I stand before you fully flawed and unbecoming.

I stand before you covered in my own filth.

 

I come before you humbly surrendering.

I come before you in complete guilt.

 

I kneel before you, at your throne.

I kneel before you, fully known.

 

Oh Lord, my Savior.

Oh Lord, my Grace.

 

You've taken my filth and restored my faith.

 

Thanks so much for your kind visits and favs. I hope you all have a wonderful week and keep Spring in your heart.

If a barred owl does something unethical or unbecoming of an owl, does it get disbarred?

-Totally unbecoming of a good girl, she pushed past her date who was going to get the door for her. Rushing up to the counter eagerly she scanned the variety placed in the cases. "It really is a happy day!", she squealed. The excitement of walking into her old neighborhood donuts shop and finding they still made HER favorite just wasn't containable! \o/-

HarvestMuse

 

Credits: Click for Page

 

~Image by HarvestMuse

Web | Instagram | Twitter | 500px | Facebook | Pinterest

 

The image was clicked in SGNP, Mumbai. The very active monkey must have stayed in this pose for not more than 2 seconds. The moment gives an impression of a calm and composed animal which so unbecoming of a monkey.

  

Trees let go of leaves, leaves let go of color, color lets go of itself into a froth of unbecoming.

 

Fate is playing a big part in my fortunes regarding this wood. I’ve fallen in love with the place and I had planned a year long project here. Starting November 2020 I decided to go each month throughout the year. I probably got my best visit on the last day of the year 2020. Snow had been forecast but didn’t arrive, still it was sub zero and the wood was covered in thick frost. I was excited for the year to come, then it started LOCKDOWN II. I like most bided by the rules, so I missed January, February and March, during a time of super weather, snow. My wood would have looked great, I got so frustrated to see some other togs travelling out to take great photos. My feelings were unbecoming, feeling bitter of people who obviously had a different outlook to mine, thinking they’d cause no harm, but I still think it was selfish. April came and the end of lockdown and I rushed to my wood at the first chance, a colourless winter still had it’s grip on the woods, so I explored and discovered. From then on I’ve enjoyed a lovely spring, summer (apart from the midge) and autumn, but then Arwen hits, and it would seem my ventures to the wood have been curtailed again. It’s a week now and poor people are still suffering great hardship because of the devastation, so I should not moan about my fate on getting to this wood. However I do fear the damage done to the wood by this storm, in my 65 years I’ve never know a storm like it, is the same true for the oaks who’ve seen hundreds of years. I fear because of climate change it's probably true. It’s touch and go now whether I get to my wood again this year, forestry England have said these forests are no go areas, but I’m desperate to see the wood whether to either confirm or relieve my anxieties. This is a photo from my last visit at the end of October, was this Ballerinas last dance with me.

‘Maybe the journey isn's about becoming anything.

 

Maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you, so that you can be who you were meant to be in the first place’

 

- Paulo Coelho

 

Picture taken at Secret Melody go see for yourself!

  

♫: in my ears..

Portland General Electrics coal train en route to Boardman, OR.

 

The EMD demonstrators got a very unbecoming patch job but still continued working on Burlington Northern's trains.

 

5-3-92

Music: Gemini Syndrome - Stardust

 

I know this place

It smells like innocence lost

We left the traces of the sins we bought

 

But I wouldn't change a thing

It's just waking dream

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It's no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect in my mind

And you won't fade away

 

I know this face

It's so familiar

I'm sure I know you but it's all a blur

 

Now I can't recall a thing

It's such a wicked dream

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It's no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect in my mind

And you won't fade away

 

Praise to the memory

Living inside of me

Host to entirety writing my story

Lusting and gluttony

So unbecoming

The stardust is making me blind

 

But you won't be left behind, the memory's here to remind

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It's no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect in my mind

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It's no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect

 

Look at the

Look at the wake pouring from your eyes

Look at the

Look at the wake

You are perfect in my mind

And you won't fade away

-

-

-

-

Stuff

Head - Catwa

Body - Maitreya (how fantastic are those new hands?!)

Tattoo - Isuka

Hair - Blues

Jewelry - Minimal/Eclat

Outfit - Asteria

(for other stuff, just ask :D)

So today's daily exercise consisted of this: the usual 'circuit training' in the garden followed by an extra lap to the bottom of my driveway because I'd spotted some dandelion heads in the crack between the kerbstones and the bottom of our lawn. I jumped (?) at the chance of trying out my new bluetoothed wireless remote, placed this in a vase in front of the TV screen only to find that with all the windows in the house open, the seedheads became rebellious. Further exercises continued with dozens of squat like poses ( an unbecoming sight for someone my age) and me half crippling my knees. Upon which I got a message from my 35 yr old son, "Mam, is it thundering with you? ' which I ignored, followed by, " It's raining heavily, " to which I replied , "Oh" then half an hours puffing and panting later and full of remorse because life dealt him a hard blow three years ago and I'm proud of how he dealt with it all , I messaged him back with a phone shot of my set up.

 

Thanks for stopping and reading :)

Can't you be serious for just one moment while I take your photo? I want to see a photo of a champ, a goddess among mere mortal horses. Goddesses don't stick their tongues out after they win against lesser mortals. It's unbecoming.

There's a special magic found in early mornings. Even the lake knows, resting in stillness before the winds of the day start moving its waters. The world is quiet, peaceful, unbothered.

 

And of the things I love most about spending nights outdoors is how quickly your sleep pattern starts synching with nature - with the light of the day, you wake.

 

'Naturally', I'm not an early riser, but when I'm out in nature enough, I am. And I believe this is how it's supposed to be. It feels right to start the mornings slow, waking up together with nature.

 

I was pleased to see that this works equally well sleeping in my van as in a tent (at least for me, of course some people have the talent to sleep forever anywhere).

 

Anyways, if you read until here, this early morning moment is all about growing. One day, you may feel like a dried-up branch, but with enough love and care (and water!), the first tender buds will turn into blossom until all of you grows tall and beautiful.

 

And then it's just rinse and repeat. Like the seasons, we shed our skins and constantly become and unbecome. 💫

 

Stay hydrated and keep growing, my friends. 💙

 

---

 

Subscribe on www.wherewonderwaits.com to stay in touch with my art & adventures <3

~I lost myself into the night,

And I flew higher,

Than I had ever

But I still felt small,

I clipped my wings and fell from flight,

To open water,

And floated farther,

Away from myself.

 

And I swam in the wakes of imposters,

Just to feel what it's like to pretend,

There's no dreams in the lakes only monsters,

And the monsters are my only friends.

 

They're all that I was,

And never could be.

 

Eyes in the dead still water,

Tried but it pushed back harder,

Cauterized and atrophied,

This is my unbecoming.

 

Knives in the backs of martyrs,

Lives in the burning fodder,

Cauterized and atrophied,

This is my unbecoming.

 

You found me drifted out to sea,

It's automatic,

It's telepathic,

You always knew me.

 

And you laugh as I search for a harbor,

As you point where the halo had been,

But the light in your eyes has been squandered,

There's no angel in you in the end.

 

And all that I was,

I've left behind me.

 

Eyes in the dead still water,

Tried but it pushed back harder,

Cauterized and atrophied,

This is my unbecoming.

 

Knives in the backs of martyrs,

Lives in the burning fodder,

Cauterized and atrophied,

This is my unbecoming.

 

Now I wait,

This metamorphosis,

All that is left is the change.

Selfish fate,

I think you made me this,

Under the water I wait.

 

Eyes in the dead still water,

Tried but it pushed back harder,

Cauterized and atrophied,

This is my unbecoming,

Knives in the backs of martyrs,

Lives in the burning fodder,

Cauterized and atrophied,

This is my unbecoming~

 

------------

 

Unbecoming - Starset

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLrn1IqMZSs

 

I found this baby lizard floating in a deep pool after a storm. A light breeze stirred a squaw bush leaf and juniper berry along with her tiny body lulling these remnants of life into their forever sleep. I used in-camera multiple exposure to celebrate their unbecoming.

 

Perhaps this can be considered one of my signature shots of Marina Bay. This image was widely used over the net. unfortunately it has been stolen by LEICA review workshops in Singapore and refuses to admit their careless oversight. The Leica workshop held at Marina Bay Sands prominently uses it as part of their their show event promo being venue of MBS. Unbecoming attitude from a corporate giant not willing to pay for a small licensing fee or gratify the photographer for his effort. The event was published over the net and was immediately removed when made known. They just took down the image when I sent them a warning & demand note. No étique from a world class brand. It has been 4 years since. You can view the web publicity on the event here at this link.. www.flickr.com/photos/adforce1/26892553276/

This shot was taking by me on my way to the U.S !

 

This song below ''say hello and wave goodbye'' by David Gray .. pretty much explains it self, therefor I quoted some of the lyrics , hope you like it ..

  

Standin at the door of the pink Flamingo cryin in the rain,

It was a kind of so-so love and I'm gonna make sure it doesn't happen again,

You and I had to be the standing joke of the year,

You were a runaround, a lost and found and not for me I feel,

 

Take your hands off me, hey,

I don't belong to you, you see,

And take a look in my face, for the last time,

I never knew you, you never knew me,

Say hello goodbye,

Say hello and wave goodbye..

 

Under the deep red light I can see the make-up slidin down,

Well hey little girl you will always make up so take off that unbecoming frown,

As for me, well I'll find someone who's not goin cheap in the sales,

A nice little housewife who'll give me a steady life and not keep going

off the rails

  

¿Otros Universos se estarán creando......o eso sería una pregunta tonta, impropia de una buena sardina?

(Fireworks 13

Are other Universes being created......or would that be a silly question, unbecoming of a good sardine?)

Park of the Ancient One Wheatstone Waterways

 

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Wheatstone%20Waterways/128...

~Stardust,

In you and in me,

Fuse us,

Into unity,

Primeval,

We're a couple,

Born from the universe,

Farewell,

The void is calling,

Don't fear,

For futures and dreams,

They're fleeting, retreating,

It's ok,

I promise.

 

I don't know what to say,

But I'm going to want you till the stars evaporate,

We're only here for just a moment in the light,

One day it shines for us the next we're in the night,

So say the word and I'll be running back to find you,

A thousand armies won't stop me I'll break through,

I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight,

Of your starlight.

 

Tell me,

Just tell me to stay,

I'll turn,

I won't look away,

I'll stay here,

I'll never go but you don't feel the same,

Farewell,

Farewell and godspeed,

Light years,

Between you and me,

I'm fading,

Your beauty conquers the darkness.

 

At night the earth will rise,

And I'll think of you each time I watch from distant skies,

Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite,

I'll think of you each time they wash me in their light,

And I'll fall in love with you again.

 

I will find you,

A thousand armies won't stop me I'll break through,

I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight of your starlight.

 

Don't leave me lost here forever,

Show me your starlight and pull me through,

Don't leave me lost here forever,

I need your starlight and pull me through,

To bring me back to you.

 

At night the earth will rise,

And I'll think of you each time I watch from distant skies,

Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite,

I'll think of you each time they wash me in their light,

And I'll fall in love with you again.

 

I will find you,

A thousand armies won't stop me I'll break through,

I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight of your starlight~

 

--------------

 

Telepathic, Unbecoming, Point of No Return, Die for You and Starlight are my fave Starset songs <3 Though all their songs are amazing.

 

Starlight - Starset

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QON-x1jXuw

 

Conduct unbecoming. False poet traveling through me like a worm.

#23

O Lord, shelter me from certain men, from demons and passions, and from any other unbecoming thing.

  

For acting in a villainous manner that is unbecoming of a gentleman.

 

We're Here - Villains

What next? Any suggestions?

It was an image of Marina Bay taken with my Nikon D7100 and not a Leica camera which should be the case being a Leica workshop event. They did not claim responsibilities and just have the image taken down without a proper investigation and explanation. Unbecoming attitude from a corporate giant.

 

My original: www.flickr.com/photos/adforce1/8743584713/

M*A*S*H

A rather unbecoming Dash 9 is on the point of an inspection train waiting on a Red Rock coal load to clear up before heading north across the river into North KC

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

 

Lettice has not long returned from a trip to Paris which she took with her fiancée, Sir John Nettleford-Huges and his widowed sister, Lettice’s future sister-in-law, Clemance Pontefract. Lettice went to Paris to attend the ‘Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes’* which is highlighting and showcasing the new modern style of architecture and interior design known as Art Deco of which Lettice is an exponent, however Sir John was going for very different reasons of his own. His involved him attending the exhibition with Lettice in the mornings, before slipping away discreetly and meeting up with his old flame, Madeline Flanton in the afternoon. Old enough to be Lettice’s father, wealthy Sir John was until recently still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son and heir to the title Duke of Walmsford, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.

 

Busy in the Cavendish Mews kitchen, Edith, Lettice’s maid, is arranging a small selection of dainty canapés onto a white gilt edged plate in the kitchen to serve to Lettice and her soon to arrive guest, when she hears the mechanical buzz of the Cavendish Mews servant’s call bell. Glancing up she notices the circle for the front door has changed from black to red, indicating that it is the front door bell that has rung.

 

“Oh he must be here!” she murmurs. “And not before time too, thank goodness!”

 

Quickly whipping off the starched white apron she is wearing to protect her black moiré* evening uniform with her hand stitched lace collar and matching cap, she hurries from the kitchen into the public area of the flat via a door in the scullery adjoining the kitchen, snatching up her elegant starched frilled cap from hook by the door as she goes. She hurriedly affixes the cap over her blonde waves, pinned in a chignon** at the nape of her neck as she walks into the entrance hall.

 

The front door buzzer goes again, sounding noisily, filling the atmosphere with a jarring echo. Edith glances towards the etched glass drawing room doors which stand slightly ajar, but there is no usual call from her mistress, and her face crumples as she considers this lack of interest in who is ringing the front doorbell. Her black low heels sink into the thick and luxurious Chinese silk carpet laid out before the front door. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” mutters Edith under her breath. She pats her cap and the hairpins holding her blonde waves self-consciously as she goes, hoping that she looks presentable as she opens the front door.

 

“It’s only little me, dear Edith.” Gerald simpers as he stands on the doorstep outside.

 

“Oh Mr. Bruton, Sir!” Edith gasps as she ushers Lettice’s oldest childhood chum and best friend through the door with a sweeping gesture. “Thank goodness you’re here!”

 

Gerald is a member of the aristocracy like Lettice, and the two grew up on adjoining estates in Wiltshire. However, although also being a member of the landed gentry Gerald’s fate is very different to Lettice’s. He has been forced to gain some independence from his rather impecunious family in order to make a living. Luckily his artistic abilities have led him to designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, a business which, after promotion from Lettice and several commissions from high profile and influential society ladies, is finally beginning to turn a profit. As Lettice’s oldest friend, Gerald is usually the person she turns to in a crisis, and she telephoned him earlier in the day at his Grosvenor Street atelier, imploring him to come around for cocktails and canapés that night before supper.

 

As he shrugs off his luxurious Astrakhan coat*** into the maid’s waiting arms, he glances at Edith. “That bad, is it, Edith?”

 

“Well, Mr. Bruton,” Edith says, folding the silky fur coat over her arms and reaching out to accept Gerald’s smart beaver fur top hat****. “I wouldn’t say it’s that dire, Sir.”

 

“But?” Gerald asks, persisting with Edith, encouraging her complete her unspoken thoughts as he hands her his grey dyed kid leather gloves.

 

“Well Miss Lettice just hasn’t been herself since she came back from Paris. I am a bit worried, Sir. She isn’t behaving like she usually does.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“She seems distracted by something, Sir, and whatever it is, it’s eating away at her. She hasn’t touched her paints to start the designs for Mrs. Hatchett’s commission, even though Mrs. Hatchett sent across her portrait to Cavendish Mews whilst Miss Lettice was away, so that it would be here upon her return.”

 

“That does sound serious.” Gerald opines with an eyebrow cocked in concern.

