View allAll Photos Tagged expected
love these letters made from wood :) picture from the same session.
natural light, picture taken indoor.
Maisy, the dog, Hannah and Cole await a new family member. She will be our 3rd granddaughter - all under 2 years.
Wasn't expecting to see this in Dover today!, and PO58NPY is Newly aquired by Crosskeys Coaches and was on SouthEastern Trains Rail Replacement Services from Dover to Canterbury East.
And be sure to check by my other acount: www.flickr.com/photos_user.gne?path=&nsid=77145939%40..., to see what else I saw Very Recently!!
Expect the unexpected while out on a walk in London....posh new apartments, coming soon - on
City Road, Islington - London
again, somewhere in Florence... but I do know where I was; it was simply a 'walk-by'... just don't know the name of the church or the artist of the fresco...
Flight testbed for radar technologies.
Qinetiq expects to perform expanded future flight trials work using its uniquely adapted Avro RJ100-based Airborne Technology Demonstrator (ATD), on the back of an initial success for partner BAE Systems.
Flown from its Boscombe Down site in Wiltshire the Qinetiq-owned asset, G-ETPL, was fitted with a ‘combat aircraft nose system’ or ‘fast jet radome’ for the activity.
Full details have not been disclosed, but the installed nose resembles that used on the Eurofighter Typhoon. An updated version compatible with higher and broader bandwidth emissions is to be integrated with Tranche 3-standard aircraft for the UK Royal Air Force as part of the Leonardo UK ECRS Mk2 active electronically scanned array radar upgrade.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s 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. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday.
As the Morris drove slowly up the rather uneven and potholed driveway running through a wild and unkempt looking park that must once have been a landscaped garden, both Lettice and Gerald were taken aback by the house standing on the crest of an undulating hill overlooking a cove. When described as a Regency “cottage residence”, the pair were expecting a modest single storey house of maybe eight to ten rooms with a thatch roof, not the sprawling double storey residence of white stucco featuring arched French doors and windows with sea views, a wraparound cast iron verandah and high pitched slate tiled roof with at least a dozen chimneys.
Now settled in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, Lettice looks about her, taking in the stripped back, slightly austere and very formal furnishings.
“I say old bean,” Gerald addresses Dickie from his seat next to Lettice on the rather hard and uncomfortable red velvet settee. “If this is what your father calls a ‘cottage residence’, no wonder you jumped at the chance to take it.”
“Apparently the Prince Regent** coined the term ‘cottage residence’ when he had Royal Lodge built at Windsor,” Dickie explains cheerily from his place standing before the crackling fire, leaning comfortably against the mantle. “And of course my ancestors being the ambitious breed they were, set about building a ‘cottage’ to rival it.”
“Was it built for a previous Marquess of Taunton?” Lettice asks with interest.
“Heavens no, darling!” their host replies, raising his hands animatedly. “It was built back around 1816 for one of the second Marquess’ bastard sons, who served as a ship’s captain and returned from fighting the Frenchies a decorated war hero.” Dickie points to two portraits at the end of the room, either side of a Regency sideboard.
“That would explain the maritime theme running through the art in here.” Lettice points casually to several paintings of ships also hanging about the walls.
“Aren’t they ghastly, Lettice darling?” Margot hisses as she glances around at the oils in their heavy frames. “We need some femininity in this old place, don’t you think?” She giggles rather girlishly as she gives her friend a wink. “Daddy has promised me the pretty Georgian girl in the gold dress that hangs in my bedroom in Hans Crescent. I think it could look lovely in here.”
“If you please, my love!” Dickie chides his new wife sweetly, giving her a knowing look.
“Oh, so sorry my love!” she replies, putting her dainty fingers to her cheeky smile.
“As the Marquess’ prolific illegitimate progeny were well known up and down the coast of Cornwall and beyond,” Dickie continues his potted history of the house. “And what with him being a hero of the Napoleonic wars, his father, my ancestor the second Marquess, thought it best to set him up in a fine house of his own.”
“That was far enough away from the family seat.” Gerald adds.
“That was far enough away from the Marchioness, more like!” Dickie corrects. “Last thing you want to do is rub your good lady wife’s nose into the fruits spawned from the sewing of your wild oats.”
Margot looks across at her husband from her armchair with a look of mock consternation. “I do hope, my sweet, that I’m not to be confronted with any illegitimate offspring when I’m Marchioness of Taunton.”
“Certainly not my love. The Marquess’s wife, Georgette, was fierce by all accounts, but she’d be a pussy cat compared to your fierceness, Margot.”
“I should think so.” Margot smiles with satisfaction.
“Anyway,” Dickie adds with a roguish smile. “I made sure I did away with any illegitimate offspring I had, prior to marrying you.”
The four friends laugh at Dickie’s quick, witty response, just as the door to the drawing room is forced open by a heavy boot, startling them all.
Looking to the door as it creaks open noisily on its hinges, an old woman with a wind weathered face with her unruly wiry white hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing a rather tatty apron over an old fashioned Edwardian print dress, walks in carrying a tea tray. Although weighed down heavily with a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, four cups and saucers and a glass plate of biscuits, the rather frail looking old woman seems unbothered by its weight, although her bones crack noisily and disconcertingly as she lowers the tray onto the low occasional table between the settee and armchairs.
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot acknowledges the old woman.
“Omlowenhewgh agas boes!***” the elderly woman replies in a gravelly voice, groaning as she stretches back into an upright position.
“Yes… Yes, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot replies in an unsure tone, giving Lettice a gentle shrug and a quizzical look which her friend returns. “I’ll pour the tea myself I think.”
“Pur dha****.” she answers rather gruffly before retreating back the way she came with shuffling footsteps.
“What did she say?” Lettice asks Dickie once the door to the drawing room has closed and the old woman’s footfalls drift away, mingling with the distant sound of the ocean outside.
“Why look at me, old girl?” Dickie replies with a sheepish smile and a shrug as big as his wife’s.
“Because your Cornish, Dickie.” Lettice replies.
“Only by birth darling!” he defends with a cocked eyebrow and a mild look of distain.
“But it’s your heritage, Dickie.” counters Lettice disappointedly. “You’re supposed to know these things.”
“You know I went to Eaton, where they beat any hint of Cornish out of me my father and mother hadn’t already chased away prior to me going there.”
“It sounded like swearing to me,” Gerald adds in disgust, screwing up his nose. “Local dialect. So guttural.”
“Like ‘be gone you city folk, back from whence you came’?” Margot giggles.
“And who’d blame her?” Dickie pipes up. “After all, she and Mr. Trevethan have had run of this place ever since the old sea captain died. I mean, this place was supposed to be for Harry…”
“God bless Harry.” Margot, Lettice and Gerald all say in unison with momentarily downcast eyes.
“But of course, he never lived to be married and be given this place as a wedding gift, so Mr. and Mrs. Trevethan have been looking after the place for around four decades I’d reckon, give or take a few years.”
“So, there is a Mr. Trevethan then?” Lettice asks.
“Oh yes,” Dickie elucidates as he moves from the fireplace and takes his seat in the other vacant armchair. “He’s the gardener and odd job man.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole house doesn’t fall down around our ears.” Gerald remarks disparagingly. “Getting the Morris safely over those potholes in your driveway was no mean feat, old bean.”
“They’re old, dear chap.” Dickie defends his housekeeper and gardener kindly. “Be fair. They’ve done a pretty good job of caretaking the old place, considering.”
“Poor chap.” mutters Gerald. “Looking at that old harridans’ haggard old face every day.”
“Oh Gerald!” gasps Lettice, leaning over and slapping his wrist playfully. “You are awful sometimes! For all you know, she was the beauty of Penzance when she and Mr. Trevethan were first courting. And,” she adds loftily. “I’ll have you know that I think the Cornish dialect sounds very beautiful,” She takes a dramatic breath as she considers her thoughts. “Rather like an exotic language full of magic.”
“You’ve been reading too much King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.” Gerald cheekily criticises his friend’s reading habits lightly.
“Oh, thinking of which, I have a new novel for you, Lettice darling! It’s called ‘Joanna Godden’***** by Sheila Kaye-Smith. I’ve just finished it.” Margot takes up a volume from the round Regency side table next to her and passes it across to Lettice’s outstretched hands. “It’s a drama set in Kent. I’m sure you’ll like it. Now, shall I be mother?******” she asks, assuming her appropriate role of hostess as she reaches for and sets out the Royal Doulton teacups, a wedding gift from relations, and takes up the silver teapot, also a wedding gift. Expertly she pours the tea and then hands the cups first to her guests and then to her husband before picking up her own.
