It’s funny how the world works sometimes. My partner has been friends with a chap for many years who is a confirmed old bachelor from a good family: but with no children, he is the last of this distinguished family line. With only a distant cousin and even more distant godson for family, my partner’s friend asked my partner to be the executer of his will. When he visited us to ask this of my partner, our friend and I chatted as we usually do about antiques and art, in particular Art Deco, which is a shared love of ours. I showed him some rather lovely Shelley Art Deco trios I had acquired recently. He then said that this was the perfect segway to something he wanted to ask me. He wanted to know whether I would be interested in having his parents’ Shelley Art Deco tea set (a wedding gift when they married in 1933) as part of the terms of his will. He wanted it to go to a person who would love it and cherish it. I was so flattered to be asked. Thus, when my partner and I visited him a week later at his house, our friend had washed and put out the set for me to look over to confirm whether I wanted it. It was a gorgeous Deco design of hand painted stripes in white, grey and that wonderful bright green we associate with the Art Deco era. Consisting of six cups, saucers and cake plates, a milk jug, sugar bowl and larger cake plate, the set was in perfect condition, gleaming and bright as the day it was gifted originally. I said I would love it! Then he told me that I may a well enjoy my inheritance now, and he gave me the set to bring home that very evening!

 

This is a teacup and saucer from that set. The pieces are made of the finest and most delicate bone china: so fine you can clearly see the shadow of your hand behind it when you hold it to the light. Shelley were famous for the delicacy of their porcelain, and it is why pieces are so prized by collectors, because they are so easily broken, even if one is gentle with them. The distinctive shape of the cup with its circular handle is registered as shape number 781613 which is classified as a Regency shape which applied to cups, coffee pots and milk jugs and was registered in 1933 – the year our friend’s parents were married. Each piece from the set has a hand painted “W 1233” on the bottom in red paint, which identifies the pattern number and possibly the pattern designer, but to date I can find nothing about it, and I have never seen a pattern quite like this. Thus, the set is keeping some of its origins a secret. Maybe one day I will find out more. Each piece has been entirely hand painted, which is most unusual even for a brand like Shelley, and even though it is nearing its centenary year, this cup and saucer look contemporary enough to slip into a fashionable modern interior of today.

 

The theme for "Looking Close on Friday" for the 19th of July is "cup & saucer", and whilst I have many lovely cups and saucers in my collections of china, I felt that these rater special pieces deserved a showing for this week’s theme. I hope you like my choice for the theme this week, and that it makes you smile.

The theme for “Smile on Saturday” for the 5th of March is “sphere on black”. Looking at the theme in my dining room, I immediately thought of the Art Deco column lamp standing atop a china cabinet next to me. A gift from my mother some Christmases ago, the chrome lamp has its original Art Deco spherical ornamental shade with its undulating geometric designs. I hope you like my choice of the theme this week, and that it makes you smile.

CORNELIA: "Oh my! It's 12:02 and I said I would meet my best friend Moesje at 12:00, however it's not anyone's fault. Fairy Mum is kept very busy weaving her magic all over the place. But now on my way to Moesje after walking through the magic portal between Daddy's house and Mummy Marian's house. Goodness! It's raining like cats and dogs here in Groningen! Luckily I remembered to bring my umbrella as well as my fancy old handbag that Daddy calls by another name.

 

I am nearly there, my best friend! Please wait for me! I can't wait to see you and go shopping!"

 

*Gasps and sighs with relief when she sees Moesje standing under a red umbrella, awaiting her arrival.*

 

"There you are Moesje, my best friend! I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! Poor Fairy Mum was a bit late opening the portal between Daddy's house and Mummy Marian's house because there was a girl who needed a pretty gown to wear to a ball, but she only had rags to wear. Still, Fairy Mum sorted a pretty dress for her, and now I am here!

 

I hope you are ready to shop up a storm!" *Giggles.* "We'll buy nail polish for your paws and lipsticks that suit both our muzzles, oh and lace for you Moesje, so you can have a new frock, and perfume and ribbons and some chocolate too! We mustn't forget the chocolate!"

 

My bear Cornelia has made friends with a little bear named Moesje www.flickr.com/photos/40262251@N03/galleries/721577217879.... Moesje is a beautiful Bukowski Bear from Paal in Belgium. She has come to live with Mummy Marian (Marian Kloon (on and off)).She had been waiting in the dark corner of a shop with other bears for a long time, hoping someone would pick her up. All the bears were picked up, except Moesje. An appeal was made on the Internet and Mummy Marian sprang into action immediately! Moesje needs friends to love her, and Cornelia did not hesitate, for she has so much love to give to Moesje. Now Moesje's days are full of happiness. Moesje is awaiting Cornelia underneath her own red brolly as you can see here: www.flickr.com/photos/66094586@N06/53698250463/ or in the first comment below.

 

I love and collect vintage and antique accessories, including umbrellas and parasols, some going back as far as the mid 1800s. However, Cornelia is holding a stub handled Art Deco parasol from the 1920s, as can be clearly seen by the gaily coloured Jazz Age stylised floral pattern on the inside. It is a rarity amongst my collection, which is made up mostly of British pieces. This is an American example, made by The Perfection Manufacturing Company, which was located at 826 to 830 South 18th Street, St. Louis, Missouri.

 

Cornelia, I found in an antique and vintage market quite recently. She is a vintage edition Russ Bear from their Mohair Collection. She is made of deliberately mottled mohair to give her that vintage look. One of a limited edition of 10,000, she was designed by artist Carol Hosfstad and is completely handmade.

The theme for “Smile on Saturday” is “nuts and bolts”, which I despaired of when I read it, as I am not the handiest person in the entire world.

 

Then I remembered that one of my Great Grandmother's silver tea services that I have inherited has a removable finial, affixed with a wingnut and a bolt! Thus my submission for "Smile on Saturday".

 

Why was the teapot finial affixed with a wingnut and bolt, I hear you ask? Unfortunately my Great Grandmother's maids and cook are no longer alive to ask, but I imagine it was to stop an ugly build up of silver paste around the base of the final on the top of the teapot: something both my Great Grandmother and Grandmother disliked intensely! I don't have a maid to clean my silver, and I do it myself and that's the reason I am grateful it unscrews. It's much easier to clean and leaves the top of the teapot perfectly clean!

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.

 

After a busy morning working at her desk, painting some interior designs for one of a flurry of new clients since the publication of her interiors for ‘Chi and Treth’, the country residence of her friends Dickie and Margot Channon, in the periodical ‘Country Life’*, Lettice prepares to curl up in one of her armchairs and enjoy the latest edition of Vogue whilst taking a reviving cup of tea provided to her in her favourite Art Deco teaset by her maid, Edith, when the telephone rings noisily on the occasional table beside her.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Oh pooh!” Lettice curses. “And just as I was about to get comfortable.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Edith, just a few paces away looks aghast at the sparkling silver and Bakelite telephone. “That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself. She then adds more loudly, “If it inconveniences you, Miss, you should have it disconnected.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Yes, I’m sure you’d like that, Edith.” Lettice says with a cheeky smile. “Aa it happens, it’s not an inconvenience at all. It’s actually a delight to have it, although exactly who is calling, it is yet to be determined as to whether they are a delight or not.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Oh Edith, be a brick and get that, would you.” Lettice says sweetly to her maid as she snuggles herself comfortably into the rounded back of her armchair with a mirthful grin and picks up her magazine.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I think it would be better if you answered it, Miss.” Edith says doubtfully. “You’re closer. You just have to reach across and pick it up.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Nonsense,” Lettice answers dismissively. “It might be someone I might not wish to be at home to. You answer it.” She waves her hand dismissively at the telephone and turns back to her magazine, before she continues to flip through it in a desultory fashion.

 

Edith walks in and up to the black japanned occasional table upon which the telephone continues to trill loudly.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I know you don’t like it, Edith, but this is for your own good. As I keep telling you, any household you work in will have one now, so you simply must get used to answering it.” Lettice says in a matter-of-fact way. “Just pick it up and speak clearly into it, Edith. Quickly, before whomever it is hangs up. It may be Selwyn!“

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I should run the Hoover over your chord, you infernal contraption.” Edith mutters. “Let’s hear you ring then!”

 

Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, and how popular her services are with the raising of her profile thanks to the ‘Country Life’ article, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Smoothing her suddenly clammy hands down the apron covering her print morning dress she answers with a slight quiver to her voice, “Mayfair 432, the Honourable Miss Lettice Chetwynd’s residence.” Her whole body clenches and she closes her eyes as she waits for the barrage of anger from some duchess or other titled lady, affronted at having to address the maid. A distant female voice speaks down the line. “Yes, this is the residence of Miss Chetwynd.” she answers, wondering why the caller didn’t listen to her the first time. There is a barrage of sharp barks followed by scolding at the end of the line before the female caller asks to speak to Lettice. “I’ll… I’ll just see whether she is at home.” she replies awkwardly. “May I ask who is calling, please?” The female voice burbles down the line again. “Yes, thank you Mrs. Hawarden. Just one moment please.”

 

Lettice looks up at her maid queryingly, her gaze answered with a shrug of her maid’s shoulders as she covers the mouthpiece to muffle any conversation between the two of them as Lettice has wisely shown her.

 

“Hawarden?” Lettice ponders, chewing her bottom lip in concentration as she considers the names of her current clients in her head. “I don’t think I know that name. Has she called before, Edith?”

 

The maid shakes her head quickly, her eyes growing wide in concern at having to hold the telephone’s receiver. “She has a very broad accent, so I’d says she’s from up north.” Edith raises her eyes to the white painted ceiling, as if that indicates north as she holds out he receiver hopefully to her mistress, the mouthpiece still covered by her clammy hand.

 

“Oh!” Lettice exclaims with frustration, taking pity on her nervous maid. “Oh very well.” She throws down her magazine onto the black japanned surface of the coffee table next to her teacup and the sugar bowl of her tea set, and indicates to Edith to pass the telephone receiver to her. “You are positively exasperating sometimes, Edith.”

 

“Yes Miss. Thank you, Miss.” Edith says gratefully, beaming in delight as she bobs a quick curtsey and hands the receiver to her mistress, who shoos her away with an elegant, if dismissive wave.

 

“Good morning, this is Lettice Chetwynd speaking. Mrs. Hawarden is it?” Lettice introduces herself and asks politely.

 

“Oh Miss Chetwynd!” Edith may be reluctant to answer the telephone, but her hearing and observation skills are excellent. The female voice at the other end of the line is clearly from Manchester judging by the thick and syrupy accent. “I’m so pleased you’re in. My name is Mrs. Evelyn Hawarden.”

 

“And how many I help you, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Well, I was hoping you might consider helping me redecorate the drawing room and dining room of my new home, Miss Chetwynd.” Mrs. Hawarden replies, a hopeful lilt detectable in her voice.

 

“Perhaps you’d care to tell me a little bit more, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice suggests as she presses herself into the white upholstered back of her chair.

 

“So, you’re free to take on the job then, Miss Chetwynd?” the Mancunian woman asks presumptively, releasing a sigh of relief.

 

“Not necessarily, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice tempers the woman’s enthusiasm politely. “I’m simply wishing to ascertain some basic facts first. Would you care to tell me in a little bit more detail about what you had in mind. Is it just the drawing room and dining room you wish to engage my services for to redecorate, or are there other rooms? What is the current standard of the rooms? Is it to be a complete redecoration, or are there some elements of your current décor that you would perhaps entertain retaining?”

 

“Well,” Mrs. Hawarden replies a little less eagerly, evidently disappointed by her inability to engage Lettice’s services on a modicum of detail. “Yes, it would be the drawing room and the dining room. Maybe the entrance hall too, now I think about it.”

 

Lettice can almost hear the woman thinking about it. Lettice pictures a more mature woman standing in her entrance hall on the telephone looking around her at the current decoration of the space.

 

“We’ve only just moved in you see,” Mrs. Hawarden continues. “So I’m still trying to take it all in.”

 

“You’ve only just moved in, Mrs. Hawarden?” Lettice queries. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to settle first and work out what’s what before you engage my services?”

 

“Oh no! No!” splutters the woman at the end of the telephone. “Oh no, I need it redecorating before I can possibly receive guests, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Lettice’s eyes grow wide as she wonders what is wrong with the interiors. Diplomatically she asks, “Is it that the interiors are damaged, or perhaps a little shabby, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Oh no!” Mrs. Hawarden replies. “No the interiors are in splendid condition, Miss Chetwynd. It’s not that…” There is suddenly a burst of angry yaps at Mrs, Hawarden’s end of the line. “No! Yat-See no! No!” screams the woman, causing Lettice to pull the end of the receiver away from her ear. “Barbara! Barbara! Barbara come and fetch Yat-See! He’s about to…” Mrs. Hawarden’s end of the line is suddenly muffled, no doubt by the woman covering the telephone receiver’s mouth piece with her hand. There are some more muffled cries and some more volleys of sharp barking before things go quiet again. A moment later Lettice can hear the fingers uncovering the telephone’s mouthpiece. “I am sorry about that, Miss Chetwynd.” the Mancunian replies, suitably composed again. “As I said, we’re new here, and my dear little baby, Yat-See is getting into all sorts of naughty doggie mischief.” She laughs awkwardly. “Now, where were we?”

 

“The décor, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice prompt politely.

 

“The décor? Oh yes, the décor isn’t shabby at all, Miss Chetwynd. It’s just, just somewhat, dated, shall we say.”

 

Lettice ponders what the woman is saying and wonders whether she has recently inherited the house and is trying to rid herself of the former owner’s influence on her new home.

 

“So, you have inherited the décor with the house then, Mrs, Hawarden?”

 

“Yes, quite literally lock, stock and barrel, Miss Chetwynd, and, well, after I saw what you did for Mr. and Mrs. Channon in ‘Country Life’, I thought you could do wonders here. You can bring in some light and modernity to the old place.”

 

Lettice reaches over to the occasional table the telephone’s base stands on and picks up her leather diary which sits in front of it. Flipping the silver clasp, she begins to flick through the pages.

 

“Well, that does sound interesting, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice begins.

 

“So, you’ll take it on then?” Mrs. Hawarden asks again.

 

“Well,” Lettice tempers her again. “We shall have to see. I’d like to consult with you a little more, here at my residence in Mayfair and meet you formerly, before I make my final decision. Perhaps you might be free next Wednesday, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Oh no!” Mrs. Hawarden balks. “I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m far too busy getting things straightened out here.” The sound of the dog’s yapping and the chiming of a grandfather clock can be heard in the distance in the pregnant pause that hangs like the miles between the two women. “We really have only just moved in, and I’m still sorting things here. Couldn’t I entreat you to come here, instead? That way, we could as you suggest, meet formally, and you could see the interiors at the same time.”

 

“Well, it’s not my usual practice, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice retorts.

 

“Oh please!” Mrs. Hawarden pleads. “It would be so much easier if you would just come here, Miss Chetwynd. Really it would!”

 

“As I said, Mrs. Hawarden, it really isn’t…”

 

“I’m still interviewing for staff at present,” the woman bursts in, not allowing Lettice to finish here sentence. “But we did bring our cook down with us, and she makes a delicious lunch.”

 

“Well,” Lettice asks tentatively. “Where is your house, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Oh, it’s only a short trip outside of London.” Mrs, Hawarden trills gaily. “No difficulty at all. I’m in Ascot**.”

 

“Well if it’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Hawarden, I don’t see why…”

 

“Next Wednesday didn’t you say? I do just happen to be free, and I can have our chauffer collect you from the railway station if you don’t feel like motoring down yourself.”

 

Lettice considers the invitation for a moment. Ascot Week*** is fast approaching, so she will have friends staying in the neighbourhood, so she could have luncheon with Mrs. Hawarden, and even if Lettice decides to decline her as a client, she can still visit friends before going back to London, and be given a, hopefully, delicious luncheon at Mrs. Hawarden’s expense.

 

“Very well, Mrs. Hawarden. I’ll come up via the railroad for the afternoon.”

