View allAll Photos Tagged Offer
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
20260227_Alfonso_HeyGirlWannaDance_Week_9
licensing dog images
licensing dog photos
licensing dog photo
licensing pet photos
licensing pet photos
stock images of pets
stock images of dogs
commercial dog photographer
commercial pet photographer
commercial dog photography
commercial pet photography
commercial dog photograph
commercial pet photograph
commercial dog photographs
commercial pet photographs
studio dog photograph
studio dog photography
studio dog photographs
studio pet photograph
studio pet photography
studio pet photographs
license images of dogs
license images of pets
commercial license
commercial licenses
commercial licenses for dog photos
commercial licenses for dog photos
buy commercial license for dog photos
buy commercial license for dog photo
buy commercial license for pet photos
buy commercial license for pet photo
commercial licenses for pet photos
commercial licenses for pet photo
pet image archive
dog image archive
stock photos of dogs
stock photos of pets
buy dog photos
buy pet photos
buy cat photos
buy dog images
buy pet images
buy cat images
Fujifilm X camera
Hundefotos
Hundefotos kaufen
kommerzielle Hundefotografie
kommerzieller Hundefotograf
Haustierfotos
Haustierfotos kaufen
Lizenzen für Fotos kaufen
Bildagentur
Haustierbildagentur
Bilderagentur für Haustierfotos
Bildagentur für Hundefotos
Katzenbilder
Katzenfotos
Bildagentur für Katzenfotos
Lizenzierung von Katzenfotos
THE SITUATION IN MINEAPOLIS
I thought it would be useful to offer you some first-hand perspective of what’s happening here as I don’t think people who are watching from afar quite understand what is unfolding, how it feels, and what it means.
In Minneapolis we are living under a fascist assault, and most of our institutions appear to be failing us, including the law, the government, our elected leaders, and the media.
There are masked, highly armed men roaming our city in unmarked cars terrorizing us, assaulting us, kidnapping us, and now killing us. They have attacked my friends’ kids’ school, teargassing students, staff, and community members. Many of my non-white friends are carrying their passports with them at all times now. A friend of mine was assaulted, kidnapped and illegally detained for about 9 hours. Here is her account:
youtu.be/Inn-sfiMcyE?si=G69LrIXMJ2Trrt_l
There is no due process, there is zero regard for the law, there is no regard for safety of anyone, and so far there has been no institutional check on their violence and intimidation. People are disappearing with no way to find out where they were taken. The police are nowhere to be seen, so the lawlessness is becoming increasingly brazen.
They are also joined by outside provocateurs and agitators. One image that got a lot of play in the media was a man burning an American flag. What is less known is that he was masked, no one knows who he is, and he left immediately after creating the spectacle. Some protestors followed him asking who he was or where he was from but he refused to respond and left the scene.
No one is helping us, so we are having to do it ourselves. We have people who are too scared to leave their homes so thousands of us are quickly mobilizing to join neighborhood chats and resource sharing to get groceries and supplies to families that need them. We are keeping eyes on ICE activities and alerting our neighbors of their presence whenever and wherever we can. We are organizing peaceful protests and trying to demand accountability from our leaders. The people responding are not far-left agitators or extremists. These are neighbors from every walk of life who are stepping in where our institutions are failing us, documenting the hundreds of crimes being inflicted on us daily, sharing information in real time, sharing food, and resources. And yes, we are pissed, and sometimes things get heated, but the David/Goliath dynamics here cannot be overstated.
I don’t use the term fascism lightly or carelessly. I really hope people can understand crystal clear the implications of what is happening.
The other day Mayor Frey told a reporter that yes, legally the police could and should arrest the people doing this to us. But, he said there are more of them and they have more guns. Let that sink in. The people who are supposed to be keeping us safe, who took an oath to defend us and the constitution, who are supposedly trained and armed and paid to do just that, appear to be either too scared, or indifferent, so it has fallen upon us to keep our neighbors safe, and to fight for our rights.
If this administration is allowed to so brazenly trample our civil liberties in such a public and spectacular way, with zero accountability, and zero checks on their power, then the game’s up. This is a constitutional crisis. This administration has said it doesn’t care about the constitution and is daring constitutional institutions to do something about it and they are not.
We are all terrified. But here in Minnesota we are standing up for each other, for our safety, our rights, and our lives, and praying our institutions may come around and decide to join us. It is incredibly inspiring to watch the community come together for mutual aid, defense and support. And seeing it makes me so so hopeful. Do not feel defeated. Organize your own community and understand the way we make it out of this is together. Find the people who have been fighting fascism for decades, learn from them, plug into those networks, build power, and don’t let fear lead to inaction because that is how they win.
It was so sunny and pleasant out yesterday that Dylan offered to haul some of the ol' quilts out for a photo shoot. (Thank you as always, Dylan!) There's an old train station and adjacent barn building that had been neglected for years, but they've renovated the barn in recent months, and it seems like it's a public community space now. I guess I should have taken some actual photos of it!
Anyway, here are a few long-delayed shots of the thrift blocks quilt I finished a few months back! I decided on the border after seeing something similar in a Kaffe Fassett book. You might notice that the border is made up of scraps as well as triangles of an olive/multi-coloured print: that's the Marie Jacobi Berlin metro print that I love oh so much. There are, like, 15+ colours in the print! Plus it's just full of character, and it's nice to see a map print that isn't about Paris;) I ordered a ton of it -- basically all that was left -- from Superbuzzy last year, knowing all along that I wanted to back the quilt with it.
I also spent a long time thinking about the binding, but ultimately I went with Joel Dewberry's Aviary woodgrain, which was gifted to me by my friend Paul last year. Paul had gifted one FQ of the brown print to me (it was an FQ bundle), so I thought I just needed one additional FQ to get the job done. Of course, that additional FQ still had me coming up short, because I never measure when I should:P So a little bit of the border is in the yellow woodgrain. I think brown would have been better, but I felt like I had to teach myself a lesson for not buying the right amount:P
Anyway, thank you again for carrying my quilts around, Dylan. Maybe someday I'll be able to let some go and sell them off!
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.
I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database of more than 200 images, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.
For licensing and commission requests: info@elkevogelsang.com
________________________
Elke Vogelsang
Commercial and editorial pet photographer
info@elkevogelsang.com
________________________
All pictures: © Elke Vogelsang
20201019_Sky_TheGreatSkyIsKindEnoughToTalkToYouNow
Twilight Beach lies 7 km and seven beaches west of Esperance. It commences immediately west of Blue Haven headland and trends west then southwest for 3.2 km.
Twilight Beach is spectacular and offers a pristine
beach with crystal clear waters and snow-white sands. As the beach curves to the southwest it becomes increasingly protected by its orientation and two offshore rocks.
Photography offers us the opportunity to show gratitude for some of the things around us that are often overlooked: trees, rocks, streams, etc. Without a camera, it is easy to walk through the world blind to the wonders around us. But with a camera, we are forced to engage with our surroundings and open our eyes to the millions of little worlds around us. With deeper exploration we discover that common everyday things aren't boring at all. I am thankful for this.
I share this photograph today because I made it on a local trail in the seasonally named Thanksgiving Ground Forest. What drew me to the scene was the opportunity to juxtapose the row of trees against the low-lying frozen pond in the background. One of my favorite creative tools is to try to mix two things together in a unique way. Like an experimental baker, I like to mess around and see how things work out. Toss some trees and a pond into the mix, pop it in the oven, and see what comes out. It doesn't always work, but it's a fun way to spark some creativity. In this scene, I thought that I could engineer the composition to make the pond look like a sky, which intrigued me with its horizontal white lines. These were not clouds, but rather breaks in the shadow over the frozen pond. Call me a menace, but sometimes I like to try to trick the viewer with my photos.
I can trace my inspiration here to a fantastic photograph by Gabriel Stankiewicz which was featured on the cover of the third volume of the NLPA book. Had I not seen his photo, I would not have seen this scene. With so many talented photographers out there, it is not difficult to find inspiration these days. I am also thankful for that.
Dear contacts and visitors,
I'm offering this photo in a larger resolution [1680x1050px] for you to use as a desktop wallpaper or facebook cover if you wish!
If you re-blog the photo please be kind and leave a link to the original! Thank you!
Previous desktop offer - www.flickr.com/photos/jup3nep/8613630858/
A cloud is a visible mass of liquid droplets or frozen crystals made of water or various chemicals suspended in the atmosphere above the surface of a planetary body. These suspended particles are also known as aerosols. Clouds in Earth's atmosphere are studied in the cloud physics branch of meteorology. Two processes, possibly acting together, can lead to air becoming saturated; cooling the air or adding water vapor to the air. In general, precipitation will fall to the surface; an exception is virga, which evaporates before reaching the surface.
The international cloud classification system is based on the fact clouds can show free-convective upward growth like cumulus, appear in non-convective layered sheets such as stratus, or take the form of thin fibrous wisps, as in the case of cirrus. Prefixes are used in connection with clouds: strato- for low clouds with limited convection that form mostly in layers, nimbo- for thick layered clouds that can produce moderate to heavy precipitation, alto- for middle clouds, and cirro- for high clouds.
While a majority of clouds form in Earth's troposphere, there are occasions when clouds in the stratosphere and mesosphere can be observed. These three main layers of the atmosphere where clouds may be seen are collectively known as the homosphere. Above this lies the thermosphere and exosphere, which together make up the heterosphere that marks the transition to outer space. Clouds have been observed on other planets and moons within the Solar System, but, due to their different temperature characteristics, they are composed of other substances such as methane, ammonia, and sulfuric acid.
You can read more on clouds on Wiki - en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud
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
20241203_Bloom_TheSaddestLittleGirl
licensing dog images
licensing dog photos
licensing dog photo
licensing pet photos
licensing pet photos
stock images of pets
stock images of dogs
commercial dog photographer
commercial pet photographer
commercial dog photography
commercial pet photography
commercial dog photograph
commercial pet photograph
commercial dog photographs
commercial pet photographs
studio dog photograph
studio dog photography
studio dog photographs
studio pet photograph
studio pet photography
studio pet photographs
license images of dogs
license images of pets
commercial license
commercial licenses
commercial licenses for dog photos
commercial licenses for dog photos
buy commercial license for dog photos
buy commercial license for dog photo
buy commercial license for pet photos
buy commercial license for pet photo
commercial licenses for pet photos
commercial licenses for pet photo
pet image archive
dog image archive
stock photos of dogs
stock photos of pets
buy dog photos
buy pet photos
buy cat photos
buy dog images
buy pet images
buy cat images
Fujifilm X camera
Hundefotos
Hundefotos kaufen
kommerzielle Hundefotografie
kommerzieller Hundefotograf
Haustierfotos
Haustierfotos kaufen
Lizenzen für Fotos kaufen
Bildagentur
Haustierbildagentur
Bilderagentur für Haustierfotos
Bildagentur für Hundefotos
Katzenbilder
Katzenfotos
Bildagentur für Katzenfotos
Lizenzierung von Katzenfotos
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
"It is often said that one has but one life to live, but that is nonsense. For one who reads, there is no limit to the number of lives that may be lived, for fiction, biography and history offer an inexhaustible number of lives in all periods of time."
Louis L\'Amour
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 we are in Lettice’s chic, dining room, which stands adjunct to her equally stylish drawing room. She has decorated it in a restrained Art Deco style with a smattering of antique pieces. It is also a place where she has showcased some prized pieces from the Portman Gallery in Soho including paintings, her silver drinks set and her beloved statue of the ‘Modern Woman’ who presides over the proceedings from the sideboard.
Lettice is hosting a luncheon for her future sister-in-law Arabella Tyrwhitt who will soon marry her eldest brother Leslie. As Arabella has no sisters, and her mother is too unwell at present to travel up to London from Wiltshire, Lettice has taken it upon herself to help Arabella shop and select a suitable trousseau. So, she has brought her to London to stay in Cavendish Mews, rather than opening up the Tyrwhitt’s Georgian townhouse in Curzon Street for a week, so from there she can take Arabella shopping in all the best shops in the West End, and take her to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street for her wedding dress. Lettice has invited a few of her friends from her Embassy Club coterie whom Arabella met there the other night. Lettice has asked her best girlfriend, the recently married Margot Channon and one of her other dear friends Minnie Palmerston. As both ladies are married, Lettice is hoping they may be able to shed some light on what life is like as a married woman with Arabella whilst also sharing in an afternoon of delicious food and delightful gossip.
“Oh Gerald will make you the most wonderful wedding dress, Bella,” Margot enthuses to Arabella. “Believe me! He made me the most stylish gown for my wedding last year. You’ll be the talk of the Wiltshire downs.”
“I think your mother is a wonderful sport letting Lettice help you pick your wedding gown, Bella.” exclaims Minnie. “My mother wouldn’t let me choose so much as a button without her say so, and my wedding dress wasn’t anywhere near as modern and fashionable as I would have liked. It wasn’t even made by the couturier I wanted! I had to settle for old fashioned Lucille*.”
“Well,” Arabella says a little awkwardly. “My mother, err, she isn’t all that well at present, you see.”
“So,” Lettice quickly pitches in to avoid Arabella any awkward explanations. “I’m doing Lady Tyrwhitt the biggest favour whilst she is indisposed, by hosting Bella here in my flat and taking her shopping.” Arabella smiles in relief at her future sister-in-law who sits to her right at the head of the table. “I mean, what’s the point in opening up their London townhouse for just a few days when Bella is welcome here at any time?”
“And where everything is so lovely and welcoming.” Arabella says gratefully.
“Hhmm… that’s most sensible, Lettice.” Minnie says.
“And this way, I can take Bella to places like the Embassy Club whilst she’s up here, as well as take her frock shopping.” Lettice giggles with a wink at Bella. “I can show here what she’s missing being stuck in dull old Wiltshire.”
“Oh, it’s not as dull as all that, Tice,” Arabella remarks, her face flushing with mild embarrassment as she feels so unworldly in comparison to Lettice and her smart London friends. “After all, we have cattle shows, garden parties and…”
“Cattle shows!” baulks Margot, her left hand pressing over her mouth in horror, her diamond engagement ring glinting under the light of the dining room. “How beastly! I do hope that there aren’t any cattle shows I have to go on Cornwall! I should dislike that intensely.”
“I agree!” nods Minnie, her green glass chandelier earrings bobbing about as they dangle from her lobes.
“You both grew up in London, so of course a cattle show is beastly to you two,” Lettice replies. “But Bella and I both grew up in the country, so we are used to life there. Cattle shows are part of county social life.”
“If I had to go and look at beastly… well beasts, in order to meet eligible men,” Minnie says with an air of distaste as she wrinkles her nose. “I think I’d rather stay single.”
“Good job the closest thing you’ve come to the countryside is Hyde Park on a summer’s day then isn’t it, Minnie?” retorts Lettice with a playful smile.
“I quite enjoy the county social round,” Arabella admits with a shy smile. “And whilst I’m so grateful for you taking me to nightspots around London, Tice, I don’t think I’ll ever be a nightclub kind of girl.”
“Poor darling,” Lettice teases her good naturedly as she speaks out to her other friends at the table. “She doesn’t know yet how deliciously addictive nightclubs can be.”
“We’ll fix that,” giggles Margot, reaching out a hand across the table, past the central floral arrangement of lightly fragrant white roses in a glass bowl and enveloping Arabella’s smaller hand with her own. “Don’t you worry about that Lettice.”
Picking up her thoughts on life in Wiltshire, Bella adds, “Wiltshire isn’t quite the ends of the earth socially. Don’t forget, we do have balls and parties to go to there, like your mother’s glittering Hunt Ball.”
“Yes,” titters Minnie. “Where Lettice met that dishy Selwyn Spencely!”
Margot joins in with Minnie’s girlish peals.
“Oh do stop you two!” Lettice says with a playful wave of her hand. “I’ve only had to opportunity to have luncheon with him once thus far since the ball.”
“But you are planning to see him again, aren’t you Tice?” asks Arabella.
“Of course she is,” teases Margot with a wag of her bejewelled finger. “You can see it written all over her face!”
“Lettice!” Minnie cries, pointing her her elegant finger at her friend across the table. “You’re holding out on us. You’ve arranged to see him again, haven’t you?”
“Lettice!” gasps Margot. “Not fair! Spill the beans at once!”
“Well,” Lettice admits. “He did ring me this morning.”
“And?” Margot and Minnie ask, their breath baited with excitement.
“And we’ve arranged to have luncheon again after Bella returns home to Wiltshire.”
Margot and Minnie squeal and clap with delight, gushing forth congratulations as though Lettice had just announced her engagement to Selwyn.
“I hope you aren’t putting off seeing him just because I’m here, Tice.” Bella says quietly, a guilty look crossing her pretty face.
“Not at all, Bella!” Lettice reaches over and squeezes Arabella’s hand comfortingly. “He telephoned whilst you were in the bathroom this morning. You are my guest and as such, you have my undivided attention. Mr. Selwyn Spencely can wait a few days.”
“Well, they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.” remarks Margot. “It certainly did for Dickie and I.”
“Where are you going, Lettice?” asks Minnie eagerly.
“I’ll tell you where, but not what day.” Lettice agrees. “The last thing I want is for you and Charles to be sitting, goggle eyed at the next table.”
“As if I would!” Minnie gasps, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest.
“As if you wouldn’t, more like!” Lettice retorts.
“Well,” Minnie looks across an Margot guiltily. “Yes, we would.”
The pair giggle conspiratorially.
“So where?” Minnie asks.
“The Café Royal.**”
“Oh how deliciously luxurious, Lettice darling!” Margot enthuses.
“I shall have Charles book us a table there every night for the fortnight after Bella leaves.” giggles Minnie teasingly, but her wink to Lettice assures her that she won’t.
“Oh Minnie!” Margot laughs. “You are awful!”
Just as Margot and Minnie break into more girlish titters, Edith, Lettice’s maid, emerges from the kitchen through the green baize door and walks towards the table with a tray on which she carries four of her home made orange curd tarts.