“I hope that old harridan didn’t spit in the tea.” Gerald looks uneasily at the cup of reddish tea he holds in his hands. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice tuts, shaking her head in mock disapproval before chuckling light heartedly. “You do like to dramatise, don’t you?”
“If you announce her intentions like that,” Margot adds. “I’m sure she will, since she has the habit of listening at the keyhole.” She smiles cheekily as she finishes her sentence and settles back in her armchair.
“What?” Gerald splutters, depositing his cup rather clumsily and nosily on the Regency occasional table at his left elbow and looking over his shoulder to the door.
Margot, Dickie and Lettice all burst out laughing.
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice says gaily through her mirthful giggles. “You’re always so easy to bait.”
Gerald looks at his friends, smiling at his distress. “Oh!” He swivels back around again and tries to settle as comfortably as possible into the hard back of the settee. “I see.” He takes up his cup and glowers into it as he stirs it with his teaspoon, his pride evidently wounded at his friends’ friendly joke.
Lettice takes up her own cup of tea, adding sugar and milk to it and stirring, before selecting a small jam fancy from the glass dish of biscuits. Munching the biscuit she gazes about the room again, appraising the mostly Regency era furnishings of good quality with a few examples of lesser well made early Victorian pieces, the maritime oil paintings, the worn and faded Persian carpet across the floor and the vibrantly painted red walls, deciding that as well as formal, the room has a very masculine feel about it. “It’s really quite an elegant room, you know.” she remarks. “It has good bones.”
“Oh don’t look too closely at our less elegant damp patches or cracks to those so-called good bones, darling girl.” Dickie replies.
“Nor the chips to the paintwork and plaster or the marks we can’t quite account for.” Margot adds with a sigh. “I think I’d have been happy for Daddy to commission Edwin Lutyens******* to demolish this pile of mouldering bricks and build us a new country house.”
“Margot! What a beastly thing to say!” Lettice clasps the bugle beads at her throat in shock. “To demolish all this history, only to replace it with a mock version thereof. Why it is sheer sacrilege to even say it!”
“Blame it on my Industrial Revolution new money heritage,” Margot defends her statement. “Unlike you darling, with your ancestry going back hundreds of years and your romance for everything old.”
“I can’t see any damp patches, Dickie, or cracks.” Lettice addresses her male host again.
“That’s because it’s so dark in here,” Margot explains. “Even on an unseasonably sunny day like today, the red walls and the red velvet furnishings camouflage the blemishes.”
“All the more reason not to change the décor then, dear girl.” remarks Gerald as his gingerly sips his tea, still not entirely convinced of Mrs. Trevethan’s actions prior to the tea being deposited on the table.
“No! No, Gerald!” Margot counters. “That’s why I need you Lettice darling, and your vision. I want the place lightened up, smartened up and made more comfortable.”
“Those chairs are rather beautiful,” observes Lettice, indicating to the armchairs in which her host and hostess sit, admiring their ormolu mounted arms, sturdy legs and red velvet cushions.
“These things!” Margot scoffs, looking down at the seat beneath her. “They are so uncomfortable!” She rubs her lower back in an effort to demonstrate how lumpy and hard they are. “I can’t wait to banish them to the hallway. I can’t possibly sit pleasurably in these, or on that,” She indicates to the settee upon which Lettice and Gerald sit. “And read a book. They aren’t designed for comfort. No, what we want, and need is some soft, modern comfort in here to make life here more pleasurable for us and our guests. I want to sit in here and enjoy the afternoon sun streaming through those from the luxury of a new settee, or invite guests to snuggle into plush new armchairs.”
“Margot does have a point, Lettice darling.” Gerald adds, looking mournfully at Lettice as he bounces gingerly on his half of the settee, the flattened velvet seat barely yielding to his moving form.
Lettice looks around again. “There are no portraits of women in here, nor children.”
“That’s because there aren’t any, anywhere in the house.” Margot replies.
“What?” Lettice queries.
“The captain was a confirmed old bachelor all his life.” adds Dickie.
“But he looks quite dashing in his naval uniform,” Lettice observes. “Surely with his successful career, looks and a house like this to boot, he must have had every eligible woman in Cornwall dashing to knock down his door.”
“Even Mrs. Trevethan’s mother, who no doubt was even more beautiful than her daughter at the time the captain was looking for a bride.” Gerald chuckles, his response rewarded with a withering look from Lettice.
“He may well have been a desirous prospect, Lettice darling,” Dickie agrees. “But he remained unmarried all his life, and he lived to a great age.”
“There is a rumour,” adds Margot, leaning forward conspiratorially for dramatic effect. “That there was a sweetheart: a local lady of good breeding and family. However, her father didn’t approve of an illegitimate son-in-law, even if he did have a successful naval career and a grand new residence. We don’t know whether she was coerced, or if she really didn’t love him, but whatever the cause, she refused him. They say that her refusal of his marriage proposal broke his heart, and he swore then and there that he would never marry.”
“Oh how romantic!” Lettice enthuses.
“There is also talk in the family,” Dickie adds. “That there is a lost portrait of her.”
“A lost portrait?” breathes Lettice excitedly.
“Yes, by Winterhalter******* no less.” Margot explains.
“Oh how thrilling!” Lettice gasps, clutching her beads with exhilaration this time.
“Have you found it yet, old bean?” Gerald asks.
“No! Of course not,” replies Dickie. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a lost portrait, would it? Do try to keep up old chap!”
“Not that I haven’t gone sneaking around the house looking for it atop cupboards and at the back of wardrobes.” Margot adds eagerly.
“That’s undoubtedly because that cussing old harridan Mrs. Trevethan and her husband probably stole it as soon as the captain had taken his last breath,” explains Gerald. “And now it hangs over their drawing room fireplace in the gatekeeper’s lodge.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Gerald!” scoffs Dickie. “The Trevethans are a kindly pair, if perhaps a little rough and eccentric for our tastes. They love this house as much as we…” He glances at his wife before correcting himself. “Well, as much as I, do. No, we just haven’t found it yet. We may never find it because it might have been taken by someone else long ago, destroyed by the old captain himself in a fit of emotional rage…”
“Or,” adds Margot. “It could simply be a Channon family legend.”
“Exactly.” agrees Dickie with a satisfied sigh as he reaches over and takes up a chocolate biscuit, taking a large bite out of it. “It wouldn’t be the first if it is.”
“I know!” Lettice pipes up with a cheeky smile on her face. “Let’s play sardines******** together tonight, and then one of us might stumble across it in the most unlikely of hiding places.”
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**The Prince Regent, later George IV, was king of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and King of Hanover from the death of his father, King George III, on 29 January 1820 until his own death ten years later. He had already been serving as Prince Regent since 5 February 1811, during his father's final mental illness. It is from him that we derive the Regency period in architecture, fashion and design.
***”Omlowenhewgh agas boes” is Cornish for “bon appetit”.
*****“Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
*****‘Joanna Godden’ is a 1921 novel by British writer Sheila Kaye-Smith (1887 – 1956). It is a drama set amongst the sheep farmers of Romney Marsh in Kent.
******The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
*******Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens (1869 – 1944) was an English architect known for imaginatively adapting traditional architectural styles to the requirements of his era. He designed many English country houses, war memorials and public buildings, and was one of the architects of choice for the British upper classes between the two World Wars.
********Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
********Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
This beautiful Regency interior with its smart furnishings may not be all that it seems, for it is made up entirely with miniatures from my collection, including a number of pieces that I have had since I was a child.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The two walnut Regency armchairs with their red velvet seats and ormolu mounts are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. So too are the two round occasional tables that flank the settee and one of the armchairs.
The round walnut coffee table was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Creal miniatures.
The red velvet mahogany settee, the Regency sideboard and the two non matching mahogany and red velvet chairs at the far end of the room I have had since I was around six or seven, having been given them as either birthday or Christmas gifts.
The irises in the vase on the sideboard are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The vase in which it stands is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The detail in this Art Deco vase is especially fine. If you look closely, you will see that it is decorated with fine latticework.
Also made of real glass are the decanters of whiskey and port and the cranberry glass soda syphon also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The white roses behind the syphon are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as is the glass plate of biscuits you can see on the coffee table.
The two novels on the occasional table next to the armchair come from Shepherds Miniatures in England, whilst the wedding photo in the silver frame is a real photo, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in England.
On the occasional table beside the settee stands a miniature 1950s lidded powder bowl which I have had since I was a teenager. It is stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp indicating the era.
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the coffee table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The silver Regency tea caddy (lettice’s wedding gift to Margot and Dickie if you follow the “Life at Cavendish Mews” series), the slender candlestick and the tall two handled vase on the mantle were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The British newspapers that sit in a haphazard stack on the footstool in the foreground of the picture are 1:12 size copies of ‘The Mirror’, the ‘Daily Express’ and ‘The Tattler’ made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. There is also a copy of ‘Country Life’ which was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1921 edition of ‘Country Life’.
