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The block of land was purchased by Commercial Bank of Australia Ltd. on 24 June 1909 and a branch opened the same year. The Dowerin branch of the Commercial Bank first occupied a three roomed weatherboard building. During the latter half of 1910, N. Peterson of Subiaco won the contract to erect new brick offices for the bank and commenced work in October of that year. Bank officers moved into their new premises at the end of February 1911.
On October 1, 1982, The Bank of New South Wales and CBA became Westpac Banking Corporation.
Sunset from inside the premises of Chowmahalla Palace - Old Hyderabad City, Andhra Pradesh, India. # 123.
IN FLICKR EXPLORE ON 01-09-2014.
www.flickr.com/photos/59670248@N05/15106727401/in/explore...
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Chowmahalla Palace or Chowmahallat (4 Palaces), was a palace belonging to the Nizams of Hyderabad state. It was the seat of the Asaf Jahi dynasty and was the official residence of the Nizam.
In Persian, Chahar means four and in Arabic Mahalat (plural of Mahal) means palaces, hence the name Chowmahallat/four palaces, or four palaces.
All ceremonial functions including the accession of the Nizams and receptions for the Governor-General were held at this palace.
The prestigious UNESCO Asia Pacific Merit award for cultural heritage conservation was presented to Chowmahalla Palace on March 15, 2010. UNESCO representative Takahiko Makino formally handed over the plaque and certificate to Princess Esra, former wife and GPA holder of Prince Mukarram Jah Bahadur.
While Salabat Jung initiated its construction in 1750, it was completed by the period of Afzal ad-Dawlah, Asaf Jah V, the V Nizam ensured its completion between 1857 and 1869.
It is believed to be modelled on Shah of Iran's palace in Tehran.
The palace is unique for its style and elegance. Building of the palace began in the late 18th century and over the decades a synthesis of many architectural styles and influences emerged.
This palace consists of two courtyards, southern courtyard and northern courtyard. They have elegant palaces, the grand Khilwat (the Durbar Hall), fountains and gardens.
The palace originally covered 45 acres (180,000 m2), but only 14 acres (57,000 m2) remain today.
The present Nizam (Barkat Ali Khan Mukarram Jah, Pretender) and his family decided to restore the Chowmahalla Palace and open it to the public in January 2005. It took over 5 years to document and restore the palaces of the first courtyard to its former glory.
Source : en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chowmahalla_Palace
Dates::
Taken on----------------------December 22, 2012 at 4.00pm IST
Main Exif data::
Camera----------------------Canon EOS 7D
Exposure----------------------0.001 sec (1/800)
Aperture----------------------f/16.0
Focal Length----------------------18 mm
ISO Speed----------------------100
Exposure Bias----------------------0 EV
Flash----------------------Off, Did not fire
Image Width----------------------5184
Image Height----------------------3456
X-Resolution----------------------500 dpi
Y-Resolution----------------------500 dpi
Exposure Program----------------------Program AE
Date and Time (Original)----------------------2012:12:22 16:00:46
Date and Time (Digitized)----------------------2012:12:22 16:00:46
Custom Rendered----------------------Normal
Exposure Mode----------------------Auto
White Balance----------------------Auto
Scene Capture Type----------------------Standard
Compression----------------------JPEG (old-style)
Lens----------------------EF-S18-135mm f/3.5-5.6 IS
title.
Many in the station premises.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan . New York. USA. 2017. shot ... 6 / 6 … / 6
(Today 's picture, it is unpublished.)
Images…
Llorca ( feat.Lady Bird ) … True To Me.
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Profile.
In November 2014, we caught the attention of the party selected to undertake the publicity for a mobile phone that changed the face of the world with just a single model, and will conclude a confidentiality agreement with them.
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2019/02/2019-profil...
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
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Interviews and novels.
About my book.
I published a book in old days.
At that time, I was uploading my interview on the net on the net.
That Japanese and English.
I will make it public for free.
Details were explained to the Amazon site.
How to write a novel.
How to take pictures.
Distance to the work.
They all have a common item.
I made a sentence about what I felt, and left it.
I hope that my text can be read by many people.
Thank you.
Mitsushiro.
1 Interview in English
「interview_eng.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
2 novels. unforgettable 'English version.(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
「novel_unforgettable_eng.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
3 Interview Japanese version
drive.google.com/file/d/1w5l2hrV5a6lraDiC_Lz2tG_HqatqUCO5...
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
4 novels. unforgettable ' JPN version.
「novel_unforgettable_jpn.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
5 A streamlined trajectory. only Japanese.
「streamlined_trajectory.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
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iBooks. Electronic Publishing. It is free now.
0.about the iBooks.
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2017/03/about-digit...
1.unforgettable '(ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...
2.unforgettable '(JNP.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...
3. Streamlined trajectory.(For Japanese only.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8... =11
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My Novel >> Unforgettable'
(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.
One, to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.
The other, to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days, staring at the shine
quietly.
Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. It’s a rebirth.
I face myself to change tomorrow, a vague day into something certain.
That is the meaning of a rebirth.
I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.
After she left, I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After
she left, how many times did I depend too much on her, doubt her, envy her and keep on telling lies
until I realized it is love?
I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the
daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.
I had been thinking about such a thing.
However, I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. That‘s why she tried to see
something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me, a guy filled with ambiguous, unstable
tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.
Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...
2/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...
3/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...
5/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...
9/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...
Fin.
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
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Title of my book > unforgettable'
Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Out Now.
ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
in Amazon.
www.amazon.co.jp/Unforgettable’-Mitsushiro-Nakagawa/dp/...
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The schedule of the next novel.
Still would stand all time. (Unforgettable '2)
(It will not go away forever)
Please give me some more time. That is Japanese.
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An exhibition in 2019.
May 18th. 19th.
theme.
Silence Is the Way.
place. Tokyo Big Site.
Sponsoring. Design festa.
2020.
Date unknown.
DIC Kawamura Memorial Art Museum attached gallery.
place. Sakura City, Chiba Prefecture.
theme.
From that day, forever ...
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flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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YouTube.
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
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Pinterest.
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YouPic
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
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fotolog
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twitter.
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
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Do you want to hear my voice?
:)
I updated Youtube.
It is only in Japanese.
I explained comments on photos etc.
If your time is permitted, please look.
:)
1
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. First type.
2
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. Second type.
3
About when I started Fotolog. Architect 's point of view.
Four
Why did not you have a camera so far?
Five
What is the coolest thing? The photo is as it is.
6
About the current YouTube bar. I also want to tell, I want to leave.
7
About Japanese photographers. Japanese YouTube bar is Pistols.
8
The composition of the photograph is sensibility. Meet the designers in Milan. Two questions.
9
What is a good composition? What is a bad composition?
Ten
What is the time to point the camera? It is slow if you are looking into the viewfinder or display.
11
Family photos. I can not take pictures with others. The inside of the subject.
12
About YouTube 's photographer. Camera technology etc. Sensibility is polished by reading books.
13
About the Japanese newspaper. A picture of a good newspaper is Reuters. If you continue to look at useless photographs, it will be useless.
14
About Japanese photographers. About the exhibition.
Summary. I wrote a novel etc. What I want to tell the most.
New Year’s greetings 2019.
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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Japanese is the following.
Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
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タイトル。
駅構内の多数。
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan . New York. USA. 2017. shot ... 6 / 6 … / 6
(Today 's picture, it is unpublished.)
Images…
Llorca ( feat.Lady Bird ) … True To Me.
次の小説のイメージ。
Still would stand all time.(unforgettable'2)
（いつまでもなくならないだろう）
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プロフィール。
2014年11月、たった1機種で世界を塗り替えた携帯電話の広告を請け負った選考者の目に留まり、秘密保持同意書を結ぶ。
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2019/02/2019-profil...
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
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インタビューと小説。
僕の本について。
僕は、昔に本を出版しました。
その際に、僕のインタビューをPDFでネット上へアップロードしていました。
その日本語と英語。
僕は、無料でを公開します。
詳細は、アマゾンのサイトへ解説しました。
小説の書き方。
写真の撮影方法。
作品への距離感。
これらはすべて共通項があります。
僕は、僕が感じたことを文章にして、残しました。
僕のテキストが多くの人に読んでもらえることを望みます。
ありがとう。
Mitsushiro.
１ インタビュー 英語版
「interview_eng.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
２ 小説。unforgettable’ 英語版。
「novel_unforgettable_eng.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
３ インタビュー 日本語版
drive.google.com/file/d/1w5l2hrV5a6lraDiC_Lz2tG_HqatqUCO5...
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
４ 小説。unforgettable’ 日本語版。(この小説は未来のアーティストへ捧げます)
「novel_unforgettable_jpn.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
５ 流線形の軌跡。 日本語のみ。
「streamlined_trajectory.pdf」
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2018/08/interviews-...
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iBooks.電子出版。（現在は無料）
0.about the iBooks.
stealaway.cocolog-nifty.com/stealaway/2017/03/about-digit...
1.unforgettable’ ( ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...
For Japanese only.
2.unforgettable’ ( JNP.ver.)(この小説は未来のアーティストへ捧げます)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...
3.流線形の軌跡。
itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8...
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僕の小説。英語版
My Novel Unforgettable' (This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
1/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...
2/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...
3/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...
4/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...
5/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...
6/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...
7/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...
8/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...
9/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...
Fin.
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
_________________________________
_________________________________
Title of my book > unforgettable'
Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Out Now.
ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
in Amazon.
www.amazon.co.jp/Unforgettable’-Mitsushiro-Nakagawa/dp/...
_________________________________
_________________________________
次の小説の予定。
Still would stand all time.(unforgettable'2)
（いつまでもなくならないだろう）
もう少し時間をください。それは日本語です。
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２０１９年の展示。
5月１８日。１９日。
テーマ。
Silence Is the Way.
場所。東京ビッグサイト。
Sponsoring. Design festa.
２０２０年。
日時未定。
DIC川村記念美術館付属ギャラリー。
場所。千葉県佐倉市。
テーマ。
あの日から、ずっと…
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flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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YouTube.
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
_________________________________
_________________________________
instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
_________________________________
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Pinterest.
_________________________________
_________________________________
YouPic
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
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fotolog
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twitter.
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
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あなたは僕の声を聞きたいですか？
:)
僕はYoutubeを更新しました。
日本語だけです。
僕は写真などの解説をしました。
もしも、あなたの時間が許されれば、見てください。
:)
1
フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。１種類目。
2
フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。２種類目。
3
Fotologを始めた時について。 建築家の視点。
4
なぜ、今までカメラを手にしなかったのか？
5
何が一番かっこいいのか？ 写真はありのままに。
6
現在のユーチューバーについて。僕も伝え、残したい。
7
日本人の写真家について。日本のユーチューバーはピストルズ。
8
写真の構図は、感性。ミラノのデザイナーに会って。二つの質問。
9
良い構図とは？ 悪い構図とは？
10
カメラを向ける時とは？ ファインダーやディスプレイを覗いていては遅い。
11
家族写真。他人では撮れない。被写体の内面。
12
ユーチューブの写真家について。カメラの技術等。感性は、本を読むことで磨く。
13
日本の新聞について。良い新聞の写真はロイター。ダメな写真を見続けるとダメになる。
14
日本の写真家について。その展示について。
まとめ。僕が書いた小説など。僕が最も伝えたいこと。
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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新年の挨拶ほか
ブログに書きましたが、諸事情により今回アップした動画のフルバージョンは以下です。(^O^)／
Newyearsg2019.mov - drive.google.com/file/d/1-inz3c7QVLO3rFx1YYC9X3ukH1-eTRWh...
容量が大きいのでスマフォには落とさないように注意してください(^O^)／
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Japanese is the following.
Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
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_________________________________
E.
At the premises of Tiger Brewery owned by Heineken Asia Pacific (formerly Asia Pacific Breweries), a paint mural of The Tiger symbol mascot in its iconic orange and blue colours can be found on one of its walls.
It represents the strength and popularity of the locally renowned Tiger Beer, which the brewery is famous for.
At the premises of the former Fiat Lingotto head-office building I saw some interesting wrapped-up cars (see previous photo).
At first I couldn't identify these vehicles while all details and emblems were covered. But somewhere I recognized it as a Maserati. At home I figured out which model it was.
I still don't know the meaning of this fancy wrap. But maybe it is a new fashion craze in Torino, while I saw three more wrapped expensive automobiles driving in the city.
This compact luxury crossover SUV was launched this year!
It is named after the Mediterranean wind Grecale and the code M182 was added to the name.
The Grecale is available with a L4 and a V6 petrol engine, as well as hybrid or even full electric. This electric version will go on sale in 2023.
I believe this car is really brand new. It even doesn't have a license plate yet.
1870 kg.
Production Maserati Grecale M182: March 2022-present.
Number seen: 1.
Torino (It.), Via Nizza, Aug. 2, 2022.