 

“She’s quite off her food. I can’t even tempt her with one of my home-made sponges. She hasn’t taken any calls since her return, and told me to tell any visitors that she is indisposed currently.” Edith goes on. “You’re her first friend that she has contacted, Sir.”

 

“Well thank goodness for that!” Gerald replies, as he tugs on the collar of his dinner jacket. “I’d best see what your mistress is all about then!”

 

“Oh thank you, Sir!” Edith exclaims. “I hope you’ll help her in her troubles, whatever they are. I’ll be in with the canapés shortly.”

 

“Hullo Lettice darling! It’s just me!” Gerald calls as he walks into the drawing room where Lettice sits in her usual black japanned, rounded back, while upholstered tub armchair next to the telephone. “I came here as soon as I could get away, after your surprise telephone call, my darling.”

 

Gerald observes his best friend with a concerned look. Although arrayed in a beautiful rich pink salmon satin evening frock of his own design, with a plunging V-neck and an asymmetrical draping hem, Lettice’s face looks wan and pale, and there are dark circles under eyes, which usually sparkle like Kashmir sapphires*****, but tonight appear dull and almost a blueish grey.

 

“Unfortunately, Lady Bessom simply would not leave today until she had picked my designs for her daughter’s wedding frock completely apart!” Gerald leans down and embraces his best friend, who returns his hug, but as he holds her, she feels fragile in his arms. “Goodness knows why she wants to engage a couturier, if she already knows what she wants. Better she employs a court dressmaker who will make what she wants without question,” he prattles on awkwardly as he glimpses the large green bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin****** on the low black japanned coffee table, with her glass already half empty. “Rather than me, who only wants the best for poor Edwina. I don’t want to send the mousy little creature down the aisle in a frock that not only looks out of fashion, but draws attention to every physical flaw in the poor girl’s figure.” He releases Lettice, who does not respond to his remarks, so he finishes up, “It would look bad for the House of Bruton too.”

 

Without waiting to be asked, Gerald assumes his usual seat opposite Lettice, sinking into the comfortable, thick white floral embossed upholstery of Lettice’s companion tub armchair.

 

“Well,” Gerald goes on with a deep sigh. “You obviously haven’t called me over to talk about the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes******* and how you found it. Although I hope you found some inspiration my darling.”

 

“Oh yes, plenty.” Lettice replies, breaking her unusual silence with her rather laconic and uninspired reply.

 

Gerald looks dubiously across at his friend.

 

“I’ve had Moaning Minnie on the telephone to me the last few days,” Gerald says dourly, referring to their mutual friend, London banker’s wife, Minnie Palmerston by her nickname. “She thinks she’s put her foot in it again, since you won’t see her or return her telephone calls.”

 

“Minnie always thinks she has put her foot in it.” Lettice replies without enthusiasm.

 

“That’s because she usually has,” Gerald quips. “Although not with you and I Lettice darling.”

 

“Mmmm…” Lettice murmurs, picking up her dainty glass with its long stem and draining the contents of gin and tonic – likely more of the former and less of the latter judging by the quality of the sheen of the clear liquid as it disappears down her throat.

 

Just at that moment, Edith slips into the dining room of Cavendish Mews by way of the green baize door that leads from the service part of the flat, carrying her completed plate of dainty savoury canapés. She walks across the room and into the drawing room where she stands before the fire, between Lettice and Gerald. “I thought you could do with these, Miss.” She slides the ruffle edged plate onto the table. “it might help line your stomach, Miss.” she adds in concern, turning her head slight towards Gerald with a meaningful look, who nods surreptitiously back at her.

 

“Thank you Edith, but I’m really not that hungry.” Lettice replies.

 

“Well, you’ve nothing whatever in your stomach, so I suggest you at least try a few to help sop up some of your gin cocktails, Miss.”

 

“Err, yes. Thank you, Edith.” Gerald pipes up quickly as the maid wades into murky waters with her mistress, in an effort to avoid her being barked at by an out-of-sorts Lettice, or worse. “We’ll take it from here. Thank you.”

 

“Very good, Sir.” Edith bobs a quick curtsey and retreats.

 

As soon as he knows Edith has retreated to the kitchen through the green baize door, Gerald says, “Alright Lettuce Leaf! Out with it!” He hopes that he can break her funk, at least a little bit, by using his childhood nickname for her, which he knows she hates.

 

“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it!” she replies, admittedly not with her usual vigour, but at least with a little bit of energy.

 

“That’s better.” Gerald smiles. “So, what is it that was so ghastly about your trip to Paris that it has you looking so bloody******** and in such a god awful funk?”

 

“I’m not in a funk!” Lettice responds in a churlish fashion.

 

Gerald simply gives her a withering look as he pours them both a small amount of gin into their glasses and adds more carbonated tonic water from the clear glass syphon than Lettice has been adding to her own drinks.

 

“Those are rather over the top, aren’t they?” Gerald nods in the direction of a vase of red roses, white asters, pink oriental lilies and purple irises towering over the telephone on the small table beside Lettice’s armchair.

 

“They’re from John.” Lettice replies in a languorous fashion.

 

“Was it Sir John?” Gerald asks directly, returning the syphon to the tabletop, before setting back in his seat languidly with his glass in one hand, and one of Edith’s canapés in the other. As he bites into the dainty puff pastry decorated with tiny herb sprigs and a tiny cherry tomato he adds, “Edith is right you know, Lettice darling. You should have one of these, they are delicious, and have a rather delectable creamy cheese filling.”

 

Encouraged, Lettice snatches one off the plate and grabs the stem of her glass. When she pulls a face after tasting the gin and tonic in her glass, she puts both down again, and reaches for the bottle of Gordon’s to add more gin to her glass.

 

“Ahh-ahh!” Gerald replies, snatching the bottle away quickly before she can reach it. “Not until you tell me what is going on.” He persists. “So, it was Sir John then!”

 

Lettice sighs. “No, it wasn’t.” She sighs more deeply. “Well yes it was, but not entirely. There are a number of things that have come to light,” She huffs. “Or rather haven’t come to light, that have put me out-of-sorts.”

 

Keeping the bottle out of harm’s, and Lettice’s way, by slipping it onto the seat beside him, Gerald goes on, “I’m listening then.”

 

Lettice takes a bite out of the canapé in her left hand and chews her mouthful rather indolently before explaining.

 

“Well, in one respect it was John who upset me.”

 

“What did he do?”

 

“Well, when I agreed to marry him, he promised me that he would never do anything to shame me.”

 

“And he did?” Gerald asks. When Lettice nods shallowly, he presses, “What did he do?”

 

“Well, Clemance organised the most marvellous picnic in the Tuileries Gardens********* for us. She wanted me to meet some of her Parisian friends, the Duponts, who were lovely.”

 

“However?”

 

“However, John also invited that woman, Mademoiselle Flanton, the actress from Cinégraphic********** to join us, along with some of her ghastly and gauche theatrical friends.”

 

“But you knew that Sir John was going to meet this Mademoiselle Flanton, whilst you were in Paris. He told you that he would, right from when you first mentioned going to the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes at the Savoy*********** months ago.” Gerald says before finishing off the rest of his canapé.

 

“I know he did.”

 

“For all his faults,” Gerald defends Sir John. “And god knows he has many of them, he’s never tried to hide them from you. In fact, from all you’ve intimated to me, he’s been very up front about them right from the very beginning.”

 

“Knowing about them, and having them flung in your face are two quite different things.” Lettice retorts.

 

“Ahh yes.” Gerald opines, reaching for another canapé. “I did notice how piqued you were at Sylvia’s house party at ‘The Nest’ when he arrived with Paula Young, even after he’s told you that she was going to be there.”

 

“They played handies************ right there in front of me!”

 

“Who? Sir John and Paula? I thought they did much more than that, that weekend, Lettice darling.”

 

“Don’t be so obtuse, Gerald!” Lettice snaps. “I meant John and that awful, vulgar Mademoiselle Flanton! They entwined fingers like lovers right in front of me on the picnic rug! Goodness knows if Clemance or the Duponts saw it. I doubt Clemance did, but if the Duponts did, they were at least too polite to pass comment.”

 

Gerald raises his half drunk cocktail, “God bless the Entente Cordiale*************.”

 

“This is no time to be glib, Gerald darling!” Lettice scolds. “It was most embarrassing and distracting.”

 

“I’m sorry Lettice darling.” Gerald apologises. “I didn’t mean for it to come across like that. I’m as horrified about the business with Mademoiselle Flanton as I am about that of Miss Young. At least Miss Young and Sir John conducted their affair behind closed doors as it were, at Sylvia’s, with probably a very understanding and accepting select group of people. Behaving that way in public is atrocious! That must have been quite awful for you, poor darling!”

 

“It was Gerald darling! Quite awful!”

 

Lettice drains her glass and holds it out to Gerald to replenish.

 

“No, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald replies, moving protectively between Lettice and the bottle of gin nestled on the seat beside him. “I told you, not until you tell me everything that is upsetting you! If you have any more, you’ll get tight**************, and when you get tight, you get nonsensical, and I can’t make out anything you say properly. If you want me to help you, or my advice,” He wags a finger admonishingly at her. “You’ll not be like your errant fiancée and hold to your promise and tell me all!”

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice mewls as she sinks back into her seat deflatedly. “You really are beastly sometimes!”

 

“Don’t be a spoiled young flapper and tell me what else happened.” Gerald persists.

 

“Well, besides the hands incident at Clemance’s picnic, and the fact that John did what he told me he was going to whilst we were in Paris, and left Clemance and I at the International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts together, bold-faced lying to his sister about where he was going, whilst he pursued a secret tryst with Mademoiselle Flanton, he also subjected me to an evening of cocktails at her Parisian apartment.”

 

“But I thought Sir John had been clear about both of those things at the Savoy too, Lettice darling. You told me that was what he was going to do.” Gerald shakes his head with a lack of comprehension. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Well, it wasn’t just the evening that was tiresome and humiliating for me.” Lettice goes on, taking up a small canapé of sauteed and honey glazed carrot cut into a heart shape. “I’m sure everyone there knew about John and Mademoiselle Flanton’s history together, and the rekindling of their acquaintance,” She shudders as she utters the last word with vehemence. “And I was seen as just the poor little unsuspecting wife-to-be, an innocent jeune fille à marier*************** plucked from the British aristocracy, with no idea about who was who, or what was what.”

 

“Well, if it wasn’t that alone, what was it, Lettice darling?”

 

“It was Mademoiselle Flanton herself.” Seeing Gerald’s look, imagining the French actress throwing herself flagrantly in front of Sir John in Lettice’s presence, Lettice quickly elucidates, “Oh nothing like that Gerald darling! No, it was what she told me!”

 

“What she told you?”

 

“Yes,” Lettice replies laconically. “During the evening, Mademoiselle Flanton appraised me of some things that now have me wondering.”

 

“Wondering about what?”

 

“After Mademoiselle Flanton learned, or rather read, of John’s and my engagement, and she reconnected with John on this trip to Paris, he told her about all that beastly business with Selwyn and how he had dissolved our understanding after proposing to Kitty Avendale, the diamond mine heiress.”

 

“Well, I think that is rather beastly of Sir John! Such pillow talk!” Gerald retorts hotly, quite forgetting that not all that long ago, he and his lover, West End oboist Cyril, were involved in pillow talk revolving around Lettice and Sir John’s relationship. “I would be most offended too!”

 

“No, it wasn’t that, that upset me, Gerald.”

 

“Then what was it?”

 

“Well, after he did this, Mademoiselle Flanton told me that out of her own piqued interest, she had her secretary do some minor investigations into the alleged engagement.”

 

Gerald chokes on his mouthful of gin and tonic, spluttering and coughing violently. Struggling to regain both his breath and composure, he manages to ask, “Alleged engagement?”

 

“Mademoiselle Flanton made me question what I have been shown by Lady Zinnia. Mademoiselle Flanton’s secretary did some digging around and she noted something I hadn’t even considered. Apparently there has been no announcement in The Times, or any other British newspaper about Selwyn’s engagement. Don’t you find that a little odd?”

 

Still catching his breath, Gerald takes another slug of his gin and tonic before saying, “I do. The Duchess, Lady Zinnia, is a woman of many pretentions. There is no way that she would let such an advantageous match pass by unnoticed, especially considering her original idea had been to marry Selwyn off to his cousin and join two powerful British dynasties.” He pauses and considers. “But how do you even know that what Mademoiselle Flanton claims is true? It isn’t like either of us have been reading the marriage announcements.”

 

“I know, Gerald, and I certainly haven’t, but I know someone who reads them religiously.”

 

“Not Sadie?” Gerald asks, referring to Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie.

 

“No,” Lettice elucidates. “Margot’s mother, Lady de Virre. She never fails to find out who has become engaged to whom, so when I came home from Paris, I telephoned her, and she told me that she hasn’t seen a thing about the engagement.”

 

“Intriguing.” Gerald remarks, taking a deep breath, as much out of shock as to help him regain his composure.

 

“But wait, there is more yet to tell, Gerald.” Lettice says, her voice rising with excitement, her body pulsating with a sudden energy that has been lacking before now. “What Mademoiselle Flanton’s secretary also told her mistress, was that based upon her investigations, Kitty Avendale only arrived in Durban last year not long after Selwyn did. No-one had ever heard of her o seen her before that time, anywhere. For the heiress to a diamond mine, that seems a more than a little odd too, don’t you think, Gerald?”

 

“I do.”

 

“I suggested to her that perhaps Mr. Avendale had only made his money recently, but then Mademoiselle Flanton told me that there is apparently no father with a diamond mine!”

 

“What?”

 

“Exactly! Her secretary found the only Australian man with a surname of Avendale was a jockey of some kind who was caught race fixing**************** when he deliberately lost the Durban Handicap*****************. There is something decidedly fishy going on here, and I suspect Lady Zinnia’s hand in it.”

 

“But you said that Lady Zinnia showed you pictures of Selwyn and Miss Avendale tougher, with an engagement announced beneath it, Lettice.”

 

“Well, Mademoiselle Flanton made me question what I have actually been shown. She made me wonder whether I have been shown the whole truth, or only a half – something redacted – or worse yet, something fabricated by Lady Zinnia.”

 

“Well, she was always a vicious viper, that one,” Gerald gasps. “Selwyn always told me that what she wanted, she always got in the end, by hook or by crook.”

 

“Tell me, do you ever hear from Selwyn any more, Gerald darling?”

 

“No, Lettice darling, but I just assumed that he stopped writing to me because he knows that you’re my best friend, and it would have been indelicate for him to write to me after breaking your heart.”

 

“What if it was the other way around, Gerald darling?”

 

“Whatever do you mean, Lettice?”

 

“What if he stopped writing to you because I broke his heart when he read about my engagement to Sir John, and he didn’t want to talk to you any more because you are my best friend?”

 

“Do you suspect Sir John’s involvement too? You could break your engagement with him you know. It’s your prerogative.”

 

“I know I can, but… well… no.” Lettice admits. “I don’t suspect John’s hand in this anywhere. Mademoiselle Flanton is very protective of John. I think if he had done something nefarious, she wouldn’t have believed it, and she certainly wouldn’t have told me what she did that night. I don’t suppose you could get Selwyn’s current address from your club? You once told me that you two were members of the same club here in London.”

 

“We were,” Gerald says, blushing as he speaks. “But I’m afraid I’m not a member of the club any more, Lettice darling. You see, I was banned for not paying my membership and letting it fall so far in arrears. At the time I was rather short you know, trying to set up my atelier in Grosvenor Street, which wasn’t cheap, so I rather let it go, as I had to so many of life’s little pleasantries. Then, when I had enough money to pay my debts, I saw no reason to rejoin a club that is only for men, and more sporting men at that. I’d met Hattie and Cyril by that stage and made more friends through her than I ever did at that damn club, that I just simply never paid. I doubt they would let me even try and contact Selwyn through them. I am sure I am persona non grata****************** to them now.”