The plaster fireplace to the right of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Not a car you expect to see near your house in a university area of accommodation! Most of the cars here are your typical 10 year old Fiestas and Clios, so I was rather happy to see a student, or a friend or visitor of a student owns one of these! I far prefer these over the way more common 2CVs, and this colour is just great. I think the only other green car like this I've spotted was the very rare Subaru Leone in Greece. Stood out a mile, so even though I was going to work, I had to make a beeline to photograph this beauty.
I believe the weekend is the more basic trim level, which makes this even more attractive to me. Same owner since 2013.
Registration number: ATR 380V
✔ Taxed
Tax due: 01 June 2015
✔ MOT
Expires: 01 May 2015
I expected more from this dress. I even wore red petticoats to get a fully co-ordinated feel but for some reason that I can't put my finger on it's not delivering on what I hoped. It's a feeling I'm sure most of us have experienced at one time or another. Of course, in this case, the problem may not not be one of fashion but rather of articulation.
Wasn't expecting to see this in Dover today!, and this vehicle appears to be new at Redroute Buses in Gravesend, and a Thank You to this vehicle's driver for the freindly conversation, and all faces on board are blurred out and not shown as requested, (though I do this anyway).
And be sure to check by my other acount: www.flickr.com/photos_user.gne?path=&nsid=77145939%40..., to see what else I saw Very Recently!!
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s 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. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday. After the retirement of the housekeeper, Mrs. Trevethan, from the main house to the gatekeeper’s cottage the previous evening, the quartet of Bright Young Things** played a spirited game of sardines*** and in doing so, potentially solved the romantic mystery of ‘Chi an Treth’ after discovering a boxed up painting, long forgotten, of a great beauty.
Now we find ourselves in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ Regency breakfast room with views through the French doors, overlooking the wild coast on a remarkably sunny day for this time of year. Dickie, Margot and Gerald are all seated around the table in their pyjamas and robes enjoying breakfast, some with more gusto than others, as Lettice stumbles into the room and joins them at the table.
“All hail the discoverer of lost treasures and the solver of mysteries!” cries Dickie dramatically as he doffs an invisible hat towards his friend.
“Oh!” gasps Gerald, raising his right hand gingerly to his temple. “Must you be so loud Dickie? Is he always like this in the mornings, Margot darling?”
“He is, Gerald,” Margot sighs from her seat opposite him at the breakfast table as she takes a slice of thinly sliced toast and spreads marmalade across it with as little noise as possible.
“Morning Dickie!” Lettice returns Dickie’s welcome, walking up to him and placing a kiss firmly on the top of his head amidst his sleep tousled sandy hair. “Good morning, Margot. Good morning, Gerald.” Stumbling down the room and reaching her seat at the table opposite Dickie she picks up her glass tumbler and then turns to Gerald to adds. “It could be worse.”
“What could be?” Gerald asks, taking the pot from Margot’s outstretched hand and proceeding to plop a generous spoonful of marmalade on his own toast slices.
“Dickie’s frightfully jolly morning personality trait.” she replies, walking back the way she came to the sideboard, where she helps herself to orange juice. “His cousin, the Earl McCrea, plays the bagpipes every morning to wake the guests when he’s on his Scottish estate.”
“How frightful,” Gerald winces at the thought before continuing in a withering voice. “After a night of champagne like we had last night, that’s the last thing I should want.”
“Apparently the Prince of Wales quite likes it though**** when he visits.” Margot adds. “Coffee, Lettice darling?”
“Tea,” Lettice replies laconically before turning her attention to the lidded chaffing dishes on the sideboard. Lifting one, she quickly drops it when she sees and smells what lies beneath it with a loud clatter that elicits a groan from Gerald, Margot and herself.
“Mrs. Trevethan’s kedgeree,” Margot remarks without looking up as she pours tea from a silver teapot into Lettice’s teacup.
“Ugh,” mutters Lettice.
“It takes some getting used to.” adds Margot.
“Is an acquired taste, I’d say.” observes Gerald wryly, looking about the plates at the table. “Since no-one appears to be having any.”
“I think my stomach will settle for a boiled egg and an apple.” Lettice places her glass of orange juice gingerly on the tabletop and reaches across to grab an apple from the glass comport in the centre of the table. She then sits before reaching for an egg from the cruet proffered by Margot.
“Freshly boiled by Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot says with a smile.
“What’s taking that woman so long to bring me a bloody aspirin?” quips Gerald.
“God how much did we drink last night?” Lettice asks.
“Before, or after you found the Winterhalter*****?” Dickie asks.
“That explains why my head is fit for cracking, just like an egg, this morning then.” Lettice rubs her own temples and winces. “I think I could do with a couple of aspirin too.”
“Surely they have heard of aspirin down here.” Gerald grumbles, his train of thought about his own sore head undisturbed by the conversation around him.
“It is only Cornwall, Gerald darling,” Margot gives him an aghast look. “Not the middle of the Sahara Desert or the Antarctic, you know.”
“I might have more luck getting some aspirin in the Sahara.”
“Now Gerald, there’s no need to be cantankerous, just because your hangover is purportedly worse than ours.” Margot quips.
“Was Mrs. Trevethan cross with the mess, we,” Lettice pauses, blushes and corrects herself. “I… made last night in the storeroom?”
“Not at all, dear girl!” Dickie pipes up cheerily, deliberately hitting his own egg with gusto to break the shell, eliciting a scowl from Gerald which he returns with a teasing smile. “Margot and Gerald did a capital job of tidying most of the mess up, and I think the old dear is rather pleased to have people to look after again.”
“She can’t care that much about us if it takes this long to fetch me an aspirin.”
“Oh do shut up, Gerald old boy,” Dickie barks, surprising even himself at the sudden change to his usual affable self. Taking a few deep breaths, he looks across the coffee pot, teacups and marmalade pot to his friend and continues in laboured syllables. “Look, we all need the bloody aspirins this morning, and they will get here when Mrs. Trevethan gets them to us. Alright, old boy?”
Gerald shrinks back in his seat, whilst both Margot and Lettice smirk at one another.
“I do like your bed jacket, Lettice darling.” Margot remarks. “It suits you. Did Gerald make it for you?”
“This?” Lettice pulls on the burnt orange brocade of her jacket, making the marabou feather trim quiver prettily about her pale face. “No. I actually bought this at Marshall and Snelgrove’s****** because I saw it and I liked the colour.”
“And what shall we do today?” Dickie asks the table, casting Gerald a warning look that makes Gerald think twice about saying that his head feels too poorly to do anything.
“Well,” Lettice remarks, turning around in her seat to peer through the French doors across the lawn and the windswept tree line. “It’s a fine day today. It might be nice to take advantage of the good weather and go exploring down along the cove.” She turns back. “That’s if no-one else has any other more appealing ideas of course.”
Margot smiles and starts nodding. “That sounds splendid, Lettice darling! You could bring your paints with you. There’s a rather nice vista featuring an old lighthouse that I know you would enjoy painting.”
“Capital idea, old girl!” Dickie agrees. “The bracing sea breeze will be a perfect way to dust off the fuzzy heads from last night.”
Gerald quietly sinks further back in his seat but says nothing.
At that moment, the door to the breakfast room creaks open and Mrs. Trevethan shuffles in, wearing the same rather tatty apron over another old fashioned Edwardian print dress of a rather muddy brown colour, carrying a silver tray on which she has several tumblers and a small jar of aspirin. When her eyes fall upon Lettice, she smiles broadly. “Metten daa******* Miss Chetwynd.” she says, dropping a bob curtsey.
“Good morning Mrs Trevethan.” Lettice replies.
The old woman shuffles across the room and around the oval breakfast table where she removes a glass and the jar of tablets and deposits them in front of Gerald. “Your aspirins, sir.”
Dickie gives him a knowing smile, and Gerald mutters a thank you in reply.
“I am sorry about the mess we made last night, Mrs, Trevethan.” Lettice apologises to the old Cornish woman as she places a glass tumbler on the table before her, feeling the heat of a fresh blush rising up her throat and into her cheeks as she speaks. “It really was an accident.”
“Oh!” scoffs the woman with a dismissive wave of her hand as if shooing a sand fly away. “That’s quite alright. It’s nice to have young people, any people, about the house again after so long. You did make a fine mess, but you cleaned it up pretty well.”
“Oh, that was Margot and Gerald’s doing, not mine.” she looks sheepishly to her two friends at either side of her at the table as she sips her orange juice. “I was quite shaken by the whole incident.”
“Well, that was quite a pile of things you brought down,” Mrs. Trevethan laughs as she looks down upon the slight girl before her. “Especially for one your size! But look at what hidden treasure you uncovered with it!”