“Ah! What good timing!” Lettice claps her hands. “Edith, you are a brick! Ladies, dessert!”
Edith bobs a curtsey to her mistress and begins to serve the desserts to her guests first by carefully holding the tray on an angle to Arabella’s left, so she may easily help herself to one without the whole tray tipping forward and the tarts spilling onto the polished parquetry dining room floor.
“Thank you for that roast beef luncheon, Edith,” Arabella remarks as she selects the tart closest to her. “It was quite delicious.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Tyrwhitt.” Edith murmurs in reply, her face flushing with pleasure at the compliment.
Edith moves on and serves Minnie and then Margot, before finally coming back to Lettice who selects the one remaining tart from the tray. Ensuring that everyone has a replenished drink, Edith retreats to the kitchen, allowing the four ladies to carry on their conversation undisturbed by her presence.
“This looks delicious, Lettice darling.” remarks Margot as she looks down at the tart before her, the pastry a pale golden colour, a twist of candied orange and a dollop of whipped cream decorating its top.
“Yes,” concurs Minnie. “You’re so lucky Lettice. I don’t know how you manage to find such good staff in London.”
“I told you, Minnie. Mater gave me the telephone number of an excellent agency. That’s where I got Edith from. I’ll give it to you.”
“Oh,” Minnie sulks. “I think even if I employed the most perfectly qualified maid, I’d do something to muck the whole arrangement up. I usually do.”
“Good heavens, whatever are you talking about, Minnie?” Lettice exclaims.
“She’s only saying that because of her dining room faux pas.” Margot elucidates as she picks up her spoon and fork to commence eating her tart.
“What dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks.
Minnie looks around Lettice’s dining room at the restrained black japanned furnishings, white Art Deco wallpaper and elegant decorations. “I should just have done what Margot did and engaged you to decorate it for me.” she remarks as she picks up her own spoon and fork and begins to disseminate her dessert.
“What dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks again.
“At least you have taste, Lettice, unlike me.” Minnie continues uninterrupted.
“Nonsense Minnie darling, you have one of the most tasteful and fashionable wardrobes in London!” Margot counters.
“Well, it obviously doesn’t extend to my ability as an interior decorator.” Minnie grumbles back as she stabs her tart with her fork.
“Minnie, what dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks again, the smallest lilt in her raised voice betraying her frustration at being ignored.
“Well, you know how Charles’ grandfather left us the house in St John’s Wood?” Minnie asks.
“Yes,” Lettice says, laying aside her spoon and fork, leaving her trat untasted as she looks intently into the green eyes of her redheaded friend.
“When we moved in, it was full of all of old Lady Arundel’s ghastly furniture. Charles’ grandfather hadn’t done a single thing to update the place, so it was all dusty of festoons and potted palms.”
“So pre-war Edwardian!” adds Margot just before she pops the daintiest piece of tart into her mouth, smiling as she tastes it.
“Charles says to me when I complain about how dark and cluttered it is: ‘Minnie darling, why don’t you redecorate’. So of course I thought to myself that if you could do it so effortlessly, why couldn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say effortlessly, Minnie darling.” Lettice corrects her friend. “Anyway, do go on. I’m all ears.”
“Well, I was delighted! My first real project as a wife, making a comfortable home for my husband. I asked Charles what room I should start with, and he suggested the dining room. After all, bringing potential business partners home to his dead grandmother’s fusty old dining room wouldn’t look very good, would it?”
“Indeed not, Minnie darling.” Lettice agrees, her lids lowering slightly as she concentrates on her friend’s story.
“He said that perhaps rather than throw out Lady Arundel’s dining table, I might start by picking some papers that went well with the dark furniture and red velvet seats, but would match our wonderful modern paintings which we hung in place of the muddy oils that were in there.”
“You could see where the old paintings had been by the non-faded patches of red flocked wallpaper.” Margot titters.
“That sounds ghastly,” Lettice remarks. “How sensible Charles was to suggest the walls first. Then you can decide what your new dining room furnishings will be once you are ready, and there’s no rush to fling out what you have at present.”
“Very well observed, Lettice darling.” Margot agrees.
“So where is the faux pas in that, then?” asks Lettice, looking across the roses of the centrepiece at her two friends in a perplexed fashion.
“The faux pas is what I chose!” pouts Minnie. “I’d started off so well too. I had the old black marble fireplace torn out and replaced with a lovely new surround.”
“Very streamline and modern,” Margot agrees, taking another mouthful of tart.
“Oh yes!” Minnie exclaims. “Quite to die for. Then I went to Jeffrey and Company*** looking for papers. It’s where my mother got our wallpapers for our homes when I was growing up.”
“Mine too.” affirmed Margot.
“And the assistant showed me the most divine poppies pattern on a geometric background. I thought to myself that being red, the poppies were a perfect choice for the walls.”
“It sounds perfect to me, Minnie darling.” Lettice says. “I still don’t see where the faux pas is?”
“You haven’t seen it on the walls.” Margot remarks half under her breath, looking apologetically at Minnie.
“No, it’s true Margot.” Minnie admits defeatedly with a sigh. “It sounds wonderful, but it looks positively awful!”
“Oh I wouldn’t have said that,” Margot counters. “It is rather busy and rather draws attention away from your paintings, but it isn’t awful.”
“Well Charles thinks it is! He says it’s like eating in a Maida Vale**** dining room! He doesn’t even want to eat in there now, and he certainly won’t bring any potential business partners around for dinner. He’s rather take them to his club!” Minnie whines. She drops her cutlery with a clatter onto the black japanned dining room table’s surface and hurriedly snatches her napkin from her lap. Carefully she dabs at the corners of her eyes.
“Oh Minnie!” Margot says, quickly getting up from her seat, dropping her own napkin on the seat of her chair and walking around to her friend where she wraps her arms around her shoulders comfortingly.
“Minnie darling. Please don’t cry.” Lettice gasps, standing up in her seat.
“You have modern wallpaper, but it doesn’t feel like Maida Vale in here.” Minnie says tearfully, thrusting her arms around in wild gesticulations.
Discreetly, Arabella moves Minnie’s half empty champagne flute out of her immediate reach to avoid any adding any drama with the spilling of drinks or shattering of glass to what is already an uncomfortable enough situation with the young woman sobbing in her seat whilst being comforted by her friends. Quietly Arabella wonders if the hot rush of London life with all its drama is all that good for the constitution if people behave this way over luncheon tables in the capital, and she secretly longs to retreat to the safety of her much quieter home of Garstanton Park back in Wiltshire.
“Do you need the smelling salts, Miss?” Edith, who unnoticed with Minnie’s loud crying and moaning, has slipped back into the dining room from the kitchen.
“What?” Lettice turns and registers her maid’s presence. “Ahh, no. No thank you Edith. Mrs. Palmerston is just having another one of her momentary dramas.”
“I am not!” bursts out Minnie, causing her already flushed face to go even redder as another barrage of tears and moaning escapes her shuddering frame.
“Of course you are, Minnie darling.” Lettice counters calmly in a good natured way. Turning back to her anxious maid she adds, “It will be over in a minute. Thank you, Edith.”
“Very good Miss.” Edith replies bewilderingly with raised eyebrows and an almost imperceptible shake of her head as she looks again at Mrs. Palmerston, red faced and weeping in her chair, her bare arms being rubbed by Mrs. Channon who coos and whispers quietly into her ears.
“Minnie has always been highly strung.” Lettice quietly assures Arabella whom she notices is looking particularly uncomfortable in her seat. “It will pass in a moment, and then we’ll get on with luncheon.”
After a few minutes of weeping, Minnie finally calms down, and both Lettice and Margot return to their seats to finish their desserts, all three behaving as if Minnie’s outburst had never occurred, and that such behaviour was not only understandable, but perfectly normal. Arabella, with her head down, eyes focussed squarely upon her half eaten tart says nothing and follows suit. For a few moments, nothing breaks the silence but the sound of cutlery scraping against crockery.
“I know, Minnie darling,” Lettice breaks the embargo on speaking cheerfully. “Why don’t I come and look at your dining room.”
“Oh would you?” exclaims Minnie with a sigh of relief. “Could you? Oh! That would be marvellous! What a brick you are, Lettice.” Then she pauses, her sudden happy energy draining away just as quickly. “But you can’t.” She shakes her head. “You’re redecorating Margot’s.”
Arabella unconsciously holds her breath, waiting for Minnie to start crying again.
“Well, yes I am,” Lettice agrees. “But there’s no reason why I can’t have two clients at once.”
“She’s not actually doing anything at ‘Chi an Treth’ at present,” Margot says, picking up her wine glass and draining it. “Are you Lettice darling?”
“Well I can’t right now, you see Minnie.” Lettice elucidates. “Funnily enough I’m waiting for Margot’s wallpapers to be printed by Jeffrey and Company, but they won’t be ready for a few weeks. So I can come and have a look, maybe make some recommendation for you and Charles to consider. Then if you’re happy, I can commence work after I’ve finished Margot’s.”
“Oh, but what about Bella? You’re helping her shop for her trousseau.” Minnie protests.
“I can assure you, I don’t need any help shopping for clothes.” Arabella says, releasing her pent-up breath. “Tice has pointed me in the direction of Oxford Street, so I can take myself there.”
“As it happens, we’re visiting Gerald on Thursday for Bella’s first consultation for her wedding dress. Why don’t I come on Thursday for luncheon whilst Bella and Gerald consult? She doesn’t need me to help her decide what she wants. She already has a good idea, don’t you Bella?”
Arabella nods emphatically.
“Well Thursday is cook’s afternoon off, but if you think you could cope with some sandwiches.” Minnie says hopefully.
“That’s settled then!” Lettice says with a sigh.
Suddenly the mood in the room lightens and spontaneous conversation begins to bubble about Lettice’s dining table again as Margot and Minnie ask Arabella about her plans for her wedding dress.
*Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members. When hemlines rose after the war, her fortunes reversed as she couldn’t change with the times, always wanting to use too much fabric on gowns that were too long and too fussy and pre-war.
**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.
***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.
****Although today quite an affluent suburb of London, in 1922 when this scene is set, Maida Vale was more of an up-and-coming middle-class area owing to its proximity to the more up market St John’s Wood to its west. It has many late Victorian and Edwardian blocks of mansion flats. Charles’ remark that he felt like he was in a Maida Vale dining room was not meant to be taken as a compliment considering they live in St John’s Wood.
Lettice’s fashionable Mayfair flat dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures I have collected over time.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The orange curd tarts with their twist of orange atop each are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The empty wine glasses and the glass bowl in the centre of the table are also 1:12 artisan miniatures all made of hand spun and blown glass. They too are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The vase is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with flower patterns made up of fine threads of glass. The cream roses in the vase were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The Art Deco dinner set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai, as is the cutlery set. The champagne flutes that are filled with glittering golden yellow champagne were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The candlesticks were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
In the background on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The silver drinks set is made by artisan Clare Bell at the Clare Bell Brass Works in Maine, in the United States. Each goblet is only one centimetre in height and the decanter at the far end is two- and three-quarter centimetres with the stopper inserted. Lettice’s Art Deco ‘Modern Woman’ figure is actually called ‘Christianne’ and was made and hand painted by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. ‘Christianne’ is based on several Art Deco statues and is typical of bronze and marble statues created at that time for the luxury market in the buoyant 1920s.
Lettice’s dining room is furnished with Town Hall Miniatures furniture, which is renown for their quality. The only exceptions to the room is the Chippendale chinoiserie carver chair (the edge of which just visible on the far left-hand side of the photo) which was made by J.B.M. Miniatures.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia. The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
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
Instagram in B&W Only | wheremyrunningshoestakeme | Instagram in Color | Lens Wide-Open
I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database of more than 1400 images, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.
For licensing and commission requests: info@elkevogelsang.com
________________________
Elke Vogelsang
Commercial and editorial pet photographer
info@elkevogelsang.com
________________________
All pictures: © Elke Vogelsang
20160713_AllGoodDogs_Soldiers
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.
Dorset Mela offers a unique experience to people in Dorset as it brings various communities together. This event offers a unique dining experience with variety of food, dance, music, live performances, handicraft, henna painting and many more activities.
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.
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.
Bordesley station nowadays offers very little, but there again it is little used. Served by a parliamentary service and 'extras' on match days when Birmingham City are playing at home, it does offer some good views of Birmingham city centre. The proposed chord off the Camp Hill Line could well see it disappear altogether. Needless to say, London Midland Class 150 'Sprinter' No. 150017 will not be pausing as it heads for Stratford-upon-Avon with an evening peak hour service on 27th July 2009. Copyright Photograph John Whitehouse - all rights reserved
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.
That afternoon, Aiden was able to sit down with his father and explain everything that happened, finally ending with the information that he was being offered a position on a smaller airship as an engineer. It was a bittersweet moment and to celebrate, Aiden's father splurged and bought them a delicious ham and potato soup for dinner. Aiden ate his fill and soon began to pack with his father's help.
The next morning dawned and Aiden, as usual, woke with the sun. His father had taken the morning off working at the shop so he could see his son off. Time seemed to move slowly. Finally it was time to go!
Aiden and his father departed their home and made their way up the shafts to the airship docks high above the city.
"I look forward to your letters," Aiden's father said as they were lifted higher and higher over the city. Aiden smiled warmly. "I'll write often. I promise, Papa." Aiden and his father gazed at each other and it really began to sink in that...Aiden was really going. They made it to the docks and stepped out and headed for the South docks. It didn't take them long and they were there. Aiden's father pulled him in for a tight hug which Aiden readily returned. "I love you Aiden. Be safe. Write often," he told his son over the roar of the airship fans nearby. Aiden felt a surge of emotions and the stinging of bittersweet tears as he clung to his father tightly. It was nearly a minute later that Aiden's father pulled back and patted his shoulders with a brave smile. "Go on." Aiden turned to go but as he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder and waved, his father waving back with a smile. Soon, he was making a turn and his father was out of sight.
It wasn't a long walk and soon Aiden found himself at Bay Four. His eyes widened and his jaw opened a touch as he gazed at Leon's Claw. It wasn't a very large ship at all; not like those he dreamed of but immediately he found he was in love! Cargo was being loaded and up on the ship he could see a strong, brown haired man on the far side of the ship tying things and making sure everything was ready for departure. "Wow," Aiden breathed, fascination filling him as he hoisted his pack over his shoulder and headed for the gangplank. Halfway up, he caught sight of the captain dressed as he'd seen him yesterday. "Captain!" called Aiden, waving slightly.
Vincent heard his title and he looked up and sure enough, the boy had come after all. He had been wondering if perhaps he'd have a change of heart. He could see the clock and in fact he was just a touch early. Good. "Welcome aboard," Vincent said, waving him over as he tucked a notebook with cargo information into his jacket pocket. "This way." He turned and began to lead Aiden along the ship towards the door leading downstairs. "You'll be bunking in the cargo room with Damien," he explained as they made it down there. He pointed to the free hammock along the wall above the one that had bedding already. Luckily there were crates around so Aiden could easily climb up! "There's a small chest for you to store your things. It's bolted down so it isn't going anywhere. Go ahead and settle in. Once you're done, come see me up on deck. Don't dilly dally. We leave in an hour. Once we're in the sky and on our way, I'll have Damien show you around." "Yes, Sir," Aiden replied. The captain left and Aiden looked around the tiny space. Hopefully he'd get along with this Damien guy since they were bunking in here together.
Up on deck, Vincent went about his way making sure everything was in order. By noon, they were ready for takeoff! Aiden had emerged a short time ago and Vincent ordered him to sit down by the mast and hold on tight so he'd be out of the way and safe for his first takeoff.
"DOCK FOUR DEPARTING!!!!" came a warning call from the dock as the blades began to spin faster and faster! Aiden was in awe as he watched Vincent step up and take the helm. And before he knew it, the ship began to lift higher and higher! Aiden watched as the docks began to get smaller and smaller. It seemed so unreal that this was really happening!
It was about three minutes later that Vincent smirked a tiny bit and glanced over his shoulder at Aiden. "If you're feeling steady, try standing!" Aiden swallowed hard, feeling so much nervous excitement as he wobbly stood and glanced around.
The awe was clear on his face as he watched the city get smaller and more distant. He turned and looked, seeing the mountain range getting closer. Butterflies filled his stomach as Aiden hurried forward towards the front of the ship. "WOW!" he exclaimed, clinging onto the front mast* and staring around in amazement! He clung tightly, feeling his knees weaken as it began to sink in: he had done it. He was finally on an airship leaving his hometown! A grin spread across his lips and he could only laugh in wonder that this was really, really happening! It was a dream come true!
That was exactly how Vincent found him twenty minutes later as he walked along the side of Leon's Claw, puffing away at his pipe. He'd changed into something more comfortable now that they were up in the air. It was a beautiful day for flying. Vincent couldn't have picked a better day for Aiden to have his first day up in the air; not that he really cared. They were passing over a large lake which flowed into a river between the mountains, green and beautiful. He leaned against the side of the ship, raising his pipe to his lips as he watched in silent amusement. Aiden was clinging for dear life but man he looked so happy!
Vincent knew that this was Aiden's first time being out here so sure, he was gonna be excited. He expected Aiden's euphoria to come down soon. He'd give him another minute before putting him to work. He was here for a reason, after all. Inhaling the cool, fresh air deeply, Vincent looked around at the beautiful scenery around them. His gaze glanced back at Aiden, still clinging and looking so....at peace. Okay, so maybe he could give their new engineer a few more minutes.
***
Vocabulary:
*Mast: a tall, upright post on a ship that carries the sails
Next Part: www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/50795397433/in/datepo...
To read the rest of the story, here's the album link:
www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127
***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (BL/yaoi/gay) series. It is a slow burn and rated PG13!***
***
Special thank you to Vin Aydin Raven-Mysterious for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as The Captain!
