nook Road you walk straight ahead onto the public footpath and you will pick up the fingerposts to Martin Mere.
If there is an issue with the signage on this walk please call Martin Mere on 01704 891220
If there is an issue with the footpath i.e. overgrown or litter, please call Burscough Parish Council on 01704 894914
Click here for information on the Countryside Code
Hire a bike
The Martin Mere Wetland Centre welcomes cyclists as an environmentally friendly and pleasant way to arrive at the centre.
Jack Parker Cycles, in partnership with Martin Mere, now offer cycle hire from the Burscough shop. The hire fleet consist’s of a selection of gent’s, ladies, boys & girls junior bikes all fitted with puncture proof tires, also child seats & tag along bikes are available. All persons hiring will be supplied with helmets, locks and a map of area.
The costs to hire are £8.00 per bike and £4.00 for child seats and tags. All bikes must be booked in advance by telephone on 01704 892442 or by calling into the shop at 62 - 64 Liverpool Road North, Burscough L40 4BY
Cycle stations are located at Burscough Wharf, Burscough Fitness and Racquets Centre and The Ship Inn in Lathom.
All you need to hire a bike is your mobile phone and a debit or credit card and cycle hire is from £1 per hour
Minimum 6 hour initial purchase required however this can be carried forward to your next hire until your membership expires.
Top up your account with more hours anytime either through the website or by calling our automated number 01704 340025.
Thirty day temporary memberships are instantly available when you hire a bike however you can upgrade or pre-join on our website.
Easy to follow instructions are available at all stations.
You are able to hire at one station and leave your bike at another (specific locations only).
Check our website for locations of other cycle hire centres or to check if bikes are available at your chosen station
Further information on bike hire and how to travel without a car around Sefton and West Lancashire, please click on the following link: www.visitseftonandwestlancs.co.uk
The Centre is situated on two cycle routes in West Lancashire: the New Lane Circuit (approximately 23.5 miles) and A Grand Tour of West Lancashire (approximately 37.8 miles). Details of the routes can be found at: www.lancashire.gov.uk/environment/cycling/pdf/West%20lanc...
By coach
The centre has parking facilities for large coaches. Parking is free for coaches bringing visitors to the centre.
By air
Manchester Airport is just an hour drive from the Martin Mere Wetland Centre and Manchester Airport Train Station is on the Southport to Manchester train line, providing a direct route to New Lane Train Station, 0.8 miles from the Centre.
WWT's environmental policy
WWT is committed to environmental excellence and the continuous improvement of our environmental performance as part of our overall goal of implementing the pronciples of sustainability in all areas of work.
We recognise that many of our activities have some negative impact on the local, regional, national and global environment. As a consequence, we aim to conduct our business and operations in a way that minimises this impact and mitigates for it whenever possible, reflecting sustainable practices. Specifically we endeavour to:
Review all activities, operations and procedures to identify, quantify and evaluate environmental impact.
Set priorities and targets for environmental improvements in key areas, such as water, waste and energy.
Measure improvements against targets and report progress annually.
Adopt a philosophy of 'reduce, re-use and recycle' in our use of resources, and minimise the environmental impacts associated with our activities.
Meet or exceed all statutory regulations and approved codes of practice on the environment at all locations where possible.
Set our own standards and targets where no relevant Government regulation or code of practice exists.
Incorporate environmental responsibilities and sustainable practices into job descriptions, staff training and appraisals.
Raise awareness of environmental issues amongst staff and volunteers, and encourage individuals to adopt sustainable practices.
Communicate the value of environmental awareness and sustainability to members, supporters and local communities.
Encourage third parties, particularly suppliers and receivers of goods and services, to adopt environmental standards comparable to those of WWT.
Adopt a policy of sale and purchase of goods and services that minimises negative environmental impacts where possible.
Invest in accordance with our environmental policies and regularly review investments to ensure that they do not conflict with the Articles of the Trust.
Implement an environmental action plan to support our environmental policy.
Martin Mere visitor code
Wherever we go and whatever we do, we have an impact.
There are many ways in which you can get involved during your visit to help look after our beautiful area and ensure it is just as special on your next visit. This will also support our commitment to sustainable tourism.
1. Why not get out of the car - walking, riding and cycling are great ways to explore the area without adding to the traffic and you'll find there are fantastic places to visit right on your doorstep!
2. Stay local, eat local, buy local and see local - Lancashire has gained a reputation for fine food and local produce, so why not seek out famers' markets, village stores, pubs and cafes and make a real difference to the local communities.
3. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle - support us in our efforts to reduce waste.
4. Switch off... and save energy - in rural Lancashire you can see the stars at night! Help us reduce energy use and C02 emissions by switching off lights and standby buttons when you don't need them. Help us reduce water consumption by using just the water you need.
5. Follow the Countryside Code - the Countryside Code reminds us all to protect, respect and enjoy: look after plants and animals, take litter away; leave gates and property as you find them; keep dogs under close control; and consider other people.
Offer a Song of Praise to God | A Cappella | Gospel Music "Love the Practical God With All Our Heart"
www.holyspiritspeaks.org/videos/mv-love-the-practical-god...
La … la la la … la la la….
La … la la la … la la la … la….
The sun of righteousness is rising from the East.
O God! Your glory fills the heaven and earth.
Beautiful darling, Your love surrounds my heart.
People who pursue the truth all love God.
Though I rise alone in the early morning, I feel enjoyment when meditating on God’s word.
The tender words are like a loving mother, the words of judgment like a severe father. (Hey….)
I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.
Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….
I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.
Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….
I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.
La la la … la la la….
La la la … la la la … la….
God’s will has been revealed—to perfect the true lovers of God.
Lively and innocent people all offer up praises to God,
and dance beautiful dances around the true God together.
People are called back by God’s voice from different places.
Words of life are bestowed upon us. We are purified by the judgment of God’s words.
Our love is strengthened through refinement. We feel sweet to enjoy God’s love. (Hey….)
Who would not love the lovely God? With all my heart I only love the practical God.
Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….
Who would not love the lovely God? With all my heart I only love my God.
Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….
Who would not love the lovely God? With all my heart I only love my God.
I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.
Thank You! (Thank You!) (Thank You!) (Thank You!)
We love You!
from Follow the Lamb and Sing New Songs
Eastern Lightning, The Church of Almighty God was created because of the appearance and work of Almighty God, the second coming of the Lord Jesus, Christ of the last days. It is made up of all those who accept Almighty God's work in the last days and are conquered and saved by His words. It was entirely founded by Almighty God personally and is led by Him as the Shepherd. It was definitely not created by a person. Christ is the truth, the way, and the life. God's sheep hear God's voice. As long as you read the words of Almighty God, you will see God has appeared.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat. Instead, we are in central London, near the palace of Westminster and the Thames embankment at the very stylish Metropole Hotel*, where Lettice’s latest client, American film actress Wanetta Ward is living whilst her Edwardian Pimlico flat is redecorated by Lettice. We find ourselves in the busy dining room of the hotel where the gentle burble of voices fills the room and mixes with the sound of silver cutlery against the blue banded gilt hotel crockery, the clink of glasses raised and the strains of popular Edwardian music from the small palm court quartet playing discreetly by a white painted pillar. Surrounded by suited politicians and a smattering of older women, Lettice and Miss Ward sit at a table for two where a splendid selection of sweet and savory afternoon tea has been presented to them on a fluted glass cake stand by a smartly dressed waiter.
“Isn’t this fun?” Miss Ward giggles delightedly, looking at the delicacies placed before them. “Taking afternoon tea in London. What a wonderfully British thing to do. I’ve really taken to enjoying this rather quaint observance.” Pouring coffee from a silver coffee pot with an ebonised handle into her cup, she takes a sip. “Ugh!” she exclaims as she shudders and pulls a face. “Which is more than I can say for this sludge you British call coffee.” With a look of distain, she deposits the cup back into its saucer with a loud clatter. “No one makes coffee like we do back home.”
“Perhaps you might care for tea?” Lettice remarks quietly and diplomatically, indicating to the silver teapot beside her. “We’re very well known for our excellent tea.”
“Ugh!” Miss Ward says again, only this time without the melodrama of face pulling. “I think I’ll stick to the sludge, if it’s all the same to you, darling. You people might have conquered India and her tea plantations, but no-one makes tea like they do in Shanghai.” She sighs. “It’s almost an art form.”
“Perhaps we should have had cocktails then.”
“Now you’re talking, darling girl.”
“Only it might be frowned upon – two ladies alone, sitting and drinking in a hotel dining room.”
“See,” Miss Ward remarks in a deflated tone. “It’s like I told you when we met at my flat. You British are all a bunch of stuffed shirts**.” Looking around at the table of older gentlemen next to them, enjoying a fine repast as well as some good quality claret from a faceted glass decanter, she adds somewhat conspiratorially with a flick of her eyes, “And they don’t get much more stuffed that this bunch of politicians.”
“Are you always so frank, Miss Ward?”
“I’m American, darling. We’re known for our frankness as much as you are known for your diplomacy. I’d be letting the home side down if I wasn’t, especially whilst on foreign soil. Anyway,” she continues as a burst of guffaws come from the table as the gentlemen laugh at something one of them said. “I think they have been here for most of the afternoon, and that isn’t their first bottle. They aren’t going to pay enough attention to either of us to care what we two ladies are saying. I think they are happy if our secret women’s business stays secret. Don’t you agree Miss Chetwynd?”
Lettice discreetly looks over at them, noticing their florid faces and slightly rheumy eyes. “Yes, most probably.”
“In spite of the sludge they pass off as coffee here, I can say that afternoon tea at the Metropole is delicious.” The American woman picks up the cake stand and holds it aloft before Lettice for her to select a petit four. “Here! Try one.”
“I haven’t been here since before the war.” Lettice remarks, choosing a ham and tomato savoury before gazing around the room at the elegant Georgian revival furnishings, the restrained Regency stripe wallpaper, the watercolours of stately British homes in gilt frames and the white linen covered tables with stylish floral arrangements on each.
“Has it improved?”
“In looks, undoubtedly. It used to be very Victorian: lots of flocked wallpaper, dark furniture and red velvet. No, this is much brighter and more pleasant. The food however,” Lettice glances at the pretty petit four on her plate. “Is yet to be tested.” She picks up her cup and sips her tea. “Do you have your first script from Islington Studios*** yet, Miss Ward?”
“Oh I do, darling!” Miss Ward’s eyes grow wide and glisten with excitement. “The film is called ‘After the Ball is Over’. It’s a bit of a Cinderella story. A beautiful girl, despised by her haughty stepmother and stepsister wins the heart of a local lord, all set against the beautiful English countryside.” She picks an egg and lettuce savoury from the cake stand and takes a larger than polite bite from it before depositing the remains on her own plate.
“And are you the heroine?”