“That’s true, Lettice old girl!” Dickie remarks. “If it weren’t for you, that Winterhalter might have sat there another century, evading would-be treasure hunters.”
“If it’s a Winterhalter, Dickie,” tempers Lettice. “It may not be. It may not be her.”
“Who?” Gerald asks, perplexed, passing Lettice the aspirin bottle after taking out two tablets for himself. “Winterhalter was a man.”
“The captain’s lost love of course, Gerald!” scoffs Lettice. “Don’t be dim.”
“Sorry, it’s the hangover.”
“Oh that’s Miss Rosevear in the painting,” Mrs. Trevethan remarks. “There is no doubt of that.”
Lettice eyes the old Cornish woman up and down. Even with her weather-beaten face and white hair indicating that she is of an advanced age, a quick calculation in her still slightly muffled head suggests that she cannot be so old as to have known the lady when the portrait was painted.
Mrs. Trevethan starts laughing again as she observes the changes on Lettice’s face, betraying her thoughts. “No dear, I’m not that old, but I still knew Miss Rosevear when I was young, and she was older, and even then, she was still a beauty. It’s her face make no mistake.”
“Really Mrs. Trevethan?” Margot gasps, sitting forward in her chair, her half finished cup of coffee held aloft as she sits in the older woman’s thrall. “How?”
“What was she like?” Lettice adds excitedly.
“Is there truth to the legend?” Dickie asks.
“Well, Mrs. Channon, I was a maid for the Rosevears when I was a girl and first went into service.” The old woman’s eyes develop a far away sheen as she reminisces. “Mr. Rosevear had a beautiful old manor about half-way between here and Truro. Burnt down now of course, but you can still see the ruins from the train, if you know where to look. There’s even an old halt******** where the house used to be: Rosevear Halt. My first ride on a train was taken from Rosevear Halt up to London when I was taken with a few of the other maids to clean Mr. Rosevear’s rented London house for the Season.”
“And Miss Rosevear?” Lettice asks with trepidation, hoping to glean information about the mysterious beauty in the painting and from the legend.
“Oh, Miss Elowen was the youngest of the three Rosevear daughters. They were all beautiful, but she was the loveliest, in my opinion anyway. She could dance and play the spinet, and she had a voice that could have charmed the angels from the heavens.” A wistful look crosses her face. “And she was blithe, or had been before my time at the house, I was told by some of the other maids. Her elder sisters were far more serious than she: set upon always wearing the most fashionable clothing and focussing upon good marriages, whereas the youngest Miss Rosevear, she just took life as it came to her without complaint. Although, she always had an air of sadness about her when I knew her.”
“Without complaint? What happened to her, Mrs. Trevethan?” Dickie asks, swept up in the tale as much as his wife and Lettice. “Why didn’t she marry my ancestor of sorts, the captain?”
“I don’t rightly know, sir, why she didn’t marry him. As I said, this all happened before my time with the Rosevears, but there were others amongst the older household staff who were witness to what happened, so I have some inkling. I think Mr. Rosevear took against the captain because,” Mrs. Trevethan pauses, lowering her eyes as she speaks. “And you’ll pardon me for speaking out of turn, sir.”
“Yes,” replies Dickie. “Go on.”
“Well, I think he took against the captain because he wasn’t a legitimate son of the Marquis of Taunton. The Rosevears were an old family you see, and well respected in the district. It might not have looked proper for someone of her family’s standing to marry the illegitimate son of the Marquis, even if he was a naval hero and well set up by his father. However,” She pauses again. “I don’t think things would have gone so badly for him, if it wasn’t for the other two Miss Rosevears.”
“What do you mean, Mrs, Trevethan?” asks Margot.
“Well, I said that Miss Elowen was the prettiest of all three, and I stand by that. Even when she was in her forties when I first met her, she had a look that could stop idle chatter in a room. Her two sisters weren’t so fortunate, and their looks had begun to fade by the time she met the captain, may God rest his soul. Miss Doryty, the eldest was ten years her little sister’s senior, and for all her plotting and planning for a good marriage, a good marriage never found her, nor her sister, Miss Bersaba. Miss Doryty was her father’s favourite as to look at one, you would like to see the other in appearance and temperament. I think she took against the captain because her little sister was likely to marry before her two siblings and Miss Doryty wasn’t going to have that any more than Miss Bersaba was. Miss Doryty was the eldest and felt it her right to marry first, and Miss Bersaba wanted Miss Doryty married off so that then she could get wed herself. Even when I worked for the Rosevears, both ladies still talked about her would-be suitors up in London, yet not a one ever materialised, and I never knew of them ever going to London. Miss Doryty always was bitter, and a bully. I think she swayed her father’s opinion on the captain. I also know, because I heard her say it often enough within my earshot, that she was of the opinion that it was Miss Elowen’s responsibility as the youngest daughter to care for her father and unmarried sisters into their dotage, since their mother had been in the churchyard many a year already.”
“And did she?” Lettice asks sadly, her hand rising to her mouth in upset.
“Like I said, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Elowen took whatever life dealt her with forbearance. She never complained, even though her sisters obviously treated her in a lesser way than they should their own kin.”
“And, she never married?” asks Margot.
“None of the Miss Rosevears did, Mrs. Channon. They lived alone in the Big House. I was still in service there after Mr. Rosevear died. The ladies continued to do good deeds in the district, and they used the house for tombolas and fetes to raise money for the poor. Then I met and married Mr. Trevethan and I had to leave the Rosevears’ service. I heard from friends who stayed on after I’d gone, that the house slowly fell into disrepair, but I was in Penzance with my own family, so I never went back to see for myself.”
“And you say there was a fire at the house?” Dickie asks.
“There was, sir.”
“How did it start, do you know?” continues Dickie.
“I couldn’t say for certain sir, but I’d imagine it started from a fallen log. The Rosevears had ever so many fireplaces without fireguards. It's why I won’t have Mr. Trevethan light a fire in any of the fireplaces here that don’t have fireguards. All you need is for a smouldering log to fall on a carpet, and before you know it… whoosh!” The old woman gesticulates dramatically interpreting the way of wild flames.
“And did Miss Rosevear die in the fire?” Margot asks. “How thrilling if she did.”
“And you say I love dramatics,” Gerald grumbles, looking at Dickie.
“What a terrible thing to say, my love.” Dickie looks at his wife with horrified eyes.
“Oh yes, but wouldn’t it be terrifically romantic?” gushes Margot in reply.
“None of the Rosevears died it the fire, Mrs. Channon. In fact, no one died in it, thank God! But the family lost a great deal of standing with the loss of the Big House and all its contents, and the sisters moved to Truro and lived in much reduced circumstances, I’m told. And that’s where they died. I don’t know who died first, Miss Bersaba or Miss Doryty, but my friend who used to help char for them after they moved to Truro said that the two elder sisters health declined dramatically, and Miss Elowen fulfilled the destiny predicted by her eldest sister, and she spent her life looking after her sisters.”
“Do you know if, after her sisters died, whether Elowen ever saw the captain again, Mrs. Trevethan?” Lettice asks tentatively.
“I can’t say for certain, Miss Chetwynd,” the old woman replies. “But almost certainly no, to my knowledge. Taking care of her sisters, Miss Rosevear became something of a recluse in Truro, and after Miss Doryty and Miss Bersaba had joined their parents in the churchyard, it was too late for Miss Elowen. She was set in her ways and lived as she had for many a year prior, alone and hidden from the world. The captain too. Mr. Trevethan and I only served him for about five years before he died, and he never left the property once during that time. He barely left the house. And I’d lived in Penzance my whole married life and we all knew about the sea captain in the house on the hill by the cove, and I never once heard of him coming to town. So, miss, I’d say he was much the same, a recluse. And so ends my tale.”
“Well, “ Dickie announces, releasing a pent up breath he didn’t realise he had been holding on to. “Thank you so much for sharing it with us, Mrs. Trevethan. I shall know who to come to the next time I want to know anything about local history.”
“I should be getting back now, sir. I have to reorganise that storeroom, and then there’s lunch to prepare.”
“Oh, we’ve decided to go down to the cove today so Miss Chetwynd can paint the landscape.” Margot announces with a smile. “Could you pack us a picnic luncheon to take with us, rather than having us eat it here, Mrs. Trevethan?”
“Oh, pur dha********* Mrs. Channon.” replies Mrs. Trevethan before dropping a quick bob curtsey and shuffling out through the breakfast room door again.
“Well, what a tragic tale!” enthuses Margot, taking up a slice of marmalade covered toast and taking a bite.
“Not so much tragic as just sad, my love.” Dickie replies.