~
DISCORD SERVER: That's right! The Captain and the Engineer has a Discord Server! If you would like to join and chat with other crewmates and see what's new and happening before it gets posted to Flickr, click the link!
***NEW!!!!***
The Captain and the Engineer now has a FACEBOOK PAGE! Please come Like, Follow, and join the crew! Thank you so much for all your support!
FACEBOOK PAGE:
Early morning offers the best opportunities to capture postcard-perfect images with the beautiful, often dramatic, and colorful morning sky over the major landmarks in a city. In Vilnius, I got up early to photograph Cathedral Square, located in the heart of the city's Old Town. Dominating the square is Vilnius Cathedral, officially known as the Cathedral of St. Stanislaus and St. Ladislaus.Earlier that day, we learned from our guide, Thomas, that this building is the most important Catholic church in Lithuania, with a history dating back to the 13th century. The cathedral has undergone numerous reconstructions, showcasing various architectural styles, including Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque, before settling into its current neoclassical form in the late 18th century - Vilnius, Lituania
This evocative collection offers a cinematic journey through the Spanish Golden Age, a period defined by immense cultural flourishing and profound social contrasts. Each image serves as a window into the 16th and 17th centuries, blending historical atmosphere with dramatic chiaroscuro lighting. The set explores the diverse strata of imperial society: from the majestic galleons preparing for transoceanic voyages in misty harbors to the quiet, focused intensity of master painters and scholars in their studios.
The visual narrative traverses the opulence of the royal court and its noblemen, the spiritual silence of Gothic cloisters, and the gritty, vibrant life of the streets where "pícaros" share bread and veterans gather in dim taverns. High-stakes drama is captured through the clash of rapiers in shadowed alleys and the grand theatrical performances in a traditional "Corral de Comedias." Together, these frames pay homage to the era of Velázquez, Cervantes, and Lope de Vega, reimagining the textures, emotions, and legends of Spain’s most influential historical epoch.
The images have been generated by Artificial Intelligence.
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Empty chairs, windows, and a small sign
This photograph could be seen as a lesson and as an example regarding practice... and in a few other ways, as well. I don't know if much needs to be said about it, but I'll offer a few thoughts anyway. I made it while I was busy doing what might seem more like "work" photography — documenting the opening reception of an exhibit by my friend Oliver Klink, whose beautiful "Cultures in Transition" exhibit had recently been installed at PhotoCentral in Hayward, California. Mostly I was running around making photographs of various people attending the event and photographs of the gallery space. But every so often I spot something that seems like a photograph in its own right, and I disconnect from the work momentarily to capture that "something."
This is, admittedly, a somewhat minimal and perhaps even somewhat enigmatic photograph — and it also doesn't likely seem all that connected to the landscape photography of mine that may be more familiar. There are several ways one could "read" this image, but rather than being didactic about it, I'll leave the reading to the viewer. What do you see?
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, "California's Fall Color: A Photographer's Guide to Autumn in the Sierra" is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.
Blog | About | Flickr | Facebook | Email
Links to Articles, Sales and Licensing, my Sierra Nevada Fall Color book, Contact Information.
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.
Bernardino Luini (1481-1532) St. Sigmund offers to St. Maurice model of the church - San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore Milan
San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore è una chiesa di Milano di origine paleocristiana, ricostruita nel Cinquecento e già sede del più importante monastero femminile della città appartenente all'ordine benedettino. E' decorata internamente con un vasto ciclo affreschi di scuola leonardesca e viene indicata come la "Cappella Sistina" di Milano o della Lombardia
San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore is a church in Milan, It was originally attached to the most important female convent of the Benedictines in the city, Monastero Maggiore, which is now in use as an archaeological museum.
The complex was founded in Lombard times, partially re-using ancient Roman edifices. Of these there remain a polygonal tower, a relic of the ancient Maximian walls, and a square one, originally part of the lost Hippodrome and later adopted as the church’s bell tower. The monastery is now home to Milan's Archaeological Museum.
The construction began in 1503 under design of Gian Giacomo Dolcebuono in collaboration with Giovanni Antonio Amadeo. The edifice was finished fifteen years later by Cristoforo Solari, divided into two parts: one for the faithful, one for the nuns. Until 1794 the latter were strongly forbidden to cross the dividing wall.
The interior has a vaulted nave separated by the divisory wall (the nuns followed the mass from a grating) and flanked by groin-vaulted chapels, which are surmounted by a serliana loggia.
The most important artwork of the church is the cycle of frescoes from the 16th century covering the walls. The dividing wall has frescoes depicting the Life of San Maurizio by Bernardino Luini which flank an altarpiece with an Adoration of the Magi by Antonio Campi. The chapels in the faithful's area are by Aurelio Luini, son of Bernardino, and his brothers. The counterfaçade has a fresco by Simone Peterzano (1573). In the right side Bernardino Luini also frescoed the Chapel of St. Catherine of Alexandria (1530). Frescoes are also influed by Forlivese school of art (Melozzo da Forlì and Marco Palmezzano).
Hall of nuns
The hall of the nuns is also completely painted. The partition wall, a work by Bernardino Luini always the thirties of the sixteenth century, presents images of Saint Catherine, Saint Agatha, the Marriage at Cana, the Carrying of the Cross of Christ on the Cross and Christ died.
On the vault of the hall of the nuns is depicted a starry sky, with God, the Evangelists, and angels. In the end there is the painting Ecce Homo.
(wikipedia)
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight, however we are south of the Thames in the London district of Rotherhithe, where, surrounded by old warehouses, right on the southern foreshore of the Thames, stands the Angel*, a little red brick pub which is always busy, but tonight is exceptionally so, for it is New Year’s Eve 1922.
The pub’s comfortable old Victorian décor is festooned with chains of brightly coloured paper, no doubt made by hand by the publican and his family as Edith had created such cheap home made decorations for her own family home in Harlesden for Christmas. Everywhere there is noise and chatter as patrons fill chairs and benches, lean against the bar, or fill the linoleum covered floor space. A hundred conversations, cries of excitement and laughter mix with the clink of glasses, the thud of bottles and the scrape of chairs in one vociferous noise. A fug of acrid greyish white cigarette smoke hangs in the charged air as midnight approaches. Nestled into a cosy nook near the crackling fireplace, Edith, Lettice’s maid, sits alongside her beau, Frank Leadbetter, a delivery boy for Willison’s Grocers, the grocer’s closest to Lettice’s Mayfair flat. The Angel has an interesting mix of patrons, from local workers to more artistic types, as well as a small party of Bright Young Things** shunning the bright lights and nightclubs of London’s West End, at least before midnight, as they enjoy an evening of slumming*** which no doubt they will use to regale their friends with stories about their evening later. It is with these rather noisy people that Edith and Frank share a table, the group taking up majority of it with glasses of wine and champagne, bottles of beer and packets of fashionable Craven “A” cigarettes****. Being much quieter than their table companions, enjoying the delights of freshly made hot chips delivered in to the pub from a local fish and chippery, Edith and Frank don’t tend to be included by the boisterous slum visitors who prefer the colour of equally noisy local characters, except when there is a singalong.
Cheering at the conclusion of a boisterous final verse of ‘The Laughing Policeman’***** the group of upper-class people nod their heads in recognition at Frank and Edith before returning to the conversation they were having with a local dock worker before the latest spontaneous singalong began.
“It’s a funny sort of place, this, isn’t it Frank?” Edith asks, picking up her glass of port and lemon and sipping it.
“Funny, Edith?” Frank queries, cocking his eyebrow questioningly before taking a sip of his own dark ale.
“Well, I mean look around at the people here.” She eyes a pair of painters, their occupation evident from the paint splatters on their rather shabby black coats and paint smeared rags hanging limply from their pockets. Then she glances at the young lady in the party sharing the table with them, her fashionable oriental silk frock, and the marcelling****** in her glossy chestnut coloured hair, accessories by a pair of diamond star pins, making her look more suited to her mistress’ drawing room than a Rotherhithe pub. “This isn’t your standard pub crowd, at least not in any of the pubs up around where I’m from.”
“Don’t you like it?” Frank asks anxiously, a tinge of hurt in his voice as speaks.
Edith looks into Frank’s concerned face and then reaches out her hand and places it lovingly over his, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Of course I like it, Frank. I like anywhere where I’m with you.”
“Oh, that’s a relief!” Frank sinks back into the round open balloon back of the red velvet upholstered chair he is sitting on, the tension in his shoulders visibly dissipating as he does. “I’d hate to take my girl somewhere she didn’t like or feel comfortable in.”
“Oh no. I like it just fine. The crowd is unusual is all. What made you pick here, Frank? I thought you might have taken me to the Old Crown******* up Islington way.”
“Well, you know how I’ve been trying to better myself by attending lectures and the like on art?” When Edith nods as she picks up a hot chip from the diminishing steaming pile of golden fingers he continues. “Well, I ran into a couple of artists, and they told me that Augustus John******** comes here sometimes.”
“And who is he?” Edith asks before popping the hot chip into her mouth.
“Blimey Edith! I can see I’m going to have to take you to a few art galleries in the New Year!” Frank shakes his head.
“I’d like that, Frank.” Edith admits, swallowing.
“Augustus John just happens to be one of the best known artists in England!”
“I’m so proud of you trying to better yourself and learn things, Frank. I want to keep making you proud as your girl.”
“Oh you do, Edith. You know I’m proud of you too. You’re bettering yourself by learning about fine things at Miss Chetwynd’s.”
“Yes, but learning to say luncheon or dinner rather than tea isn’t the same thing as learning about art.”
“Now, now! I won’t have you talking yourself down, Edith. You’re my girl and I’m proud of you. We’ll go to some galleries on our afternoons off when the spring comes next year.”
“Thinking of the New Year,” Edith says. “Mum and Dad talked about you coming over for dinner one night. I want you to meet them. They want to meet you too.”
“And they will, Edith love.” Frank apologises. “I just want to do things the right way.”
“I know you do, Frank.” Edith looks down into her lap, brushing a few crumbs of golden chip batter off her black coat distractedly. “I told them that too. I told them that you want me to meet your Granny first, and then he’ll meet you.”
“And so you will, and then I will.”
“When Frank? I’m starting to see comparisons between Miss Lettice and me.”
“What do you mean, Edith?”
“Well, I don’t like to gossip, you know, but I can’t help overhearing things.” She looks at Frank guiltily. “And well, she talks with Mrs. Channon about wanting to meet Mr. Spencely’s mother, who sounds like a real dragon to me, just to make things formal like. A sign of intention she and Mrs. Channon call it.”
“But we’re formal, Edith. You know my intentions clear enough. You heard me tell you I love you at the Premier Super Cinema********** just a few weeks ago.” He reaches over and wraps his hands around her forearms. He looks at her suddenly forlorn face and slumping shoulders. “And you told me the same. What could be more formal than that?”
“Meeting your Granny, Frank. I know she means so much to you.”
“Well, she’s the only person I have left after Mum and Dad died of the Spanish Flu, and what with my brother getting killed in France, and him being unmarried and all.”
“Then why can’t I meet her, Frank? Don’t tell me that she’s a dragon like Mr. Spencely’s mum.”
“Oh no, she’s the loveliest woman, my Granny is.”
“Then she wouldn’t approve of me? I’m not good enough for her grandson? Is that it?”
“Of course not Edith.” He shakes her gently, as if trying to shake some sense into his sweetheart.
The fashionable upper-class girl suddenly bursts into a peal of laughter that pierces the air around her like shattering glass, momentarily distracting the young couple. “Oh you are too funny, Charlie Boy!” she says in elegantly modulated, yet slightly slurred, tones to the dock worker as her male companions join in her laughter cheerily. She turns and plonks down her glass of champagne a little clumsily as her constant drinking starts to have an impact on her faculties. Lunging across the table to grab one of the packets of cigarettes scattered across it, she suddenly notices the quiet young couple at the other end of the table. “Gasper, darlings?” she asks, her kohl lined eyes widening seductively as he holds out the open Craven “A” packet to them, the tan coloured cork ends jutting out through the torn red and white paper and silver foil packaging. When they shake their heads warily at her, she merely shrugs. “Help yourself if you change your mind.” She smiles lopsidedly at them, her red lipstick bleeding into her skin around the edges of her painted lips. “They aren’t really mine to offer, but I know Andrew won’t mind. He’s got plenty at home back in St John’s Wood. Don’t you darling?” She turns back to her party and drapes an arm languidly around one of the young men in her party who lets his own hand stray to her bottom cheeks where he fondles her unashamedly through the thin silk of her dress. Neither turn back to see the look of shock on both Edith and Frank’s faces.
Turning back to Edith, Frank continues, “Granny will love you, Edith – just like I do!”
“Then why aren’t I meeting her yet, Frank?” Tears begin to well in her eyes.
“Well, you were partially right, Edith.” Frank admits.
“About which part?”
“Well, she’s a bit protective of me, you see.” He looks earnestly into Edith’s eyes. “You can’t blame her, can you? If like she is to me, I am her only close living relation, she is always going to scrutinise any girl I show an interest in – not that there have been many,” he adds quickly. “And certainly none as serious as I am with you, Edith.”
“Well if you say that she’ll like me, what’s the problem, Frank?”
“Look I only told her about you recently, when we both knew we were sure about our feelings for one another. She isn’t upset, but Granny is a bit jealous of no longer being my best girl any longer. Once she’s adjusted herself to the idea, I can ask you around for tea at her house in Upton Park.”
“And when will that be, Frank?” Edith asks sulkily.
“Oh only a few weeks away, Edith. She’s already starting to come around to the idea, but I think now she knows about you and how serious I am about you, she just wanted what will probably be our last Christmas alone to be.. well, just us. It gives her a chance to deal with being usurped.”
“Usurped? What’s that mean, Frank?”
“It means to take the place of someone.” Frank replies proudly.
The gratified look on his face makes Edith chuckle and her concerns are broken.
“That’s my girl.”
Frank leans further forward in his chair and wraps his arms around Edith, pulling her to him. He can smell the comforting scent of fresh laundering and soap flakes in her coat as he buries his head into the nape of her neck and nuzzles her gently. He feels her arms tighten around his middle. After a few minutes the pair slowly break apart again and resume their seats properly.
“So, what else do you want to do this year, Edith?” Frank smiles.
“Well, besides going to a few galleries, and,” she pauses for effect. “Meet your Granny,”
“I promise Edith! Just a few weeks from now you’ll be sitting in her kitchen in Upton Park and you won’t be able to get away. I swear!”
“Then I was thinking again about having my hair bobbed.”
“Oh no, Edith love!” Frank reaches out a hand which he lovingly runs along the chignon at the back of her neck poking out from beneath her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers. “Not your beautiful hair.”
“Oh it’s easy for you to say, Frank. You aren’t wearing it all day, every day. It gets awfully hot when I’m cooking and cleaning at Miss Lettice’s, and it takes ages to wash and dry.”
“Well, don’t do anything rash just yet. Meet my Granny first before you decide to bob your hair.”
“Doesn’t she approve of girls with bobbed hair then?”
“She gets all her fashion tips from Queen Mary, Edith!” Frank laughs. “Of course she doesn’t approve of bobbed hair!”
“Then I won’t,” Edith promises. The she adds the caveat, “Just yet.”
“That’s my girl!”
“Just yet, Frank.” she cautions again. “I have a feeling that nineteen twenty-three is going to be a year of change.”
“What gives you that idea, Edith?”
“I don’t know.” Edith admits. “But I just have this feeling.”
“Well, I don’t want things to change too much.”
“But I thought you were all about improvement and betterment, Frank.”
“And so I am.”
“Well improvement and betterment are just different words for change.”
“Well, as long as your feelings for me don’t change.” Frank says with a hopeful look.
“As if they would, Frank!”
“’Ere! Shurrup you lot!” the publican suddenly shouts loudly from the bar over the top of all the hubbub of human chatter. “It’s nearly midnight!”
Edith and Frank stand up and join everyone else in the Angel pub as they start the countdown to midnight. As Big Ben strikes, clusters of cheers can be heard momentarily in the distance across the inky black Thames before they are consumed by the cheers of the people around them as they begin to jump up and down and embrace one another.
“Happy nineteen twenty-three!” Frank yells, embracing Edith in his arms.
“Happy nineteen twenty-three!” Edith echoes as she sinks against his chest clad in a thick knitted vest and grey worsted wool jacket.
As a young woman begins to play the first few notes of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ on the old upright piano in the bar, Edith and Frank begin to sing along with everyone else, joining hands with each other and the people immediately around them.
*The Angel, one of the oldest Rotherhithe pubs, is now in splendid isolation in front of the remains of Edward III's mansion on the Thames Path at the western edge of Rotherhithe. The site was first used when the Bermondsey Abbey monks used to brew beer which they sold to pilgrims. It is located at 24 Rotherhithe St, opposite Execution Dock in Wapping. It has two storeys, plus an attic. It is built of multi-coloured stock brick with a stucco cornice and blocking course. The ground floor frontage is made of wood. There is an area of segmental arches on the first floor with sash windows, and it is topped by a low pitched slate roof. Its Thames frontage has an unusual weatherboarded gallery on wooden posts. The interior is divided by wooden panels into five small rooms. In the early 20th Century its reputation and location attracted local artists including Augustus John and James Abbott McNeil Whistler. In the 1940s and 50s it became a popular destination for celebrities including Laurel and Hardy. Today its customers are local residents, tourists and people walking the Thames Path.