© 2022 Sander Toonen Halfweg | All Rights Reserved
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today we have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but are far enough away in her mind that Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. She is sharing the taxi with her friend Minnie Palmerston, a banker’s wife whom she met at the Embassy Club, which is also on Bond Street. Minnie decided to attempt to redecorate her own dining room with disastrous results, so she has enlisted the assistance of Lettice, who has already established a colour palette and has ordered wall hangings and fabric for new dining chairs, to repair the damage she has done. As the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Lettice and Minnie both peer through the window at the impressive three storey Victorian building with Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and now sports magnificent plate glass windows through which passers by may look at the beautiful objets d’art artfully presented in them. Currently one window is full of brilliantly painted pottery which reminds Lettice of her Aunt Eglantine’s works, whilst the other has a single modernist statue of white marble set up against a rich black velvet curtain, bathed in light from a spotlight, giving it a very dramatic look.
“That’ll be four and six, mum.” the taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed ladies swathed in fox furs and stylish hats in the black leather back seat.
After paying the taxi fare for them both, Minnie encourages Lettice to alight from the taxi first. As they spill from its door, they are both mid laugh over an amusing story about a mutual acquaintance that Minnie shared with Lettice.
Minnie remarks excitedly as the taxi chugs away belching out fumes, “And thinking of gossip, I read in the newspapers that your friend Elizabeth* is going to be the Princess of Wales**.”
“You’re such a gossip, Minnie darling.” Lettice chides her friend mildly as she guides them both across the busy footpath and towards the door. “You’d be the last person I’d share Elizabeth’s confidences with.”
“So she has…”
“If she had shared any with me!” Lettice quickly extinguishes Minnie’s burrowing for gossip with a definite statement in serious and well modulated tones. “As it is, I haven’t seen her since she went to spend Christmas at St Paul’s, Walden Bury. Now come along. We are here to pick objets d’art for your dining room, not prattle about idle gossip.”
“You’re such a spoil sport!” Minnie sulks.
“I’m not when it comes to interior design.” Lettice assures her. “Now let’s find something to go with those wonderful paintings of your husband’s.”
Lettice ushers Minnie through the full length plate glass doors on which the Portland Galleries’ name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand. As the door closes behind them, shutting out the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging busses and the clatter of footsteps on the pavement and the chatter of shoppers, the air about them changes. In the crisp and cool silence of the gallery the ladies’ heels click across the black and white marble floor.
“Now, I’ve ordered wall hangings from Jeffrey and Company*** to deck out the dining room. It’s metallic and red dioxide in colour,” Lettice enthuses, suddenly aware of how her well modulated tones bounce off the hard surfaces and objects on display in the gallery. “It’s so striking, I know you’re just going to love it.”
“Hhhmmm,” Minnie muses in a non-committal fashion as her eye flits around the red painted gallery hung with paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand different sculptures and other artistic pieces.
“The wallpaper, Minnie,” Lettice sighs in exasperation, misunderstanding Minnie. “I’ve ordered it. Goodness, I do wish you’d concentrate for more than five minutes for a change.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, Lettice darling.”
“About what?”
“About the wall hangings Lettice darling.” Minnie purrs. “I’m wondering whether we shouldn’t reconsider how the dining room is to be furbished.”
“Reconsider, Minnie?” Lettice looks with shocked and wide eyes at her friend. “What on earth do you mean, reconsider?”
“Well, I was just wondering whether it mightn’t be better to have gold wallpaper instead.”
“Gold wallpaper?”
“You know darling, to represent the golden sands of Egypt.” Minnie says with a dramatic air, raising her right hand to her forehead, her eyes drifting upwards in the affected stance of a silent film star. “Everyone I know is going positively wild over anything Egyptian after the discovery of that boy king’s tomb****. Simply mad for it, darling! All of Charles’ frightfully boring banking friends can talk of nothing else, and nor can their wives.” She giggles. “They’ve finally got something interesting to talk about.”
“But we’re here today, Minnie darling, to pick ornaments to decorate the room with. The papers are already ordered at great expense.” Lettice looks with concern at her friend. “You can’t go and change your mind now.”
“Of course I can, Lettice darling!” Minnie scoffs with a wave of her maroon coloured leather glove clad hand. “Charles is footing the bill. He’ll pay for whatever you ask, carte blanche.” She cocks one of her well manicured eyebrows over her glittering eye. “He’s convinced that anything you choose will be a patch on anything I’ve done thus far, which in reality probably isn’t too far from the truth.”
“Exactly!” Lettice retorts. “And I’ve chosen red dioxide as the colour for the dining room, not gold.”
“But gold would be so fashionable, Lettice darling!” Minnie insists. “So now!”
“And it might just as quickly be yesterday, tomorrow.” Lettice retorts, irritated at little by the fickle nature of her friend. “I’m trying to help you come up with a dining room that won’t need redecorating for a while.”
“But I…”
Lettice silences Minnie by holding up her navy glove clad hands in protestation. “I promise that it will be modern and fashionable, and yet timeless too.” She plays her trump card knowingly. “Don’t you trust me, Minnie darling?” She gazes at her friend with dewy eyes. “After all, you did ask me to redecorate the room for you. Don’t you trust my judgement any more?”
“Oh… oh no!” Minnie stutters in reply. “No! Of course I do. Your taste is excellent. Of course, you’re right.”
“Then metallic red dioxide wallpaper it will be.” Lettice says with a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I’ll settle for some rather exotic looking Egyptian statues then,” Minnie says. “Like that one you have on your mantle.”
“My ‘Theban Dancer’***** do you mean?”
“Yes, yes! She’s the one!” Minnie enthuses. “Or that daringly modern one you have on your dining room sideboard.”
“Well, they both came from the Portland Gallery, so I’m sure we can find some beautiful examples to suit you here.” Lettice assures her as she entwines her arm with her friend. “Come on, let’s see what there is.”
“Ah! Miss Chetwynd!” a mature frock coated man greets Lettice with a broad smile. Taking her hand, he kisses it affectionately, yet with respect. “How do you do.”
“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets the smartly dressed man with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”
“And to what do we owe this great pleasure of your visit today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Chilvers asks obsequiously, releasing Lettice’s fingers and clasping his hands together in front of him.
Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with the beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough****** from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving a in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and enjoy a thriving arts scene. As one of his more high profile customers, Mr. Chilvers happily fawns over Lettice, delighted that she chooses to patronise his very exclusive gallery for pieces to decorate the interiors of her clients’ homes with.
“Mr. Chilvers, this is my friend Minnie Palmerston. I’m redecorating her St John’s Wood dining room. Minnie, this is Mr Chilvers. He owns and runs the Portland Gallery.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Mr. Chilvers raises Minnie’s hand to his lips and kisses it, all the while admiring the beautiful redhead with striking green eyes, swathed in maroon and draped in red fox furs.
“Minnie’s taken rather a shine to my ‘Theban Dancer’ and my ‘Modern Woman’, Mr. Chilvers,” Lettice explains. “Perhaps you can show us something of a similar vein?”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Palmerston,” Mr. Chilvers croons. “Right this way. I think I might have just the thing.”
“He’s the gallery owner,” Lettice whispers to her friend behind her hand. “He always thinks he has something.” She pauses. “Although to be fair, this is an amazing gallery and he often does.”
Minnie looks at Lettice with a hopeful smile.
Indicating for them to follow him with an open palm gesture, Mr. Chilvers leads the ladies through the gallery.
The rich red walls are hung with all kinds of modern paintings, many not dissimilar to those that grace the walls of Minnie and Charles’ dining room. Lettice’s own drawing room paintings come from the gallery. Dour street scenes and vibrant abstract still lives hang alongside dynamic portraits. Most of the furnishings are black japanned wood and made in a very stark, yet stylish way, so as not to distract from the artworks that sit upon their surfaces. Hand painted pottery in bright colours and ornate spun glass pieces sit upon tables and buffets and inside mirrored cabinets whilst statues stand proudly on pillars and stands. The air is rich with the fragrance of ornate floral arrangements strategically set about the gallery as colourful foils to compliment various artworks. Everywhere there is colour and interest.
“What kind of display are you looking for, ladies?” Mr. Chilvers asks as Lettice and Minnie follow in his sweetly spiced eau de cologne wake.
Minnie looks alarmingly at Lettice, who quickly answers for them both, “I have two rather tall pillars that will stand either side of an existing new tile fireplace. I also have a simple black japanned sideboard.”
“Is there a mantle on the fireplace?” the gallery owner asks as they walk.
“A small central recess only, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice says knowledgably, much to Minnie’s surprise, for even as the owner of the fireplace she has never so much as considered whether it has a mantle or not.
“And the specifics of the room?” Mr. Chilvers asks, running his index finger along the edge of a display table as he does, rubbing his clean thumb and forefinger together and releasing a satisfied sigh as he does.
“It’s my dining room.” Minnie begins. “I tried to do the redecoration myself but…”
Lettice quickly places a forbidding arm across Minnie’s chest, silencing her. Minnie glances at her friend whose eyes widen as she shakes her head to indicate that the gallery owner doesn’t need to know about Minnie’s decorative disasters.
“The room,” Lettice says smoothly over the top of her friend. “Is in an early Victorian townhouse, so it has high ceilings and is tall rather than wide. I have metallic red dioxide papers embossed with leaves and flowers on order from Jeffrey and Company. Mr. and Mrs. Palmerston are devotees of modern art, Mr. Chilvers, so the paper, whilst striking, is really there to support their paintings already chosen for the room.”
“Always the arbiter of smart and select taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers replies with a smile as he glances back at the two ladies and tweaks his moustache. “So, something tall, perhaps, with some gilding?”
“Quite so, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice agrees.
“And nothing too ornate, of course.” he adds.
“Indeed no, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice concurs.
“You are very fortunate in your choice of interior designer, Mrs. Palmerston.” He turns back and keeps walking. “Too many women with too much time on their hands take it upon themselves to redecorate rooms, creating a disastrous and gauche pale imitation of what they have seen elsewhere, which simply doesn’t suit their homes.”
Minnie’s eyes grow wide as she glances at Lettice in alarm. Lettice silently raises he finger to her lips to indicate that she hasn’t said anything about Minnie’s attempt to redecorate her dining room herself, which makes Minnie sigh with relief.
“Rather like creating a Maida Vale dining room in St John’s Wood, would you say, Mr. Chilvers?” Minnie asks a little nervously.
“Quite so, Mrs. Palmerston. Well said.” he agrees as his pace slows. “I do so dislike bored ladies like that. I have no time for artless women who dabble in art, and I won’t have them in my gallery.”
“Oh!” Minnie bluffs with false joviality. “Oh, my husband and I quite agree with you. There is nothing worse than a poorly decorated room, Mr. Chilvers, full of tasteless tatt.” She is so grateful that the imposing gallery owner has his back to her so that he cannot see the colour of her face betraying the truth of Minnie’s experience.
“Indeed, Mrs. Palmerston,” he agrees. “But that is something you won’t have to suffer under the skilled artistic eye and adept hands of Miss Chetwynd. She has found the profession that suits and showcases her skills admirably.”
“Yes,” Minnie says, blushing deeper and smiling coyly. “I’ve seen the work she has done to the home of friends of ours.”
“Ah,” Mr. Chilvers purrs as they reach a corner of the gallery. He stops in front of a beautiful, and unusually, round flame wood cabinet on a large pedestal. “I think, ladies, you might find something to your liking in here.” He opens up the doors and turns to the two ladies. “A selection of modern sculpture and some of my finest Venetian glass*******. There are also some rather fetching sculptures to either side.” he adds with a wave of his elegant hand. “Well, I’ll leave you to discuss your choices with your client, Miss Chetwynd. I do hope, Mrs. Palmerston, that you will find something to please you.”
The two ladies watch him sweep away before turning to the cabinet.
“Thank you for not telling Mr. Chilvers about my… you know.” Minnie starts gesticulating wildly.
“You nearly gave the game up yourself, Minnie.” Lettice chides her friend kindly in a conspiratorial whisper. “Mr. Chilvers is a frightful snob. It’s almost like he comes from the highest echelons of some European aristocracy, and yet even with Leslie’s help I’ve been unable to trace him prior to opening this gallery in 1920. He’s quite the mystery! And,” she adds. “He doesn’t let just anyone shop here, even by appointment.”
“Which would explain why Charles and I have never been here.” Minnie replies.
“Indeed. Well, I think Mr. Chilvers would refuse Charles automatically on face value. Being a banker, I think he would consider him far too gauche and newly minted for his establishment.”
“Oh.” Minnie casts her eyes downwards.
“Don’t do that, Minnie darling!” Lettice puts a comforting arm around her friend. “You are a good person, and so is Charles.” She rubs Minnie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Mr. Chilvers snobbery. I can already tell that he likes you. I knew he would admire you for your striking fiery red tresses and stunning green eyes. He finds you intriguing.”
“He does?”
“Yes. He didn’t even acknowledge poor Margot on the one occasion I brought her here.”
