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I found myself walking up Yonge Street in the heart of downtown Toronto when I noticed the man in front of me wearing a big fur hat and carrying a Nikon camera body with a motor drive and body cap, but no lens. Since we were heading in the same direction and at about the same pace, I amused myself coming up with fantasy stories to explain the man with the lens-less camera. Several blocks later, we met at a stoplight and I told him I had been behind him, going the same way, and trying to dream up explanations for the lens-less camera. I pointed to my own camera which was around my neck and said “As an amateur photographer I notice these things.” He was initially a bit surprised to learn that a stranger had been following him up the street and speculating on his camera (who could blame him for that?) but he quickly seemed to size me up as perhaps a bit quirky but harmless and told me he’d dropped his camera and wrecked the front element of his zoom lens. He was downtown with the body and had just bought two prime lenses which were in his shopping bag. Meet Robert.
We walked together and I found out Robert is 60 and is retired from a job with Hydro (the electricity company) where he worked initially in the construction branch. At the time of retirement, he was managing a group providing Information Technology help as well as client services. He’s also an amateur photographer and is excited about trying out the new lenses. When I asked what type of photography he’s doing he said “I’m still trying to discover my genre but I’ve done street photography and enjoyed it.” He asked me how I like my camera and pointed out it would be good for street photography because it is so light and compact compared to his rig. I told him it was perfect for my purposes and I had a natural segue into my Human Family project and asked him if he would be willing to participate.
Robert was happy to take a couple of minutes but said he was on his way to meet someone for lunch. We chatted as we walked and I said I would keep an eye out for a doorway or someplace where we could get out of the busy noon-hour pedestrian traffic. Our friendly chat continued for a couple of blocks when Robert said “I’m just alerting you that I’m going to be turning west at Bloor Street.” How considerate. I said “Oh, thanks for the head’s up. We’d better get with it.” Just then we were approaching a covered section of sidewalk where a high rise building is going to be built and I quickly posed Robert there.
Photos taken, we exchanged contact information at the corner before parting company with a friendly handshake. Robert’s advice to the project is “Be sure to enjoy life. Retirement is fun but don’t wait for retirement to enjoy yourself. Do it along the way.”
This was my second stranger today who was super-easy to talk to and easy to connect with. I think we both had the sense that a much longer conversation would have been preferred. Robert wished me well with my photography and I told him to enjoy his lunch and his new lenses.
Thanks, Robert, for being such a friendly subject and for participating in my Human Family photo project. Remember: Don’t drop your new lens!
This is my 170th submission to The Human Family Group on Flickr.
You can view more street portraits and stories by visiting The Human Family.
Follow-up: I received a very nice email from Robert.
“Thank you for detailing our experience yesterday. I really wish I had more time to chat as I found your approach to street photography interesting and would like to have investigated further with you…. Looking forward to seeing your work published. Perhaps we'll meet again one day. Would be nice.”
Can't really explain it but once I am in a dress and a bit of motown comes out of the speakers I just have to shake my booty. I may not be the greatest dancer around but I am as sure as hell having fun.
Stand-alone classic vector infographic on the cover of the Health and Science Section about different types of touch screen technology and future developments. Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop.
Online version: www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/touchscree...
I have these bouts of cemetery days, when I can't explain why, but I just keep coming back to the dead. Way out in the country, there are very few public spaces you can visit when you like. The active churches are locked during the week, and the disused ones rarely open at all. There are a handful of parks and paths, lookoffs and fishermen's wharves, but I love the dead. Quiet company, good neighbors, they don't mean no one no harm. I'm staring down the stone of Oldham and Eliza Fales, who died at 88 and 91, well over a century ago. Maybe I'll be that age someday, still kicking around a past that never quite catches up to me. It's a fundamental beauty, touching what won't last. Same goes for me, we all just want to be loved while we're living. That's why I'm always pulling the strings of memories, in the hope I won't be forgotten.
November 7, 2019
Victoria Vale Cemetery, Nova Scotia
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I haven't done much night photography so although there are obvious problems with the sharpness of the stars (especially along the right of the image - can anyone help explain this?), I am still pleased with the result.
the macro mondays group’s theme for this week, 2/24, is sweet and/or savory and i think i have 3 possibilities :) ........... in new england we have a little quirk. if you want chocolate sprinkles, you ask for jimmies. no, i'm not sure who jimmy was-- maybe i should research that later after i dither and then choose.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Lettice is staying at her old family home for the festive season as she usually does between Christmas and Twelfth Night*. However, this year she had an extra reason for being with her family this Christmas.
For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her then beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Having been made aware by Lady Zinnia in October that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish Mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that week, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.
Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice recently reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening.
Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. Turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded. However, in an effort to be discreet, at Lettice’s insistence, they did not make their engagement public until the new year: after the dust about Selwyn’s break of his and Lettice’s engagement settled. Sir John motored across from Fontengil Park in the days following New Year and he and Lettice announced their engagement in the palatial Glynes drawing room before the Viscount and Lady Sadie the Countess, Leslie, Arabella and the Viscount’s sister Eglantyne (known by all the Chetwynd children affectionally as Aunt Egg). The announcement received somewhat awkwardly by the Viscount initially, until Lettice assured him that her choice to marry Sir John has nothing to do with undue influence, mistaken motivations, but perhaps the person most put out by the news is Aunt Egg who is not a great believer in the institution of marriage, and feels Lettice was perfectly fine as a modern unmarried woman. Lady Sadie, who Lettice thought would be thrilled by the announcement of her engagement, received the news with a somewhat muted response and she discreetly slipped away after drinking a toast to the newly engaged couple with a glass of fine champagne from the Glynes wine cellar.
We now find ourselves in the Glynes morning room where after noticing her prolonged absence, the Viscount has discovered his wife sitting quietly alone.
The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of her continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of Glynes’ hothouse flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother Lady Sadie’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent which is ever present in the air.
“I say! What are you doing in here, old girl?” the Viscount asks as she sees his wife sitting at her bonheur de jour** in the corner of the morning room. “The rest of the family is still in the drawing room, including Lally and Charles, who have returned from their visit to Bowood.***”
“I’m well aware of that, Cosmo. I heard them come back.” Lady Sadie says peevishly. “And less of the old, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry Sadie.” the Viscount apologises. “It’s having all the young ones around and their new vernacular. It’s ‘old boy this’ and ‘old girl that’. It’s catching.”
“That’s alright, Cosmo, so long as it doesn’t catch on, here.” Lady Sadie replies with a cocked eyebrow.
“We were wondering where you’d gotten to.” the Viscount says. “I’ve opened another bottle of champagne.”
“Have you, dear?” Lady Sadie remarks absently.
“Of course I have, Sadie!” the Viscount chortles. “After all, it isn’t every day that our youngest daughter gets married.”
“I suppose not, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie replies rather laconically.
The Viscount watches his wife as she picks up a studio photograph taken in London by Bassano**** of their eldest daughter, Lally as a gangly young teenager, and Lettice as a girl of seven, both dressed in the pre-war uniform fashion of young girls: white lawn dresses with their hair tied in large satin bows. She sighs.
“Sir John is suggesting that we all motor over to Fontengil Park for luncheon, now that Lally and Charles are back.” the Viscount remarks awkwardly in an effort to break his wife’s unusual silence. “To celebrate the good news as it were. I thought it was rather a capital idea! Don’t you agree, Sadie?”
Lady Sadie doesn’t reply, instead staring deeply at the faces of her two daughters forever captured within Mr. Basanno’s lens, her look expectant, as if she were waiting for them to speak.
“You know, I must confess, I wasn’t too keen on him to begin with, nor the idea of he and Lettice marrying.” He looks guiltily at his wife. “I never really liked him, and always thought him a bit of an old lecher, sniffing around young women half his age, like our daughter. But Lettice assures me that she has made up her mind to marry him, and that there was no undue influence in the making of her decision.”
“Undue influence.” Lady Sadie muses in a deadpan voice.
“And now that I’ve really met him and chatted with him properly, I actually don’t mind Sir John, even if I do worry that he may be a tad old for Lettice. He’s quite a raconteur, very eloquent and worldly, and he obviously wants to make her happy. He might be just what she needs after all: a mature man who can help guide her in life, and indulge her too. He says he has no intention of stopping her career as an interior designer.”
Lady Sadie does not reply to her husband’s observations.
“Of course Eglantyne is quite against the engagement.” The Viscount chuckles. “But then, you know her opinions about marriage.”
Lady Sadie’s silence unnerves the Viscount as he tries desperately to fill the empty void between the pair of them.
“I thought I might get Harris to motor Leslie, Arabella, the grandchildren, you and I over there together.” the Viscount goes on when no opinion is forthcoming from his wife. “It might be fun for Harrold and Annabelle to come for a ride with us in the big old Daimler. Charles and Lally can go in their car with nanny and the baby.”
“Piers is hardly a baby anymore, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie opines as she puts down the photo of Lally and Lettice and picks up one of their eldest son, Leslie, as a boy of six in a Victorian sailor suit, with his soft blonde waves swept neatly behind his ears. “He’s two now, nearly three.” She then adds, “Won’t that be rather tiresome for Sir John’s cook, catering for us all?”