“Good heavens, no!” Miss Ward nearly chokes on her mouthful of egg and pastry. Placing the back of her hand to her mouth rather than her napkin, she coughs roughly, finishes her mouthful and then adds, “I’d rather die than play the heroine! They are always such insipid characters.” She pulls a face and then clears her throat of the last remaining crumbs. “No, I’m playing the stepsister, who uses her womanly wiles to charm the local lord in the first place.” She lowers her kohl lined eyes and smiles seductively. “She’s much more fun as a character, as are all mistresses and villainesses. Just think about the faerie tales you read when you were a girl. What a dull life Snow White or Cinderella would have led were it not for their wicked stepmothers.”
“I’d never considered that.” Lettice takes a small bite from her savoury.
“Trust me, I may not win the hearts of the audience, but I’ll be more memorable for playing the baddie than I ever would be for playing the helpless heroine.”
“How shockingly cynical, Miss Ward.”
“Cynical yes,” The American looks thoughtfully towards the ceiling for a moment before continuing, “But also truthful.”
“Well,” Lettice says a little reluctantly. “Thinking of truth, you haven’t invited me to afternoon tea just so I can enjoy the selection of sweet and savoury petit fours.” She withdraws her folio from beside her seat and places it on the table.
“Ahh!” Miss Ward’s green eyes sparkle with excitement. “The designs for my flat! I finally get to see them!” She rubs her elegant hands with their painted fingernails together gleefully.
“Now first, your boudoir.” Lettice withdraws a small pencil and watercolour sketch.
The sight of the picture makes Miss Ward gasp with delight as she stretches out her fingers to clutch the drawing. Bringing it closer to her, her painted lips curl up in pleasure.
“I thought a treatment of gold embellishment and brocade on black japanned furnishings might give a sense of luxury. I have kept the white ceiling, and white linens for the bed, but as you can see I’ve included some elements of red to bring that exotic oriental feel to the room you so wanted.”
“Delicious darling girl!” Miss Ward enthuses. “I have to admit, you were right when you said that white wouldn’t be boring if you used it. It helps balance the intensity of the black, red and gold.”
“I’m pleased you approve, Miss Ward.”
“Oh I do!” She hands the drawing back to Lettice. “What else?”
Lettice shows her a few more sketches showing her designs for the dressing room and the vestibule until she finally reaches the two for the drawing room and dining room. She places them on top of her folio, the pools of garish colour standing out against the white linen of the tablecloth and the buff of her folio.
“I remembered you telling me how much you like yellow, Miss Ward, but try as I might, I remain unconvinced that yellow walls are a suitable choice.” The American glances first at the drawings and then at Lettice but says nothing. “The colour is bold, and I know you wanted boldness,” Lettice continues. “But since we are being truthful, this strikes me as showy and déclassé.”
“Déclassé, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Inferior and lacking in the class and elegance of the other rooms’ schemes.”
Miss Ward leans forward and picks up the drawing room painting, scrutinising it through narrowed eyes. Dropping it back down, she picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip before asking with a shrug, “Alright, so what do you suggest then?”
“Well, it’s funny you should be holding your cup while you ask, Miss Ward.” Lettice observes astutely.
“My coffee cup?” Miss Ward holds the cup in front of her and screws up her nose in bewilderment. “You want to paint the walls coffee coloured?”
“Oh no, Miss Ward,” Lettice cannot help but allow a small chuckle of relief escape her lips. “No, I was referring more to the outside, which is blue with a gold trim. Here, let me show you what I mean.” She reaches inside her folio and withdraws a piece of wallpaper featuring a geometric fan design in rich navy blue with gold detailing. “I thought we might paper the walls instead, with this.” She holds it out to her client. “It’s very luxurious, and it makes a bold statement, but with elegance. I thought with a suitable array of yellow venetian glass and some pale yellow oriental ceramics, this would both compliment any yellow you add to the room, and give you that glamour and sophistication you desire.”
Lettice doesn’t realise it, but she holds her breath as the American picks up the piece of wallpaper and moves it around so that the gold outlines of the fans are caught in the light of the chandeliers above. The pair sit in silence - Lettice in anxiety and Miss Ward in contemplation – whilst the sounds of the busy dining room wash about them.
“Pure genius!” Miss Ward declares, dropping the wallpaper dramatically atop Lettice’s sketches.
“You approve then, Miss Ward?” Lettice asks with relief.
“Approve? I love it, darling girl!” She lifts her savoury to her mouth and takes another large bite.
“I’m so pleased Miss Ward.”
“Oh it will be a sensation, darling! Cocktails surrounded by golden fans! How delicious.” She replies with her mouth half full of egg, lettuce and pastry. She rubs her fingers together, depositing the crumbs clinging to them onto her plate. “And it will compliment my yellow portrait so well, you clever girl.”
“Your, yellow portrait, Miss Ward?” Lettice queries, her head on an angle.
“Yes, didn’t I tell you?”
“Ahh, no.”
“Well, I had my portrait painted whilst I was in Shanghai, draped in beautiful yellow oriental shawls. It’s really quite striking,” she declares picking up the remnants of her savoury. “Even if I do say so myself.”
“For above the fireplace?”
“Oh no! My Italian landscape will go there.”
“Your Italian landscape?”
“Yes, I bought it off a bankrupt merchant in Shanghai trying to get back home to the States along with a few other nice paintings.”
“How many paintings do you have, Miss Ward?”
She contemplates and then silently starts counting, mouthing the numbers and counting on her fingers. “Eleven or so. My beloved brother had them packed up and sent over. They should be arriving from Shanghai in Southampton next week. I’ll get them sent directly to the flat. I’ll leave it up to you darling girl to decide as to where they hang.”
“You are full of surprises, Miss Ward.” Lettice remarks with a sigh, picking up her teacup and taking a sip from it.
“Evidently, so are you,” the American replies, indicating with her eyes to the wallpaper. “I wasn’t expecting anything as modern and glamourous as that in London!”
Smiling, Lettice says, “We aim to please, Miss Ward.”
*Now known as the Corinthia Hotel, the Metropole Hotel is located at the corner of Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall Place in central London on a triangular site between the Thames Embankment and Trafalgar Square. Built in 1883 it functioned as an hotel between 1885 until World War I when, located so close to the Palace of Westminster and Whitehall, it was requisitioned by the government. It reopened after the war with a luxurious new interior and continued to operate until 1936 when the government requisitioned it again whilst they redeveloped buildings at Whitehall Gardens. They kept using it in the lead up to the Second World War. After the war it continued to be used by government departments until 2004. In 2007 it reopened as the luxurious Corinthia Hotel.
**The phrase “stuffed shirt” refers to a person who is pompous, inflexible or conservative.
***Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.
An afternoon tea like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate each sweet or savoury petit four on the cake plate, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau:
The savoury petite fours on the lower tier of the cake stand and the sweet ones on the upper tier have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height! The selection includes egg and lettuce, ham and tomato, Beluga caviar, salmon and cucumber and egg, tomato and cucumber savouries and iced cupcakes for the sweet petit fours.
The blue banded hotel crockery has been made exclusively for Doll House Suppliers in England. Each piece is fashioned by hand and painted by hand. Made to the highest quality standards each piece of porcelain is very thin and fine. If you look closely, you might even notice the facets cut into the milk jug. Several pieces of the same service appear on the table in the background and the tiered sideboard to the left of the table.
The fluted glass cake stand, the glass vase on Lettice and Miss Ward’s table and the red roses in it were all made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The cake stand and the vase have been hand blown and in the case of the stand, hand tinted. The teapot is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The coffee pot with its ornate handle and engraved body is one of three antique Colonial Craftsman pots I acquired from a seller on E-Bay. The two matching pots are on the sideboard in the background. Lettice’s folio was made by British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Lettice’s interior design paintings are 1920s designs. They are sourced from reference material particular to Art Deco interior design in Britain in the 1920s.
The Chippendale dining room chairs are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.
On the table in the background luncheons of fish and salad and spaghetti bolognaise are waiting to be eaten. The fish and salad plates are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures and the plates of spaghetti bolognaise are made by Frances Knight. The vases of flowers on the table and on the stands are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The three plant stands are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, whilst the sideboard is made by high-end miniature furniture maker JBM.
This site offers a remarkable collection of sea stacks for viewing.
The village of Pistol River, population 84 in the last census, is the nearest town.
The river received it's name when a soldier in the Indian Wars of the 1850's lost his pistol in the river.
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 is Tuesday and we are in the kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve, except on Tuesdays, every third Thursday of the month and occasionally after a big party. That is when Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, comes from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs and Edith shares the space with her. Although this can be a bit of challenge, especially as Mrs. Boothby likes to smoke indoors, Edith is grateful that unlike her previous positions, she does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties. Edith also has to admit that after her original reluctance, Mrs. Boothby has turned out to be rather pleasant company and the two have had many fine chats over time.
“Oh Mrs. Boothby, after you’ve finished polishing the floors in the drawing room this morning, would you mind laying down this sheet on the space behind Miss Lettice’s chair and the Chinese screen?” Edith pushes a neatly folded white sheet across the kitchen table to the old char.
“Why ‘ave I got to put dahn an old sheet for?” She looks perplexed at the pile of fabric before her. “Don’t Miss Chetwynd ‘ave enough rugs?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith trys somewhat unsuccessfully to cover her amused smile. “It isn’t for that.”
“Then what’s it for, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“It’s a drop sheet, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith elucidates.
“Oh. She getting’ painters in then? I bet I could find her cheaper ‘ouse painters than ooever she got. My Bruvver does a bit a ‘ouse paintin’, an I reckon ‘e does a very fine job ‘n all.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Boothby. Miss Lettice is going to paint a table today.”
“Paint a table?” The old woman looks queryingly at her younger counterpart. “Why? Ain’t it any good as is?”
“Apparently not, Mrs. Boothby. However, it isn’t for her. It’s for Miss de Virre, I mean, Mrs. Channon. It’s a table from her house in Cornwall.”
“Tartin’ up tables!” The old cockney woman tuts as she casts her eyes to the ceiling. “What them rich fancy folk won’t fink up next. I just throw an oilcloth over my table when I got friends comin’ for tea. That covers up the marks good and proper.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith explains. “Miss Lettice is going to redecorate it as part of her re-design of Mrs. Channon’s drawing room.”
“Well,” grumbles the old woman. “Whatever she’s doin’ it for, I hope she don’t get paint on my nice clean polished floors.”
“That’s what the drop sheet is for, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Ere dearie, pop the kettle on so as we can ‘ave a nice cup of Rosie-Lee** before I get started on the floors.” Mrs. Boothby says to Edith. “Washin’ floors can be firsty work for a woman, so best I get a cuppa before I start.”
“Yes, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies, lighting the gas ring underneath the bright copper kettle and walking over to the pine dresser to fetch two Delftware cups, saucers a milk jug and the sugar bowl.