“But she’s richer and better connected than I am.”
“Sshhh!” Lettice shushes her friend with a finger to her lips. “He obviously doesn’t think so.”
“It’s a funny way to run a business, I must say.” Minnie says as she picks up a beautiful glass comport of aqua blue and toys with it in her hands, feeling the cool material between her fingers.
“Mr. Chilvers seems to rise above all that, which is why I think he is from a very aristocratic European family. Italian perhaps?” She picks up a tall Venetian glass vase with amber decoration around its base, holding it up as if it serves as proof as to Mr. Chilver’s lineage.
“With a name like Chilvers, he can hardly be Italian, Lettice darling!” Minnie replaces the comport on the shelf.
“Oh, you can be so dense sometimes, Minnie darling!” Lettice giggles. “You don’t imagine that Chilvers is his real name, do you?”
“Well…” Minnie gulps.
“Of course it’s not! If he’s an Italian prince, or count, he probably has a real family name of Chiavaroli or Chiodini.” Lettice giggles girlishly as the syllables roll around like a foreign language in her mouth. “Anyway, going back to what I was saying before, if through being connected with me, you receive a foray into the joys of exclusive shopping here, I know you will find many a fine piece to ornament your home with. Once Mr. Chilvers knows you have taste.”
“He hasn’t seen the disaster I made of my dining room.” Minnie blurts out, interrupting her friend.
“And he doesn’t have to know about it.” Lettice soothes quietly. “Just keep mum.”
“Yes!” Minnie sighs. “Me and my big mouth. One day you won’t be around, and I’ll get myself into real trouble.”
“Well, luckily I was here, Minnie darling.” Lettice says with a smile. “Anyway, once Mr. Chilvers knows you, he’ll forgive you if you bring Charles: especially if Charles brings an open chequebook.”
“Do you think he might be Russian?” Minnie asks quietly, looking discreetly over her shoulder to Mr. Chilvers as he sits at his black japanned desk in the middle of the gallery, scribbling notes into a ledger.
“Who?” Lettice asks, wide eyed as she removes the copy of the ‘Theban Dancer’ from the middle shelf of the cabinet and considers whether it will fit onto the recess of Minnie’s dining room fireplace.
“Mr. Chilvers, of course, Lettice darling! Now who’s being dense?”
“Good heavens no!” Lettice scoffs. “He’s English is far too good and his manners too impeccable to be a Russian emigree. Have you ever met any? They can be quite horrible and so terribly haughty, even if they are now all as poor as church mice.” She too looks over to Mr. Chilvers, who either doesn’t know he is being scrutinised, or is far too polite to acknowledge it. “No, he’s Italian, I’m sure of it.” She sighs as she admires his dark hair, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. “Now, this isn’t helping us pick any pieces for your dining room, Minnie darling. I was thinking that the ‘Theban Dancer’ you like might just fit on the small recess on your fireplace. Do you really like her enough to want her? Is she exotic enough for your current tastes?”
The two women begin to look earnestly at the objects around them to select pieces for Minnie’s dining room, and all the while, Mr. Chilvers writes in his ledger, the nib of his fountain pen scratching across the surface of the page, his ears ever alert to every whisper of conversation in his gallery, but his eyes remaining downcast out of deference for Lettice, one of his favourite customers.
*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.
**In early January 1923 a newspaper ran a gossip item that Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was soon to be engaged to Prince Albert the Duke of York’s elder brother, the Prince of Wales – a story that reportedly annoyed her. Rumour has it that part of Elizabeth’s hesitance to marry Albert was due to her being in love with David – the loftier “catch” – however, these stories are highly unlikely and probably have more to do with trying to explain her later hatred for Wallis Simpson. More likely, she knew that the story meant more pressure for her to make up her mind about Albert and she knew the rumour would wound him
***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.
****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, sparking 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.
*****The exquisite sculpture “Theban Dancer” was cast by the esteemed Belgian-French sculptor Claire Jeanne Roberte Colinet, and is one of the most recognised figures representing the exoticism and frenetic energy and movement of the 1920s. Cast in the 1920s, the “Theban Dancer” is gilt and enamelled bronze, usually sitting upon a marble plinth.
******In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some 80 people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage
*******Venetian glass is glassware made in Venice, typically on the island of Murano near the city. Traditionally it is made with a soda–lime "metal" and is typically elaborately decorated, with various "hot" glass-forming techniques, as well as gilding, enamel, or engraving. Production has been concentrated on the Venetian island of Murano since the Thirteenth Century. Today Murano is known for its art glass, but it has a long history of innovations in glassmaking in addition to its artistic fame - and was Europe's major centre for luxury glass from the High Middle Ages to the Italian Renaissance. During the Fifteenth Century, Murano glassmakers created cristallo—which was almost transparent and considered the finest glass in the world. Murano glassmakers also developed a white-coloured glass (milk glass called lattimo) that looked like porcelain. They later became Europe's finest makers of mirrors.
Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the top shelf of the round Art Deco display cabinet are a selection of 1:12 artisan glass pieces. Each one is made from real blown glass and is decorated with spun glass patterning in a different colour. They all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
On the middle shelf 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. She is flanked by two hand coloured spun glass comports. These I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired them from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures.
The New Woman Art Deco statue on the bottom shelf of the cabinet is a hand painted 1:12 artisan pewter miniature also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland. She is named “Christianne”, and she also comes in a more risqué form as a nude.
The very striking round mirror backed mahogany Art Deco cabinet is made by high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. It comes from their Swanson range. The two pedestals either side of it were also made by Bespaq.
The two statues on the pedestals are 1:12 artisan miniatures also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland, however they have been had painted by me.
The black console table and the table in the foreground were made by Town Hall Miniatures.
The two porcelain vases on the console table have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay. The glass comport is a 1:12 artisan glass piece made from real blown glass and is hand tinted. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The paintings on the wall come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The vase of flowers in the foreground is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The Clarice Cliff style Art Deco tea set and tray on the table in the foreground have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
Inside a temple premises at Himāchal Pradesh in north India.
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The last thing you'd expect to see on the premises of a small Edinburgh garage. I had no idea what this was when I saw it - didn't even notice the Toyota badge and for some reason thought it was a Mazda. It was imported in 2012, and some weeks later I passed this garage again and saw that it had a price sticker of £1,095 on it, which seems like a bargain to me for something so rare and no doubt high-spec, with V6 power. I dare say that there would be some drawbacks to ownership though.
Just a few miles off Dublin.
Yesterday, in the beautiful scenario of the Carton House park golf club, I grabbed this image of the sunset just above the premises. And the Mercury statue, of course.
No post processing, image taken with my compact camera.
A pochi chilometri da Dublino.
Ieri, nel fantastico ambiente del parco Carton House Golf Club, ho catturato questa immagine del tramonto, appena al di sopra degli edifici. E la statua di Mercurio, ovviamente.
Nessuna post-produzione, immagine scattata con la compattina
Image courtesy of the Royal Institute of British Architects www.ribapix.com
North-west corner of Fishergate and Cheapside. Now occupied by Ann Summers.
Photographed by Arthur Winter
Click Here for a recent street view.
The Pfirnhof, a historic former Bavarian farm near the bank of the Tegernsee (in English: "Lake Tegernsee"), Bad Wiessee, Bavaria, Germany
Some background information:
The Pfirnhof is a historic estate in the community of Bad Wiessee near the waterfront of the Tegernsee. Historically, it is a traditional Bavarian farm, likely founded in the Middle Ages, and hence, one of the oldest farms in the region. The Pfirnhof used to serve agricultural purposes for centuries. Today, it mainly serves as a holiday accommodation, like many old farms in the region that have been re-purposed due to the growing tourism.
Particular attention is given to the architecture of the Pfirnhof. It is built in the typical Upper Bavarian style, characterized by wooden construction, wide eaves, and intricately carved balconies. The farm is a so-called Eindachhof (in English: "Single roof farm"), which is the most common type of farms in this area. It is characterized by providing space for the peasant family, the farm servants and the livestock under one and the same roof.
With its less than 5,200 residents, Bad Wiessee is a municipality in the Upper Bavarian district of Miesbach, located on the western shore of the Tegernsee. Since 1922, the commune is officially recognized as a spa town. It owes its status as a health resort to the two strongest iodine-sulfur healing springs in Germany, which were discovered during oil drilling in 1909. Since 1957, the Bavarian State Lottery also operates a casino in Bad Wiessee, which serves as an additional magnet for visitors.
In 1017, the settlement was first mentioned as "Wesses" in the registry of Tegernsee Abbey. The hamlet‘s name just meant that it was located west of the lake. According to legend, in 1441, a monk on the eastern shore of Lake Tegernsee discovered a golden-yellow streak in the lake, which came from a spot on the western shore, where there was a natural oil spring. In fact, the now long-dried-up spring, whose location is still marked today by a chapel, had likely existed for ages. According to a commemorative plaque inside the chapel, the spring was first tapped in 1430.
In 1471, the monks of Tegernsee Abbey on the opposite shore created three fish ponds in the area of Bad Wiessee and in 1480, the hamlet was first mentioned as a village. At that time, three farms were documented, along with several smaller houses. Until the end of the 19th century, the village gradually developed around its centre. Back then, the stone oil from Tegernsee was already attributed with therapeutic properties (e.g., for rubbing on the body), and it gained even more popularity with pillgrims as St. Quirin Oil.
Stimulated by the already widespread technical use of petroleum, a Dutch company attempted in 1904 to discover rich oil deposits at greater depths, which were encountered at about 500 meters. This led to the execution of eleven more oil drilling operations in Bad Wiessee. However, by 1912, the production had declined so much that oil extraction was stopped. But three years before, a rich source of thermal water at borehole III at a depth of 692 meters had been encountered during drilling operations. Later chemical analyses revealed that it was the strongest iodine-sulfur thermal spring in allo of Germany.
In 1912, the first bathhouse was built with twelve cabins. The spring was named after King Ludwig III in 1914, and the petroleum company changed its name to Jod-Schwefelbad Wiessee GmbH (in English: "Iodine-sulfur Spa Wiessee Company"). This laid the foundation for the rise to a health resort. In 1922, Wiessee was awarded the title "Bad,". In 1930, another borehole was drilled to develop the Königin Wilhelmina Spring, and in 1978, the third spring, the Adrianus Spring was drilled and developed.
During the Nazi era, the SA leadership gathered in Bad Wiessee on Hitler's telephoned orders. In the Hanselbauer guesthouse, Ernst Röhm and his SA leaders were arrested by the SS in Hitler's presence, and some were shot later that same day. These events were called the Röhm Putsch, although there’s was no proof that Röhm really planned to take power by a revolt of his SA. Shortly afterwards, Heinrich Himmer, the leader of the SS, transferred his place of residence to Bad Wiessee. Furthermore, Bad Wiessee was also the retirement home of Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg, who had been one of the architects of the German Wehrmacht.
Today, Tourism is one of the main sources of income for the population of Bad Wiessee. Although spa tourism has declined in the last decades, Bad Wiessee is still very popular for its casino and with wealthy people, many of them buying a second home or condo to spend their holidays or retirement there. As a residential area, the beautiful nature around Bad Wiessee and its good reachability from the city of Munich have attracted more and more millionaires as well as multimillionaires.
The demand for housing at Lake Tegernsee remains high, resulting in astronomically high real estate prices. Prices for vacation homes are even the highest in the German Alpine region and just the premises for single-family homes in the first row by the lake are offered for up to 10 million euros by local real estate agencies. Hence, the dream of a house at Lake Tegernsee will always be unrealisable for most Germans. However, traditional B&B and reasonable priced accommodations for tourists are still available all year round.
The Tegernsee is a so-called tongue-basin lake in the Bavarian Alps in southern Germany. The lake is the centre of a popular recreation area 50 kilometres (31 miles) south-east of Munich. Communities on the lake include the eponymous Tegernsee, as well as Bad Wiessee, Kreuth, Gmund, and Rottach-Egern.
The lake is some 6.5 kilometres (4.0 miles) in length, 1.4 kilometres (0.87 miles) across at its widest, and spans an area of 8.934 square kilometres (3.449 square miles). It reaches a maximum depth of 72.6 metres (238 feet), with an average depth of 36.3 metres (119 feet). Its normal water level is 725.5 metres (2,380 feet) above sea level. The lake flows into the River Mangfall, a tributary of the River Inn and thence the River Danube.
"A Des Res at Pole Hore" might sound like a secret code but the name on the premises appears to be correct and the building definitely looks like a most desirable residence! Pole Hore seems a strange name, but no doubt it is a clumsy anglicisation of an Irish place name. Or is it? Wexford has a litany of "different" place names!
Photographer: Robert French
Collection: Lawrence Photograph Collection
Date: Circa 1865-1914
NLI Ref: L_ROY_08159
You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie
This used to be a plumber's shop but now no longer. There are a couple convenience shops on this road, a florist, a pub, and a barber shop. This is a very residential area, so I was surprised to see the plumber go.