“We are connected to the exchange, Sadie. He can telephone ahead.”
“As you like.” she replies in a rather non-committal way. “Although I might cry off with one of my heads.”
“You don’t have one of your heads, Sadie.” the Viscount says darkly.
“How do you know I don’t, Cosmo. You don’t suffer them as I do.”
“I’ve been married to you long enough to know when you have a headache and when you don’t.” he replies. “And you certainly don’t have one now, even if you say you do.”
Putting down the photo of Leslie and picking up one of their second son, Lionel also in a sailor’s suit, and wearing a straw hat, Lady Sadie shudders. His look is sweet, but already at the tender age of three or four he was causing trouble, playing nasty tricks and hurting his nannies and worse, his own siblings. When Lettice was born a few years after the photograph was taken, Lady Sadie had to warn Lettice’s nurses that they were never to leave her unattended in Lionel’s presence, lest he smother her with a pillow, which he tried to do on several occasions when the nurses were slack in their observation of Lady Sadie’s rule or they were caught off guard.
“And of course Sir John can take Lettice over there in that topping blue Bugatti Torpedo***** of his.”
“Ghastly, vulgar and showy.” Lady Sadie opines. “Tearing up the country lanes as he speeds along them, so that no decent person of the county can walk them any more without fearing for their lives when he’s visiting the district.” She sniffs. “Or so I have it on good authority.”
She returns to her perusal of photos.
“I say, Sadie,” the Viscount remarks in surprise. “What’s the matter?”
“Whatever do you mean, Cosmo?” she asks, lifting her head from a baby photo of Leslie sitting on the corner of a button back****** sofa taken at the same time as the one she has of him leaning precariously against a rocking chair in a silver frame standing on the right side of her bonheur de jour.
“You know perfectly well.” the Viscount retorts. “Don’t be obtuse.”
“I’m not being obtuse, Cosmo!” Lady Sadie retorts.
The Viscount sighs, knowing in order to get an answer, he must play his wife’s game of teasing out the answer from her: a game he is well versed in playing after many years of marriage.
“You’re obviously not happy about the engagement, which I have to say surprises me. Why have you suddenly taken so much against Sir John? I thought you’d be delighted by the announcement.”
Lady Sadie ignores her husband’s question and picks up a large and ornate framed photograph of a wedding group taken in the early years of the Twentieth Century. It features a rather beaky looking bride in a pretty lace covered white wedding dress and a splendid black feather covered Edwardian picture hat. Her groom, dressed in his Sunday best suit with a boutonnière******* in his lapel and a derby on his head sits back in his seat, looking very proud. Around them stand various men and women in their Edwardian best, but the flat caps and mismatched jackets and trousers of the men and similarly mismatched outfits of the ladies suggest that this is not an upper-class wedding. In front of the bride a five year old Lettice stands proudly dressed as a flower girl in a white lace dress with ribbons in her hair, clutching a bouquet.
“Didn’t you take that photograph with your first Box Brownie********, Sadie?” the Viscount asks as he walks over and stands next to his wife and looks at the photograph.
“Yes, I did, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie acknowledges. “How good of you to remember.”
“Oh, who could forget that occasion?” the Viscount chortles sadly. “That was poor Elsie Bucknell’s wedding to that wastrel who turned her head with all his talk of being a tailor to all the great and good of Swindon, when in fact he was nothing but a con man from Manchester.”
“You were very good to settle the debts he left her with after he and his real wife absconded with all her money.” Sadie says, pointing at the rather pretty woman in white and a neat picture hat sitting to the groom’s right.
“Well, it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? As lord of manor, it was my duty to support her, poor jilted woman.”
“Yes, the right thing.” Lady Sadie agrees with a sigh. “You’ve always done the right thing, Cosmo.”
“Well, I also did encourage her to marry him when she asked my opinion of him.”
“You’ve not always been the best judge of character, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie remarks.
The Viscount laughs. “What does that say about me choosing you as my bride then, Sadie?”
“I did imply that your poor judgements of character only happen sometimes, not always.” She runs her fingers over the glass in front of Lettice’s smiling face. “Lettice was as pleased as punch to be the flower girl at that wedding. Do you remember?”
“I do believe she thought all the smiles and gushing of the adulating congregation were for her and not for Elise behind her.”
“I do believe you are right, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie chuckles. “Did you know that’s why they call them, ‘Flappers’?”
“Who dear?”
