Rolling countryside 5 kilometres west of Nottingham Road in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands, much of it brown and barren as befits the dry but often very pleasant local midwinter. This shot is taken from the car park of the Blueberry Café, a handy refreshment spot just 4 minutes from the N3 Durban to Jo'burg motorway.

This distinctive-looking dog breed has a proud, independent spirit that some describe as catlike.

With his deep-set eyes and large head, accentuated by a mane of hair, the Chow Chow (Chow for short) is an impressive-looking dog. His looks might make you think he's mean or ill-tempered, but a well-bred and well-raised Chow isn't aggressive.

Instead, it's said that the Chow combines the nobility of a lion, the drollness of a panda, the appeal of a teddybear, the grace and independence of a cat, and the loyalty and devotion of a dog. He's also dignified and aloof, as befits a breed that was once kept in imperial Chinese kennels.

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

Details best viewed in Original Size.

 

Duomo di Milano Madonnina's Spire, Italy (Large - Digital)

In 1762 one of the main features of the cathedral, the Madonnina's spire, was erected at the dizzying height of 356 feet (108.5 m). The spire was designed by Carlo Pellicani and sports at the top a famous polychrome Madonnina (Gold Madonna) statue, designed by Giuseppe Perego that befits the stature of the cathedral. Given Milan's notoriously damp and foggy climate, the Milanese consider it a fair-weather day when the Madonnina is visible from a distance, as it is so often covered by mist.

The Milan Cathedral (Duomo di Milano), or more formally the Metropolitan Cathedral-Basilica of the Nativity of Saint Mary (Basilica cattedrale metropolitana di Santa Maria Nascente), is the cathedral church of Milan, Lombardy, Italy. Dedicated to the Nativity of St. Mary (Santa Maria Nascente), it is the seat of the Archbishop of Milan, as of this writing Archbishop Mario Delpini. The cathedral took nearly six centuries to complete: construction began in 1386, and was declared completed in 1965. It is the largest (by volume) church in the Italian Republic—the larger St. Peter's Basilica is in the State of Vatican City, a sovereign state—and the third largest in the world. Again, the Vatican’s St. Peter's Basilica is the largest in the world. The second largest is Catedral Basílica do Santuário Nacional de Nossa Senhora Aparecida in Aparecida, Brazil, with the Duomo di Milano in third place, and New York City’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine in fourth.

In 1386, Archbishop Antonio da Saluzzo began construction of the cathedral. The last details of the cathedral were finished only in the 20th century: the last portal was inaugurated on 6 January 1965. This date is considered the very end of a process which had progressed for generations, although even now, some uncarved blocks remain to be completed as statues. The Allied bombing of Milan in World War II further delayed construction. Like many other cathedrals in cities bombed by the Allied forces, the Duomo suffered some damage, although to a lesser degree compared to other major buildings in the vicinity such as the La Scala Theatre. It was quickly repaired and became a place of solace and gathering for displaced local residents.

Additional information on the Duomo di Milano may be obtained at Wikipedia.

 

Explored October 26, 2024.

Zoë (strangers 10)

It was time for lunch. Zoë was having lunch, neatly dressed in her black work clothes as befits someone who works in a fancy department store, she sells expensive handmade (ladies) bags. I was allowed to disturb her for a moment, she had already eaten enough. The salad she had ordered was way too big for her. It looked very tasty, but enough is enough.

I was allowed to take a picture of her as she sat there, outside at the tables in front of the restaurant in the center of Rotterdam. Thanks Zoë.

This is already the 10th picture of the 5th round of the 100stangersproject.

Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the group 100 Strangers | Flickr: www.flickr.com/groups/100strangers/

 

After arriving at Swithland Sidings with the 11.55 demonstration goods train with BR Standard 9F 92214 we went into the Up Loop, ran round and sat on the north end of the train to wait for the road.

 

The 12.15 Leicester train was double-headed by Ivatt 2-6-0 46521 and GWR Modified Hall 4-6-0 6990 Witherslack Hall and is seen passing us on the Up Main. Both engines are in BR Brunswick Green livery as befits post-nationalisation Swindon-built engines

It's always good to catch up with Clive and one of his fantastic cars. I've bumped into or met up with him over the last few years and his passion, research and attention to detail on his cars is great to see.

 

This year for Windsor he brought along a brand new car rather than one of his classic sportscars, in the guise of this breathtaking Alfa Romeo.

 

To celebrate their 90th Anniversary, Milan's Touring Superleggera decided to coachbuild seven Spyder verisons of their recent take on the classic Disco Volante Alfa, itself based on the gorgeous Alfa 8C V8. Owners have to provide the donor Alfa, following which Touring spend six months remodelling.

 

Clive's car is number 1 of 7, finished in striking Cerulean Blue and as befits a truly coachbuilt car, some details that are specific to this car alone. It has spent the year on the 2016 global concours circuit, winning the Design Award at Villa d'Este along the way...

 

www.motorsportinpictures.com

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Lettice?” Lady Sadie remarks quizzically.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Matchmaking, Mamma?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Lettice…” Lady Sadie’s voice cracks.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

The northern summer sky at night features the Milky Way beautifully arching over the landscape. This was my first panorama after a 1-1/2 year hiatus from astrophotography. The landscape of Craters of the Moon is equally stunning, and befits the night scape very well.

 

Panorama, 6 frames of 3 exposures each. Pre-processed in Adobe Lightroom, stitched in Hugin, and post-processed in Lightroom and GIMP.

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

 

Today however we are a short distance away from Cavendish Mews, skirting Hyde Park, travelling southwest through the refined Regency era houses of Belgravia to the well-heeled borough of Knightsbridge. There, within a stone’s throw of Harrods, in a fine red brick five storey Victorian terrace house in Edgerton Gardens, Lettice is attending the wedding breakfast* of her friend and debutante of the 1922 London Season, Priscilla Kitson-Fahey to American Georgie Carter. The Carters are a good Philadelphian society family, although they do come from money made through the uniquely American invention of the department store. However, this has been graciously overlooked by Priscilla’s widowed mother, Cynthia, in light of the fortune Georgie stands to inherit and the lavish allowance he is willing to spend on she and her daughter. Hired at great expense from a brewer’s family who own several properties throughout Knightsbridge, the furbished terrace house has been decked out with a profusion of gay flower arrangements as befits the celebration, whilst Gunter and Company** who are catering the breakfast, have erected a red and white striped marquee over the front entrance.

 

It is in the Edgerton Gardens terrace’s first floor reception room overlooking the garden square, where the wedding gifts to the new Mr. and Mrs. Carter are being displayed, that we find Lettice with her old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Lettice was supposed to have been escorted to the wedding by Selwyn Spencely, the eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford, whom she has been discreetly seeing socially since having met him at her parent’s Hunt Ball in February. Unfortunately, Selwyn was called away on family business at the last moment, so Gerald has gallantly stepped in to accompany his best friend as he too has been invited to the wedding.

 

“I say,” whispers Gerald quietly to Lettice. “I shall never get used to a room full of Americans.” He looks about him. “They all speak so loudly.”

 

Lettice notes the voluble chatter washing about them, mostly voiced in strident midwestern American accents. Pricking up her ears momentarily, she catches snippets of conversations, for the most part about the wedding at the Brompton Oratory***, the bride’s wedding gown and what hats ladies were wearing, but also a man’s voice talking about buying Captain Cuttle**** from his owner, and one woman loudly and indiscreetly regaling some of her fellow Americans with stories about her presentation to the Prince of Wales***** in the Mayfair drawing room of a well-connected British friend.

 

“What is it they are saying now?” Lettice ponders quietly in reply to her friend. “Obtain a young heiress, or sell an old master.”

 

“Something like that.” Gerald muses. “Although in this case it’s a young heir.”

 

“So, we shall just have to get used to it as the Americans infiltrate our best, yet most penniless families.” Lettice pokes her friend in the ribs jovially. “Perhaps we’ll find you a wealthy heiress today.”