**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.
***The Oxford English Dictionary dates the first use of the word “slumming” to 1884. It applies to a phenomenon called slum tourism, poverty tourism or ghetto tourism which involves wealthy people visiting impoverished areas of cities. Originally focused on the slums and ghettos of London and Manhattan in the Nineteenth Century, in London people visited slum neighbourhoods such as Whitechapel or Shoreditch to observe life in this situation – a phenomenon which caused great offence to the locals, since they seldom if ever gained from the ogling of their social superiors who were there for the spectacle rather than philanthropic reasons, the spoils going to the tour operators. By 1884 wealthier people in New York City began to visit the Bowery and the Five Points, Manhattan on the Lower East Side, neighbourhoods of poor immigrants, to see "how the other half lives". Sadly, slum tourism still exists today and is now prominent in South Africa, India, Brazil, Kenya, Philippines, Russia and the United States.
****Craven A (stylised as Craven "A") is a British brand of cigarette, currently manufactured by British American Tobacco under some of its subsidiaries; it was originally created by the Carreras Tobacco Company in 1921 and made by them until its merger into Rothmans International in 1972, who then produced the brand until Rothmans was acquired by British American Tobacco in 1999. The cigarette brand is named after the third Earl of Craven, after the "Craven Mixture", a tobacco blend formulated for the 3rd Earl in the 1860s by tobacconist Don José Joaquin Carreras. The year of release of the Craven "A" brand coincided with the well-publicised death of the 4th Earl of Craven in a yachting accident on the 10th of July 1921. It was the first machine-made cork-tipped cigarette, and it became a household name in over one hundred and twenty countries with the slogan "Will Not Affect Your Throat".
*****’The Laughing Policeman’ is a music hall song recorded by British artist Charles Penrose, published under the pseudonym Charles Jolly in 1922, making it one of the most popular songs of 1922 in Britain. It is an adaptation of ‘The Laughing Song’ by American singer George W. Johnson with the same tune and form but different subject matter, first recorded in 1890. Charles Penrose used the melody of "The Laughing Song" as well as the same hook of using laughter in the chorus, but changed the lyrics to be about a policeman, and recorded it under the title of ‘The Laughing Policeman’. The composition of the song is, however, credited entirely to Billie Grey, a pseudonym of Penrose's second wife Mabel. The song describes a fat jolly policeman who cannot stop laughing and has a chorus in which the sound of laughter is made in a sustained semi musical way by the singer. It is thought that the character of the Laughing Policeman was inspired by real-life police officer PC John 'Tubby' Stephens, a popular figure in Leicester.
******Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut.
*******The Old Crown is a pub built on the corner of Hornsey Lane and Highgate Hill in the north London suburb of Highgate, opposite Highgate Cemetery. Established in 1821 on the steepest part of Highgate Hill, the current building dates from 1908 and features a very ornate and pretty façade including a corner turret with a green tower. The Old Crown closed its doors in 2018 to become a restaurant/bar called Tourian Lounge, where food and drink were still served, but not in an old English pub style. A century after our story is set in 2022, it is Brendan the Navigator, a self-styled gastropub with live music.
********Augustus John (1878 – 1961) was a Welsh painter, draughtsman, and etcher. For a time he was considered the most important artist at work in Britain: Virginia Woolf remarked that by 1908 the era of John Singer Sargent and Charles Wellington Furse "was over. The age of Augustus John was dawning." He was the younger brother of the painter Gwen John. Although known early in the century for his drawings and etchings, the bulk of John's later work consisted of portraits. Those of his two wives and his children were regarded as among his best. By the 1920s when this story is set, John was Britain's leading portrait painter. John painted many distinguished contemporaries, including T. E. Lawrence, Thomas Hardy, W. B. Yeats, Aleister Crowley, Lady Gregory, Tallulah Bankhead, George Bernard Shaw, the cellist Guilhermina Suggia, the Marchesa Casati and Elizabeth Bibesco.
**********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.
This jolly festive New year celebratory scene may not appear to be all it appears at first, for it is in fat made up of 1:12 scale miniatures from my large miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Made of polymer clay glazed to look oily and stuck to miniature newspaper print, the serving of golden hot chips on the table were made in England by hand by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Made from real glass with great attention to detail on the labels, the bottles of ale come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, as does the glass of dark ale, also made of glass. The glass of golden champagne is made of real glass and comes from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The two glasses of port and lemon in the low glasses come from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay. The packets of Craven “A” cigarettes come from Shephard’s Miniatures in the UK. Great attention has been paid to the labelling which makes them clearly identifiable and specific to the time between the 1920s and the late 1940s. Made of cut clear crystals set in a silver metal frames the square silver ashtray is made by an English artisan for the Little Green Workshop. It is filled with “ash” and even has a tiny cigarette sitting on its lip. The cigarette is a tiny five millimetres long and just one millimetre wide! Made of paper, I have to be so careful that it doesn’t get lost when I use it! Also made by an artisan, only an Indian one, the black ashtray also features miniature cigarettes, although all of them are affixed within the ashtray. The other glasses on the table and the carafe are all made of clear glass and were acquired from a high street stockist of miniatures when I was a young teenager.
The table on which all these items stand is a Queen Anne lamp table which I was given for my seventh birthday. It is one of the very first miniature pieces of furniture I was ever given as a child.
The fireplace surround in the background comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Supplies in the United Kingdom.
On the mantle stand more glasses acquired from a high street stockist of miniatures when I was a young teenager. There is also a bottle of beer from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop and a bottle of champagne from Karen Ladybug Miniatures.
The Staffordshire hound and fox and the “Dieu et Mon Droit” (God and My Right) vase on the mantle have all been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys.
The parlour palm in the background comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The colourful paper chains were made by me.
The two chairs I acquired from a deceased estate as part of a larger collection of miniatures. They date from the 1970s.
The wood panelling in the background is real, as I shot this scene on the wood panelled mantle of my drawing room.
JAGO: *Reading aloud to Scout, Bogart, Paddy and Cousin Paddington.* " When Cinderella arrived at the palace, it was the king’s son who offered her his hand as she alighted from her golden coach. He led her into the palace to join the glittering company gathered there. Upon her entry to the ballroom there was an immediate and profound silence. Everyone stopped dancing, the musicians ceased to play, and all heads turned, so entranced was everyone with the singular beauty of the unknown newcomer..."
BOGART: "Cinderella is going to be the belle of the ball, Jago!"
COUSIN PADDINGTON: "She certainly is, Bogart! It’s so wonderful!"
SCOUT: *Sighs.*
PADDY: "Scout! Are you paying attention to the story?"
SCOUT: "Oh yes, Paddy! Of course! I was just wondering when the woodcutter was going to arrive."
PADDY: "What woodcutter, Scout?"
SCOUT: "Why the woodcutter who is going to save Cinderella from the Big Bad Wolf to is attending the ball."
JAGO: *Looks perplexed.* "I think you might have your faerie tales confused, Scout."
BOGART: "There is no woodcutter in Cinderella, Scout."
COUSIN PADDINGTON: "Not a big bad wolf. They are both in your favourite faerie tale, Little Red Riding Hood, not Cinderella!"
SCOUT: "Well, we’ll see! This time the story might be different! Cinderella and the Prince might be dancing when suddenly the Big Bad Wolf bounds in from the garden through the French doors, scattering ball guests left and right and then they wood need a woodcutter to save them all!"
PADDY: "I’m sorry Scout, but what would be the purpose of that happening? How would that help Cinderella escape her life of drudgery and live happily ever after with the Prince?"
SCOUT: "Well, the way I see it Paddy, everyone would be in such a commotion running away from the Big Bad Wolf, that Cinderella wouldn’t notice that it was midnight."
JAGO: "But Cinderella does that already! She loses her glass slipper on the palace steps so that the Prince can find her again."
SCOUT: "Well, if that is true, Jago, but if she and the Prince were chased by the wolf and she forgot the time, her dress would get changed back to rags, but the Prince would love her so much that he wouldn’t care about her rags, and she wouldn’t have to go home to her mean old stepmother and nasty stepsisters and wait for him to rescue her!"
BOGART: "Scout does make a good argument for the introduction of the Big Bad Wolf, Paddy and Jago! "
COUSIN PADDINGTON: "I have to agree."
SCOUT: "Thank you Bogart and Cousin Paddington." *Proud.*
PADDY: "Persuasive or not, Scout, I don’t think it’s going to happen."
SCOUT: "Well, we haven’t read this version of Cinderella before, so it might be different. Please keep reading, Jago. "
JAGO: "Oh, yes, where was I? Oh yes, ‘Nothing was then heard but a confused noise of, ‘Who is she? Do we know her? How wonderful her gown! How elegant her hairstyle! How beautiful she is!’ The king himself, old as he was, could not help watching her, and telling the queen softly that it was a long time since he had seen so beautiful and lovely a creature’ Oh, hullo everyone! Paddy, Scout Cousin Paddington, Bogart and I are reading one of Daddy's very special copies of Cinderella from the 1902." *Looks up.* "Why you ask? Well, because today is International Tell a Faerie Tale Day."
BOGART: "What is International Tell a Faerie Tale Day?"
PADDY: "Well Bogart, International Tell a Faerie Tale Day is an informal observance held on the 26th of February every year. It provides a perfect opportunity to read faerie tales."
SCOUT: "But Paddy, we read faerie tales all the time, not just on the 26th of February."
PADDY: "I know Scout, but some adults need an excuse to reconnect with their inner child."
SCOUT: "Daddy doesn't! He reads as many faerie tales as we do."
PADDY: "More than us I think, Scout."
BOGART: "Oh that's sad that others don't read faerie tales as much as we do. They are missing out on so much! They are beautiful!"
SCOUT: "Except when that no good break-and-enter homewrecking Goldilocks breaks into the home of the Three Bears and makes a nuisance of herself, or when the Big Bad Wolf gobbles up Little Red Riding Hood and that was the end of the story, and when the Beast gets turned back into a crummy old prince when Beauty fell in love with him as the Beast."
PADDY: "Well, whether you think they are beautiful or not, Scout and Bogart, Daddy and I encourage you all, even if you don’t have children or your children are not at home or grown up, to not miss the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with faerie tales. It’s perfectly acceptable to read faerie tale books alone, although I prefer reading them with Daddy, Scout, Cousin Paddington, Bogart and Jago. Make a cup of yummy hot chocolate, curl up in a chair and immerse yourself in the world of princes and princesses, evil witches and mischievous faeries, dragons and unicorns, talking animals and magical plants."
SCOUT: "Hot chocolate Paddy? Oooooohhh! I'd love a hot chocolate. Grumby tummy Paddy! Grumbly tummy." *Rubs tummy vigorously.*
Paddy is right, he, Scout, Jago, Bogart and Cousin Paddington have much reading to do, as I have lent them my 1902 copy of "Cinderella or the Little Glass Slipper" published by E. P. Dutton and Company.
My Paddington Bear came to live with me in London when I was two years old (many, many years ago). He was hand made by my Great Aunt and he has a chocolate coloured felt hat, the brim of which had to be pinned up by a safety pin to stop it getting in his eyes. The collar of his mackintosh is made of the same felt. He wears wellington boots made from the same red leather used to make the toggles on his mackintosh.
He has travelled with me across the world and he and I have had many adventures together over the years. He is a very precious member of my small family.
Scout was a gift to Paddy from my friend. He is a Fair Trade Bear hand knitted in Africa. His name comes from the shop my friend found him in: Scout House. He tells me that life was very different where he came from, and Paddy is helping introduce him to many new experiences. Scout catches on quickly, and has proven to be a cheeky, but very lovable member of our closely knit family.
Travelling all the way from London, Cousin Paddington was caught in transit thanks to the Coronavirus pandemic. After so long here he has decided to stop with us permanently. That makes me happy, as the more I look into his happy, smiling face, the more attached I am becoming to him.
Jago is a recent addition to my ever-growing family. A gift from a dear friend in England, he is made of English mohair with suede paw pads and glass eyes. He is a gentle bear, kind and patient who carries an air of calm about him. He is already fitting in with everyone else very nicely.
Bogart has travelled all the way from Georgia, via Alabama as a gift to me from a friend. He has lovely Southern manners and seems to be a fun and gentle soul with an inquisitive nature.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we are not at Cavendish Mews. We have moved north-east to the upper-class London neighbourhood of Fitzrovia, where Lettice has been summoned to the Duchess of Whitby’s four storey stuccoed Georgian townhouse. Lettice was pleasantly surprised when after luncheon with her father at Cavendish Mews, she received a note a few days later delivered in person by liveried footman from the Duchess of Whitby, requesting her presence in Fitzroy Square on Tuesday morning at half past nine.
Now, standing on the sweeping steps of Portland stone she looks up at the impressive Regency façade and knocks at the black painted front door with the polished brass knocker. A liveried footman, different to the one who delivered the Duchess’ letter, answers the door.
“The Honourable Lettice Cheywnd to see Her Grace.” Lettice says firmly and the footman steps aside, ushering her from the bright daylight outside into the cool marble hallway within.
The clip of Lettice’s louis heels echo throughout the lofty entrance hall which is lit from four storeys above by a lightwell. The footman politely asks her to wait whilst he strides silently up the sweeping carpeted spiral staircase to the upper floors of the townhouse. Lettice has not long been settled into the red velvet seat of a walnut Regency chair when he returns.
“Her Grace is in the morning room, if you’d be so good as to follow me, Miss Chetwnd.”
Lettice smiles smugly as she thinks of what was written on the thick monogrammed and gilt-edged paper within the envelope delivered to her flat: in it, Lettice has been promised the full sum owing for the work done remodelling her mother’s titled cousin’s small first floor reception room in her signature Modernist Classical Revival style. It was something Lettice had all but given up on after sending the elusive Duchess several written reminders, standing on the steps outside on Fitzroy Square several times, and making numerous unreturned phone calls to the Duchess, all to no avail.
“Miss Chetwynd, Your Grace.” the footman announces as he opens the door to the morning room.
Not a room Lettice has seen before, it looks like much of what she has seen of the Duchess of Whitby’s townhouse: the classical Robert Adam design overlaid with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual acquisition over the ensuing generations. Her own family home of Glynes in Wiltshire is furnished in the same style and spirit. A cosy and feminine room, it has pretty pink wallpaper and the surfaces are decorated with figurines made by Meissen and Worcester, silver boxes, photos in silver and gilt frames and vases of fresh roses. Georgian and Regency furniture is intermixed with pieces from later periods, including a comfortable looking pink floral armchair drawn up to the fire.
Seated at a Hepplewhite bonheur de jour* writing letters and sipping tea from a gilt Royal Doulton cup is the Duchess of Whitby. Aged in her fifties, she looks not unlike Queen Mary with her morning gown showing the abundant curves of her matronly figure. Her hair is still set in the ornate style that was popular before the war. Several strings of pearls hang around her neck and cascade down her front and diamonds wink cheekily at her wrists and on her fingers.
The Duchess looks up from her tea. “Thank you, Whitby.”
“Tea, Your Grace?”
“Oh yes! I…” Lettice begins.
“No! Thank you, Whitby.” the Duchess speaks sharply over her guest. “Miss Chetwynd is a busy modern woman and hasn’t time to take tea with an old matron like me.”
“Oh yes,” Lettice replies awkwardly with a false bonhomie to cover her embarrassment at the Duchess’ snub. “Yes, I am, frightfully busy just today.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The Footman retreats and quietly closes the door to the morning room behind him.
The security and warmth Lettice felt moments ago as she stepped across the threshold of the morning room dies away, leaving her cold and decidedly uncomfortable. Silence falls thickly between the two women, with only the soft tick of the clock on the mantle and the twitter of a blackbird on a branch near the window outside to break it. The Duchess turns back to her bonheur de jour and slides open a drawer above her glittering array of silver and crystal ink pots.
“It’s very fortunate that your footman’s name is Whitby, Your Grace.” Lettice says nervously in an effort to break the silence. “It is easy to remember.”
“Indeed, and that’s why I christened him thus.” the Duchess replies haughtily, her back still turned as she rifles in another drawer for something else. “All the first footmen are always named Whitby, despite what name they may have been born with.”
“Oh.” Lettice says awkwardly. “At home in Glynes**, Mamma and Pappa just call the footmen by their surnames.”
“Yes, well,” the Duchess turns in her seat, resting her thick arms on the delicate arm of her chair and fixes Lettice, still standing in the middle of the morning room’s main carpet, with a steely stare. “You come from a rather inconsequential provincial family, Miss Chetwynd.”
“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Lettice colours at the slur to her family. “You and Mamma are cousins.”
“Shall we dispense with the pleasantries, Miss Chetwynd?” the Duchess asks, ignoring Lettice’s remark.
Lettice, finding none of this encounter with her former client at all pleasant, does not reply.
“Good!” the Duchess snaps as if Lettice’s silence is agreement. “Your father contacted me because you have seen fit to complain to him that my account with your,” She sniffs derisively. “Establishment, is in arrears.”
“Well, I have sent you two politely worded reminders, Your Grace, and paid a few calls, and telep….”
“When Sadie telephoned me,” the Duchess cuts Lettice off with her sharp tone. “I was under the impression that as a newly established interior designer, you would be grateful for a commission from someone as well known and influential as I am.”
“Oh, I was… I am, Your Grace.”
“Yet you still expect to be paid, for what you have done?”
“Well, yes Your Grace. It was a business transaction.”
“And after all I have done, by graciously allowing you to redecorate my small reception room.”
“Well, I did discuss the approximation of costs with your steward.”
“Yes, yes!” the older woman testily sweeps away whatever else Lettice was going to say with a bejewelled hand. “This cheque will cover any amount you claim to be, in arrears.”
The Duchess scribbles in a blue cheque book with a silver fountain pen, her flourishing signature scratching across the bank’s paper. She stamps the cheque heavily with her silver ink blotter and withdraws the cheque, the perforation of the paper sounding crisply across the room as it tears from the book. She holds it out with obvious distain to Lettice, who approaches quickly and takes hold of it.
There is an awkward moment when both women hold either end of the cheque, both determined that they are the ones in the right. Then with an almost imperceptible sigh, the Duchess releases it into Lettice’s welcome grasp.
The Duchess turns back to her bonheur de jour and presses a silver bell to her left. Its shrill ding rings clearly, summoning a footman or another member of the Duchess’ staff, and indicating that their meeting is concluded.