“The newspapers and magazines.” Lady Sadie muses. “I found out not all that long ago, from Geraldine Evans of all people, if you can believe it,” she remarks with another chuckle, mentioning the elder of two genteel spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house, in Glynes village. “She told me that they call the young girls of the Bright Young Things********* ‘Flappers’ because it refers to the fact that when they were girls and their hair was still down, it was tied by flapping ribbons or tied in pigtails that flapped.” She points to the big bow in the young Lettice’s hair.
“No. No, I didn’t know.” the Viscount replies a little awkwardly. “Look, what’s all this got to do wi…”
“Thinking of the right thing, Cosmo, I really should take this photo out of the frame, what with all the sad connotations it has, but I can’t quite bear to do it.” Lady Sadie goes on, interrupting her husband. “I’m rather proud of this photograph.”
“There’s no need. Elise has long since left Glynes after all the scandal, so she won’t know. Anyway, it’s a very good shot, Sadie.” her husband agrees, putting his hand around her and giving her right shoulder an encouraging squeeze.
“I’ve never been what you’d call artistic, like Eglantyne,” Lady Sadie says, referring to her husband’s favourite younger sibling, who is an artist of some renown in London. “Or like Lettice, but I’m not bad at taking photographs.”
“I think you’re a dab hand at it, Sadie my dear.” He rubs his wife’s right forearm, and bestows a kiss on her greyish white waves atop her head. “Far better than me, or Leslie. But I ask again, what’s any of this to do with Sir John, and your sudden dislike of him?”
“You know, you think you know what, or who your children will become,” Lady Sadie says wistfully, replacing the photograph in the frame back on the surface of her bonheur de jour. “And yet, they always surprise you.”
“Oh, I don’t think either Leslie or Lally have been particularly surprising.” the Viscount retorts.
“No?”
“No. As the eldest son, Leslie has turned out to be the fine heir to the Glynes estate that we always wanted. He’s responsible, and goodness knows his insight and forward thinking has prevented us from finding ourselves in the straitened circumstances that the Brutons or poor Nigel Tyrwhitt and Isobel are in now. And now that he’s married, it will only be a matter of time before he and Arabella give us a grandson to carry on the Chetwynd line and one day become the next Viscount Wrexham.” He smiles indulgently at the thought. “And Lally’s marriage to Charles Lanchenbury is all we could hope for, for her. I mean, Charles may not inherit a hereditary title from old Lanchenbury, which is a bit of a pity. But still, he’s a successful businessman and she’ll never wont for anything. She seems to rather enjoy playing lady or the manor in High Wycombe with her brood.”
“Oh yes.”
“Lionel was a surprising one.” The Viscount picks up the photograph of his second son in his Victorian sailor’s outfit and wide brimmed straw hat that his wife had held before. “Who would have imagined that behind such an angelic face lurked the depraved character of the devil incarnate?” He feels his wife shudder again at the thought of their wayward son beneath his hand. “There, there, Sadie my dear.” he coos. “The further away from us he is, the less we have to think about him,” He heaves a great sigh of regret. “Or deal with his messy affairs.”
“You know I received a letter from him yesterday?” Lady Sadie asks.
“No.”
“Yes,” Lady Sadie snorts derisively. “From Durban of places, would you believe?”
“The same as young Spencely.”
“Yes! Isn’t that a coincidence? It was quite a good letter actually, and the first I’ve had since Leslie’s wedding where he doesn’t implore me to ask you to bring him back here. He writes that he went to Durban to show off two of his new Thoroughbreds to a perspective buyer: some playboy horse racing son of a nouveau riche businessman. It sounds like he’s had a bit of luck, as he seems quite flush at the moment, going to nightclubs and the like down there.”
“Squandering his earnings on gambling, women and god knows what else, down there, I’ll warrant.” the Viscount opines gruffly.
“No doubt.” Lady Sadie sighs.
“Poor Lettice.” the Viscount adds in a softer tone, as his mind shifts to his youngest daughter’s heartbreak at the hands of Selwyn Spencely.
“Aahh, and then there was Lettice.” Lady Sadie remarks, taking up a round gold frame featuring a studio photograph of a beaming Lettice at age ten in a smart winter coat and large brimmed hat, full of confidence sitting before the camera. “The most surprising child of all, not least of all because she was a surprise late pregnancy for me.”
“Oh, Lettice is no surprise to me, Sadie.” the Viscount retorts. “I mean, Eglantyne picked her as having an artistic temperament right from the beginning, and she was right. I knew she had more brains than our Lally has, which is why I gave her all those extra lessons.”
“You indulged her, Cosmo!” Lady Sadie remarks. “You’ve always spoiled her. So does Eglantyne. She’s your pet, and hers too.”