 

“Excellent Miss Chetwynd!” Mrs. Hawarden purrs with pleasure. “I knew you’d come to see reason. Shall we say one o’clock then? If you’d be good enough to consult the railway timetables and advise me, I’ll have Johnston collect you from the railway station.”

 

Lettice picks up her silver pen. “If you would please give me your particulars, Mrs. Hawarden. I’ll write them down.”

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” twitters Mrs. Hawarden in delight so evident that Lettice can picture her squirming up and down on the spot like a concertina, crumpling her tweeds.

 

*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.

 

**Ascot is a town in the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead in Berkshire. It is six miles south of Windsor and twenty-five miles west of London. It is most notable as the location of Ascot Racecourse, home of the Royal Ascot meeting. The town comprises three areas: Ascot itself, North Ascot and South Ascot. It is in the civil parish of Sunninghill and Ascot.

 

***One of Britain's most well-known racecourses, Ascot holds a special week of races in June each year called Royal Ascot, attended by the reigning sovereign. Once a staple for the London Season, where mothers to parade their unmarried daughters dressed in the latest European and British fashions before eligible bachelors and British society could mix with royalty in a rarefied social environment, this week has become in the Twenty-First Century Britain's most popular race meeting, welcoming around 300,000 visitors over five days, all dressed up in their finest clothes and hats.

 

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 including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The magazines from 1923 sitting on the coffee table and on the lower level of the occasional table were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.

 

On the tiered occasional table stands a black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. In front of it is a black leather diary with the silver clasp which is an artisan crafted miniature made by the Little Green Workshop in the United Kingdom, who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.

 

The vase of apricot roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the tall vase of flowers to the right of the china cabinet has been made by Falcon Miniatures, who are well known for their lifelike floral creations.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden china cabinet with its mirrored back is a Chippendale design. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child. All date from the 1950s and have green backstamps on them. They come from various Limoges miniature tea sets that I own.

 

The high backed back japanned chair next to the china cabinet is Chippendale too. It has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The green glass comport on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made from hand spun glass and acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

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.

 

With a loud buzz, the electric doorbell announces the unexpected arrival of someone at the front door. Putting down the piece of table silver she is polishing, Edith, Lettice’s maid, goes to answer the front door, all the while wondering who is calling. Lettice usually advises Edith of any clients, existing or potential, who may be visiting, particularly because Edith needs to make sure that there are cakes and biscuits in the pantry to offer to them. Walking across the thick Chinese silk rug in the flat’s hallway, she can hear her mistress speaking animatedly on the telephone to a representative of Jeffrey and Company* from whom she is ordering papers for the dining room of her friend Minnie Palmerston. Lettice agreed to redecorate it before Christmas after Minnie asked her to, and work is now underway.

 

Edith opens the door to the dashing figure of Selwyn Spencely, the only son of the Duke of Walmsford, whom Lettice has been stepping out with, when their busy social diaries allow, since meeting him at her parent’s Hunt Ball last year. In his hands he holds a thick bunch of roses, a usual accessory every time he crosses the Cavendish Mews threshold.

 

“Good day, Edith. Is Miss Chetwynd home?”

 

“Mr. Spencely!” she gasps in surprise. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Yes, do come in.” She closes the front door and shuts out the cold January in the process. “It’s freezing out there. She’s just speaking with someone on the telephone in the drawing room, Sir, but I’ll announce you’re here.”

 

Shrugging out of his thick and expertly cut navy blue barathea coat, damp around the shoulders and down the back due the downpour outside, he lets it fall into Edith’s waiting arms. “Oh, don’t bother, Edith. I know my way. But if you could put these in some water for Miss Chetwynd.” He hands her the deep red roses which release a sweet fragrance as he does.

 

“Of course, Sir.” Edith replies, dropping a curtsey to her mistress’ guest.

 

As she turns to go, Selwyn calls after her, “Oh Edith! There will be a man with a large package knocking at the servants’ entrance shortly. When he does, just show him into the drawing room, will you?”

 

“Well yes, Sir.” Edith answers, her brow furrowing slightly. “But I…”

 

“It’s a surprise for Miss Chetwynd,” Selwyn interrupts her, giving her a winning smile and ending the conversation.

 

“Now just to confirm, it is the red dioxide metallic you are ordering, not the gold. Is that right?” Lettice asks in clearly enunciated tones down the telephone receiver as she sits at her Hepplewhite desk. “I don’t want the gold. It is rather expensive paper, and I’d hate for you to make a costly error.” She listens to the representative of Jeffrey and Company at the other end as he assures her that he has the correct details for her order. “Very well. And you’ll let me know when it arrives?” She listens again. “Very good. Good afternoon then.”

 

Lettice hangs up the receiver of the telephone with a half frustrated and half relieved sigh. In response the telephone utters a muffled ting of its bell as she hangs up. She begins scribbling notes in her black leather notebook with her silver fountain pen and with a rasp of nib against paper, she crosses off several things from her list for Minnie Palmerston’s dining room redecoration.

 

“I do like to see my favourite society interior designer, hard at work.” Selwyn pronounces, announcing his presence.

 

“Selwyn!” Lettice spins around in her chair, her eyes wide with shock as she sees him comfortably settled in one of her round white upholstered ebonised wood tub chairs. “What on earth are you doing here?” She self consciously pats the side of her elegantly marcelled** blonde hair and brushes her manicured fingers across the Peter Pan collar*** of her navy blue frock. “I wasn’t expecting you. What a delightful surprise!”

 

“Yes, your charming little maid was saying just the same thing not a moment ago when she answered the door to me.” Selwyn says, rising to his feet as Lettice rises to hers. “I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, and I thought I’d pop in, just on the off chance that you were here, to see how you are, my Angel. After all, I haven’t seen you since before Christmas.” He smiles warmly at his sweetheart who blushes prettily under his observant eye. “So I wanted to wish you all the very best for the season.”

 

“Oh yes!” Lettice breathes. “Happy 1923, Selwyn darling!” She stands up. “Are you stopping for long?”

 

“For a little while, my Angel.” he replies with an amused smile.

 

“Shall I ring for tea then?”

 

“Tea would be capital, my Angel. Thank you.”

 

Lettice depresses the servant’s call bell by the fireplace which she can hear echoing distantly in the kitchen. Edith appears moments later carrying a bulbous white vase containing the red roses Selwyn brough for Lettice as a gift.

 

“Oh Selwyn!” Lettice gasps. “Are these from you?” When he nods in acknowledgement, she adds. “They’re gorgeous!”

 

“Where would you like them, Miss?” she asks.

 

“Oh, on the telephone table, I think, Edith.” Lettice pronounces, as she picks up the telephone from her desk and walks it across the room, dragging the flex behind her, back to where it belongs.

 

“Very good, Miss.” Edith busily removes the vase of slightly withered yellow lilies and roses that were sitting on the table and replaces them with the roses. Picking up the other vase from where she placed it in the polished parquet floor she remarks, “There’s plenty of life left in these. I’ll pick through them and rearrange them in a smaller vase for you.”

 

“Oh no, you keep them, Edith. It will help brighten the kitchen up.” Lettice replies.

 

“That’s very kind of you, Miss. Thank you.”

 

“Oh, and could you please bring us some tea.”

 

“Yes Miss,” Edith answers with a bob curtsey. “Oh, and Mr. Spencely, that gentleman you mentioned is here. He’s in the kitchen at present. Shall I send him through?”

 

“Man? What man?” Lettice asks, glancing first at Edith and then at Selwyn.

 

“Yes, if you would, Edith. Thank you.”

 

“What man, Selwyn?” Lettice repeats to her beau as Edith retreats through the dining room and disappears through the green baize door into the service part of the flat.

 

Selwyn’s smile grows broader. “All will be revealed shortly, my Angel.” he assures her calmly.

 

The door Edith walked through opens and a workman carrying a large cardboard box steps across its threshold. Dressed in a flat cap damp from the rain outside and taupe coloured apron over a thick dark woollen jumper and black trousers, his face is florid with exertion as he breathes heavily and walks slowly.

 

“Ahh, put it down over here,” Selwyn commands as the deliveryman nears them, pointing with an indicating finger to the floor next to the table where Edith put the roses.

 

“You might ‘ave warned me I was goin’ ta have ta climb four flights of stairs with this, Guv!” the man huffs as he lowers the box onto the floor. He groans as he returns to an upright position and removes his cap. Withdrawing a grubby white kerchief from his pocket he wipes his brow before returning his cap to his head. He dabs his face with his kerchief as he inhales and exhales with laboured, rasping breaths.

 

“Good heavens!” Lettice gasps. “What on earth is in that box that’s so heavy?”

 

“Oh it’s not that ‘eavy, Mum,” the deliveryman pants. “If youse only takin’ it from room ta room.” He wipes the back of his neck with his kerchief. “Only if youse ‘oistin’ it up four flights of stairs!”

 

Selwyn ignores the deliveryman’s protestations as his focuses his attentions solely on Lettice. “I promised you when I had to withdraw from accompanying you to Priscilla’s wedding, that I was going to make it up to you, and this,” He taps the top of the box. “Is it!”

 

“What on earth is it?” Lettice asks with excitement and intrigue.

 

The red faced workman opens the box lid and delves into its interior. Newspaper scrunches noisily as he withdraws a shining lump of burnished brass with three fine finials which he places with a heavy laboured huff onto the telephone console.

 

“It’s a wireless, my Angel!” Selwyn says with a sweeping gesture towards the apparatus gleaming under the light of the chandelier overhead. “Merry Christmas, happy New Year,” He pauses. “And I’m sorry, all in one!”

 

“A wireless!” Lettice gasps. “Oh Selwyn, darling!” She jumps up from her seat next to the wireless and runs around the black japanned coffee table, throwing her arms around his neck. She looks over at the gleaming piece of new machinery with three knobs on the front below an ornamental piece of fretwork protecting some mesh fabric behind it. “How generous! I love it, darling!” She breaks away from Selwyn, her face suddenly clouding. “Oh, don’t you need a licence to have a radio?”

 

“The gent’s already paid fur it, Mum.” the workman says, reaching into the front pocket of his apron and withdrawing a slightly crumpled envelope. “Ten shillin’s, paid for through the General Post Office****.” He hands her the envelope.

 

“Ten shillings!” Lettice looks at Selwyn aghast. “On top of the apparatus itself. It must have cost a fortune!”

 

“Oh, it does, Mum!” the workman begins before being silenced by a sweeping gesture and a steely look from Selwyn. “Sorry, Guv.” He falls silent.

 

Turning back to Lettice, Selwyn continues, “It’s worth it to provide some pleasure to you, my Angel.”

 

“Oh Selwyn darling! You are a brick!” Lettice exhales in delight as she feels his hands pull her closer to him and kisses the top of her head tenderly. “But how does it operate?”

 

“Our good man here can tell you that better than I can, my darling.” Selwyn replies.

 

“Oh its really quite easy, Mum.” the workman assures Lettice. “It runs on a battery, oh, but just be careful! It’s an acid battery,” He points to his apron where his knees are. “So just watch yerself when youse moves it. Better youse ‘n yer maid move it togevva, side by side like, than youse on yer own, Mum.” He adds. “Turn it on ‘n off wiv this knob.” He points to the button on the left-hand side. “Turn the volume up or down wiv this knob.” He turns the button left and right. “And use the middle one to tune the wireless in.”

 

“Tune it in?” Lettice asks.

 

“Yes, Mum. ‘Ere I’ll show yer.” He leans down and turns the left knob to the right and it releases a satisfyingly crisp click. “We’ll just wait for the valves to warm up.” Slowly a quiet crackle begins behind the mesh. “This ‘ere’s the speaker, Mum.” He points to the fretwork covered mesh at the top of the wireless. “Sound‘ll come outta ‘ere.” he continues, feeling the need to clarify.

 

Just as Edith walks into the drawing room with a silver tray laden with tea things, the wireless releases a strangulated roar, making a juddering cacophony of discordant racket.

 

“Good heavens what’s that awful noise?” the young maid gasps, her eyes wide in horror as she allows the tray to clatter roughly onto the surface of the coffee table.

 

“It’s just the wireless warming up, Edith.” Selwyn assures her in a calm voice. “Do stay and watch this marvel of the modern age.”

 

“Marvel of the modern age!” Edith scoffs. “That infernal contraption is more than enough,” She glares at the shiny silver and black Bakelite***** telephone. “Without us having more gadgets around here.”

 

“Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Edith.” Lettice chides her maid mildly over the sound of the wireless static.

 

“This, my dear Edith,” Selwyn pronounces with a satisfied sigh. “Is the sign of the new age! Soon everyone will have one of these.”

 

“Heaven help us all then!” Edith rolls her eyes.

 

“And like I says, yer tune it wiv this knob, Mum.”

 

The workman starts to slowly turn the knob to the right, and as he does, the static sounds change, growing momentarily louder and then softer, and then slowly the discordant cacophony of harsh sounds starts to dissipate as music begins to be heard in its place. Very quickly the static is gone and the strains of violins and piano stream through the wireless speaker as ‘Londonderry Air’****** plays.

 

“Well, I never!” gasps Edith. “Its like having your own private band to play for you in that little box!”

 

“That it is, Miss.” agrees the workman.

 

“Oh, it’s wonderful, Selwyn darling!” Lettice exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck before kissing him with delight on the cheek.

 

And just for a little while, Lettice, Selwyn, Edith and the workman all stand and look at the shiny new wireless, enjoying the beautiful music drifting from its speaker.

 

The introduction of a radio, or a wireless as it was then known as, is the first real change we have seen to Lettice’s drawing room since we first met her two years ago, and in many ways it represents the spirit of change that the 1920s have become synonymous with. The British Broadcasting Company, as the BBC was originally called, was formed on the 18th of October 1922 by a group of leading wireless manufacturers including Marconi. Daily broadcasting by the BBC began in Marconi's London studio, 2LO, in the Strand, on November the 14th, 1922. John Reith, a thirty-three-year-old Scottish engineer, was appointed General Manager of the BBC at the end of 1922. Following the closure of numerous amateur stations, the BBC started its first daily radio service in London – 2LO. After much argument, news was supplied by an agency, and music drama and “talks” filled the airwaves for only a few hours a day. It wasn't long before radio could be heard across the nation, especially when radio stations were set up outside of London, like on the 6th of March when the BBC first broadcast from Glasgow via station 5SC.

 

*Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.

 

**Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.

 

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

 

****With the advent of radio, as of the 18th of January, 1923, the Postmaster General granted the BBC a licence to broadcast. A licence fee of ten shillings was charged per wireless set sold, purchased through the General Post Office. Amateur wireless enthusiasts avoided paying the licence by making their own receivers and listeners bought rival unlicensed sets.

 

*****Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

******The "Londonderry Air" is an Irish air that originated in County Londonderry. It is popular among the North American Irish diaspora and is well known throughout the world. The tune is played as the victory sporting anthem of Northern Ireland at the Commonwealth Games. The song "Danny Boy" uses the tune, with a set of lyrics written in the early Twentieth Century.

 

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, including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our story, the brass wireless, which is remarkably heavy for its size, comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Supplies in the United Kingdom.

 

Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The green tinted glass comport on the coffee table , spun from real glass, is also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

In front of the telephone sits a paperback novel from the late 1920s created by miniature British 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. 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 these books miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The vase of red roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

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.