“I say again,” Gerald grumbles. “You say I’m the one who loves drama.”
“Well you do, Gerald,” Lettice chimes in, stirring extra sugar into her almost forgotten cup of tea. “And we love you for it.” She assures him. “But I happen to agree with Margot. It is a tragic tale, more so than just sad. Sad is too… too…”
“Insipid?” Gerald offers.
“Thank you, Gerald. Yes, too insipid a word for it. The loss of youth and true love makes this a tragic tale.”
Dickie chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, I wouldn’t doubt that there was a little bit of wax lyrical about Mrs. Trevethan’s version of the story, as it would be with any local legend. However, what I think is important about the story is that it tells us exactly who the lady is in the Winterhalter painting. It gives us provenance, which makes it all the more valuable.”
“If it’s a Winterhalter, Dickie!” Lettice reminds him again. “It may not be.”
“Well, whether it is or it isn’t,” Margot adds in. “All this talk won’t get us out into this unseasonable sunshine and down to the cove so Lettice can paint the lighthouse. Let’s finish up breakfast and get ready to go out.”
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
***Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
****As a youth the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII and then Duke of Windsor) became a proficient player of the highland bagpipe, being taught by William Ross and Henry Forsyth. He frequently, until his later years, played a tune round the table after dinner, sometimes wearing a white kilt. He was also known to wake the guests at his house on the Windsor Great Park, Fort Belvedere, with a rousing rendition of a tune on the bagpipes.
*****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
******Marshall & Snelgrove was an up-market department store on the north side of Oxford Street, London, on the corner with Vere Street founded by James Marshall. The company became part of the Debenhams group.
*******“Metten daa” is Cornish for “good morning”.
********A halt, in railway parlance in the Commonwealth of Nations and Ireland, is a small station, usually unstaffed or with very few staff, and with few or no facilities. A halt station is a type of stop where any train carrying a passenger is scheduled to stop for a given period of time. In Edwardian times it was not unusual for wealthy families with large houses close to the railway line to have their own halt stop for visiting guests or mail and other deliveries.
*********”Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
Contrary to what your eyes might tell you, even though the food looks quite edible, this upper-class Regency country house domestic scene is actually made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the breakfast table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot on the left hand size of the picture comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom, as does the jam pot to the right of the toast rack. The toast rack, egg cruet set, cruet set and coffee pot were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The eggs and the toast slices come from miniature dollhouse specialists on E-Bay. The apples in comport on the centre of the table are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The comport in which they stand is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England as is the glass of orange juice on the table, the jug of orange juice and the bunch of roses on the sideboard at the back of the photograph. The remaining empty glass tumblers are all hand made of spun glass and came from a high street dolls’ specialist when I was a teenager.
The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and Regency sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.
The fireplace in the background of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The two candelabra on it were made by Warwick Miniatures, and the Georgian Revival clock on the mantlepiece is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England. The vases came from a miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
Stagecoach is expecting higher demand than ever this year from Christmas shoppers looking to travel between the retail hubs in Liverpool and Cheshire. In order to accommodate this, the company has swapped out some of its Alexander Dennis Enviro300 single deck buses on its 1 service for ADL Enviro400 double deck buses.
I have to admit that life aboard Leon's Claw is a lot harder and with more responsibility than I expected... but I love it! Every day I have to make rounds throughout the entire ship and inspect everything and make sure it's all in working order. If one little thing is out of place or whistling wrong or smoking when it shouldn't, it can affect the entire ship and the lives of everyone on board.
Aside from my responsibility inspecting the ship, I also help Damien when he needs it. To be honest he doesn't need that much help. He's very handy and strong! I watched him lift three heavy crates all on his own during our first stop after my joining the crew! They weren't little crates either! I'm pretty sure Damien was amused by my awe ‘cause he kept smirking when I stared and said, "Whoa!"
Having Damien as a bunkmate wasn't all too bad but it took some getting used to. I'd never shared a room, so to speak, with another person. My hammock is directly above Damien's and privacy is a rare treat. I have to use a crate to climb up and let me tell you it is NOT an easy thing to do; especially when you are sore and tired. In fact, I nearly fell several times trying to get in the first time and Damien just stood there looking so fucking amused and told me that if I fell on him while he was sleeping that he'd kill me and make it look like an accident. We both laughed it off but at the same time I don't ever want to find out how serious he is or not.
Before I knew it, it had been nearly three weeks since I'd left home! It took some adjustment but soon I was getting used to my new life. I was an airship engineer! No, it wasn't on one of those big airships I'd dreamed of but this could one day lead to that! I wrote to Papa twice and told him all about the ship and my crew mates and what life was like for me now. Though if I am to be honest, I was starting to feel homesick. I could send Papa letters but would I ever be able to receive any back? Surely there had to be a schedule of planned stops. It meant Papa could send letters ahead for me! I knew the captain would know of them but I didn't want him to think I was regretting my choice to do this.
To be honest, I hadn't seen much of the captain in the past few weeks. When I did see him, he was often busy mapping things out and writing letters and going over ledgers while sipping on a cup of tea. He wasn't hard to find on a small ship but our paths just didn't cross too often.
It was mid afternoon and I'd finished inspecting pipes beneath the mast* when I figured now would be a good time as any to speak with the captain. He usually takes his afternoon tea around this time so I made my way down below deck to the small kitchen area. Sure enough, there he was! Captain Vincent was just finishing up brewing what appeared to be one of his favorites: Earl Grey.
I inhaled deeply and smiled slightly. "Mm, smells good." I watched as the captain glanced over and gave a small, "Mhm." His gaze looked down at his teacup, lifting it gingerly to his nose before taking a deep inhale and sighing contently. He seemed to be in a good mood so I decided to take my chance before he departed. "Sir, I wanted to ask you something." He'd just started to turn when I watched him pause and glance back at me expectantly. "What is it?"
Licking my lips, I explained, "I was wanting to ask if it would be possible to find out ahead of time some of the ports we'll be at. I wanted to let my father know so maybe he could send me letters." I watched as the captain quirked his brow and for a moment, I felt like he could see deep within me, that longing and yearning for home. I was so sure the captain was going to belittle me when instead, he gave a small sigh, then replied, "Come with me." Relief filled me and I began to follow him along towards his quarters. "Thank you!" "You're welcome."
A moment later, he opened the door and let me in before following in after me. "Things don't always go according to plan but we do have a schedule for some of the major stops we'll be taking a few months out," he explained, reaching for a notebook calendar on one of his shelves. He set his teacup down and began to thumb through the notebook until he found what he was looking for. "We'll be stopping in Arturstown in one week. After that..."
And the captain began to show me on his calendar some of the big stops we'd be making and when they were planned. He was stoic, factual in his explanations as always. I took mental notes of where and when some of them were. Fantastic!
"Thank you again, Captain!"
"You're welcome."
I watched him settle in on his chair to finally enjoy his tea. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. It was a chess set! A very nicely made one, at that. I recognized the brand! My father had a chess set from the same maker! The memories of playing chess with my father made me smile softly. "Can I help you with anything else?" I heard the captain ask behind me. "Oh, no. Sorry, Sir. I was just admiring the box of your chess set. My father has one from the same maker." "Ah, I see." I glanced back at him as he lifted his tea to his lips and began to sip quietly from it. He looked so content just sitting there like that. I gave a small chuckle and a small jerk of my head. "Fancy a game, Captain?" I could tell I surprised him with the offer because he looked up at me and quirked his left brow.
"Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
The captain stared at me for a long moment. "So you know how to play?" "Of course I do." I replied, grinning. Then I added quickly with politeness, "Sir." Perhaps he'd thought someone like me wouldn't know how to play something like that. To be fair, most people of my station live their whole lives working and not having hobbies outside of that. I watched him glance towards the box and I realized that he was actually considering it! Pushing just a touch more, I teased, "Come on. I'll even go easy on you."
The captain gave a snort; an actual snort. Then he responded, "Go easy on me? Kid, I don't think you know who I am."
"Don't tell me. Show me."
"Fine. On your King's head, then."
Standing, the captain motioned for me to move and then reached up for the box, tea secured in his other hand. I thought for a split second I saw a small smirk at the corner of his lips but maybe it was just a trick of the light. We walked across to the cargo hold that also doubled as the living quarters for Damien and me. It didn't take us long to get set up. Sitting on a barrel opposite the captain, I grinned a little. "Your move, Captain."
It became clear within a few minutes that I was not playing against an amateur. Then about fifteen minutes into the game, the captain revealed just how good he was. I was good. I was not THAT good! He seemed to be several steps ahead with an answer to everything I could think of!
"Checkmate."