“Every bit as much as Leslie is yours, Sadie.” He points to the silver framed portrait of Leslie.
“You were the one who encouraged her to start up this ridiculous interior decoration nonsense.”
“Well, in reality it was really Eglantyne who drew my attention to her flair for design, but I’m glad that she did. Look at the successes she has had! She runs her own business, with very few hiccups or missteps,” He momentarily remembers the kerfuffle that there was with Lettice signing a contract drawn up by Lady Gladys Caxton’s lawyers without consulting the Chetwynd family lawyers. “And she’s very good at keeping accounts.”
“Excellent, she’ll make the perfect bookkeeper.” Lady Sadie remarks sarcastically.
“It will put her in good stead for running Sir John’s households, Sadie.” the Viscount tempers. “Goodness knows he has enough of them. And she has received accolades from Henry Tipping**********, printed in Country Life********** for all to see, and that is fine feather for her cap, you must confess.”
“I don’t deny that.” Lady Sadie agrees somewhat reluctantly.
“No, I always knew Lettice would be the greatest success of all our children.” the Viscount says proudly.
“Did you, Cosmo?”
“Of course I did, Sadie. I understand her.”
“You!” Lady Sadie scoffs. “You may decry that you love your youngest and favourite daughter so well, Cosmo, and without a doubt, you do. However, whatever you say, you don’t understand Lettice.”
“And you do, Sadie?” the Viscount retorts hotly. “When she comes home to lick her wounds after Zinnia sent Selwyn away, craving comfort, you drove her from the house, telling her she needed to throw herself into the social rounds, rather than stop and miss him. Is that understanding?” He folds his arms akimbo and looks away from his wife in disgust. “No wonder she kept her engagement to Sir John a secret for the last month or so, since you suddenly seem to despise her husband-to-be: a man whom I should like to point out, you thought was perfectly suitable for her not so very long ago. Sir John may not have the title of duke, but he has a title nonetheless, and I have no doubt that his fortune is equal to that of the Duke of Walmsford.”
“You misunderstand me, and my motives, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie replies, hurt by his words, but also resigned to the fact that he believes them. “As always, I am portrayed like one of Mrs. Maingot’s derided pantomime villains in the Glynes Christmas play.”
“If the cap fits, Sadie.”
“See, you think I don’t understand my children, but I assure you that, aside from Lionel, I do.”
“Who could ever understand that child of the devil, Sadie?”
“Indeed, well aside from our errant black sheep, I understand the others. You love them, Cosmo, probably far more than me, but I on the other hand, understand them.”
“How so, Sadie?”
“You misalign my actions because you don’t understand them, either. When Lettice came here after Zinnia packed Selwyn off to Durban, what did you do? You gave her a place to shelter, yes, but you mollycoddled her: feeding her shortbreads and allowing her to retreat from the world.”
“Well, that’s what she needed, Sadie.”
“No. That’s where you are wrong, Cosmo. She didn’t need mollycoddling. It just made things worse. It amplified her situation and how she felt as you allowed her to spend her empty days brooding. Lettice is apt to brood, when given the opportunity. What she really needed was to be told that the sun will still rise and set, in spite of her own innermost turmoil, and what she needed was to be sent back out into the world, so that she could be distracted, and build up her resilience. That’s what she needed, Cosmo, and I helped her achieve that. And that, my dear, is what I mean by truly understanding Lettice. Believe it or not, I understand her as a young woman, and I understand what she needs.”
“Well, if you wanted to build resilience in her, that’s what you’ve achieved, and admirably at that. Selwyn jilts our daughter and what does she do? Rather than moping, which is what you seem to think I would have encouraged her to do, she went out and got herself engaged to one of the most eligible bachelors in the county, in England no less. Yet you don’t seem at all happy about the engagement, even though you put Sir John into the mix at the Hunt Ball that you used as a marriage market for Lettice.”
“Once again, Cosmo, you see your daughter, but you don’t understand her.”
“Then pray enlighten me, Sadie because I certainly don’t understand you right at this moment.”
“Lettice’s heart is breaking, and ever since she was a child, when her heart is broken, she lashes out, like when Mopsy died. Remember her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel?”
“How could I forget that beautiful dog. But surely you aren’t comparing her tears and tantrums as a seven year old child, to now, Sadie? There are no tears this time, no tantrums.”
“But that’s where you are wrong, Cosmo. This is her tantrum. It just isn’t one that exhibits itself in the same way. Lettice is trying to prove to Selwyn,” She pauses for a moment and thinks. “No, more prove to Zinna, that she isn’t defeated by whatever nasty games she is playing to break the romance between Lettice and Selwyn. She’s trying to exact revenge on them both.” Lady Sadie sighs. “But she’s going about it all wrong.”