“Your Grace?” the same footman who escorted Lettice in steps into the room.
“Whitby, Miss Chetwynd is leaving.” the Duchess replies dismissively. “Kindly show her out.”
“Miss Chetwynd,” the footman says politely with an almost apologetic smile.
“Oh Miss Chetwynd,” the Duchess calls out just as Lettice turns away to go.
“Yes, Your Grace?” she asks, turning back, trying as hard as she can to retain her good manners so as not to ignore the rude old woman and storm out.
“Miss Chetwynd, kindly tell your mother, that the next time she dares to telephone me, asking me for a favour for one of her ungrateful children, I no longer have a cousin named Sadie.”
The footman quickly glances down, obviously embarrassed by his mistress’ remark to the pretty young lady whom he assumed to be a guest.
Resorting to an inner strength she did not know she possessed, Lettice manages to retain her composure as she replies with an edge of defiance, “With pleasure, Your Grace.”
Thrusting the cheque into her crocodile handbag, Lettice walks purposefully from the room with her head held high, knowing that she is in the right, both financially and morally. The Duchess may be higher ranked than she or her parents, but that is all the more reason why her good breeding should prevent her from having treated Lettice so poorly.
As the footman quietly closes the shiny black painted door behind Lettice and she descends the steps to Fitzroy Square, she knows that she will never again set foot inside the Duchess of Whitby’s Fitzrovia townhouse. However, she also knows that as her reputation as an interior designer of exquisite taste is growing, she will no longer need the Duchess’ help to promote her business.
*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
**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.
Although cluttered and somewhat old fashioned by 1920s standards, the Duchess’ Edwardian style morning room is very elegant and would have been typical of a woman of her age in the upper aristocracy at this time. The upper classes, whether titled or not, tended to enjoy their opulent and lavish interiors. Only the brave or modern thinker would have swept away the accumulation of antiques over the generations for the clean lined, stripped back Art Deco interiors fashionable in the new houses, flats and hotels being built around Britain and the world. This upper-class domestic scene is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
The Eighteenth Century Hepplewhite bonheur du jour, which is hand decorated with leaves and gilding, was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. As shown in this photo, it has a fold down top and every drawer opens and closes easily: even the one in the apex of the desk. The Hepplewhite chair is also made by Bespaq.
On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, stamps, a blotter, a roller, bell and letter rack, all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The stamp is made of brass. The silver letter rack which contains some 1:12 size correspondence, also made by the Little Green Workshop. There are also three pens and a letter opener also made of silver made by the Little Green Workshop. Atop a bill and some correspondence, which were made meticulously by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, sits a blue Bank of England cheque book, sold through Shepherd’s Miniatures in England. The gilt Art Nouveau teacup, featuring a copy of a Royal Doulton pattern, comes from a larger tea set which has been hand decorated by beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The walnut Queen Anne china cabinet in the corner of the room has a mirrored back and glass shelves. It is one of the first pieces of miniature furniture I was ever given when I was seven years old. It is filled with an array of china pieces I have acquired from various places over many years.
The Duchess’ family photos on the mantlepiece are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal.
The white and gold 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 Worcester canaries on the mantlepiece and the Meissen gentleman and lady on the sideboard were cast from pewter by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. They were hand-painted and gilded by me.
The silver Regency tea caddy and the Victorian biscuit barrel on the two tier Regency walnut occasional table are also made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. The glass vase on the table is made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. It is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with lattices of fine threads of glass to give it a faceted Art Deco look. The gold roses in the vase and the pink vases on the sideboard were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.
The round pictures hanging on ribbons were made by me when I was twelve years old. The ribbons came from my maternal Grandmother’s sewing box, and the frames are actually buttons from her button box. The images inside (two Victorian children paintings on one and three Redoute roses on the other) were cut from a magazine. The other gilt framed paintings around the room were made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The white resin Adam style fireplace is a recent acquisition. It and the Regency walnut two tier table came from an E-Bay dealer who specialises in re-selling high quality miniatures.
The pink floral armchair by the fireplace is made by Bespaq.
The Persian carpets beneath the furniture are hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.
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 her usual weekly call on her beloved parents. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. 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 in 1922, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now. The money she makes from this endeavour she uses for housekeeping to make she and George’s life a little more comfortable, but she is able to hold a little back as pin money* to indulge in one of her joys, collecting pretty china ornaments to decorate their home with.
We are in Ada’s front parlour, which is where most of her decorative porcelain finds from different shops, fairs and markets around London are proudly displayed. With busy stylised floral wallpaper and every surface cluttered with ornaments, it can only be described as Victorian in style and it is an example of conscious consumption, rather than qualitative consumption, to demonstrate how prosperous the Watsford family is. Like many others of its kind in Harlesden and elsewhere in London, it is the room least used in the house, reserved for when special guests like the parish minister or wealthy old widow Mrs. Hounslow pay a call. Yet in spite of that, the front parlour’s clutter needs cleaning and dusting, and Edith is helping her mother do so today, all the while regaling her with the story about Lettice’s newest gadget, the wireless.
“Oh Mum!” Edith gushes enthusiastically, waving her dust cloth around animatedly. “It was amazing! It’s like having a whole band inside a little box!”
“As good as listening to the brass bands that play in the rotunda at King Edward VII’s Park**, Edith love?” Ada asks in amazement.
“Every bit as good as them, or the ones in Regent Park, Mum.”
“Well I never!” Ada pauses dusting a brightly painted bust of Queen Victoria on the parlour’s sideboard with her feather duster as she contemplates such a contraption. “Fancy that! A band in a box!” she gasps. “And you say it isn’t run by electricity then, Edith love?”
“No, it has a battery inside. That’s why it’s called a wireless, Mum.”
“Well, what won’t they think of next!”
“And the British Broadcasting Company*** plays news as well as music, every day.”
“Even on Sundays?”
“Even on Sundays, Mum. Miss Lettice says that I’m allowed to listen to it when I’m dusting the drawing room.”
“That’s very generous of Miss Chetwynd, Edith. I hope you said thank you to her.”
“Oh I did, Mum, but,” Edith pauses for a moment before continuing on a little more disappointedly. “Well, the broadcasts aren’t usually playing when I’m cleaning in there as it’s far too early. They only broadcast for a few hours a day, but Mr. Spencely, that’s Miss Lettice’s chap, says that will change once the wireless catches on. Besides, I don’t see why I can’t listen to it when Miss Lettice is out visiting or down in Wiltshire. What’s the harm?”
“Lucky Miss Chetwynd, and lucky you then, Edith love.”
“I didn’t think I’d take to it at first. We have enough contraptions in the flat, what with that awful telephone thing ringing away loudly day and night like the devil that it is.” Edith nods dourly.
“Well, those telephone contraptions are unnatural!” Ada frowns disapprovingly.
“That’s what I say, Mum.”
“Who needs a machine to talk into when it’s every bit as easy to send a postcard**** to convey your message? Not that it will because it’s just a toy for the toffs,” Ada scoffs. “But were that telephone thing ever to catch on, it would do our poor mailmen out of jobs.”
Edith looks across at where her mother, having picked up the feather duster, is cleaning again. As well as the bust of Queen Victoria there are commemorative plates marking the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1897, coronation of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra in 1902 and King George V and Queen Mary in 1911, as well as a plate featuring King Edward VII which was present from her Aunt Maude to her mother when she took a holiday to Folkstone. “I wonder what she would think of it?”
“Who?” Ada asks, pausing and looking across at her daughter, dusting cloth in hand over the tea table.
“The old Queen, Mum. I wonder what she’d make of the wireless.”
“I wonder what the old Queen would make about a lot of things from the Twentieth Century.” Ada replies. “The world has changed so much, even in the last twenty-two years since she has been gone, god rest her soul. There’s motorcars and lorries replacing horse drawn carriages and carts, and electricity being used more often and by more people these days.”
“Not that you have it here, Mum.” Edith adds cheekily, pointing to the three burner gasolier overhead.
“I should hope not! It’s unnatural, just like the telephone.” Her eyes grow wide. “I’ll stick with what I know, thank you very much.”
“Well, I use electricity at Miss Lettice’s, and I did at Mrs. Plaistow’s, and it hasn’t done me any harm.”
“So you think!” Ada wags the feather duster at her daughter, a shower of dust motes flying angrily from her agitation, tumbling through the air of the parlour between them. “You don’t know yet. Some of these things take time to show any ill effects.” She sighs. “But I hope for your sake, not. But going back to the old Queen and the music in a box, I’d like to think she’d like it.”
“Do you think, Mum? She was such an old lady.”
“She wasn’t always an old lady, you know, Edith love! Like all of us, she was young once, too.”
“It’s hard to believe.”
“That’s because you were still a babe in nappies, not even one, when she died, so all you know are images of her late in life. Even when I was young, the Queen was still a distant figure, although she was popular around the time of her Diamond Jubilee. But you listen to my Grandma, your Great Grandma, and she’d tell you different. Before her husband died, the Queen was ever so interested in new things. She used to take the train, when it was new and experimental, all over the country, and she took up photography when it was new. So why shouldn’t she have been interested in the wireless box. Tell me, is it easy to operate?”
“Oh yes Mum!” Edith assures her mother. “There is a knob to turn it on or off, a knob to adjust the volume, and a knob to tune it in, but once you have the radio station, you don’t need to tune it again. It does make a nasty noise when you first turn it on, but that’s only because it has valves inside and they have tow arm up. That only takes a minute or two, and then you have beautiful music, or news reports or whatever.”
“Well, it does sound splendid, Edith love.”
“Frank says that eventually everyone will have a wireless.”
“Does he now, Edith love?” Ada says with a snort and a doubtful smile.
“He does, Mum!”
“He sounds like a bit of a dreamer, does your Frank.” Ada replies. “Not that there is anything wrong with having dreams, mind you. We all have to dream of something.”
“Yes but Frank says that now is the time for the working man, and woman too.”
“I say, Edith love,” Ada asks in a worried voice. “He’s not one of those Communists is he? You know, overthrow the King and government and create anarchy like they did in Russia with the poor Tsar?”
“No Mum!” Edith laughs. “Like I’d step out with a Communist. No, Frank just thinks with all the new inventions being developed, wages increasing and things getting a bit more affordable for everyone, that it’s a better time to be a working person.”
“Well, I have to agree that things are getting better for us as working people. We live better quality lives, but I don’t think it is ‘our time’ as you say he says. This wireless thing may be wonderful, but it’s a rich man’s toy, just like the telephone contraption.”
“He believes in the emancipation of women, Mum.” Edith adds hopefully.
“Ahh, now on that point I think your Frank and I agree. Which is more than can be said for her.” Ada taps the crown on the bust of Queen Victoria. “I’m glad your Frank believes in the vote for all of us. Let’s hope it happens in both our lifetimes.*****”
The two ladies carry on dusting in silence for a short while before Ada asks, “Thinking of Frank, are you any closer to meeting his grandmother?”
“I did mention it to Frank when we went down to the Angel down in Rotherhithe on New Year’s Eve, Mum.”
“And what did he say, Edith love?”
“Well, he told me that he’s told her about me.”
“That’s good.”
“He says that she might be a bit jealous of me usurping her.”
“Usurping her? What on earth does that mean, Edith love?” Ada asks in alarm. “It sounds like you’re trying to hurt her!”
“It means to take the place of someone.” Edith replies proudly. “Frank taught me that.”
“Did he indeed.” Ada cocks an eyebrow.
“Anyway, once she’s adjusted herself to the idea of me being in Frank’s life, he’ll ask me around for tea at her house in Upton Park.”
“And when’s that likely to be?” Ada asks with concern.
“In a few weeks Frank says.” Edith replies brightly. “She’s apparently already starting to come around to the idea.”
“Well that is good to hear, Edith love. I respect that your Frank wants to do things properly and introduce you to his family first, but your Dad and I are most anxious to meet him, you know.”
“Patience Mum! If I can wait, you can too. It will happen soon enough.”
“Enough of your cheek, young lady!” Ada retorts playfully. “I’ve the patience of a saint managing you and your brother when you were little!”
“We weren’t that bad, were we Mum?”
“Don’t you believe it! Your brother wanted to do anything his big sister did.” Ada chuckles, looking at the two family photos on the mantlepiece: one with George and Ada and Edith and one with the three of them and Edith’s little brother, Bert. Suddenly, she gasps. “I almost forgot! I got a letter from your brother the other day. It’s on the mantle in the kitchen. Goodness knows I’d forget my head if it weren’t screwed on!” She taps her head lightly three times with her fist. “It says he should be home soon, and he says he’s got something for you from his travels. Come on, Edith love. It’s time we had a nice cup of tea anyway. Let’s go read it over a pot, eh? Then we’ll come back and finish the dusting.”
Edith and Ada both put down their cleaning tools and laughing and continuing to chat jovially, they walk out of the front parlour and head down the short corridor to the kitchen at the back of the house.
*Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.
**King Edward VII Park is a large park in Willesden between Uffington Road, All Souls Avenue and Doyle Gardens. It features a large recreational ground, a sports ground, a rotunda, and although now gone, had one of London’s most popular lidos, an outdoor pool, which opened in 1911, with the adjoining chalet café.
***The British Broadcasting Company, as the BBC was originally called, was formed on the 18th of October 1922 by a group of leading wireless manufacturers including Marconi. Daily broadcasting by the BBC began in Marconi's London studio, 2LO, in the Strand, on November the 14th, 1922. John Reith, a thirty-three-year-old Scottish engineer, was appointed General Manager of the BBC at the end of 1922. Following the closure of numerous amateur stations, the BBC started its first daily radio service in London – 2LO. After much argument, news was supplied by an agency, and music drama and “talks” filled the airwaves for only a few hours a day. It wasn't long before radio could be heard across the nation, especially when radio stations were set up outside of London, like on the 6th of March when the BBC first broadcast from Glasgow via station 5SC.
****One hundred years ago, postcards were the most common and easiest way to communicate with loved ones not only across countries whilst on holidays, but across neighbourhoods on a daily basis with the minutiae of life on them. This is because unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily basis, there were several deliveries done a day. Postcards were cheap and plentiful, and readily available, so as long as you knew how to write and how to read, it was a cost effective way of communicating your intentions. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman in a single day, excluding Sundays. This means that people in the early Twentieth Century amassed vast collections of picture postcards which today are highly collectible depending upon their theme.
*****It was not until the Equal Franchise Act of 1928 that women over the age of twenty-one were able to vote in Britain and women finally achieved the same voting rights as men.
This cluttered sideboard may look realistic to you, however it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The bust of Queen Victoria was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. It has been hand painted by me.
The commemorative plates of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897, the Coronation of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra in 1902 and the Coronation of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911 are all made by the British miniature artist Rachel Munday. The plate on the far left is a piece of souvenir ware from around 1905 and is made of very finely pressed tin.
The feather duster on the parlour sideboard I made myself using fledgling feathers (very spring) which I picked up off the lawn one day thinking they would come in handy in my miniatures collection sometime. I bound them with thread to the handle which is made from a fancy ended toothpick!
The little white vase to the far right of the photo is mid Victorian and would once have been part of a tiny doll’s tea service. It is Parian Ware. Parian Ware is a type of biscuit porcelain imitating marble. It was developed around 1845 by the Staffordshire pottery manufacturer Mintons, and named after Paros, the Greek island renowned for its fine-textured, white Parian marble, used since antiquity for sculpture.
The ‘home sweet home’ embroidery and the painting on the wall come from online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures, as does the Art Nouveau vase on the left hand side of the picture.
The sideboard is a piece I bought as part of a larger drawing room suite of dolls house furniture from a department store when I was a teenager.
Modavia Fashion Marketing is pleased to offer an exclusive group gift by Del May – the pose used for the group advertising image on the latest MFD – only available at her gallery on MODAVIA.
The gift pack includes also a variant of the same pose – be sure to stop by and check out her gallery and her artwork upstairs.
To grab the gift, remember to have your Modavia Fashion Marketing group tag active. To find the group either click on the inviter in the Del May Gallery at Modavia, click here or copy and paste the following link into the local chat in-world and click to join:
secondlife:///app/group/b821995e-f38e-6968-26de-753a78b92b8a/about
Happy shopping at Modavia!
_____
Image credits:
Jacket by Bliss Couture
Pants by Peqe
Photography by Del May
⏳🌞 Few more days left of the BackBone Summer Splash Sale! Dive in now and enjoy a refreshing 50% off everything (excluding gift cards and new releases) while you still can. 🌊🌴
Hurry, this incredible sale only lasts until July 8th at the BackBone Main Store. Don't miss out on these fantastic deals before it's too late! ⏳️
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Lettice is visiting her family home over the Christmastide and New Year period. She motored down to Wiltshire with her 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. His family, the Brutons, are neighbours to the Cheywynds with their properties sharing boundaries. That is how Gerald and Lettice came to be such good friends. However, whilst both families are landed gentry with lineage going back centuries, unlike Lettice’s family, Gerald’s live in a much smaller baronial manor house and are in much more straitened circumstances.
It is mid-morning and Lettice pads as quietly as possible across the cavernous Adam style entrance hall of Glynes, the louis heels of her shoes echoing around the space. Anxiously she looks over her shoulder down the corridor that passes the morning room, her mother’s domain where she knows Lady Sadie is right now, and where she does not wish to be drawn into. She turns to her right and walks up to a pair of beautiful walnut double doors and knocks loudly.
“Come!” comes a muffled male voice from inside.
Lettice opens the doors and walks through into the light filled library where she is greeted by the comforting smell of old books and woodsmoke. Although as masculine as the morning room is feminine, Lettice feels far more at home in her father’s library, partially because it is his domain and also because he and she both know that, with her reading extending not much further than The Lady*, Horse and Hound** or a sedate Regency romance, Lady Sadie is unlikely to disturb either of them as long as they remain within the library’s four walls. The walls of the long room are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. Weak wintery sunlight drifts through the tall windows facing out to the front of the house, burnishing the polished parquetry floors in a ghostly way. The fire, another constant in the library, crackles contentedly. And there, sitting at his Chippendale desk, sits Viscount Wrexham, dealing with estate business.