 

“Oh Gerald darling! What am I going to do? I don’t want to break my engagement to John, and hurt his pride or the feelings of Clemance, particularly if I have no call to withdraw from our arrangement. Also, it would only enrage Pater and Mater would be fit to be tied.”

 

“But you said that they were lukewarm about the engagement.”

 

“Initially yes, but lately they have come around to it, and seem quite happy. If Mater was willing to come up to London to help me shop for a wedding frock.”

 

“Direct more like.” Gerald quips disgruntledly. “Considering she won’t consider me as the designer of it.”

 

“Well, you know what I mean, Gerald darling, and I’m still chipping away at her on that. Anyway, if she was willing to come up to London, she can’t be against it.” She wrings her hands after depositing her empty glass on the tabletop. “What am I to do, Gerald darling? You’re my best friend, my oldest chum! You’re the only one of my close friends I’d dare turn to right now who doesn’t have an invested interest in me breaking it off with John. You’ll be honest with me, and give very sound advice.”

 

“Well, I’m flattered you think that Lettice darling. Let me think.” He then fishes out the bottle of Gordon’s and holds it across the table between he and Lettice for her to take.

 

She shakes her head in return. “I need a clear head to think, Gerald darling.”

 

Gerald fixes himself another grin and tonic, this time with more of the former than the latter as he allows all of Lettice’s revelations sink in. He sists in silence, sipping his drink for a while, and the room becomes enveloped in a thick, yet anticipatory and charged silence as Lettice sits opposite him. At length he speaks.

 

“How willing are you to go, regarding this investigation into the truth, Lettice darling?” he asks seriously.

 

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Gerald.” Lettice says with resolve.

 

“Even if it may take a few months or more?”

 

“I don’t care how long it will take if I can discover the truth. I won’t be able to sleep properly until I do.”

 

“Well, I hope that isn’t quite true, Lettice darling,” Gerald remarks, giving her a doleful look as he does. “As it may take six months or more, and you’ll have to do some manoeuvring and procrastination of your own that may take a bit of effort.”

 

“I told you, Gerald darling,” Lettice reiterates. “I’ll do anything.”

 

“Then, would you get Leslie involved?”

 

“Leslie? As in my brother, Leslie?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No. He’s against John’s and my engagement, even though he pretends to the contrary. He doesn’t think I know he’s lying when he tells me how happy he is for me, but he is. I’ve known him all my life. Besides, he is Mater’s favourite, and she would wheedle anything I confide in him about all this out of him, and then she’s be off to attack Lady Zinnia, which would only make things worse if it turns out all to be for naught.”

 

“Hhhmmm…” Gerald muses. “That’s probably quite wise, Lettice darling. A clear heard is good for your thinking.” He taps the edge of his own partially empty glass. “Then are you willing to get your own hands dirty?”

 

“Dirty? How do you mean, Gerald?”

 

“Well, I was only mentioning Leslie because before he took a more active role in the estate as the heir to Glynes, he worked for the Foreign Office, and I thought he might have had some sleuthing contacts.”

 

“I don’t want him involved, Gerald. Only you know, and I intend to keep it that way.”

 

“Then we two are going to have to hire a Pinkerton*******************.”

 

“A Pinkerton!” Lettice gasps. “Is that really necessary, Gerald darling?”

 

“I’m afraid so, Lettice darling.” he replies. “No-one else, outside people in the Foreign Office, will be able to sleuth out the truth for you. It won’t be cheap. Pinkertons are expensive.”

 

“I can afford it.” Lettice replies with steely resolve.

 

“And as I said, they may take a few months or longer before they find out what is what, and who was involved, so you are going to have to buy time.”

 

“Buy time?”

 

“No matter who pressures you, you are going to have to drag your feet about getting married, and it seems to me that with Sadie and Clemance Pontefract involved now, things are moving a little faster than they were before their involvement.”

 

“Well, I should be able to convince John. He’s in no hurry to get married, but Mater and Clemance won’t want too long an engagement. Clemance has already scolded both John and I about being glacially slow in making our plans.”

 

“Then you are going to have to steel yourself against the pressure, Lettice darling. If you really want to know the truth, and make sure that you aren’t making a mistake by marrying Sir John, when Selwyn may yet be waiting for you, you will have to stall for time.”

 

“Then if that is what I’ll do. But how?”

 

“Throw yourself into your work. Edith tells me you’ve done nothing about the designs for Dolly Hatchett’s Queen Anne’s Gate******************** townhouse redecoration. That will be a good start. If you are too busy to make important decisions, then even at their most fervent, neither Sadie nor Clemance can progress without you. Put your foot down about Sadie’s decision not to let me make your wedding frock. We all know how stubborn she can be. That will give us time too.”

 

Lettice smiles at Gerald, a beaming and genuine smile. “Thank you for helping me with this, Gerald. I knew you were the only one to assist me.”

 

Gerald holds out his hand to Lettice, who grasps it firmly in return. “Of course! You’re my best and oldest chum! I’d do anything to help you and support you!”

 

*Moiré, is a textile with a wavy (watered) appearance produced mainly from silk, but also wool, cotton, and rayon. The watered appearance is usually created by the finishing technique called calendering. Moiré effects are also achieved by certain weaves, such as varying the tension in the warp and weft of the weave. Silk treated in this way is sometimes called watered silk. Rayon moiré was a popular choice for the black evening uniform for female domestics between the wars, as it gave the elegant appearance of silk, and looked very smart with the white lace cuffs and collars of such uniforms.

 

**A chignon is a classic, versatile hairstyle characterized by a low bun or knot of hair, typically worn at the nape of the neck, though it can also be a more general term for hair wrapped at the back of the head. The name "chignon" comes from the French phrase "chignon du cou," meaning "nape of the neck," where the hairstyle is traditionally positioned. This elegant and refined style has been around for centuries.

 

***An Astrakhan coat is a fur coat or jacket made from the tightly curled fleece of the newborn Karakul lamb. This distinctive, looped material, also known as Persian lamb fur, creates a glamorous, warm, and luxurious garment often in black, grey, or golden yellow. Astrakhan coats were worn in London during several periods, most notably as part of Victorian and Edwardian high fashion, in the 1860s and 1870s, again from 1890 to 1908, and into the early Twentieth Century, with renewed popularity in the 1920s and 1930s and again in the 1950s and 1960s. The luxurious fur was used for full coats, as well as collars and trims, fitting with the ornate aesthetic of the late Nineteenth Century and the trends of the early Twentieth Century.

 

****Old top hats were historically made from animal products, most notably the felted underfur of beavers, which was the preferred material for early top hats. As beaver fur supplies declined and alternatives became available, the high-quality, shiny material known as silk plush replaced beaver fur as the favoured material for the best top hats. Other animal furs used included camel and vicuña, and later, the fur of rabbits was used to create a material called "Melusine" for some modern top hats.

 

*****Pale blue sapphires from India are known as Kashmir sapphires. They are very rare, and are known for their velvety, cornflower-blue colour, not typically a pale hue. Whilst the term "Kashmir" refers to their origin, the characteristic colour associated with these precious stones is a rich, intense blue, not pale.

 

******Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth Century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin.

 

*******The International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewellery and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.

 

********The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.

 

*********The Tuileries Garden is a public garden between the Louvre and the Place de la Concorde in the first arrondissement of Paris. Created by Catherine de' Medici as the garden of the Tuileries Palace in 1564, it was opened to the public in 1667 and became a public park after the French Revolution. Since the Nineteenth Century, it has been a place for Parisians to celebrate, meet, stroll and relax.

 

**********Cinégraphic was a French film production company founded by director Marcel L'Herbier in the 1920s. It was established following a disagreement between L'Herbier and the Gaumont Company, a major film distributor, over the film "Don Juan et Faust". Cinégraphic was involved in the production of several films, including "Don Juan et Faust" itself. Cinégraphic focused on more experimental and artistic films.

 

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

 

************The phrase "play handies" to mean couples holding hands started around 1910. An earlier related phrase, "playing hand," referring to holding a hand of cards, was documented in the 1890s. In 1936, a different meaning emerged for the term "handies" as a word for a charades-like game played with hand gestures, a usage documented by the Chicago Tribune.

 

*************The Entente Cordiale was a set of agreements signed by France and the United Kingdom on April the 8th, 1904, to resolve colonial disputes and foster a closer working relationship, marking the end of a long history of imperial rivalry and isolation. While not a formal military alliance, the agreements paved the way for future cooperation and helped form the Triple Entente, which played a significant role in the dynamics leading up to World War I.

 

**************To get tight is an old fashioned term used to describe getting drunk.

 

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

 

****************We usually think of match or race fixing as a modern day thing, but one of the earliest examples of this sort of match fixing in the modern era occurred in 1898 when Stoke City and Burnley intentionally drew in that year's final "test match" so as to ensure they were both in the First Division the next season. In response, the Football League expanded the divisions to eighteen teams that year, thus permitting the intended victims of the fix (Newcastle United and Blackburn Rovers) to remain in the First Division. The "test match" system was abandoned and replaced with automatic relegation. Match fixing quickly spread to other spots that involved high amounts of gambling, including horse racing.

 

*****************The Durban July Handicap is a South African Thoroughbred horse race held annually on the first Saturday of July since 1897 at Greyville Racecourse in Durban, KwaZulu-Natal. Raced on turf, the Durban July Handicap is open to horses of all ages. It is South Africa's premier horse racing event. When first held in July 1897, the race was at a distance of one mile. The distance was modified several times until 1970 when it was changed to its current eleven furlongs.

 

******************“Persona non grata” is a Latin phrase meaning “unwelcome person.” As a legal term, it refers to the practice of a state prohibiting a diplomat from entering the country as a diplomat, or censuring a diplomat already resident in the country for conduct unbecoming of the status of a diplomat.

 

*******************A “Pinkerton” is a private detective, and refers to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, founded by Allan Pinkerton, known for its historical role in labour disputes and spying. For decades after Allan Pinkerton's death, his name became a slang term for any private investigator, regardless of whether they worked for the Pinkerton Agency or not. Today, the agency (now simply called Pinkerton) focuses on risk management, intelligence, and security services.

 

********************Queen Anne’s Gate is a street in Westminster, London. Many of the buildings are Grade I listed, known for their Queen Anne architecture. Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner described the Gate’s early Eighteenth Century houses as “the best of their kind in London.” The street’s proximity to the Palace of Westminster made it a popular residential area for politicians.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On Lettice's table are two glasses which are hand spun artisan pieces made from real glass which I have had since I was a young teenager. I bought them from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and dollhouse furnishings, including miniatures. They are amongst the first real artisan pieces I ever bought. The bottle of Gordon's Gin is another artisan piece made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with so much attention and detail paid to the period lable. For this scene, I have taken a piece of Lettice’s tea set, which is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era called “Falling Leaves”, and turned the sugar bowl into an ice cube bowl. The glass comport is made of real glass and was blown by hand is an artisan miniature acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The ice cubes, the soda syphon and the savory hors d'oeuvres on the plate also comes from Beautifully handmade Miniatures.

 

The very realistic floral arrangement to the right of the photo is made by hand by Falcon Miniatures who specialise in high end miniatures.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples. To the left of the fireplace is a Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the legs and inside the bureau. The Hepplewhite chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven. To the right of the fireplace is a Chippendale cabinet which has also been decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks.

 

On the top of the Hepplewhite bureau stand three real miniature photos in frames including an Edwardian silver frame, a Victorian brass frame and an Art Deco blue Bakelite and glass frame.

 

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

 

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

This song reminded me of a really good friend that I dearly miss. His favorite movie was "Stardust" and this all just seemed to come together so well, I had to toss it out there as a dedication. <3

 

~*~*~*~

I know this place

It smells like innocence lost

We left the traces of the sins we bought

 

But I wouldn’t change a thing

It’s just waking dream

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It’s no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect in my mind

And you won’t fade away

 

I know this face

It’s so familiar

I’m sure I know you but it’s all a blur

 

Now I can’t recall a thing

It’s such a wicked dream

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It’s no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect in my mind

And you won’t fade away

 

Praise to the memory

Living inside of me

Host to entirety writing my story

Lusting and gluttony

So unbecoming

The stardust is making me blind

 

But you won’t be left behind, the memory’s here to remind

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It’s no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect in my mind

 

Look at the wake

From the stardust pouring from your eyes

It’s no mistake

You are perfect

You are perfect

 

Look at the

Look at the wake pouring from your eyes

Look at the

Look at the wake

You are perfect in my mind

And you won’t fade away

 

youtu.be/nvsgYBDKpOs

Featured as the cover to Michelle Hodkin's book, "The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer"

 

Prints are now available on www.society6.com

Princess Hakiki, finally fed up with her rather unbecoming soup-bowl haircut, has decided to let her hair grown out....

 

The following text on history of Diamond Rock is taken from Wikipedia.

 

Diamond Rock occupies a strategic position at the north end of the St. Lucia Straits. Possession of the rock permits interdiction of navigation between Martinique and its southern neighbour, St Lucia.

In September 1803 Commodore Sir Samuel Hood sailed to the rock aboard Centaur (Captain Murray Maxwell). Hood had received the assignment to blockade the bays at Fort Royal and Saint Pierre, Martinique.

Centaur was lying at anchor in Fort Royal Bay, Martinique, on the morning of 1 December when lookouts sighted a schooner with a sloop in tow about six miles off making for Saint Pierre. Hood sent his advice boat, the Sarah, after the sloop, and had Maxwell sail Centaur in pursuit of the schooner. After a pursuit of some 24 leagues (120 km; 63 nmi), Centaur captured the schooner, which turned out to be the privateer Ma Sophie, out of Guadeloupe. She had a crew of 45 men, and was armed with eight guns, which she had jettisoned during the chase.

Hood took Ma Sophie into service as a tender, charging her captain, Lieutenant William Donnett, with watching the channel between Diamond Rock and Martinique for enemy vessels. Donnett made frequent visits to the rock to gather the thick, broad-leaved grass to be woven into sailors' hats, and a spinach-like plant called callaloo, that when boiled and served daily, kept the crews of Centaur and Ma Sophie from scurvy and was a nice addition to a menu too long dominated by salt beef.

Aided by calm weather, the British were able to run lines ashore and hoist two 18-pounder cannons to the summit of the rock. The British hastily built fortifications and supplied the position with food and water for a garrison of two lieutenants and 120 men under the command of Lieutenant James Wilkes Maurice, Hood's first lieutenant. Hood officially commissioned the island as the "sloop" HMS Diamond Rock (a "stone frigate"). A six-gun sloop, designated Fort Diamond, supported the fort. In honour of his admiral, Maurice designated as "Hood Battery" the one 24-pounder that he placed to fire from a cave halfway up the side of the rock. The British also placed two 24-pounder guns in batteries ("Centaur" and "Queen's") at the base of the rock, and a 24-pounder carronade to cover the only landing-place. One account puts two 24-pounders on the summit, but all other accounts put 18-pounders there. At some point while this was going on, Ma Sophie blew up for unknown reasons, killing all but one of her crew.

With work complete by 7 February, Hood decided to formalise the administration of the island, and wrote to the Admiralty, announcing that he had commissioned the rock as a sloop-of-war, under the name Diamond Rock. Lieutenant Maurice, who had impressed Hood with his efforts while establishing the position, was rewarded by being made commander.

Caves on the rock served as sleeping quarters for the men; the officers used tents. A court martial would reprimand Lieutenant Roger Woolcombe at Plymouth on 7 December 1805 for "conduct unbecoming a gentleman" for having messed (eaten) at the top of the rock with part of the ship's company.

The sailors used pulleys and ropes to raise supplies to the summit. To augment their uncertain food supply, the garrison had a small herd of goats and a flock of guinea hens and chickens that survived on the meager foliage. The British also established a hospital in a cave at the base of the rock that became a popular place to put sailors and marines recovering from fevers or injuries.