“What do you mean, Sadie?” The Viscount sighs as he sinks down onto the edge of one of the morning room chairs nearest him and looks across at his wife, who sits, slumped in her own seat at her desk, looking defeated.
“I blame myself really for this turn of events.” Lady Sadie gulps awkwardly. “I’m almost too ashamed to admit it, but I was misaligned in some of my thinking, and wrong in my judgement, and now the results have well and truly come home to roost.”
“What are you talking about, Sadie?”
“Sir John, Cosmo.” She says simply. “When I held that Hunt Ball, I practically threw Lettice at Sir John.”
“Well, to assuage your fears, Sadie, that is what I meant by confirming that there were no undue influences in Lettice’s decision.” the Viscount pronounces. “I asked her whether she felt obliged to marry Sir John because you had encouraged the match, and that she feared being stuck on the shelf.” He looks meaningfully at his wife. “But she says that neither of these had any influence on her decision. She says that Sir John isn’t perfect, but that he’s a good man, and that he isn’t lying to her. As I said - as you said – Sir John may not be young, but he’s eligible and wealthy to boot. Lettice will be chatelaine of a string of fine properties, and she’ll never have to worry about going without.”
“But Lettice is wrong about him nor lying to her.”
“What’s that?”
Lady Sadie snatches the lace handkerchief poking out of her left sleeve opening at her wrist and dabs her nose, sniffing as she does. “Several of my friends, Lally, and even Lettice tried to warn me about him. They said that he’s a lecherous man, with a penchant for younger women, actresses in particular.”
“Well,” the Viscount chuckles. “Plenty of men of good standing have been known to have the odd discreet elicit affair with a Gaiety Girl*********** or two.” He then blusters. “Not myself of course!”
“Of course not, Cosmo.” She reaches out one of her diamond spangled hands to her husband and takes his own proffered hand. “Never you. You were always too much of a gentleman to have a liaison with another woman. As I said, you always do the right thing, Cosmo. Do you know, I do believe that is why Zinnia stopped coming to our house parties. You weren’t for conquest, no matter how much she threw herself at you. And she did, quite shamelessly.”
“Did she?” the Viscount asks innocently.
“You know she did!” Lady Sadie slaps her husband’s wrist playfully. “Now who’s being obtuse?”
“Well, maybe I did sense her overtures towards me, but she never stood a chance, Sadie!” the Viscount replies with an earnest look. “You were only ever going to be the one for me.”
“That’s sweet of you Cosmo, and I appreciate it. But, for all his pedigree and wealth, and for all his apparent care for Lettice, your judge of character of Sir John is fatally flawed my dear.”
“Flawed?”
“Sir John Nettleford-Hughes is not for our youngest daughter.” Lady Sadie goes on. “Nor any good and upstanding young lady of society. I know now that he is a philanderer: discreet yes, but not discreet enough, and no matter how many houses he has, or wealth, he will never make Lettice happy – quite the opposite in fact, I fear, even if she can’t see that in her present state of besottedness. She will become the neglected, deserted wife and the ridicule of society. And that is why I am against Sir John, and this marriage, which will be as disastrous for her as dear Elsie Bucknell’s was for her.” Sadie points to the wedding party photograph again.
“What?”
“Yes.” Lady Sadie cocks an eyebrow as she gives her husband a withering look. “His latest conquest is an up-and-coming West End actress named Paula Young. Such a nasty, common name.” she opines. “Then again, it suits a nasty and common little upstart tart of an actress!”
“Sadie!”
“Sorry Cosmo, but that’s what she is, if she allows herself to be seen in such an…” Lady Sadie shudders. “An intimate situation with a man like Sir John.”
“Surely there is some kind of misunderstanding: just gossip, Sadie.”
“Gossip yes, but verified nonetheless.” Lady Sadie answers sadly. “Though I wish to god that I could say it wasn’t. My cousin Gwendolyn was having dinner at the Café Royal************ and saw them together herself less than a week ago.”
“What was Gwendolyn doing at the Café Royal?”
“She is a duchess, Cosmo dear, or have you forgotten?”
“Who could ever forget that Gwendolyn is the Duchess of Whiby, Sadie? She certainly won’t let anyone forget it.”
“Well, she was escorting her grand-nice Barbara who debuted last year as part of the London Season, because poor Monica had influenza and was confined to bed, and she noticed Sir John and that that cheap actress at a shaded corner table.”
“A simple dinner between two friends., Sadie.” the Viscount tries to explain the situation away.