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

 

Today, Lettice is entertaining the world famous British concert pianist, Sylvia Fordyce in her well appointed her Cavendish Mews drawing room. Lettice met Sylvia at a private audience after a performance at the Royal Albert Hall*. Sylvia is the long-time friend of Lettice’s fiancée, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes and his widowed sister Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract, the latter of whom Sylvia has known since they were both eighteen. Lettice, Sir John and Clemance were invited to join Sylvia in her dressing room after her Schumann and Brahms concert. After a brief chat with Sir John (whom she refers to as Nettie, using the nickname only his closest friends use) and Clemance, Sylvia had her personal secretary, Atlanta, show them out so that she could discuss “business” with Lettice. Anxious that like so many others, Sylvia would try to talk Lettice out of marrying Sir John, who is old enough to be her father and known for his philandering and not so discreet dalliances with pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger, Lettice was surprised when Sylvia admitted that when she said that she wanted to discuss business, that was what she genuinely meant. Sylvia owns a small country property just outside of Belchamp St Paul** on which she had a secluded little house she calls ‘The Nest’ built not so long ago by architect Sydney Castle***: a house she had decorated by society interior designer Syrie Maugham****. However, unhappy with Mrs. Maugham’s passion for shades of white, Sylvia wanted Lettice to inject some colour into the drawing room of her country retreat by painting a feature wall for her. Thus, she invited Lettice to motor up to Essex with her for an overnight stay at the conclusion of her concert series at The Hall to see the room for herself, and perhaps get some ideas as to what and how she might paint it. Lettice agreed to Sylvia’s commission, and originally had the idea of painting flowers on the wall, reflecting the newly planted cottage garden outside the large drawing room windows of ‘The Nest’. However, after hearing the story of Sylvia’s life – a sad story throughout which, up until more recent years, she had felt like a bird trapped in a cage, Lettice has opted to paint the wall with stylised feathers, expressing the freedom to fly and soar that Sylvia’s later life has given her the ability to do. Delighted with the outcome of her new feature wall, Sylvia has come to Cavendish Mews today to pay the remainder of her bill in full, a result not always so easily come by, by some of Lettice’s previous wealthy clients.

 

Just as Edith, Lettice’s maid, is arranging one of her light and fluffy sponge onto a white gilt edged plate in the kitchen to serve to Lettice and her guest, 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 blast.” she mutters. “Just as I’m about to serve cake too.”

 

Quickly whipping off the stained apron she is wearing which has splashes of cream and strawberry juice from decorating the cake, she hurries from the kitchen into the public area of the flat via a door in the scullery adjoining the kitchen, snatching up a clean apron from a hook by the door as she goes. Quickly fastening the freshly laundered apron over her blue and white striped calico print morning uniform as she walks into the entrance hall.

 

The front door buzzer goes again, sounding noisily, filling the atmosphere with a jarring echo.

 

“Edith?” Lettice’s voice calls from the drawing room where she is sitting with Sylvia.

 

“On my way, Miss!” Edith assures her mistress in a harried tone as she hurries across the think Chinese silk carpet to the front door. “I’m coming, alright. I’m coming.” mutters Edith irritably to herself as she makes her way toward the front door with rushed footsteps. “Keep your hair on****.”

 

She pats her cap and the hairpins holding her blonde waves neatly in place as she goes, hoping that she looks presentable as she opens the front door.

 

“It’s only little me, dear Lettice.” Gerald simpers as he walks into the drawing room where Lettice sits in her usual black japanned, rounded back, while upholstered tup armchair next to the telephone, whilst Sylvia Fordyce lounges languidly in the one opposite.

 

“Oh Gerald! What a lovely surprise!” Lettice says, standing up, the lilt in her voice cheerful, but the look in her sparkling blue eyes murderous as she glances at Gerald. “I… I thought I told you I was entertaining Miss Fordyce is afternoon.”

 

“Oh, you may well have,” he answers, lightly tapping the side of his head beneath the brim of his straw boater absently. “But silly me, it must have completely slipped my mind. I’m so sorry!” His words are apologetic, and his behaviour contrite, but there is a mischievous hazel tinted glint in his own dark brown eyes, and a cheeky curl upturning the corner of his mouth as she speaks that betrays his true thoughts. “It’s only a fleeting visit. I merely came by to drop off a little something for you.” He holds out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine towards Lettice.

 

For the moment, Gerald politely ignores Sylvia’s dark sloe eyed stare as she remains draped languidly in her armchair, her long fingers steepled in front of her chest. He can feel her silently appraising his well-cut navy blue blazer with glinting gold buttons, his pressed white trousers with a crisp crease down the middle at both the front and back, his natty yet at the same time slightly foppish blue and white striped tie with a matching pocket square*****, his bold red carnation boutonnière****** and his stylish straw boater.

 

“Oh Gerald! Lettice says, accepting the gift. “You shouldn’t have.”

 

“Oh,” Gerald retorts, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing really, just a new scarf in silk I had printed with one of my designs in Lyon. I had a few made up, but I wanted you to the be first to have one, of course. They are very much your colours, my dear Lettice.”

 

“Ahh!” exclaims Sylvia, suddenly breaking her languid pose and leaning forward in her seat, looking up at Gerald with great interest as her red painted mouth hangs open in anticipation, her tongue pressed to the base of her mouth behind her slightly discoloured teeth. “So, this is the wunderkind******* Gerald Bruton, of whom I have read so much about in The Lady******** as he takes the London fashion scene by storm.”

 

“Oh! Where are my matters!” Lettice remarks, quickly putting Gerald’s unopened parcel aside. “Sylvia darling, may I introduce Mr. Gerald Bruton, Grosvenor Street couturier, and my oldest, dearest and sometimes,” She pauses for effect. “My most frustrating chum from childhood. Gerald darling, may I introduce Miss Sylvia Fordyce, the world famous British concert pianist.”

 

“And you latest client… and hopefully new friend.” Sylvia adds with a smile.

 

It is only then that Gerald allows himself to truly take his attention away from Lettice and focus upon her guest. Wearing an over-sized chocolate brown velvet cloche, Sylvia’s black dyed sharp bob pokes out from beneath it, framing her striking, angular face which is caked with a thick layer of white makeup. Her lips are painted a bright red, which appears even more garish against the white of her face paint, just as the darkness of her glittering eyes are intensified by her white, almost ethereal, pallor. She wears no necklace, nor any earrings that Gerald can discern beneath the bottom of her cloche. In fact, her only piece of jewellery is a large aquamarine and diamond cluster ring on the left middle finger on her elegant pianist’s right hand. However, being the only piece of ornamentation she wears, it makes the ring, already a striking piece in its own right, even more so as it sparkles and winks beneath the electric light of Lettice’s chandelier overhead. Her outfit is simple and stripped back: a white satin blouse accessorised with a black and white cheque silk scarf tied in a loose and artistic style, and a long column like skirt in black, beneath the hem of which poke the pointed toes of a pair of high heeled black patent leather boots. Far from being conventionally beautiful, the pianist has captured the power of dressing to make her presence unignorable, and she wears her cultivated look with unabashed pride.

 

“Miss Fordyce needs no introduction.” Gerald enthuses as he bends down and raises Sylvia’s elegant hand, kissing it gently just above the sparkling cluster ring. “Enchanté.” he breathes in French.

 

“Charmante,” Sylvia replies with an enigmatic smile, bowing her head slightly as she slowly withdraws her hand from Gerald’s, enjoying the attention her is lavishing upon her. “I could say the same about you, Mr. Bruton, for Lettice speaks of you fondly, and often. I believe that it is you I have to thank for our clever Lettice finishing my feature wall. She has just been telling me that when her inspiration or energy was flagging whilst she was painting it, you spurned her on to complete it. I’m most grateful.”

 

“I did my best, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald replies, his cheeks flushing red at Sylvia’s compliment. “Lettice is,” He turns his head away from Sylvia and focuses upon his best friend. “A remarkable artist, and highly skilled.”

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice gasps.

 

“It sounds like you are also her biggest champion, my dear Mr. Bruton.” Sylvia opines.

 

“But,” Gerald goes on. “She doesn’t have the faith in her own abilities that she should.” He returns his attentions to Sylvia. “I’m sure you agree, Miss Fordyce.”

 

“Indeed I do, Mr. Bruton. Your friend is highly accomplished, and I was just telling our clever Lettice how delighted I am with my new feature wall.”

 

“I think it is very beautiful too, Miss Fordyce. You are most fortunate.” Gerald replies.

 

Without saying anything, Lettice gently puts her hand on Gerald’s forearm.

 

“Well!” Gerald says, clearing his throat a little awkwardly, taking Lettice’s silent hint in his stride. “I did say that this was only a fleeting visit. I really should be off.” He looks at Lettice with a meaningful look. “I’ve been here enough times to show myself out, whilst you entertain your guest. I do hope you like the scarf.”

 

“Oh really?” Sylvia interjects rising elegantly from her seat, the fabric of her outfit draping down over her slender frame like shivering water. “Must you go?” She turns her head to Lettice. “Must he go, Lettice darling? Your maid was fetching us cake wasn’t she? Surely there is enough for three?” She turns back to Gerald. “Please, Mr. Bruton. I’d so love you to stay! Darling Lettice and I have finished up the tedious part of my visit, settling my account, and we were just prattling away idly, weren’t we Lettice darling? Besides, I would value your opinion, since you are an arbiter of fashion, Mr. Bruton. Please?” She pouts her scarlet painted lips, which even in a plumped up form still have a slender look about them. “Please!”

 

“Well I…” Gerald looks between Sylvia and Lettice. “I suppose I could tarry for a short while. I don’t have to be at my next appointment just yet, and I do so love Edith’s sponges, which she has told me she has made for you, Miss Fordyce.”

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice laughs. “Please drop the pretence and save yourself the embarrassment. Bring that chair over and join us.” She indicates with a sweeping gesture to the black japanned Chippendale chair, upholstered in silver and blue Art Deco fabric, which whilst unorthodox with such clashing styles , works under Lettice’s clever eye for design. “I’ll tell Edith we’re a trio now.” She steps over and depresses the servants’ call button by the fireplace, the buzzer echoing in the service area of the flat.

 

“Thank you, Lettice.” Gerald says gratefully as he takes off his straw boater and places it on one of Lettice’s black japanned side tables before drawing up the chair she has indicated to the coffee table and takes a seat.

 

“Did Cyril put you up to this?” Lettice asks him, mentioning Gerald’s young, fey and more overtly homosexual lover who lives in a boarding house for theatrical types in Putney with Gerald’s friend Harriet Milford, who designs hats in addition to running her rather dramatic boarding house. “Turning up on my doorstep, knowing that Miss Fordyce would be here?”

 

“Well...” Gerald says, blushing red as he speaks.

 

“I knew you hadn’t forgotten that I told you Miss Fordyce was visiting today!” Lettice wags a finger at Gerald. “It isn’t like you to forget a date, even if it isn’t one of your own.”

 

“Who is Cyril, Mr. Bruton?” Sylvia asks, intrigued as she resumes her languid stance in her tub chair again.

 

“Cyril is my… my friend, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald pipes up quickly. “He’s… he’s an oboist who plays in the West End theatres, and like me,” He bushes even deeper. “He is a very big fan of yours, Miss Fordyce.”

 

“A friend.” Sylvia muses, looking Gerald up and down knowingly, but keeping her impressions to herself behind her heavily painted face, only smiling politely in acknowledgement of Gerald.

 

“When I told him that I was going with Lettice to stay at your very lovely little country retreat in Essex, he was more than a little jealous.”

 

“Was he indeed?” Sylvia chuckles indulgently.

 

Just at that moment, Edith walks into the drawing room.

 

“You rang, Miss?” Edith says, bobbing a polite curtsey.

 

“Yes Edith.” Lettice replies. “Mr. Bruton is staying now, so it will be tea for three now, if you can manage it.”

 

“Of course Miss.” Edith replies. “May I take your hat, Mr. Bruton.”

 

“Thank you Edith.” he says, passing her his straw boater. “I do like your delicious sponge cake, Edith.” Gerald compliments the young girl.

 

“Thank you, Sir.” Edith replies, blushing as she basks momentarily in Gerald’s compliment before bobbing another quick curtsey to the assembled company and retreating back into the dining room and through the green baize door, back into the service area of the flat.

 

“Even if my figure suffers for it.” Gerald adds, turning his attentions back to Sylvia.

 

“Such high praise for your cook, Lettice darling.” Sylvia says with her expertly plucked black eyebrows arching high over her eyes. “I am in for a treat!”

 

“Edith is an excellent cook when it comes to cakes, Sylvia darling, so I asked her to bake her speciality today, a cream filled strawberry sponge cake.”

 

“Goodness!” Sylvia gasps. “No wonder your figure suffers, Mr. Bruton, at the sound of such extravagance. I myself,” She raises a hand to her throat. “Do not suffer the same problem. As a performer, I have far too much frenetic energy to burn.”

 

“And you do it with such theatricality,” Gerald enthuses.

 

“Why thank you, Mr. Bruton.” Sylvia says, smiling indulgently as she does. “Such a lovely compliment.”

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice giggles. “I do believe you are quite smitten with Sylvia.”

 

“Don’t be cheeky…” Gerald goes to call Lettice by her most hated childhood pet name, ‘Lettuce Leaf’, but being the presence of the pianist he so admires, and wanting to maintain a good impression, he swallows awkwardly and finishes a little lamely, “Lettice.”

 

Sylvia laughs heartily. “You two do know each other well, don’t you, Lettice darling? You have a way between you that seems very comfortable. Have you known Mr. Bruton all your life?”

 

“Yes.” Lettice replies.

 

“I’m just a little older than Lettice, and we grew up on neighbouring estates in Wiltshire,” Gerald goes on. “And all of Lettice’s siblings, with the exception of her beast of a brother Lionel, are much older that we are, and my own brother Roland is a few years my senior and never had time for me.”

 

“So we just ended up playing together, didn’t we Gerald?”

 

“We did, Lettice.”

 

“And so, we became the best of chums and have stayed as such ever since.”

 

“How utterly delightful!” Sylvia opines with a clap of her hands. “But please, do go on about your friend, Cyril, Mr. Bruton. I love the West End theatre scene, and attend whenever my schedule allows. We theatrical types must support one another and stick together. Perhaps I’ve seen, or rather heard, your young oboist friend in a show?”

 

“Well, Cyril was performing in Julian Wylie’s********* revue, ‘Better Days’********** at the Hippodrome***********, but it’s just finished, so he is between engagements at the moment.”

 

“I see.” Sylvia replies, nodding and staring deeply into Gerald’s eyes.

 

“You… err, you wanted to ask me something about fashion, I believe, Miss Fordyce?” Gerald asks, feeling uncomfortable under Sylvia’s inscrutable stare.

 

“I did, Mr. Bruton!” Sylvia replies animatedly, releasing Gerald from her scrutiny. “Thank you for reminding me. Being the arbiter and setter of current London fashion trends that you are…”

 

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d go quite that far, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald chuckles, blushing yet again.

 

“Nonsense! Mr. Bruton!” Sylvia scoffs. “False modesty doesn’t suit you any more than it does darling Lettice, and,” She wags her index finger admonishingly at him, the cluster of diamonds and aquamarines on the finger next to it glinting and gleaming in the light. “It’s no good for business. Did you not design this divine frock for Lettice?”

 

Gerald turns to face Lettice, although he has no need to, as he recognised the rose and marone silk georgette knife pleated frock, the same one she wore when she first arrived at ‘The Nest’ with Sylvia when she went to look at the wall her hostess wanted redecorated, as being one of his own designs for Lettice the moment he laid eyes on her upon walking into the drawing room. “Indeed it is, Miss Fordyce.”

 

“Then I stand by what I say, Mr. Bruton. You have an eye for colour and cut, style and panache, and you create things that flatter your customers.”

 

“Well, Lettice is a special case, Miss Fordyce. As you’ve heard, she is my best friend, and she has always been so supportive of my frock making, ever since I first began. She’s something of a muse to me.”

 

“Muse or not, if you couldn’t design frocks, had no style or awareness of colour, poor Lettice might be wearing something that makes her look perfectly hideous at the moment. Although,” She turns and ponders over Lettice sitting comfortably in her armchair. “I do think that would be very hard to do, since she is so lithe and lovely.”

 

“We concur in that opinion, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald agrees.

 

“However, I stand by what I said before, you are an arbiter of fashion, and your creations are influencing what London women are wearing. So, I wanted to ask you, what is your opinion on,” She stands up suddenly, and spreads her legs slightly, the movement causing the black fabric of what Gerald had thought was a dress to reveal itself as being a pair of roomy Oxford bags************. “Women wearing trousers?”

 

Lettice immediately sees this as being a test for Gerald, as to whether Sylvia, who doesn’t suffer fools or people who don’t tend to share her opinion, will want to invite him to join her exclusive coterie of friends, as she has Lettice. Lettice sits forward slightly in her seat, causing an almost imperceptible widening of her guest’s eyes opposite her, the change, and slight flash in her eyes as she stares at Gerald causing Lettice to sit back in her seat.