Just before Centaur left the rock, a party of slaves made a clandestine visit at night to trade fruits and bananas. They brought the news that a French lieutenant colonel of engineers had arrived at their plantation to survey the heights opposite for a mortar battery with which to shell the rock. One of the slaves had been sold by his English owner to the French when the owner left the islands. He did not like his new master and claimed the protection of the British flag. Hood granted him that protection, and promised that the man could serve in the Royal Navy as a free man in return for guiding a landing party to his now-former master's house. A 23-man landing party, including the guide, and under Lieutenant Reynolds, landed at midnight, walked the four kilometers to the plantation house, and took the engineer and 17 soldiers prisoner, before returning safely to Centaur. Apparently the lieutenant colonel was the only engineer on Martinique, and so no mortar battery materialized.

On June 23, 1804, whilst the Fort Diamond was on a provisioning expedition at Roseau Bay, St. Lucia, a French boarding party from a schooner came up to her in two rowboats, boarding her at night while most of the crew were asleep below decks. A subsequent court-martial aboard HMS Galatea at English Harbour, Antigua, convicted Acting Lieutenant Benjamin Westcott of allowing his vessel to be captured. The board dismissed him from the Royal Navy, never to be permitted to serve in the navy again] He became an American citizen three years later.

For 17 months, the fort was able to harass French shipping trying to enter Fort-de-France. The guns on the rock completely dominated the channel between it and the main island, and because of their elevation, were able to fire far out to sea and forced vessels to give it a wide berth, with the result that the currents and strong winds would make it impossible for them to fetch in Port Royal. During this time the French troops on Martinique made several unsuccessful attempts to retake the rock.

When Admiral Villeneuve embarked on his 1805 voyage to Martinique, he was under orders from Napoleon to recapture Diamond Rock. The French-Spanish combined naval force of 16 ships[19] under French Captain Cosmao-Kerjulien attacked Diamond Rock. Between 16 May and 29 May, the French fleet completely blockaded the rock. On the 25th, the French were able to cut out from under Maurice's guns a British sloop that arrived from St. Lucia with some supplies.

The actual assault came on 31 May, and the French were able to land some troops on the rock. Maurice had anticipated the landing and had moved his men from the indefensible lower works to positions further up, and on the summit. Once the French landed, the British fire trapped the landing party in two caves near sea level.

Unfortunately for the garrison, their stone cistern had cracked, due to an earth tremor, so they were short of water, and after exchanging fire with the French, they were also almost out of ammunition. After enduring a fierce bombardment, Maurice surrendered to the superior force on 3 June 1805, having resisted two French seventy-fours, a frigate, a corvette, a schooner, and eleven gunboats. The British lost two men killed and one wounded, and the French 20 dead and 40 wounded (English account), or 50 dead and wounded (French account), and three gunboats.

The French took the garrison of 107 men as prisoners, splitting them between their two 74-gun ships of the line, Pluton and the ex-British Berwick. The French repatriated the prisoners to Barbados by 6 June. The subsequent court-martial of Commander Maurice for the loss of his "ship" (i.e. the fort) exonerated him, his officers, and men and commended him for his defence. Maurice took dispatches to England, where he arrived on 3 August, and was given command of the brig-sloop Savage.

None the wiser, our enemies undone.

Accept first blood, to satisfy thirst.

Grant second sight, worldly spirit beckoned.

Open third eye, you monster absurd.

Spring forthcoming storms, a visage unbecoming.

Form fivefold destruction, abominable, mythic, old.

Hasten sixmos spells, through ritual verbose.

Kevin

 

Built in support of Berk for the DA4 Burgomeister RELPO sacrifice challenge.

I've been making some flash accessories for some upcoming strobist shoots. This is the first part of a short series of photos I made while experimenting with fiber optics attached to a flash unit.

 

At first this reminded me of someone dancing on a disco floor until I saw the faint figure sliding down inbetween the two poles.

 

Vivitar285 in soft box, 580exII strobed through several fiber strands. Triggered via pocket wizards.

 

Villa Marina, Douglas, Isle of Man

 

The building, first known as the Kursaal, was commissioned by Douglas Corporation and was the subject of an architectural competition assessed by Professor Adshead of Liverpool University, opening in 1913. The Kursaal name was dropped at the start of the First World War and the main auditorium rechristened The Royal Hall.

 

The main auditorium was originally designed for orchestral concerts, but was also intended as a multi-use space. It has an octagonal footprint, the auditorium being 30.46m (100ft) in diameter and 20.1m (66ft) up to the central pinnacled lantern, which provides light for the daytime activities. One side of the octagon contains the comparatively small stage and the stage house adjunct. There is a small apron stage downstage of the proscenium arch which is formed by a wide plaster moulding, with upper corners gently curving - but not at all fussy. The plasterwork in the auditorium is generally restrained, if a little uncertain. There are Edwardian echoes but no definite suggestion of a new style - rather more a dilution of a previous age.

 

The main stalls area is a flat sprung maple ballroom floor with removable seats, six rows around the periphery of the dance floor. Above these six rows is a balcony supported at intervals along the perimeter by broad plain columns. This has six further rows of seats around seven sides of the octagon. Behind these upper six rows the auditorium wall is punctured at regular intervals by large arched openings, some containing doorways, others simply with handrails opening onto an upper ambulatory, in the true traditions of the Kursaal style. The coffered ceiling rises on all eight sides of the octagon to the central pinnacled lantern, detailed with cornices and dog-tooth ornamentation.

 

The Marina Gardens were not completed until 1931, long after the Villa Marina had opened. The landscape architect for this scheme, which linked the Villa Marina and the Gaiety Theatre, was F Prentice Mawson of Thomas H Mawson & Sons of Lancaster. Later accretions include notably, the ‘Garden Room’ in the 1970s which is wholly out of keeping with the general character of the Villa Marina.

 

Externally it has the appearance of a small continental permanent circus building, with a wigwam-like appearance, rendered and pebble-dashed in a most unbecoming manner. The small stage house forms a small rectangular box which abutts abruptly onto the Harris Promenade.

 

It is an important survivor of its genre now a rare form of seaside architecture.

 

In 2004 the Villa was partly rebuilt and splendidly restored. The entrance was moved to face the gardens, and the Colonnade walkways and fountains restored. The interior has been rearranged for conferencing, and a cinema introduced. The Royal Hall has been faithfully restored and technically upgraded by Manx architect Ian Brown. [Theatres Trust]

We have to be up before dawn to wash and get dressed, so to get in the jeeps before six, to get access to the park, all so that we miss the heat of the day for at least one safari per day.

 

It was cool and dawn just beginning to break as we walked from our hut to reception, there we are all allocated our vehicle with driver. Once at the park gate, we collect a trained guide, and show our passports that have to match the permits we have each day.

 

As we entered the park, the sun rose and we could see its blood red face through the trees. We stopped to take shots.

 

At the first lake we stopped and saw a Crested snake eagle, then further along, the guide shouted to stop, and right beside the roadway was a sleep Nightjar, blending in with the rocks around it.

 

We drove through the park, taking half an hour to reach the inner gate, then another half hour to reach a watering hole, where on the far side, a mother tiger was guarding her two nearly year-old cubs. They lay in the sun, half playing before going to sleep, and we all moved away.

 

Our guide knew of some out of the way places, so thanks to him we saw a fine White-throated kingfisher, and I spotted a wild boar, rummaging in the leaf litter. A pure white Paradise flycatcher delighted us, as it showed well in a tree above the main road, and later on I saw a Mongoose fleeing into the undergrowth, its black-tipped tail flowing behind.

We stopped for a late breakfast at ten, then went to check on one final spot before returning to the main gate to drop the guide off, then back to camp with an hour to kill before lunch.

 

Lunch was buffet curries, all different from each other and the day before, but most containing lots of vegetables, so all good.

Back into the jeep at two, in the full heat of the day. Something like 41 or so degrees, hotter than it has ever got back home by several degrees. And once moving, the breeze would have cooked roast chicken in half an hour or so it seemed.

 

A fairly uneventful safari, there was rumour of more tigers at the same watering hole as the morning, so we set course for there.

 

As did all the other jeeps, from our party and others like us, as well as day trips, there must have been 25 vehicles, all jostling for space. It was pretty unbecoming to be frank, and I would have said we gave up.

 

And left.

 

But, a pair of tigers came, but lay down over the crest of a rise, so out of view, sometimes the back of the male’s ears were just visible.

 

Jeeps were three and four deep, and those at the back like us stood little chance of seeing anything, so two wardens arrived and insisted that the ones in front get out and let others, like us have a chance.

So we got to the front, both tigers had by this time escaped into the long grass, and again I wondered why we were wasting time, waiting.

 

The female broke cover, and ambled down the bank from the grass, down to the edge of the lake, then into it, to get to the small island the other side. Light was perfect, as the tigress began to stalk a family of barking deer the other side of the lake.

 

Step by step it went right, slowly and with deliberate steps, onto a line of rocks sticking out of the water. Remembering Xavier’s shots of the Arctic fox from Svalbard, I zoomed out slightly to get the tigress’s reflection. It was perfect.

 

The light, the tiger, the reflection, using the jeep as a tripod meant the shots were blur-free.

 

The tigress stretched, doing kitty yoga like the mogs back home, and then continued inching towards the deer. They knew she was there, and also knew that in the event of an attack, they had a 50 yard head start, and the tiger would be running through water too.

 

Our time ran out before the tableaux could be completed, but pretty sure all deer got away and the tigers went hungry.

 

We made our way back, taking an hour at 25mp/h to get to the gates to drop the guide off, then finding the town jammed because of a bad parker on the 90 degree bend. Horns sounded, and the bolshiest drivers got through first, ours was second, then hammering through the gloaming without lights back to the camp where supper of yet more curry was waiting.

 

We all celebrated with large bottles of cold beer.

 

We have to be up before dawn to wash and get dressed, so to get in the jeeps before six, to get access to the park, all so that we miss the heat of the day for at least one safari per day.

 

It was cool and dawn just beginning to break as we walked from our hut to reception, there we are all allocated our vehicle with driver. Once at the park gate, we collect a trained guide, and show our passports that have to match the permits we have each day.

 

As we entered the park, the sun rose and we could see its blood red face through the trees. We stopped to take shots.

 

At the first lake we stopped and saw a Crested snake eagle, then further along, the guide shouted to stop, and right beside the roadway was a sleep Nightjar, blending in with the rocks around it.

 

We drove through the park, taking half an hour to reach the inner gate, then another half hour to reach a watering hole, where on the far side, a mother tiger was guarding her two nearly year-old cubs. They lay in the sun, half playing before going to sleep, and we all moved away.

 

Our guide knew of some out of the way places, so thanks to him we saw a fine White-throated kingfisher, and I spotted a wild boar, rummaging in the leaf litter. A pure white Paradise flycatcher delighted us, as it showed well in a tree above the main road, and later on I saw a Mongoose fleeing into the undergrowth, its black-tipped tail flowing behind.

We stopped for a late breakfast at ten, then went to check on one final spot before returning to the main gate to drop the guide off, then back to camp with an hour to kill before lunch.

 

Lunch was buffet curries, all different from each other and the day before, but most containing lots of vegetables, so all good.

Back into the jeep at two, in the full heat of the day. Something like 41 or so degrees, hotter than it has ever got back home by several degrees. And once moving, the breeze would have cooked roast chicken in half an hour or so it seemed.

 

A fairly uneventful safari, there was rumour of more tigers at the same watering hole as the morning, so we set course for there.

 

As did all the other jeeps, from our party and others like us, as well as day trips, there must have been 25 vehicles, all jostling for space. It was pretty unbecoming to be frank, and I would have said we gave up.

 

And left.

 

But, a pair of tigers came, but lay down over the crest of a rise, so out of view, sometimes the back of the male’s ears were just visible.

 

Jeeps were three and four deep, and those at the back like us stood little chance of seeing anything, so two wardens arrived and insisted that the ones in front get out and let others, like us have a chance.

So we got to the front, both tigers had by this time escaped into the long grass, and again I wondered why we were wasting time, waiting.

 

The female broke cover, and ambled down the bank from the grass, down to the edge of the lake, then into it, to get to the small island the other side. Light was perfect, as the tigress began to stalk a family of barking deer the other side of the lake.

 

Step by step it went right, slowly and with deliberate steps, onto a line of rocks sticking out of the water. Remembering Xavier’s shots of the Arctic fox from Svalbard, I zoomed out slightly to get the tigress’s reflection. It was perfect.

 

The light, the tiger, the reflection, using the jeep as a tripod meant the shots were blur-free.

 

The tigress stretched, doing kitty yoga like the mogs back home, and then continued inching towards the deer. They knew she was there, and also knew that in the event of an attack, they had a 50 yard head start, and the tiger would be running through water too.

 

Our time ran out before the tableaux could be completed, but pretty sure all deer got away and the tigers went hungry.

 

We made our way back, taking an hour at 25mp/h to get to the gates to drop the guide off, then finding the town jammed because of a bad parker on the 90 degree bend. Horns sounded, and the bolshiest drivers got through first, ours was second, then hammering through the gloaming without lights back to the camp where supper of yet more curry was waiting.

 

We all celebrated with large bottles of cold beer.

 

Before anyone asks, I've already reported this Tricolor Heron to the heron Society for unbecoming behavior, all this frog did was try to say hello and wave and the Heron grabbed it, this one and tomorrow will be the last of the predation images. Hope everyone had a great weekend, and thanks for the visit.

 

Please View On Black

to love a love hollow and deep, an unbecoming romance

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

 

Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife, Arabella. Lettice has been summoned to her old family home after an abrupt morning telephone call from her father, following the publication of an article in the publication, Country Life* featuring her interior designs for friends Margot and Dickie Channon’s Cornwall Regency country house ‘Chi an Treth’.

 

As Lettice elegantly alighted from the London train at Glynes village railway station, there on the platform amid the dissipating steam of the departing train and the smattering of visitors or return travellers to the village, stood Harris, the Chetwynd’s family chauffer. Dressed in his smart grey uniform, he took Lettice’s portmanteau, hastily packed in London by Edith her maid, and umbrella and walked out through the station’s small waiting room and booking office, leading Lettice to where the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler awaited her on the village’s main thoroughfare. As they drove through the centre of the village, Harris told Lettice through the glass partition from the front seat, that her article in Country Life* had caused quite a sensation below stairs. Quietly, Lettice smiled proudly to herself as she settled back more comfortably into the car’s maroon upholstery. Lettice is undeniably her father’s favourite child, but she has a strained relationship with her mother at the best of times as the two have differing views about the world and the role that women have to play in it. She only hopes as she nears her family home, that Lady Sadie, who does not particularly approve of her venture into interior design, will be proud of her achievement this time.

 

As the Daimler purrs up the gravel driveway and stops out the front of Glynes, Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, steps through the front door followed by Marsen, the liveried first footman. Marsden silently opens the door of the Daimler for Lettice and helps her step out before fetching her luggage.

 

“Welcome home, My Lady,” Bramley greets her with an open smile. “What a pleasure it is to see you looking so well.”

 

“Thank you Bramley,” she replies with a satisfied smile as she looks up at the classical columned portico of her beloved childhood home basking in the spring sunshine. “It’s always good to be home.”

 

“How was the train journey from London, My Lady?” Bramley asks Lettice as he falls in step a few paces behind her.

 

“Oh, quite pleasant, thank you Bramley. I have my novel to while away the time.”

 

“We were all pleased and proud to see your name in print in Her Ladyship’s copy of Country Life.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Bramley. That’s very kind of you to say. I take it that is why I have been summoned here today.”

 

The butler clears his throat a little awkwardly and looks seriously at Lettice. “I couldn’t say, My Lady, however they are expecting you, in the drawing room.” The statement is said with the gravitas that befits one of the country house’s finest rooms.

 

Lettice’s face falls. “Do I have time to refresh myself.” She peels off her gloves as she walks through the marble floored vestibule and into the lofty Adam style hall of Glynes. The familiar scent of old wood, tapestries and carpets welcomes her home.