Mrs. Boothby groans as she bends her wiry body to the floor to check what she calls her ‘Boothby boxes’, which are two boxes kept in the corner of the kitchen next to the dresser. One contains her scrubbing brushes, dustpan, and polishing rags, whilst the other contains a plethora of cleaning products.
“Ah,” the old Cockney woman mutters as she delves through the latter, metal cans clunking against one another as she does her inventory. “Pop Vim on the shopping list, will you Edith love. This can’s all but empty nah.” She continues fossicking. “Oh, and we need some more floor polish too.”
“Do you like that Kleen-eze Mr. Willison sent me last time, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks as she lays out the tea things on the deal kitchen table above the char’s head.
“It weren’t bad stuff, that. Yeah, ta. Get ‘him to get us some more of it if ‘e can.” The old woman affirms.
“I’ll see if Frank can get me some,” Edith says blithely, yet as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realises her mistake as a frisson of energy electrifies the kitchen.
Edith likes Mrs. Boothby, but she knows that any news will soon be spread around Poplar and the surrounding area once Mrs. Boothby hears it. She and the other charwomen she knows run a very well informed gossip chain, and there is little Mrs. Boothby can’t tell Edith about the comings and goings on in the household of her former employer Mrs. Plaistow, thanks to her charwoman friend Jackie who does work for her and quite a few other houses in Pimlico, including that of Lettice’s former client, successful Islington Studios*** actress, Wanetta Ward. Edith, who is a little starstruck by the glamourous American, often gets tasty titbits of gossip about her from Mrs. Boothby thanks to Jackie who also cleans for her, however Edith does not fancy the shoe being on the other foot. However, as she turns back from fussing unnecessarily over the kettle, she sees it is too late. Mrs. Boothby’s pale and wrinkled face, framed by her wiry grey hair tied up in a brightly coloured scarf is paying close attention to the young maid. Her dark eyes are gleaming with delight, and she smiles like the cat who ate the cream.
“Oh!” she says with one of her bushy eyebrows arching upwards. “Frank now, is it?”
“Well I…” Edith stutters, her own pale cheeks growing warm as a blush fills them with colour.
“Yes my girl?” Mrs, Boothby asks, as with another groan she resumes her upright state. “And just when did Mr. Willison’s young delivery boy go from bein’ Mr. Leadbeater or bein’ Frank? Last I ‘eard, you weren’t interested in ‘im.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in him, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith worries the blue rimmed edge of a saucer self-consciously. “I’d just never considered him as a prospect, is all. And I hadn’t Mrs. Boothby. Not until,”
“Yes,”
“Well, not until you’d mentioned it, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Aha!” the old cockney woman crows. “Ada Boothby does it again!”
“Does what, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks.
“Matchmakes, of course.” She smiles broadly, a glow of pride emanating from her slender figure in her grey dress and brightly printed cotton pinny. She rubs her careworn hands together with glee. “Oh I can’t wait to tell that damned Golda Friedmann dahn the end of my rookery****. She’ll be fit to be tied.”
“Wait!” Edith gasps, not understanding. “Who’s Golda Friedmann, and how she know about Frank and I? I don’t know her. She doesn’t work in the haberdashers in Poplar you sent me to.”
“Oh Lawd love you,” chortles Mrs. Boothby, the action resulting on one of her fruity hacking coughs that seem remarkably loud from such a diminutive figure. After catching her breath, she continues breathily, “She don’t know anyfink about you an’ your Frank.” She gulps again. “Nah! She’s the local matchmaker round our way, along with a few other Yids***** in Poplar. Goes around wiv ‘er nose in the air wrapped up in a fancy paisley shawl tellin’ folk she’s the one to match their son or daughter, like she was the Queen of Russia ‘erself.”
“Well she didn’t match me with Frank.” Edith says defensively.
“I know, Edith love.” Mrs. Boothby assures her with a calming wave of her hands.
“And nor did you, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith continues. “So I don’t see why you should feel so proud of yourself.”
“But you just said that if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t of considered ‘im!”
“Well,” Edith takes the kettle off the stove and pours hot water into the white teapot. “That’s true, but I’m the one that mentioned what you’d said to me about he and I on the night of Miss Lettice’s supper party for Mr. Channon and Miss de Virre.” She puts the lid on the pot with a clunk. “Err, I mean Mrs. Channon.”
Mrs. Boothby drags up a chair to the deal kitchen table and takes a seat, never taking her eyes off Edith’s face. “So ahh, when did you and Mr. Leadbeater, or should I say Frank, start, walkin’ out togevva?” She walks her index and middle finger across the clean table in front of her, as if to demonstrate her meaning.
“Only a few weeks now.” Edith admits with downcast eyes and a shy smile.
“A few weeks?” Mrs. Boothby gasps in outrage. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I guess it just slipped my mind, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith defends herself, setting out the tea cups in the saucers, pushing one across to the charwoman. “What with one thing an another. Besides,” she adds. “I didn’t want to tell you unless I was sure. I wouldn’t want to go disappointing you if it all came to aught.”
“But nah fings is workin’ out for the two of you then?” Mrs. Boothby asks as she accepts the cup and saucer and reaches for the milk jug, slopping a good glug into the bottom of her empty cup******.
“We seem to have struck a nice rhythm, and Frank and I have a lot in common.”
“Oh that’s lovely to ‘ear, dearie.” the old woman watches as Edith pours tea into her cup. “I told you, youse was pretty, didn’t I?” She takes hold of the sugar bowl and greedily spoons in several heaped teaspoons of fine white sugar into her tea before stirring it loudly. “And you never knew ‘till I told you. So where’ve you been goin’? The ‘Ammersmith Palais*******?”
“Yes, we’ve been there a few times, along with my friend Hilda.”
“She’s the parlour maid from your Mrs. Plaistow’s isn’t she?” Mrs. Boothby asks, before adding unnecessarily, “The plain one.”
“Oh I wouldn’t call her plain, Mrs. Boothby!” Edith defends her friend hotly as she pours tea into her own empty cup, before then adding a dash of milk. “That’s most uncharitable.”
“I didn’t say that, Jackie told me when I mentioned to ‘er that you was still friends wiv ‘er from when you worked there togevva.”
“Oh yes, I remember Jackie,” Edith picks up her cup and sips her tea. “Always with an ear out for gossip.”
“We chars ‘ave to take our pleasures where we can get ‘em, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says with a slightly haughty tone as she slurps her own tea loudly. “Bein’ a char is ‘ard graft day in, day out. And you can ‘ardly take the moral ‘ighground, what wiv you askin’ me about the goings on at Miss Ward’s, nah can you?”
Edith, suitably chastened, remains silent, her lack of response serving as an affirmation of the old Cockney’s statement.
“Anyway, I might never ‘ave met your ‘Ilda, but I bet she’s not a patch on you deary, what wiv your peaches n’ cream complexion and beautiful hair. What you got natural from God, so many women I know get from lotions and potions. Nah wonder Frank was nervous ‘bout askin’ you to step out wiv ‘im. Youse a real catch Edith love.”
“I never said he was nervous, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith giggles.
“But ‘e were, weren’t ‘e?” The old woman chuckles knowingly as she cradles her warm cup in both her hands. “All little boys what fink they’re big men, get nervous round a pretty girl.”
“Well,” Edith admits. “Maybe just a little.” Then she adds, “But I was nervous too.”
“Well, that’s nice, dearie. Youse just enjoy bein’ young an’ ‘appy togevva.” The old woman gazes into the distance, a far away look sodtening the sharpness of her gaze and the squareness of her jaw as her mouth hangs open slightly. She stays that way for a moment or two before she regains her steely composure and sharp look. Turning back to Edith she says, “Nah, ‘ow does this sound, Edith love? Mrs. Ada Boothby, Matchmaker and ‘Igh Class Char? That would shove it right up that uppity Golda Friedmann and ‘er matchmaker friends!”
“Oh Mrs. Boothy!” Edith giggles.
*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.
**Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.
***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.
****A rookery is a dense collection of housing, especially in a slum area. The rookeries created in Victorian times in London’s East End were notorious for their cheapness, filth and for being overcrowded.
*****The word Yid is a Jewish ethnonym of Yiddish origin. It is used as an autonym within the Ashkenazi Jewish community, and also used as slang. When pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with did by non-Jews, it is commonly intended as a pejorative term. It is used as a derogatory epithet, and as an alternative to, the English word 'Jew'. It is uncertain when the word began to be used in a pejorative sense by non-Jews, but some believe it started in the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century when there was a large population of Jews and Yiddish speakers concentrated in East London, gaining popularity in the 1930s when Oswald Mosley developed a strong following in the East End of London.
******In the class-conscious society of Britain in the 1920s, whether you added milk to your cup of tea first or the tea was a subtle way of defining what class you came from. Upper-class people, or those who wished to ape their social betters added milk after the tea, whereas middle-class or working class people comfortable in their own skins were known to add milk before the tea.
*******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.
This busy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
In front of Mrs. Boothby’s box is a can of Vim with stylised Art Deco packaging and some Kleeneze floor polish. Vim was a common cleaning agent, used in any Edwardian household. Vim scouring powder was created by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight. Kleeneze is a homeware company started in Hanham, Bristol. The company's founder, Harry Crook, had emigrated to the United States with his family several years earlier, and whilst there joined Fuller Brush as a sales representative. He returned to Bristol several years later, and started a business making brushes and floor polish which were sold door-to-door by salesmen. Technically Kleeneze didn’t start until 1923, which is one years after this story is set. I couldn’t resist including it, as I doubt I will ever be able to photograph it as a main part of any other tableaux. Thus, I hope you will forgive me for this indulgence.
In the box are two containers of Zebo grate polish, a bottle of Bluebell Metal Polish and a can of Brasso. Zebo (or originally Zebra) Grate Polish was a substance launched in 1890 by Reckitts to polish the grate to a gleam using a mixture that consisted of pure black graphite finely ground, carbon black, a binding agent and a solvent to keep it fluid for application with a cloth or more commonly newspaper. Brasso Metal Polish is a British all-purpose metal cleaning product introduced to market in 1905 by Reckitt and Sons, who also produced Silvo, which was used specifically for cleaning silver, silver plate and EPNS. Bluebell metal cleaning products were a household name in the 1920s and 1930s after the business was incorporated in 1900.
The tin buckets, wooden apple box, basket, mop, brush and pan are all artisan made miniatures that I have acquired in more recent years.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat. Instead, we have followed Lettice south-west, through the neighbouring borough of Belgravia to the smart London suburb of Pimlico and its rows of cream and white painted Regency terraces. There, in a smart red brick Edwardian set of three storey flats on Rochester Row, is the residence of Lettice’s client, recently arrived American film actress Wanetta Ward.
Now that the flat is completely redecorated under Lettice’s deft hands, Miss Ward has vacated her suite at the Metropole Hotel* and has been living at her Pimlico address for a few weeks now. As a thank you to Lettice, the American has invited her to afternoon tea. And so, we find ourselves in the beautifully appointed, spacious drawing room.