 

“Heaven help me!” Gerald throws up his hands in melodramatic mime.

 

“At least they are saying nice things about Cilla’s frock,” Lettice whispers with a smile as she catches her friend’s eye. “You’ll have a new flurry of women cloying for a frock or two from the House of Bruton when they see the going away outfit you designed for her.”

 

“Lord save me from Americans and their dry good store money.” Gerald mutters.

 

“I know you don’t mean that, Gerald.” Lettice scoffs, slapping his hand lightly with her own white glove clad hand. “Any money is good money for you, dry goods store or otherwise. At least this way you can enjoy American money without having to make a sham marriage to gain benefit from it. That will please your young musician friend, Cyril.”

 

“I think you are fast becoming a capitalist, my darling.” Gerald deflects, blushing at Lettice’s comment about his new companion whom she recently met in passing at his friend Harriet’s house in Putney on the south side of the Thames.

 

“Oh?” Lettice queries. “I thought you said I was a Communist.”

 

“Either way, they are both terrible, darling!” Gerald laughs.

 

Lettice titters along with him. She pauses for a moment and contemplates. “Gerald, what is a dry goods store, anyway?”

 

“No idea, darling.” He shrugs his shoulders. “However, whatever it is, it is strictly American, and they seem to make a great deal of money over there.”

 

“Thinking of money, I see old Lady Marchmont has given away another of her pieces of family silver.” Lettice discreetly indicates to a silver salver gleaming at the rear of a sideboard cluttered with wedding gifts and cards.

 

“Well, if she can’t afford to buy new pieces as gifts.”

 

“Yes, I suppose the death duties that had to be paid ate up most of the estate.”

 

“And with her husband, and all three of her sons killed in the war,” Gerald adds pragmatically. “Who is she going to leave what little she still has of the family silver to?”

 

“God bless Harrold, Morris and Vincent.” Lettice says.

 

“We need a drink if we’re going to toast our war dead.” Gerald says with a sigh. “I’ll go find us some champagne.”

 

Leaving Lettice’s side, Gerald wends his way through the beautifully dressed wedding guests, quickly disappearing from view amid the mixture of morning suits, feather decorated hats and matching frocks.

 

Lettice sighs and wanders over to the sideboard bearing Lady Marchmont’s silver salver and admires some of the other wedding gifts in front of it. Silver candelabras jostle for space with crystal vases and wine decanters. A very sleek and stylish coffee set she recognises from Asprey’s****** has been generously given by the Wannamaker family of Society Hill******* she discovers as she picks up the wedding card featuring a bride in an oval frame holding a bouquet in her hands. A Royal Doulton dinner service garlanded with boiseries of apricot roses and leaves is stacked up alongside Lady Marchmont’s salver and a pair of Meissen figurines also in shades of apricot and beautifully gilded hold court amidst all the other gifts.

 

“No Spencely today, Miss Chetwynd?” a well enunciated voice observes behind Lettice.

 

Gasping, she spins around to find the tall and elegant figure of Sir John Nettleford-Hughes standing before her.

 

Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a time when such men are a rare commodity, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her Hunt Ball earlier in the year, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Luckily Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Now, as he stands before Lettice, Sir John oozes the confidence of male privilege that his sex, class and enormous wealth bestows, and he wears it every bit as well as the smart and well-cut morning suit he is dressed in. The rather leering smile he gives her fills her with repugnance and Lettice shudders as Sir John takes up her glove clad right hand in his and draws it to his lips where he kisses it.

 

“Sir John,” Lettice says uncomfortably acknowledging him, a shudder rippling through her figure at his touch. “I didn’t see you at the church service.”

 

“Oh, I wasn’t there, Miss Chetwynd.” he replies flippantly, releasing Lettice’s hand, which she quickly withdraws. “I’m not much of a church goer myself,” Surprised by his blatant confession of not being particularly religious, Lettice falters, but Sir John saves her having to say anything by adding, “Especially since the war. Like Arthur Conan Doyle, I’m more into spiritualism these days than God********.”

 

“Indeed.” Lettice acknowledges. Changing the subject she continues rather stiffly, “I… I didn’t know you were acquainted with Priscilla, or is it Georgie you know.”

 

“Oh no, not the American. No.” he replies seriously. “I’m distantly related to Priscilla’s mother. We’re third cousins or some such,” Sir John sighs in boredom as he gesticulates languidly with his hand in which he holds a half empty champagne flute. “Which I suppose entitles me to an invitation to this rather vulgar show.” He looks with a critical scowl around the room full of rather beautiful, yet at the same time ostentatious, flower arrangements and all the guests milling about with glasses of champagne or wine in their hands chattering around them. He looks at the sideboard weighed down with expensive wedding gifts that Lettice had been inspecting. “Not that I’d imagine Cynthia paid for any of this, even if it is the bride’s family’s duty to host the wedding breakfast. I suppose the abrogation of such duties is one’s prerogative when as a virtually bankrupt widow, you have an American department store millionaire heir as a new son-in-law.” He cocks a well manicured eyebrow at Lettice to gauge her reaction, allowing it to sink with disappointment when she fails to respond. “Americans don’t tend to hold with tradition like we British do.” He nods and smiles at a passing acquaintance who catches his eye over Lettice’s left shoulder, raising his glass in acknowledgement. “No, I have no doubt that the Carters of Philadelphia have footed the bill not only for the wedding breakfast, but the European sojourn honeymoon for the young couple too. No doubt Cynthia, as my poor relation, wishes to show off her new found good fortune which isn’t even hers by rights. Why on earth should the couple go to Paris, when Edinburgh would have done equally as well. They do love splashing their rather grubby parvenu money about so, don’t they?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Why Americans of course, my dear Miss Chetwynd. Those from the New World are always so showy. I’m sure you agree.” Lettice is saved from having to give an answer when Sir John adds, “The Carters probably even paid for Priscilla’s wedding dress. It’s not one of your friend Bruton’s, is it?”

 

“No, Sir John. It’s a Lanvin********, I believe.” Lettice answers laconically, trying to avoid the scrutinising, sparkling blue eyed gaze of Sir John, which as at the Hunt Ball, runs up and down her figure appraisingly, making her feel as though he were undressing her before the entire company walking about them.

 

“Pity. He could have done rather well for himself grabbing at some of those shiny American dollars of Georgie’s.”

 

Lettice chooses not to mention the fact that Gerald has made the bride’s going away outfit as well as several evening frocks. “Well, Sir John,” she begins, smiling awkwardly. “It has been delightful to…”

 

“You know,” Sir John cuts her off, his eyes widening as his gaze intensifies. “You never did show me that portrait of Marie Antoinette that your father owns, like your mother promised at the Hunt Ball.”

 

“I’m quite sure that my mother would be only too glad to…”

 

“I was rather disappointed by your behaviour the night of the ball, Miss Chetwynd.” he interrupts abruptly.

 

“My behaviour, Sir John?”

 

“Your deliberate avoidance of me.” he elucidates.

 

“Sir John!” Lettice blushes at being so easily caught out. “I… I…”

 

“I think it is high time you made amends by you,” He adds emphasis to the last word. “Showing me that painting.”

 

“Well, I’m very sorry to disappoint you Sir John, but I am frightfully busy with a new commission here in London. I very much doubt I shall be back down at Glynes before November. Even then, it will be for my brother Leslie’s wedding. And then of course it is Christmas.”

 

“And you’ve had your head turned by young Spencely.” he utters, stunning Lettice with his knowledge of her and Selwyn’s recent involvement with one another. “Oh yes, I know.”

 

“Sir John!” Lettice gasps, blushing again at his flagrant statement.

 

“But as I noted when I saw you just now, he isn’t here today, is he?” His eyebrows knit as he speaks. Once again, he doesn’t wait for a reply. “And I know for a fact that up until a few days ago, his name was on the list of wedding guests, as your escort.”

 

“How can you know that, Sir John?” Lettice gasps in surprise. “We have been very discreet.”