I like the four-square stance of this building. So, what next?
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 have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but are far enough away in her mind that Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of Bonham’s Fine Art Valuers and Auctioneers* have been standing for well over a century. As it pulls up to the kerb, Lettice peers through the window of her shiny deep blue taxi up at the impressive four storey building built in ‘blood and bandages’** style with its ornate Art Nouveau first floor window and Mannerist bay windows and balconette above. Its Dutch Revival roofline just manages to outdo the red brick buildings to either side, and Bonhams is by far the most eye catching of them and it stands out along the Bond Street streetscape.
“That’ll be three and six, mum.” the Cockney taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed Lettice swathed in powder blue and artic fox fur in the maroon leather back seat.
Lettice smiles, fishes out her snakeskin handback and withdraws her coin purse from within its confines. She pays the diver his fare and a little extra for having brought her a relatively short distance when he could have taken someone going further than Bond Street. “Keep the change.” she says breezily as she hands him the money before depressing the handle of the taxi door and opening it.
“Thank you, mum.” the taxi driver replies with a smile as he tips his cap yet again. Flicking his sign to show he is available for hire, he puts the idling engine of his taxi into gear and pulls away from the kerb.
“Oh thank god you’re here, Lettice darling!” Margot cries as she runs from the front of Bonhams, the sound of her heels clicking across the footpath, as she envelops Lettice in an embrace of navy blue serge fox fur and Chypre*** perfume.
“Margot darling!” Lettice gasps, embracing her friend in return. Grasping her by the elbows, Lettice holds Margot at arm’s length and looks into her anguished face, her own face clouding over as she asks, “What on earth is it? What’s wrong?”
“My parents,” Margot’s husband Dickie answers softly as he walks up to Lettice and Margot. “That’s what’s wrong. Hullo Lettice old girl.” He places a kiss firmly on Lettice’s left cheek.
“Hullo Dickie.” Lettice replies with a smile. “Your parents?”
“Yes,” Dickie answers with a rather doleful look. “They’ve come to see whether the painting of Miss Rosevear really is a Winterhalter**** or not.”
After being gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, invited Lettice to spend a Friday to Monday with them there earlier in the year. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. Margot and Dickie also extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s old childhood chum, Gerald Bruton. After the retirement of the housekeeper, Mrs. Trevethan, from the main house to the gatekeeper’s cottage one evening during their stay, the quartet of Bright Young Things***** played a spirited game of sardines****** and in doing so, Lettice potentially solved the romantic mystery of ‘Chi an Treth’ after discovering a boxed up painting of a local Cornish beauty named Elowen Rosevear, purportedly by the artist Winterhalter, long forgotten, and of a great beauty.
“Oh Margot!” Lettice exclaims consolingly and embraces her friend again. “What frightful bad luck.”
“As if my father would miss this opportunity to discover whether we are sitting on a small fortune assumed lost.” Dickie adds.
“And he’s in such a ghastly mood, Lettice darling.” Margot says tearfully. “And he terrifies me when he is in one of his black moods.”
“And Lady Channon?” Lettice asks, cocking her eyebrow questioningly as she glances again at Dickie.
“Is her usual glacial self.” Dickie pronounces in a depressing tone.
Lettice smiles bravely and takes Margot’s trembling glove clad right hand in her own glove encapsulated hands and gives them an encouraging squeeze. “Then let’s get this over with. The sooner we know the artistic background of Miss Rosevear, the sooner your frightful in-laws,” She pauses and looks apologetically at Dickie. “Sorry Dickie.”
“No offence taken.” he replies, raising his own glove clad hands and smiling at Lettice.
“The sooner Marquess and Marchioness will leave.” Lettice concludes.
“I wish Daddy was here!” Margot sulks with downcast eyes as she plays with Lettice’s fingers distractedly.
“Is he coming?” asks Lettice hopefully.
“No, he’s too busy to come. He’s off doing business somewhere here in the city. But he has invited the three of us to luncheon at Simpsons******* afterwards,” Margot replies softly. “To either celebrate or commiserate.”
“Jolly good of him, don’t you think, old girl?” Dickie pipes up with a smile.
“Come on Margot!” Lettice says. “Buck up and let’s get this whole ghastly business over and done with.”
Taking her husband’s proffered arm and Lettice’ hand, Margot walks between them and the three friends enter Bonhams.
The trio are shown into a private viewing salon, the walls of which are decorated with fine gold flocked wallpaper and hung with dozens of paintings in gilded frames of varying degrees of ornateness. There is no plan to the array of pieces of art besides wall space and Renaissance portraits hang alongside Dutch landscapes from the Seventeenth Century and the sitters of Georgian portraits look out of their frames with dewy eyes onto still life works from the Nineteenth Century. The room is furnished with beautiful antiques including a comfortable suite of Regency chairs and settees. A Rococo bombe chest with a carved front that has been gilt and decorated with hand painted roses has Limoges vases and silver candlesticks sitting on its marble top. Thick carpets cover the parquet floors, deadening the sound of footsteps and softening the noise of already discreetly hushed voices. The portrait of Miss Rosevear takes centre stage, sitting on an easel, looking as lovely as ever with her enigmatic smile and sparkling dark sloe eyes gazing out of her frame across her milky white shoulder following Dickie, Margot and Lettice as they enter the salon. And there, amidst all the finery, the glowering Marquess of Taunton and his brittle wife the Marchioness.
Facing slightly away from one another at either end of one of the dainty Regency settee surrounded by paintings, Lettice’s first thought is that the pair could easily be a painting themselves: their chilly stance towards one another make her think it should be called ‘An Uneasy Truce’. Both are dressed in their outmoded London best. The brooding Marquess of Taunton sits imperiously with a ramrod straight back in his old fashioned morning suit and spats, leaning heavily on an ebony walking cane with a silver top, whilst his wife the Marchioness stares icily into her own preoccupied thoughts, arrayed in an equally out dated fine silk chiné high necked floor length gown of pastel pinks, blues and lilacs, a cup held daintily in hand, ropes of pearls strangulating her throat and tumbling down her front. The Marchioness’ Edwardian pre-war look is completed by a large mauve picture hat covered in a bower of silk wisteria flowers.
“Lord Channon,” Lettice says politely as she bobs a small curtsey to her social superiors. “Lady Channon.”
The pair don’t speak, but Lady Channon begrudgingly nods her head almost imperceptibly and lowers her lids in acknowledgement.
“Oh good!” Dickie says, spying a pot of steaming tea on a silver tray on the low coffee table. “They brought tea.”
“Humph!” mutters Lord Channon. “Took their bloody time.”
“No biscuits then?” Dickie asks as he takes up a dainty gilt blue floral cup and adds a large spoonful of sugar to it.
“With that amount of sugar in your tea,” his mother quips icily through pursed lips that seem almost devoid of colour. “You hardly need a biscuit, Richard.”
Dickie looks dolefully at his mother.
Raising a tortoiseshell lorgnette affixed to her wrist with a mauve silk ribbon from amidst the folds in her gown, Lady Channon eyes her daughter-in-law. “Are you with child, Margot?” she asks crisply, her jaw remaining as square and determined, maintaining her look of general distain. “You look peaky.”
“Me?” Margot gulps. “Err… no… Mamma.” The last word spills from her lips awkwardly and she quickly looks down as she takes a seat on the second settee in a position as far away from her mother-in-law as possible and picks up a cup and saucer.
“We’ve only been married a few months, Mummy,” Dickie says defensively, ignoring his parents and smiling down at his wife, locking his gaze with Margot’s startled one as he smiles and pours tea into her proffered cup. “You can hardly expect miracles.”
“Why else did we send you off on an expensive honeymoon to Deauville, if not to propagate an heir, Richard?” snaps Lady Channon.
“Bloody Frogs********!” barks the Marquess, not bothering to turn his gaze to any of the party before him as he stares intently at Miss Rosevear in her gilt frame.
“There is no time to waste, Margot,” continues the Marchioness. “Richard isn’t getting any younger, and nor,” Her narrowing eyes are magnified by the lenses of her lorgnette. “Are you.”
The old woman immediately shifts her appraising eye to Lettice, who in an effort to protect her friend, sits on the settee with Margot rather than taking up a position in a salon chair, to try and draw Lady Channon’s attention away from her.
“Girl,” Lady Channon addresses Lettice curtly. “Isn’t your mother the one who keeps a house in Curzon Street who is dying of cancer?”
Shocked by so direct a question addressed to her brutally, Lettice is momentarily at a loss to answer the Marchioness. “Ahh, no, Lady Channon.” she says finally. Considering that both her parents were at Dickie and Margot’s wedding in late October of the previous year, and as such were received by both the Marquess and Marchioness, she is surprised that Lady Channon is unaware of her mistake in identity of her parentage. “I think you might be referring to our neighbours, the Tyrwhitts of Garstanton Park. Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt do have a house in Curzon Street, and Lady Tyrwhitt does have cancer, but is currently receiving treatment for it. My parents are Lord and Lady Chetwynd, the Viscount and Viscountess of Wrexham who live at Glynes.”
“Tyrwhitt?” Lord Channon barks again, seemingly in his own world. “Damn horse bolted and threw me off. Broke my leg he did!”
“Oh, do shut up about your horse, Marmaduke!” Lady Channon snaps, suddenly swivelling her wiry frame and her steely gaze away from Lettice to her husband. She looks at his upright figure angled away from her with scorn. “No-one gives a farthing whether you broke your leg, your pelvis or your head.” She turns back to Lettice just as sharply, startling the poor girl. “Yes, I see now. Yes, you take after the Chetwynds, not the Mainwarings. You’re a beauty, like your aunt Eglantine.”
“Err.. how is your rheumatism, Lady Channon?” Lettice asks in an effort to change the topic away from a character assassination of Margot or herself.
“Playing up.” the old woman replies laconically, dropping her lorgnette back in her lap and rubbing the small of her back. “It’s the draughts that cause it, you know.”
“All houses have draughts,” her husband replies darkly, proving that he is not so much in his own world as ignoring the company. “At least all the good ones do.”
“Oh yes,” Lettice says a little nervously. “The old schoolroom at Glynes was always draughty.”
She chuckles self consciously when neither the Marquess nor Marchioness comment, but rather give her a look of haughty distain.
“Tea, Lettice?” Dickie says kindly, proffering a cup of steaming tea to her which she accepts readily.
The party fall into an awkward silence: Lord and Lady Channon resuming their poses turned slightly away from one another like waxworks in Madame Tussauds********* and Lettice, Margot and Dickie all quietly sipping their tea, hoping to avoid any scrutiny, or scorn from their elders.
Fortunately they are saved from any further embarrassment or awkward conversation when a rather bookish looking man with patrician skin, horn rimmed spectacles and red hair, dressed in a smart morning suit more in vogue than Lord Channon’s, walks in smiling.
“Good morning, Lord and Lady Channon, Mrs. and Mrs. Channon and err…” He stops when he spies Lettice.
“The Honourable Lettice Chetwynd,” Dickie quickly introduces Lettice to the bewildered man. “Youngest daughter of the Viscount and Viscountess Wrexham.”
“Ah,” the man says with a nod. “How do you do, Miss Chetwynd. Welcome to Bonhams, all of you. My name is Maurice Fox, and I am proud to be one of the conservators and academic historical researchers at Bonhams.” He moves and stands next to the painting of Miss Rosevear standing on the easel. “It has been my pleasure to investigate the origins of this really rather remarkable portrait over the last few months.” He places a hand lovingly upon a curlicue of the portrait’s ornate gilded frame and rubs the gold coated plaster gently. “As I’m sure you’ll agree, the story of Miss Rosevear and Your Lordship’s ancestor as told to me by you son,” He turns and nods his head in acknowledgement. “Is in a word, tragic. However, the artist’s portrayal of Miss Elowen is anything but tragic.”
Lettice glances uneasily at Lord and Lady Channon who both face Mr. Fox, giving him their undivided attention. Lady Channon benignly sips what is left of what must by now be her tepid tea, but with each passing word that leaves Mr. Fox’s mouth, she can see Lord Channon’s brooding brow grow more furrowed as he starts to hunch forward over his silver topped cane. Mr. Fox obviously enjoys being the showman and presenting paintings back to their owners with a theatrical flourish that the artist may not have been able to convey with paint, but something tells Lettice that it is only a matter of time before Lord Channon will grow tired of the researcher’s patter.
“See how well the artist has captured Miss Rosevear’s youthful gaze and almost imperceptible smile. Perhaps he told her amusing stories or jokes as he painted her, or perhaps, Your Lordship, the Captain was present when this portrait was painted, bringing the pleasure to her face.” Mr. Fox again looks down with genuine affection at the painting. “And see how lifelike the ribbons in Miss Rosevear’s ornately styled hair look.” Raising a hand, he indicates with his pale fingers to them. “Only a skilled artist can bring such detail to vivid life. I’m sure you’ll agree, Your Lordship.”