“Now, darling girl!” Miss Ward says as she sweeps into the drawing room through the green baize door that leads from the service area of the flat. “You must try my own brew of coffee!” She enthusiastically hoists a beautiful china coffee pot decorated with cherry blossoms in the air. “I promise you that you’ll never go back to that sludge you British call coffee after you’ve had this.”
Lettice smells the rich aroma from the pot’s spout as Miss Ward places it with an appropriately theatrical swoop, enhanced by the brightly coloured Spanish shawl draped over her bare shoulders, onto the silver tray on the cherrywood table between the Queen Anne style settee and the matching pair of Chinese armchairs. “It smells divine, Miss Ward.”
“Darling!” Miss Ward enthuses. “Divine isn’t the word for this!”
“I look forward to tasting it, then.” Lettice replies with a bemused smile. “And afternoon tea, Miss Ward?”
“I know! I know!” the American brandishes her hands in the air. “I admit I said it was a quaint observance, but it’s one that I’ve come to enjoy since living here in England. We might not have petit fours like they do at the Metropole, but trust me, Harriet has found the most wonderful little local bakery that makes an amazing selection of cookies. Try one!” She indicates to the plate piled generously with an assortment of brightly coloured and delicious looking biscuits.
“Harriet, Miss Ward?”
The American picks up a biscuit as she speaks and then pauses with it to her lips. “My new maid, Miss Chetwynd.”
Lettice considers the woman with a rather angular face in black silk moiré afternoon uniform and lace collar, cuffs, cap, apron and cap who answered the door. She didn’t strike her as having such a lovely name. She looked to be more of an Augusta or Bertha.
Miss Ward’s American voice interrupts Lettice’s contemplation. “Oh, I must thank you too, for the number of that domestics employment agency you gave me.”
“You can thank my mother, Miss Ward.” Lettice selects a small pink macaron and takes a ladylike bite from it before depositing the remainder on her plate. She feels the pastry and filling melt in her mouth. “She and I may not agree about a good many things, but Mater certainly knows the best agency In London for staff.”
“Well, Harriet is perfect!” Miss ward exclaims. “She fits in here so well, and she doesn’t throw a fit with all my comings and goings at all hours to and from the studio, taking telephone messages for me with the efficiency of a secretary, and she doesn’t even seem to mind the unannounced arrivals when friends come to pay call.”
“I do hope you told her about me coming today, Miss Ward.” Lettice remarks in alarm.
“Oh I did, Miss Chetwynd! It’s quite alright!” She stuffs the biscuit into her mouth, rubbing her fingers together to rid them of crumbs which tumble through the air and onto her lap where they disappear amidst the fuchsia coloured georgette of her dress. “Mind you,” she continues, speaking with her mouth full. “I don’t think Harriet likes it when I insist on making my own coffee.” She gulps loudly. “She doesn’t like it when I go onto the kitchen. She says it’s her domain.” She looks across at Lettice perched elegantly on the settee, dressed in a pretty pastel yellow frock that matches the trim of her straw hat. “I imagine your maid is the same.”
“I’m sure I haven’t asked Edith, Miss Ward.”
“Well, perhaps you should, Miss Chetwynd.”
“What a ridiculous notion!” Lettice laughs. “Of course she wouldn’t mind! It’s my flat. I can come and go where and when I please.”
“If you’ll pardon me, my dear girl,” Miss Ward picks up the coffee pot and pours the steaming, rich golden brown liquid first into Lettice’s cup and then her own. “But it’s a ridiculous notion that you don’t. If I may be so bold: it may be your flat, but you’re a lady, and even I, the egalitarian American in the room, knows that masters and servants don’t mix. You probably vex the poor little mouse when you swan into her domain, rather than ring the servant’s bell. Not that she would tell you that of course! Your maid is much to meek to speak her mind, whereas Harriet tells me that god invented servants’ bells, so I don’t have to go into her kitchen.” She smiles cheekily. “Mind you, I draw the line at her making coffee for me or my guests.” She indicates to the milk jug and sugar bowl. “Now, there is cream in the jug and sugar in the bowl Miss Chetwynd. Do help yourself.” She picks up the jug and glugs a dollop of cream into her coffee before scooping up two large heaped teaspoons of sugar.
After Lettice has added a small amount of cream and a flat teaspoon of sugar to her own coffee, she looks around the drawing room observantly whilst she stirs her cup’s contents. To her delight, and no little amount of surprise, the room remains as she designed it. She was quite sure that Wanetta would rearrange her well thought out designs as soon as she moved in, yet against her predictions the furniture remains where she had them placed, the gold and yellow Murano glass comport still standing in the centre of the mantelpiece, the yellow celadon vase with gold bamboo in place on the console table. Even the small white vase, the only piece left over from the former occupier’s décor, remains next to the comport on the mantle. The American was ready to throw it into the dustbin at every opportunity, yet it happily nestles between the comport and a large white china vase of vibrant yellow roses and lilies. It is as she notices the celadon vase that she sees the painting of Wanetta, which only arrived at the flat when its sitter did.
“So that’s the famous yellow portrait, Miss Ward,” Lettice remarks, admiring the likeness of the dark haired American, draped in a golden yellow oriental shawl, sitting languidly in a chair.
“Oh yes!” gasps Miss Ward as she turns around in her armchair to look at the painting hanging to the right of the fireplace, above a black console table. “You haven’t seen it, have you? Do you like it?”
“Yes I do,” acknowledges Lettice. “It’s a remarkable likeness, and the artist has captured the light in your eyes so well.”
“Thank you, darling girl! I think it’s beautiful.”
“So is your coffee!” Lettice remarks. “It’s quite delicious, and not at all what Bramley makes for me at Glynes**.”
“I told you, you British drink sludge.” She takes an appreciative, if overly large, gulp of her own coffee. “Now this, is real coffee.”
“So, have you christened your cocktail cabinet, yet?”
“Yes I have. I threw a cocktail party for the actors, actresses, director and crew when we wrapped up ‘After the Ball is Over’. It was quite the occasion!”
“Oh I could well imagine, Miss Ward.”
“Of course,” the American quickly adds. “I’m sure it wasn’t anywhere near as extravagant as your cocktail party that you threw for Mr. and Mrs. Channon.”
“You heard about that then, Miss Ward?”
“Heard about it? My darling girl,” Her eyes widen and sparkle with excitement. “I immersed myself in the article published by the Tattler, drinking in every little detail of your fabulous soiree. You looked stunning, darling!”
Lettice blushes and shuffles awkwardly in her seat on the settee at the brazen compliment. “Thank you, Miss Ward.”
“So did Mrs. Channon, of course! And wasn’t Lady Diana Cooper’s*** robe de style**** to die for?”
“Err, yes… quite, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies awkwardly. Anxious to change the subject and move away from her own private life, and thereby avoid the American’s potential attempts to try and gather some gossip to share with her fellow actors and actresses at Islington Studios*****, Lettice asks. “And what’s the next moving picture you will be making, Miss Ward? Another villainess role in a historical romance?”
“Oh, the studio is shutting for Christmas, so I’m sailing on the Aquitania****** on Monday, back to the States to visit my parents. I haven’t seen them in an age, and, well, they aren’t getting any younger. Besides, Islington Studios are paying for the journey and are organising for me to promote ‘After the Ball is Over’ at a few functions whilst I’m back home.”
“That will be lovely for you, Miss Ward.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll be back in the new year, when we start filming ‘Skating and Sinning’.”
“’Skating and Sinning’, Miss Ward?”
“Yes!” the American gushes as she picks up the coffee pot which she proffers to Lettice, who declines, and then proceeds to fill her own cup. “It’s the first picture planned for 1922. Another historical drama, set in London in the Seventeenth Century, when the Thames froze over.”
“Yes, 1607 I believe.”
“You’re a font of knowledge, Miss Chetwynd!” Miss Ward exclaims, clapping her ring decorated hands in delight. “You never cease to amaze me! A first-class interior designer and a historian!”
“Knowing trivial historical facts is just part and parcel of an education in a family as old as mine, Miss Ward.” Lettice deflects, taking another sip of her coffee. “And the sinning?”
“The sinning, Miss Chetwynd?” the American woman queries.
“Well, I assume the frozen Thames explains the skating part of the film’s title, Miss Ward.”
“Oh, the sinning!” Miss Ward settles back in her armchair with a knowing smile, placing her coffee cup on the black japanned table between the two Chinese chairs. “Well, that’s me, darling!” She raises both her arms dramatically, the Spanish shawl gathering about her shoulders as she does. “I will be playing a merry young, recently widowed, Duchess, with her eyes on our heroine’s young betrothed!”
“And do you succeed, Miss Ward?”
“Ah-ah! That,” She wags her finger playfully at Lettice. “Would be telling, darling girl. I can’t go giving away the ending, or you won’t come see the film.”
Lettice smiles at the actress. “Well, I’m glad that London has entranced you enough to return from the delights of America.”
“Well of course it has! And anyway, I have to come back to enjoy and show off my beautiful new home!”
Lettice blushes at the compliment.
“I’ll have you know Miss Chetwynd, that at my cocktail party, I had so many compliments about this beautiful room, the furnishings and the décor. You’ll be hearing from directors and future starlets in the new year, I’ll guarantee!”
“I shall have to see whether I can accommodate them, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies. “As you know, I will be decorating some of the principal rooms of Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s country house in the new year, and I have a few other potential commissions currently under negotiation.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to squeeze them in, darling! When the moving pictures come knocking, you just won’t be able to say no.”
“Well…” Lettice begins, imagining her mother’s face drained of colour, and her father’s flushed with anger, if she takes on another commission from a moving picture actress.
“Oh, and thinking of my flat. The other reason why I asked you here.” Miss Ward interrupts, standing up and walking over to the console table beneath her portrait, where some papers sit beneath the base of one of the Murano glass bottles. She fumbles through them and withdraws a small slip of paper. Walking over to Lettice she hands it to her. “A cheque to settle my bill before I set sail for home, darling girl.”
“Thank you, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies, opening her lemon yellow handbag sitting between her and her black and yellow straw hat on the settee and depositing the cheque safely inside. “I appreciate your prompt payment.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd.” the American replies. “And thank you again for all that you have done.” Her glittering eyes flit about the room. “I just love being here! It’s so perfect! It’s so, so me! A mixture of the old, and the new, the oriental and the European, all of which I love.”
“I’m so pleased you approve, Miss Ward. It is your home, after all.”
“I even have to concede that you were right about having touches of white in here. It adds a touch of class. And that wonderful wallpaper you suggested,” She indicates to the walls. “Well, it is the pièce de résistance of this room’s décor!” Stepping over to the fireplace, she picks up the small white vase. “This puzzles me though.” Her face crumples. “Why were you so anxious that I keep this vase?”