"How?!" I exclaimed, eyes widened and fighting back incredulous laughter as he checkmated me. I stared, going over all the pieces. Yeah, he...he got me good! I folded my arms over my chest, jaw dropped and just dumbfounded! By chance, right then, I glanced up and suddenly...I felt the wind knocked slightly out of me.
I'm not sure what it was about that one moment, but for a second the way the sunlight filtered through the ceiling and fell upon the captain, it took my breath away. His eye was staring right at me, the sunlight making his sea colored eye look so vibrant and lovely like the shallows in a lagoon. I'd never seen a man look so handsome and beautiful at the same time. His full lips curved ever so slightly into that tiny smirk I thought I'd seen earlier, and he looked so content to be sitting there with his tea and having kicked my ass in the quickest chess game I'd ever played. "Hm." His lips smirked just a touch more as he lifted his tea to his lips and slowly drained the rest of it. Before I could make any sense of what just happened...
BOOM!
"What was that?!" the captain exclaimed, looking around in shock. God, I felt as if my heart jumped into my stomach! And suddenly, the whole ship lurched and the chess set was flying along with several crates nearby! I scrambled to steady myself and stared in horror at the captain who gazed back at me while clutching a barrel. There was a horrible cranking sound that was very obviously slowing down as we heard Damien's scream rise above all of it through the ceiling window. "VINCENT!!! AIDEN!!!! YOU BETTER GET UP HERE QUICK!!!"
***
Vocabulary:
*Mast: a tall, upright post on a ship that carries the sails
Next Part: www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/50846691428/in/datepo...
To read the rest of the story, here's the album link: www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127
***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (BL/yaoi/gay) series. It is a slow burn and rated PG13!***
***
Special thank you to the smexy husbando of a man: Vin Aydin Raven-Mysterious for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as The Captain!
~
DISCORD SERVER: That's right! The Captain and the Engineer has a Discord Server! If you would like to join and chat with other crewmates and see what's new and happening before it gets posted to Flickr, click the link!
***NEW!!!!***
The Captain and the Engineer now has a FACEBOOK PAGE! Please come Like, Follow, and join the crew! Thank you so much for all your support!
FACEBOOK PAGE:
Expecting over a foot of snow today with the whole state of West Virginia shut down, so I thought we'd try and make the most of it. We had a lot of fun but little Dolly seems to be enjoying it the most.
I expect that most visitors begin their day on the BM&LP much like I did, sitting in the truck along highway 98 waiting for when and if the train runs. When there was no action for hours I admit leaving the shot to peak into the power plant for any hint of activity and even going back to the motel to recover the drinks I forgot in the fridge. Fortunately that didn’t kill the day like it often does. They started unloading the night train just after 9:00 and were ready to leave just after 10:00. Of course 10:00 on Arizona time in May is getting to be pretty high sun but at least they ran. The reason for the railroad is the Navajo Generating Station in the background. Along with the need to supply power to growing populations in Arizona, Nevada, and California, a major factor in building the plant in 1970 was the power requirements to pump water from the Colorado River to Central Arizona. The current operators own other alternate fuel plants and have decided not to renew the lease at the end of 2019. For now no other operators are stepping forward. The Navajo Nation voted against taking over operation. The power plant and railroad are likely to close. In case things don’t change I made a one day effort to get a look after a Phoenix business trip and was rewarded with a slow start but then a full day of juice chasing. Can’t remember ever doing that before and likely won’t again, at least in North America. May 4, 2019 just outside Page Az. Thanks to FIREMAN424 and steve55126 for background on this operation that gave me enough confidence to give the trip a chance.
“There you stood on the edge of your feather” - Day 5, Photo 1 is something shot about an hour ago at a Content magazine party, and all I can think of is a song Neil Young wrote with the Buffalo Springfield a very long time ago...
While walking to class this morning I glanced up the street to see Via 70 arriving at Brantford with P42 907 on the point.
I wandered a couple blocks past campus to snap a few shots on my cell phone, no hell but not bad either!
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Returned from her Friday to Monday down at Dickie and Margot’s Cornwall country house, ‘Chi an Treth’, and all the excitement that ensued there, Lettice has settled back into her usual London routine of shopping, receiving and visiting friends and seeing potential clients. It’s a Wednesday, and an unusually quiet one, so Lettice is taking advantage of the gap between engagements and has just sat down in her comfortable white upholstered tub chair to continue reading her latest Georgette Heyer* romance novel when the doorbell to the flat rings noisily, shattering the relative quiet of the flat’s interior.
“I’m not expecting any clients,” she muses as she listens as Edith, her maid, walks across the entrance hall to answer the door. “I wonder who it can be.”
A few moments later the mystery is revealed when Edith walks in proudly announcing, “Miss Bowes-Lyon**, Miss.”
“Elizabeth, darling!” Lettice gasps in delight, casting her book aside. Standing up she embraces her friend who is dressed in a romantic pale pink chiffon moiré dress with a fashionable drop waist and draped in a thick fox fur stole. Elizabeth’s light scent of lily of the valley envelops her. “I didn’t know you were up at Bruton Street***. Please.” She indicates to the tub chair opposite her, which Elizabeth sinks into with a sigh as she places aside her matching pink parasol, and allows the fox fur to slink from her shoulders, snaking across the back of the chair.
“I’m up from Scotland just for a few days to have a fitting for Her Royal Highness’**** wedding and run a few errands before going back.”
“Oh of course!” Lettice gasps. “The wedding! I’d forgotten you were a bridesmaid.”
“Has Gerald finished your outfit for the ceremony yet?” Elizabeth asks as she withdraws a hatpin from her straw cloche decorated with silk roses and feathers and deposits the hat on the stool beside her.
“I do wish you’d let Edith take those, Elizabeth darling.” Lettice indicates to the parasol and hat.
“Oh I can’t stay for too long.” Eliabeth assures her hostess. “The fitting awaits.” She smiles sweetly, giving a brief view of her slightly crooked teeth.
“Well I hope you can stay long enough for a cup of tea,” replies Lettice. “And a biscuit or two. Yes, Gerald’s almost finished my gown. It’s oyster coloured satin, and very plain, with a drop waist and pearl buttons down the back. In fact, the only real decoration it will have will be the lace collar.”
“Sounds wonderful.” acknowledges Elizabeth. “When I get married, I only want a simple wedding dress. I saw the photos of Margot’s wedding dress in Vogue. Gerald must have clients pounding at his door now.”
“Yes,” Lettice remarks. “I said it would be the making of him, and so far, I’ve been proven correct. I’m so happy for him. Goodness knows he could do with some luck after all the hard work he has put in to setting up his business. Now, thinking of frock fittings and weddings, how does Her Royal Highness’ gown look.”
Elizabeth taps her nose in a knowing way, replying, “I’m sorry darling, but I’m not allowed to say.” She smiles apologetically.
“Oh! Of course! How foolish of me! I was forgetting that it’s a secret. Yours too, I should imagine?” Elizabeth nods discreetly. “Never mind. I’ll be happy enough to be surprised on the big day.”
“Have you settled on a hat yet?”
“Ahh, now there I really am in a quandary.” Lettice remarks.
Edith appears and walks across the threshold of the drawing room from the flat’s dining room carrying Lettice’s silvery tray from Asprey’s****** on which sits her Art Deco tea service with cups for two and a small plate of rather delicious looking biscuits. She carefully places the items on the black japanned coffee table between the two friends before dropping a bob curtsey and retreating through the green baize door on the far side of the dining room.
“Quandary?” Elizabeth asks. “I thought you were getting Madame Gwendolyn to make you a hat.”
“Yes. I mean, I know Madame Gwendolyn has made me some wonderful hats in the past.” She pauses.
“I sense a but,”
“But I wasn’t happy with what she made me for Royal Ascot*******. I think it looked dowdy and old fashioned.”
“Oh, I thought it looked lovely.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth darling, bless you.” She reaches out a hand and squeezes Elizabeth’s elegant, yet rather cold hand. “But ‘The Times’ agrees with me in their critique of the fashions last year, and it wasn’t exactly the roaring success I’d hoped for, or paid for, for that matter.” Lettice takes up the pot and pours hot tea into Elizabeth’s cup, passing it to her friend, before filling her own. “So, I’m going to see Gwendolyn next week, but I must confess I’ve seen hats I’d prefer to wear in Selfridges’ windows along the way.”
“Selfridges? You can’t be serious Lettice!” Elizabeth puts a hand to her throat and clasps the collar length string of pearls she wears. “Wear a shop girl’s hat to a royal wedding?”
“Well why not? No-one would know, except perhaps you and I. Besides, not all of Mr. Selfridges hats are shop girl material. He has some beautiful models, directly from Paris, and exclusive to his store. They are a fraction of the price, and are every bit as fashionable and well made as anything Madame Gwendolyn can produce.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind, Lettice.” Elizabeth picks up a pink macaron off the plate and pops it delicately into her little round mouth, her eyes closing with delight as it starts melting on her tongue.