 

“Because Cynthia isn’t my dear Miss Chetwynd. She has been trying, rather unsuccessfully I might add, to rub my nose in her new-found turn of fortunes by telling me about all the great and good of London society who will be attending her daughter’s wedding to the American. It’s quite a coup considering that were this not such a grand occasion thanks to her son-in-law’s family new money, none of those she was crowing about to me would have even considered accepting her invitation. Not that she could have afforded to invite them without the Carter’s money. As the widow of a rather insignificant man of an obscure and penurious parochial family, she was rather chuffed to have the eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford on her invitation list thanks to an advantageous connection with one of her daughter’s nightclub acquaintances – you, Miss Chetwynd. An invitation made at your request, Miss Chetwynd. Yet he isn’t here today, and you came on your own.”

 

Lettice’s cheeks flush bright red at Sir John’s insinuation. “I’ll have you know I came with Gera…” she begins hotly.

 

“Bruton was already on the list of invited guests, Miss Chetwynd.” Sir John interrupts her protestations. “I believe that like you, he is part of a coterie of Bright Young Things********* who attend the Embassy Club on Bond Street with Priscilla. That’s how you all come to be connected. Isn’t that so?”

 

Lettice nods like a chided child, with a lowered glance.

 

“And do you know why Spencely didn’t come today, Miss Chetwnd?”

 

“Yes I do,” she answers in a deflated fashion, Sir John’s question having knocked the bluster out of her. “He’s entertaining his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers at Clendon**********.”

 

“And do you know why that is?”

 

“Yes, because his mother, Lady Zinnia, organised it, so that Selwyn might reacquaint himself with his cousin after many years of separation. He is to be a chaperone to her when she debuts next year.”

 

Sir John chuckles to himself as he catches Lettice’s stare with his own and holds it for an unnerving few moments. “If you say so, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“What are you laughing at? It’s true, Sir John. Selwyn told me himself.”

 

“Oh I’m sure he did, my dear. However, it was no coincidence that Pamela’s arrival at Clendon coincided with Priscilla’s wedding.”

 

“What do mean, Sir John?” Lettice asks warily. She thinks back through their conversation for a moment, her temperature rising as she whispers angrily, “Did you tell Lady Zinnia about Selwyn escorting me here today?”

 

“Now, now, Miss Chetwynd. Temper, temper.” He smiles lasciviously, the sudden spark in Lettice seeming to attract him even more to her.

 

“Did you?”

 

“You young people are rather tiresome with your intrigues.” he sighs. “No, I did not Miss Chetwynd. It would have done me no favours to put a wedge between you and Spencely.” He eyes her again before continuing, “Now look, I know you don’t like me, Miss Chetwynd. You’ve made that quite clear.”

 

“Sir John!” Lettice tries weakly to protest but is silenced by his raised hands.

 

“Don’t pretend my dear Miss Chetwynd. You loathe me, so therefore, I owe you no favours. Yet nevertheless, I feel you need to hear this. Perhaps it will be better received from me, someone you detest who has no vested interest in your happiness, rather than a friend whose kindness may be perceived as unwelcome interference.” He pauses for a moment, his mouth a tight line beneath his silver grey moustache. “Don’t tip your cap at young Spencely. You’re wasting your time. He isn’t free to make a marriage of his own choosing.”

 

Lettice utters a scornful laugh as she rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me that you believe that marriages are made by mothers, too, Sir John?” She folds her arms akimbo defiantly across her chest, suddenly filled with a sense of determination to stand up to this man who is obviously and ridiculously jealous that her head has been turned by a handsome young man, rather than by his wealth. “I’ve heard that enough from my own mother.”

 

“In this case it is true, although Lady Sadie has no more say in who Spencely marries than either he or you do. Lady Zinnia is the one who pulls the strings. Not even the Duke would dare go against her when it comes to matters of marriage. It was decided long ago whom he should marry.”

 

Lettice laughs again. “And who might that be?”

 

“Well, I should have thought that would have been obvious to a young lady of some intelligence like you.”

 

“Pamela Fox-Chavers?”

 

“Exactly!” Sir John sighs satisfactorily. “You’re finally catching on. You may not be quite as bright as I first assumed you to be, but you aren’t a complete dullard like so many other addle headed young flappers.” He indicates with a discreet motion to a young girl in lemon yellow giggling girlishly with another flapper in pale pink as they whisper behind their hands at the passing parade of young American men.

 

“But Pamela is Selwyn’s cousin!” Lettice retorts, her eyes growing wide.

 

“True, but she’s only a distant one, and you must confess that it isn’t unusual for cousins to marry cousins. Look at the Royal Family. It’s been happening for hundreds of years to help preserve blood lines and seal the lines of succession.”

 

“But he barely knows her.”

 

“Be that as it may, the decision has been made, my dear Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“You make it sound like a fait accompli, Sir John.”

 

“And so it is.”

 

“But you seem to forget, Sir John, although you are the one who is privy to the knowledge of it, that I am currently pursuing a romantic relationship with Selwyn Spencely, and he with me. I have no intention of giving way so easily, especially for a person whom he barely knows and whom he has no affection for.”

 

“And I just told you to forget about marrying him.” Sir John retorts loftily in a lowered voice. “He is not at liberty to marry you, whatever you and he may think or try to convince yourselves to the contrary.” He affixes her again, his blue eyes piercing her. “If you pursue young Spencely as you so gallantly claim you will, then best you sharpen your lance, Miss Chetwynd. Lady Zinnia is no-one to trifle with. You think you and Spencely have been discreet up until now, but I can assure you, discreet or not, Zinnia will already know all about you and her son, and she will put a stop to your budding romance,” The last two words are spat out in a derisive tone which makes Lettice shudder. “Sooner or later, when it suits her intentions best. And when she does, it will be a spectacular and painful fall from the lofty battlements of love’s tower, my dear Miss Chetwynd. Zinnia is a hard woman who enjoys inflicting hurt onto others. It, along with collecting porcelain, is one of her greatest pleasures in life.” He points his empty champagne flute at her. “Just don’t come crawling to me cap in hand after it happens.” He arches his elegant eyebrows over his cold blue eyes. “You have been warned.”

 

“Thank you for your warning, Sir John.” Lettice replies in a steely and cold manner, squaring her jaw and tilting her head haughtily.

 

“I wish I could say it was my pleasure.” he replies resignedly. “Goodbye, Miss Chetwynd.” He turns his back on her and walks away without another word.

 

As Lettice watches his slender figure glide between the milling groups, quickly disappearing amidst the sea of bobbing heads and hats, Gerald returns with two flutes of champagne.

 

“What did that old letch want?” Gerald asks, following Lettice’s gaze, noticing Sir John’s retreating figure.

 

“Oh nothing,” Lettice says with a shrug of her shoulders and a shuddering breath. “He was just spitting sour grapes and venomous lies at me because I spurned his affections at the Hunt Ball.”

 

“Really?” Gerald’s eyes grow wide. “How disgusting!”

 

As she sips her effervescent champagne and listens absently to Gerald chat, she quietly tries to dismiss all Sir John just told her from her mind, but she can’t quite manage it. A knot forms in her stomach and the thoughts running through her head sours the taste of champagne on her lips.

 

*A wedding breakfast is a feast given to the newlyweds and guests after the wedding, making it equivalent to a wedding reception that serves a meal. The phrase is still used in British English, as opposed to the description of reception, which is American in derivation. Before the beginning of the Twentieth Century they were traditionally held in the morning, but this fashion began to change after the Great War when they became a luncheon. Regardless of when it was, a wedding breakfast in no way looked like a typical breakfast, with fine savoury food and sweet cakes being served. Wedding breakfasts were at their most lavish in the Edwardian era through to the Second World War

 

**Gunter and Company were London caterers and ball furnishers with shops in Berkley Square, Sloane Street, Lowndes Street and New Bond Street. They began as Gunter’s Tea Shop at 7 and 8 Berkley Square 1757 where it remained until 1956 as the business grew and opened different premises. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Gunter's became a fashionable light eatery in Mayfair, notable for its ices and sorbets. Gunter's was considered to be the wedding cake makers du jour and in 1889, made the bride cake for the marriage of Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, Princess Louise of Wales. Even after the tea shop finally closed, the catering business carried on until the mid 1970s.