 

“I was asked to show you into the drawing room immediately upon your arrival, My Lady,” Bramley says as Marsden closes the front doors and then the vestibule doors behind them. “Her Ladyship insisted, and His Lordship didn’t contradict her.”

 

“Oh. Do I sense an air of disquiet, Bramley?” Lettice asks, handing the butler her red fox collar and then shrugging off her russet three quarter length coat into his waiting white glove clad hands.

 

“Well My Lady, may I just say that your article caused somewhat of a stir both above and below stairs.” He accepts Lettice’s elegant picture hat of russet felt ornamented with pheasant feathers.

 

“Yes, so Harris told me. Good or bad above stairs, Bramley?”

 

“I think,” the older manservant contemplates. “Mixed, might be the best answer to that, My Lady.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Well, His Lordship, and Master Leslie were thrilled, as was the young Mrs. Chetwynd. However, as you know, My Lady, Her Ladyship has particular ideas as to your future.” He cocks an eyebrow and gives her a knowing look. “She’s had them planned since the day you were born, and you know she dislikes it when her plans go awry.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice says with a disappointed lilt in her answer. “Well, thank you Bramley,” she gives him a sad, yet grateful smile. “You are a brick for warning me.” She brushes down the front of her flounced floral sprigged spring frock, sighs and says with a sigh, “Then I best get this over with, hadn’t I?”

 

“I don’t see an alternative, My Lady.”

 

“Then don’t worry, I’ll show myself into the drawing room. I should imagine this will only be an overnight stay.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Lettice turns on her heel and walks down the corridor, her louis heels clicking along the parquetry flooring, echoing off the walls decorated with gilt framed portraits of the Chetwynd ancestors, their dogs, horses and paintings of views of the estate. She stops before the pair of beautiful walnut double doors that open onto the drawing room, grasps one of the gilded foliate handles, turns it and steps in.

 

The very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its grand dimensions, high ceiling and gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings has always been one of Lettice’s favourite rooms in the house. It is from here that she developed her love for collecting fine Limoges porcelain to emulate the collection amassed by her great, great paternal grandmother Lady Georgiana Chetwynd. No matter what time of day, the room is always light and airy thanks to its large full-length windows and beautiful golden yellow Georgian wallpaper decorated in a pattern of delicate blossoms and paper lanterns which seems almost to exude warmth and golden illumination. Whilst decorated with many generations of conspicuous consumption, it is not overly cluttered and it does not have the suffocating feel of Lady Sadie’s morning room, which she loathes, and it smells familiarly of a mixture of fresh air, bees wax polish and just a waft of roses. Glancing around, Lettice can see the latter comes from two vases of roses – one white bunch and one golden yellow cluster – both in elegant porcelain vases. The room is silent, save for the quiet ticking of several clocks set about polished surfaces, the hiss of dusty wood as it burns and the muffled twitter of birds in the bushes outside the drawing room windows. And there, by the grand crackling fire, her parents sit in what she hopes to be companionable silence.

 

Lady Sadie sits in her usual armchair next to the fire, dressed in a grey woollen skirt, a burnt orange silk blouse and a matching cardigan with her everyday double strand pearls about her neck. With her wavy white hair framing her face in an old fashioned style she looks not unlike Queen Mary, as she sips tea from one of the floral tea cups from her favourite Royal Doulton set, lost in her own thoughts as she stares out through the satin brocade curtain framed windows. The Viscount on the other hand is sitting opposite his wife in the high backed gilded salon chair embroidered in petit point tapestry by his mother. Dressed in his usual country tweeds worn when going about the estate, Lettice notices that he is immersed in the very copy of Country Life that her interiors feature. Between them, tea and coffee in silver pots stand on a small black japanned chinoiserie occasional table along with the round silver biscuit sachet that has once been Lady Sadie’s mother’s.

 

“Well, here I am.” Lettice announces with false joviality, alerting both her parents to her presence as she closes the door behind her.

 

“Lettice!” the Viscount exclaims, jumping up from his seat, slightly crumpling the pages of the Country Life between his right fingers as he lets his hands fall to his side. “My dear girl!” He beams at her proudly. Thrusting out the magazine in front of him as if trying to prove a point, he continues. “What a surprise, eh?” He indicates to the article about ‘Chai an Treth’, which he was reading, as Lettice suspected.

 

“Pappa!”

 

Lettice hurries into the room, steps between the gilt upholstered chairs that are part of the Louis Quartzose salon suite that had been included in her mother’s dowery when she married her father and falls happily into the loving arms of the Viscount who smells comfortingly of fresh air and grass as he envelopes her.

 

“Don’t gush, Cosmo!” Lady Sadie chides, giving her husband a withering look of distain as she sips her tea with a crispness, passing judgement like usual over her husband and youngest daughter’s emotional relationship, which she unable to fathom.

 

“Hullo Mamma.” Lettice reluctantly removes herself from her father’s welcoming embrace and walks over to her mother, who places her teacup aside and tilts her head so that Lettice can give her an air kiss on both cheeks, their skin barely touching in the transaction.

 

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits.” Lady Sadie pronounces, indicating with a sharp nod to the low tea table upon which sits a third, unused, teacup and saucer nestled amongst the other tea things. “Mrs. Casterton has made her custard creams this week.”

 

“Thank you, Mamma.” Lettice sees a selection of vanilla and chocolate cream biscuits on a plate already as she helps herself to tea from the small round sterling silver pot, polished to a gleaming sheen by Bramley or the head parlour maid. She takes up one each of the two varieties of custard creams, ignoring the look of criticism from her mother by doing so, depositing them onto her saucer. She then settles down on the settee, closest to her father and puts her cup on the table next to her.

 

“My dear girl! My dear girl!” the Viscount repeats in a delighted voice as he tosses the copy of Country Life with the crumpling sound of paper onto the top of a pile of newspapers and periodicals atop a petite point footstool. “Exemplifying a comfortable mixture of old and new to create a welcoming and contemporary room, sympathetic to the original features.” he paraphrases one of Lettice’s favourite lines in Henry Tipping’s** article, giving away that this was hardly the first time he has read the article since the magazine arrived at Glynes. “What wonderful praise from Mr. Tipping.”

 

“Oh, do stop, Cosmo!” pleads Lady Sadie from her seat on the other side of the fireplace, toying with the pearls at her throat. “Gushing is so unbecoming,” She glares critically at her husband. “Especially from a man of your age. It’s emasculating.”

 

Lettice gives her mother a wounded glance before quickly looking at her father, however he bares a steeliness in his jaw.

 

“Why shouldn’t I gush, Sadie?” he replies in defence of himself and his daughter, looking over his shoulder at Lady Sadie, determination giving his voice strength. “This is our child we are talking about,” He turns back and smiles with unbridled delight at Lettice, his eyes glittering with pride. “And I’m damn proud that Lettice has her name in print in a periodical such as Country Life, even if you are less so.”

 

“I don’t know whether I am pleased at all, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie eyes her daughter. “I’d rather see your name printed in the society pages next to a certain eligible duke’s son’s name, Lettice.” she adds dryly as she picks up a custard cream and gingerly nibbles at it as though it might contain rat bait. “Then, I’d gush.”

 

“Mamma!” Lettice manages to utter in a strangulated fashion as disappointment at her mother’s reaction to the article grips her like a cold pair of hands around her throat.

 

“It’s your duty to marry, Lettice, and marry well. You know this.” Lady Sadie lectures in reply haughtily. “We’ve had this conversation time and time again. You don’t want to be a burden on poor Leslie when your father dies, do you?” She nibbles some more at the biscuit clutched between her fingers.

 

“Oh Sadie!” the Viscount gasps. “Don’t be crabby. You must concede that you are proud that one of the leading authorities on architecture and interior design in Britain has spoken so highly of our daughter’s work.”

 

The older woman pulls a face, cleaning mushy biscuit remains from her gums, but doesn’t dignify the statement with an answer.

 

“Can’t you be just a little happy for me, Mamma?” Lettice pleads as she reaches out and grasps her father’s bigger hand for comfort and support. “Just this once?”

 

“I’ll be happy when I see you married off.” She picks up her cup and saucer and takes a sip of tea. “Is it not bad enough that I have one wayward child? Perhaps I had better pack you off to British East Africa too.”

 

“Tipping said Lettice is a very capable interior designer.” the Viscount defends his favourite child. “And the photos prove that.”

 

“Capable!” Lady Sadie scoffs with a nod of disgusted acknowledgement of the magazine lying beyond the tea table. “The room looks barren – positively starved of furnishings and character. How can that be capable interior design? There is practically nothing in it, to design!”

 

“But paired back is the new style now, Mamma. People don’t want…”

 

“What?” Lady Sadie snaps, the fine bone china cup clattering in its saucer.

 

“Well they don’t necessarily want all this.” Lettice gesticulates around her, almost apologetically, to the furnishings around them. “People want cleaner lines these days, to better reflect their more modern lives.”

 

“So your father and I are old hat?” Lady Sadie quips. “Is that what you’re saying, Lettice?”

 

“No, of course not Mamma. I love you and Pappa, and Glynes is classically beautiful. You do a wonderful job at maintaining the elegance of the house. I did retain some of the original décor of Margot and Dickie’s house as part of my refurbishment, even though Margot told me to fling it all out. Mr. Tipping calls it ‘Modern Classical Revival Style’. You and Pappa taught me to always respect a house’s history, and that is what I did, whilst giving Margot the more modern look she wants.”

 

“Pshaw! That girl hasn’t an ounce of taste. Her family have always been new money.” remarks Lady Sadie dismissively. “You can always tell the difference between the old and the new. True breeding will always win out.”

 

“Margot is my friend Mamma! Please don’t say such hurtful things.”

 

“Well, whatever you may think of Lettice’s choice in friends, Sadie, you cannot deny the credit she has brought to the family name by being associated with the Marquis of Taunton.” retorts the Viscount.

 

“Only by association with this interior design folly nonsense of hers, Cosmo.” She flaps her bejewelled hand at her daughter, the lace trimmed handkerchief partially stuffed up the left sleeve of her knitted silk cardigan dancing about wildly with every movement. “At least you were good enough to have your name and business published in a respectable periodical, Lettice.” she concedes begrudgingly.

 

“Well, I’m proud of you, Lettice my girl, and there’s a fact.” He turns again and stares with a hard look at his wife before pronouncing, “And so too is your brother and Arabella, and the Tyrwhitts. Your mother is just bitter because she wasn’t the one who was able to announce the news to the whole village.”

 

“You had no right not to tell me about this article, Lettice!” Lady Sadie grumbles as she cradles her cup and saucer in her lap in a wounded fashion, whilst foisting angry and resentful looks at her daughter. “None at all! I hadn’t even had an opportunity to open the magazine and peruse it before I had the Miss Evanses up here, unannounced, crowing about your name in print in Country Life and how proud I must feel.”

 

Lettice cannot help but smile at the thought of her mother being assailed by the two twittering spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village. The pair are known for their love of gossip, and even more for their voracity at spreading it, as they attempt to fill their lives which they obviously feel are lacking in drama and excitement. The chagrin Lady Sadie must have felt would have been palpable.

 

“Don’t you dare smile at my humiliation, you wicked girl! I had to pretend, Lettice! Pretend to those two awful old women, fawning and toadying the way they do, that I had read the article, and there it sat, unopened on my bonheur de jour***, completely untouched.”

 

“I only wanted it to be a surprise, Mamma.”

 

“Well, it certainly was that.” The woman’s eyes flame with anger. “I had feign that I was only being a tease when I showed such surprise to the Miss Evanses about your name in that article. Luckily the two were more interested in their own delight at their association to you than my genuine surprise that they believed me.” She turns her head away from her husband and daughter and adds uncharitably, “Stupid creatures.”

 

“Now don’t be bitter, Sadie.” the Viscount chides his wife. “Bitterness doesn’t become a lady of any age.”

 

“I’m not bitter!” spits Lady Sadie hotly with a harsh laugh of disbelief.

 

“Yes, you are.” her husband retorts with a gentle laugh of his own. “The more you defend yourself, the more evident it is, Sadie. You are just upset that the Miss Evanses had done a successful job of spreading the news through the village before you had the chance to do so yourself. They took the wind out of your sails. Lettice meant it to be a delightful surprise, and it was, my dear girl.”

 

“She didn’t consider the consequences.”

 

“The petty rivalry between her somewhat misguided mother, who should know better, and two old village crones, should hardly be a concern of one of London’s newest and brightest interior designers, Sadie.”

 

“Well, shouldn’t I have the opportunity to boast about my own daughter, Cosmo?”

 

“Aha! There!” the Viscount crows triumphantly. “So, you are proud of Lettice then.”

 

Lady Sadie thrusts her cup noisily onto the side table and stands up, brushing biscuit crumbs from her lap with angry sweeps onto the Chinese silk carpet at her feet. “You do talk a lot of nonsense, Cosmo.” She mutters brittlely. “I need to go and attend to something. So, if you will please excuse me.” She prepares to leave, but then adds as an afterthought, “But when I come back, I hope you two will have finished your character assassination of me.”

 

Lettice and her father watch Lady Sadie stalk towards the door with her nose in the air.

 

“I just hope that the Duchess doesn’t read that article, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says with a meanness in her angry voice. “I very much doubt she would like a daughter in trade. I hope you realise that this little stunt of yours could have ruined the best match you’ll ever get.”

 

The older woman opens the door and walks out into the corridor.

 

“Just ignore your mother.” the Viscount waves his hand before his wife as if erasing her presence as the door slams behind her, making both he and his youngest daughter wince. “She really is just jealous of those two silly old spinsters because they were gossiping about you in the village before she was able to do so.”

 

“I just wanted it to be a lovely surprise for you and her, Pappa.” Lettice pleads with wide and concerned eyes welling with tears.

 

“I know, my girl. I know.” He takes his handkerchief from his inside pocket and passes it to Lettice, who dabs at her eyes.

 

“I even organised with Mr. Tipping for Mamma to get her edition early,” Lettice sniffs. “But I suppose the mail delivery let me down.”

 

“Well,” her father shrugs. “Any general worth his wait in salt**** will tell you that the very best laid plans can go awry.” He smiles at her consolingly. “Your mother is contrary at the best of times. She’ll never admit that she is happy with any success that isn’t of her own making. Why on earth you seek her approval, I don’t know.” he adds in exasperation. “Do you deliberately wish to punish yourself, dear girl?”

 

Lettice sighs and sniffs. “I just hope that one day she will be proud of me. I feel like I’ve always disappointed her.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Twenty-three, Pappa.”

 

“Then you are old enough to know that no matter how hard you try, your mother will never admit to you that she is proud of you. If you do end up marring young Spencely, I doubt even then that she will willingly admit to being proud of you.”

 

“You’re right, Pappa. I should know better. You know that Lally told me the Christmas before last that Mamma lords the perfection of her married life over me, whilst lording the glamour of my life over her.”

 

“Quite so.” the Viscount admits. “I always told your mother that playing that game would do her no god in the end.” He laughs sadly. “But you know your mother. She won’t be told anything. I’m glad that your sister told you what’s what. Sadie hasn’t that power over you any more, now that you know the truth, Lettice.”

 

“But why does she do it?”

 

“Like I said, your mother is sadly misguided. Whether you believe me or not, it isn’t done out of spite.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“She does it to try and get you to both emulate the good things in the other. She wants Lally to be ambitious like you. The truth is I don’t think she ever really approved of the match between Lally and Lanchenbury.”

 

“But Lally and Charles are very happy together.”

 

“I know, Lettice. I know.” He pats her hands. “I think she considers him to be a little below the expectations she had for her eldest daughter, coming from a good and wealthy, but relatively socially insignificant family. That’s why she aspires for you through the marriage bed, dear girl.”

 

“But marriage isn’t all I aspire to, Pappa.”