 

Without batting an eyelid, Gerald replies firmly. “I always admired Paul Poiret************* for introducing wide legged trousers for women in 1910. I thought it a pity that they only caught on amongst the most avant-garde and daring of his clients.”

 

Lettice releases the pent-up breath she has silently been holding, sighing with relief, knowing by the subtle curl in Sylvia’s red streak of a mouth that she is pleased with Gerald’s response.

 

“And when do you think it will be commonplace to see trousers for women in London shops, Mr. Bruton?” Sylvia goes on, placing her hands in a stance of defiance on her hips. “Currently I have to travel to Berlin to get mine.” She kicks up her right heel a little, making her slacks billow for a moment before falling back down elegantly against her legs.

 

“Ahh, that is a very good question, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald replies. “If I had my way, they would be readily available for all women to wear. However…”

 

“However?” Sylvia asks.

 

“However, the English are conservative by nature, Miss Fordyce, and women wearing trousers would be too shocking for their taste, at least currently. London is not Paris, or Berlin, madam.”

 

At that moment, the conversation is broken by the sound of china rattling against silver, as Edith pushes open the green baize door leading from the scullery to the dining room carrying a large silver tray laden with Lettice’s best Art Deco Royal Doulton ‘Falling Leaves’ tea set, cups, saucers and plates to match, and one of her beautiful strawberry sponge cakes. The trio watch, transfixed as she slowly walks across the dining room and into the drawing room carrying the tray, which looks far to heavy for a girl as dainty as Edith. They observe in silence as she lowers the tray onto the low, black japanned coffee table, before rising and bobbing a curtsy to her mistress.

 

“Will there be anything else, Miss?” Edith asks, aware of the attention and curiosity she has created with her presence, but determined not to let it impact her polite and calm manner.

 

“No, thank you, Edith.” Lettice replies politely. “However, I’ll be sure to call if we need anything else.”

 

“Very good, Miss.” She bobs another curtsey and quickly retreats back to the kitchen.

 

“Yes,” Sylvia says quietly with a sigh as she watches Edith’s retreating figure disappear back through the green baize door. “The idea of women wearing trousers does seem to be too unpalatable for so much of the British population. Take your maid, for example, Lettice darling. Both times I have visited you here at Cavendish Mews, she cannot help but look aghast at my outlandish roomy trousers, her horror as plain as the nose on her face!”

 

“Oh Sylvia, darling!” Lettice protests, as she begins to unpack the tray and set up the teacups onto saucers. “That isn’t fair to poor Edith!”

 

“Whyever not, Lettice darling?” Sylvia retorts. “Surely it would be more practical for her to do her job, were she to wear trousers than some calico frock like she is wearing now. She should find the idea of me wearing trousers exciting, not abhorrent!”

 

“That may well be, Miss Fordyce, but she’ll never wear them.” Gerald replies.

 

“How ridiculous! I ask again, whyever not?” Sylvia asks again, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

 

“Because Edith is what is known as a good girl.” Lettice elucidates. “She was brought up by her parents: a factory worker and a laundress I believe, to have moral scruples.”

 

“Moral scruples!” Sylvia scoffs dismissively.

 

“Where she comes from, Sylvia darling, women are servants, wives or mothers. They don’t rune businesses. They aren’t concert pianists. And they certainly don’t wear trousers.”

 

“She’ll never wear them, Miss Fordyce,” Gerald agrees. “Never!”

 

“And you, Mr. Bruton?” Sylvia asks with a cunning smile.

 

“Me, Miss Fordyce?”

 

“Would you be willing to make trousers for women, even if it would shock some parts of London society?”

 

“Well, as a matter-of-fact, Miss Fordyce,” Gerald says with a conspiratorial smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “I happen to be in the process of designing a range of beach pyjamas************* at the moment.”

 

“Beach pyjamas?” Sylvia asks, licking her lips with excitement. “What are they?”

 

“Well, rather like the name suggests, it’s a pair of wide-legged trousers with a matching blouse, made from colourful, brightly patterned cotton fabrics, similar to what you might wear to bed.”

 

“I don’t wear anything to bed, Mr. Bruton.” Sylvia replies with a throaty chuckle.

 

“Sylvia!” Lettice admonishes her guest as Gerald blushes red.

 

“Please pardon my lack of moral scruples, Mr. Bruton.” Sylvia says teasingly. “Perhaps I should take a leaf from your maid, Lettice darling.” She then continues, “Do go on about your beach pyjamas, Mr. Bruton! They sound positively delicious!” Sylvia murmurs.

 

“They are all the rage in Deauville.” Gerald goes on.

 

“Deauville is hardly Bournemouth, Brighton or Lyme Regis.” Lettice counters as she removes Edith’s cake from the tray.

 

“I just need an exponent of them who would be brave enough and willing to wear them.” Gerald defends.

 

“Maybe.” Lettice mutters doubtfully.

 

“Could they be made of silk or satin, Mr. Bruton?” Sylvia asks, sitting up, her eyes twinkling darkly.

 

“Of course, Miss Fordyce. In fact, they lend themselves to being made of something so deliciously extravagant.”

 

“Surely you aren’t suggesting you’d be Gerald’s proponent and wear beach pyjamas, Sylvia darling?” Lettice asks.

 

“Well why not, Lettice darling?” Sylvia counters her friend. “You know me well enough by now to know I don’t give a fig what people think! I am my own woman.” She pats her chest proudly. “Besides,” she adds with a throaty chuckle. “I’d enjoy nothing more than shocking those ghastly prudish Edwardian matrons sitting in their deckchairs along the pier at Bognor Regis*************** as I parade before them in a pair of Mr. Bruton’s beach pyjamas!” She pauses. “Made of satin, of course!”

 

“Of course, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald agrees, quickly getting swept up in the promise of the idea.

 

“Excellent!” Sylvia laughs. “What jolly fun!”

 

“Rather!” Gerald agrees, growing excited at the thought. “Jolly good show, Miss Fordyce!”

 

“Do you know what, Mr. Bruton?” Sylvia asks, as she accepts a cup of freshly poured tea from her hostess. “I’ve just had the most marvellous idea! I was saying to Lettice here, just before you arrived, how I was thinking of throwing a small soirée at ‘The Nest’ with a few like-minded friends: musicians, artists and the like,” She gesticulates about her as if demonstrating who the people’s professions might be. “To celebrate the completion of my fabulous Lettice Chetwynd original feature wall, and for me to be able to show it off to a few of my dearest friends.”

 

“That sounds splendid, Miss Fordyce.” Gerald says.

 

“Well I was just thinking, why don’t you join us? Lettice will have a familiar face beyond mine and Nettie’s to look at.”

 

“Nettie?” Gerald queries.

 

“It’s John’s pet name given him by Clemance and a select group of close friends.” Lettice pipes up as she hands Gerald his teacup. “But please don’t you call him that, Gerald darling!” she implores. “I don’t think I could take it seriously, coming from you.”

 

“Have no fear, Lettice darling!” Gerald chuckles. “I don’t think I could come at calling Sir John that, even if you wanted me too.” He screws up his nose in a mixture of perplexity and distaste. “Nettie…. Nettie.” He shakes his head.

 

“You could bring your… friend,” Sylvia goes on, her eyebrows arching over her eyes before she gives Gerald a cheeky and conspiratorial wink. “Cyril. Playing the oboe, he’s a musician after all, so he’d be in good company, and you did say just before that he was a trifle jealous of you getting to visit ‘The Nest’ without him.”

 

“That really is most generous of you, Miss Fordyce!” Gerald exclaims.

 

“Oh, my offer doesn’t come for free.” Sylvia’s dark eyes widen and sparkle in the light of the room. “There are strings attached to my invitation. I’m an artist, Mr. Bruton. I can’t afford to be that altruistic. No. I’d do you a trade. You and Cyril may come for a weekend at ‘The Nest’ and enjoy my company, and my largess, in return for a pair of your delicious sounding beach pyjamas, in satin! Deal?” she holds out her right hand, rather like an American businessman.

 

Gerald feels awkward as he mimics Sylvia, but he reaches out and shakes her hand. “Deal.”

 

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

 

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

 

***Sydney Ernest Castle was born in Battersea in July 1883. He trained with H. W. Edwards, a surveyor and worked as chief assistant to Arthur Jessop Hardwick (1867 - 1948) before establishing his own practice in London in 1908. From 1908 to 1918 he was in partnership with Gerald Warren (1881-1936) as Castle & Warren. He worked on St. George's Hill Estate in Weybridge, Surrey with Walter George Tarrant (1875-1942). Castle was elected a Fellow of the Royal Institute of British Architects (FRIBA) in 1925. He designed many buildings, including the Christian Association building in Clapham, a school in Balham and a private hotel in the Old Brompton Road, as well as many private residences throughout Britain. His firm’s address in 1926, when this story is set was 40, Albemarle Street, Piccadilly. He died in Wandsworth in March 1955.

 

****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.

 

****Meaning to keep calm and be patient, the earliest occurrence of the phrase “to keep your hair on” is recorded in The Entr’acte magazine in London in 1873, which mentioned that at the Winchester, a London music hall, an artist named Ted Callingham sang “Roving Joe” and “Keep Your Hair On”, two very laughable comic songs. A year later in 1874, it was being used commonly amongst the working classes. It is generally said that the phrase is based on the image of pulling one’s hair out in exasperation, anger or frustration, however some connect it to an earlier phrase from the Eighteenth Century “pulling off one’s wig” which refers to irascible and aged gentlemen, “when mad with passion,” have been known not only to curse and swear, but to tear their wigs from their heads, and to trample them under their feet, or to throw them into the fire.

 

*****A pocket square is a decorative square of fabric, typically silk or linen, that is displayed in the breast pocket of a jacket or suit. It serves as a fashion accessory to add a touch of style and visual interest to an outfit. Pocket squares can be folded in various ways, and the fabric is often chosen to complement or contrast with the rest of the attire. The exact origins of the pocket square are open to debate, but many believe they began in Ancient Egypt and Greece. These white fabric squares originally served practical purposes, such as maintaining cleanliness or deterring smells. Men would store them out of sight, only pulling them out when needed. Over time, pocket squares became a fashion statement and status symbol. Wealthy men would purchase brightly coloured fabrics, especially in bold red hues, to stand out from the crowd. They also often had infused scents to block unwanted smells. Throughout the Eighteenth Century, the popularity of pocket squares spread across Europe, even making their way into royal outfits. Pocket squares remained popular throughout the Eighteenth Century, but they truly evolved into the modern accessory we know today in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries.

 

******A boutonnière is a floral decoration, typically a single flower or bud, worn on the lapel of a tuxedo or suit jacket. While worn frequently in the past to distinguish a gentleman from a common labourer, boutonnières are now usually reserved for special occasions for which formal wear is standard, such as at balls and weddings.

 

*******The term "wunderkind," meaning a child prodigy or someone who achieves exceptional success at a young age, was invented in the late Nineteenth Century. Specifically, the first documented use in English dates back to 1891, with the term being borrowed from German, where it had been in use earlier.

 

********The Lady was a British women's magazine. It published its first issue on 19 February 1885 and was in continuous publication until its last issue in April 2025, at which time it was the longest-running women's magazine in Britain. Based in London, it was particularly notable for its classified advertisements for domestic service and child care; it also has extensive listings of holiday properties. It still has an online presence which offers a classified advertisements, jobs board and recruitment service.

 

*********Julian Wylie (1878 – 1934), originally Julian Ulrich Samuelson Metzenberg, was a British theatrical agent and producer. He began as an accountant and took an interest in entertainment through his brothers, Lauri Wylie and G. B. Samuelson. About 1910, he became the business manager and agent of David Devant, an illusionist, then took on other clients, and formed a partnership with James W. Tate. By the end of his life, he was known as the 'King of Pantomime'.

 

**********Julian Wylie’s last revue at the London Hippodrome was ‘Better Days’ in 1925. Comprising 19 scenes, Better Days had a try-out at the Liverpool Empire from 9th March 1925 before its debut at the London Hippodrome on 19th March 1925. The stars of the first edition of Better Days were Maisie Gay, Stanley Lupino, Madge Elliott, Connie Emerald with Ruth French and Anatole Wiltzak. The production had the usual Wylie flourish and touch with the dances and ensembles arranged by Edward Dolly and all the gowns and costumes designed by Dolly Tree. The modern gowns were created by Peron and Florence Henry and the costumes by Alias, Clarkson and Betty S. Roberts. ‘Better Days’, only ran for 135 performances and closed in early June, proving to be the last of Wylie’s run of productions at the London Hippodrome.

 

***********The Hippodrome is a building on the corner of Cranbourn Street and Charing Cross Road in the City of Westminster, London. The name was used for many different theatres and music halls, of which the London Hippodrome is one of only a few survivors. Hippodrome is an archaic word referring to places that host horse races and other forms of equestrian entertainment. The London Hippodrome was opened in 1900. It was designed by Frank Matcham for Moss Empires chaired by Edward Moss and built for £250,000.00 as a hippodrome for circus and variety performances. The venue gave its first show on 15 January 1900, a music hall revue entitled "Giddy Ostend" with Little Tich. The conductor was Georges Jacobi. In 1909, it was reconstructed by Matcham as a music-hall and variety theatre with 1340 seats in stalls, mezzanine, gallery and upper gallery levels. It was here that in 1910 Tchaikovsky's ‘Swan Lake’ received its English première in the form of Act 2 with Olga Preobajinska as the Swan Queen. The Hippodrome hosted the first official jazz gig in the United Kingdom, by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, in 1919.

 

************Oxford bags were a loose-fitting baggy form of trousers favoured by members of the University of Oxford, especially undergraduates, in England from the mid-1920s to around the 1950s. The style had a more general influence outside the university, including in America, but has been somewhat out of fashion since then. It is sometimes said that the style originated from a ban in 1924 on the wearing of plus fours by Oxford (and Cambridge) undergraduates at lectures. The bagginess allegedly allowed plus fours to be hidden underneath – but the argument is undermined by the fact that the trousers (especially in the early years) were not sufficiently voluminous for this to be done with any success. The original trousers were 22–23 inches (56–58 cm) in circumference at the bottoms but became increasingly larger to 44 inches (110 cm) or more, possibly due to a misunderstanding of the measurement as the width rather than circumference.

 

*************Paul Poiret was a French fashion designer, a master couturier during the first two decades of the 20th century. He was the founder of his namesake haute couture house. Poiret established his own house in 1903. In his first years as an independent couturier, he broke with established conventions of dressmaking and subverted other ones. In 1903, he dismissed the petticoat, and later, in 1906, he did the same with the corset. Poiret made his name with his controversial kimono coat and similar, loose-fitting designs created specifically for an uncorseted, slim figure. Poiret designed flamboyant window displays and threw sensational parties to draw attention to his work. His instinct for marketing and branding was unmatched by any other Parisian designer, although the pioneering fashion shows of the British-based Lucile (Lady Lucy Duff Gordon) had already attracted tremendous publicity. In 1909, he was so famous, Margot Asquith, wife of British prime minister H. H. Asquith, invited him to show his designs at 10 Downing Street. The cheapest garment at the exhibition was thirty guineas, double the annual salary of a scullery maid. Jeanne Margaine-Lacroix presented wide-legged trousers for women in 1910, some months before Poiret, who took credit for being the first to introduce the style.

 

*************Beach pyjamas, which generally consisted of a pair of wide-legged trousers and a jacket of matching fabric, first gained popularity in the years immediately following the Great War, with evidence pointing to the early 1920s, specifically at European seaside resorts like Deauville in France. It is thought that French fashion designer, Coco Chanel, was also an early proponent of this style.