 

***The Brompton Oratory is a large neo-classical Roman Catholic church in the Knightsbridge area of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, London. Its full name is the Church of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The foundation stone was laid in June 1869; and the new church designed by Herbert Dribble was consecrated on 16 April 1884. The church is faced in Portland stone, with the vaults and dome in concrete; the latter was heightened in profile and the cupola added in 1869. It was the largest Catholic church in London before the opening of Westminster Cathedral in 1903. Catholic aristocrats who married at the church include John Crichton-Stuart, 3rd Marquess of Bute, and Gwendoline Fitzalan-Howard in 1872, Lord William Beauchamp Nevill and Mabel Murietta in1889, Bernard Fitzalan-Howard, 16th Duke of Norfolk, and Lavinia Strutt in 1937, Simon Fraser, 15th Lord Lovat, and Rosamund Broughton in 1938, Peter Kerr, 12th Marquess of Lothian, and Antonella Newland in1943), Anthony Noel, 5th Earl of Gainsborough, and Mary Stourton in 1947 and Julian Asquith, 2nd Earl of Oxford and Asquith, and Anne Palairet in 1947). Others who married at the church include Lord of Appeal in Ordinary Baron Russell of Killowen, traveller and landowner John Talbot Clifton and author Violet Clifton in 1907) and Australian rules footballer Joe Fogarty in 1916.

 

****Captain Cuttle, ridden by jockey Steve Donaghue won the Derby at Epsom racecourse in June 1922.

 

*****The Prince of Wales would later become Edward VIII, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Empire and Emperor of India from 20th of January 1936 until his abdication in December of the same year when he married American divorcée, Wallis Simpson. As well as a penchant for married woman, David, the Prince of Wales, had a great fondness for Americans and enjoyed their more relaxed and modern attitudes.

 

******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’.

 

*******Society Hill is a historic upper-class neighborhood in Center City Philadelphia.

 

********By the end of his life, in 1930, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes, was a fervent believer in spiritualism, having spent decades researching ghosts, fairies and the paranormal. His fascination with the supernatural grew after his son Kingsley and his younger brother, Innes, battle-weary from service in World War I, died amid the worldwide influenza pandemic shortly after returning home.

 

*********Jeanne Lanvin (1867 – 1946) was a French haute couture fashion designer. She founded the Lanvin fashion house and the beauty and perfume company Lanvin Parfums. She became an apprentice milliner at Madame Félix in Paris at the age of 16 and trained with Suzanne Talbot and Caroline Montagne Roux before becoming a milliner on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré in 1889. In 1909, Jeanne joined the Syndicat de la Couture, which marked her formal status as a couturière. The clothing she made for her daughter began to attract the attention of a number of wealthy people who requested copies for their own children. Soon, Jeanne was making dresses for their mothers, and some of the most famous names in Europe were included in the clientele of her new boutique on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. By 1922 when this story is set, she had just opened her first shop devoted to home décor, menswear, furs and lingerie. Her gowns were always very feminine and romantic.

 

*********The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.

 

**********Clendon is the family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford in Buckinghamshire.

 

Any bride would be only too happy to receive such an array of wedding gifts, however, however real they may appear, these are all items from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The silver coffee set on the square tray, the egg cruet set, the condiments caddy, the champagne bucket and the two candlesticks are all made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The two hand painted Meissen figures are also made by Warwick Miniatures. The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the sideboard is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist. The two silver water jugs were acquired from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The silver statue of the ballet dancers on the far right of the photo came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. The sods siphon, the bulbous glass vase and the glass jug are made from hand spun glass and have been made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The floral edged dinner service I acquired from an online stockist of miniatures through E-Bay. Lady Marchmont’s silver salver is a miniature I have had since I was around six or seven years old. All the Edwardian wedding cards are artisan pieces. Each is a 1:12 miniature version of a real wedding card, and all have ben made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The sideboard that can be seen laden with wedding gifts is of Queen Anne design. It was given to me when I was six. It has three opening drawers with proper drawer pulls and each is lined with red velvet.

 

The very realistic floral arrangements in tall vases are made by hand by Falcon Miniatures in America who specialise in high end miniatures.

 

The paintings on the walls came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom.

 

The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Graceful, historic Hoi An is known as Veitnam’s most atmospheric and delightful town. Once a major port, it boasts the grand architecture and beguiling riverside setting that befits its heritage.The face of the Old Town has preserved its incredible legacy of tottering Japanese merchant houses, Chinese temples and ancient tea warehouses – though, unfortunately, residents and rice fields have been gradually replaced by tourist businesses. And yet, down by the market I find life has changed little – Hoi An, Vietnam

False door of princess Uhemnefret (2543-2435 B.C. Old Kingdom 4th dynasty) - Provenance: Giza - western necropolis / mastaba of Uhem-neferet - Egyptian Museum of Turin

 

Nella tabella centrale in alto si riconosce la defunta Uhemnefret seduta di fronte a una tavola, sulla quale si trova una fila di fette di pane rappresentate in verticale, secondo le convenzioni artistiche egizie. Immediatamente sotto la tabella, sull’architrave della falsa-porta, a sinistra, è indicato il nome della defunta preceduto da titoli ed epiteti che sottolineano l’appartenenza di Uhemnefret alla famiglia regale: “la figlia del re, la sua amata, venerabile presso suo padre, onorata presso sua madre”. Sugli stipiti esterni sono rappresentate coppie di persone rivolte verso il centro del monumento; nei quattro pannelli in alto si tratta di funzionari di rango elevato e membri della corte, a testimonianza dell’importanza della defunta. Alcuni di loro hanno nomi composti con nomi di faraoni (circondati dall’ovale detto “cartiglio”): “Possa-vivere-Cheope” o “La-bella-al-seguito-di-Snefru”. Il bambino raffigurato nudo e con il dito alla bocca sullo stipite interno destro in alto è invece, secondo l’iscrizione, Irenptah, il nipote della defunta. Negli altri pannelli sono raffigurati personaggi che trasportano offerte di vario tipo e sacerdoti addetti al culto funerario dopo la morte.

 

In the central panel at the top, we see the deceased woman, Wehemnefret, sitting in front of a table laden with bread slices. The slices are depicted vertically, as the conventions of Egyptian art prescribe. Immediately below the panel, on the left side of the lintel of the false-door, is the name of the deceased preceded by titles and epithets stressing that she is a member of the royal family: “The daughter of the king, beloved by him, honored before her father, honored before her mother.” On the outer jambs are several pairs of individuals facing towards the middle of the stela. In the four upper panels, these individuals are high-ranking officials and courtiers, as befits the importance of the deceased. Some have names incorporating royal names (surrounded by the oval called “cartouche”): “May-Cheops-live” or “The-beautiful-female-in-the-following-of-Snefru.” The nude child with his finger to his mouth on the right inner jamb, above, is identified by the inscription as Irenptah, the deceased’s grandson (“the son of her son”). In the other panels are individuals carrying various kinds of offerings and priests charged with the performance of the funerary cult.

This is another offering from my adventure in Street Photography in Cambridge this July (an adventure pursued with that of the panning bikes…).

 

Street photography is largely luck I think (I’ve not tried much before). But if you wait around luck happens eventually (keep clicking).

 

Apart from this I discovered two main things. Firstly it would help to choose a good background there and then hang around waiting for the luck - that way you can get lucky with a good background (a distinct learning point! And the second is that you often don’t spot the luck at the time - it’s only when you get back and look at the shots. That happened twice for me during this session, this is the first.

 

This is King Henry, he of the many headless wives. This is part of King’s College just down from the glorious bit of architecture that is King’s College Chapel. Henry founded the college and his Tudor rose motif is all over the place.