“Well, “ Lettice explains. “Call me sentimental, but I felt that it is part of your home’s story and coming from an old family home surrounded by history, I thought it would be a shame to see it just tossed away. I hope you don’t disagree.”
Miss Ward considers the small Parian vase in her manicured hands for a moment before replacing it. “Not at all, you sentimental girl you!”
The pair smile at one another, happily.
*Now known as the Corinthia Hotel, the Metropole Hotel is located at the corner of Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall Place in central London on a triangular site between the Thames Embankment and Trafalgar Square. Built in 1883 it functioned as an hotel between 1885 until World War I when, located so close to the Palace of Westminster and Whitehall, it was requisitioned by the government. It reopened after the war with a luxurious new interior and continued to operate until 1936 when the government requisitioned it again whilst they redeveloped buildings at Whitehall Gardens. They kept using it in the lead up to the Second World War. After the war it continued to be used by government departments until 2004. In 2007 it reopened as the luxurious Corinthia Hotel.
**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.
***Born Lady Diana Manners, Diana Olivia Winifred Maud Cooper, Viscountess Norwich was an English aristocrat who was a famously glamorous social figure in London and Paris. As a young woman, she moved in a celebrated group of intellectuals known as the Coterie, most of whom were killed in the First World War. She married Duff Cooper in 1919. In her prime, she had the widespread reputation as the most beautiful young woman in England, and appeared in countless profiles, photographs and articles in newspapers and magazines. She was a film actress in the early 1920s and both she and her husband were very good friends with Edward VIII and were guests of his on a 1936 yacht cruise of the Adriatic which famously caused his affair with Wallis Simpson to become public knowledge.
****The ‘robe de style’ was introduced by French couturier Jeanne Lanvin around 1915. It consisted of a basque bodice with a broad neckline and an oval bouffant skirt supported by built in wire hoops. Reminiscent of the Spanish infanta-style dresses of the Seventeenth Century and the panniered robe à la française of the Eighteenth Century they were made of fabric in a solid colour, particularly a deep shade of robin’s egg blue which became known as Lanvin blue, and were ornamented with concentrated bursts of embroidery, ribbons or ornamental silk flowers.
*****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.
******The RMS Aquitania was a British ocean liner of the Cunard Line in service from 1914 to 1950. She was designed by Leonard Peskett and built by John Brown and Company in Clydebank, Scotland. She was launched on the 21st of April 1913 and sailed on her maiden voyage from Liverpool to New York on the 30th of May 1914. Like her sister ships the ill fated Lusitania and the renown Mauritania, she was beautifully appointed and was a luxurious way for first and second-class passengers to travel across the Atlantic between Britain and America.
This upper-class 1920s Art Deco drawing room scene may be different to how it may appear, for the whole scene is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager and others that I have collected on my travels around the world.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The cherry blossom patterned tea set, which if you look closely at the blossoms, you will see they have gilt centres, I acquired from an online stockist on E-Bay. It stands on a silver tray that is part of tea set that comes from Smallskale Miniatures in England. To see the whole set, please click on this link: www.flickr.com/photos/40262251@N03/51111056404/in/photost.... The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The wooden Chinese dragon chairs and their matching low table ,that serves as Wanetta’s tea table, I found in a little shop in Singapore whilst I was holiday there. They are beautifully carved from cherrywood.
The Queen Anne settee made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, JBM with great attention to detail.
The black japanned cocktail cabinet with its gilded handles was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
All the glass comport on the mantlepiece has been blown and decorated and tinted by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The white and gold Georgian Revival clock next to it is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England. The ginger jar to the right of the clock is hand painted. It is an item that I bought from a high street doll house stockist when I was a teenager.
The yellow celadon vase with gold bamboo painted on it, I bought as part of a job lot of small oriental vases from an auction many years ago. The soapstone lidded jar in the foreground came from the same auction house, but from a different job lot of oriental miniature pieces.
Lettice’s black straw hat with yellow trimming and a yellow rose, which sits on the settee is made by Mrs. Denton of Muffin Lodge. It is an artisan miniature made just like a real hat! 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. Lettice’s lemon yellow purse is also an artisan piece and is made of kid leather which is so soft. It is trimmed with very fine braid and the purse has a clasp made from a piece of earring. It come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Lettice’s furled Art Deco umbrella is also a 1:12 artisan piece made of silk, acquired through an online stockist on E-Bay.
The vases of flowers on the mantle piece and side table are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The stylised Art Deco fire screen is made using thinly laser cut wood, made by Pat’s Miniatures in England.
The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of 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.
Wanetta’s paintings, including the yellow portrait, were made in America by Amber’s Miniatures.
The miniature Oriental rug on the floor was made by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney
The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.
The striking wallpaper is an art deco design that was very popular during the 1920s.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat, and whilst we have not travelled that far physically across London, the tough streets, laneways and blind alleys of Poplar in London’s East End is a world away from Lettice’s rarefied and privileged world. On Tuesday Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, discovered that Edith, Lettice’s maid, didn’t have a sewing machine when the Cockney cleaner found the young maid cutting out the pieces for a new frock. Mrs. Boothby made overtures towards Edith, inviting her to her home in Poplar in London’s East End with an air of mystery, saying she might be able to help her with her predicament of a sewing machine.
Friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the rooms in a lighter and more modern style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice has decamped to Penzance for a week where she is overseeing the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting it out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she has had sent down weeks prior to her arrival. In her mistress’ absence, Edith has more free time on her hands, and so she was able to agree to Mrs. Boothby’s mysterious invitation. Even though she is happy with her current arrangement to take any items she wants to sew home to her parent’s house in Harlesden, where she can use her mother’s Singer** sewing machine on her days off. The opportunity of gaining access to a sewing machine of her own is too good for Edith to refuse.
Now the two women walk through the narrow streets of Poplar, passing along walkways, some concrete, some made of wooden planks and some just dirt, between tenements of two and three stories high. The streets they traverse are dim with the weakening afternoon light from the autumn sky blocked out by the overhanging upper floors of the buildings and the strings of laundry hanging limply along lines between them. Although Edith is not unfamiliar with the part of Whitechapel around Petticoat Lane*** where she shops for second hand clothes to alter and for haberdashery to do them, she still feels nervous in the unfamiliar maze of streets that Mrs. Boothby is guiding her down, and she sticks closely next to or directly behind the old Cockney char. The air is filled with a mixture of strong odours: paraffin oil, boiled cabbage and fried food intermixed with the pervasive stench of damp and unwashed bodies and clothes. Self-consciously, Edith pulls her three quarter length coat more tightly around her in an effort to protect herself from the stench.
“Below!” comes a Cockney female voice from above as a sash window groans in protest as it is opened.
“Ere! Look out, Edith dearie!” Mrs. Boothby exclaims, grabbing Edith by the arm and roughly pulling the maid out of the way, thrusting her behind her.
A moment later the air is filled with the harsh sound of slops splattering against the concrete path, and a pool of dirty liquid stains the concrete a dark muddy brown as it slowly dribbles down into a shallow drain that runs down the middle of the laneway.
“Wouldn’t want your nice clothes to get spoilt nah, would we dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says as she turns and smiles into Edith’s startled face.
“Was that?” Edith begins but doesn’t finish her question as she peers at the puddle draining away, leaving lumps on the path.
“I shouldn’t look too closely if I were you, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says kindly in a matter-of-fact way. “If you ‘ave to ask, you’re better off not knowin’. That’s my opinion, anyway. Come on. Not much further nah.”
“You… you will take me home, won’t you Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks a little nervously as they continue their progress down the lane which she notices is getting narrower and darker as they go.
“Course I will, dearie! You can rely on old Ida Boothby. I know these streets like the back of my ‘and. Youse perfectly safe wiv me.”
The laneway ends suddenly, and Edith is blinded for a moment by bright sunlight as they step out into a rookery**** with two storey Victorian tenements of grey stone and red brick either side of a concrete courtyard with a narrow drain running down its centre. The original builders or owners of the tenements obviously have meant for the sad buildings to be at least a little homely, with shutters painted a Brunswick green hanging to either side of the ground floor windows. Looking up, Edith notices several window boxes of brightly coloured geraniums and other flowers suspended from some of the upper floor windowsills. Women of different ages walk in and out of the open front doors, or sit in them on stools doing mending, knitting or peeling potatoes, all chatting to one another, whilst children skip and play on the concrete of the courtyard.
“Welcome to Merrybrook Place,” Mrs. Boothby says with a hint of pride in her voice. “My ‘ome. Though Lawd knows why they called it that. I ain’t never seen no brook, merry or otherwise, runnin’ dahn ‘ere, unless it’s the slops from the privvies dahn the end.” She points to the end of the rookery where, overlooked by some older tenements of brick and wooden shingling most likely from the early Nineteenth Century, a couple of ramshackle privies stand. “So just watch your step, Edith dearie. We don’t want you steppin’ your nice shoes in nuffink nasty.” She gives her a warm smile. “Come on.”
As they start walking up the rookery, one woman wrapped in a paisley shawl stands in her doorway staring at Edith with undisguised curiosity and perhaps a little jealousy as she casts her critical gaze over her simple, yet smart, black coat and dyed straw hat decorated with silk flowers and feathers.
“Wanna paint a picture Mrs. Friedmann?” Mrs. Boothby calls out hotly to her, challenging her open stare with a defensive one of her own. “Might last you longer, your royal ‘ighness!” She makes a mock over exaggerated curtsey towards her, hitching up the hem of her workday skirts.
The woman tilts her head up slightly, sniffs in disgust and looks down her nose with spite at both Edith and the Cockney charwoman before muttering something in a language Edith doesn’t need to speak to understand. Turning on her heel, the woman slams her door sharply behind her, the noise echoing off the hard surfaces of the court.
“Who was that, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks nervously.
“Lawd love you dearie,” chortles Mrs. Boothby, the action resulting on one of her fruity hacking coughs that seem remarkably loud from such a diminutive figure. “That’s that nasty local Yid***** matchmaker what I told you ‘bout.” Raising her voice she continues, speaking loudly at the closed door. “Golda Friedmann goes around wiv ‘er nose in the air wrapped up in that fancy paisley shawl actin’ like she was the Queen of Russia ‘erself. But she ain’t! She’s no better than the rest of us.”
As Mrs. Boothby trudges on up the rookery another doorway opens and an old woman with a figure that shows many years of childbirth steps out, dressed in a black skirt and an old fashioned but pretty floral print Edwardian high necked blouse. “Afternoon Ida.”
“Oh! Afternoon Lil!” Mrs. Boothby replies. “Oh Lil! I got somefink in ‘ere for you.” She opens up her capacious blue beaded bag and fossicks around making the beads rattle before withdrawing a couple of thin pieces of soap, one bar a bright buttercup yellow, a second pink and the last white. “’Ere. For the kiddies.”
“Oh fanks ever so, Ida!” the other woman replies, gratefully accepting the pieces of soap in her careworn hands.