 

**************Deauville is a seaside resort on the Côte Fleurie of France’s Normandy region. An upper-class holiday destination since the 1800s, it’s known for its grand casino, golf courses, horse races and American Film Festival. Its wide, sandy beach is backed by Les Planches, a 1920s boardwalk with bathing cabins. The town has chic boutiques, elegant belle epoque villas and half-timbered buildings. As the closest seaside resort to Paris, Deauville is one of the most notable seaside resorts in France. The city and its region of the Côte Fleurie (Flowery Coast) have long been home to the French upper class's seaside houses and is often referred to as the Parisian Riviera.

 

***************Bognor Regis, also known as Bognor, is a town and seaside resort in West Sussex on the south coast of England, fifty-six miles south-west of London, twenty-four miles west of Brighton, six miles south-east of Chichester and sixteen miles east of Portsmouth. A seaside resort was developed by Sir Richard Hotham in the late Eighteenth Century on what was a sand and gravel, undeveloped coastline. It has been claimed that Hotham and his new resort are portrayed in Jane Austen's unfinished novel ‘Sanditon’. The resort grew slowly in the first half of the Nineteenth Century but grew rapidly following the coming of the railway in 1864.

 

This 1920s upper-class domestic scene is different to what you may think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

Lettice’s tea set sitting on the coffee table is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The very realistic looking chocolate sponge cake topped with creamy icing and strawberries has been made from polymer clay and was made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The green tinged bowl behind the tea set is made of glass and has been made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Made by the Little Green Workshop who specialise in high-end artisan miniatures, the black leather diary with the silver clasp is actually bound and has pages inside. The silver pen with the pearl end is also from the Little Green Workshop.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. The vase of yellow tiger lilies and daisies on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The vase of roses and lilies in the tall white vase on the table to the right of the photo was also made by hand, by Falcon Miniatures who are renowned for their realistic 1:12 size miniatures.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The painting in the gilt frame is made by Amber’s Miniatures in America. The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

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.

 

Whilst her mistress is enjoying a weekend in Worcestershire, Edith, Lettice’s maid is using her time to give the flat a thorough dusting and airing. As she dusts the dining room, a noise she detests bursts into her quiet, methodical cleaning.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

The telephone in the drawing room starts ringing.

 

Edith looks through the double doors into the adjoining drawing room. “That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

She walks in and up to the black japanned occasional table upon which the silver and Bakelite telephone continues to trill loudly.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I should pull your chord out next time I’m Hoovering. Let’s hear you ring then!”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Come on now Edith!” she tells herself, smoothing her suddenly clammy hands down the apron covering her print morning dress. “It’s only a machine, and the person at the other end can’t hurt you, even if they are angry that you aren’t her.”

 

“Mayfair 432, the Honourable Miss Lettice Chetwynd’s residence.” she answers with a slight quiver to her voice. Her whole body clenches and she closes her eyes as she waits for the barrage of anger from some duchess or other titled lady, affronted at having to address the maid. A distant female voice speaks down the line. “Oh Mrs. Hatchett, how do you do. Yes, this is Edith, Miss Chetwynd’s maid.” Her anxiety lessens slightly, for even though Mrs. Hatchett is somewhat overbearing, she is a banker’s wife and therefore not born with a pedigree that finds talking to the staff offensive. She listens. “No. No, I’m afraid that Miss Chetwynd isn’t in residence Mrs. Hatchett.” She listens to the disappointed response. “She’s down at Wickhamford Manor in the Vale of Evesham.” She listens again. “It’s Worcestershire Mrs. Hatchett, so I’m afraid it would be a bit difficult for me to fetch her.” More bemoaning comes down the telephone from Sussex. “Monday. She’s there until Monday, Mrs. Hatchett. I’m expecting her home late Monday evening.” The distress down the phone is palpable. “I can take a message for you, if you like Mrs. Hatchett.”

 

After receiving an affirmative reply, she deposits the receiver next to the telephone with a trembling hand. It sounds as if Mrs. Hatchett’s arm might fall off in Lettice’s absence from all the moaning she is making. Yet Edith has had enough practice with her mistress’ clients by now to know that it will be some silly inconsequential matter about her interior design plans that she will want addressed. Edith brushes her clammy palms down her apron a second time and then picks up the pencil atop of the pad of paper that Lettice left for her to jot any messages on.

 

Picking up the receiver she says, “I’m ready for your message now Mrs. Hatchett. Please go ahead.”

 

She writes a message based on Mrs. Hatchett’s distressed response.

 

“Now, if you’ll just let me read that back to you Mrs. Hatchett. You’ve changed your mind about the Regency stripe for the soft furnishing covers, and you want chintz.” A further burbling comes down the phone. “You want blue chintz to match the walls.” She listens to Mrs. Hatchett’s confirmation. “Yes. Yes I’ll give her that message the very moment she comes through the door Monday evening, Mrs. Hatchett. Very good. Good day Mrs. Hatchett.”

 

Edith hangs up the receiver and sighs with relief. “Damn infernal contraption!” she says as she glares at the telephone shining brightly in the afternoon sun.

 

She re-reads her pencilled message and frowns. “Miss Lettice won’t like that. She hates chintz. Oh well!” She shrugs. “That’s her problem to solve.”

 

Edith returns to the dining room and takes up where she left off, hoping that the telephone won’t ring again until Tuesday at least, when Lettice will be back in residence.

 

The theme for “Looking Close… on Friday” this week is “telephone”.

 

I hope that this telephone, which kept people connected in the 1920s and keeps them equally connected today is suitable for the theme. This upper-class domestic scene is different to what you may think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood. The telephone you see before you is only two centimetres wide and two centimetres high.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

The vase of orange roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

The pencil on the pad in front of the telephone is a 1:12 miniature as well, and is only one millimetre wide and two centimetres long.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The green tinged Art Deco glass bowl on the table in the foreground is a hand made miniature from Beautifully Made Miniatures in England.

 

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.

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

 

Today Lettice is entertaining a potential new client, Miss Wanetta Ward, an American actress come to London, in her Mayfair drawing room. Lettice’s maid, Edith, is starstruck. She coyly glances at her mistress’ guest as she sets out tea and her home made Victoria sponge on the black japanned coffee table between the two comfortable tub chairs the ladies are ensconced in. Miss Ward is tall and statuesque, with striking green eyes and auburn hair fashionably cut and styled in a bob. Dressed in an orchid silk chiffon gown, her lisle clad thighs are clearly visible. Toying with a long string of pearls between her painted fingernails, she is the embodiment of the ‘new woman’: fearless, nonchalant and bold.

 

“Thank you Edith,” Lettice says with a bemused smile, her long and elegant fingers partially hiding it. “That will be all.”

 

“Oh,” Edith replies, obviously crestfallen. “Yes Miss.”

 

Edith retreats, somewhat begrudgingly back through the adjoining dining room and though the green baize door, back into the service area of Lettice’s flat.

 

“I am sorry, Miss Ward,” Lettice apologises to her guest, draped languidly across the chair opposite her. “I’m afraid my maid might be a little in awe of you.”

 

“Oh please don’t apologise, darling!” the American replies, her joyous laughter bursting forth. “I’m used to it. Poor little thing. Does she like the flicks*?”

 

Lettice ponders the answer to her guest’s question for a moment as she pours tea into her cup. “I don’t rightly know, Miss Ward. I don’t know what my maid does on her days off.”

 

“Well, I must ask her on the way out.” The American replies, adding a generous slosh of milk and two teaspoons of sugar to her tea.

 

“I do wish you’d let Edith take your hat and cane, Miss Ward.” Lettice adds, picking up her own cup.

 

“Nonsense, darling! Can’t be without my good luck charm!” She lovingly pats the pink silk flower covered hat sitting on the chinoiserie stool next to her chair, and Lettice cannot help but notice how perfectly her guest’s nail varnish matches her hat and dress.

 

“Your good luck charm?” Lettice muses. “What on earth do you mean?”

 

“No doubt you’ll think me odd, most people do when I tell them,” She twists her pearls self consciously around her fingers. “But every time I wear this hat, I always have good luck.”

 

“I must ask your permission to borrow it then Miss Ward,” Lettice moves her hand to unsuccessfully conceal her amusement. “The next time I go to the Ascot races.”

 

“See!” the American replies, sinking back in her seat feeling vindicated. “I told you that you’d think me odd!”

 

“Not at all, Miss Ward.” Lettice soothes her guest. “When you are the daughter of an old and venerable British family like I am, a certain element of hereditary oddity is de rigueur.”

 

“De rigueur?”

 

“A must, Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh, then I shan’t feel so conscious of flaunting my superstition around London.”

 

“Especially when it is such a pretty accessory too, Miss Ward.”

 

“Why thank you darling.” She flaps her long and elegant hand, batting away Lettice’s compliment. “You are just the sweetest.”

 

“Now, I believe you’ve come about redecorating your flat in Pimlico, Miss Ward?”

 

“That’s right!” She claps her hands in unabashed glee. “Well, it isn’t quite mine yet. I take possession next Thursday. Oh!” She continues, throwing up her right hand dramatically, her wrist coming to rest upon her forehead. “The place looks like a mausoleum at present! All this heavy clutter: thick velvet curtains, occasional tables covered in knick-knacks, stuffed birds beneath glass. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you my dear?” She reaches down and picks up her plate of sponge and takes a slightly larger than polite slice from it with her fork. “I just had to come and see you!”

 

Lettice smiles with pleasure, taking a sip of tea from her cup before placing it on the telephone table at her left. “So, I’m the first interior designer that you’ve visited here in London, Miss Ward?”

 

“Well, not exactly. No,” The American sits back in her seat blushing. “I did go and see Syrie Maugham**.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice frowns, unable to hide her disappointment.

 

“Oh, but I didn’t like what she suggested, darling!” Miss Ward replies quickly, assuring her host, fearful of having made a social gaffe and jeopardising her chance of having Lettice agree to decorate her flat. “All those ghastly shades of white…” The American suddenly stops mid-sentence, noticing for the first time that Lettice’s walls are papered in white and that she is sitting on a white upholstered chair. “Anyway,” She clears her throat awkwardly and looks sheepishly at Lettice. “I don’t think she approved of me.”

 

“Whyever not, Miss Ward?” Lettice asks with a tinge of pleasure in her question, feeling suddenly a little less crushed.

 

“I don’t think she approves actresses, period. She talked about forgoing worldly pleasures and went on about white representing purity.” Miss Ward shivers at the recollection. “Besides,” she continues. “I did hear that you did some redecorating for the Duchess of Whitby.”

 

“Your contacts are correct,” Lettice replies. Suspecting Miss Ward to be something of a gossip she then continues, brandishing the knowledge Lord de Virre gave her just an hour before, “What they don’t know, and this is strictly between us, you understand Miss Ward,”

 

“Oh! My lips are sealed, darling.” The American puts her finger to her lips conspiratorially as she leans forward, her excitement at the thought of a secret shared palpable.

 

“Well, I shall also soon be decorating the principal rooms of the home belonging to the eldest son of the Marquis of Taunton.”

 

“Really?” Miss Ward enthuses overdramatically. “The Marquis of Taunton! Fancy that!”

 

Lettice smiles as she picks up her plate and eats a small, ladylike portion of Victoria sponge, satisfied in the knowledge that Miss Ward has no idea who she is talking about, but being a parvenu, will quickly spread the news to those who do.

 

“Your sources of information are well informed about me, Miss Ward, and yet, I know nothing of you. Please do tell me a little bit about yourself and why it is that you wish for me to be your interior designer.”

 

“Well, that’s really why I wanted to see you, even before I saw that pious Syrie Maugham. You’re young, and bold, like me!” She looks up and off into the distance, waving her hand dramatically. “A trailblazer! I also heard that you favour oriental elements in your interior designs. I’ve just spent the last six months in the International Settlement in Shanghai you see, and I just love all those oriental designs.”

 

“Shanghai?”

 

“Yes. My brother has a club there: the Diamond Lotus Club, and I’ve been headlining there. Shanghai is so much more exciting than dull old Chicago!” she enthuses. “The clothes cost less to have made,” She grasps the hem of her skirt and squeezes the chiffon. “And the far east is so exotic and colourful.”

 

“Then forgive me for asking, but if you love it so much, why have you come to London?”

 

“Well, I loved singing in the club, but I really have my heart set on being an actress.” She takes another large mouthful of cake.

 

“Well, the West End is full of theatres, Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh, not a stage actress darling!” Miss Ward dabs at the corners of her mouth for crumbs with her beautifully painted fingers. “No, a film actress. I have a screen test at Islington Studios*** on Monday.” She tilts her head and lowers her kohl framed lids in a slightly coquettish way as though already auditioning.

 

“Well, you certainly have a great presence, Miss Ward.” Lettice says diplomatically. “I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”

 

“Thank you, darling. I can’t disagree with you. My mother always told me that everyone knew when I entered the room, even when I was a little girl in ringlets.”

 

“Yes, I’d believe that.” Lettice smiles.

 

“And what better place for a successful film actress to entertain, than in a beautiful orientally inspired drawing room decorated by you, darling! I want bold and colourful wallpapers and carpets, oriental vases, Chinese screens.” She looks hopefully at Lettice. “So, will you take me on?”

 

“Take you on, Miss Ward?”

 

“Yes, take me on, as a client?” Her face falls suddenly, her fork of cake midway between the plate and her mouth. “Oh, please don’t tell me that you don’t approve of actresses either!”

 

“Oh, I’m not Syrie Maugham, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies, smiling cheekily. “And besides, it will irritate my Mamma no end if I have a film actress as a client.”

 

“You mean,” she gasps, clasping her hands. “You’ll agree to decorate my new flat?”

 

“Well, I’ll still need to visit you new home, and we’ll need to discuss matters further.” Lettice elaborates. “However, in principle, yes.”

 

“Oh darling! I could positively kiss you!” She drops her plate with a loud clatter on the coffee table surface and leaps up from her seat.

 

“That really won’t be necessary, Miss Ward.” Lettice assures her, raising her hands gently in defence in the face of the American’s statuesque form across the crowded table. “Just make sure that you settle my accounts promptly.”

 

“American railroad dollars good enough for you?”

 

“Only if they can be converted into British currency.” Lettice beams. “And, when you are a famous actress, I expect you to tell everyone who designed your interiors.”

 

“Oh! I’ll tell all my friends to come and see you, you darling girl! You’ll have to beat them away from the door with a hickory stick.”

 

“Indeed, Miss Ward.” Lettice takes another sip from her teacup.

 

“See!” Miss Ward replies, taking her seat again and patting the top of her pink hat. “I told you this was my lucky charm! I wore a blue beret to see Syrie Maugham.”

 

“Then today must be both our lucky days, Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh no! Enough of this ‘Miss Ward’ business. If you are to design somewhere as intimate as my boudoir, you must call me, Wanetta.”

 

*”Flicks” is an old fashioned term for a cinema film, named so for the whirring sound of the old projectors and flickering picture cast upon the silver screen.

 

**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.

 

***Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.

 

This 1920s upper-class domestic scene is different to what you may think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

Lettice’s tea set sitting on the coffee table is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The Victoria sponge (named after Queen Victoria) is made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America. The green tinged bowl behind the tea set is made of glass and has been made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

Wanetta’s lucky pink hat covered in silk flowers, which you can see poking out from behind the armchair on the right is made by Miss Amelia’s Miniatures in the Canary Islands. It is an artisan miniature made just like a real hat, right down to a tag in the inside of the crown to show where the back of the hat is! 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. Miss Amelia is an exception to the rule coming from Spain, but like her American counterparts, her millinery creations are superb. Like a real fashion house, all her hats have names. This pink raw silk flower covered hat is called “Lilith”. Wanetta’s walking stick, made of ebonized wood with a real metal knob was made by the Little Green Workshop in England.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. The vase of yellow tiger lilies and daisies on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The vase of roses and lilies in the tall white vase on the table to the right of the photo was also made by hand, by Falcon Miniatures who are renowned for their realistic 1:12 size miniatures.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The painting in the gilt frame is made by Amber’s Miniatures in America. The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

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

 

Today is Tuesday and we are in the drawing room of Lettice’s flat where Edith, her maid, and Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, are giving the room a good early morning spring clean whilst Lettice lies abed. Edith is grateful that Mrs. Boothby comes every Tuesday, every third Thursday of the month from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs. Unlike her previous positions, Edith does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties, and is also handy with the dusting cloth.