 

Henry supported the University generally as well as befits a King who has just appropriated a church for himself - the old universities were mainly involved in training folk in theology.

 

Partly as a result of his patronage, no doubt, Cambridge is now the university with the largest endowment in Europe. You don’t need to be privileged to be a student here (it’s no more expensive than other UK universities for UK students), just bright with a lively and curious mind.

 

I originally took this image because of the incongruity of Henry looking down and the builders’ prefab units underneath him. He is definitely not amused.

 

But then, reviewing this image, I spotted one of his direct filial descendants emerging from the contractor’s workers’ canteen underneath. I never realised Henry was bald, but without his hat the likeness is obvious. Even the beard and ‘tache are still there generations later… and the not-amused expression :)

 

You can also play spot-the-pigeon...

 

For Donnerstagsmonocrom…

 

Thank you for taking the time to look. I hope you enjoy the image. Happy Monochrome Thursday!

  

Rules:

Sun. Sand. Sea. Surf. Life is always better at the beach! Show us how your doll(s) enjoys island life. You can photograph whatever comes to mind! Just make sure your doll is ready to soak up some sun! Good luck, participants! :)

 

Well as Great Britain is an Island I thought it would be fun to create some images of Island Life in good Ol' Blighty! A day by the sea often involves sitting in the car with a thermos flask eating sandwiches while watching the crashing waves mix with the driving rain... I was inspired by Tim Burton's fabulous film Sweeney Todd featuring Helena Bonham Carter and Johnny Depp in full gothic mode! Of course, my models had to be the palest of pale skin tones, as befits the average Brit!

The Rueful Autumn is a customised Tigermouth gunship used by a special operations team of the Widebrim mercenary group; it is rugged and hard wearing as befits the group and survived many an encounter were the odds were stacked against it. A single pair of long ranged, tunnelling particle cannons as well as a micromine launcher make the ship more of a clever combatant than a back street brawler, but no combatant worth their salt attacks the Autumn without some serious forethought.

From International Studio an Illustrated Magazine of Fine and Applied Art, Volume XXXVII, No. 148, June 1909 p. 333.

 

(Source: The Internet Archive. archive.org/)

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

Glasgow. The announcement of an exhibition of work by the students at the Glasgow School of Art is sufficient

to create widespread interest at any time; when the work shown is by members of "The Club" the interest is no less keen, for some of the most distinguished former students are both members and contributors.

 

This year additional attraction was offered by the fine and applied art exhibits being arranged in a portion of the new wing, improvised as a picture gallery by the introduction of canvas over the brick [walls].

 

/ / /

 

Amongst the fifty or more examples of metal work and embroidery, the standard of excellence for which the school is noted was well maintained.

 

The accompanying illustrations will give some idea of the quality of work being done in the embroidery class.

 

The butterfly panel by Miss Helen A. Lamb, as our coloured reproduction shows, is a fine example of the new embroidery for which the school is noted.

 

The panel, with cross and motto, by Miss Douglas, executed in low tones as befits the subject, is no less striking. On dark grey linen ground, an arrangement in mauve, orange and blue silk, with a mingling of emerald-green and silver, outlined with orange-coloured beads, composes in a fine design.

 

Morning Glory, by Miss Hogg, is interesting alike in conception and execution. The angel of the morn emerges from the sun with its golden beams radiating in every direction. She is girdled with floral and pearly loveliness, crowned with golden circlet, robed with beauty and winged with fleetness to carry the joy of brightness to the uttermost parts of the earth. The whole idea is well conveyed, the choice of colours

excellent, the treatment admirable.

 

The fine old art of the needle is, after all, a choicer occupation for clever women than some which they take to nowadays.

archive.org/details/internationalstu3719unse/page/332/mod...

  

Mary Clandillon in her graduation finery and looking in contemplative mood, as befits a newly minted and highly educated Mary! Yes, us Marys do stick together :-) Coming from the Sheehy Skeffington collection we can expect that this young lady was involved in the struggle for women's rights, social justice, and perhaps the national struggle as well. But what can we find out?

 

Photographers: Lafayette Studio, Dublin

 

Collection: Sheehy-Skeffington Photographic Collection

 

Date: No date

 

NLI Ref: NPA SHE109

 

You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie

  

In honour of the stunning amount of rain we are currently having, I thought I would post a photo that would be fitting and very different from my usual. Oh hang on, not its not, it has rocks and water in it too! Oh well, I guess it doesn't have that sea salt smell ... thats all.

 

Hope everyone had a fantastic week and the weekend befits the recovery required.

 

Later Mater!

Shimakaze’s heels are rudders, as befits her naval-themed costume.

- - - - -

Created for the Smile on Saturday theme FOCUS ON HEELS.

This photo was taken by an ex-colleague Roger Hall, who has allowed it to be reproduced here and a fascinating image it is. Unfortunately I've yet to ascertain precisely where it is and at what date as LEV 1, one of the prototype BR railbuses of the '70s and '80s, had an interesting and quite complex life as befits an experimental unit. I'm fairly certain it is on LU property as Roger worked for LU at the time and that's an LU car behind (a D78 DM I suspect) but I'm happy to be corrected on this! It appears to be set up for visits - a short section of guide rope to keep you away fromt he open inspection pits, a short ladder to gain access and a shadowy figure inside! Jonathan, blow, has jogged the memory cells and I suspect it was either the Ruislip Depot Open Day of 18 July 1980 (quite an event with a T&W Metro car there as well as the BR APT train) or a preceding Engineering event.

 

LEV 1, seen here with its RDB number of 975874, the initials standing for Leyland Experimental Vehicles clearly shows its Leyland National bus body origins. The unit was constructed in 1978 and gained a Leyland power unit the following year. It was tested in service in the UK and then spent some time in the US int he eraly 1980s before being returned to home shores and eventual withdrawal in 1987. Since then it has been preserved as part of the NRM Collection.

 

There were various other LEVs and they, and variations on them, formed the basis of the BR Pacer family of units.

....younger (namely, my spouse when I show her), but I adore it and can’t wait to wear it out!❤️❤️❤️❤️

ho fatto grandi miglioramenti: ora è molto più robusto, ha 2 spade, e ho risolto un problema che c'era nelle braccia che mi impediva di farlo muovere, mi è anche venuta l' idea di sostituire lo scudo nexo cavalieri che ha nel petto e cambiando lo scudo si cambia un arma che si addice dipiù al disegno.

fatemi sapere voi che ne dite nei commenti.

  

translation:

I have made great improvements : it is now much more robust , has two swords , and I solved a problem that there was in the arms that prevented me to make it move , it also came up with the ' idea of ​​replacing the shield nexo knights who in the chest and changing the shield change a weapon that befits something extra to the design.

let me know what do you think in the comments.

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Faochag, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

De un viaje familiar a Ámsterdam me traje esta foto de recuerdo. El ajetreo de la gente yendo y viendo por una de sus calles más céntricas, llenas de tiendas de todo tipo como corresponde a una ciudad cosmopolita como ésta.

 

From a family trip to Amsterdam I brought this souvenir photo. The bustle of people coming and going through one of its most central streets, full of shops of all kinds as befits a cosmopolitan city like this.

In honour of the approaching spring, I am offering the sweet flower of my innocence to Lord Bone today - and I will be offering the same later to Lord Sidebottom, Lord Crumbold, Lord Potter, Lord Skelmersdale, Lord Barrington and Lord Munster. It's another busy Friday at The Salon!

 

This evening I drive down to Lyndon Towers in my red E-Type, to be reunited with my adoring husband. I will be spending the weekend in a round of civic and social duties, as befits a busy working Duchess!

 

Love and Kisses to All!

xxxxxx

Lady Rebecca Lyndon

Duchess of Basingstoke

 

PS If you like this dress from Alice & Elmer (my favourite designers for bodycon clothing), then vote for it in this contest!! There are no rules in my contests - just express your preferences in any way that you like!

xxxx

Rebecca

A visit to Blenheim Palace in all my best ladies finery, as befits such a wonderful residence. Can't say I saw many other ladies there.