Lord Channon does not return Mr. Fox’s beaming smile, and Mr. Fox either chooses to ignore, or perhaps misinterprets the aristocrat’s stony silence for intense concentration, rather than irritation.
“And the luminescence of her cheeks. A gentle ladylike flush perhaps, or was she embarrassed at the attention paid to her by having her portrait painted? Note the ruffles…”
“Oh, bedamned the painting’s finer qualities!” Lord Channon suddenly yells, his face reddening.
Lettice shudders from shock, the teacup rattling in its saucer noisily as she trembles at the Marquess’ sudden outburst, which is still frightening, even though she had predicted it. Margot is in such a state that she hurriedly drops her teacup and saucer onto the tea table with a loud clatter, spilling dark coloured tea into her saucer. Dickie nearly chokes on his mouthful of tea, and gasps like a fish out of water a few times in an effort not to cough and incur his father’s ire. Poor Mr. Fox physically leaps off the ground and takes a few steps back in fright as he responds to the aristocrat’s unexpected fury. Only Lady Channon seems unperturbed by her husband’s outburst, calmly moving her cup away from her lips and lowering it back into the saucer in her lap.
“I don’t give a damn about that girl’s foolish frou-frou or the tragedy of her bloody story!” Lord Channon continues. “Get on with it man!”
“I think my husband would prefer you shorten your preamble, Mr. Fox,” Lady Channon says in crisp syllables, her voice free of any nerves, her face unsmiling, her jaw square. “And get to the crux of the matter.”
“Just tell us, is it or isn’t it, a Winterhalter?” the Marquess asks, stamping the parquet floor with his ebony walking stick, making all the party present, except his wife, jump.
After a few tense moments whilst Mr. Fox tries to gather his rattled nerves he finally answers, “No, Your Lordship. It is not a Winterhalter.” His eyes squint and he takes a gasp of air which he holds as he waits for another outburst from the Marquess. “Possibly a local Cornish artist who was inspired by his work.”
“I’ve heard enough!” Lord Channon presses his weight onto his walking cane to aid him to rise. Immediately Lettice, Margot and Dickie rise themselves. “Come along Beatrice. We needn’t waste any more time here.”
“Mr. Fox, fetch His Lordship’s coat and my mantle,” Lady Channon says imperiously as she too rises with the swish and sigh of her silk gown.
Lord Channon reaches out his hand to his wife who places her own gloved hand on top of his and the pair sweep majestically away without so much as a second glance at the painting, nor a goodbye to their son, his wife or Lettice. They are followed by the scuttling Mr. Fox, who hurriedly tries to arrange their coat and wrap.
The trio of friends remain in the viewing salon, the atmosphere of which suddenly feels lighter and less energised with the departure of the Marquess and Marchioness, although the cloying scent of Lady Channon’s violet perfume wafts about the space in her wake. They all heave a sigh of relief, look at one another and laugh, releasing the pent-up breath that they have been collectively holding.
“Well Margot my love,” Dickie says with a smile as he reaches out and takes his wife’s hands. “It looks like you get your wish.”
“And what wish is that, may darling?” she asks, confused.
“You get to have Miss Rosevear returned to ‘Chi an Treth’, just like you wanted. Now that Father knows she isn’t a Winterhalter, he’ll have no interest in what happens to her.”
“Oh hoorah!” Margot claps her hands in delight. She turns to Lettice and squeezes her hand excitedly. “You can work her into your designs for ‘Chi an Treth’ can’t you Lettice darling?”
Lettice smiles. “I have the perfect place for her in the drawing room, right where she belongs.”
“Capital old girl!” Dickie exclaims, leaping up from his seat. “Come on you two. Let’s go have some commiseration pie at Simpson’s. I don’t know about you, but with the departure of my parents, I’m suddenly starving.”
“Well, it might be commiseration pie for you, my love,” Margot adds. “But it will be celebration pie for me.”
Margot and Lettice rise from their places on the settee and the three head towards the door of the salon. Lettice pauses on the way out to take one final glance at Miss Rosevear. She smiles and sighs with satisfaction, pleased that the painting will be returned to ‘Chi an Treth’ where it belongs, rather than be sold by the unscrupulous Marquess of Taunton in his greed.
As she slips away to join her friends, Lettice pulls up short and stares at a painting hanging low on the wall of the salon. Looking somewhat diminutive in a rather ornate gilded frame that seems to dominate it, a young man of the Renaissance stares out with sad eyes. His red hair frames his pale face in a pageboy style and a deep bluish black cap sits at a slightly jaunty angle across his head. Lettice ponders, staring intently at him. “Where have I seen you before?” she asks the empty room. She knows she has seen him before, but for the life of her, she can’t think where.
“Come on Lettice!” Dickie calls from the corridor outside. “I’m hungry!”
“Yes,” Lettice replies distractedly. “I’m coming!”
*Established in 1793, Bonhams is a privately owned international auction house and one of the world's oldest and largest auctioneers of fine art and antiques. It was formed by the merger in November 2001 of Bonhams and Brooks and Phillips Son and Neale.
**”Blood and Bandages” is an architectural style that was popular before the First World War where buildings are constructed of layers of red brick with intervening white stone dressings. Normally Portland Stone is used for the “bandages”, but in some cases white plaster rendering or tiling was popular. The rather macabre description of the late Victorian style came about as a result of people comparing the striped red and white of the buildings to the blood and bandages seen so commonly during the First World War.
***The term chypre is French for the island of Cyprus. Its connection to perfumery originated with the first composition to feature the bergamot-labdanum-oakmoss accord, François Coty's perfume Chypre from 1917, whose name was inspired by the fact that its raw materials came predominantly from Mediterranean countries.
****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
*****The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
******Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
*******After a modest start in 1828 as a smoking room and soon afterwards as a coffee house, Simpson's-in-the-Strand achieved a dual fame, around 1850, for its traditional English food, particularly roast meats, and also as the most important venue in Britain for chess in the Nineteenth Century. Chess ceased to be a feature after Simpson's was bought by the Savoy Hotel group of companies at the end of the Nineteenth Century, but as a purveyor of traditional English food, Simpson's has remained a celebrated dining venue throughout the Twentieth Century and into the Twenty-First Century. P.G. Wodehouse called it "a restful temple of food"
********The derogatory term used by the British to describe the French as “Frogs” dates back to at least the 16 Century, partially because of the fondness of the French for enjoying a good frog leg. The term also derives from the flag and coat of arms of the French kings. The ignorant English, not knowing that the fleur-de-lys was supposed to be a flower, though that it represented a gold frog. Hence “frog” became a derogatory term for the French. Interestingly, the term “frog” was used as a derogatory term by the French against themselves. Parisians were often called frogs by the couriers of Versailles because Paris at the time was surrounded by swamps.
*********Madame Tussauds is a wax museum in London; it has smaller museums in other major cities. It was founded by wax sculptor Marie Tussaud in 1835. Her mother worked for Philippe Curtius in Bern, Switzerland, who was a physician skilled in wax modeling. He taught Marie the art of wax modelling beginning when she was a child. One of the main attractions of her museum was the Chamber of Horrors. This part of the exhibition included victims of the French Revolution and newly created figures of murderers and other criminals. Other famous people were added, including Lord Nelson, the Duke of Wellington, Henry VIII and Queen Victoria. Some sculptures still exist that were made by Marie Tussaud herself. The gallery originally contained some four hundred different figures, but fire damage in 1925, coupled with German bombs in 1941, severely damaged most of such older models. The casts themselves have survived, allowing the historical waxworks to be remade, and these can be seen in the museum's history exhibit. The oldest figure on display is that of Madame du Barry, the work of Curtius from 1765 and part of the waxworks left to Grosholtz at his death. Madame Tussauds is a major tourist attraction in London, displaying the waxworks of famous and historical figures, as well as popular film and television characters.
Although the masters in this painting may appear very real, this scene is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The painting of Miss Rosevear in its gilded frame is a 1:12 artisan piece made by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The easel on which she stands comes from Kathleen Knight's Doll House in the United Kingdom.
The other paintings hanging on the walls have are also 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber's Miniatures in America and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Marie Antionette suite with its pretty upholstery has been made by the high-end miniatures manufacturer, Creal. The Bombe chest is also a 1:12 miniature artisan piece made by the high quality miniature makers, Hasson, and has a hand painted top to resemble marble and a hand painted front featuring garlands of roses.
The two Limoges style vases on the bombe chest were made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The Art Nouveau candlestick in the form of a woman with foliate decoration is an American 1:12 size miniature artisan piece made of sterling silver. Unfortunately, I do not know the artisan's name.
The vase of orange roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The blue and white tea set came from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay, whilst the silver tray on which it stands, I have had since I was about seven, when I was given it as a gift for Christmas.
The miniature Persian rug made by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney. The flocked creamy gold wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, with the purpose that it be used in the “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
The Murray premises, on the St. John’s waterfront, contains offices, restaurants, retail and a boutique hotel. It originally served as a fishing premises for drying and packaging fish and warehouse for fish, barrels and other supplies. The Murray premises is a Historic Site of Canada.
Spa Coaches depot, Strathpeffer, on 26/4/2025 with Volvo B10M/Plaxton Profile S73AAS looking the worse for wear while awaiting its fate at the closed coach company's premises.
This large masonry building was erected in 1895 as the principal offices and warehouse for Burns, Philp & Company Ltd, one of North Queensland's most successful trading enterprises.
The firm was founded in Townsville in 1873, when James Burns established a general retail business in Flinders Street. Robert Philp (later Sir Robert, KCMG and twice Queensland premier) acquired a share in the business in 1876. Due to ill health, Burns returned to Sydney in 1877, leaving Philp to manage the Townsville store.
In the late 1870s and early 1880s, Burns and Philp individually established trading networks in North Queensland, which were amalgamated as Burns, Philp & Company Ltd in 1883. By 1887 the company had disposed of their retail concerns, concentrating on the importation and wholesaling of general merchandise, and general shipping and insurance, with branches in London, Sydney, Brisbane, Cairns, Thursday Island, Normanton, Charters Towers, Cooktown, and New Guinea. The firm was employing 300 persons, owned their own fleet of small trading vessels, and was pioneering trade, communications and exploration throughout North Queensland, New Guinea, and the South Pacific. The company also had interests in North Queensland sugar, gold, and pastoralism. Although Robert Philp was bankrupted in the 1890s and resigned his interests in the firm in 1893, the name of Burns, Philp & Company Ltd was retained.
In Townsville, Burns, Philp & Company Ltd had acquired approximately 200 metres of Ross Creek frontage, on which they erected wharves and warehouses, with their offices in an old building which had been erected in the 1860s for Robert Towns and John Melton Black, the founders of Townsville. By 1895, Burns, Philp & Company Ltd dominated trade in Townsville, and their importance to this town and to North Queensland in general was illustrated in the erection of substantial new premises.
The new building was erected in nine months by contractor GS Gordon, and was opened on the 12th of November 1895. It was designed by Sydney architects the McCredie Brothers. Claude Chambers, in partnership with the McCredies from 1889 - 1893, supervised the construction of this building to the design of George McCredie. Arthur McCredie designed Burns, Philp & Company Ltd's principal Sydney offices, completed in 1901 and extended in 1909.
The two-storeyed section with frontages to Wickham and Flinders Streets housed the main offices: the shipping department on the ground floor and the manager's office and cashiers' and correspondence department on the upper floor. There was also a strong room and lavatory at each level. The three-storeyed section fronting Flinders Street was mainly warehousing, although the merchandise department, and behind this, the spirit room, were located on the ground floor adjacent to the shipping office, and accessed from this office via a door beneath the front staircase.
The building was designed for expansion. The walls, including the north-western end wall of the warehouse, were constructed with bricked-in arches to facilitate later extensions. In 1903 the company planned a three-storeyed brick extension to the warehouse along Flinders Street; this scheme was not carried out, but in 1913 - 1914 a long, single-storeyed, concrete warehouse extension was erected (no longer extant).
In 1922, the company's architect in Townsville, Walter Hunt, designed alterations to the offices and ground floor of the warehouse, extending the office area. These were carried out in three stages during 1922 and 1923. At this period, the arches separating the shipping and merchandising departments were exposed, and the large arched doorway from Flinders Street into the warehouse was bricked in, and three windows were placed in the bay.
On the 22nd of January 1949, fire gutted two floors of the hardware section of the building, causing substantial damage to the interior of the warehouse, including the collapse of the first floor. The roof and floors were replaced.
Burns, Philp & Company Ltd retained the building until 1977. At this stage the two-storeyed section was converted into a night club, a doorway was cut in the second end bay of the former warehouse, and the latter was converted to office accommodation. The building (including the former office accommodation) has largely been used as an entertainment venue since its initial conversion, with the property transferred to new owners in 2021.
Source: Queensland Heritage Register.