“Ah! My darling girl!” the Viscount puts aside his pen, pushes his chair back over the richly woven carpet and stands.
Lettice walks down the length of the room carrying a tapestry carpet bag in shades of red wine and moss green – a piece of luggage that she used to convey her Christmas presents for the family down to Wiltshire, and the only piece that does not match any of her other elegant deep blue leather Vuitton*** luggage that accompanied her from London in Gerald’s motorcar.
“Have you a moment to spare for me, Pappa!” Lettice asks as she reaches her father’s desk.
“Yes,” the Viscount says a little wearily. “Only if it isn’t too long. Shall I ring for tea?”
When Lettice nods eagerly, the Viscount pulls the handle of the servants call bell. The Chetwynd’s faithful butler, Bramley’s, familiar footfall outside the library door precedes his knock, and he is quickly dispatched with an order for tea to be served indulgently in the Viscount’s favourite blue and white gilt Art Nouveau tea set.
Sitting opposite her father at his desk, Lettice ponders her father’s face, which looks wan, and she notices the dark circles in the sagging flesh under his eyes. “You look and sound tired, Pappa.” she states matter-of-factly. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, your brother and I have to deal with some not too pleasant business at Mile End Farm. It’s been keeping me awake at night, and I didn’t want to deal with it before Christmas.”
“What business, Pappa?”
“Estate business.” The Viscount brushes his daughter off with a dismissive wave. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about.”
“If it is causing you to have sleepless nights, and as the estate is our family’s, I think it is very much my business, Pappa.” Lettice presses. “Even if Leslie is to inherit it, and not me. Have you difficulties with old Farmer Cooper again?”
“Well,” the Viscount admits. “Since you insist, yes. Ever since his son died in Ypres, and his wife of influenza, he’s taken to drinking heavily, and all but given up on Mile End Farm, and I can’t have such fertile soil untilled. If Cooper doesn’t start working the farm again, Leslie and I will have no choice but to break his leasehold in favour of another farmer.”
“But Coopers have been farming Mile End Farm for generations.” Lettice protests.
“The estate is getting expensive to maintain. Taxes have increased to help pay for the war that the Kaiser dragged us into, yet the Weimar Republic won’t pay for****,” The Viscount sighs heavily. “And I can’t afford to run a charity any more, not even for the likes of Cooper, however long his family have worked our estate.”
“Charity?”
“He’s not paid his rent.”
“How in arrears is he?”
“Three months.”
“Oh my!” Lettice’s hand goes to her mouth.
“Now you see why I didn’t want to deal with this before Christmas.” The Viscount sighs sadly again. “For all his latter faults, Cooper doesn’t deserve to be given an ultimatum on Christmas Eve. But, I can’t wait any longer. I have at least three farmers I know of who would give their eye teeth to be given Mile End Farm to work, and as the future owner of the estate, Leslie needs to know how it works.”
“That’s sad, Pappa.”
“This is the new post-war world, Lettice. You know as much as anyone that the world has changed, inexorably so. If Cooper chooses to drink his life away, I can’t stop him.”
Their conversation is interrupted by the gentle knocking at the door.
“Come!” Viscount Wrexham calls commandingly again.
Bramley enters carrying a silver tray laden with the blue and white gild Art Nouveau tea things, just as requested. “Tea, My Lord.”
“Very good, Bramley.” the Viscount acknowledges the butler. “We’ll have it here, I think.” He looks to his daughter. “Yes?” To which she nods in reply.
With the tea things set up on the gilt tooled brown leather surface of the Viscount’s Chippendale desk, and Bramley discreetly retreated beyond the library doors this Viscount says, “Now, before Leslie and I pay a call on Cooper, what is it you wanted to see me about, my girl?”
“Well Pappa,” Lettice replies. “I need your advice on these.”
Lettice withdraws the four silhouettes in black ebonised frames that she bought from Mrs. Trevithick’s Treasures when working on Margot and Dickie’s house in Cornwall and places them on her father’s desk.
“And what have we here?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he admires the two Regency gentlemen and the Georgian lady and gentleman in black on white within the thin black frames. “Hhhmmm.” He scratches his cleanly shaven chin and ruminates quietly. “These look a little bit like something your mother has in the morning room. Wouldn’t you be better asking her?”
“Oh no, Pappa!” Lettice exclaims awkwardly and with a little too much protesting to be polite. “Mamma would only tell me what I already know about them.”
“And what do you know about them, my girl? What does your interior designer eye tell you?”
“They are silhouettes and two are Regency, or early Victorian and two are Georgian. The two gentlemen appear to be cut paper, and the Georgian couple possibly painted.”
“Where did you acquire these from, Lettice?”
“From a little curiosity shop in Cornwall when I was doing preliminary works on the redecoration of Dickie and Margot Channon’s house. I thought you might have a book on the subject?” Lettice asks hopefully.
The Viscount settles back in his seat and sips tea from his gilt edged cup, the blue and gilding glowing in the electric light of the chandelier overhead. He gazes around the shelves about them. Lettice holds her breath in anticipation of her father’s answer, not daring to speak for fear of breaking his considered concentration. Only the gentle ticking of the clock on the mantle and the quiet cracking of the fire breaking the silence.
“I think I do have a book on silhouettes here somewhere.”
He heaves himself out of his seat with a groan and dragging his library steps along the parquet floor to a section of shelves near the fireplace, he climbs up to one of the upper shelves. “I’m sure I had something up here, possibly ordered by your mother when she had a mania for collecting silhouettes that ended up in here when she grew tired of it.” He begins running his fingers along the dark vellum volumes with gilt letting and others with brightly coloured dustjackets. “Ah! Here we are!” He pulls out a blue coloured volume with gilt lettering. “The history of Silhouettes by E. Nevill Jackson*****!”
Taking the volume over to the desk, the pair begin to look through the photographic plates in the book, scanning image after image, sipping their tea as companionably they look at silhouette after beautiful silhouette.
“I’d say, looking at this,” Lettice points to an image of a gentleman in a top hat. “That the two gentlemen may be Swiss or German. See the similarity in the cut of the frock coats.”
“Very good, Lettice.” her father replies approvingly. “Well spotted, my girl. And they are thin card like these.” He indicates to the notes about how the image was created. “This would make them Biedermeier, then.”
They continue to look.
“Ahh, now this is interesting,” the Viscount announces as they reach a page featuring five very fine silhouettes. “Your Georgian couple, unlike the Biedermeier pair, appear to be Indian ink painted on paper, and look like the work of Francis Torond*******.”
“Who was Francis Torond?” Lettice asks excitedly.
“Let’s consult Ms Jackson’s biography section.” The Viscount flicks through the book. “Here we are. Francis Torond was French, but emigrated to England around 1796.” He scans the biography. “He only worked as a silhouette artist for about ten years. He painted in Indian ink on fine paper using a quill pen for fine detail. His works are usually in framed in oval turned ebonized wood or oval giltwood frames.” Lettice gasps. “And his works are often identified through trade labels. Let’s see.” The Viscount turns the picture of the Georgian lady over and using his silver letter opener, carefully prises the backing from its frame, and the pair see a very dirty paper label pasted across the back of the portrait. “There we are! Torond, number thirteen Wells Street, London. This is a Frances Torond! And I’ll wager the pair is then too!”
Outside in the entrance hall, the distant trill of the telephone can be heard ringing out anxiously.
“How much did you pay for them?” the Viscount asks, continuing to look at the portraits before him.
“Fifteen shillings each.”
“Quite the bargain then, I’d say.” the Viscount says proudly with an approving nod. “Canny girl.”
Their conversation is interrupted yet again by the gentle knocking at the library door.
“Come!” Viscount Wrexham calls commandingly again.
Bramley pokes his head around the door. “Sorry to disturb, My Lord.”
“Good heavens Bramley! Is Leslie here already?” the Viscount asks anxiously. “I’m afraid Lettice and I have quite lost track of the time. We’ve been quite engrossed in successfully solving a little mystery.”
“Ahh… no My Lord. It’s the telephone. My Lord.”
“Who is it then, Bramley?”
“It’s actually for Miss Lettice, My Lord.” the butler replies coolly in his friendly baritone voice.
“For me?” Lettice raises her hand to the pearls at her throat and toys with them.
“Yes, My Lady. It’s Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon******** ringing from St. Paul's, Walden Bury.”
“Oh well, I’ll take the telephone call in here then, Bramley.” Lettice says, walking over to the small round three legged Georgian pedestal table the old fashioned black candlestick telephone stands on. ‘That is if you don’t mind, Father.”
“Not at all.” the Viscount acquiesces.
Lettice picks up the telephone and picks up the receiver in her left hand, placing it to her ear, and speaks clearly into the round mouthpiece of the candlestick base that she holds in her right hand. “Hullo Elizabeth darling!” she exclaims happily. “What an unexpected surprise! Merry Christmas and happy New Year.” A distant female voice speaks down the line. “Oh yes! Yes, it was marvellous. Mamma wasn’t too painful. Lally, Charles and the children came up, and so did Aunt Egg, of course. And Pappa,” She glances over at her father who has resumed looking at the silhouette portraits in an effort to be discreet and not overhear his daughter’s conversation. “Gave me a wonderful book on Egyptian art. He thinks that the discovery like the boy king’s tomb by Mr. Carter********* in Egypt is going to start a new wave of Egyptomania**********.” She smirks. “How was yours?” She listens to Elizabeth’s voice. “Is he?” The voice at the other end grows more excited. “Did he really? Again?” The voice answers animatedly. “And what did you say?” Even the Viscount, however discreet with his back turned, cannot help but pick up his ears to his daughter’s conversation. “You did? Oh congratulations, Elizabeth darling!” Lettice beams with delight. “No misgivings this time, I hope?” She listens again. “Well, that is a relief! How absolutely thrilling!” She listens again. “Oh, thank you Elizabeth darling! Oh yes I’d love to!” The voice at the other end of the telephone grows more serious. “Well of course I will! How could I refuse? Well, I’ll be back in London the day after tomorrow. Gerald’s motoring us both back to town. You must come over for tea, or cocktails and tell me all about it.” The voice speaks again. “Yes, alright Elizabeth darling. Yes… yes, I shall see you then. And congratulations again! Alright. Goodbye for now!”
Lettice hangs up the receiver and squeals with delight.
“Well!” Lettice gasps with excitement. “You’ll never guess who that was, Pappa!”
“I was led to believe by Bramley that it was your friend, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon.” her father says dourly.
“She won’t be Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon much longer! The Duke of York proposed for a third time, and this time she said yes!” Lettice squeals again, jumping up and down on the spot. “She’s going to become the Duchess of York!”
“Well, that is jolly news!” the Viscount replies. “I can’t wait to tell your mother! She’ll be beside herself with joy that she entertained the future Duchess of York here at the Hunt Ball last year! I might even get a few days without any quibbles from her thanks to the news. Here’s hoping, anyway.” He crosses his fingers. “I say,” he adds dourly at the end. “I do hope she knows what she’s doing, getting married to the Windsors. I can’t say I’d fancy the King and Queen as my in-laws, Queen Mary especially!”
“I suppose since this is the third time the Duke of York proposed, that she realises. She says that she has no misgivings this time. I’ll have to get Gerald to design me a new dress and get Harriet to make me a hat for the wedding.”
“When will the wedding take place?”
“Elizabeth doesn’t know yet, but I don’t imagine it will be too far away.”
“Yes, no doubt the Windsors want to secure her for the Duke and marry them quickly before she changes her mind, if this is the third proposal.”
*The Lady is one of Britain's longest-running women's magazines. It has been in continuous publication since 1885 and is based in London. It is particularly notable for its classified advertisements for domestic service and child care; it also has extensive listings of holiday properties.
**Horse and Hound is the oldest equestrian weekly magazine of the United Kingdom. Its first edition was published in 1884. The magazine contains horse industry news, reports from equestrian events, veterinary advice about caring for horses, and horses for sale.
***Louis Vuitton Malletier, commonly known as Louis Vuitton, is a French luxury fashion house and company founded in 1854 by Louis Vuitton. The label's LV monogram appears on most of its products, ranging from luxury bags and leather goods to ready-to-wear, shoes, watches, jewellery, accessories, sunglasses and books. The Louis Vuitton label was founded by Vuitton in 1854 on Rue Neuve des Capucines in Paris. Louis Vuitton started at $10,567 as a sales price. Louis Vuitton had observed that the HJ Cave Osilite trunk could be easily stacked. In 1858, Vuitton introduced his flat-topped trunks with Trianon canvas, making them lightweight and airtight. Before the introduction of Vuitton's trunks, rounded-top trunks were used, generally to promote water runoff, and thus could not be stacked. It was Vuitton's grey Trianon canvas flat trunk that allowed the ability to stack them on top of another with ease for voyages. Many other luggage makers later imitated Vuitton's style and design, but Vuitton was the choice of luggage for the rich and influential.
****In order to repay the expenditures made by the British during the Great War, like had been occurring since the Napoleonic Wars, the government increased Income Tax. The standard rate of income tax, which was six per cent in 1914, stood at thirty per cent in 1918. Following the ratification of article 231 of the Treaty of Versailles at the conclusion of the Great War, the Central Powers were made to give war reparations to the Allied Powers. Each of the defeated powers was required to make payments in either cash or kind. Because of the financial situation in Austria, Hungary, and Turkey after the war, few to no reparations were paid and the requirements for reparations were cancelled. Bulgaria, having paid only a fraction of what was required, saw its reparation figure reduced and then cancelled. Due to the lack of reparation payments by Germany, France occupied the Ruhr in 1923 to enforce payments, causing an international crisis and hyperinflation in Germany. As a result of all of this, income tax rates amongst the wealthy were maintained at a high level, far in excess of those charged in the years before the war, making the management of estates very difficult if they were not productive.
*****“The History of Silhouettes” by Emily Neville Jackson was published by The Connoisseur, in London in 1911. The first edition has blue cloth boards with gilt lettering on the cover. It has one hundred and twenty one pages of text and bibliography with an additional seventy two plates of photographs of silhouettes. Emily Jackson was a noted collector and authority on silhouettes, especially the work of Auguste Amant Constant Fidèle Edouart, who was a French-born portrait artist who worked in England, Scotland and the United States in the Nineteenth Century who specialised in silhouette portraits.
*******Francis Torond was an accomplished and successful silhouette artist of the late Georgian and Regency periods in England. He experienced financial difficulty and decided it was not a profitable career, so sadly only worked as a profilist for a decade. He is renowned today for his exquisite conversation pieces, and also for his clare-obscur style – the technique of using light and shade in a pictorial piece of art. Born around 1743, he emigrated withhis family from France to England around 1776, settling in Westminster in London. Francis Torond painted entirely in Indian ink on fine laid paper, using a quill pen to depict detail. He was incredibly skilled in highlighting the details of clothing and the background in which his sitters were painted. China, furniture and lighting were all beautifully painted. He did not use any mechanical means to produce his silhouettes, and he advertised that he could copy any silhouette onto furniture or jewellery. He died at his St Giles home in 1812.
********Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
*********On the 4th of November 1922, English archaeologist Howard Carter and his men discovered the entrance to the boy king, Pharaoh Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings. He unseals the entrance on the 16th of February 1923, discovering the most intact Egyptian burial chamber ever unearthed. It sparks a worldwide interest in all things Egyptian. The craze he started became known as Tutmania, and it inspired everything from the architecture of public building and private houses alike to interior design and fashion. Famously at the time, socialite Dolores Denis Denison applied one of the earliest examples of getting the media of the day to pay attention to her because of her dress by arriving at the prestigious private view of the King Tut Exhibition in London, dressed as an Egyptian mummy complete in a golden sarcophagus and had to be carried inside by her driver and a hired man. Although it started before the discovery of the tomb, the Art Deco movement was greatly influenced by Egyptian style. Many of the iconic decorative symbols we associate with the movement today came about because of Howard Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
**********Egyptomania refers to a period of renewed interest in the culture of ancient Egypt sparked by Napoleon's Egyptian Campaign in the 19th century. Napoleon was accompanied by many scientists and scholars during this Campaign, which led to a large interest after the documentation of ancient monuments in Egypt. The ancient remains had never been so thoroughly documented before and so the interest in ancient Egypt increased significantly. Jean-François Champollion deciphered the ancient hieroglyphs in 1822 by using the Rosetta Stone that was recovered by French troops in 1799 which began the study of scientific Egyptology.
Cluttered with books and art, Viscount Wrexham’s library with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the Viscount’s library are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are all the books you see both open and closed on the Viscount’s Chippendale desk. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside one of the books he has made. “The History of Silhouettes” by Emily Nevill Jackson was published by The Connoisseur, in London in 1911. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume and the others, the book contains thirty double sided pages of silhouette images and script and measures thirty-three millimetres in height and thirty millimetres in width and is only five millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just one of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
The miniature silhouettes that Lettice bought in Cornwall were made by Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Art Nouveau tea set I acquired from an online specialist of miniatures in E-Bay.
Also on the desk to the left stands a stuffed white owl on a branch beneath a glass cloche. A vintage miniature piece, the foliage are real dried flowers and grasses, whilst the owl is cut from white soapstone. The base is stained wood and the cloche is real glass. This I acquired along with two others featuring shells (one of which can be seen in the background) from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles and a blotter on a silver salver all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame.
The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.
In the background you can see the book lined shelves of Viscount Wrexham’s as well as a Victorian painting of cattle in a gold frame from Amber’s Miniatures in America, and a hand painted ginger jar from Thailand which stands on a Bespaq plant stand.