Het Loo Apeldoorn NL

Dutch practice Kaan Architecten has extended the Museum Paleis Het Loo in Apeldoorn, the Netherlands, concealing over 5,000 square meters of visitor spaces beneath a public courtyard and fountain. Originally built in 1686 as a royal hunting palace for King William III, the Baroque complex on the outskirts of Apeldoorn has served as a state museum since 1984, but was suffering from dated facilities and fittings and required asbestos removal. Winning the project through a public competition in 2016, Kaan Architecten sought to retain and continue the feeling of "grandeur" created by the existing buildings. This informed the studio's decision to conceal the extension underground. Following the symmetrical layout of the palace above, the cavernous interiors have been finished with pale marble, illuminated by skylights beneath a new fountain and a pool of water that creates a dappled light effect.

 

The underground extension keeps the symmetrical logic of the baroque composition and the palace's corps de logis [main block] as the basic floor plan. The newly transformed Paleis Het Loo now radiates the grandeur that befits one of the Netherlands' most renowned and frequented museums.

Rather than create a new entrance that would detract from the existing layout, Kaan Architecten positioned two entrances at the end of the palace's wings, where two entrance pavilions lead down into the underground extension. Once underground, a grand, skylit corridor lined with pale marble connects to an existing staircase to the north of the palace, flanked by a mixture of temporary and permanent exhibition spaces.

Although its architectural expression is restrained and elegant, the new building befits the grandeur and imagination associated with the term 'palace. Traces of the past remain visible in the subtle marble inlays on the walls where the old structure was hollowed out to create the lantern-like entry pavilions.

 

In the western wing, a raised gable form called the "Junior Palace" contains exhibits for children, leading around to a large restaurant in the former ballroom with new seating beneath large chandeliers. To the east, further permanent exhibition spaces lead to an independent building which contains offices for the museum staff, organised around a small courtyard. Throughout the project, a minimalist approach has been taken to the interiors, with pale wood flooring and white walls in the new gallery spaces, and simple furniture and white walls contrasting retained woodwork in the existing palace. Subtle textures are layered through alternating sandblasted, honed and polished marble, playfully brought to life by the reflection of natural light through the fountain.

 

Paleis Het Loo is a palace, built over three hundred years ago in the heart of the Netherlands. The sumptuously furnished interiors give an impression of how the Dutch royal family lived here for three centuries. The reconstructed gardens emanate the ambience of their seventeenth century origin with their fountains and elegantly box-lined parterres. The palace’s setting in one of Holland’s most beautiful nature areas makes a visit a real delight at any time of year. The palace museum is comprised of a main building, the Corps-de-Logis, flanked by two pavilions on either side which are connected to service wings around the Bassecourt or main courtyard.

  

The sunset of a summer's day befits the sunset on First Midland Bluebird's service 8! On Saturday 30th July, First Midland Bluebird discontinued its tendered C8 service between Balfron and Glasgow via Drymen and Croftamie. The route has ran for many years, back to Alexander Midland days, although the route has been altered through the years, in most recent times having been routed via Castlemains in Milngavie....here we have 65708 SN54KDF operating the very last ever Balfron bound journey and indeed the last ever 8 around 9.30pm on the Saturday evening

After my apparently annual roast chicken I craved something lighter today.

 

Serrano ham wrapped around cream cheese and dates (Mazafati) and fried for a few minutes, with shredded pickled red cabbage and salad.

 

So much flavor in everything. Frugal. as befits Boxing Day celebrations.

  

The Kremlin in Moscow, capital of Russia.

 

Moscow's history really begins around 1147, when Yuri Dolgoruky, Grand Duke of Kiev, built a wooden fort at the point where the Neglina and Moscow Rivers converge. The city grew rapidly and, despite being razed by the Mongols in 1208, was soon powerful enough to attain primacy among the Russian principalities, acknowledged in 1326 when the seat of the Russian Orthodox Church moved there from Vladimir.

 

At the same time, stone buildings began to appear in the Kremlin and, by the end of the 14th Century, the citadel was fortified with stone walls. Under Ivan the Great (1462 - 1505), the Kremlin became the centre of a unified Russian state, and was extensively remodeled, as befitted its new status. Meanwhile, Moscow spread outside the walls of the citadel, and the Kremlin became a world apart, the base of the twin powers of state and religion. This period saw the construction of the magnificent Cathedral of the Dormition, the Annunciation and the Archangel, and the uniquely Russian Terem Palace, the royal residence. The addition of the Ivan the Great Bell Tower completed Cathedral Square, and added to the imposing effect of the Kremlin skyline.

 

Ivan's descendents further developed and adapted the Kremlin complex and, even when Peter the Great moved the capital to St Petersburg, Russia's rulers continued to leave their mark on the medieval town. Peter himself built the Kremlin Arsenal, originally planned as a military museum and now occupied by a barracks, and the 18th and 19th centuries brought Neoclassical masterpieces such as the Senate Building and the Grand Kremlin Palace. After the 1917 Revolution, the Kremlin regained its rightful place as the seat of the Russian government, and the legacy of the Communist era is still visible in the large red stars that top many of the defensive towers, and in the vast, modern State Kremlin Palace, originally the Palace of Congresses.

 

HDR made from three shots with tripod, AEB -2, 0 +2. Equipment: Canon EOS 500D and EF-S10-22mm f/3.5-4.5 USM. Processed with Photomatix Pro 4.0, Photoshop Elements 7.0, Topaz Adjust 4 and Noise Ninja.

 

Please don't use my photos without my permission!

 

[Daily blog] [SmugMug] [500px]

The Holy Cross Church near the beach.

A slight departure for me, in that this is fairly heavily edited. I wanted to make it look more like a watercolour which befits the vast openness of the landscape scene, with a single building in it.

As befits such an ancient system, the ownership is also feudal, the foreman run a hereditary guild and the workers pass down their specific jobs from generation to generation

 

Taken @Fez El Bali, Morocco, North Africa.

Old Codger in Sepia as Befits His Official OAP Status!

Cordyceps is an interesting entomopathogenic fungus (a fancy way of saying a fungus that parasitizes and kills insects/spiders). Each Cordyceps is species specific and is something pretty horrifying. The spores will land on an insect and gradually the fungal mycelia will grow down past the insects exoskeleton and into the body where they will spread like tree roots, invading and replacing host tissue. This kills the insect in a very slow, lengthy process. In the final stages, the fungus takes the neurological reins and modifies the insect’s behaviour so as best to befit itself. In ants it will cause them to climb to a high perch and bite down on a leaf or stem with a death grip. The ant will slowly die, perhaps from starvation, perhaps from the deterioration of its body, but after some time there might be seen movement. To be sure it is extremely slow and small but it is there. If sped up, it would look like a worm wriggling out of the body. And this isn’t far from the truth. It is the fruiting body of the cordyceps fungus. Which grows a stalk several inches long, terminating in asci or sacs containing the spores that will lead to a new round of infectious dissemination. Why go to all this trouble to cause the ant to climb to a high perch? Well, the jungle is very humid with rain falling often and in large quantities. Ants being principally ground dwellers, it wouldn’t do to have the ants and fungus along with them washed away, covered in mud or stuck together. Additionally, just like climbing to the top of a mountain will afford a better view of the surroundings, so too will climbing to the top of a plant or bush in a jungle microenvironment. From here, the fungus is free to be blown in all directions by the slightest current of wind, the spores, like insidious grains of pollen, waiting to be planted in the fertile backs of their hosts.

 

Photo taken in Danum Valley, Malaysian Borneo.