“Edith,” Mrs. Boothby calls. “This ‘ere is my neighbour, Mrs. Conway.” A couple of cheeky little faces with sallow cheeks, but bright eyes, poke out from behind Mrs. Conway’s skirts and smile up shyly at Edith with curiosity. “Hullo kiddies.” Mrs. Boothby says to them. “Nah sweeties from me today. Sorry. Mrs. Conway, this ‘ere is Miss Watsford, what works for one of my ladies up in Mayfair.”
“Oh ‘ow do you do?” Mrs. Conway says, wiping her hands down her skirts before reaching out a hand to Edith.
“How do you do, Mrs. Conway.” Edith replies with a gentle smile, taking her hand, and feeling her rough flesh rub against her own as the old woman’s bony fingers entwine hers.
“Well, must be getting on, Lil,” Mrs. Boothby says. “Ta-ta.”
“Ta-ra, Ida. Ta-ra Miss Watsford.” Mrs. Conway replies before turning back and shooing the children inside good naturedly.
“Goodbye Mrs, Conway. It was nice to meet you.” Edith says.
At the next door, one painted Brunswick green like the shutters, Mrs. Boothby stops and takes out a large string of keys from her bag and promptly finds the one for her own front door. As the key engages with the lock the door groans in protest as it slowly opens. The old woman says, “Just stand ‘ere in the doorway, Edith dearie, while I’ll open the curtains.”
She disappears into the gloom, which vanishes a moment later as with a flourish, she flings back some heavy red velvet curtains, flooding the room with light from the front window. It takes a moment for Edith’s eyes to adjust as the old Cockney woman stands for a moment in the pool of light, so brilliant after the gloom, surrounded by a floating army of illuminated dust motes tumbling over one another in the air. As her eyes adjust, Edith discerns things within the tenement front room: a kitchen table not too unlike her own at Cavendish Mews, a couple of sturdy ladderback chairs, an old fashioned black leaded stove and a sink in the corner.
“Close the door behind you and come on in, dearie. The ‘ouse is still warmish from this mornin’.” Mrs. Boothby says kindly as she tosses her beaded handbag carelessly onto the table where it lands with a thud and the jangle of beads. “Take a seat and I’ll get the range goin’ and pop the kettle on for a nice cup of Rosie-Lee******! I dunno ‘bout you, but I’m parched.”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies as she closes the door.
Shutting out the unpleasant mixture of odours outside with the closing of the door, Edith is comforted by the smells of carbolic soap and lavender. Looking about she notices a couple of little muslin bags hanging from the curtains.
“Good. Nah, give me your ‘at ‘n coat and I’ll ‘ang them up.” Mrs. Boothby says. Noticing Edith’s gaze upon the pouches she explains. “Lavender to ‘elp keep the moths and the smells from the privy at bay.”
“Oh.” Edith replies laconically.
As Mrs. Boothby hangs up Edith’s coat and hat as well as her own on a hook behind the door and then bustles about stoking up the embers of the fire left in the stove, Edith says, “Mrs. Conway seems like a nice person to have as your neighbour, Mrs. Boothby.”
“She’s a good un, that one. She takes care of all the little kiddies round ‘n ‘bout while their parents is at work.” Mrs. Boothby throws some coal into the stove and shoves it with a poker. “She’s got an ‘eart of gold she does. I owe ‘er a lot. She does ‘er best by them kiddies. Gives ‘em a meal made outta what she can, which for some might be the only meal they get. And she gives ‘em a good bath too when she can. That’s why I give ‘er the left over soap ends from the ‘ouses I go to.”
“Oh I’m sorry Mrs. Boothby. I always take Miss Lettice’s soap ends to Mum to grate up and make soap flakes from for washing.”
“Ahh, don’t worry dearie. I gets plenty from some of the other ‘ouses I go to. Some of ‘em even throws out bars of soap what’s been barely used cos they get cracked and they don’t like the look of ‘em no more. Some of them ladies up the West End don’t know just ‘ow lucky they is to ‘ave as many bars of soap as they like. Nah, you keep takin’ Miss Lettice’s ends to your mum. So long as they’s bein’ used, I’m ‘appy. Waste not, want not, I always say.”
With nothing to do whilst the older woman goes about filling the large kettle with water from the sink in the corner of the room, Edith has more time to look at her surroundings. The floor is made of wooden boards whilst the walls are covered in a rather dark green wallpaper featuring old fashioned Art Nouveau patterns. The house must one have had owners or tenants with grander pretentions than Mrs. Boothby for the stove is jutting out of a much larger fireplace surround, which although chipped and badly discoloured from years of coal dust, cooking and cigarette smoke, is marble. However, it is the profusion of ornaments around the small room that catches the young girl’s eye. Along the mantle of the original fireplace stand a piece of Staffordshire, a prettily painted cow creamer, a jug in the shape of a duck coming out of an egg and a teapot in the shape of Queen Victoria. Turning around behind her to where Mrs. Boothby gathers a pretty blue and white china teapot, some cups, saucers and a sugar bowl, she sees a large dresser that is cluttered with more decorative plates, teapots, jugs, tins and a cheese dish in the shape of a cottage.
“Not what you was expectin’ I’ll warrant.” Mrs, Boothby remarks with a knowing chuckle that causes her to emit yet another of her throaty coughs.
“Oh no Mrs. Boothby!” Edith replies, blushing with shame at being caught out staring about her so shamelessly. “I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I mean… I had no expectations.”
“Well, it’s nuffink special, but this is my ‘aven of calm and cleanliness away from the dirty world out there.” She points through the window where, when Edith turns her head, she can see several scrawny children playing marbles on the concrete of the courtyard. “And it’s ‘ome to me.”
“Oh yes, it’s lovely and clean and cheerful, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith assures her hostess. “No, I was just admiring all your pretty crockery. It reminds me of my Mum’s kitchen, actually. She is always collecting pretty china and pottery.”
“Well, who was it what told you to go dahn to the Caledonian Markets******* to buy a gift for your mum?” the old woman says with a cheeky wink. “Me that who!” She pokes her chest proudly, before coughing heavily again.
“So did you get all these from the Caledonian Markets then, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks, looking around again.
“Well, most, but not all. I got meself an art gallery from the Caledonian Markets, for when I washes the dishes.” She points to two cheap prints of classic paintings in equally cheap wooden frames hanging on the walls above the little sink. “Better than starin’ at a blank wall, even if it’s covered in wallpaper. Course, some a them ladies up the West End is awfully wasteful wiv much more than soap, and just like them soap ends, I get my share. Somethin’ a bit old fashioned or got a tiny chip in it and they’s throwin’ it out like it was a piece of rubbish, so I offer ta take it. Take that nice cow up there,” She points to the cow creamer on the mantle. “The lid got lost somewhere, so the lady from Belgravia what owned it told ‘er maid to throw it out, so I said I’d take it instead. That,” She points to the Staffordshire statue. “Was one of a pair, what the uvver ‘alf got broken, so it was being chucked, so I took it. I don’t care if it don’t ‘ave the uvver ‘alf. I like it as it is. It’s pretty. The Queen Victoria teapot was getting’ chucked out just ‘cos the old Queen died, and King Bertie was takin’ ‘er place. Well, I wasn’t ‘avin’ none of that. Poor old Queen! I said I’d ‘ave it if no-one else wanted it. And this teapot,” She withdraws the pretty blue and white china teapot from atop the stove. “This was just bein’ thrown out ‘cos it’s old and they’s no bits of the set left but this. But there ain’t nuffink wrong wiv it, and it must be at least a ‘undred years old!”
Mrs. Boothby pulls out a gilt edged blue and white cake plate which she puts on the table along with the tea cups, sugar bowl and milk jug. She then goes to the dresser and pulls down a pretty tin decorated with Art Nouveau ladies from which she takes several pieces of shortbread, which she places on the cake plate.
“That’s very lovely, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith points to a teapot in the shape of a rabbit sitting in a watering can. “It looks rather like Peter Rabbit.”
“Ahh… my Ken loves that too.” Edith’s ears prick at the mention of someone named Ken, but she doesn’t have time to ask who he is before Mrs. Boothby continues, “That bunny rabbit teapot is one of the few pieces I got what ‘as a sad story what goes wiv it. Poor lady what I cleaned for up in St. James’, it were ‘er baby’s, from the nursery, you know?” Edith nods in understanding. “Well, ‘e died. ‘E was a weak little mite ‘e were, ever since ‘e was born, and my poor lady was so upset when ‘e died that she got rid of everyfink in the nursery. She didn’t want nuffink to remind her of that little baby. So, I brought it ‘ome wiv me.” She sighs. “Well, the kettle’s boiled now, so ‘ow about a cup of Rosie-Lee, dearie?”
A short while later, Edith and Mrs. Boothby are seated around Mrs. Boothby’s kitchen table with the elegant Regency teapot, some blue and white china cups and the plate of shortbreads before them.
“Oh I tell you Edith dearie, I’m dying for a fag!” Mrs Boothby says. She starts fossicking through her capacious beaded bag before withdrawing her cigarette papers, Swan Vestas and tin of Player’s Navy Cut. Rolling herself a cigarette she lights it with a satisfied sigh and one more of her fruity coughs, dropping the match into a black ashtray that sits on the table full of cigarette butts. Mrs. Boothby settles back happily in her ladderback chair with her cigarette in one hand and reaches out, taking up a shortbread biscuit with the other. Blowing out a plume of blue smoke that tumbles through the air around them, the old woman continues. “Nah, about this sewin’ machine. My Ken’ll be ‘ome soon, I ‘ope. ‘E’s a bit late today.”
“Mrs. Boothby, who is Ken?” Edith asks with a questioning look on her face.
Just as Mrs. Boothby is about to answer her, she gasps as she hears a rather loud and jolly whistle.
“Well, speak of the devil, ‘ere ‘e comes nah!”
The front door of the tenement flies open and the space is instantly filled by the bulk of a big man in a flat cap with a large parcel wrapped in newspaper tied with twine under his right arm.
*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.
**The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.
***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.
****A rookery is a dense collection of housing, especially in a slum area. The rookeries created in Victorian times in London’s East End were notorious for their cheapness, filth and for being overcrowded.
*****The word Yid is a Jewish ethnonym of Yiddish origin. It is used as an autonym within the Ashkenazi Jewish community, and also used as slang. When pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with did by non-Jews, it is commonly intended as a pejorative term. It is used as a derogatory epithet, and as an alternative to, the English word 'Jew'. It is uncertain when the word began to be used in a pejorative sense by non-Jews, but some believe it started in the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century when there was a large population of Jews and Yiddish speakers concentrated in East London, gaining popularity in the 1930s when Oswald Mosley developed a strong following in the East End of London.
******Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.
*******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.
I would just like to point out that I wrote this story some weeks ago, long before The Queen became ill and well before her passing. However it seems apt that this story of all, which I planned weeks ago to upload today as part of the Chetwyn Mews narrative, mentions the passing of The Queen (albeit Queen Victoria). I wish to dedicate this image and chapter to our own Queen of past and glorious times Queen Elizabeth II (1926 – 2022). Long did she reign over us, happy and glorious. God bless The Queen.
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.
Mrs. Boothby’s beloved collection of ornaments come from various different sources. The Staffordshire cow (one of a pair) and the cow creamer that stand on the mantlepiece have been hand made and painted by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the Staffordshire cow actually has a smile on its face! Although you can’t notice it in the photo, the cow creamer has its own removable lid which is minute in size! The duck coming from the egg jug on the mantle, the rooster jug, the cottage ware butter dish, Peter Rabbit in the watering can tea pot and the cottage ware teapot to its right on the dresser were all made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson. All the pieces are authentic replicas of real pieces made by different china companies. For example, the cottage ware teapot has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics. The Queen Victoria teapot on the mantlepiece and the teapot on the dresser to the left of the Peter Rabbit teapot come from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. All the other plates on the dresser came from various online miniature stockists through E-Bay, as do the teapot, plate and cups on Mrs. Boothby’s kitchen table.
Mrs. Boothby’s picture gallery in the corner of the room come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
Mrs. Boothby’s beaded handbag on the table is also a 1:12 artisan miniature. Hand crocheted, it is interwoven with antique blue glass beads that are two millimetres in diameter. The beads of the handle are three millimetres in length. It came from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
Spilling from her bag are her Player’s Navy Cut cigarette tin and Swan Vesta matches, which are 1:12 miniatures hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The black ashtray is also an artisan piece, the bae of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). Made by Nottingham based tobacconist manufacturer John Player and Sons, Player’s Medium Navy Cut was the most popular by far of the three Navy Cut brands (there was also Mild and Gold Leaf, mild being today’s rich flavour). Two thirds of all the cigarettes sold in Britain were Player’s and two thirds of these were branded as Player’s Medium Navy Cut. In January 1937, Player’s sold nearly 3.5 million cigarettes (which included 1.34 million in London). Production continued to grow until at its peak in the late 1950s, Player’s was employing 11,000 workers (compared to 5,000 in 1926) and producing 15 brands of pipe tobacco and 11 brands of cigarettes. Nowadays the brands “Player” and “John Player Special” are owned and commercialised by Imperial Brands (formerly the Imperial Tobacco Company). Swan Vestas is a brand name for a popular brand of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. Shorter than normal pocket matches they are particularly popular with smokers and have long used the tagline ‘the smoker’s match’ although this has been replaced by the prefix ‘the original’ on the current packaging. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard & Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced ‘Swan wax matches’. These were superseded by later versions including ‘Swan White Pine Vestas’ from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened ‘Swan Vestas’ in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s ‘Swan Vestas’ had become ‘Britain’s best-selling match’.
The meagre foodstuffs on Mrs. Boothby’s shelf represent items not unusually found in poorer households across Britain. Before the Second World War, the British populace consumed far more sugar than we do today, partially for the poor because it was cheap and helped give people energy when their diets were lacking good nutritious foods. Therefore finding a tin of treacle, some preserved fruit or jam, and no fresh fruits or vegetables was not an unusual sight in a lower class home. All the tined foodstuffs, with the exception of the tin of S.P.C. peaches, are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. The S.P.C. tin of peaches comes from Shepherd’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. S.P.C. is an Australian brand that still exists to this day. In 1917 a group of fruit growers in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley decided to form a cooperative which they named the Shepperton Fruit Preserving Company. The company began operations in February 1918, canning pears, peaches and nectarines under the brand name of S.P.C. On the 31st of January 1918 the manager of the Shepparton Fruit Preserving Company announced that canning would begin on the following Tuesday and that the operation would require one hundred and fifty girls or women and thirty men. In the wake of the Great War, it was hoped that “the launch of this new industry must revive drooping energies” and improve the economic circumstances of the region. The company began to pay annual bonuses to grower-shareholders by 1929, and the plant was updated and expanded. The success of S.P.C. was inextricably linked with the progress of the town and the wider Goulburn Valley region. In 1936 the company packed twelve million cans and was the largest fruit cannery in the British empire. Through the Second World War the company boomed. The product range was expanded to include additional fruits, jam, baked beans and tinned spaghetti and production reached more than forty-three million cans a year in the 1970s. From financial difficulties caused by the 1980s recession, SPC returned once more to profitability, merging with Ardmona and buying rival company Henry Jones IXL. S.P.C. was acquired by Coca Cola Amatil in 2005 and in 2019 sold to a private equity group known as Shepparton Partners Collective.
The rather worn and beaten looking enamelled bread bin and colander in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green, which have been aged on purpose, are artisan pieces I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The various bowls, cannisters and dishes, the kettle and the Brown Betty teapot I have acquired from various online miniatures stockists throughout the United Kingdom, America and Australia. A Brown Betty is a type of teapot, round and with a manganese brown glaze known as Rockingham glaze. In the Victorian era, when tea was at its peak of popularity, tea brewed in the Brown Betty was considered excellent. This was attributed to the design of the pot which allowed the tea leaves more freedom to swirl around as the water was poured into the pot, releasing more flavour with less bitterness.
The black Victorian era stove and the ladderback chair on the left of the table and the small table directly behind it are all miniature pieces I have had since I was a child. The ladderback chair on the right came from a deceased estate of a miniatures collector in Sydney. The Welsh dresser came from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late Eighteenth Century. The dresser has plate grooves in it to hold plates in place, just like a real dresser would.
The grey marbleised fireplace behind the stove and the trough sink in the corner of the kitchen come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The green wallpaper is an authentic replica of real Art Nouveau wallpaper from the first decade of the Twentieth Century which I have printed onto paper. The floorboards are a print of a photo taken of some floorboards that I scaled to 1:12 size to try and maintain a realistic look.
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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 headed north-west from Cavendish Mews, across Marylebone, past Regent’s Park, the London Zoo and Lords Cricket Ground to the affluent and leafy residential streets of nearby St. John’s Wood. It is here that Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie friends Minnie Palmerston and her husband Charles reside in a neatly painted two storey early Victorian townhouse on Acacia Road that formerly belonged to Charles Palmerston’s maternal grandparents, Lord and Lady Arundel.
Having taken her future sister-in-law, Arabella Tyrwhitt, to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street Soho for her initial wedding dress consultation, Lettice has left the two together to discuss designs whilst she visits Minnie in St John’s Wood. Minnie, a highly strung socialite, has redecorated her dining room in a style not to her husband’s taste, or so she was told by Minnie over a luncheon Lettice hosted for Arabella last week. Known for her melodrama, Lettice quietly ponders whether it really is as awful as Minnie implies as she pays the taxi driver the fare from Soho to St John’s Wood and alights the blue vehicle onto the street.
The day is bright and sunny, and the street is quiet with only the occasional bark of a dog and the distant rumble of traffic from busy Finchley Road in the distance as Lettice strides across the road and walks up the eight steps that lead up to Minnie’s black painted front door. She depresses the doorbell which echoes through the long hallway inside and waits. Moments later, there is the thud of Minnie’s hurried footsteps as she flings open the door dramatically.
“Lettice darling!” she cries, standing in the doorway in a beautiful may green day dress which compliments her red hair and green eyes, with cascades of green and black bugle beads tumbling down the front. “Come in! Come in!” she beckons her friend with enthusiastic waves which make the green, black and gold bangles on her wrist jangle noisily.
“Minnie.” Lettice leans in for a whispery kiss on the cheek as she steps across the threshold and follows Minnie’s indications and steps into a drawing room off the hallway, the room filled with diffused light from a large twelve pane window that looks out onto the street. Looking around her, she quickly takes in the overstuffed cream satin settees, nests of occasional tables, clusters of pictures in gilt frames in every conceivable space on the William Morris style papered walls and the potted parlour palms. “Oh yes,” she remarks as she removes her green gloves. “I do see what you mean. Very Edwardian.”
“Isn’t it ghastly, Lettice darling?” Minnie asks as she steps into the drawing room. “Here let me take your, umbrella, coat and hat.” She helps her friend shrug off her forest green coat and takes her rather artistic beret with its long tassel. “I think Lady Arundel could walk in here and not find a thing out of place!”
“It could be worse,” Lettice remarks, looking up at the crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling high above. “It could be decorated in high Victorian style and lit with gasoliers*.”
“True darling.” Minnie calls from the hallway where she hangs up Lettice’s things on a heavy Victorian coatrack. “But you have yet to see my dining room faux pas.”
“Now Minnie, no matter what I say, I want no histrionics today like we had over luncheon last week,” Lettice chides her friend with a wagging finger. “Poor Bella didn’t know where to look.”
“Oh I am sorry.” Minnie apologises. “Coming from the country, she probably isn’t used to our London ways.”
“Your emotional outbursts have nothing whatsoever to do with London ways, so don’t go foisting it off.” Lettice replies, cocking one of her delicately plucked eyebrows at her friend.
“You sound just like Gladys.” Minnie says.
“Well, I hope I’m not as shrill sounding as her,” Lettice replies with a chuckle.
“And how is the beautiful bride-to-be?”
“Happily ensconced with Gerald in his Soho atelier, no doubt talking about all the finer details of the dream wedding frock I have already heard about from dear Bella.”
“She seems quite lovely, Lettice darling.”
“Oh, I adore Bella.” Lettice agrees with a wave of her hand. “Given we grew up running in and out of each other’s houses, living on neighbouring properties, it was inevitable that she would marry one of my brothers, or Lally or I marry one of Bella’s brothers. I’m just glad that it wasn’t the latter. All Bella’s brothers, whilst charming, take after their grandfather, and he was not a handsome man. Bella has her mother’s delicate and pretty genes and she and Leslie are well suited. They both love the country, and as you know from luncheon last week, Bella likes the county social round. As Pater says, Bella will one day make a wonderful chatelaine of Glynes**, supporting Leslie as a dutiful wife, hosting important county social functions like the Hunt Ball, opening fetes and awarding prizes at cattle shows.”
“How does Lady Sadie feel about her usurper?”
“Oh Mater loves Bella as much as we all do.” Lettice replies breezily. “Of course, Pater doesn’t dare express his appreciation quite so volubly in front of Mater, but I’m sure she is silently thinking the same thing, not that she would ever share that with any of us. No, the problem will be if Pater decides to pop his mortal clogs before she does. I don’t know how happy she will be to hand over the mantle of lady of the manor to her daughter-in-law, even if she does love her.”
“Well, let’s hope we don’t have to worry about that for a good while yet.” Minnie says soothingly.
“Indeed yes!” agrees Lettice. “Now, show me this dread dining room of yours, Minnie darling. I’m famished, and I’m intrigued to see just how much of a faux pas it really is.”