 

“I know that too, and both your mother and I know how decimated the options are for young ladies in the wake of the war, your mother probably far better than I. But you must forgive us for wanting you to fill the role we expect you to fill, and for us hoping that it is a financial and socially ambitious match you make.” He sighs wearily. “Although with the way the world is changing, that seems to be becoming a less likely thing. I’m only grateful your brother made me modernise the estate. Goodness knows if we would have survived this post-war world of ours, and even now, I wonder whether we actually will.”

 

“Don’t say that Pappa.”

 

“Whatever happens, don’t let your mother upset you, and don’t let her spoil your triumph. I repeat, your brother, Arabella, the whole district is so proud of you, and I’m sure that all your friends, and young Spencely are equally proud to know you.”

 

“Alright Pappa,” Lettice sighs as her father places a consoling hand on her shoulder and rubs it lovingly. “I won’t.”

 

“That’s my girl. Now, I’m sure your mother has gone to arrange luncheon for Lady Edgar, the vicar and any number of other members of the great and good of the county, all of whom she will be singing your praises to – not that she will tell you that.” The Viscount winks conspiratorially at Lettice. “So, what’s say you and I go and have luncheon at the Dower House with Leslie and Arabella? I know they would love to see you and congratulate you.”

 

“Thank you Pappa!”

 

Lettice and her father embrace, and the pair remain in position for a few minutes, enjoying the intimacy without the criticism of Lady Sadie.

 

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

 

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

 

***A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.

 

****Although these days we commonly say that someone is worth their weight in gold, to say that someone is “worth one’s salt,” is the more traditional saying. Its meaning is the same. It’s a statement that acknowledges that they are competent, deserving, and – to put it simply – worthwhile. The phrase itself is thought to be rooted in Ancient Rome where soldiers were sometimes paid with salt or given an allowance to purchase salt. Similarly, if a person uses the phrase “worth its weight in salt,” to describe an object, they are expressing that they think the item is worth the price they paid or that it otherwise holds immense value to them.

 

This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The gilt Louis Quatorze chair and sofa, the black japanned chinoiserie tea table and the gilt swan round tables table are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

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

 

The Palladian console tables at the back to either side of the fireplace, with their golden caryatids and marble was commissioned by me from American miniature artisan Peter Cluff. Peter specialises in making authentic and very realistic high quality 1:12 miniatures that reflect his interest in Georgian interior design. His work is highly sought after by miniature collectors worldwide. This pair of tables are one-of-a-kind and very special to me.

 

The elegant ornaments that decorate the surfaces of the Chetwynd’s palatial drawing room very much reflect the Eighteenth Century spirit of the room.

 

On the centre of the mantlepiece stands a Rococo carriage clock that has been hand painted and gilded with incredible attention to detail by British 1:12 miniature artisan, Victoria Fasken. The clock is flanked by a porcelain pots of yellow, white and blue petunias which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton. At either end of mantle stand a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces!

 

Two more larger example of Ann Dalton’s petunia posies stand on the Peter Cluff Palladian console tables. The one on the left is flanked by two mid Victorian (circa 1850) hand painted child’s tea set pieces. The sugar bowl and milk jug have been painted to imitate Sèvres porcelain. The right table features examples of pieces from a 1950s Limoges miniature tea set which I have had since I was a teenager. Each piece is individually stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp. The vase containing the yellow roses is also a Limoges miniature from the 1950s.

 

The silver tea and coffee set and silver biscuit sachet on the central chinoiserie tea table, have been made with great attention to detail, and come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The gilt edged floral teacups and plate on the table come from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay. The blue and white vase the white roses stand in comes from Melody Jane’s Dolls House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The white and yellow roses are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The copy of Country Life sitting on the footstool which is a lynchpin of this chapter was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1923 edition of Country Life. The 1:12 miniature copy of ‘The Mirror’ beneath it is made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The hand embroidered pedestal fire screen may be adjusted up or down and was acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.

 

All the paintings around the Glynes drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper of Chinese lanterns from the 1770s.

 

The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.

 

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

Reminiscent of an ancient artifact weathered by unnumbered eons, a bold spire reflects the last rays of desert sunlight as an encroaching thunderstorm threatens.

 

Known by the unbecoming moniker of ‘Long Dong Silver,’ this fractured shale icon looms nearly 100’ over its desolate setting near Hanksville, Utah. The ‘standard shot’ everyone takes here is from a nice ridge line to the east that provides a great leading line. I’ve done that shot a few times as well but on this day I brought my drone along and was looking for a different perspective. This image taken from about 200’ with the setting sun behind achieved that goal.

 

The image is a 5-frame bracket processed with Topaz Giga to squeeze every bit of detail possible out of that small sensor.

 

Cheers!

Jeff

My Website ¦ My Blog ¦ Facebook

 

Featured on Explore! 13 April 2024

 

after feeling the vast silence that holds all the noise and starless sea

does the world feel large and small, at the same liminal moment?

 

then,

 

should a faint-hearted one, carry a nest of personal creativity and explore a new journey?

or should one keep returning to the nest of shared wisdom and yet meet a distant self?

how can the contrasts be a story boat, but not be gloomy waves when emotions run high?

 

will the feeling of words hit home or put on a horror show facing the uphill darkness?

with the looming mountains, isn't it possible to meet the 'sworn in' where they are?

to see their personalities and preferences and not be changed by the elements?

 

that someone's presence still haunts a place?

kindness and respect cannot sit at a table

if tipsy the bench cannot leave.

the book not wide enough for all the thoughts.

 

after feeling disenchanted on how one has constructed one's own life, distanced from magic;

unbecoming of indelible brushstrokes, can the self have new wings of love and calmness?

and dreams and responsibility bolster each other, on such a faith that knows how to ask?

 

what happens to the streams of thinking below the two thoughts that keeps insidiousness at bay?

 

a small pond in stillness, feels a downcast force, whose ripples disrupt far greater than the first contact of a large rock.

the solitude of a large sea whither a small stone sets off a dream.

this sea who cannot feel the 'idea of you' that is bequeathed to her.

 

where was the plan to perform a symphony and healing of the dissatisfaction?

in the city of many cleaning vessels, of overwhelming heads but zero hellos,

when did the paper thin anger bargain, to be the stone and be accelerated in rage?

or when did it incipere the transformation - to be the story of - 'the bird in me flies'?

 

it's time to think through interconnected questions

that thread through co-mingled emotions —

which strains between light and dark,

between co-regulation and co-escalation.

what kept on advancing error by error

to become a stultifying world in itself?

 

amoenus world-weariness — no turning back — simply as

we are all in this locus terribilis, at every moment of our lives.

whir of raging bluster slows to silence— no turning back —

through the new seasons — new creations,

with essence alone — the conversation resumes.

  

※

 

And you see fear - it crawls,

but love – it flies.

 

Coffin Bay, some years ago

 

www.facebook.com/waynegrivellartandphotography

 

www.waynegrivell.wordpress.com

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

 

Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home after receiving a strongly worded instruction from her father by letter to visit without delay or procrastination. Over luncheon, Lettice was berated by her parents for her recent decision to decorate the home of the upcoming film actress, Wanetta Ward. Lettice has a strained relationship with her mother at the best of times as the two have differing views about the world and the role that women have to play in it, and whilst receiving complaints about her choice of clients, Lettice was also scolded by mother for making herself unsuitable for any young man who might present as an eligible prospect. Although Lettice is undeniably her father’s favourite child, even he has been less than receptive to her recent choices of clients, which has put her a little out of favour with him. After Lady Sadie stormed out of the dining room over one of Lettice’s remarks, Viscount Wrexham implored his headstrong youngest daughter to try and make an effort with her mother, which is something she has been mulling over during her overnight stay.

 

Now Lettice stands in the grand Robert Adam decorated marble and plaster entrance hall of her family home as she prepares to take her leave. Outside on the gravel driveway, Harris the chauffer has the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler ready to drive her to the Glynes village railway station for the one fifteen to London. She has bid farewell to her brother Leslie and her father. Now there is just one final member of the family whom she needs to say goodbye to.

 

“Thank you Marsden.” Lettice remarks to the liveried first footman as he carries the last of Lettice’s luggage out to the Daimler.

 

“I hope you have a safe journey back to London, My Lady.” Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler remarks as he walks into the entrance hall to see Lettice off.

 

“Thank you, Bramley,” Lettice replies. “Oh, I’m glad you are here. Do you know where my Mother might be?”

 

Considering her question, the old butler looks to the upper levels and ceiling of the hall before replying knowingly. “Well, it is still mid-morning according to Her Ladyship, so I would imagine that she will be in the morning room. Shall I go and see, My Lady?”

 

“No thank you Bramley. You have more than enough to do I’m sure, managing this old pile of bricks, without doing that for me. I’m perfectly capable of seeking her out for myself.”

 

Turning on her heel, Lettice walks away from the butler, her louis heels echoing off the marble tiles around the entrance hall in her wake.

 

“Mamma?” Lettice trills with false cheer as she knocks with dread on the walnut door to the morning room.

 

When there is no reply to her call, she considers two possibilities: either her mother is still in a funk with her and not speaking to her after the scene in the dining room yesterday, or she isn’t in the morning room at all. Both are as likely as each other. Taking a deep breath, she turns the handle and opens the door, calling her mother again as she does so.

 

The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother her mother’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent. Lady Sadie is nowhere to be seen but cannot have been gone long judging by her floral wake.

 

Walking over to the Eighteenth Century bonheur de jour* that stands cosily in a corner of the room, Lettice snorts quietly with derision as she looks at the baby photograph of Leslie, her eldest brother, which stands in pride of place in a big silver frame on the desk’s serpentine top, along with a significantly smaller double frame featuring late Nineteenth Century younger incarnations of her parents. Lettice, her sister Lally and brother Lionel have been relegated to a lesser hanging space on the wall, as befits the children seen as less important by their mother. Everything has always been about Leslie as far as their mother is concerned, and always has been for as long as Lettice can remember.

 

Lettice runs her fingers idly over several books sitting open on the desk’s writing space. There is a costume catalogue from London and a book on Eighteenth Century hairstyles. “Making plans for the Hunt Ball.” Lettice muses with a smile. It is then that she notices a much thicker book below the costume catalogue which has a familiar looking worn brown leather cover with a gilt tooled inlay. Moving the catalogue Lettice finds a copy of Debrett’s**

 

“Oh Mamma!” she exhales with disappointment as she shakes her head.

 

As she picks it up, she dislodges a partially written letter in her mother’s elegant copperplate hand from beneath it. Lettice knows she shouldn’t read it but can’t help herself as she scans the thick white paper embossed with the Wrexham coat of arms. Its contents make her face go from its usual creamy pallor to red with frustration.

 

“Ahh! Lettice!” Lady Sadie’s crisp intonation slices the silence as she walks into the morning room and discovers her daughter standing over her desk. “Heading back to London, are we?” she continues cheerily as she observes her daughter dressed in her powder blue travelling coat, matching hat and arctic fox fur stole. She smiles as she indicates to the desk’s surface. “I’m making plans for my outfit for the Hunt Ball. I thought I might come as Britannia this year.”

 

Lettice doesn’t answer her mother immediately as she continues to stare down at the letter next to her mother’s silver pen and bottle of ink. Remembering her father’s request, she draws upon her inner strength to try and remain civil as she finally acknowledges, “How appropriate that you should come as the all-conquering female warrior.”

 

“Lettice?” Lady Sadie remarks quizzically.

 

“Perhaps you might like to reconsider your choice of costume and come as my faerie godmother, since I’m coming as Cinderella.”

 

“Oh, now that’s a splendid idea! Although I don’t…”

 

“Or better yet, come as cupid instead!” Lettice interrupts her mother hotly, anger seething through her clipped tones as she tries to keep her temper.

 

“Now you’re just being foolish, Lettice,” Lady Sadie replies as she walks towards her daughter, the cheerful look on her face fading quickly as she notices the uncovered copy of Debrett’s on her desk’s surface.

 

“Not at all, Mamma! I think it’s most apt considering what you are trying to do.”

 

“Trying to do? What on earth are you talking about Lettice?” the older woman chuckles awkwardly, her face reddening a little as she reaches her bejewelled right hand up to the elegant strand of collar length pearls at her throat.

 

Lettice picks up the letter, dangling it like an unspoken accusation between herself and her mother before looking down at it and reading aloud, “My dear Lillie, we haven’t seen you at Glynes for so long. Won’t you, Marmaduke and Jonty consider coming to the Hunt Ball this year? Do you remember how much Jonty and my youngest, Lettice, used to enjoy playing together here as children? I’m sure that now that they are both grown, they should be reacquainted with one another.” She lowers her hand and drops the letter on top of the edition of Debrett’s like a piece of rubbish before looking up at her mother, giving her a cool stare.

 

“It isn’t ladylike to read other people’s correspondence, Lettice!” Lady Sadie quips as she marches up to her desk and snatches the letter away from Lettice’s reach, lest her daughter should cast it into the fire cracking peaceably in the grate.

 

“Is it ladylike to arrange the lives of two strangers without discussing it?”

 

“It has long been the prerogative of mothers to arrange their children’s marriages.” The older woman defends herself. “And you and Jonty Hastings aren’t strangers, Lettice. You and he…”

 

“Haven’t seen each other since we were about six years old, when we played in the hedgerows together and had tea in the nursery with Nanny Webb after she had washed the mud off us!”

 

“Well, all the better for the two of you to become reacquainted then, as I’m suggesting to his mother.” She runs her fingers along the edges of the letter in her hands defiantly. “And I am going to send this letter, Lettice,” Her voice gathers a steely tone of determination. “Whether you like it, or lump it.”

 

“Yes, Pappa told me after you,” she pauses for a moment to consider her words carefully. “Left, us at luncheon yesterday, that you had been making some discreet enquiries about inviting some eligible young bachelors for me to the ball this year.”

 

“And so I have, Lettice.” Lady Sadie sniffs. “Since you seem incapable of finding yourself a suitable match even after your successful debut London Season, I have taken it upon myself to do some…”

 

“Matchmaking, Mamma?”

 

“Arranging, Lettice. Tarquin Howard, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes…”

 

“Sir John is as old as the hills!” Lettice splutters in disbelief. “You surely can’t imagine I’d consider him a likely prospect!”

 

“Sir John is an excellent match, Lettice. You can hardly fail to see how advantageous it would be to marry him.”

 

“Once I look past the twenty five, no more, years age difference. No, better he be chased by some social climbing American woman looking for an entrée into the society pages. Perhaps I should ask Miss Ward to the ball. I’m sure she would love to meet Sir John.”

 

Lady Sadie’s already pale face drains of any last colour at the thought of an American moving picture star walking into her well planned ball. “Well, if you won’t countenance Sir John, I’ve also invited Edward Lambley and Selwyn Spencely.”

 

“Selwyn Spencely?” Lettice laughs. “The guest list just gets more and more implausable.”

 

“What’s so implausible about Selwyn Spencely, Lettice? The Spencelys are a very good family. Selwyn has a generous income which will only increase when he eventually takes his father’s place as the next Viscount Markham. He inherited a house in Belgravia from his grandfather when he came of age, so you two can continue to live in London until you become chatelaine of Markham Park.”

 

“Can you hear yourself, Mamma?” Lettice cries as she raises her arms in exasperation, any good will she tried to muster for her Mother quickly dissipating. “Do you want to pick what wedding gown I am to wear too?” Lettice laughs again. “Selwyn and I haven’t laid eyes on each other for almost as long as Jonty and I.”

 

“Well, he’s grown into a very handsome young man, Lettice. I’ve seen his photograph in The Lady.” Her mother bustles across the end of the floral chaise where a pile of well fingered magazines sit. “Look, I can show you.”

 

“Oh, please don’t Mamma!” Lettice throws her hands up in protest. “Please don’t add insult to injury.”

 

Lady Sadie turns around, a hurt look on her face. “How can you say that to me, Lettice? I’m only trying to do right by you, by securing a suitable and advantageous marriage for you.”