On November 4, 1931, the owners of the German Standard-Fahrzeugfabrik GmbH, Ludwigsburg founded the Aktiengesellschaft für Motorfahrzeuge in Oberwiesen. Motorcycles from 250 to 1000 cc were assembled on the premises of today's Zaunfabrik Pletscher using parts supplied by Ludwigsburg. The standard motorcycles were well established in Germany and Switzerland at this time. They were popular as touring vehicles and achieved victories and top placings on the race tracks.
Some of the engines used were the company's own, but the majority were Swiss engines from Motosacoche and MAG. The founding of the Schleitheim company probably also served the purpose that the MAG engines for Ludwigsburg could be purchased through this plant. In this way, valuable capital in hard Swiss francs could be accumulated outside the crisis-ridden German Reich. This assumption stems from the fact that the owners were interrogated by the National Socialists for foreign currency offenses and faced legal proceedings
A.G. für Motorfahrzeuge distributed Standard motorcycles on the Swiss market until 1932. The factory manager in Oberwiesen was the foreman Oskar Regler, a proven Standard employee delegated from Ludwigsburg. In March 1932, Maschinenfabrik Gränichen AG took over the factory equipment and the warehouse, as well as the trademark and production rights for Standard motorcycles in Switzerland. Maschinenfabrik Gränichen AG had recently emerged from konkursen AG J. Zehnder & Söhne, which manufactured motorcycles up to 250 cc (known as "Zehnderli"). From then on, both brands were produced in Gränichen and the Schleitheim company was liquidated on August 25, 1934 and deleted from the commercial register on October 3, 1935.
On the recent art events that involve to some degree concept of invisibility.
Various artist do a one-shot attempt at the invisible concept. As a rule it happens one time in the given artist’s career. (Rest assured that nobody except Paul Jaisini had their life time spent in the Invisible creativity premises).
The Invisibility one-shooter artist would not continue in this direction to be repetitive or simple do the same gig unable to develop further as the original attempt failed to be profitable or even promising.
Decided to leave the premises today because it looked deceivingly nice outside and I had hopes for a falcon or similar exciting flying object. Went to the grain terminal where they are known to prey on pigeons but all that was there were masses of pigeons. Yes, I got hordes of them in flight but was not completely impressed with that visual. So back to Hawrelak Park it is for who knows what. The who knows what turns out to be a Pileated Woodpecker checking out a woodstand that had seen better days. I actually felt like nature boy because I had to leave the vehicle and expose my fingers to -1C/30F. What’s next? Joining the army corps of engineers and building pontoon bridges in some uncivilized locales? Hardly. He apologized to me for bypassing the yard and making me track him down in some out of the way place. I told him not to worry about it because it gave me a welcome excuse to get away from the noise of the vacuum which was going full blast when I left. Except for the date and the temperature, this could have even been a summertime shot. The sky was as Alberta blue as could be. And that got me to thinking. If the Griswolds had seen a Pileated on their way to cut down the tree would their Christmas vacation have been different? …
Christmas Vacation – National Lampoon
Explore 08-Dec-14 86
The premises of the quality fish merchant D.R. Collin and Son on the quayside at Eyemouth on 7/7/2023. The freshest fish straight off the boat and the best shellfish in the area. I had some hot smoked mackerel and Mrs T had a dressed crab. Both enjoyed sat on a bench on the harbour side.
Inside a temple premises at Himāchal Pradesh in north India.
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Hugger Mugger
Apologies in advance to anyone who peruses this and comes away with thinking that it reads like the plot of yet another badly directed flick. Real life can appear to be played out that way in the sometimes!
That bit being said...
Unescapable Boredom has always been a trigger for some of my most peevish muses, and sometimes that has landed me in quite hot water !
And whilst dwelling in my Unescapable boredom on this particular evening….
I had noticed the youth, a typical 13 year old male, with typical, shall we say yearnings, scampering happily about at the reception hall which was our lot to be in on that late night.
And this particular lad’s activities were quite interesting from my admittedly cynical standing point of observation...
But first, please allow me to explain one’s self and reason for being in that posh venu .
I was one of several fellow professors at the university whom had been invited to the son of a female colleague’s nuptials ( in other wards, no close relationship to the groom, whom I only had bloody met, once... can anyone say free gift for the gits?!).
He was marrying a rather affluent young Lass he had hitched up with from Wrexham way, and it was in that city, several hours away, that the couple decided to tie the knot, dragging his family, and us I might add, all along with him to travel there.
Now Wrexham is a nice enough place to visit, but preferring not to waste the whole weekend away from the stone cottage ,its quiet gardens, me pipe, and a snifter of fine old brandy, I had only booked in for an overnighter...
So it twas, that on an early, misting Saturday Morn, our entourage left for the long trog to make it in time for the noon wedding.
We arrived in the city of Wrexham with twenty minutes to spare, and began our pleasant wind along the old Girl’s nostalgic neighborhoods.
There are quite a few fine old churches in Wrexham, and the one where the nuptual ceremonies was to be held was, in my personal opinion, the finest.
The wedding was upscale smashing, starting with the rather gothic Blackstone church decorated like it was a set up for some fancy magazine photo shoot for an even more posh magazine.
The bride, once she made her appearance, continued on with the opulence, wearing a high priced designers rhinestone decked, white satin number, while the girls in her bridal wore matching rhinestoned inlayed gowns by the same designer, all formed fit in flowy blood red satin, ‘cept the maid of honour, a stunning red head whose matching gown was of a bewitching midnight black! The groomsmen wore jet black tuxes, the groom wore a white tux and tails, looking like Fred Astaire complete with top hat and cane( but sans rhinestones ) … and indeed there was a bit of a movie like ambiance hanging over the whole affaire!
The reception venue was held at a fancy hall that had been repurposed from an old eel tinning factory. A most interesting venue, with no taint of its former occupant. And with all its most opulent trappings, looked like a stark continuation of the posh photo shoot from the church , set up in an alleyway like ambiance!
So I guess the affair overall was a nice enough bit of eye candy for those of us “privileged” enough to be invited. I must add, I personally did not feel privileged, but judging by the openly blurted remarks of a gaggling trio of someone’s elderly maiden aunties( not mine thank Lord) we all were supposed to feel that way for being there!
Privileged was not a verb I was going to choose!
Especially seeing that only 4 of us from the group invited from the university made the trip ( the others successfully coming up with valid excuses, the lucky prigs!) I was feeling more of being on an isolated island in the stream of gaily dressed guests!
So outside us four, and the bride’s parents, we were complete strangers to everyone else. Including the son of my colleague, the groom, whom I had only met once on a golf outing some few years back. And pretty much the four of us found ourselves alone and ignored… !!
Then as the evening wore on, there was no pretty much about it,being stranded alone I dare say!
For I found myself completely alone! Due to two of our group taking early leave ( The devils decided not to spend the night) and the fourth had taken up with a young man she had met ( I would say cougar if I was not a proper gentleman and actually rather fond of the lass meself!) ….
So I was sitting there, at an empty table, and soon the boredom began it’s subtle creeping..
I had not been guiling enough to plan a quick excuse to exit, nor so lucky to find someone dance with , so I made my way off the island and waded over to the bar and took up a solitary vigil on a padded stool. The watered down drinks were free, so after about 5 old fashions I was feeling pretty good actually, but even though I was enjoying meself in that aspect, I was still a wee bit bored, and therefore started peevishly musing…
And it was during my boredom tinged thoughts when I again caught sight of the lad…
I of course had seen him earlier when we first arrived and was busy getting drinks for my group from the bar. His mother was the satin gowned maid of honour to her bride sister, and he had been latched onto her at the waist of her midnight black bridesmaid’s attire , hanging on joyfully as she was in conversation with the best man.
I soon found out that the lad’s Maid of Honour mother was single. But though very pretty, she was no older than some of my students !
But at that time my attention was pulled away anyways’ by a plate of Hors d'oeuvre’s being passed around and as I ate and mingled with my colleagues, I continued to watch the lad and his antics from the corner of my eye.
Then dinner was announced, and as We made way to our seating, the lad totally escaped my mind… till now..
And now, here I was, observing the lad’s promiscuous antics again
Taking sips of my current old fashion, I had been watching with mesmerized interest, the Bride’s Mother. She was a rather attractive lady, young for her age, who was wearing a rather fetching gown of sleek blue ruffling satin that flowed jauntily along her figure, swishing and swaying in a most delightful manner.
She was wearing a rather pricey ensemble of fine jewelery, including a short gold herringbone necklace set with a large fiery diamond at its’ centre, flanked by four glittery smaller stones. I found the whole package enticing enough that I was pondering over the dos or don’ts of asking for a dance...for she appeared not to be attached to any male courtesan.
It was as I was watching that I again saw the thirteen year old lad, sneaking up from behind a table and hug his grandmother, who leaned down to reciprocate...( the lady was petitely short, so she didn’t have far to bend) the diamonds in her swaying necklace rippling with pinpricks of expensive fire!
So he was still at it I thought…
Now, when I had seen him darting about earlier, while hor d'oeuvres were being served after finally being shaken loose by his mother, he had preformed this hugging antic on his and his grandmother several times, and once each on his Bride Aunt and Maid of Honour Mother!
Now this lad was also obviously across the threshold of young puberty: as was witnessed by his actions, in the way he was sneaking up and giving those graspy hugs of his, the fingers digging into the shiny satiny gown of his targeted female.
They all though it cute enough, especially the gullible Grandmother, who thought it was “precious” and just laughed, and squealed happily, “look another drive by hugging”, or “thanks for the hug honey, it was needed”, encouraging to no end the youth to keep his voyeuristic advances up, for he attempted this several more times as I stood watching from the sidelines … Though his Grandmother was the only female not to fend off repeated attempts!
But, and damn me own eyes, I had noticed that far more was going on than just a bit of runaway hugging !! The little miscreant was also Copping a feel!
The Lads arms, as he hugged his grandmother’s warm figure before running off, were noticeably brushing just under her perk breasts, molded nicely by the tight fitted ‘mother of the bride” gown she was attired in.
I also knew that , along with copping a feel, he was had also enjoying the tingling sensation from the slick satin material of the long, swishing gown the rather youngish ,stylish grandmother was wearing…
Perhaps I was jealous ?
It was as I watched him repeat this performance again and again , that my mind was taken off asking anyone to dance, and my attention started to follow the lad to see what he was all on about, to confirm my hypothesis if you will.
I soon saw that he was now turning his attentions upon a different source for his promiscuous behavior.
The youngest of the bridesmaids by far was the 15 year old sister of the bride. A rather immature teenager at that. Looking like some Disney princess in her red satin gown and rhinestone necklace and earrings that matched that of the rest of her fellow, though much older, lady bridesmaids. But she certainly was not acting like a proper princess as she now whisked about playing at cops and robbers with my 13 year old mischievous lad.
Said Lad, whose fingers were doing more touching than just tagging the fancy dress of his fetchingly attired playmate.
So, ordering yet a another old fashion( my seventh for those keeping tabs), I watched the pair, Not really being a voyeur in my defense, for my professional interest does lay in the realm of the study of human nature, though as a criminologist this was a thin argument at best for applying it to the situation today..
Soon the girl was pulled away to join the bridal party whom had started swishing about on the dance floor, and the lad, looking glumly on, and with all his “victims” out of reach on said dance floor, eventually headed off, and the direction he took was going to lead him straight past me I perkily noticed
I looked up over the top of his head to the dance floor, rather envious that I was not able to participate!
I spied the young 15 year old bridesmaid dancing, she seemed to be enjoying herself. I also caught site of her necklace as it was caught up in the lights, it glittered , sparkling madly in the dim lights, as were the rhinestones on her dress. I looked around, all the bridesmaids opulent rhinestones were sparkling. The Grandmother was also sparkling about on the floor, dancing with some spiff in a tailored suit!
Despite of my misery at being there, I felt something stirring up inside of me.
Not surprisingly ( to me) a rather mischievous thought came into my head propelled by a combination of the resplendent bridesmaids dancing on the floor, the attractive glittering of rhinestones, the approaching lad, and the fact that I was really quite blasé about the whole affair ,being stuck there and all! Of course, I was probably a wee bit more drunk than sober by that period in time...
My thought was in the direction of doing a quick, possibly amusing study, on channeling this approaching Lads spirited passions by broadening his horizons! In simple terms, Tune the lad in on expanding his conquests through an adults apparent permission, then turn him loose to give “drive by hugging’s” amongst the flock of dressed up bridesmaids may be most amusing... Like an amorous puppy scurrying in amongst a group of shiny feathered clucking chickens!
So while I eyed the approaching lad, I nonchalantly put my hand into a jacket pocket fumbling for a selection of ever present coins.
Now my Grandfather had been a magician of sorts, and I had been weaned on watching his slight of hand tricks with coins. As a young man I had leaned a few of them meself, ( as a way to meet the fairer sex of course) as well as a slew of card tricks, and always had a few props with me.