The Giant Tachinid (Tachina grossa) is the largest of its family in the whole of Britain and Europe. If it was sat on a pound coin its feet would be over the edge. I would guess it is about four times the body bulk of the largest Bluebottles and its scientific name grossa simply means fat. It apparently mimics a Bumblebee with its slow buzzing flight and its hairy body. Its head is yellow with contrasting big brown eyes giving the appearance of a Teddy Bear, albeit an ugly one. In Britain it is on the wing from late June to September and it feeds on nectar and pollen, but it has a dark side. Like other Tachinid flies it is a parasitoid on caterpillars. Laying eggs into a living caterpillars, its own maggots feed on the living larva, eventually killing it. As befits a fly on this size, it parasitises the largest of caterpillars. It specialises on Oak Eggar and Fox Moth caterpillars so is often found in the vicinity of moors and heaths. I photographed this one on the edge of the Peak District Moors in South Yorkshire. For interest I have posted a Northern Eggar (northern form of Oak Eggar) in the comments below for interest.

To view more of my images, of Camels, please click "here"!

 

The Bactrian Camel (Camelus bactrianus) is a large, even-toed ungulate native to the steppes of Central Asia. Of the two species of camel, it is by far the rarer. The Bactrian camel has two humps on its back, in contrast to the single-humped dromedary camel. Its population of two million exists mainly in the domesticated form. Some authorities, notably the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), use the binomial name Camelus ferus for the wild Bactrian camel and reserve Camelus bactrianus for the domesticated Bactrian camel. Their name comes from the ancient historical region of Bactria. The domesticated Bactrian camel has served as a pack animal in inner Asia since ancient times. With its tolerance for cold, drought, and high altitudes, it enabled travel such as the caravans of the Silk Road. The wild form has dwindled to a population estimated at 800 in October 2002 and has been classified as critically endangered on the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. Its range in the wild is restricted to remote regions of the Gobi and Taklamakan Deserts of Mongolia and China, migrating from the desert to rivers in Siberia during winter. A small number of wild Bactrian camels still roam the Mangystau Province of southwest Kazakhstan and the Kashmir valley in India. There are feral herds of Bactrian camels in Australia. The Bactrian camel is the largest mammal in its native range and rivals the dromedary as the largest living camel. Shoulder height is from 180 to 230 cm (5.9 to 7.5 ft), head-and-body length is 225–350 cm (7.38–11.48 ft) and the tail length is 35–55 cm (14–22 in). At the top of the humps, the average height is 213 cm (6.99 ft). Body mass can range from 300 to 1,000 kg (660 to 2,200 lb), with males often being much larger and heavier than females. Its long, wooly coat varies in colour from dark brown to sandy beige. There is a mane and beard of long hair on the neck and throat, with hairs measuring up to 25 cm (9.8 in) long. The shaggy winter coat is shed extremely rapidly, with huge sections peeling off at once, appearing as if sloppily shorn off. There are two humps on the back, which are composed of fat (not water as is sometimes thought). The face is typical of a camelid, being long and somewhat triangular, with a split upper lip. There are long eyelashes, which, along with the sealable nostrils, help to keep out dust in the frequent sandstorms which occur in their natural range. The two broad toes on each foot have undivided soles and are able to spread widely as an adaptation to walking on sand. The feet are very tough, as befits an animal of extreme environments

  

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

In 1893, Leeds gained city status, which brought an increased desire amongst members of the corporation to build civic buildings that befitted this status. The area around the market was made up of abattoirs and slums making it appear less than salubrious. A design competition was held to find an architect capable of designing an opulent new hall to the front of the market. A prize of £150 was set for the winner, which (following allegations of corruption in the competition) was awarded to Joseph and John Leeming of London. Despite misgivings about the award of the design, the plans went ahead and the corporation budgeted £80,000 for building the new hall. J Bagshaw and Sons of Batley were chosen as engineers for the project.

 

Further controversy was generated when, in May 1901, many traders within the markets were given one week's notice to vacate their stalls so that work on the new hall could commence. Traders demanded compensation for loss of trade, fixtures and fittings.

 

The new hall opened in 1904, costing £116,700, somewhat more than the original budget of £80,000. A ceremony in July of that year conducted by Mr G. W. Balfour, MP for Leeds Central and President of the Board of Trade, marked the new hall's opening.

Paddy, as befits a border collie giving his sole and only attention to me ... thinking I had a spare sausage behind my back (actually the trick is putting your hand behind your head!)

Welcome Lady Falina.

 

Lady Falina has piked the United Kingdom - Lady Guinevere

 

Lady Falina Katze-Elmer has chosen Guinevere, the legendary Queen and wife of King Arthur, which according to several famous poems ruled a large part of Great Britain. Her beauty lead to rivalry for her hand by Sir Lancelot, a Knight of the Round Table, which finally caused the end of the golden age of Camelot.

 

Her “Gwenneth Dress” in Blue, sponsored by Poet's Heart is richly adorned with white blossom and trimmed in gold as befits her royal status with a “Gwenneth Cape” resting delicately on her shoulders with the addition of a triplet of bejeweled flowers. Typical for the time, Falina wears Old Treasures Fair Lady Slippers made from Golden brocade.

 

All sponsored by Slavia her jewels are truly regal letting her stand out as a person of importance as well as beauty.

The “Amita” Collection Necklace, Hairpieces and Earrings with Diamonds set in Gold. A gold "Serena" Bracelet with Opal Stone adorns her right arm. Whilst a gold "Alexandra" Bracelet with a Blue Stone compliments her left.

 

Her delicate fingers wear the "Cameo" Black Onyx ring & gold band. A Queen of Celtic lineage she denotes this by displaying her heritage with a Celtic Headband, made possibly from Welsh Gold.

  

Встречаем Леди Фалину.

Ее выбор страны - Великобритания. Образ - Леди Гвиневера, легендарная королева и жена короля Артура, которая, правила значительной частью Великобритании. Ее красота привела к соперничеству за ее руку сэра Ланселота, Рыцаря Круглого стола, что положило конец золотому веку Камелота.

 

Она носит платье "Gwenneth" в синем цвете от Poet's Heart, украшеное белыми цветами и отделано золотом, как и положено ее королевскому статусу, с накидкой "Gwenneth", изящно лежащей на ее плечах с украшением из трех драгоценных цветов. Типично для того времени, Фалина носит тапочки Fair Lady от Old Treasures из золотой парчи.

 

Все ее украшения, предоставленные магазином СлавияSlavia, поистине царственны, что подтверждает ее статус королевы и красавицы.

Колье, украшения на голову и серьги из коллекции «Amita» с бриллиантами в золоте. Ее правую руку украшает золотой браслет «Serena» с опаловым камнем, в то время как золотой браслет "Alexandra" с голубым камнем сверкает на ее левой руке.

 

На ее пальцах великолепное кольцо с черным ониксом "Cameo" и золотое кольцо " Queen of Celtic", что подчеркивают ее статус королевы, а так же обруч на голове, сделанный из валлийского золота.

  

Thank you Lady Falina

Спасибо, Леди Фалина

Another shot from back in 2011 when I signed on at 05.00am & was pleased to discover I was rostered on LMS Stanier Black 5 4-6-0 45305. By this time - 06.51 - the fire was long lit and I had 70psi on the boiler so a few photos were in order.

 

As befits a Great Western-themed Winter Gala, GWR City 4-4-0 3717 City of Truro is brewing up alongside.

In less than perfect weather conditions a befits a British winter East Midlands Railway Class 153 Super Sprinters 153308 and 153318 lead Class 156 Super Sprinter 156473 towards Ilkeston station with the 10.47 Nottingham to Liverpool Lime Street service.

CAMP EYE

 

In her essay, Susan Sontag observed that “Camp taste has an affinity for certain arts rather than others,” citing fashion as one of those arts. Yet Sontag offers only two examples: “women’s clothes of the twenties” and “a woman walking around in a dress made of three million feathers.” More critical to appreciating fashion as a key expression of the camp sensibility is Sontag’s analysis of its formal characteristics: irony, humor, parody, pastiche, naïveté, duplicity, ambiguity, artificiality, theatricality, extravagance, exaggeration, and aestheticism. All of these characteristics—either singly or jointly—are apparent in the fashions shown here.