 

“But what about love, Mamma?” Lettice sighs. “What if I don’t wish to marry at all? What if I am happy just running my interior design business.”

 

“Oh what nonsense, Lettice! The younger generation are so tiresome. All this talk of love! I blame those moving pictures your Ward woman stars in that you and your friends all flock to slavishly! Your Father and I had our marriage arranged. We weren’t in love.” She emphasises the last two words with a withering tone. “We’d only even met a handful of times before we were married. Love came naturally in time, and look how happy we are.” She smiles smugly with self satisfaction. “And as for your business, you aren’t Syrie Maugham***, Lettice. You’ve always been told, from an early age, that your duty as a daughter of a member of this great and noble family, even as the youngest daughter, is to marry and marry well.” She sinks onto the chaise. “This foolishness about interior design,” She flaps her glittering fingers distractedly at Lettice. “Will have to end when you get married. Whether it be Jonty, Nicolas or Selwyn, you’ll have to give it up. No respectable man of position and good breeding will have his wife working as a decorator! He’d be ashamed!”

 

At her mother’s harsh words, Lettice abandons any attempt to try and make an effort with her. She looks up to the ornate white painted plaster ceiling and crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room as she clenches her hands into fists. “Well,” she looks angrily at her mother. “We wouldn’t want my future husband to be ashamed of my success, now would we?”

 

“What success, Lettice?” her mother scoffs. “You were only able to decorate Gwendolyn’s small drawing room because I asked her to allow you to do it.”

 

“I’ve plenty of clients now, no thanks to you, Mamma!”

 

“Dickie and Margot don’t count, dear,” Lady Sadie replies dismissively as she fingers the edges of a copy of the Tattler distractedly. “They are your friends. Of course they were going to ask you to decorate their house.”

 

Lettice gasps as though her mother just punched all the air out of her chest. She stands, silent for a moment, her face flushing with embarrassment and anger. “You’ve always been so cruel to me Mamma, ever since I was little.”

 

“And you’ve always been so stubborn and obstinate, ever since you were a child! Goodness knows what I did to deserve a wilful daughter. Lally was so lovely and pliable, and certainly no trouble to marry off.” She folds her hands neatly in her lap over her immaculately pressed tweed skirt and looks up at her daughter. “I don’t mean to be harsh, Lettice, but someone has to make you see sense. Goodness knows your Father can’t, what with him wound around your little finger! You will have to marry eventually, Lettice, and preferably soon. It’s a foregone conclusion. It’s what is expected of you, and as I said yesterday, you aren’t getting any younger, and you certainly don’t want to be left stuck on the shelf. Just think of the shame it would bring you.”

 

“More think of the shame it would bring you, Mamma.” Lettice spits bitterly. “To have a daughter who is a spinster, an old maid, and in trade to boot!”

 

“Now there is no need to be overtly nasty, Lettice.” Lady Sadie mutters brittlely. “It’s unbecoming.”

 

A little gilt clock on an occasional table chimes one o’clock prettily.

 

“Mamma, however much I would love to sit here and share bitter quips and barbs with you all day over a pot of tea, I really do have to leave!” Lettice says with finality. “I have a train to catch. Gerald and I have a reservation at the Café Royal**** tonight.” She walks over to her mother, bends down and goes to kiss her cheek, but the older woman stiffens as she averts her daughter’s touch. Lettice sighs as she raises herself up again. “I’ll see you in a week for Dickie and Margot’s wedding and then after that for Bonfire Night*****.”

 

“Hopefully you’ll have come to your senses about marriage and this ridiculous designing business by then.”

 

Lettice raises her head proudly and takes a deep breath before turning away from her mother and walks with a purposeful stride across the room. “No I won’t, Mamma.” she says defiantly. As she opens the door to leave the morning room, she turns back to the figure of her mother sitting facing away from her towards the fire. “Pappa asked me to make an effort at the Hunt Ball, and I will. I will dance and flirt with whomever you throw in my general direction, be they old, blind or bandy-legged.” She sees her mother’s shoulders stiffen, indicating silently that she is listening, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge that she is. “However, be under no pretence Mamma. I am doing it for him, and not you.”

 

“Lettice…” Lady Sadie’s voice cracks.

 

“And,” Lettice cuts her off sharply. “No matter who I dance with, or charm, I will not marry any of them. Goodbye Mamma.”

 

Lettice closes the door quietly behind her and walks back down the hallway to the entrance hall. She walks through the front doors with her head aloof, and steps into the back of the waiting Daimler. Marsden closes its door and Harris starts the engine. The chauffer can sense the tension seething through his passenger as she huffs and puffs in the spacious rear cabin, dabbing her nose daintily with a lace edged handkerchief, so he remains quiet as he steers the car down the sweeping driveway. As the car pulls away from Glynes basking in the early afternoon autumnal sun, Lettice can almost feel two sets of eyes on her back: one pair from her father looking sadly out from the library and the other her mother’s peering critically from behind the morning room curtains.

 

*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.

 

**The first edition of Debrett's Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland, containing an Account of all the Peers, 2 vols., was published in May 1802, with plates of arms, a second edition appeared in September 1802, a third in June 1803, a fourth in 1805, a fifth in 1806, a sixth in 1808, a seventh in 1809, an eighth in 1812, a ninth in 1814, a tenth in 1816, an eleventh in 1817, a twelfth in 1819, a thirteenth in 1820, a fourteenth in 1822, a fifteenth in 1823, which was the last edition edited by Debrett, and not published until after his death. The next edition came out in 1825. The first edition of The Baronetage of England, containing their Descent and Present State, by John Debrett, 2 vols., appeared in 1808. Today, Debrett's is a British professional coaching company, publisher and authority on etiquette and behaviour. It was founded in 1769 with the publication of the first edition of The New Peerage. The company takes its name from its founder, John Debrett.

 

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

 

****The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.

 

****Guy Fawkes Day, also called Bonfire Night, British observance, celebrated on November the fifth, commemorating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guy Fawkes and his group members acted in protest to the continued persecution of the English Catholics. Today Guy Fawkes Day is celebrated in the United Kingdom, and in a number of countries that were formerly part of the British Empire, with parades, fireworks, bonfires, and food. Straw effigies of Fawkes are tossed on the bonfire, as are—in more recent years in some places—those of contemporary political figures. Traditionally, children carried these effigies, called “Guys,” through the streets in the days leading up to Guy Fawkes Day and asked passersby for “a penny for the guy,” often reciting rhymes associated with the occasion, the best known of which dates from the Eighteenth Century.

 

Cluttered with paintings, photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s morning room with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The books on Lady Sadie’s desks are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside two of the books he has made. One of the books is a French catalogue of fancy dress costumes from the late Nineteenth Century, and the other is a book of Georgian hairstyes. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into these volumes, each book contains twelve double sided pages of illustrations and they measure thirty-three millimetres in height and width and are only three millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. The 1908 Debrett’s Peerage book is also made by Ken Blythe, but does not open. He also made the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk and the stamps you can see next to the ink bottle. The stamps are 2 millimetres by two millimetres each! Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

On the desk is a 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottle and a silver pen, both made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles is made from a tiny faceted crystal bead and has a sterling silver bottom and lid.

 

The Chetwynd’s family photos seen on the desk and hanging on the walls are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The largest frame on the right-hand side of the desk is actually a sterling silver miniature frame. It was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.

 

The vase of primroses in the middle of the desk is a delicate 1:12 artisan porcelain miniature made and painted by hand by Ann Dalton.

 

The desk and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design, made by Bespaq. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The wallpaper is a copy of an Eighteenth Century blossom pattern.

No photoshop, two storks taking off in unison.

 

LIGHTBOX

Thought these words below were a great reminder, like this rose, to keep that "sweet aroma" going throughout the holidays when emotions can be high : )

"A KEEN SENSE OF HUMOR helps us to overlook the unbecoming, understand the unconventional, tolerate the unpleasant, overcome the unexpected and outlast the unbearable. "A Joyful heart is a good medicine" Proverbs 17:22 Like this rose, lets help keep that sweet aroma going : )

 

Thanks for being a "sweet aroma" to me! And may we all keep that sense of humor during this season when emotions can be high and those joy stealer's are lurking. Why not have a sense of humor and change that precarious moment!

 

Have a great day and enjoy every moment! They all count!

Give, and it will be given to you [Luke 6:38]

 

translation of the beginning of

Dăruind vei dobândi

("Through Giving You Shall Receive") – published 1992;

by Nicolae Steinhardt

 

nicolaesteinhardt.wordpress.com/2008/08/30/giving-you-sha...

 

"Blind, unwise, and of a narrow mind as I am, I was not foolish and unknowing enough to believe that Christ asks us to give from our surplus: that, even the pagans do. I was however unskilled and lost in the darkness enough to think – what seems entirely in accord with Christian teaching – that we are asked to give from the little we have, if not even from the very little. I even went as far as agreeing with the idea that from the parable of the two talants thrown by the widowed woman in the offering box (Mk 12:41-44, Lk 21:1-4) follows that we should give all we have, our entire possessions.

 

It was needed that I stumbled upon reading, a while ago, a text of the French poet Henri Michaux (1899 – 1988) to understand, trembling, shuddering, that Christ asks something entirely different: to give what we do not have.

 

How blind, unwise, and of a narrow mind I was. And locked in the chains of the most lamentable common sense. How could I imagine that Christ-God who accepted to take on a body and be crucified on the cross lust like the unhappiest and most wicked of mortals, would ask us to give from the surplus or the little possessions, or even to give their entirety? How would He have called us to actions so simple, so of this world, that is, so possible! Did not Paul Claudel define God for us, attributing to Him the saying: Why do you fear? I am the impossible who looks at you.

 

Christ, thus, asks for exactly this: the impossible: to give what we do not have.

 

But let us listen to Michaux: in the monastery where he would like to be received, a simple candidate to monasticism shows up. He confesses to the geronda: know, Father, that I have neither faith nor light, nor essence, nor courage, nor trust in myself, and I cannot be of any help to myself, much less to any others; I have nothing.

 

It would have been logical for him to be rejected at once. Not so, however. The geronda (abbot, as the French poet says) replies: What does that have to do with anything! You have no faith, have no light; giving them to others you will have them, too. Searching them for another, you will gain them for yourself. Your brother, your neighbor and fellow man, him you are duty bound to help with what you do not have. Go: your cell is on this hallway, third door on the right.

 

Not from the surplus, not from the little, but from your unpossession, from what you lack. Giving another that which you do not have – faith, light, confidence, hope – you will acquire them as well.

 

„You have to help him with what you do not have.”

 

„Giving what you do not have, you acquire too, the naked, the deserted, that which you lack.”

 

„With what you believe you have not, but which is, which will be in you.

 

Deeper than the depth of your self. More mysterious, more covered, clearer, fast spring which flows unceasingly, calling, inviting to communion.”

 

Yes, only in this way you will be able to speak as a servant of Christ, of the One full of mystery: paradoxically (as he always has taught us: if you want to rule, serve; if you want to be exalted, humble yourself; if you want to save your soul, lose it for me; if you want to recapture your purity, admit your guilt) and amazingly (if you will give what you do not have, you will also gain what you have given others).

 

I think that nowhere, except for the Gospels, have more clear and more Christian words been spoken than in Michaux’s little poem, which stupefied and enthused me. Maybe in some fragments of The Brothers Karamazov and The Demons, maybe Cervantes creating El nuestro Senor Don Quijote, El Christo espanol, maybe Albert Camus in the text about Oscar Wilde (titled The Artist in Prison) and about the way to Christ not through suffering and pain (a good way, though an inferior one) but by an excess of happiness and moments of euphoria (a superior way). I think nowhere a poet or writer has spoken more closely of the unapproachable One.

 

Giving what we have no, we gain by rebound what – with unimaginable outrageousness – we have dared to give to another. The lesson is valid for any Christian, clergy or laity. For the monk, especially. Let him not worry, not fear, not be anxious, the monk who feels his inner-self deserted, haunted by lack of belief and weakness, full of darkness and aridness; let him not mind these in the least. Temptations of hopelessness, unbecoming tricks of the evil and dry one. Let him give those who come to him, in his cell, in the monastery garden, on the porch of the guest-house, at the alter gates – so they can find faith, strength, light, and a ray of hope, that which they expect from him and which he very well knows that in that moment he may not have. Let him give them. And, giving them, they will also refract back on him and he will be benefited by the gift made unto others.

 

„Giving the light you do not have, you, too, will have it.”

 

Do Michaux’s words, perhaps, not clarify in more depth the text from Matthew 25 about the fearful Judgment? Perhaps, have not the good ones given the thirsty from the water they lacked; the hungry from the food they did not have, the naked one the clothes they themselves were straining after?…

 

The secret of monastic life shows itself to be: to dare to give that which, temporarily, you may be lacking. Here then, is the Christian paradox in its entirety, splendor, and virtue. But here is the amazing promise: giving what you do not have, you gain what you knew to give from the emptiness of your being. The supra-natural gift is reflected on you, comes back to you like a boomerang, like a ray of light projected at a mirror, and enriches you, fills you up, overwhelms you.

 

Of course. If could not be otherwise! How could we think, even for a moment – not to say anything about years – that Christ wants to give from what we have: the surplus, the little, everything. Big deal, worthy endeavor! Too human, the poor, pitiful work! Something different is asked from us: what seems to be impossible. Something else is promised: what which cannot be conceived or believed.

 

Let every fear, uncertainty, shyness, fear of hypocrisy disappear from us, the monks: the monk is meant to give others faith and light even if he may be lacking them a shorter or longer while. Even if he is in a crisis of listlessness. Even if he were guilty of a weakening in the zeal and steadiness of monasticism.

 

Could he? Could he fulfill the miracle? Of course, since he is part of those about whom Christ says that „they are not of this world, as I am not of this world” (John 17:16). And again, „But not only for these I pray, but for those who will believe in Me through their word.” (John 17:20). And in the Book of Acts (20:35) Paul also says: „You have to help the weak and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus: it is more blessed to give than to receive.”

 

Truly, giving above nature, we receive grace above grace. Let the weak, thus, say: give me, Lord, when I am lost and naked, strength and impudence to be able to give from what I do not have. And You make this gift of mine – paradoxical, absurd and daring – return to me through your mercy which counts human wisdom ad madness and the adage „Nemo dat quod non habet” sounding brass and clanging cymbal. You who ask only the impossible and do only what the human mind cannot understand."

 

Monk Nicolae Steinhardt

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicolae_Steinhardt

nicolaesteinhardt.wordpress.com/in-english/

 

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photo:

inner narthex 14th century mosaic detail

in the lunette above the entrance to the naos

of the Donor Theodore Metochites

detail from the icon panel of "The Enthroned Christ"

Church of the Holy Saviour in Chora, Istanbul

www.columbia.edu/cu/wallach/exhibitions/Byzantium/html/bu...

Chora Museum, Chora Monastery (Contantinople)

Μονή της Χώρας, Μουσείο Χώρας, Κωνσταντινούπολη

Kariye Müzesi, Kariye Camii, Kariye Kilisesi, Istanbul

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chora_Church

www.columbia.edu/cu/wallach/exhibitions/Byzantium/

www.byzantium1200.com/chora.html

www.sacred-destinations.com/turkey/istanbul-st-savior-in-...

www.doaks.org/library-archives/icfa/moving-image-collecti...

www.thebyzantinelegacy.com/chora

 

"The Enthroned Christ and the Donor Theodore Metochites are located in the lunette above the entrance to the naos [3]. Metochites kneels and presents a model of the church to a seated Christ. In Byzantine art, this was the standard way of representing an architectural donation. Metochites is ostentatiously garbed and wears a high hat symbolizing his important office and his court titles are inscribed behind him."