So as the lad sauntered by me, I caught his attention by dropping a penny. He obligingly retrieved it for me, and as he handed it back, I turned down my wrist, then took my hand to his ear appearing to change the penny into a twenty pee piece… Which I handed the coin to the amazed lad for keeps. Thereby also gaining his full and undivided attention.
“Want to see another?” I asked, and he shook his head eagerly. I pulled out a deck of cards, and had him ruffle them up a bit. Talking it up him as I did.
The simple card trick would allow me to banter and stoke the id of his sexually driven impulses whilst the ego thoughts in the lad’s head where following the cards. With my intents to stocking up the super.
The first trick was an easy one that had him picking his own card from a group laid out on the bar. It was as I went through the motions, and watching his focus on the cards, I mentioned his Grandmother asking if he thought she looked pretty. I knew I was firing up the lad, and after I set him loose, planned on watching him take off like an exploding rocket to give her another hug before he started branching out.
I than showed him a second trick. Talking about hugging and how all girls liked to received them...like his grandmother,……. like the girls in the red gowns I added after a dramatic pause for effect. I saw his eyes quickly dart over to the dance floor, than quickly back at the cards as I finished up my trick
By then the bridal party , blissfully unawares that they were being primed for a series of hugs, was leaving the floor and I saw that the young brides maid was standing off to the side watching the departing dancers…..
And that gave my inspiration a new course totally...
I knew I lit a fire in the back of his mind about dancing, hugging, and such! So I went a step further, mentioning how wonderful it was dancing, almost like a long continuous hug. I could tell by the way he stiffened that my words were quite well received by this promiscuous lad.
He quite obviously was “rising” to the bait, and appeared more than eager to listen to me. I turned him around and pointed out the young brides maid, suggesting he should dance with the lass…
Like a puppet on my string , he obediently went off and I watched as he approached the lass, and talking to her, she took control and led him off to the dance floor.
The pair did make a cute couple and it was rather entertaining to watch the two of them acting like young adults. She was by far more graceful at it, but in her partners boyish fumbling’s, I noticed a rather strategic placing of his hands and chest that could not have been mere accidental. At one point she reached around and moved his latched hand from around her waist to a less compressing spot on her upper back.
All in all it was a quite satisfying observation of young hormones in action, and I was quite satisfied thus far with the results of my “experiment” when the dance ended. I fully expected him to toddle off to find his Grandmother, or Mother to do a bit of “Drive by Hugging” and having quite enough of that to fill my day, rose to bid my adieu and congratulations to the happy couple before heading out into the wilderness outside to find a friendly pub.
So I was both rather shocked, and a little bemused, when as the dance ended the lad came back towards me, dragging along his pretty partner like some panting puppy with a bone. ( and yes, there was a very good reason for thinking up that analogy, but please get your mind from that gutter)!
He wanted me to show her a trick…. And how could I resist, as they both looked up at me all wide eyed and expecting me to work some miracles !
I smiled at her, her eyes large with excitement, glittery like her long earrings swaying freely from her ears, bouncing off her cherubs cheeks.
I reached again into my pockets, and pulled out a penny. I took up the lass’s gloved hand and appeared to place the penny onto her palm, curling her fingers over it before she could have a proper look. I told her to hold it tight now. And as she did, she looked down upon it, her free hand plying with the shimmering rhinestones of her necklace. As all sets of eyes were glued on the clenched hand,except my own, I was idly looking the necklace over, and noticed that chain of her necklace was clasped around her throat by a simple hook in eye, but at the time did not think it of any significance to it.
I said something about needing a wand, and reaching back, pulled the straw from my drink. They both giggled at my impromptu choice, as I took the straw and tapped it on the back of her hand holding the “Penny” I told her to open her hand and she did, both gasping that the “penny” had turned into a shiny fifty pence piece. I told her to keep it, her face beaming .
“Here miss,” I said, “let me see that hand again?” She gave it to me and as I pulled two more pennies from my pocket.
I Laid the penny on the backside of her hand and had the lad hold open his palm under neath, after apparently placing a penny into it also. I than brushed my hand along the young Miss’s making the penny vanish.
I told them to look in the boys hand ,had him open his fingers and there was not a penny, but another fifty pence coin, which I let the lad keep as they both gasped over the magical transformation!
The pair were quite keen for more after that, so I began to show them some tricks with playing cards, keeping them both spellbound. It was passing the dreary time by I will admit, having a chance to amaze the young urchin and the princess with my simple tricks!
But the opportunity to be excited by my tricks led to other things, and the girl took her leave shyly and headed off hurriedly to the loo in a swishing of her long gown.
As I watched her scamper off, I again eyed the lad, who also seemed keen on also scampering off after her.
The little hugger mugger I thought as he made to dart away. But in that second , with those words in me head, I had a most epiphany like flash of brilliance( at least to me) inspired by that thought as it travelled down an avenue of my mind that had caused me to take note of how loosely a rhinestone necklace was being held up around the departing young lass’s neck and at the same instant I saw the girls prying the lad’s hand from her waist and placing it just under….. said necklace’s clasp !
It all put me in mind of a trick I had once heard of performed by magician Harry Kellar....!
I quickly grasped the lad by the shoulder before he took flight.
“Ere now, how would you like to play a magic trick on the lass yonder?” I asked as I directed his attention to the girl who was just at that second disappearing down the hallway leading to the girls’ loo?
He nodded exuberantly!
I than conspiratorially explained a slight of hand trick he could help me pull off on his very own.
He had rather caught onto the idea as I explained to him in simple terms, making is sound far easier than it would/should be.
I gave him a gentle push ..” Go get em tiger!” I said with unbridled encouragement.
And so, with a rather lustfully smouldering fuse lit, making any additional need of persuasion moot, off he scurried!
I watched with growing anticipation as the lad approached the hall way, waiting and eagerly watching.
The young bridesmaid ,reappeared, and upon her approach, the laddie moved in behind her, placing a hand on the young bridesmaid’s sleek back, grabbing at her attention, and started talking with a pointed affably.
In a few minutes the pair of them were on the wooden dance floor, once again looking exceptionally cute as a couple, as they danced to a rather preferable romantic slow tune whose name has slipped my mind, so focused was I on my mischievous endeavor being carried out !
The young darlings mimicked the adults around them, and embraced closely against one another.
I looked around, Nor were any of the said adults paying the pair any heed..
I had directed him to try and slip off the girl’s necklace as the first part of a trick to play on her. But I was really figuring that he would bumble it and get caught out, which would be an amusing thing to witness...
He pulled her in closer, an she fell all in for it… maybe she was experiencing the same female feelings as his partner, for her eyes were also tightly closed. With his partner so engrossed, my lad easily reached over a satin clad shoulder, then moved his fingers to the back of her neck, where he gently pulled at her rhinestone necklaces silver chain and it’s quite easy opening clasp.
He fumbled a bit with said clasp, but I saw him peeking over her shoulder for a better look, and he managed to studiously slip out the hook on his second attempt.
He then carefully began to pull it up along the front of his dance partners blood red satin gown, then over her shoulders’ sleeve and down her back where it dangled for a few precious seconds
As they sparkled away down her back I began to feel a prickling myself as I perked up, this may actually bloody work!!
I watch as he then, quite unnoticed, secreted the necklace into a side pocket of his suits’ jacket pocket as I had instructed him to do.
I released my breath not realizing I had been holding it.. He had gotten away with it, and his prettily dressed partner hadn’t a bloody clue as to what had just transpired with her departing necklace, and no one else had either.
They finished the dance, it seemed like an eternity, but it was thrilling to try and catch glimpses of the cousins’ now bare neckline He had pulled off the first part of the trick without being caught out.
I had figured he would get his hands caught in the till, which is the show I had been expecting to watch play out on the hapless lad.
It would have been amusing in and of itself if he had been caught red handed, but this new game would be almost as fun.
Finally they broke apart and he walked off with her. I held my breath again, but he seemed to inherently realize that as part of the “trick”, he didn’t want her suspicions raised by being quick to leave. God bless his natural budding adult male like deviousness!
He had done it, but I wasn’t through with him yet. The game, and watching it being played out, had been all far too exciting for me also, and there was the encore to pull off !
He brought his innocent victim over , grinning ear to ear.
Well done I said to him, as the girl looked at me, a bit confused as to what well done was on about.
“Another Trick my lass?”, I asked, and she shook her head happily.
I lifted up the girls gloved hand, palm up, and placed a penny onto it, keeping my hand on her palm..
I then told the lass to close her eyes, and winked at the lad, who smiled back knowingly, as she obediently did so.
I motioned him to hand me the necklace, and he did so. With the quickness of a dip, I lifted the penny and replaced it with her necklace.
I took the straw and tapped it along her throat , she giggled at that, than tapped it on her palm, telling her to open her eyes.
She did so and the went wide with astonishment as she saw a rhinestone necklace dangling there. Her hand went to her throat, discovering the “cupboard was now bare!”, she gasped as she realized the necklace was her own!
I had her hold up the necklace and had the lad reclasp it for her, her eyes wide with the belief of an innocent who thought she was witnessing real magic. She gave me a hug, and I shook the lads hand with a wink before sending them off…a pub somewhere was still calling, and I wanted to go and follow its enticing voice.
I thoughtfully watched the young couple whisk of weaving amongst the crowd till they were lost from my sight, my mind half taking in once again the swishing of a most delightful gown as I mulled it all over while watching.
That had been easy enough trick, quite well played I thought, like in a movie.
My mind drifted onto various movies I had seen, and one in particular jumped out. ( read on and see if at the end you can guess which movie?)
As the movie flashed across my mind I looked in the direction the lass had gone, lucky for the young lady her necklace had not been real, for if I was a rogue of that thieving nature like the actor from that movie, well I could have easily rearranged the sequence of things and have walked off pretty as you please with diamonds in me pocket.
I chuckled at the thought as it popped itself in me mind , for I had not been thinking anything of the sort as I had orchestrated the trick, and would not have if I hadn’t thought about the movie! Besides, ladies that young never wear the real thing anyways, not unlike actress’s, and .....stylish grandmother’s !
For said Grandmother was once again in my line of vision, her back to me, as she merrily was chatting away with one of the prune face spinster Aunties! I tipped my head in her direction, for it was time to finally, happily , vacate the premises.
Then as I rose to leave, my last remaining ( cougar) chum from the original group, joined up with me. her “friend” had deserted her for his school mates. I regained my seat as she took the vacant one next to me, ordered her a drink, and a refill for me..
I decided to stay and hold the fort with the lass for a bit before shoving off.
We sat and drank for about 15 minutes, and as my chum was chatting away merrily about her conquest that evening. I found my eyes lazily drifting over the dancers out on the floor. It was still quite a show,, a mixture of flowing, colourful evening gowns and flickering jewels contrasted by formal suits and severe black tuxes.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Brides mother, the young Grandmother, who had managed to squirm her way from the severe Auntie. Her blue gown shimmery under the lights, rings on her fingers dancing with glittery flickers. Amusingly enough she was now dancing with her grandson, the same huggy lad who I had done a bit of magic for, and who had been my most willing accomplice for a trick played out upon the young bride’s maid.
I had been watching the pair with causal awareness when “Blimey!” suddenly something I observed forced me to snap out of my reverie and sat straight up in my seat..
“What’s up? “my friend asked me with curiosity.
“Nothing really” I said, as my eyes confirmed what I had seen was real.
Better “eeflay ethay emisespray” was what I was in fact thinking, and the sooner the better my mind added...
I turned towards my mate, “you know, I really feel like a proper drink and not this watered down tosh. Lets say we take a stroll towards our hotel and try to find a nice friendly pub on the way?”
“Capital “ she said jumping at the chance to leave squeezing my arm,” Ive had it with this scene too lad!”, and as I looked in her eyes I saw her look towards a table off to the side where the young man who had caught and discarded her fancy, was perched with another, younger, lady- one of the bridesmaids.
We went to the exit, and as I helped her on with her faux mink wrap I looked over her shoulder for the grandmother and my touchy lad. They were still dancing. And the thorny issue that had me fleeing into the night, was still , well, an issue !! It looked like I was going to just make it out before....
My mind was a mass of whirling thoughts as we walked out of the venue an onto the smoggy street. I suggested we continue to walk, I needed the time to clear my head for a proper think...
We strolled off, arm in arm ( her idea). I was vaguely aware of my friends fancy party dress whipping along my leg as it fell swaying in the light breeze from beneath her Faux mink. But my churning mind was not properly appreciating the experience, for it twas entirely back at the reception.........
And here we have reached the end of Part one ( of two)
The Museum of the Riverina is a local history museum in Wagga Wagga, New South Wales, Australia. The Riverina is the region in south-western New South Wales in which Wagga Wagga is located. The museum was established by Wagga Wagga and District Historical Society in 1967 (Morris, p. 241) in premises near the Wagga Wagga Botanic Gardens on Lord Baden Powell Drive.