“Divine aren’t they?” Lettice asks. “My last client, Miss Ward put me onto the most fabulous little baker in Pilmico.”
“She’s the moving picture star, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Anyway, I haven’t dismissed Madame Gewndolyn – yet. However, I have misgivings.”
“Well, I have misgivings too.” Elizabeth adds, her eyelashes trembling with a sudden concern as fear clouds her beautiful blue eyes. “I actually came to see you yesterday, but Edith told me you were still away.”
“Oh yes, I’d gone down with Gerald to stay at Dickie and Margot’s new house in Cornwall.” She pauses and ponders for a moment. “But you didn’t leave a calling card, and Edith didn’t tell me you’d called.”
“Oh, don’t be cross with her. I asked her not to say anything as I was still in town for a few days and knew I’d catch you between engagements. So, what’s the house like? You’re going to decorate a few of the rooms, aren’t you?”
“It’s quite lovely – larger than either Gerald or I expected – about ten bedrooms, and yes I am, but pooh to all of that right now. What misgivings? You can’t be having misgivings about being the Princess’ bridesmaid now, surely? Not after all the fittings and rehearsals and such.”
“Oh no, it isn’t that. No, I’m very happy to be her bridesmaid. No, it’s Bertie******** who concerns me.”
“Oh!” Lettice picks up a chocolate macaron from the plate and pops it onto her saucer where it nestles against the rounded bottom of the cup. “Of course he’ll be there.”
“He seems undaunted by my last refusal. Queen Mary visited Mummy just before Christmas.”
“Did she take any of the Glamis china collection*********?”
“Thankfully no, but Mummy told me that the Queen is quite convinced that I’m the only woman who will make Bertie happy, and that he’s refusing to consider any other marriage proposals.”
“And you think he may propose again?”
“Well, it is his sister’s wedding after all.”
“But surely he knows that you’re actively being courted by his equerry! What’s his name?”
“James. James Stewart.”
“That’s it! Well, surely His Royal Highness must know you’ve been seen with James.”
Elizabeth sighs, her elegantly plucked eyebrows arching high. “Apparently he thinks he can win me over.”
“More likely wear you down.” Lettice remarks disparagingly, taking a slip of her own tea.
“They equate to much the same thing.”
“Well?”
“Well what, Lettice darling?”
“Well, do you love him? His Royal Highness that is,” she clarifies. “Not James.”
“Oh, I do like him!” Elizabeth sighs, lowering her teacup into her lap, her shoulders rising and then slumping again as she looks away shyly, a blush filling her creamy cheeks. “He’s dashing, and sweet. I don’t even mind his stutter, which I find quite endearing.”
“Now it’s my turn to sense a but, Elizabeth. Come on! Spit it out.”
“Well, you know my misgivings about public life. I have my own definite thoughts and ideas. To never be allowed to express them again, to not be able to think or speak freely or act as I feel I really ought to,” Elizabeth sighs again. “Well, its intolerable really.”
“Yes, I can understand that. I think Mamma would be happier if I didn’t express my opinions or ideas, never mind act as I see fit. You are coming to the Hunt Ball, aren’t you?”
“Yes of course, Lettice darling. I’ll even dance with Jonty Hastings to save your feet from too much butchery.”
“Thank you. Well, the Prince isn’t really a significant royal. I mean he’s only the Duke of York, not the Prince of Wales, so he’ll never be the King.”
“King George was once the Duke of York, Lettice.”
“Times were different then, Elizabeth. Once the Prince of Wales settles down,”
“If he ever settles down. He shows no signs of it, Lettice, cavorting with other men’s wives. He’s shameless the way he flouts them.”
“Yes, I’ve seen him with Mrs. Dudley Ward********** at the Embassy Club on more than a few occasions at His Highness’ table. Well, he’ll have to settle down, eventually. And once he does, and has children, why you and the Prince would be even further from the line of succession.”
“Oh I don’t know.” Elizabeth toys with the pearl clip earring at her right lobe anxiously.
“Anyway, if you’re sweet on James, why are you even considering the Prince?”
“James is talking about going to America. He’s being wooed by an oil company over there, who pays more than the Royal Household does. Could you really see me living in America?” She scrunches up her nose. “I’d stay in Scotland forever with all my cousins and never leave if I could.”
“No, I couldn’t. Canada perhaps, but not America. They’re so… so…”
“American?” Elizabeth proffers.
“American!” agrees Lettice with a chuckle. “Well, it’s up to you. Just because he’s the Prince, doesn’t mean you have to say yes, Elizabeth. If you have misgivings, just refuse him.” She pauses for a moment and sips her tea again before continuing, “Although refusing a marriage proposal from a prince, however minor, isn’t quite as flippant as refusing a hat from Madame Gwendolyn.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Elizabeth chuckles, picking up another macaron. “Madame Gwendolyn can be quite fierce from what I know of her, not to mention she’s Lady Sadie’s milliner too. Refusing Madame would be tantamount to committing mutiny, wouldn’t it?”
*Georgette Heyer was an English novelist and short-story writer, in both the regency romance and detective fiction genres. Her writing career began in 1921, when she turned a story for her younger brother into the novel, ‘The Black Moth’.
**Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon as she was known in 1922 went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to"
***Number 17. Bruton Street was the London residence of the Earl of Strathmore and Kingholme (Elizabeth’s father), and was where she resided when in the capital prior to her marriage.
*****Mary, Princess Royal and Countess of Harewood (1897 – 1965), was the only daughter of King George V and Queen Mary. She was the sister of Kings Edward VIII and George VI, and aunt of Queen Elizabeth II. She married Viscount Lascelles on the 28th of February 1922 in a ceremony held at Westminster Abbey. The bride was only 24 years old, whilst the groom was 39. There is much conjecture that the marriage was an unhappy one, but their children dispute this and say it was a very happy marriage based upon mutual respect. The wedding was filmed by Pathé News and was the first royal wedding to be featured in fashion magazines, including Vogue.
******Founded in 1781 as a silk printing business by William Asprey, Asprey soon became a luxury emporium. In 1847 the business moved to their present premises at 167 Bond Street, where they advertised 'articles of exclusive design and high quality, whether for personal adornment or personal accompaniment and to endow with richness and beauty the table and homes of people of refinement and discernment’. In 1862 Asprey received a Royal Warrant from Queen Victoria. They received a second Royal Warrant from the Future Edward VII in 1889. Asprey has a tradition of producing jewellery inspired by the blooms found in English gardens and Woodland Flora. Over the decades jewelled interpretations of flowers have evolved to include Daisy, Woodland and sunflower collections. They have their own special cut of diamond and produce leather goods, silver and gold pieces, trophies and leatherbound books, both old and new. They also produce accessories for playing polo. In 1997, Asprey produced the Heart of the Ocean necklace worn in the motion picture blockbuster, ‘Titanic’.
*******Royal Ascot Week is the major social calendar event held in June every year at Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire. It was founded in 1711 by Queen Anne and is attended every year by the reigning British monarch and members of the Royal Family. The event is grand and showy, with men in grey morning dress and silk toppers and ladies in their best summer frocks and most elaborate hats.
********Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.
*********Queen Mary, wife of King George V was an avid collector of bibelots (small decorative ornaments) and decorative arts. She was also responsible for being the first member of the Royal Family to ever do an inventory of the Royal Collections, finding many items had been “borrowed” by the great families of England over the centuries to decorate their own homes. During her husband’s reign, she recovered a vast majority of these pilfered items, returning them to the Royal Collections. For this reason, she was feared when she came to visit, along with her voracious acquisition of other people’s bibelots. She was known to remark on something pretty and then expect that it would be gifted to her as the wife of the sovereign.
**********Winifred May, Marquesa de Casa Maury (née Birkin) (1894 – 1983), universally known by her first married name as Freda Dudley Ward, was an English socialite best known for being a married paramour of the Prince of Wales, who later became King Edward VIII, between 1918 and 1929. Known by him by the diminutive “Freddie”, she was supplanted in the Prince’s affections by Lady Thelma Furness, who in turn was supplanted by Mrs. Simpson.
This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The cream straw cloche hat sitting on the Chippendale stool is decorated with pink roses has single stands of ostrich feathers adorning it. The latter have been hand curled. The maker for this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.
The furled umbrella is a 1:12 artisan piece made of pink satin and lace with a tiny pink bow. It has a hooked metal handle.
You can just see draped across the chair on the right, Elizabeth’s fox fur stole. It is, in actuality, a mink tail attached to one of my vintage fur tippets. It is just the right size to be a thick fur stole that could have been worn by the future Queen Elizabeth, who loved furs.
Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The strawberry and chocolate macarons are also artisan miniatures from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. He has a dizzying array of realistic looking food and meals which is always growing, and all are made entirely or put together by hand. The green tinted glass comport on the coffee table , spun from real glass, is also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.
In front of the telephone sit two paperback novels from the late 1910s created by miniature British artisan, Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these books miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The Vogue magazine from 1922 sitting on the lower tray of the black japanned occasional table was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
The vase of yellow lilies and roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the taller vase of flowers to the right of the photo was made by Falcon Miniatures, who are renown for the realism and detail in their miniatures.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.
To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Halfway through "Black and White Week", and I expect this shot will be the least popular of the lot. It's also the oldest. I like it because it captures the feeling, the atmosphere, of every small arena in Canada in the 1960s.
I didn't play hockey but I was in my share of rinks, often to photograph my brother's games. That's him - David Page - on the right, flying down the left wing, trying to corral the puck and evade the big defender who would like to dump him on his butt if possible. It looks like I'm on the ice, but actually I'm standing by the end boards, where the plexiglass ends. I guess they ran out of money when building the arena.
Kids still play on rinks like this across Canada, maybe a little more upscale now. We also played outdoors in those years, on frozen ponds and flooded backyard rinks. Now kids get channeled into the nationwide hockey factory at an early age, lesser players weeded out at each successive level. David is 17 here, and whatever level this was called was the highest he reached. In a few short years he went from being the biggest kid on his team to average size.
But it isn't the sports action that primarily interests me here, but rather, the ambiance. That haze hanging over the ice. The few, shadowy onlookers. I can feel the cool air in that building, wherever it was - Sainte-Thérèse? Sainte-Eustache? - on a winter day in Quebec. I can even smell it. It was such a huge part of my childhood.
A few years ago my friend Madonna was in Quebec and brought me back a t-shirt. It's white with blue lettering: La vie est simple. Manger. Dormir. Jouer au hockey. (Life is simple. Eat. Sleep. Play hockey.)
Photographed in a small city arena in Quebec (Canada); scanned from the original Tri-X negative. Pentax Spotmatic, 50mm lens. Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©1969 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
The weather has been poor; we have had lots of rain, but this gent is obviously expecting things to get even worse!
Hello winter - again! Our temperature this morning is -16C (windchill -25C), and it snowed again yesterday. This deep dive in temperature is due to an Arctic airmass that is flooding into Alberta. Tomorrow morning is expected to be -22C (windchill -30C). The forecast is for this bitterly cold weather to continue for the next couple of weeks.
This photo was taken late in the day, towards the end of a great day of birding. A day that I look forward to each year.
Some years, the annual Audubon Christmas Bird Count for the town of Nanton is held late in December. Other years, it ends up being held early January, sometimes delayed because of really bad weather. The Count that took place on 3 January 2016, was part of the 2015 Bird Count.
The weather was bright and sunny for us this day. What you can't see was that it was very cold for the first part of the day, then warming up to a more pleasant cold later on! I think it was -21C when we started. I remember that on the January 2014 trip for the 2013 Count, on the hour-long drive south of Calgary, we hit -34C (-29.2F)!!!!! Again, this year, there was no or very little wind, which makes all the difference. Also, the only walking we had to do was when we called in at various farms and acreages.
We drove through such beautiful scenery when we were covering the SW quadrant of the Christmas Bird Count circle that centered on the town of Nanton, Alberta. A landscape over which the occasional Golden Eagle soars (we saw 5!) and in which some years - but definitely not this day! - numerous Sharp-tailed Grouse wander on the ground or perch in trees. I absolutely love this area SW of Nanton! Some of these backroads are extremely steep and almost look vertical when seen from a distance. Some years, the whole area is white, covered in deep snow, so that you can't tell where the roadside ends and the ditch begins. This Count, it wasn't too bad, thank goodness, though I might have felt differently if I had been one of the two drivers for our group! This year, my small group had 5 people, in two cars.
Around lunch time, we returned to the Truch family's place as we happened to be very nearby, and ate our lunch in the warmth of their cosy home.
After driving (being driven, for me, which is always pure luxury) the backroads from about 8:00 a.m. till around 3:30 p.m., we returned to the wonderful home of the Truch family. Not only do Bill and Leah Truch and their son, Mike, always welcome everyone with open arms, they also provide a much-appreciated breakfast snack for us and then, at the end of the day, a delicious supper. Have to say that I love travelling these scenic backroads, but I also really enjoy getting together with everyone afterwards. This is one of my favourite Bird Counts, and perhaps the most favourite.
Just before leaving for Calgary at the end of the day, we were shown the family's Llamas, two Donkeys, Peacocks, and several tiny white Quail. I should have taken photos of these animals when it was daylight - but maybe I can do it on the next Count.
Thanks so much for doing all the driving, Tony and Andrew, and thanks, Leah, Bill and Mike for all the effort and time you put into your warm welcome! It was another well-organized Count, Mike, as usual - thanks. Can't wait for the upcoming Count in about three and a half weeks!
Expecting a fine day with clear skies, I got up early to set up a long exposure star trails photograph. Ten steps out the front door of our apartment block, I looked up, only to see almost complete cloud cover. Oh well, I'm up now so I may as well head down to the lake and see what photographic possibilities present themselves.
The NightCap Pro camera replacement app on my Phone 6s Plus has become my favorite app for taking long exposure photographs over the past few months, supplanting Slow Shutter Cam. This image was the product of using NightCap Pro in "Long Exposure" mode to stack (i.e., average) the many individual frames that were acquired with an exposure length of 1/3 seconds over a total period of 93.93 seconds. This stacking process had 3 obvious benefits when I look at this image - (1) to dramatically reduce the level of high ISO (i.e., an ISO of 5000) random speckle noise, (2) to give the water surface a satin smooth appearance, and (3) to produce a lovely sense of movement for the clouds.
I felt a deep sense of satisfaction to have overcome my initial disappointment at seeing clouds in the sky, for still heading outside, and for coming back with a shot that actually benefitted from the overcast conditions!
Barton, Australian Capital Territory, Australia.
iPhone 6s Plus - Photograph taken with the back-facing camera on an iPhone 6s Plus.
NightCap Pro - This camera replacement app was used in Light Trails mode, with a total exposure length of 93.93 seconds, a manual white balance of 3400K, an aperture of f2.2, a frame exposure length of 1/3 seconds, and an ISO of 5000. The output image had 4032 x 3024 pixels (12MP).
Snapseed - Cropped the image to 16:9 (panoramic) aspect ratio. Output an image with 4032 x 2268 pixels.
Photoshop Express - Applied the Sharpen filter.
ExifEditor - Transferred the EXIF data from the original photograph to the final image.
No reproduction of this image is allowed without prior permission of the photographer. Ninguna reproducción de esta imagen está permitida sin el previo permiso del fotógrafo.
© PaolaSuárez All rights reserved Todos los derechos reservados
“Good things aren’t supposed to just fall into your lap. God is very generous, but He expects you to do your part first.” - AH
www.keepinspiring.me/audrey-hepburn-quotes/
Audrey Hepburn - Restyled, Repainted and Re-Rooted by artist Noel Cruz of ncruz.com/ in a diorama by Regent Miniatures and featured are animals by Mr. Z! Mr. Z Animal Model MRZ036 FC005 1/6 Felis Black White Domesticus Cat& 1/6 Mr.Z Animal Model MRZ027-003 Japanese Shiba Inu W/Replaceable Heads Figure.
Audrey is also featured in the 1Sixth Winter Hardbound Edition available in Hardback/imagewrap or paperback cover. Also as a PDF or eBook.
Order here: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth
eBook: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth?ebook=690084
Photos by Steve McKinnis of stevemckinnis.com
Little did I expect that following the Humko local back into Champaign would lead me to a triplet of IC SD70s that were set to take off in just a few minutes. My earlier temptation to leave the house had certainly paid off nicely...
IC1022/IC1000/IC1036 took off from Champaign and barreled through Tolono and Pesotum both plenty quickly thanks to the still semi-recent manifest speed increase (up to 50mph now!). Here at the latter village, the trio is found racing past the old Illinois Central depot in town, one that has been very nicely kept up. It and the rest of Pesotum offer fine views of trains like A408 as they book it down the original Mainline of Mid-America.
An IC trio to close out the year was about the perfect way to do it, I reckon. Not to mention, starting my year with the IC1000 and ending it with it? Sorta perfect, even if it wasn't up front. At least 1022 is home from the Bessemer at last! You could almost believe CN hadn't taken over here if it weren't for the yellow sill, stolen and replaced numberboards, and the second batch of SD70s cheap nose logos done during the transition. Still, close enough for me!