 

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Theodore Metochites

Θεόδωρος Μετοχίτης

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodore_Metochites

 

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

 

Tonight however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home as her parents host their first Hunt Ball since 1914. Lady Sadie has been completely consumed over the last month by the planning and preparation of the occasion, determined that not only will it be the event of the 1922 county season, but also that it will be a successful entrée for her youngest daughter, still single at twenty-one years of age, to meet a number of eligible and marriageable men. Letters and invitations have flown from Lady Sadie’s bonheur de jour* to the families of eligible bachelors, some perhaps a little too old to be considered before the war, achieving more than modest success. Whilst Lettice enjoys dancing, parties and balls, she is less enthusiastic about the idea of the ball being used as a marriage market than her parents are.

 

We find ourselves in Lettice’s boudoir at Glynes, a room which she considers somewhat of a time capsule now with its old fashioned furnishings and mementoes of those halcyon pre-war summers. She hardly even considers it her room any more, so far removed is she from that giddy teenager who had crushes on her elder brothers’ friends and loved chintz covered furniture, floral wallpaper and sweet violet perfume. Lettice is sitting at her dressing table, a serpentine Edwardian piece of dark mahogany still adorned with the Art Nouveau silver dressing table set and perfume bottles she left behind along with her pre-war self when she moved to Mayfair in 1920. She sighs as she glances at her reflection in the mirror. Looking back is a beautiful, but rather pensive Cinderella in a pomaded wig bedecked in feathers, ropes of faux pearls and pale yellow roses that match the colour of the Eighteenth Century Georgian style ball gown of figured satin she wears. The Glynes Hunt Ball has always been a fancy dress, and whilst her father and Leslie usually eschew fancy dress in preference for their hunting pinks**, the Chetwynd women have always loved the occasion to get dressed up, and this year it is the world’s most famous and beloved faerie tale heroine whom Lettice is going as, an irony that makes her chuckle sadly to herself, when she considers that the ball is being held this year with the express purpose of her finding her prince charming.

 

“Not that there will be one there,” she says to herself, a snort of derision escaping her as she picks up one of the three faceted crystal bottles she has brought from her Cavendish Mews boudoir and places a few glistening drops of Shalimar*** on either side of her neck.

 

She looks across at the drawers of her travel de nécessaire**** and pulls one open and stares down at the glittering array of rings glinting in the lamplight, like fabulous chocolates made of gold and precious stones, nestled comfortably into their red velvet home. She looks down at the white kid elbow length gloves, an essential item for dancing so that no flesh actually comes into contact between a jeune fille à marier***** and an eligible bachelor lest the latter spoil the prospects of the former, and ponders which pieces she should wear. Her garnet and pearl Art Deco cluster cocktail ring perhaps? The baguette cut Emerald surrounded by brilliant cut diamonds? No, the daisy ring of brilliant cut diamonds that she was given as a birthday gift by her father on her twenty-first: that will go nicely against the white kid of her gloves.

 

“Oh!”

 

A gasp from the door to her bedroom breaks Lettices contemplation of her jewellery. Looking up she sees her mother reflected in the mirror’s glass. Turning around in her seat she lets her hand drape languidly over the back of her ornately carved dressing table chair with its pink satin seat.

 

“Mamma,” Lettice remarks. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

Dressed as the national personification of Britain, Lady Sadie is every inch the helmeted female warrior Britannia, only her battle lies in manoeuvring her reluctant and recalcitrant daughter about the Glynes ballroom rather than defending the realm. Standing in a white Roman style shift with gold embroidery of a key pattern along the hem, sleeves and neck, she has a brass helmet decorated with thick red plumes atop her proudly held head. There is a steely determination in both the line of her clenched jaw and her glittering eyes, yet there is also a hint of approval as she takes in her daughter’s very feminine appearance.

 

“I just wanted to see you before the ball commences, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says brittlely as she glides elegantly across the floor, her gown like a muslin cloud billowing about her serene figure. She sighs as she gazes around the bedroom. “I do wish you’d return home Lettice, rather than living in that dreadful place, London. It isn’t right you know, for a young unmarried girl to be living on her own in London. You’d be much better to stay here and learn how to run a real home to ready yourself for when you are chatelaine…”

 

“You said you wanted to see me, Mamma?” Lettice cuts her mother off sharply, not even countenancing moving back to live beneath her mother’s disapproving gaze. “About the ball, was it?”

 

Lady Sadie’s serenity is shattered by her daughter’s curt interruption and her face resumes its usual scowl when addressing her daughter. “Yes. Yes it was, Lettice.”

 

“Well, best you tell me then,” the younger woman replies, half turning back to her dressing table, and glancing over her right shoulder to the pretty porcelain clock decorated with entwined roses on the mantlepiece. “The first guests will be arriving shortly.”

 

“Very well Lettice, if you wish to play it this way,” Sadie’s frown becomes more pronounced as she sighs. She looks at the impatient form of her youngest daughter, whom she considers to be her most problematic child by far. “I want no difficulties from you this evening.”

 

“Difficulties!” Lettice releases a burst of laughter. “Me?”

 

“Don’t be coy!” Lady Sadie snaps. “It’s most unbecoming.”

 

“You always said that coyness was an alluring charm.” Lettice remarks sweetly in return, knowing that this will goad her mother, but unable to resist the temptation to do so.

 

“It is, except when you are in a conversation with your mother.” Lady Sadie barks back, her response rewarded by a cheeky half smile from her daughter who doesn’t even attempt to hide her amusement. “Now, I don’t have time for your silly games, my girl. I expect you to stand next to me to greet our guests when they start to arrive. You will be polite and acknowledge each one, even if you don’t particularly care for their company.”

 

“Of course Mamma,” Lettice replies demurely.

 

“And I don’t want any sly remarks from you.” The older woman wags her heavily bejewelled fingers warningly. “You are on show this evening, and I expect nothing less than ladylike decorum in all manner of action and speech.”

 

“Yes Mamma,” Lettice sighs.

 

“Gerald Bruton and his acerbic tongue have been a bad influence on you since you both moved to London and started spending more time together.” Lady Sadie quips. “Oh, and whilst we are on the subject of Gerald, I don’t want you spending all evening with him, ensconced in a corner, gossiping, and deriding our guests. Do you understand?”

 

“Well, I can hardly ignore him, Mamma, if he engages me in conversation. You said yourself just now that I am to be ladylike in all manner of action and speech.”

 

“You know what I mean, Lettice! Are you being obtuse on purpose, just to annoy me?”

 

“No, Mamma!” Lettice raises her hands in defence of her words. “Mind you, Gerald is an eligible young bachelor too.”

 

“And you know he is totally unsuitable.” retorts Lady Sadie. “He’s the second son for a start, and the Brutons are in rather straitened circumstances, in case you don’t know. Lord Bruton is selling off another few parcels of land along his western boundary to help pay for the upkeep required on Bruton Hall.”

 

“I didn’t know that!” Lettice remarks, genuinely surprised as her hand goes to her throat.

 

“Yes, your father told me he heard as much from Lord Bruton on New Year’s Eve. He is selling parcels of land there because he hopes for a better price from a developer, being the closest point to Glynes village and the main road.” Lady Sadie admits. Scrutinising her daughter through sharp and slightly squinting eyes she adds, “I can trust your discretion, can’t I Lettice?”

 

“Of course, Mamma!” she replies genuinely. “Does Aunt Gwen know?”

 

“I haven’t asked her, and I’m not going to cause either of them embarrassment by raising it, but I’ll assume yes. She must have some idea. I’m just grateful that tonight is a fancy dress. It will save poor Gwyneth from having to wear that same tired, old fashioned frock she wore here on New Year’s Eve tonight.”

 

“Yes, I noticed that too.”

 

“Anyway, hopefully you’ll be too busy dancing on the arm of an eligible bachelor to spend any time with Gerald. Besides, he should be focusing on finding himself a suitable heiress, although coming from such an unremarkable family with limited means, he’s not exactly the most exciting prospect, in spite of his handsome looks.”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply, remembering her father’s words in the Glynes library late the previous year when he mentioned that Lady Sadie was quite unaware of Gerald’s inclinations. To avoid embarrassment on either of their parts, and to keep Gerald in at least the lower echelons of her mother’s good graces, she decides that discretion is the better part of valour and keeps quiet, which luckily Lady Sadie takes as docility from her daughter.

 

“Now, do you remember whom you are to dance with this evening, Lettice?”

 

“Yes Mamma,” Lettice sighs, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she begins to recite. “Jonty Hastings, Selwyn Spencely, Edward Lambley, Septimius Faversham, Bryce MacTavish, Oliver Edgars, Piers Hackford-Jones, Tarquin Howard.” She cringes inwardly. “and Nicholas Ayers.”

 

“Don’t forget Sir John Nettleford-Hughes!” Lady Sadie reminds her daughter.

 

“Ugh!” Lettice’s nose screws up in disgust. “I’m not dancing with Sir John! He’s… he’s so old and lecherous!”

 

“Nonsense Lettice! Sir John may be a little bit older than the other gentlemen on offer, but he is no less eligible. You could do worse than present yourself, as I hope you will, as a jeune fille à marier to him. He has a beautiful estate in Buckinghamshire and houses in Bedfordshire, London and not to mention Fontengil Park just a stone’s throw south of here in our very own Wiltshire.”

 

“Mamma, he likes young chorus girls!”

 

Lady Sadie stiffens at the mention of such women in her presence. “Oh, that’s just idle drawing room gossip, Lettice!”

 

“It’s not! It’s true.” She folds her arms akimbo and pouts. “He’s a lecherous old man who likes young girls who don’t wear knickers!”

 

“Lettice!” Lady Sadie grasps at her throat in horror. “Don’t say such scandalous things! Every unmarred man who went through the war had an infatuation with a Gaiety Girl at some stage.”

 

“It’s more than an infatuation or phase with him, Mamma! I’ll not dance with such an old man! I won’t!”

 

“You will my girl, because it is your duty.”

 

Lettice sighs and goes to say something as a retort, but her mother’s bejewelled fingers rise again, the diamonds winking from their gold and platinum settings.

 

“I told you. I want no trouble from you tonight. This ball is for you. It may be the Hunt Ball, but we all know it’s for you to meet a potential husband. It’s your duty to dance at least once with every eligible man I have invited here this evening for you to pick from. So, dance with him you will. And let that be an end to your obstinance, Lettice.”

 

Realising suddenly that if she wants this evening to be as painless as possible, she really must do as her father suggests and make an effort to try and please her mother, even if the idea of a husband finding ball appals her, Lettice sighs and acquiesces with a nod. “Very well Mamma.”

 

“That’s a good girl.” Lady Sadie replies with a pleased purr in her voice.

 

The older woman turns to walk away and then gasps, spinning back to her daughter.

 

“I almost forgot why I came here to see you, Lettice.”

 

“I thought it was to talk about who I was to dance with, Mamma.”

 

“Well, there was that too, but no. I wanted to give you this to wear for the evening.” The older woman fishes into the capacious flowing sleeve of her white muslin shift and withdraws a sparkling necklace of brilliant cut diamonds and rubies set in platinum, which she passes to her daughter.

 

Lettice gasps. “The Glynes necklace!” She takes the fabulous jewellery confection in her warm hands, feeling the coolness of the stones and metal against her palms and fingers as she admires the sixteen enormous diamonds and four equally large rubies in their settings. “But this is…”

 

Once again, Lady Sadie’s hands rise, indicating for Lettice to desist from speaking.

 

“I know that you and I seldom see eye-to-eye on anything, Lettice, and I doubt we ever will,” the older woman says crisply. “And that includes the ball tonight. Yet you have shown the good grace to make an effort to come and have chosen a beautiful costume. I hope that good grace will extend to your behaviour this evening. I know you don’t agree with you father’s or my idea that you could meet your potential future husband here tonight, but there we agree to disagree. If you would just allow yourself to enjoy the spectacle of the evening and join in the spirit that this is for you, you might find a man to whom you can entrust your heart. I know that this necklace is the property of the chatelaine of Glynes, and therefore usually worn by her, however I thought because of your good grace, and your concerted efforts,” Her eyebrows arch slightly as she sizes up her daughter again, looking for any hidden pockets of rebellion beneath the elegantly costumed girl. “Having the opportunity to wear this necklace this evening would help you enjoy the occasion.”

 

Lettice stares down at the winking jewels in her hands. “I don’t know what to say, Mamma.”

 

“A thank you would be customary, and quite acceptable, Lettice.”

 

“Thank you Mamma.”

 

*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.

 

**Hunting pinks is the name given to the traditional scarlet jacket and related attire worn by fox-hunters.

 

***Shalimar perfume was created when Jacques Guerlain poured a bottle of ethylvanillin into a bottle of Jicky, a fragrance created by Guerlain in 1889. Raymond Guerlain designed the bottle for Shalimar, which was modelled after the basins of eastern gardens and Mongolian stupa art.

 

****A travel de nécessaire is a travelling case used in the Edwardian era for country weekend house parties and holidays away from home. They would usually contain items like combs, brushes and perfume bottles needed for maintaining one’s appearance, but could be much grander and contain many other implements including pens and ink bottles, manicure sets and more. There were also some specifically designed for the use of jewellery, with velvet lined compartments for rings, neckaces, brooches and earrings.

 

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

 

This pretty corner of an Edwardian boudoir may appear like something out of a historical house display, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The silver dressing table set on the dressing table, consisting of mirror, brushes and a comb, as well as the tray on which the perfume bottle stand has been made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

On the silver tray there is a selection of sparkling perfume bottles, which are handmade by an English artisan for the Little Green Workshop. Made of cut coloured crystals set in a gilt metal frames or using vintage cut glass beads they look so elegant and terribly luxurious. The faceted pink glass perfume bottle, made from an Art Deco bead came with the dressing table, which I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop.

 

Also on the tray is a container of Val-U-Time talcum powder: an essential item for any Edwardian lady, and a metal container of Madame Pivette’s Complexion Beautifier, which was introduced in 1905 by Doctor J.B. Lynas and Son and produced in Logansport, Indiana. Doctor Lynas started his own profession in 1866, which was the making of "family remedies", which quickly gained popularity. It became so popular, that he sold extensively throughout the United States. His products carried names such as the Catarrh Remedy, Hoosier Cough Syrup, Ready Relief, Rheumatic Liniment, White Mountain Salve, Egyptian Salve and Liver Pills. Within a few years the "doctor's" medicine sales amounted to around ten thousand US dollars per year. By the turn of the Twentieth Century he had expanded his product line to include flavorings such as vanilla, cherry, lemon; and also, soaps, lotions and perfumes for ladies. These items were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The travel de necessaire, complete with miniature jewellery, I acquired from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The dressing table chair did not come with the dressing table, although it does match nicely. Upholstered in a very fine pink satin, it was made by the high-end dolls’ house miniature furniture manufacturer, Bespaq.

 

The elbow length white evening gloves on the seat of the chair are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.

There is a definite lean to the signals here, the signal at the edge of Peter's picture and the bracket signal both lean to the right.

This is mid-summer in 1959, shirt sleeves for the railway workers and a thin cotton dress for the school girl, that girl is wearing a very short lived fashion accessory, it was a straw "Mandarin" hat, effective but unbecoming. You can still buy them through the internet should you with to look like a Revo Precinct street light...

The scene seemed timeless, parcels waiting on the platform, new mattress from Kay's of Worcester? the station build hot to the touch in the sun, the smell of baking sleepers from the track. Sadly it was not to last, Ashchurch to Tewkesbury closed 14/08/1961 and Ashchurch station closed 15/11/1971. Some good news is that Ashchurch has a new station which opened 01/06/1997, a bus will take you on to Tewkesbury...probably.

The usual branch train loco was push-pull fitted 41900, the loco was a Stanier2P 0-4-4, it was built in 12/1932, from 10/08/1957 until it was withdrawn 16/03/1962 it was allocated to 22B Gloucester Barnwood. 41900 was withdrawn at Crewe works and scrapped the following month (April 1962)

Peter Shoesmith 04/07/1959)

Copyright John Whitehouse & Geoff Dowling: All rights reserved