The Persian rug you can just glimpse in the bottom left-hand corer of the photo was hand woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we 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. Lettice has been commissioned to redecorate their dining room, after Minnie decided to have a go at it herself with disastrous results.
The day is bright and sunny as the weather starts to turn to warmer weather, and the street is quiet with only the footsteps of perambulating neighbours enjoying the good weather and occasional bark of a dog, which blend with 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 sound of unhurried footsteps in the hallway that echo with authority as they approach.
The door is opened by a tall middle-aged woman wearing the blue and white striped print dress that is the morning uniform of many women in service around the upper-class houses of London. She wears a crisp white apron over the high buttoned frock, and her pale and slightly bony face framed by dark wavy hair appears from beneath a stiffly starched and goffered morning maid’s cap.
“Good morning, Madam.” the maid says in an Irish brogue, her face changing dramatically as she smiles down at Lettice.
Given the unfortunate nickname ‘Monstrous Minnie’ by Lettice’s old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy and of her Embassy Club coterie, Minnie has the propensity to have fits of histrionics, often ending in her yelling, crying, or both. Such outbursts, often directed towards her maids for the smallest infraction or irritation, make Minnie a far from attractive employer, in spite of the higher-than-average wages that she pays. Since she and Charles moved in to St John’s Wood around twelve months ago, she has been through nine maids within the first seven of those. Lettice is pleased to see Siobhan still answering the front door after five months, and still smiling.
“Good morning Siobhan.” Lettice answers with a sigh of relief, releasing the breath she has been holding ever since she climbed the stairs to the townhouse. Lettice is never quite sure what she will be faced with, or whom, when she visits the Palmerstons. “How are you?”
“Oh, one mustn’t grumble, Madam. Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” Lettice says as she steps over the threshold and into the townhouse’s vestibule. “Is your mistress at home?”
“Yes,” Siobhan says with a certain weariness and resignation as she helps Lettice out of her fox fur stole and her favourite powder blue coat and hangs the up on the heavy Victorian coatrack.
“That doesn’t sound promising, Siobhan.” Lettice says cautiously.
Minnie hired Siobhan because she thought that as she was Irish, she would be used to high spirits and histrionics, and from all that Lettice has gathered from her friend since the new maid started, it seems she was right. Siobhan has taken no offence to any outburst from her mistress, and to her credit, has even pulled her mistress into line a few times, which only a woman sure of herself and her beliefs could do without risking dismissal and a poor reference.
“Oh no. She’s fine, Madam.” the Irish maid elucidates with a sigh. “But she’s been like a naughty child around a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve ever since your men arrived two days ago with the new dining room furnishings.”
“Oh.” Lettice mutters, trying to remain serious at the maid’s complaint, but unable to hide the smile of mirth that turns up the corner of her mouth.
“I can’t keep her out of there for love nor money, Madam.”
At that moment their conversation is interrupted by an excited scream.
“Lettice! Lettice darling! Is that you?” echoes Minnie’s voice loudly from upstairs.
“See what I mean.” Siobhan mutters.
With a thump of excited footsteps, Minnie appears on the landing wrapped in a blue jacquard kimono of polychromatic silk with an embroidered collar and cuffs. Taking in her friend’s appearance, Lettice presumes she is halfway through getting dressed for an outing, for she has a soft green frock on beneath the robe, which hangs open, but her feet are still clad in vibrant pink satin mules with marabou feather trim.
“I knew it was you!” Minnie exclaims and she hurtles down the stairs with thudding footsteps and the next moment Lettice is enveloped in an embrace of blue, red and green satin which smells faintly of a mixture of Habinita* and cigarettes. Looking up into her excited face, Lettice can see that Minnie’s eye makeup is only half done. “How are you, Lettice darling?”
Lettice feels Minnie’s whispery kiss on her cheek as she is released from her friend’s enthusiastic embrace. “I’m very well thank you, Minnie darling. And you seem very excited.”
“Oh I am, darling! I am positively in raptures over the things that have been arriving with your men to redecorate my dining room with.”
“Told you.” mutters Siobhan with a knowing look to Lettice.
As if by her speaking, Minnie suddenly becomes aware of her maid’s presence, she says, “Haven’t you got some dusting or airing to do, Siobhan?”
“Yes, Madam.” The Irish maid replies with her eyebrows arching over her dark brown glittering eyes, before bobbing a curtsey and walking off down the hallway towards the rear of the house.
“She seems to be fitting in well.” Lettice nods after the retreating back of the domestic, smiling cheekily.
“Oh yes!” Minnie sighs. “Although she has more backbone than the maids I’m used to. Still, I have to confess that if she’s willing to put up with me, I should be able to tolerate her backbone.” She follows Lettice’s gaze.
The pair watch the maid disappear through a door at the far end of the corridor.
“Come on then!” Minnie slaps Lettice on the back before quickly winding her right arm around Lettice’s shoulder, placing her left hand on her collarbone and guiding her through the maze of overstuffed cream satin settees, nests of occasional tables and potted palms of the Edwardian drawing room and towards the dining room door. “Now, the servants are at your disposal for the day whilst you are here. Cook will serve luncheon when you want in the breakfast room. Just be a dear and tell her when you want to eat by sending a message to her via Siobhan.” Minnie flings open the door to the dining room dramatically and gasps. “Here we are then!”
The dining room is completely transformed. Gone is the old fashioned and rather staid Edwardian furnishings of Lady Arundel’s time, and perhaps more importantly, gone is the busy and bold wallpaper of red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns that Minnie had had hung which had completely dominated the room. In its place, a luxurious metallic red dioxide paper embossed with flowers and leaves from Jeffrey and Company** hangs, giving the room a richness and intimacy. More importantly it doesn’t overpower the modernist paintings chosen by Charles to hang in the dining room, which sit unceremoniously placed on the fireplace mantle and on a black japanned console where Lettice’s men placed them. Two tall modern stands, the only two pieces, besides the paintings, from the room’s previous decoration, stand to one side of the tiled Art Deco gas fireplace. The rest of the room is populated with a jumble of sleek and stylish black japanned modern furnishings and lidded wooden crates of decorative items. The chairs set to go in the dining room are high backed to go with the proportions of the room, which has a high ceiling. They have been upholstered in a bold geometric pattern of red and gold, which compliments their black frames and the stylised wallpaper.
“You know,” Minnie says, releasing Lettice and stepping alongside the wall where she runs her hands over the lightly embossed pattern in the wall hangings. “I really wasn’t convinced by your choice of red dioxide, Lettice darling, even after we’d been to the Portland Gallery.” She caresses a large flower and several leaves lovingly. “I really did want gold. But now that I’ve seen it hung, I realise you were exactly right.” She looks at Lettice who sighs with satisfaction in response to Minnie’s admission. “Of course you were right, darling! Gold in here would have overpowered the paintings and the furnishings.”
“I did tell you, Minnie.” Lettice replies as she looks around the room.
“At least I did listen to you.” Minnie defends.
“It felt a bit more like coercion.”
“Well, you were right in the end Lettice. I just love this paper! It gives the room a cosy warmth, yet grandeur at the same time.”
“And it doesn’t feel like something out of Maida Vale***?” Lettice asks, referencing Minnie’s husband, Charles’, observation after she had it hung, that Minnie’s choice of bold wallpaper with its red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns made the room feel like something from a gauche middle-class villa.
“Oh absolutely not, Lettice darling!” Minnie assures her friend. “Charles says it’s wonderful, and he will be more than happy to entertain in here.” Minnie looks around at the furniture, crates and artworks with a cursory glance. “Although I do think all this beauty will be wasted on those boring partners from the bank and their equally boring wives. All they care about is money, money, money,” She places a hand dramatically to her forehead and looks direly at Lettice. “Which leaves no breathing space for the art and beauty that feeds sensitive souls like you and I, Lettice darling.”
Lettice cannot help but giggle at her friend’s dramatic pose, covering her mouth with her hands as she does. “Oh Minnie!”
“Oh Minnie is right!” Charles’ pale and youthful face, clean shaven and topped with strawberry blonde hair pokes through the doorway leading from the hallway. He looks remarkably younger than his twenty eight years, appearing more like a boy of sixteen, with facial hair so pale that it is barely discernible against his peaches and cream skin. Stepping into the room he marches the few steps over to his wife and swipes her hand away from the wall. “I told you,” he scolds, not unkindly, but still with a little irritation. “Stop touching the wallpaper, or you’ll mark it.” He turns to Lettice. “Hullo Lettice darling.”
“Hullo Charles, darling!” Lettice replies, accepting an affectionate whispery kiss from her friend. “How are you?”
“All the better for seeing you and knowing that we’ll have a fully functional dining room by the end of the day. She,” He emphasises as he indicates with a flick of his thin eyebrows and a roll of his glittering blue eyes to his wife. “Has been like a jack-in-the box ever since your men came to deliver the furnishings. Every time I can’t find her where I expect her to be, I find her in here, toying.”
“So I heard from Siobhan,” Lettice remarks. “And so I see!” she adds, noting for the first time that several of the crates have had their lids prised open: the statues purchased at the Portland Gallery on Bond Street a few weeks ago lying exposed in their beds of white tissue paper or freed from them as they perch on the edge of the wooden boxes they came in.
“That’s not fair, Charles!” Minnie protests. “I was not toying!” She folds her arms akimbo, the kimono sleeves cascading prettily about her elbows. “I was… I was… communing with my new statues. After all, we’ve paid for them, so why shouldn’t I?”
“I’ve paid for them.” Charles corrects, once again not unpleasantly as he looks lovingly at his wife.
“Oh Minnie!” Lettice exclaims with exasperation. “Really! You couldn’t leave them alone for a few days.”
“Oh she’s like a kitten with a catnip mouse.” Charles laughs. “This project is her new toy, and she spends every waking hour she can in here. I told her though, that we can’t get you to redecorate the drawing room for a few months yet.”
“I wasn’t aware I was going to.” Lettice replies with a little bit of alarm.
“Well, I hadn’t actually gotten around to asking you yet,” Minnie pouts, glaring at her husband. “Thank you, Charles.”
“Never mind.” Charles answers her. “Now,” he adds as he looks his wife up and down critically. “Is this really how you greet our guest: dressed in a wrapper and slippers, Minnie?”
“Lettice isn’t a guest, Charles. She’s our friend. And as such, she’s seen us both in a far worse state than this. Don’t you remember the night Priscilla dared us to go swimming in the St James’s Park duck pond after we’d been at the Embassy until three?”
Charles shudders at the memory of dragging he and his wife from the murky depths of the lake one early morning in May, both of them drunk, drenched and draped in pond weeds, his shoes squelching and both of them shivering as the exhilaration of doing something forbidden loses its lustre as the alcoholic fug and bravado that comes with being tight**** wears off. “That Priscilla is a menace. Thank god she’s in Philadelphia, wreaking her own brand of mayhem there instead. I’m sure Georgie had no idea who he was truly marrying!” He shudders again. “Anyway, it doesn’t signify. Shouldn’t you be getting back upstairs and finish getting ready? We need to go soon.”
“I did want to stay, Lettice darling.” Minnie glowers. “But Charles contrived a visit to his parents for luncheon, whom I might just add, happen to be nicely out of town and down in Surrey, so we’ll be gone all day.”
“I told you, Lettice doesn’t need you scrutinising the placement of every item as she unpacks it, Minnie. You’ll be far more help to Lettice by keeping out of her way and coming with me for luncheon.” He looks beseechingly to Lettice to support his statement.
“It is true,” Lettice admits, speaking with a consoling tone. “That I prefer to work alone when I set up a room, Minnie darling. It will be easier if you come home and see my vision complete, and then you can see what it’s like and we can make any adjustments you want.”
“See, my poppet.” Charles goes up to his wife and drapes his arm around her and pulls her into his chest. “It really will be better if you’re in Surrey for the day. Besides, Mummy and Daddy are so looing forward to seeing you.”
“Oh!” Minnie concedes, her eyes cast to the dining room ceiling, blinking hard so as not to cry and make the makeup around her left eye not run. “I suppose you’re right. Although,” she adds. “I do think you are both beastly for ganging up on me and forcing me out of my own home.”
“Ahh-ahh!” Charles says, running his right hand lovingly over her right forearm. “No histrionics now, my sweet. You know this is best for everyone. Now, go on. Chop-chop! Go and finish getting ready, or we won’t get there in time for luncheon.”
Charles pushes he wife out the door that leads out into the hallway.
“Just ask Siobhan for anything you need, won’t you Lettice?”
“Of course,” Lettice assures him. “Oh, and thank you, Charles.” She casts her eye over Charles shoulder to where she last saw Minnie.
He winks and closes the door quietly behind him.
Lettice sighs and turns back to look at all the furnishings placed in a higgledy-piggledy way throughout the room. She walks up to two of the opened wooden crates stacked atop one another and grasps a statue of a woman in a dramatic pose with her back arched, one arm up and one arm down. She smiles and laughs quietly to herself as she cradles it in her hands. It seems apt to have chosen such a conspicuously posed statue for such a dramatic and vibrant personality as Minnie.
“See I told you,” Siobhan opens the third door of the dining room situated to the left of the fireplace which leads into what had been Lord Arundel’s smoking room. She nods and tuts knowingly. “Like a naughty child she is, dancing round the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, anxious for her presents!”
“Indeed,” Lettice muses, but choosing not to say anything more in deference to her friend.
“And what time should I tell Cook that Madam will be expecting luncheon?”
*Molinard Habanita was launched in 1921. Molinard say that Habanita was the first women’s fragrance to strongly feature vetiver as an ingredient – something hitherto reserved for men, commenting that ‘Habanita’s innovative style was eagerly embraced by the garçonnes – France’s flappers – and soon became Molinard’s runaway success and an icon in the history of French perfume.’ Originally conceived as a scent for cigarettes – inserted via glass rods or to sprinkle from a sachet – women had begun sprinkling themselves with it instead, and Molinard eventually released it as a personal fragrance.
**Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
***Although today quite an affluent suburb of London, in 1922 when this scene is set, Maida Vale was more of an up-and-coming middle-class area owing to its proximity to the more up market St John’s Wood to its west. It has many late Victorian and Edwardian blocks of mansion flats. Charles’ remark that he felt like he was in a Maida Vale dining room was not meant to be taken as a compliment considering they live in St John’s Wood.
****To get tight is an old fashioned term used to describe getting drunk.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the lower of the two boxes is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. The tall statue standing on the edge of the upper box is also made by Warwick Miniatures and was hand painted by me.
The three wooden crates boxes came from The Doll’s House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. Edwardian times were the heyday of advertising, so it was not unusual to see popular household brands labels emblazoned on the side of buildings and even boxes.
The black japanned high backed chairs with their stylised Art Deco fabric upholstery came from a seller on E-Bay. The black japanned console was made by Town Hall Miniatures. The tall stand on which the ginger jar stands was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the console is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist.
The paintings around the room are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The Streamline Moderne pottery tile fireplace surround and the Art Deco green electric fireplace I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The stylised metallic red dioxide floral wallpaper was paper given to me by a friend who encouraged me to use it in my miniature tableaux.
Swan Falls offers many places to explore along the south side of the Snake River. No matter which designated campsite you choose to post up at, you’re sure to get outstanding canyon views. Be sure to bring your fishing rod (and fishing license) on this particular hike, smallmouth bass can be found in the calmer waters along the banks of the river. The surrounding area is a combination of old jeep paths and foot trails that are easy to navigate. Bird watching is spectacular – many birds of prey such as owls, hawks, osprey, eagles, and falcons nest along this stretch of the Snake River.
99L offer until 31th Jan
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/LUXORY%20WEST/117/82/23
blog
ovhorrizon.blogspot.com/2016/01/flowerdreams-99loffergrou...
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.
Two of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie of bright young things are getting married: Dickie Channon, eldest surviving son of the Marquess of Taunton, and Margot de Virre, only daughter of Lord Charles and Lady Lucie de Virre. Lettice is hosting an exclusive buffet supper party in their honour this evening, which is turning out to be one of the events of the 1921 London Season. Over the last few days, Lettice’s flat has been in upheaval as Edith. Lettice’s maid, and Lettice’s charwoman* Mrs. Boothby have been cleaning the flat thoroughly in preparation for the occasion. Earlier today with the help of a few hired men they moved some of the furnishings in Lettice’s drawing room into the spare bedroom to make space for the hired dance band and for the guests to dance and mingle. Edith’s preserve of the kitchen has been overrun by delivery men, florists and caterers. Yet it has finally all fallen into place perfectly just as a red and white striped marquee is erected by Gunter and Company** over the entrance and the pavement outside.
Now we find ourselves in Lettice’s dining room, which has become the focal point for half the party guests as her dining table is given over to a magnificent buffet created by Harrods catering, whilst Dickie stands at one corner, thoroughly enjoying playing the part of barman as he makes cocktails for all his friends.
Lettice sighs with satisfaction as she looks around the drawing room and dining room of her flat. Both rooms have a golden glow about them created by a mixture of electric light and candlelight and the fug of cigarette smoke. The rooms are populated with London society’s glittering young people, nicknamed “bright young things” by the newspapers. Men in white tie and tails with a smattering of daring souls wearing dinner jackets chatter animatedly and dance with ladies in beautifully coloured evening gowns with loose bodices, sashes and irregular and handkerchief hems. Jewels wink at throats, on fingers, dangling from ears and in carefully coiffed and finger waved hair, illuminated by the brilliant lighting. Bugle beads glitter as gowns gently wash about the figures of their wearers as they move. Everywhere gay chatter about the Season and the upcoming wedding of Margot and Dickie fills the air, the joyous sound mixing with the lively jazz quartet who play syncopated tunes lustily in a corner of Lettice’s drawing room.
“Dubonnet and gin?” Dickie asks Lettice as she stands by the buffet and picks up a biscuit lightly smeared with salmon mousse.