 

“I bet this fing ‘as been riningin’ off the ‘ook, ever since that article in that fancy toff magazine, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby remarks to Edith as she lifts the telephone off the small square table where it stands and wipes it over with her damp cloth.

 

“Oh that infernal contraption!” replies Edith with irritation as she turns around from dusting a tall vase of flowers. “It’s the constant bane of my life! Miss Lettice tells me I have to get used to answering it because any household I work in is likely to have it these days.”

 

“Well,” the old Cockney char answers, carefully putting the telephone on the carpet. “I have to agree wiv Miss Lettice there. They’s poppin’ up like mushrooms up ‘ere in the West End nahdays.”

 

“They are unnatural if you ask me.” Edith mutters. She pauses her cleaning and glares at the sparking silver and Bakelite** contraption with contempt. “Miss Lettice might be fine talking with duchesses and grand ladies, but I’m not used to it.”

 

“Remember, Edith dearie,” Mrs. Boothby says cheerily as she runs the cloth over the surface of the black japanned table, lifting a vase of yellow roses and lilies indispersed with Gypsophila***as she does. “No matter ‘ow ‘igh ‘n mighty they may be, they’s still gotta use the privy. Lawd knows I clean ‘em.” She winks cheekily at Edith.

 

Edith laughs lightly at the old woman’s remark.

 

“Well it’s true. They’s still ‘uman’ bein’s, even if they do fink themselves better than some of us.” A steeliness crosses her face. “You and me, we does the fings they think themselves too grand ta do, and we deserve a bit ‘a respect for that.”

 

“You sound like Frank, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith says with a gentle and wistful smile. “He thinks the changing times mean that our class is on the way up, and Miss Lettice’s is on the way down.”

 

“Lawd I ‘ope not!” gasps Mrs. Boothby. “I’ll be out of a job then. If they’s comin’ dahn, they won’t be able ta afford ta employ me no more. Then what’ll I do wiv meself?”

 

“I think Frank is dreaming too, Mrs. Boothby. We’ll always have haves and have nots.”

 

“I don’t mind the ‘ave nots servin’ the ‘aves meself. Nah! I just mean that we works ‘ard for a livin’, and we should get a bit more respect. Miss Lettice is a good employer, but some of them ladies I clean for look down their snooty nose as though I was made a dirt.” The old woman starts dusting the gilded edge of an ornate picture frame. “Actually,” she adds. “Its them what’s not so far removed from us what’s often worse.”

 

“Who do you mean, Mrs. Boothby?”

 

“Its them middle-classes what’s often the worst snobs. They’s managed to keep their ‘ands nice and clean finally, and they won’t lower theyselves no more to gettin’ ‘em dirty again.” She screws up her nose and nods knowingly to Edith.

 

“Yes, that’s certainly true.” Edith agrees as she moves towards the Chippendale china cabinet containing all of Lettice’s fine Limoges china collection, thinking of old Widow Hounslow, her parents’ landlady in Harlesden, whom Edith worked for when she first went into service. The old woman was most certainly middle-class, and mean to boot, treating poor Edith very shabbily throughout her tenure as the woman’s cook and maid-of-all-work. “I’m certainly glad to be employed by Miss Lettice. She’s a very nice employer as far as I’m concerned.”

 

Edith carefully opens up the black japanned Chippendale style china display cabinet and begins to dust the dainty pieces of Limoges porcelain on its glass shelves. As she lifts an elegant jug, she admires its fine, almost translucent qualities, the finely painted bunch of flowers depicted on its bulbous side and its finely gilded lip. She sighs.

 

“That’s a deep sigh, dearie.” remarks Mrs. Boothby as she runs a wet cloth across the surface of Lettice’s blanc de chine vase to the left of the Chippendale cabinet. “Are you alright.”

 

“What?” Edith asks distractedly. “Oh, oh, yes I’m fine, Mrs. Boothby. Just daydreaming.”

 

“Well, we all gotta dream of somefink, don’t we, dearie?” the old Cockney woman muses with a kind smile. “Is it young Frank Leadbetter you’re dreamin’ of then?”

 

Edith smiles at the mention of her beau. “Actually no, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“Lawd if I were you, ‘e’s all I’d be daydreamin’ about.”

 

“Mrs. Boothby!” Edith gasps, blushing.

 

“Well,” the old woman says matter-of-factly, hanging her damp cloth on the edge of the stand of the blanc de chine vase and putting her hands on her hips as she groans and stretches. “You’re a woman, and ‘e’s a dishy young man.” She winks cheekily and smiles. “Why shouldn’t yer dream of ‘im? They’s worse fings to dream ‘bout.”

 

“I’ll have you know,” Edith says, holding the Limoges jug out in front of her, between she and the charwoman. “I was just thinking how lovely it would be to have such a beautiful piece of china.”

 

Mrs. Boothby looks at the jug in Edith’s hand and screws up her nose. “It’s a bit to fine an’ fancy for me own tastes.”

 

“But you have lots of lovely china at your house, Mrs. Boothby. I’m in awe of how many pretty things you have, like my Mum does.”

 

“Well, I do like me pretty bits ‘n pieces, but I like ‘em all bein’ odd pieces of bric-a-brac: not all matchin’ like that.” She waves a finger, worn with hard graft and gnarled with arthritis at the open china display cabinet. “This ‘ere looks too much like a museum if youse asks me, all perfect and perfectly displayed.”

 

“Well, I suppose this is a bit of showroom for Miss Lettice.” Edith replies as she looks around. “Especially now that her work is so sought after, since her interiors appeared in Country Life. So, I suppose things have to look perfect and be well displayed, so that her clients can know that she will do a good job designing their rooms.”

 

“It’s all a bit too formal for my taste.” the old woman counters. “I like it when everyfink’s a bit of a hotch-potch. It’s more ‘omely, you know what I mean?” Edith nods. “Besides, that way, if somefink gets broken, it don’t matter so much. Lawd knows plenty’s been broken ‘round my house.”

 

“Yes, I suppose the way Ken lollops about, accidents happen.” Edith remarks, noting Mrs. Boothby’s disabled adult son who resides with the old Cockney woman at her home in Poplar.

 

“’E can’t ‘elp it, Lawd love ‘im.” Mrs. Boothby says with the beatific smile of an indulgent mother. “’E tries so hard ta do the right fing, but ‘e’s a clumsy one, and there’s a fact. ‘E knows not ta touch that nice blue ‘n white tea set what you drank out of when you came to my ‘ouse. I don’t mind ‘im droppin’ a bowl or plate ‘n such, but I can’t have me guests drinkin’ out of odd cups ‘n’ saucers.”

 

“My Mum’s the same, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith laughs as she puts the jug back and picks up the next piece to dust with her feather duster. “When it’s just Dad, or me, or my brother at home, we drink out of all the odd teacups and eat off the non matching plates she has bought from various places over the years. Yet when she has guests, she brings out the best china.”

 

“I should fink so, dearie!” Mrs. Boothby agrees. “It’s always ‘bout puttin’ on the very best show.”

 

“Yes, I suppose so, like when our awful landlady, old Widow Hounslow comes to call, or more recently when Frank came and had a Sunday roast with us for the first time. Mum pulled out all the stops for him: white tablecloth, the special gilt dinner plates that we don’t even get to eat off on Christmas Day.”

 

“Well, she probably wanted to make a good impression on your young Frank.”

 

“She certainly did that, Mrs. Boothby. The kitchen table looked beautiful, all decked out.”

 

“And what impression did Frank make on yer mum ‘n dad then? Are they gettin’ along?”

 

“Well, Dad likes him, especially since he managed to get tickets for us all to go to the White Horse Final**** at Empire Stadium*****.” Edith starts dusting the teacups on the second shelf.

 

“’E’s a dark ‘orse, that Frank Leadbetter!” gasps Mrs. Boothby. “’Ow did ‘e manage that, then?”

 

“It’s all above board, Mrs. Boothby, I can assure you. He knows someone who’s lady friend works for the ticketing office, and she supplied us with the tickets.”

 

“Well, if I were your Dad, I’d like Frank too, then. What about your Mum?”

 

“She’s less certain of Frank.”

 

“Why? Ain’t she ‘appy that ‘er only daughter got ‘erself a chap. They’s plenty of girls, maybe not as pretty as you, but nonetheless, what don’t ‘ave no beaus.”

 

“Yes,” sighs Edith, depositing a clean cup and saucer featuring a russet rose painted on them back onto the glass shelf from where they came. “Like my best friend Hilda who works for Mr. and Mrs. Channon in Hill Street.”

 

“Oh yes! I clean for ‘em. I knows your ‘Ilda.”

 

“I made her a lovely new dance frock from some russet art silk****** we bought from Mrs. Minkin’s for when Frank, she and I go to the Hammersmith Palais*******, but it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference as far as young men taking an interest in her.”

 

“I’m glad that sewin’ machine my Ken found ya is bein’ put to good use, Edith dearie. As for young ‘Ilda.” the old Cockney char pauses for a moment, running her tongue alongv the inside of her cheek, thinking about how to say what she wants. “She’s nice, a bit on the ‘efty side if you’ll permit me, but nice nonetheless. I suspect she likes ‘er custard buns a bit too much.” She arches an eyebrow knowingly.

 

“Yes, Hilda has always had a sweet tooth, spending some of her wages on lollies and chocolate. I think Hilda’s mum used to dip her dummy in treacle to get her to take it as a baby, or so Hilda tells me.”

 

“Well, I don’t like to say it ‘bout your friend, Edith dearie, but I think she may be dreamin’ a bit if she thinks a frock, ‘owever pretty and well made by you, is goin’ ta ‘elp her find a young man.”

 

“Oh, please don’t say that, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith defends her friend with a fierce sense of protectiveness. “She’s such a lovely person.”

 

“I know she is, dearie, but its those young men what ‘ave their pick of beauties like you, what won’t see ‘ow lovely she is.”

 

“Looks aren’t everything, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies seriously as she crouches down and starts dusting the bottom shelf of the Chippendale cabinet.

 

“I know, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby starts running her damp cloth through the nooks and crannies of the ornate back of the Chippendale chair next to the cabinet. “But they do ‘elp. Anyway, goin’ back to me question: don’t yer Mum like Frank?”

 

“Oh she likes him well enough, Mrs. Boothby, but she doesn’t like some of his ideas about classes coming up or going down, but he’s learning to temper his attitudes before Mum, and I think we’re slowly winning her over.”

 

“That’s good to ‘ear, Edith dearie.”

 

The two continue cleaning in companionable silence for a short while, the sound of Mrs. Boothby’s cloth slapping against the black japanned wood of the chair and the tickimng clock the only sounds breaking into the early morning quiet of the drawing room.

 

“Anyway, goin’ back to that china what youse love so much.” Mrs. Boothby says at length. “Who knows whatcha goin’ ta get when you get married to young Frank. I got a lovely floral dinner set from me old Mum and Dad when Bill and I got wed.”

 

Edith pauses her dusting. “You’re as bad as my Dad, Mrs. Boothby! He keeps going on about Frank and I getting married. We’re not making any plans just yet. I want to keep working and saving, and Frank wants to save money too so he can give me a nice home. That will be ages away yet.”

 

“Well,” Mrs. Boothby mumbles knowingly. “We’ll see ‘ow long it actually takes. The power of love ‘as a way of speedin’ fings up a bit, dearie.”

 

“Now I think it’s you who is dreaming, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith laughs good-naturedly as the clock on the mantle chimes half past seven in the morning.

 

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

 

**Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

***Gypsophila is a genus of flowering plants in the carnation family, Caryophyllaceae. They are native to Eurasia, Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands. Turkey has a particularly high diversity of Gypsophila taxa, with about 35 endemic species. SomeGypsophila are introduced species in other regions. Commonly known as baby's breath, it has been a popular gift for baby showers for years now, which is where some say its name originates from. However, alternative perspectives suggest that because they're small and delicate, the name Baby's breath reflects their use as a small whisper of an accent amongst other flowers.

 

****The first football match to be played at the newly opened Wembley Stadium in April 1923 was between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United. This match became known as the White Horse final, and was played just a few days after the completion of the stadium.

 

*****Originally known as Empire Stadium, London’s Wembley Stadium was built to serve as the centerpiece of the British Empire Exhibition. It took a total of three hundred days to construct the stadium at a cost of £750,000. The stadium was completed on the 23rd of April 1923, only a few days before the first football match, between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United, was to take place at the stadium. The stadium's first turf was cut by King George V, and it was first opened to the public on 28 April 1923. Much of Humphry Repton's original Wembley Park landscape was transformed in 1922 and 1923 during preparations for the British Empire Exhibition. First known as the "British Empire Exhibition Stadium" or simply the "Empire Stadium", it was built by Sir Robert McAlpine for the British Empire Exhibition of 1924 (extended to 1925).

 

******The first successful artificial silks were developed in the 1890s of cellulose fibre and marketed as art silk or viscose, a trade name for a specific manufacturer. In 1924, the name of the fibre was officially changed in the U.S. to rayon, although the term viscose continued to be used in Europe.

 

*******The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

This 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 including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden china cabinet with its mirrored back is a Chippendale design. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child. All date from the 1950s and have green backstamps on them. They come from various Limoges miniature tea sets that I own.

 

The high backed back japanned chair next to the china cabinet is Chippendale too. It has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric.

 

Edith’s feather duster leaning against the china cabinet door I made myself using fledgling feathers (very spring) which I picked up off the lawn one day thinking they would come in handy in my miniatures collection sometime. I bound them with thread to the handle which is made from a fancy ended toothpick!

 

The vase of yellow lilies and roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the tall vase of flowers to the right of the china cabinet has been made by Falcon Miniatures, who are well known for their lifelike floral creations.

 

The small green painted lidded urn on the understorey of the round table to the right of the photo is in reality a tiny antique Chinese incense burner with several ornate holes in the lid to hold the incense sticks. I bought it at a flea market some fifteen years ago.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase.

 

The green glass comport on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made from hand spun glass and acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

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.

 

Returned from her Friday to Monday down at Dickie and Margot’s Cornwall country house, ‘Chi an Treth’, and all the excitement that ensued there, Lettice has settled back into her usual London routine of shopping, receiving and visiting friends and seeing potential clients. It’s a Wednesday, and an unusually quiet one, so Lettice is taking advantage of the gap between engagements and has just sat down in her comfortable white upholstered tub chair to continue reading her latest Georgette Heyer* romance novel when the doorbell to the flat rings noisily, shattering the relative quiet of the flat’s interior.

 

“I’m not expecting any clients,” she muses as she listens as Edith, her maid, walks across the entrance hall to answer the door. “I wonder who it can be.”

 

A few moments later the mystery is revealed when Edith walks in proudly announcing, “Miss Bowes-Lyon**, Miss.”

 

“Elizabeth, darling!” Lettice gasps in delight, casting her book aside. Standing up she embraces her friend who is dressed in a romantic pale pink chiffon moiré dress with a fashionable drop waist and draped in a thick fox fur stole. Elizabeth’s light scent of lily of the valley envelops her. “I didn’t know you were up at Bruton Street***. Please.” She indicates to the tub chair opposite her, which Elizabeth sinks into with a sigh as she places aside her matching pink parasol, and allows the fox fur to slink from her shoulders, snaking across the back of the chair.

 

“I’m up from Scotland just for a few days to have a fitting for Her Royal Highness’**** wedding and run a few errands before going back.”

 

“Oh of course!” Lettice gasps. “The wedding! I’d forgotten you were a bridesmaid.”

 

“Has Gerald finished your outfit for the ceremony yet?” Elizabeth asks as she withdraws a hatpin from her straw cloche decorated with silk roses and feathers and deposits the hat on the stool beside her.

 

“I do wish you’d let Edith take those, Elizabeth darling.” Lettice indicates to the parasol and hat.

 

“Oh I can’t stay for too long.” Eliabeth assures her hostess. “The fitting awaits.” She smiles sweetly, giving a brief view of her slightly crooked teeth.