“Gwendolyn says that he was practically devouring her as he lavished her bare forearms with kisses.” Lady Sadie replies with another shudder and a look of disgust. “In public! With an actress! How vulgar, and certainly not discreet, even if at a corner table in the shadows!”
“Gwendolyn goes looking for gossip wherever she goes, Sadie, even in places where it isn’t.” the Viscount cautions his wife.
“I know, but be that as it may, Cosmo, I also have it from your own sister, Eglantyne, that many years ago, before she was married, he also had an elicit affair with that awful romance novelist Gladys Caxton, whom Lettice and you had all the trouble with not long ago.”
“Well you know Eglantyne doesn’t believe in the institution of marriage.” the Viscount begins.
“This was before any of us even knew of the understanding reached between Lettice and Sir John, Cosmo.”
“Well,” he chuckles in an effort to shake he sudden concerns off. “If that affair was many years ago, who cares, Sadie? It has no significance now.”
Lady Sadie slides open a drawer of her bonheur de jour and takes out a sheet of paper on which is written a list of names.
“After Gwendolyn’s revelations, I did a bit of digging myself, and these are the actresses ingénues and parvenues I was able to connect him to.”
“The cad!” the Viscount gasps as his widened eyes run down the list. “There must be at lest two dozen women on this list.”
“There are twenty-nine to be exact, Cosmo, and they are only the ones I could find and link him to.”
“You know I always thought that he was an old letch.” the Viscount restates his long held belief again. “I can’t deny that I’d heard the rumours too, but being unmarried I didn’t pay them much mind. And when he showed up here today, all charm, and was so solicitous to Lettice, making my little girl so happy, well...”
“You were swayed on your judgment of this character.” Lady Sadie says with an arched eyebrow and a knowing look.
“I was.” the Viscount agrees. “I was persuaded: taken in by him as a matter-of-fact! What a fool I am!”
“Charming people can always beguile, dear Cosmo.”
“I shall go into the drawing room this very minute and have it out with him!” He gets to his feet, trembling with anger and frustration as his elegant hands form into fists. “I’ll fling Sir John out on his philandering ear!”
Lady Sadie reaches out again to still her husband, wrapping her hand comfortingly around his wrist. “No you won’t, Cosmo.” she says calmly and matter-of-factly, gazing up at him sadly. “It would be the wrong thing to do, and you know it. And, as we have agreed, you always do the right and decent thing. It would be too embarrassing to conduct such a scene before a houseful of guests, even if they are family: for Sir John, Leslie, Arabella, Lally, Eglantyne, me, you,” She lowers her voice and adds sadly. “For Lettice.”
“You’re right, Sadie.” the Viscount says, still trembling with anger. “Shall I speak to Lettice?” he suggests. “Pull her aside and have a discreet word with her?”
“Why, Cosmo?”
“I could forbid her to marry him. I could threaten to cut her allowance off.”
Lady Sadie laughs in a sad and tired fashion. “Cosmo, what purpose would that serve? She’s already told you that she intends to go through with this marriage, and that she won’t be swayed.”
“Well, Lettice might come to her senses if I tell her… tell her the reasons why I’m forbidding her to marry that… that bounder!”
“She knows already what kind of man Sir John is, Cosmo. She was one of the people who told me that he’s a philanderer.”
“What?”
“Lettice told me herself that he has a penchant for young ladies.”
“Well, if she hears it from me, her own father?”
“You’ll only drive her deeper into his arms, Cosmo. She’s angry. She’s hurting. She’s rebelling, God help us all!” Lady Sadie says knowingly. “She’s seeking revenge. And your threat to cut off Lettice’s allowance would be meaningless if she marries Sir John. As you have duly noted already, he’s richer than Croesus*************. Besides, thanks to you and Eglantyne she also has a successful business venture to support her now.”
“What the devil is she playing at then?” the Viscount asks. “Is it not bad enough that we have an errant son in Lionel, that we must now have a daughter who marries a known philanderer with a penchant for young actresses, and will doubtless end up being dragged through the divorce courts as a result, casting shame on the family?”
“I don’t know, Cosmo, other than she is lashing out at Lady Zinnia, exacting her revenge as she sees it.”
The Viscount looks down at his wife sadly and ponders. “You’re being remarkably calm about all this, Sadie.”
“Yes,” she replies with a derisive snigger as she starts to take up some of the lose photos and file them together. “I know. Usually, it’s me having histrionics, not you. However, there is something I keep reminding myself of that brings me solace as I mull this situation over in my mind.”
“What on earth can bring you solace about this disastrous situation Lettice has willingly foisted upon herself?”