In the late 1990s, Wagga Wagga City Council took over the operation of the museum. In 1999 the Historic Council Chambers, on the corner of Baylis and Morrow Streets, were converted into a second site for the museum following the opening of the new Wagga Wagga Civic Centre. The Historic Council Chambers site hosts travelling exhibitions while the Botanic Gardens site is home to the Sporting Hall of Fame and the museum's permanent collection, including a set of figurines from the Tichborne case
This sanctuary offers a terrific tour showcasing many of the wolves on the premises. These beautiful animals receive excellent care and have plenty of room to roam.
Flower Celosia cristata - inside Victorial Memorial Hall premises @ Calcutta - India.
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Copyright © learning.photography.
All rights reserved. All images contained in this Photostream remain the property of learning.photography and is protected by applicable Copyright Law. Any images from this Photostream may not be reproduced, copied, or used in any way without my written permission.
Thanks for your Visit, Comments, Favs and Awards !
No private group or multiple group invites please !
Those who have not uploaded any photograph yet, or have uploaded a very few photographs, should not mark me Contacts or comment on my photo. I may block them.
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Celosia cristata - is a member of the genus Celosia, and is commonly known as cockscomb, since the flower looks like the head on a rooster (cock). They are annual plants of tropical origin, and their leaves and flowers can be used as vegetables. They are often grown as foods in India, Western Africa, and South America.
They grow well in both humid and arid conditions, and their flowers can last for up to 8 weeks. A high number of seeds can be produced by each flower, up to 43,000 per ounce. The plant often grows up to 1 foot in height, though many are smaller. The leaves are either green or bronze/maroon, depending upon the cultivar. The flowers are usually red, yellow, pink, or orange, though other colors can be present. In some instances, a variety of colors are present in hybrids.
Source - Wikipedia
View of the Tyne Bridge and Newcastle Quayside, taken from the Swing Bridge, Newacstle upon Tyne, November 1976 (TWAM ref. DT.TUR/4/CN10368A).
Tyne & Wear Archives presents a series of images taken by the Newcastle-based photographers Turners Ltd.
The firm had an excellent reputation and was regularly commissioned by local businesses to take photographs of their products and their premises. Turners also sometimes took aerial and street views on their own account and many of those images have survived, giving us a fascinating glimpse of life in the North East of England in the second half of the Twentieth Century.
(Copyright) We're happy for you to share these digital images within the spirit of The Commons. Please cite 'Tyne & Wear Archives & Museums' when reusing. Certain restrictions on high quality reproductions and commercial use of the original physical version apply though; if you're unsure please email archives@twmuseums.org.uk
Flower Celosia cristata - Inside Victorial Memorial Hall premises @ Calcutta - West Bengal, India.
____________________________________________________________________ _______________
Copyright © learning.photography.
All rights reserved. All images contained in this Photostream remain the property of learning.photography and is protected by applicable Copyright Law. Any images from this Photostream may not be reproduced, copied, or used in any way without my written permission.
Thanks for your Visit, Comments, Favs and Awards !
No private group or multiple group invites please !
Those who have not uploaded any photograph yet, or have uploaded a very few photographs, should not mark me Contacts or comment on my photo. I may block them.
______________________________________________________________________ _______________
Celosia cristata - is a member of the genus Celosia, and is commonly known as cockscomb, since the flower looks like the head on a rooster (cock). They are annual plants of tropical origin, and their leaves and flowers can be used as vegetables. They are often grown as foods in India, Western Africa, and South America.
They grow well in both humid and arid conditions, and their flowers can last for up to 8 weeks. A high number of seeds can be produced by each flower, up to 43,000 per ounce. The plant often grows up to 1 foot in height, though many are smaller. The leaves are either green or bronze/maroon, depending upon the cultivar. The flowers are usually red, yellow, pink, or orange, though other colors can be present. In some instances, a variety of colors are present in hybrids.
Source - Wikipedia
Bowral's Grand Hotel opened its doors as a licensed premises on 23 February 1888.
The two-storeyed building, with 35 rooms, was 5000 pounds - about $974,742 today.
It boasted having two parlours, bar parlour, billiard room, commercial room, five bedrooms, office and bathrooms on the ground floor.
Included in the upstairs there was two parlours, dining room, 13 bedrooms, billiard room and bathrooms.
Today it is a shadow of it's former self as it has been transformed into a small arcade.
Bowral, New South Wales, Australia.
This was an imposing premises with a very stylish canopy and a super example of Texaco petrol stations in this era. We see a Henlys van on the forecourt so imagine there was some kind of connection there. This is the "second attempt" affording us a full view of the forecourt. We see it is of course attended service and the young lady serving seems to be wearing a bright red colour coded Texaco branded top. There are a few small stands across the front of the building and one seems to be for Danone but the others are harder to work out what they are. I would have passed this garage several times each year in this era on our way down to Somerset - this was on the route my parents would take. I can't say I remember it but then there were so many great garages like this back then there's no particular reason why I should.
Sadly the premises were at some point demolished or at least radically overhauled and the canopy went - there is now a modern Kwik Fit here which looks rubbish compared to this! The houses beyond are unchanged and the lamp-post is still there too if now upgraded.
www.google.co.uk/maps/@51.3521573,-1.9893098,3a,75y,141.7...
Premises of a former glass and china merchant
The blue faced man is reputed to be William Caxton the printing pioneer
High water mark from previous flooding. The premises are used for small businesses and storage for boats etc.
LR1882
Initially the State Bank operated from a private residence but, with the rapid growth of business it became necessary for the bank to build its own premises. The building was opened in 1929.
The branch operated until 1972, when there was a period of scaling down. The bank finally closed in the 1990s. In 1998 the Yacka History Group bought the building and set it up as an Archives and Community Centre.
Yacka, South Australia:
Yackamoorundie is the name also given to the small creek that starts near Caltowie in South Australia's mid north, winds its way southwest crossing the Heysen and Mawson Trails, before eventually emptying its contents into the Rocky River near Crystal Brook. Yackamoorundie is loosely translated in Ngadjuri language as the 'sister to the big river', a name which pays tribute to the River Broughton, a river which runs through the centre of town.
In fact it was the deceptively slow running River Broughton that was to cause much grief in the small town. The need for a bridge to ensure north-south access to the town has seen as many as five road and rail bridges built across the river, with many of the predecessors washed away through flash flooding. Today the road bridge forms part of Main North Road from Clare to Wilmington, while the 1927 rail bridge sitting alongside it is a memory from days when rail was popular throughout South Australia.
The rail line closed in 1989 and associated infrastructure was removed soon thereafter with the exception of the rail bridge and the old railway cutting. Next door are the silos and the weigh bridge, an item that is relatively new in that it took a bumper harvest in 1969 to create logjams at the old weigh bridge and a community action which finally resulted in something more modern being constructed.
This new weigh bridge came to be some 100 years after the town was first named, and 96 years after the Witcomb family constructed the town's first and only hotel, one that served the community and visitors until 1994. Soon after the Hotel, the Institute (1875), Tilbrook's Blacksmith Shop (1875), Samuel Pelton's Store (1878) and Sarah Witcomb's house (1880) followed and the proud life of the township of Yacka commenced.
The drought of 1914 brought an end to an era of farmland riches, but it was World War One that would ultimately cause more emotional damage to the town. In an effort to support the Australian war effort overseas, the young Yacka community sent 41 of their male community to the war, and were most distressed when only 28 of those returned. The 32% loss of life remains one of the highest contributions in an Australian township.
In keeping with the modestness of the town, which encouraged funds to be re-invested into farms, many buildings were built to size and to suit the structure of the community at the time. The Church of St James in Broughton Road and the Methodist Church were two such examples where grandeur was replaced by economics and priorities.
The latter part of the 20th Century saw economic rationalisation contribute a large part to the history of the town with not only the railways and hotel being closed, but also the school. It wasn't long thereafter that the GMH dealership would end its time in the town as well as Samuel Pelton's store. Klau's Butchers in the Main Street also closed, and the building is now occupied by the Yackamoorundie Craft Association and is open Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.
In 1995 the township celebrated its 125th year, and it was appropriate that it be 'kept in the family'. Nan Witcomb, Adelaide writer and radio celebrity was invited along to the celebrations and to unveil a plaque outside of the Interstate Building. The Witcomb family had been a part of Yacka since its beginnings, and were also part of the community that lost a family member to the war effort.
Today the township of Yacka is a lot smaller with a population of around 90, the craft shop, the large picnic area within the Yackamoorundie Park and the small caravan and camping facility making it ideal for a pleasant break of journey. Further details on Yacka are available from the Yacka community website or their facebook page. Historic Walk brochures are available from the Craft Shop or any of the visitor information centres in the Southern Flinders Ranges.
Source: Yacka Historic Walk & Weekend Notes (www.weekendnotes.com/yacka-historic-walk/).
We arrived at the premises just after sunset on a late summer night in 2009. We have brought all our camping gear and are planning to stay overnight either in or near the great castle X. We drive around the woods in wich the castle lies hidden to find a good spot to enter. We set our entering point and decide to first go in and have a look around before taking our backpacks.
We climb the ridiculous small fence and walk into the forrest. After a short while we see the castle, we take a walk around and see if there has been any activity lately that we can notice. We see nothing, hardly any car tracks, no paths where the grass has been flattened by people walking, seems pretty good so far.
We are going back to the car and get our backpacks. We walk away from the castle and into the forrest again. It's dark now and we thought we're heading in the right direction. But after an hour of struggling through the branches and bushes there's a ditch. shit, we went wrong. Our flashlights scare the pigeons (or at least birds) and they all flew up in panic, leaving us standing in the middle of a forrest. Small twigs fall down on us because of the birds. This kinda creeps us out, but finally we find our way to the car.
We set up our tents after checking if there's a way into the castle, wich there isn't. The rest of the moonlit night we spent drinking on the porch of the castle.
Early in the morning the real quest starts, trying to find a way into this beautiful castle. After coffee and some exterior shots we try hard and after trying several options we give up. We have spend the last hour and a half climbed and crawling not to find the smallest hole or anything. Then Lulu looks again at one the the options we tried before and she manages to get in. Excitement all over!!
I insist that we first pack our tents and backpacks and leave them in the woods in case anyone shows up. I have never ever packed my tent and bag so quickly. We leave the bags in the near woods and head back.
Inside we feel excited and we're a little afraid and we all have the feeling that we don't know where to begin and take photographs. It's overwhelming, everything is still here, paintings, furniture, everything. We check out the ground floor quickly and find our way the second floor. Mrtnski and Lulu and walking around taking picture's and i'm amazed at what i've encountered here. Then when mrtnski and Lulu head for the next room and i'm still taking one last shot, i hear something outside. I walk to the window and take a peak. I see a guy on a scooter driving up to the castle. Ok, relax, just see what he's up to, maybe just a care taker who take s a drive around every morning. He's drives a circle around the castle, stops at our entrance point (wich was not clearly visible), looks up and drives away.
It felt not good and a go get M & L and tell them we need to get out before he gets back, and i'm convinced he's getting back. Lulu has left her bag somewhere with all her films in it. We look for that and rush out of the castle.
We decide to wait next to our backpacks to see if the guy gets back and if not we can get in again. After about 10 minutes there are at least 5 people strolling through the woods with a dog. They are not shouting, but they certainly want to be heard. They are right between us and our way out, and all we can do is hide, wait for the best moment and head for the exit. And so it happens. We get out unseen and not caught, but we didn't get to see all of this beautiful castle. Better luck next time...
with: Mrtnski & Lulu
when: september 2009
Leicestershire Fire and Rescue supported by Nottinghamshire fire and rescue at 7 pump 3 areal fire at former Nightclub premises Church gate Gravel Street Burleys way Leicester 4th October 2022
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‘Scene’ on a PSV Circle Organised Visit
At the Premises of ‘preston bus’ /3
on Dennis Basford’srailsroadsrunways.blogspot.co.uk’
The PSV Circle (of which I have been a member for some years) aims to hold an Annual General Meeting in a different location in the UK every year.
Usually held at a weekend, they also include visits to operators and other bus related venues for the attending members to visit and enjoy.
This year, the location being in the North West of England centred on the Holiday Inn Express, Preston.
Friend Peter Rose joined me for what turned out to be a sometimes wet, but very enjoyable weekend.
As we have done before, we have combined all the images we have gathered.
The credits being joint D.Basford/P.M.Rose.
‘Preston Bus’, which has a history going back to 1904, became part of the ‘ROTALA’ group in 2011.
New to ‘First Manchester’ where it carried the same fleet number.
The lack of any titling or branding could indicate that it has been withdrawn and awaiting diposal.
Leaving the premises of the shrine of Hazrat Shahjalal we decided to have a cup tea on a roadside tea-stall. He came near to us and light the cigarette and gave me a tough look. So, here I have ended up the journey of my 100 face of stranger project. He is the centurion of this series and became the part of the journey.