 

“Well I hope you can stay long enough for a cup of tea,” replies Lettice. “And a biscuit or two. Yes, Gerald’s almost finished my gown. It’s oyster coloured satin, and very plain, with a drop waist and pearl buttons down the back. In fact, the only real decoration it will have will be the lace collar.”

 

“Sounds wonderful.” acknowledges Elizabeth. “When I get married, I only want a simple wedding dress. I saw the photos of Margot’s wedding dress in Vogue. Gerald must have clients pounding at his door now.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice remarks. “I said it would be the making of him, and so far, I’ve been proven correct. I’m so happy for him. Goodness knows he could do with some luck after all the hard work he has put in to setting up his business. Now, thinking of frock fittings and weddings, how does Her Royal Highness’ gown look.”

 

Elizabeth taps her nose in a knowing way, replying, “I’m sorry darling, but I’m not allowed to say.” She smiles apologetically.

 

“Oh! Of course! How foolish of me! I was forgetting that it’s a secret. Yours too, I should imagine?” Elizabeth nods discreetly. “Never mind. I’ll be happy enough to be surprised on the big day.”

 

“Have you settled on a hat yet?”

 

“Ahh, now there I really am in a quandary.” Lettice remarks.

 

Edith appears and walks across the threshold of the drawing room from the flat’s dining room carrying Lettice’s silvery tray from Asprey’s****** on which sits her Art Deco tea service with cups for two and a small plate of rather delicious looking biscuits. She carefully places the items on the black japanned coffee table between the two friends before dropping a bob curtsey and retreating through the green baize door on the far side of the dining room.

 

“Quandary?” Elizabeth asks. “I thought you were getting Madame Gwendolyn to make you a hat.”

 

“Yes. I mean, I know Madame Gwendolyn has made me some wonderful hats in the past.” She pauses.

 

“I sense a but,”

 

“But I wasn’t happy with what she made me for Royal Ascot*******. I think it looked dowdy and old fashioned.”

 

“Oh, I thought it looked lovely.”

 

“Thank you, Elizabeth darling, bless you.” She reaches out a hand and squeezes Elizabeth’s elegant, yet rather cold hand. “But ‘The Times’ agrees with me in their critique of the fashions last year, and it wasn’t exactly the roaring success I’d hoped for, or paid for, for that matter.” Lettice takes up the pot and pours hot tea into Elizabeth’s cup, passing it to her friend, before filling her own. “So, I’m going to see Gwendolyn next week, but I must confess I’ve seen hats I’d prefer to wear in Selfridges’ windows along the way.”

 

“Selfridges? You can’t be serious Lettice!” Elizabeth puts a hand to her throat and clasps the collar length string of pearls she wears. “Wear a shop girl’s hat to a royal wedding?”

 

“Well why not? No-one would know, except perhaps you and I. Besides, not all of Mr. Selfridges hats are shop girl material. He has some beautiful models, directly from Paris, and exclusive to his store. They are a fraction of the price, and are every bit as fashionable and well made as anything Madame Gwendolyn can produce.”

 

“It sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind, Lettice.” Elizabeth picks up a pink macaron off the plate and pops it delicately into her little round mouth, her eyes closing with delight as it starts melting on her tongue.

 

“Divine aren’t they?” Lettice asks. “My last client, Miss Ward put me onto the most fabulous little baker in Pilmico.”

 

“She’s the moving picture star, isn’t she?”

 

“Yes. Anyway, I haven’t dismissed Madame Gewndolyn – yet. However, I have misgivings.”

 

“Well, I have misgivings too.” Elizabeth adds, her eyelashes trembling with a sudden concern as fear clouds her beautiful blue eyes. “I actually came to see you yesterday, but Edith told me you were still away.”

 

“Oh yes, I’d gone down with Gerald to stay at Dickie and Margot’s new house in Cornwall.” She pauses and ponders for a moment. “But you didn’t leave a calling card, and Edith didn’t tell me you’d called.”

 

“Oh, don’t be cross with her. I asked her not to say anything as I was still in town for a few days and knew I’d catch you between engagements. So, what’s the house like? You’re going to decorate a few of the rooms, aren’t you?”

 

“It’s quite lovely – larger than either Gerald or I expected – about ten bedrooms, and yes I am, but pooh to all of that right now. What misgivings? You can’t be having misgivings about being the Princess’ bridesmaid now, surely? Not after all the fittings and rehearsals and such.”

 

“Oh no, it isn’t that. No, I’m very happy to be her bridesmaid. No, it’s Bertie******** who concerns me.”

 

“Oh!” Lettice picks up a chocolate macaron from the plate and pops it onto her saucer where it nestles against the rounded bottom of the cup. “Of course he’ll be there.”

 

“He seems undaunted by my last refusal. Queen Mary visited Mummy just before Christmas.”

 

“Did she take any of the Glamis china collection*********?”

 

“Thankfully no, but Mummy told me that the Queen is quite convinced that I’m the only woman who will make Bertie happy, and that he’s refusing to consider any other marriage proposals.”

 

“And you think he may propose again?”

 

“Well, it is his sister’s wedding after all.”

 

“But surely he knows that you’re actively being courted by his equerry! What’s his name?”

 

“James. James Stewart.”

 

“That’s it! Well, surely His Royal Highness must know you’ve been seen with James.”

 

Elizabeth sighs, her elegantly plucked eyebrows arching high. “Apparently he thinks he can win me over.”

 

“More likely wear you down.” Lettice remarks disparagingly, taking a slip of her own tea.

 

“They equate to much the same thing.”

 

“Well?”

 

“Well what, Lettice darling?”

 

“Well, do you love him? His Royal Highness that is,” she clarifies. “Not James.”

 

“Oh, I do like him!” Elizabeth sighs, lowering her teacup into her lap, her shoulders rising and then slumping again as she looks away shyly, a blush filling her creamy cheeks. “He’s dashing, and sweet. I don’t even mind his stutter, which I find quite endearing.”

 

“Now it’s my turn to sense a but, Elizabeth. Come on! Spit it out.”

 

“Well, you know my misgivings about public life. I have my own definite thoughts and ideas. To never be allowed to express them again, to not be able to think or speak freely or act as I feel I really ought to,” Elizabeth sighs again. “Well, its intolerable really.”

 

“Yes, I can understand that. I think Mamma would be happier if I didn’t express my opinions or ideas, never mind act as I see fit. You are coming to the Hunt Ball, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes of course, Lettice darling. I’ll even dance with Jonty Hastings to save your feet from too much butchery.”

 

“Thank you. Well, the Prince isn’t really a significant royal. I mean he’s only the Duke of York, not the Prince of Wales, so he’ll never be the King.”

 

“King George was once the Duke of York, Lettice.”

 

“Times were different then, Elizabeth. Once the Prince of Wales settles down,”

 

“If he ever settles down. He shows no signs of it, Lettice, cavorting with other men’s wives. He’s shameless the way he flouts them.”

 

“Yes, I’ve seen him with Mrs. Dudley Ward********** at the Embassy Club on more than a few occasions at His Highness’ table. Well, he’ll have to settle down, eventually. And once he does, and has children, why you and the Prince would be even further from the line of succession.”

 

“Oh I don’t know.” Elizabeth toys with the pearl clip earring at her right lobe anxiously.

 

“Anyway, if you’re sweet on James, why are you even considering the Prince?”

 

“James is talking about going to America. He’s being wooed by an oil company over there, who pays more than the Royal Household does. Could you really see me living in America?” She scrunches up her nose. “I’d stay in Scotland forever with all my cousins and never leave if I could.”

 

“No, I couldn’t. Canada perhaps, but not America. They’re so… so…”

 

“American?” Elizabeth proffers.

 

“American!” agrees Lettice with a chuckle. “Well, it’s up to you. Just because he’s the Prince, doesn’t mean you have to say yes, Elizabeth. If you have misgivings, just refuse him.” She pauses for a moment and sips her tea again before continuing, “Although refusing a marriage proposal from a prince, however minor, isn’t quite as flippant as refusing a hat from Madame Gwendolyn.”

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Elizabeth chuckles, picking up another macaron. “Madame Gwendolyn can be quite fierce from what I know of her, not to mention she’s Lady Sadie’s milliner too. Refusing Madame would be tantamount to committing mutiny, wouldn’t it?”

 

*Georgette Heyer was an English novelist and short-story writer, in both the regency romance and detective fiction genres. Her writing career began in 1921, when she turned a story for her younger brother into the novel, ‘The Black Moth’.

 

**Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon as she was known in 1922 went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to"

 

***Number 17. Bruton Street was the London residence of the Earl of Strathmore and Kingholme (Elizabeth’s father), and was where she resided when in the capital prior to her marriage.

 

*****Mary, Princess Royal and Countess of Harewood (1897 – 1965), was the only daughter of King George V and Queen Mary. She was the sister of Kings Edward VIII and George VI, and aunt of Queen Elizabeth II. She married Viscount Lascelles on the 28th of February 1922 in a ceremony held at Westminster Abbey. The bride was only 24 years old, whilst the groom was 39. There is much conjecture that the marriage was an unhappy one, but their children dispute this and say it was a very happy marriage based upon mutual respect. The wedding was filmed by Pathé News and was the first royal wedding to be featured in fashion magazines, including Vogue.

 

******Founded in 1781 as a silk printing business by William Asprey, Asprey soon became a luxury emporium. In 1847 the business moved to their present premises at 167 Bond Street, where they advertised 'articles of exclusive design and high quality, whether for personal adornment or personal accompaniment and to endow with richness and beauty the table and homes of people of refinement and discernment’. In 1862 Asprey received a Royal Warrant from Queen Victoria. They received a second Royal Warrant from the Future Edward VII in 1889. Asprey has a tradition of producing jewellery inspired by the blooms found in English gardens and Woodland Flora. Over the decades jewelled interpretations of flowers have evolved to include Daisy, Woodland and sunflower collections. They have their own special cut of diamond and produce leather goods, silver and gold pieces, trophies and leatherbound books, both old and new. They also produce accessories for playing polo. In 1997, Asprey produced the Heart of the Ocean necklace worn in the motion picture blockbuster, ‘Titanic’.

 

*******Royal Ascot Week is the major social calendar event held in June every year at Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire. It was founded in 1711 by Queen Anne and is attended every year by the reigning British monarch and members of the Royal Family. The event is grand and showy, with men in grey morning dress and silk toppers and ladies in their best summer frocks and most elaborate hats.

 

********Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.

 

*********Queen Mary, wife of King George V was an avid collector of bibelots (small decorative ornaments) and decorative arts. She was also responsible for being the first member of the Royal Family to ever do an inventory of the Royal Collections, finding many items had been “borrowed” by the great families of England over the centuries to decorate their own homes. During her husband’s reign, she recovered a vast majority of these pilfered items, returning them to the Royal Collections. For this reason, she was feared when she came to visit, along with her voracious acquisition of other people’s bibelots. She was known to remark on something pretty and then expect that it would be gifted to her as the wife of the sovereign.

 

**********Winifred May, Marquesa de Casa Maury (née Birkin) (1894 – 1983), universally known by her first married name as Freda Dudley Ward, was an English socialite best known for being a married paramour of the Prince of Wales, who later became King Edward VIII, between 1918 and 1929. Known by him by the diminutive “Freddie”, she was supplanted in the Prince’s affections by Lady Thelma Furness, who in turn was supplanted by Mrs. Simpson.

 

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 including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The cream straw cloche hat sitting on the Chippendale stool is decorated with pink roses has single stands of ostrich feathers adorning it. The latter have been hand curled. The maker for this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.

 

The furled umbrella is a 1:12 artisan piece made of pink satin and lace with a tiny pink bow. It has a hooked metal handle.

 

You can just see draped across the chair on the right, Elizabeth’s fox fur stole. It is, in actuality, a mink tail attached to one of my vintage fur tippets. It is just the right size to be a thick fur stole that could have been worn by the future Queen Elizabeth, who loved furs.

 

Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The strawberry and chocolate macarons are also artisan miniatures from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. He has a dizzying array of realistic looking food and meals which is always growing, and all are made entirely or put together by hand. The green tinted glass comport on the coffee table , spun from real glass, is also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

In front of the telephone sit two paperback novels from the late 1910s created by miniature British 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. 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 these books miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The Vogue magazine from 1922 sitting on the lower tray of the black japanned occasional table was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.

 

The vase of yellow lilies and roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the taller vase of flowers to the right of the photo was made by Falcon Miniatures, who are renown for the realism and detail in their miniatures.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

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

 

Today Lettice is entertaining her friend Marguerite de Virre, whom she has invited for cocktails to celebrate Marguerite’s engagement to Richard ‘Dickie’ Channon. Both Marguerite and Dickie are great friends of Lettice and are part of her ‘Embassy Club Set’ who enjoy the highlights of London restaurants and nightlife. The two ladies have opted for gin and tonics with a slice of lemon for cocktail hour as Edith, Lettice’s maid, places a plate of freshly made savories on the drawing room’s black japanned coffee table for them to enjoy.

 

“Thank you Edith,” Lettice says politely. “That will be all.”

 

“Yes Miss.” the maid replies as she quietly retreats to the service area of the flat.

 

“Well, soon-to-be Mrs. Dickie Channon, you look very pleased with yourself.”

 

“And why shouldn’t I be, darling? I’ve finally won the young man I’ve been pining over for the last four years.”

 

“So, tell me, dear Margot!” Lettice enthuses as she pours a good slug of gin into Marguerite’s highball glass.

 

“Tell you what, Lettice?”

 

“Now don’t pretend to be coy with me, Margot,” Lettice scolds as she adds a lesser amount of tonic water to Marguerite’s glass from the syphon and garnishes it with a slice of lemon. “Tell me everything! Was it romantic?”

 

“Well of course it was romantic! It did happen in a private dining room at Claridges.” She accepts the proffered glass from Lettice. “I suspected what was to come as soon as I saw the red roses on the table.”

 

“More like hoping, don’t you mean Margot? You’ve been waiting for this for an age. Anyway, I imagine the private dining room gave you more of an inkling than the table arrangement.”

 

“Mmmm… maybe.” Marguerite muses, sipping her drink.

 

“What did Dickie order for you?”

 

“French champagne, darling. What else?”

 

“Oh, that goes without saying.” Lettice remarks with a wave of her hand. “No, I mean what did you have to eat?”

 

“Well, it was such a shame! My stomach was so full of butterflies with anticipation that I barely ate a thing! We had seafood bisque, crown of lamb with mind jelly, mashed potato nests and green peas, salad romaine, and the proposal came just after the raspberry ice with cream arrived.”

 

“Don’t tell me your engagement ring was buried in the raspberry ice!” Lettice laughs.

 

“Oh you!” Marguerite giggles, flapping her hand with her brilliant cut diamond engagement ring on her ring finger at her friend. “You do say some preposterous things sometimes! I’m trying to be serious!”

 

“I’m sorry Margot, darling.” She runs a hand before her face, as if wiping the impish smile from her face as she tries to look dour as the corners of her mouth curl upwards slightly with mirth. “Alright. Serious now.”

 

“That’s better,” Marguerite approves as she settles back into the comfortable rounded back of her tub chair. “Then I’ll continue.”

 

“Did he get down on one knee to propose?” Lettice asks excitedly before her friend can say a word.

 

“Well, I was just going to tell you that, darling.”

 

“And was it wonderful?”

 

“Too wonderful for words, darling. Dickie’s hopeful face with flushed cheeks framed by his gorgeous golden locks: his sparkling blue eyes full of trepidation. It was more than I could have wished for.” Marguerite places a hand dramatically on her collar bone as a wistful look softens her features. “And when I said yes and flung my arms about his neck, he wrapped his arms about my waist, jumped up and spun me round in his arms!” She toys with the strand of pearls draped about her neck and down her front. “I nearly sent the table setting flying with my slippers. It really was too thrilling, darling!”

 

“Oh how divine, Margot darling!” Lettice enthuses. “It sounds just like one of my novels, when the hero proposes to the heroine.”

 

“You’ve been reading too many of those romantic novels.” Marguerite chides Lettice, eyeing two books sitting on the table next to her host. “We need to get you reading that new writer Agatha Christie’s murder mystery novel, ‘The Mysterious Affair at Styles’*. It’s a murder mystery with a Belgian detective. Quite good really.”