 

While the first section of the exhibition functions as a series of “whispering” galleries, as befits camp’s clandestine status before its “outing,” the second presents an “echo chamber.” Although Sontag’s voice can be heard the loudest, she is joined by other voices of camp criticism that come afterward, including those of Mark Booth, Fabio Cleto, Philip Core, and Karl Keller—their assertions bouncing off one another as was well as off fashions.

 

The designs are organized under eighteen statements that communicate key aspects of the camp sensibility. Within these groupings, each ensemble is accompanied by a comment that speaks to the complicated and multi-faceted nature of camp. While experienced as a cacophony, these remarks, which are spoken aloud by designers in the exhibition, together point to the essential spirit of the camp sensibility: its all-inclusive, all embracing magnanimity.

 

(Hats and headdresses by Stephen Jones)

 

From the wall display: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY

www.metmuseum.org/

www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2019/camp-notes-on....

  

Roy G. Biv

   

Memorial for the deported

 

Between 1940 and 1945 more than 8,000 Jews, Sinti and Roma originally from Hamburg and northern Germany were deported from the city, in particular via the former Hannoverscher Bahnhof railway station. They were sent to ghettos and to concentration and extermination camps in German-occupied regions: Belzec, Litzmannstadt/Lodz, Minsk, Riga, Auschwitz and Theresienstadt. Only very few survived. Responsibility for these deportations fell to Hamburg’s local authorities and administrative bodies as well as to state organisations at Reich level. The vast majority of German society either looked idly on or actively supported these crimes.

The Hannoverscher Bahnhof was severely damaged during the Second World War and, after 1945, it was largely forgotten about. What parts of the building complex remained were razed to the ground in 1955 and 1981. As Hamburg’s HafenCity district began to emerge, the general public once again became aware of the site in the early 2000s. Associations of former victims of Nazi persecution in particular have campaigned actively to this day for a memorial that befits the memory of the victims.

 

hannoverscher-bahnhof.gedenkstaetten-hamburg.de/en/

 

The early morning frost lays on the headstone and provides a chill that befits this place and it's history.

Memorial for the deported

 

Between 1940 and 1945 more than 8,000 Jews, Sinti and Roma originally from Hamburg and northern Germany were deported from the city, in particular via the former Hannoverscher Bahnhof railway station. They were sent to ghettos and to concentration and extermination camps in German-occupied regions: Belzec, Litzmannstadt/Lodz, Minsk, Riga, Auschwitz and Theresienstadt. Only very few survived. Responsibility for these deportations fell to Hamburg’s local authorities and administrative bodies as well as to state organisations at Reich level. The vast majority of German society either looked idly on or actively supported these crimes.

The Hannoverscher Bahnhof was severely damaged during the Second World War and, after 1945, it was largely forgotten about. What parts of the building complex remained were razed to the ground in 1955 and 1981. As Hamburg’s HafenCity district began to emerge, the general public once again became aware of the site in the early 2000s. Associations of former victims of Nazi persecution in particular have campaigned actively to this day for a memorial that befits the memory of the victims.

 

hannoverscher-bahnhof.gedenkstaetten-hamburg.de/en/

 

Expensive and refined as befits the gift of a king.

As glamorous as a film star.

And so it would be.

 

7.370 cc

8 Cylinder

110 hp @ 2.400 rpm

Vmax : 140 km/h

 

Museo dell'Automobile

Corso Unità d'Italia 40

Torino - Turin

Italia - Italy

January 2019

Hans Holbein the Elder (Augsburg, 1460 - Issenheim, 1524) - Altar of St. Sebastian; right wing Saint Elizabeth; Left wing Saint Barbara (1516) - Alte Pinakothek, Munich

 

La storia di san Sebastiano nelle arti è una tra le più lunghe e ricche, forse può essere considerato uno dei santi più rappresentati della Chiesa cattolica.

 

Riconoscibile a colpo d'occhio, per via dell'iconografia che lo riguarda, costituita dalle frecce che gli penetrano il corpo, questa immagine ha subito nel corso del tempo una notevole evoluzione, passando dall'originaria figura di uomo barbuto di mezza età che indossa l'armatura a quella di adolescente muscoloso con un corpo intatto seminudo ed inerme, fino a trasfigurarsi in una vera e propria icona gay diventando il "santo protettore degli omosessuali".

 

Nelle rappresentazioni del primo millennio lo si vede indossare la clamide militare come si conveniva alla sua professione di soldato, e sempre senza barba: un guerriero armato di scudo e spada. Durante l'epoca dell'arte gotica appare con un'armatura di maglie metalliche alla moda del tempo, ma presto anche con un ricco abito da nobile romano e di solito con la barba. Da allora in poi si è cominciato inoltre a rappresentarlo nudo al momento di essere colpito dalle frecce; soprattutto i gotici olandesi e tedeschi lo raffigurano ricoperto di ferite e col corpo magro ben evidenziato. Il primo attributo personale di riconoscimento è la corona di fiori in mano; a partire dall'alto Medioevo una freccia e un arco tra le mani.

 

Dal tardo XV secolo gli artisti hanno scelto sempre più spesso di presentare la figura del santo come un giovinetto denudato, ancora completamente imberbe, con le mani strettamente legate al tronco di un albero o alla cima di una colonna mentre offre del tutto indifeso il petto alle frecce del carnefice.

 

The history of Saint Sebastian in the arts is one of the longest and richest, perhaps it can be considered one of the most represented saints of the Catholic Church.

 

Recognizable at a glance, due to the iconography that concerns him, consisting of the arrows that penetrate his body, this image has undergone a considerable evolution over time, passing from the original figure of a bearded middle-aged man who wears the armor to that of a muscular teenager with an intact half-naked and defenseless body, until he transfigured into a real gay icon becoming the "patron saint of homosexuals".

 

In the representations of the first millennium he is seen wearing the military clamide as befits his profession as a soldier, and always without a beard: a warrior armed with a shield and sword. During the epoch of the Gothic art he appears with an armor of fashionable metal mesh of the time, but soon also with a rich Roman nobleman's dress and usually with a beard. From then on he also began to represent him naked at the moment of being hit by arrows; above all the Dutch and German Gothic represent him covered with wounds and with the lean body well highlighted. The first personal attribute of recognition is the wreath of flowers in hand; from the early Middle Ages an arrow and a bow in his hands.

 

Since the late fifteenth century, artists have increasingly chosen to present the figure of the saint as a naked boy, still completely beardless, with his hands closely tied to the trunk of a tree or to the top of a column while offering his chest completely defenseless. executioner's arrows.

 

Every time I get up early in order to photograph the night train in the "Wasserschloss der Schweiz" (the region where the three important Swiss rivers Aare, Reuss and Limmat meet) because the weather forecast promises loads of sun, I tend to be greeted by thick and stubborn layers of fog. This had been the case back in October 2014, and it was the case again this time around - even thicker than last time. Still, it befits the impending end of DB's involvement in the night train business and, therefore, the end of the CityNightLine label. Here, CNL 471 «Sirius» is passing Umiken on its way from Berlin Hbf (with through coaches from Praha hl.n.) to Zürich HB. Umiken, 26-08-2016.

This picture is of a 'coal jagger' with his horse in Russell Street Wednesbury, The coal Jagger is a Mr William Potter of Holloway jBank who died in 1908 aged 78.

The term "Coal Jagging" is a local name for selling coal to poorer households directly from the colliery.

In this picture a smart outfit driven by a uniformed coachman is passing Mr Potter, the driver is well aware of the camera and is probably proud of the difference between his outfit and Bill's 'oss.

The buildings behind are called Summer Row and were erected in 1831, the background, as befits a Black Country scene is one of smoking chimneys and dirt.

 

This picture is a fragile print which was destined for the bin. On scanning it I searched for information and found other views of the same gent, the information obtained was from this source. This actual picture with the coachman did not appear so perhaps this is a missing picture from a lost series.? One source has Walsall for the location of the picture another Wednesbury.

Geoff Dowling Collection.