“Oh you are a brick, Dickie!” Lettice enthuses, popping the dainty morsel into her mouth. Accepting the reddish gold cocktail from him she adds, “But really, this is your party. You should be out there, socialising with Margot, not standing here making cocktails for everyone.”
“Why should I bother going out there to socialise,” he waves his hand across the crowded room to the edge of the makeshift dancefloor where his fiancée stands in a beautiful ankle length silver georgette gown studded in silver sequins, surrounded by a small clutch of equally elegant young guests. “When they all have to come to me for drinks.”
“Ahhh,” Lettice titters as she sips her cocktail. “So there is method in your madness, Dickie.”
“Isn’t there always, Lettice?” he laughs. “Now, you are technically hostess of this bash. Go out there and dazzle everyone.” Then he stops and adds, “Well, not quite everyone.” And he blows a kiss to his fiancée whose eye he has caught from across the crowded room.
“Alright Dickie,” Lettice laughs and she saunters off into the crowd, pausing to smile and say hullo and accept the compliments of her many guests.
Suddenly she spots a beautiful woman in a pale pink beaded gown with dark finger waved hair framing her peaches and cream complexion standing docilely by the dancefloor watching the stream of passing couples dancing past in each other’s arms. She seems distant and remote, even a little sad, and far removed from the frenetic energy and jolly bonhomie about her. Excusing herself from the couple who are addressing her, Lettice slips over to her.
“Hullo Elizabeth***!” Lettice embraces her warmly. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come along tonight considering everything that’s happened.”
“I wasn’t sure myself, Lettice.” Elizabeth replies, a warm smile revealing a slightly crooked set of teeth. “But I couldn’t let Dickie and Margot down.” Then she adds quickly as an afterthought, “Or you, darling Lettice.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve come. How are you feeling?”
“A little battered and bruised emotionally.” Elizabeth admits with a lilt of sadness. “But one mustn’t complain.”
“I still don’t understand why you said no to his marriage proposal. I thought you loved Bertie****.”
“I did.” Elizabeth remarks before correcting herself. “I do! But I’m afraid that if I said yes to him, I’d never, never again be able to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to. Besides,” she adds conspiratorially, glancing about her before continuing. “His mother terrifies me.”
“She terrifies all of us,” Lettice laughs lighty as she waves her hand gaily about the room. “Now, what you need to pick you up and forget your heartache is one of these.” She points to the glass in her hand.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asks, eyeing Lettice’s glass and sniffing its contents with suspicion.
“A Dubonnet and gin. Dickie will make you one. Go and ask him.” Lettice grasps Elizabeth by the shoulder and sends her toddling across to Dickie as he stands behind a line of bottles and a beautiful arrangement of roses.
“Lettice!” Margot suddenly calls from across the room, beckoning her over enthusiastically. “Lettice, darling!”
Squeezing between small clusters of well-dressed guests drinking and eating or leaving the dance floor, Lettice makes her way over to her friend.
“Hullo Margot, darling! Are you having a fabulous time?”
“Fabulous isn’t enough of a word to describe it, darling!” she replies with eyes shimmering with excitement and joy. “Such a thrilling bash! I can’t thank you enough!”
“Yes Lettice,” a deep male voice adds from behind her. “You certainly do know how to throw a party!”
“Lord de Virre!” Lettice exclaims, spinning around. “Oh! I didn’t know you’d arrived. Now, who can I introduce you to?”
“No-one my dear. My beautiful daughter has been doing an ample job of introducing me to so many people that already this old man cannot remember who is whom.”
“Never old!” Lettice scolds, hitting his arm playfully as she curls her own through the crook in his. “Then if I can’t introduce to anyone, perhaps I can entreat you into eating something.”
“Now that I won’t refuse, Lettice.”
Lettice and Margot guide Lord de Virre across the crowded dining room to the buffet table weighed down with delicious savoury petit fours, vol-au-vents, caviar, dips, cheese and pâte and pasties. Glasses full, partially drained and empty are scattered amidst the silver trays and china plates.
“Champagne, Sir?” Dickie calls out.
“Good show Dickie!” laughs Lord de Virre over the noise of the party. “Playing barman tonight, are we?”
“It’s the best role to play at a party, Sir.” He passes Lord de Virre a flute of sparkling champagne poured from the bottle wedged into a silver ice bucket.
Behind him Lettice spies Elizabeth with a Dubonnet and gin in her glove clad hand. Lettice catches her eye and discreetly raises her glass, which Elizabeth returns with a gentle smile.
“Now Lettice, darling,” Margot enthuses as she selects a dainty petit four. “Daddy has just reminded me of an idea we had a few weeks ago, which I meant to ask you about, but between all Gerald’s dress fittings and other arrangements for the wedding,” She flaps her hand about, the diamonds in her engagement ring sparkling in the light. “Well, I completely forgot.”
Lettice tries not to smile as she feels the gentlest of squeezes from Lord de Virre’s arm and remembers the conversation that she and he had some weeks ago in his study. “What is it?” She glances between Margot and her father, pretending not to know what is coming.
“Well, Daddy suggested… I mean… I was wondering…”
“Yes, Margot darling?”
“Well, you know how the Marquess is giving us that house in Cornwall?”
“Yes! Chi an… an…?”
“Chi an Treth!” Dickie calls out helpfully.
“Yes!” Margot concurs. “Beach House! Well, it hasn’t been lived in for ever such a long time, and it’s a bit old fashioned. Daddy is kindly organising for it to be electrified, re-plumbed and have it connected to the Penzance telephone exchange for us.” Margot pauses. “And… well he and… we… that is to say that I thought…”
“Yes?” Lettice coaxes with lowered lids as she takes a gentle sip of her Dubonnet and gin.
“Well, we… Dickie and I that is… well we rather hoped that you might consider fixing up a couple of rooms for us. Would you? I would just so dearly love a room or two decorated by you! Dickie even thinks that his father can pull some strings and get you an article in Country Life if you do?”
“Oh Margot!” Lettice exclaims, releasing her grip on Lord de Virre and depositing her glass on the table she flings her arms about her friend’s neck. “I’d love to!”
Lettice suddenly feels a gentle poking of fingers into the small of her back. Letting go of Margot, she stands back and looks at her, remembering the lines Lord de Virre asked her to come up with and rehearse upon agreeing to Margot’s request.
“Of course, I can’t do it straight away, you understand. You know I’m currently mid-way through Miss Ward’s flat in Pimlico.”
“Oh that’s alright,” Margot beams. “The modernisation isn’t finished yet, so we won’t even be going down there to inspect the place until after our honeymoon.”
Lettice feels Lord de Virre’s prodding in her back again.
“And I won’t do it for free, Margot. I have already given you a wedding gift. I’m a businesswoman now.”
“Oh, well that’s just the thing,” Margot exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. “Daddy has kindly agreed to pay for it all.”
Lettice looks up at Lord de Virre. He looks back at her seriously, but she can see a smile tweaking the edges of his mouth, trying to create a cheeky smile. She tries to keep up the pretence that she didn’t already know that Margot was going to ask her to redecorate for her and Dickie as she says, “Really Lord de Virre? All of it? That’s very generous of you.”
“Not a bit of it, Lettice. This is a good, sound business transaction. You may send your quotes to me for consideration,” He ennunciates the last word carefully to stress its importance, more for Margot’s sake than Lettice’s. “Once you have seen the rooms as they are now.”
“Thank you Lord de Virre,” Lettice replies. “Well Margot, I suppose that settles it then!”
“Oh Dickie!” Margot exclaims, scuttling over to her fiancée. “She said yes!”
“Who did, darling?” Dickie asks as he adds crème de menthe to colour his Fallen Angel cocktail a pale green.
“What do you mean, who?” Margot hits his arm jokingly as she sways excitedly from side to side. “Lettice of course!” She looks back over to her friend standing alongside her father. “She’s agreed to decorate for us.”
“Oh, jolly good show!” Dickie smiles. “Thanks awfully Lettice, darling! Now you’re the brick!”
“Always Dickie!” Lettice laughs back.
“Listen Dickie!” Margot gasps. “The band is playing ‘Dancing Time’*****! Come away from the bar and dance with me.”
“You’d best not refuse her, my boy!” teases Lord de Virre. “It’s madness if you try. I never could!”
The happily engaged couple hurry across the room, hand in hand, slipping between clusters of guests before disappearing into the crowd on the dancefloor as the music from the band soars above the burble of the crowd and the clink of glasses.
“So, we finally have an official arrangement, Miss Chetwynd?” Lord de Virre says discreetly as he raises his glass towards Lettice.
“I think we do, Lord de Virre.” Lettice smiles and clinks her glass with his as they toast their arrangement formally. “Your offer is simply too good to refuse.”
*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.
**Gunter and Company were London caterers and ball furnishers with shops in Berkley Square, Sloane Street, Lowndes Street and New Bond Street. They began as Gunter’s Tea Shop at 7 and 8 Berley Square 1757 where it remained until 1956 as the business grew and opened different premises. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Gunter's became a fashionable light eatery in Mayfair, notable for its ices and sorbets. Gunter's was considered to be the wedding cake makers du jour and in 1889, made the bride cake for the marriage of Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, Princess Louise of Wales. Even after the tea shop finally closed, the catering business carried on until the mid 1970s.
***Elizabeth Bowes Lyon as she was known in 1921 went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to"
****Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.
*****’Dancing Time’ was a popular song in Britain in 1921 with words by George Grossmith Jr. and music by Jerome Kern.
This rather splendid buffet of delicious savoury treats might look real to you, but in fact the whole scene is made up on 1:12 scale miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On Lettice’s black japanned dining table delicious canapés are ready to be consumed by party guests. The plate of sandwiches, the silver tray of biscuits and the bowls of dips, most of the savoury petite fours on the silver tray furthest from the camera and the silver tray of Cornish pasties were 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 cheese selection on the tray closest to the camera were made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as are the empty champagne glasses all of which are made of hand blown glass. The bowl of caviar was made by Karen Lady Bug Miniatures in England.
The tray that the caviar is sitting on and the champagne bucket are made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne. It is an artisan miniatures and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Several of the other bottles of mixers in the foreground are also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin, the bottle of Crème de Menthe, Cinzano, Campari and Martini are also 1:12 artisan miniatures, made of real glass, and came from a specialist stockist in Sydney. Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin. Crème de menthe (French for "mint cream") is a sweet, mint-flavored alcoholic beverage. Crème de menthe is an ingredient in several cocktails popular in the 1920s, such as the Grasshopper and the Stinger. It is also served as a digestif. Cinzano vermouths date back to 1757 and the Turin herbal shop of two brothers, Giovanni Giacomo and Carlo Stefano Cinzano, who created a new "vermouth rosso" (red vermouth) using "aromatic plants from the Italian Alps in a recipe which is still secret to this day. Campari is an Italian alcoholic liqueur, considered an apéritif. It is obtained from the infusion of herbs and fruit (including chinotto and cascarilla) in alcohol and water. It is a bitters, characterised by its dark red colour.
The vase of red roses on the dining table and the vase of yellow lilies on the Art Deco console are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. Also on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The pair of candelabra at either end of the sideboard are sterling silver artisan miniatures from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in England. The silver drinks set, made by artisan Clare Bell at the Clare Bell Brass Works in Maine, in the United States. Each goblet is only one centimetre in height and the decanter at the far end is two- and three-quarter centimetres with the stopper inserted. Lettice’s Art Deco ‘Modern Woman’ figure is actually called ‘Christianne’ and was made and hand painted by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. ‘Christianne’ is based on several Art Deco statues and is typical of bronze and marble statues created at that time for the luxury market in the buoyant 1920s.
Lettice’s dining room is furnished with Town Hall Miniatures furniture, which is renown for their quality. The only exceptions to the room is the Chippendale chinoiserie carver chair and the Art Deco cocktail cabinet (the edge of which just visible on the far right-hand side of the photo) which were made by J.B.M. Miniatures.
The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
NOT MINE NO NEED FOR INVITES OR FAVES.
MY FRIEND BLUE SKY GAVE THIS PICTURES TO MY OTHER FRIEND, DQUINTINO AS A BDY PRESENT AND I'M HERE, TO OFFER IT TO HER, SINCE SHE LIVES ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE UNIVERSE.
SO, HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY DEIA.
O GENTE, ESTA FOTO NAO EH MINHA, GENTILMENTE CEDIDA POR BLUE SKY QUE PERDEU O GPS MAS QUE QUERIA DAR A FOTO PARA A ANIVERSARIANTE DE ONTEM, E COMO ELA VIVE MUITO LONGE, E ADORA ESTE LUGAR, ELA PEDIU ME PARA ENTREGAR O PRESENTE.
SO FIZ A EDICAO.
MAS A HISTORIA ABAIXO EH MINHA e da BUBBLE.
Senhas.
Eu acordei hoje mais cansado do que des-cansado...
É que fui acordado por um pesadelo,
Sonhei que estava desorientado, na perdição,
Diante do maior dos meus temores,
Que é perder todas as minhas senhas,
Todas elas, até mesmo as contra-senhas...
E assim, acordando me sentindo um "sem-senha" desacorçoado,
Que não enxergava mais o mundo do jeito simples cotidiano,
Destes dias calorentos, mais ainda leves, do verão nova-iorquino,
Mesmo sendo época de encontrar os amigos ao ar livre,
Como se fosse a infância voltando...
Acordei desesperado, gritando por socorro, no meio da madrugada.
Acordei até a mulher, coitada, neste meu doido devaneio.
Depois, já desperto, tomando meu café da manhã, ainda que cansado,
Mais calmo, lembrei que sonhara também de brincar de "pau de bosta", "queimada", "roba bandeira", de "pegador" e de "esconder".
(No sonho tudo era simples, a nostalgia fez parecer um delírio utópico deste saudosista de sua infância em sua hoje distante terra natal).
Sonhei com os pés descalços, de em uma perna só, feito Saci-Pererê,
A pular sobre a rua calcada calçada de pedras irregulares, brincando
Do sonhado desejo que o chão fosse de planos paralelepípedos,
Principalmente quando cansados os pés calejados, atravessava, aflito,
As irregulares vias seculares de minha cidade,
Que conseguia ser lenta e progressiva ao mesmo tempo,
Em pontos diferentes de sua geografia urbana.
A vantagem do calçamento irregular é que a molecada escutava ao longe
O barulho dos carros sacolejando suas molas,
O que dava tempo de parar de brincar,
Para deixar as rodas nervosas e apressadas passarem
Sobre nossos riscos e marcas de brincadeiras de "graça"...
Escutávamos também o "Mãe da rua" tentando nos agarrar
E era um pega pra lá, pega pra cá,
Eram cascudos, bicudos, chutes na canela.
Vocês se lembram do "garrafão"do "Mãe da Rua"?...
Não?.. Ah, depois mando receita...
Porque hoje o que me desassossega
É o pesadelo, de se tornar realidade,
E acabe doido feito o "Mãe da Rua" fora de controle....
Com o sumiço da minha memória, de todas as minhas senhas e até contra-senhas,
Nem"garrafão" para esquecer do esquecimento das senhas malditas.
Senhas malditas que me escravizam com um "lembra ou se arrebenta" até em pesadelos...
Senha pra entrar no Flickr, no Banco, Senha pra entrar no e-mail pessoal, do trabalho...
De antes de chegar no trabalho,
Ter que lembrar da senha do alarme para sair de casa, Senha pra abrir o computador, de abrir o programa financeiro, senha pra abrir o Gmail, hotmail, chinfrin-mail
Quem sabe, até São Pedro vá me exigir, senha pra talvez abrir a porta do céu, sentado diante do seu laptop divino,
Mesmo que o Painho já tenha me aprovado para o desfrute paradisíaco, mas sem senha eu não poderei entrar...
E não esqueça a senha para acessar os canais pagos da televisão,
A senha para abrir a a cancela do pedágio, para procriação, para a educação, para o me.com...
Também a senha para o site do leilão, pra vender pela internet, as senhas que uso só no trabalho...
E acima de tudo, as contra-senhas, a senha da senhas, de todas elas.
Não é à toa que eu fico doido, depois deste sonho doído
Que me fez acordar doidão de assustado,
E fez-me acordar a minha mulher... Tadinha da Sam...
Que não precisa ainda de senha para me dizer "Alraiti, beibi..."
Algum dia espero ter o código para a senha do cofre onde guardam o antidoto
Que servirá para neutralizar todos os venenos dos tempos modernos.
Porque hoje, acordei desesperado, apalpei minha mulher com medo
De que ela também tivesse sido modernizada
Obrigando-me, a antes de lhe dar o primeiro beijo do dia,
Soletrar uma senha para ela me sorrir e dizer "Bom dia"....
Queria voltar a enfrentar o "Mãe da rua",
Onde só os pés, murros e depois as risadas nos faziam insanos,
Quando senha era coisa de espião que passava na televisão preto-e-branco,
Em um tempo que chamavam de Guerra Fria cheio de chumbo grosso e espionagem
Quando tinha Agente 86 e outros heróis gringos
com telefones em sapatos (foi o pai dos celulares de bolso moderno).
E o que falar das câmeras pequenininhas
Que tiravam fotos que nem hoje conseguimos com as nossas, modernas, cheias de recursos...
(Por isso que se chama ficção, né gente!)...
Heróis criados nesta terra onde hoje eu sou também meio-gringo,
Onde todos os dias, fico emitindo senhas, senhas e mais senhas...
Se alguém tiver um método infalível de memorizar senhas, pode me enviar,
Porque preciso delas pra tudo por aqui
E sem ter certeza de dormir e acordar com eles na mente amanhã
Ando dormindo mal, acordando cansado, com medo de acordar de novo gritando
Feito gringo britânico (o povo que invadiu estes cantos e criou este país) e que depois fez o mundo e eu cantar:
"Help! I need somebody! Help!
I said Hallo and you said Goodbye!
Rolling passwords like stones,
Saying Goodbye when I said Hello!"
MAX/BUBBLES
NYC 07/09/11
C