 

“Oh, what else do I have except romantic novels, Margot darling? The war killed so many eligible bachelors.”

 

“Lest we never forget them and their sacrifice.” Margot raises her glass.

 

“Indeed,” Lettice raises her glass in reply. “Lest we never forget them.”

 

A sad silence settles upon the two young women momentarily, as they become lost in their own thoughts about their friends who didn’t return home from Flanders fields.

 

“I suppose Dickie wouldn’t have been such an attractive match to your parents if Harry hadn’t died at Ypres.”

 

“God bless Harry!” Marguerite raises her glass again.

 

“God bless Harry!” Lettice raises her glass in reply. “Nevertheless, a second son with no title and only a tiny allowance. Your parents would never have agreed to Dickie as a match.”

 

“I would have married him anyway, even if Mummy and Daddy hadn’t approved.”

 

“Now who sounds like a romantic novel heroine?”

 

“Well it’s true Lettice,” Marguerite insists. “I would have. I don’t care about titles and all that rot like Mummy and Daddy do. I loved Dickie before he had a title.”

 

“Still, it does make Dickie a more desirable match for their only daughter when he will one day be the fourth Marquess of Taunton.”

 

“Oh, that’s ages away yet, darling! Let us enjoy the bloom of young love and a bit of recklessness before we become enveloped in managing the estate, looking after the tenants’ complaints and opening the county agricultural show.”

 

“I think you’ll make a very good lady bountiful, Marguerite.” Lettice giggles.

 

“Spare me!” Marguerite rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Still, at least one nice result of Dickie now being heir is that his father is giving us a country house in Cornwall.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“Yes. Well, it was to have been Harry’s, but,” she pauses. “Anyway, it’s a Regency house called ‘Chi an Treth’.”

 

“Chi an what?”

 

“’Chi an Treth’. It’s Cornish for ‘beach house’. Apparently, it overlooks a rather secluded cove.”

 

“It sounds heavenly, Margot darling.”

 

“I think so too. I’m told it’s not overly large, a cottage residence really, with only six bedrooms and one suite of formal rooms, but it does have a reception room which Dickie tells me will be suitable for entertaining. I think that will suit Dickie and I quite nicely as a country retreat when we want to get out of London.”

 

“Country house parties?”

 

“Of course, Lettice darling!” Marguerite takes another sip of her gin and tonic. “You must come, of course.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Oh, thinking of, ‘of course’,” Marguerite adds with an awkward tone. “I’m sorry to tell you darling, but I can’t have you as a bridesmaid. Mummy has told me that I must share that honour amongst my dreaded country cousins. Such a bore!”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, Margot darling.” Lettice tries hard not to show the delight on her face at the thought of not having to wear a bridesmaid’s dress at Marguerite and Dickie’s wedding. “I’d already prepared myself for that news. I’ll be happy just to stand in a pew of the chapel and watch you and Dickie get married.”

 

*'The Mysterious Affair at Styles' was the first novel published by successful murder mystery novelist, Agatha Christie. Written in the middle of the Great War in 1916, it was published in 1920, and was the first novel to introduce Hercule Poirot.

 

This 1920s upper-class domestic scene is different to what you may think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

The bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin, the syphon and the glasses are all 1:12 artisan miniatures. All are made of real glass, as is the green tinged glass comport behind the bottles. The bottle of gin came from a specialist stockist in Sydney. The comport, the syphon and hors d‘oeuvres were all supplied by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The porcelain ice bucket and tongs was made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. In front of it sit two paperback novels from the 1920s created by Shepherd’s Miniatures in England. The vase of red roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

The furled umbrella is a 1:12 artisan piece made of silk, satin and lace with a tiny pink bow. It has a hooked metal handle.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

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.

 

It is a few days before the wedding of Her Royal Highness, Princess Mary* to Viscount Lascelles at Westminster Abbey, to which both Lettice and her childhood friend Gerald Bruton, have been invited, amongst other friends from their Embassy Club coterie. Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy, has tried to gain some financial independence from his impecunious family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. With some recent good press in Vogue after a wedding gown he designed for his and Lettice’s friend Margot de Virre featured, he has attained some modest success, and a few of his creations will grace female guests at the wedding. This hasn’t stopped him from making a frock of oyster satin with pearl buttons and a guipure lace** Peter Pan collar*** for Lettice to wear to the ceremony and he has just arrived at her Cavendish Mews flat with it in hand to deliver to her in person, only to discover that she is out on an errand.

 

“Oh Edith, is he still here?” Lettice gasps breathlessly as the front door to her flat is opened by her maid. “It took such an effort to get back here.” She places a slightly clammy glove clad hand on Edith’s shoulder as she tries to catch her breath.

 

“Mr. Bruton Miss?” Edith asks in surprise at her mistress’ flustered and panting state. When her question is responded to with an affirmative nod, she continues. “He’s only just arrived with your frock for the wedding, Miss. He’s in the drawing room.”

 

“Oh good!” Lettice sighs, quickly hurrying through the door into the drawing room without even taking off her coat or hat or depositing her parasol into the umbrella stand. “I’ll see him now.”

 

Edith shakes her head in puzzlement at her mistress as she watches her go, a large pink and white candy striped hat box with a green ribbon trim clutched in her arms along with her snakeskin handbag.

 

“Thank god you’re still here, Gerald darling!” cries Lettice, bursting into the room and charging across its length. Depositing the large round box on the black japanned coffee table along with her handbag, she drops her stub handled parasol next to her chair. Suitably freed of impediments, she embraces her friend in an enveloping hug of velvet, fur and Habanita****. “Sorry, the traffic getting back was so appalling that I gave up at Bourdon Street and ran the rest of the way!”

 

“You ran?” Gerald looks surprised at his dear friend. “I thought the daughter of a viscount never ran.”

 

“Well, they don’t,” she elucidates, shrugging off her velvet and fur coat, casting it across the room where it lands with a crumpled sigh onto a black japanned Chippendale chair. “Unless they are desperate to catch their friend before he leaves.”

 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I Lettuce Leaf?”

 

Lettice slaps him with the velvet toque she has just removed from her head. “You’re a beast, Gerald Bruton!”

 

“What?” Gerald laughs as he dodges the flapping hat.

 

“You know perfectly well, what!” Lettuce scolds. “Will you never tire of calling me by my loathed childhood nickname?”

 

“Not as long as it peeves you, Lettuce Leaf!”

 

She slaps him kittenishly again. “And if it isn’t a pet peeve any longer?”

 

“Then you won’t care if I call you Lettuce Leaf or not.”

 

His response is rewarded with another few wallops from her hat until he finally begs for mercy, as both of them bust into fits of childish giggles.

 

“So, what is it that you so desperately needed to see me for, darling?” Gerald finally manages to ask.

 

Tossing the hat on top of her discarded coat, she turns back to Gerald. “This, darling.” she says with a conspiratorial smile as she pats the top of the round cardboard box which is decorated prettily with pink and green ribbons, a scrunch of frothy white lace and an artificial flower.

 

Gerald looks down at the box, but is singularly unimpressed by it. “A box? What do I care for a box, and more importantly, why do you, darling?”

 

“Oh it isn’t the box, Gerald. Don’t be dim!” Lettice laughs. “It’s what’s inside.”

 

“Well show me then!” He uncrosses his arms for a moment to flip his left hand at it dismissively before returning to his bemused stance with arms akimbo. “You have my attention.”

 

Lettice tears the lid from the box excitedly and delves into a froth of noisy, snowy white tissue paper before withdrawing a beautiful hat of straw – not quite a cloche and not quite a picture hat but something in between – decorated with a lustrous oyster coloured satin ribbon, three white feathers and a rather fetching peach coloured ornamental flower. As she lifts it out, a receipt flutters face down onto the tabletop. Gerald goes to pick it up. “No! No! No!” Lettice says, brushing his hand away before placing the hat neatly over her coiffed blonde Marcelle***** waves. Positioning herself in a rather dramatic, yet elegant pose, she asks, “What do you think, Gerald?”

 

“I say darling!” Gerald gasps, his hands rising to his mouth where a broad smile appears. “That’s a rather natty looking chapeau!”

 

“Good enough to go with your frock to Princess Mary’s wedding?”

 

“I should say so!” Then he pauses for a moment and ponders the cardboard packaging again. “But that isn’t a Madame Gwendolyn hatbox.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” Lettice replies with a smirk, but says no more as she places the hat on the tabletop next to the hatbox and the receipt, which still lies face down. Gerald quickly reaches again for the latter, but Lettice snatches it up in her own hands before he can reach it. “No! No! No!” she repeats, wagging a finger warningly at her friend.

 

Gerald looks at the hat again, and then at the mischievous look on Lettice’s pretty face. “Well then? Who made it? You have me intrigued.”

 

“Well, I’m going to create a fashion first at the royal wedding.” Lettice announces mysteriously.

 

“It’s a beautiful chapeau darling, but I’d hardly say that it’s a fashion first.”

 

Lettice holds up a finger to silence him, before then revealing the printed side of the receipt. Gerald’s eyes grow wide as he takes in the typed letters and logo at the top.

 

“Selfridges? You bought this hat at Selfridges?” he splutters unbelievably. “But it’s so…”

 

“Stylish?”

 

“Very à la mode! I can scarcely believe it!”

 

“Well, not everything Mr. Selfridge has is fit only for shop girls and typists, Gerald, contrary to what you and others may believe. He has some Parisian models exclusively for his department store. And it only cost me nine pounds, nine and sixpence! Can you believe that rogue Madame Gwendolyn was going to charge me nine pounds alone just to refurbish an existing hat of hers that she hasn’t been able to sell with some new ribbons and frou-frou?”

 

“Well, this is far better value for money, I must say.” Gerald picks up the hat and takes a closer look at the fine stitching around the hatband and how seamlessly the ornamental flower appears to be affixed.

 

“And that’s how I’m going to create a fashion first at Princess Mary’s wedding!” Lettice claps her hands in delight.

 

Gerald looks at her perplexed for a moment, then glances at the hat and them back into Lettice’s mirth filled face. His eyes widen again. “Surely… surely not, Lettice! You can’t!” he splutters.

 

“Why not Gerald?”

 

“It’s a royal wedding for heaven’s sake! You can’t seriously expect to wear a hat from Selfridges to a royal wedding? You’re the youngest daughter of the Viscount Wrexham!”

 

“No-one would actually know it was a Selfridges hat, Gerald, except you and me, oh and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon****** because I alluded to my potential plan when I saw her a few days ago.”

 

“Oh wonderful!” Gerald throws his hands in the air in despair. “You told one of Her Royal Highness’ bridesmaids!”

 

“Elizabeth won’t say anything, Gerald.” Lettice assures her friend. “Anyway, she’ll be far too busy on the day with bridesmaids duties to even see my hat, never mind pass remarks on it.”

 

“And what will Sadie say, when she finds out?”

 

“She doesn’t need to know any more than anyone else, Gerald. I’m surprised you’d even countenance the idea.” Lettice casts an astonished look at her friend. “I think I’d rather tell Her Royal Highness that it’s a Selfridges hat than tell Mater!”

 

“Well, she’ going to know it isn’t from Madame Gwendolyn, because it isn’t, and that’s where she gets her hats from, including the one she will be wearing to Westminster Abbey, I’m sure.”

 

“Oh, I’ll just tell her that I’ve found a fabulous new designer who is more representative of the modern woman.” Lettice remarks offhandedly. “Those last two words will be enough to stop her making further enquiries.”

 

“Imagine a Selfridges hat at a royal wedding,” chuckles Gerald. “You’ll bring the establishment down yet, Lettice darling, piece by piece, with your modern woman thoughts.”

 

Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so in early 1922 when this story is set, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch. For somewhere as socially important as Princess Mary’s 1922 wedding, a matching hat, parasol, handbag or reticule and gloves to go with a lady’s chosen frock were essential.

 

*Mary, Princess Royal and Countess of Harewood (1897 – 1965), was the only daughter of King George V and Queen Mary. She was the sister of Kings Edward VIII and George VI, and aunt of Queen Elizabeth II. She married Viscount Lascelles on the 28th of February 1922 in a ceremony held at Westminster Abbey. The bride was only 24 years old, whilst the groom was 39. There is much conjecture that the marriage was an unhappy one, but their children dispute this and say it was a very happy marriage based upon mutual respect. The wedding was filmed by Pathé News and was the first royal wedding to be featured in fashion magazines, including Vogue.

 

**Guipure lace is a delicate fabric made by twisting and braiding the threads to craft incredible designs that wows the eye. Guipure lace fabrics distinguish themselves from other types of lace by connecting the designs using bars or subtle plaits instead of setting them on a net.

 

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

 

****Molinard Habanita was launched in 1921. Molinard say that Habanita was the first women’s fragrance to strongly feature vetiver as an ingredient – something hitherto reserved for men, commenting that ‘Habanita’s innovative style was eagerly embraced by the garçonnes – France’s flappers – and soon became Molinard’s runaway success and an icon in the history of French perfume.’ Originally conceived as a scent for cigarettes – inserted via glass rods or to sprinkle from a sachet – women had begun sprinkling themselves with it instead, and Molinard eventually released it as a personal fragrance.

 

*****Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.

 

******Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon as she was known in 1922 went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to" She was one of Princess Mary’s eight bridesmaids at her 1922 wedding.

 

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 including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lettice’s elegant Selfridges straw hat sitting on the black japanned coffee table is decorated with an oyster satin ribbon, three feathers and an ornamental flower. The maker for this hat is unknown, but I acquitted it through Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism as this one is are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.

 

The beautiful coloured card hatbox came from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay, whilst the receipt is a 1:12 miniature receipt, produced to exacting standards by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Lettice’s snakeskin handbag with its golden clasp and chain also comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

Next to the telephone stands a glass vase containing blue dried flowers (although you can’t see the flowers in the photo). The vase is made of hand spun glass. These items I have had since I was a teenager when I acquired them from a high street doll and miniatures stockist.

 

The red elephant to the upper right-hand corner of the photo is actually a glass bead and used to be part of a necklace which fell apart long before I bought it. It and many other elephants from the necklace in red and white glass came in a box of bits I thought would make good miniature editions that I bought at a flea market some fifteen years ago.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.

Self. Feb 21st.

 

The spinal dorsal Egyptian tattoo means "smooth". "Lisse", in French. It was the name of my black rabbit.

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Free download under CC Attribution (CC BY 4.0). Please credit the artist and rawpixel.com.

Ethereal collection of illustrated artworks by the Dutch artist Theodorus “Theo” van Hoytema (1863-1917). He was employed as a draughtsman in the Zoological Museum in Leiden where he was able to draw much inspiration from the natural form of animals. Theo was known as a book illustrator, painter, aquarellist, and etcher and is renowned for his incredibly detailed lithographic work. He was inspired by French Art Nouveau movement and Japanese graphic art which influenced him to create innovative floral and animal motives. De Hoytema published several picture books for children, including the well-known The Ugly Duckling. In later years, he also published calendars, some of which can be found in this collection. We have digitally enhanced these beautiful litographs of animals, birds, and plants for you to enjoy and download to use under the CC0 license.

Higher resolutions with no attribution required can be downloaded: https://www.rawpixel.com/board/1300240/theo-van-hoytema-sketches-illustrations-i-hd-public-domain-vintage-art

 

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This opaque glass Art Deco shade of an unusual, bulbulous shape features a geometric pattern picked out by hand in red, black and green paint. It appears atop a 1920s chrome standard lamp with a Bakelite base.

 

Private collection.

This opaque glass Art Deco shade of an unusual, bulbulous shape features a geometric pattern picked out by hand in red, black and green paint. It appears atop a 1920s chrome standard lamp with a Bakelite base.

 

Private collection.

ATC with hand-made Japanese paper doll. Traded to cashplant.

 

Materials: Background (art deco pattern on paper, embellished with cutout); kimono (origami washi); nylon cord on obi; hair decor (nail rubber 3-D sticker).

said I wasn't going to do another ...

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