“Come right this way, interior decorator to all the great and good of this great country of ours,” Minnie says rather grandly as she walks towards a door that leads from the drawing room to the next room. Suddenly she pauses, clasping the brass doorknob in her hand and turns back to Lettice who has trailed behind her. “Prepare yourself my dear for l’horreur!” And she flings the door open.
Minnie and Lettice walk into the townhouse’s dining room, which like the adjoining drawing room has a high ceiling. Lettice is surprised that after the grandeur of the drawing room, it’s a much smaller room, perhaps more suited for intimate dining rather than a large banquet. She glances around and quickly takes in the mixture of old and new. An Edwardian dining setting in Queen Anne style fills the majority of the space, whilst a late Victorian sideboard and spare carver chairs press against the wall. To either side of the new Art Deco gas fireplace stand two modern stands on which sit rather old fashioned urns. Modernist paintings in bold colours hang on the walls, but Lettice can barely see them for the bold wallpaper of red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns.
“Oh I see.” Lettice remarks, neither enthusiastically nor critically, but in a rather neutral way.
Lettice walks around the dining table on which stands a Georgian Revival tea set with steam snaking from the spot of the pot, a small carafe of water and glassware, crockery and cutlery for two at the head of the table. She stands before the Streamline Moderne fireplace surround and runs an elegant hand over one of the bold red blooms, feeling the slightly raised pattern. She sighs as she contemplates what she sees.
“Do you think it looks like something out of Maida Vale, Lettice darling?” Minnie asks hesitantly.
For a moment, Lettice doesn’t answer as she traces one of the green lines towards the gilt edge of a frame holding a painting of a tiger. “Tyger Tyger burning bright***,” she murmurs the beginning of the William Blake poem.
“Yes,” Minnie acknowledges her friend with a sigh of pleasure. “He’s rather glorious, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Lettice agrees. “However his gloriousness is diminished somewhat by the wallpaper which draws away attention from him, and the red fox.” She points to a larger canvas hanging over the sideboard.
“So you do think it’s middle-class Maida Vale then.” Minnie pronounces in a downhearted fashion.
“No, I don’t.” Lettice clarifies, turning around and placing a comforting hand on the slumped left shoulder of her friend. “And I think it was very unkind of Charles to say so. The wallpaper is beautiful, Minnie. It just doesn’t suit this room.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this is quite an intimate room: taller with these high ceilings, rather than wide. This wallpaper would suit a longer room with low ceilings, where expanses of this pattern could be exposed uninterrupted.”
“Like a mansion flat?”
“Exactly, Minnie! I did something similar for the moving picture actress, Wanetta Ward last year. She had a long, exposed wall and the bold pattern I used worked beautifully. And this wallpaer does nothing to show off yours and Charles’ beautiful paintings. It detracts rather than enhances. The paintings and the wallpaper vie for attention. Think about the National Gallery, or the Tate Gallery****. When you see pictures hanging on the wall, what do you notice about the surrounding to the painting?”
Minnie thinks for a moment, screwing up her pert nose with its dusting of freckles. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever actually noticed the walls, Lettice darling.”
“Correct again, Minnie. No-one thinks about the walls because you’re not meant to. Your focus is meant to be on the paintings.”
“So you think I should strip the walls and paint them? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, you could, Minnie.” Lettice replies. “Or you could paint the walls and decorate the upper edge with a nice frieze paper.”
“Then it really would look like Maida Vale.” Minnie argues. “Only people who can’t afford wallpaper get friezes hung.”
Lettice considers her friend’s remark for a moment. “Mmm… yes, you’re quite right Minnie. Well, Jeffrey and Company***** do stock a range of beautiful papers in vibrant colours with pattern embossed into them. They look very luxurious.”
“Oh!” Minnie clasps her hands in delight. “I do like the sound of that! What colour would suit this room do you think?”
“Oh I should imagine a nice warm red or orange to go with this.” Lettice taps the top of the tiled fireplace surround. “And that colour range would also compliment your polished floors.”
“And I could get black japanned furniture like you, Lettice darling! I do like your chairs.”
“Oh no.” Lettice shakes her head. “Black japanned furniture is fine, but not my chairs. They are far too low for this room. You need an equivalent high backed chair.” She reaches out and pats one of the dining chairs. “Lady Arundel chose these well as they echo the height of the room. Perhaps if you had something high backed padded with a complimentary fabric to the paper: say red or orange.”
“Oh Lettice you are so clever!” enthuses Minnie. “When can you start.”
“Don’t you want to ask Charles before you go spending his money on redecorating, Minnie?” Lettice laughs. “Surely he’ll want a say.”
“Oh Charles told me today when I reminded him that you were coming for luncheon before he left for the office, that he’ll happily pay for anything you recommend, or better yet your services. So you don’t need to worry on that account.”
“Well, I would have to finish Dickie and Margot’s.” Lettice tempers.
“Oh, of course.” Minnie agrees.
“Well, I don’t have another redecorating assignment after them, so let me contemplate it.”
“I’ll go and get luncheon whilst you contemplate.” Minnie exclaims with a clap of her hands before scuttling away through a second door to the left of the fireplace.
With her exuberant friend gone, Lettice looks around the dining room, contemplating what she has suggested, picturing what embossed wallpaper in a rich red or vibrant orange would look like as a backdrop for the paintings. “Pity.” she muses as she again runs her hands over the stylised poppies in the pattern on the wall. Turning around she looks across the room. “Sorry Lady Arundel,” she remarks, tapping the top of the nearest dining chair again. “But it looks like your granddaughter-in-law wants to modernise.
“I’m afraid it’s Cook’s afternoon off today,” Minnie says apologetically as she walks back through the door through which she went, carrying a tray of tomato, ham and cucumber sandwiches. “So we’ll have to settle for these.” Looking down at the plate of appetising sandwich triangles as she places them on the dining table’s surface she adds. “I do hope she remembered not to make tongue****** ones. She should remember that I can’t stand cold tongue.”
Lettice peers at the fillings of bright red tomato, vivid green cucumber, and pink ham. “I think we’ll be safe.”
“Well, there’s half a trifle left over for dessert just in case they aren’t nice.” Minnie adds hopefully.
Lettice is suddenly struck by something. “Minnie?” she asks. “Minnie, why are you carrying the tray? And come to think of it, why did you answer the door? Where is Gladys?”
Minnie blushes, her pale skin and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose reddening. “She handed in her immediate notice the week before last.”
“Oh no! Not another one Minnie?”
“She said she couldn’t work for a woman who had such histrionics as I do, and she’s gone back to Manchester.”
“Oh Minnie!” Lettice shakes her head dolefully.
“See! I told you, you sounded like Gladys, Lettice. I’ve been getting by with the tweeny*******, but Cook grumbles, so I can’t keep pinching her. That’s why I’m so grateful you gave me that telephone number for that domestic employment agency in Westminster. I’ve a new maid starting next week. Her name’s Siobhan, so I figured that she can’t complain about my histrionics as she’d be used to them, being Irish.”
“Well, let’s hope so Minnie.” Lettice chuckles as she pulls out her dining chair and takes her seat. “I can’t keep up with the revolving door of maids that come in and out of this house. How long have you been here for now?”
“Seven months or thereabout.” Minnie replies vaguely as she takes her own seat in the chair at the head of the dining table.
“And how many maids have you had in that time?”
“Nine.” Minnie replies with a guilty gulp.
“No wonder Charles feels his club is better suited to entertain prospective business associates.” Lettice shakes her head disapprovingly. “A tweeny waiting table.”
“Well hopefully, with Siobhan starting next week, and you agreeing to redecorate my dining room faux pas,” She looks around the room with glittering, excited eyes, as she imagines the possibilities. “Charles will be happy to start entertaining here.” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “You will won’t you?”
“Will I what, Minnie?”
“You will redecorate my dining room, won’t you?”
Lettice reaches around Minnie’s teacup and squeezes her friend’s hand comfortingly. “Of course I will. I’ll come up with some ideas of what I think might suit this room and then I’ll show you and Charles. Charles has to have some input, even if he has told you that you that I have carte blanche when it comes to redecorating.”
*A gasolier is a chandelier with gas burners rather than light bulbs or candles.
**Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie.
***”The Tyger” is a poem by English poet William Blake, published in 1794 as part of his “Songs of Experience” collection and rising to prominence in the romantic period of the mid Nineteenth Century. The poem explores and questions Christian religious paradigms prevalent in late 18th century and early 19th century England, discussing God's intention and motivation for creating both the tiger and the lamb. Tiger is written as Tyger in the poem as William Blake favoured old English spellings.
****In 1892 the site of a former prison, the Millbank Penitentiary, was chosen for the new National Gallery of British Art, which would be under the Directorship of the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square. The prison, used as the departure point for sending convicts to Australia, had been demolished in 1890. Sidney R.J. Smith was chosen as the architect for the new gallery. His design is the core building that we see today, a grand porticoed entranceway and central dome which resembles a temple. The statue of Britannia with a lion and a unicorn on top of the pediment at the Millbank entrance emphasised its function as a gallery of British art. The gallery opened its doors to the public in 1897, displaying 245 works in eight rooms from British artists dating back to 1790. In 1932, the gallery officially adopted the name Tate Gallery, by which it had popularly been known as since its opening. In 1937, the new Duveen Sculpture Galleries opened. Funded by Lord Duveen and designed by John Russell Pope, Romaine-Walker and Gilbert Jenkins, these two 300 feet long barrel-vaulted galleries were the first public galleries in England designed specifically for the display of sculpture. By this point, electric lighting had also been installed in all the rooms enabling the gallery to stay open until 5pm whatever the weather. In 1955, Tate Gallery became wholly independent from the National Gallery.
*****Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Cmpany’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
******Beef tongue (also known as neat's tongue or ox tongue) is a cut of beef made of the tongue of a cow. It can be boiled, pickled, roasted or braised in sauce. It is found in many national cuisines, and is used for taco fillings in Mexico and for open-faced sandwiches in the United States.
*******A tweeny is a between maid, who works in the kitchen as well as above stairs, assisting at least two other members of a domestic staff.
This rather bright dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection, some pieces from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.
The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the sideboard is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist. The vase of flowers to the left of the candelabra is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The carafe to the right of the candelabra is another artisan piece made of hand spun glass. I acquired it as a teenager from a high street dollhouse stockist.
The ornately hand painted ginger jar is one of a pair and comes from Melody Jane Dollhouse Suppliers in Britain. The tall stand on which the ginger jar stands was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The stylised floral and geometric shape Art Deco wallpaper is a real Art Deco design which I have sourced and had printed in high quality onto A3 sheets of paper.
On the dining table the tray of sandwiches are made of polymer clay. Made in England by hand by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight they are very realistic with even the bread slices having a bread like consistency look. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The water carafe came from the same high street stockist as the carafe on the sideboard. The Art Deco dinner set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai. The Georgian Revival silver tea set on its tray I acquired from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Streamline Moderne pottery tile fireplace surround I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.