Lady Sadie looks knowingly at her husband. “One swallow does not a summer make**************, Cosmo. And an engagement, especially a hasty one, does not necessarily lead to marriage.”
“What are you saying, Sadie?”
“I’m simply saying that if a man breaks off his engagement with a lady, he’s a cad and a bounder. However, a lady is perfectly entitled to break off her engagement with a gentleman. In fact,” She smiles smugly. “It is her prerogative to do so.”
“Are you suggesting that we should encourage Lettice to break her engagement with Sir John?” the Viscount asks. He sighs and rubs his cleanly shaven chin. “I say! What a clever ploy, Sadie.” he muses. “Quite brilliant! Quite Machiavellian, no less!”
“No, I’m not saying that at all, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie quips. “You misunderstand me again.” She releases an exasperated sigh. “This is also what I mean by you not understanding Lettice. There is no talking to her right now, she’s so focussed on her own hurt and anger, and is determined to exact her own misaligned form of revenge on Selwyn and Zinnia. At the moment you could say that Sir John is made of glass and will shatter into a thousand slivers the moment she marries him and stab her to death, and she’ll still marry him to spite them, because she simply cannot see straight. She’s so angry that she won’t listen to reason.” She settles back in her seat and steeples her fingers before her as she stares off into a future only she can see. “Lettice is like a blizzard: blustery, but eventually her anger will peter out.”
“So you are suggesting what?”
“So, what I’m suggesting is that in this case, we must be patient with Lettice. We must settle ourselves in for the long game, and just watch what happens when her storm peters out.”
“So, in your opinion, we do nothing, then?” the Viscount blasts.
“For the time being, no, Cosmo.”
“But if we do nothing, she’ll marry the cad, and then where will we be?”
“I’m not convinced, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie assures her husband. “I think that if we cool our heels and let things play out, Lettice will come to her senses in the fullness of time.”
“You seem very sure of that, Sadie.” the Viscount says with a dubious look at his wife.
“I am, Cosmo.”
“And if you’re wrong? What then?”
“I’m not.” she assures him. “But if I were to be, then we shall simply have to steer her back to her senses when she is in a frame of mind that best allows us to encourage her to break off this disastrous marriage with Sir John.”
The Viscount shudders. “How can I have a son-in-law who’s as old as I am, or older.”
“Not quite, Cosmo, dear.” Lady Sadie assures him. “He’s a year and a half younger than you. I know. I did my in depth research about him before putting him forward as a potential suitor in 1922.”
“Evidently not in depth enough, Sadie,” He holds up the sheet of paper before he wife before screwing it up in anger and throwing it vehemently into her waste paper basket. “If Lettice is now engaged to a wealthy womaniser who carries on with actresses in public.”
“Don’t worry.” Lady Sadie continues to soothe in a soft voice, “We won’t have Sir John as our son-in-law. You’ll see.”
“Now that I know what I know,” the Viscount sighs. “I just hope you’re right, Sadie.”
“I usually am, Cosmo,” Lady Sadie resumes shuffling the photographs. “In the end.”
*Twelfth Night (also known as Epiphany Eve depending upon the tradition) is a Christian festival on the last night of the Twelve Days of Christmas, marking the coming of the Epiphany. Different traditions mark the date of Twelfth Night as either the fifth of January or the sixth of January, depending on whether the counting begins on Christmas Day or the twenty-sixth of December. January the sixth is celebrated as the feast of Epiphany, which begins the Epiphanytide season.
**A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
***Bowood is a Grade I listed Georgian country house in Wiltshire, that has been owned for more than two hundred and fifty years by the Fitzmaurice family. The house, with interiors by Robert Adam, stands on extensive grounds which include a garden designed by Lancelot "Capability" Brown. It is adjacent to the village of Derry Hill, halfway between Calne and Chippenham. The greater part of the house was demolished in 1956.
****Alexander Bassano was an English photographer who was a leading royal and high society portrait photographer in Victorian London. He is known for his photo of the Earl Kitchener in the Lord Kitchener Wants You army recruitment poster during the First World War and his photographs of Queen Victoria. He opened his first studio in 1850 in Regent Street. The studio then moved to Piccadilly between 1859 and 1863, to Pall Mall and then to 25 Old Bond Street in 1877 where it remained until 1921 when it moved to Dover Street. There was also a Bassano branch studio at 132 King's Road, Brighton from 1893 to 1899.
*****Introduced in 1922, the Type 30 was the first production Bugatti to feature an Inline-8. Nicknamed the “Torpedo” because of its similar look to the wartime munition, at the time Bugatti opted to move to a small two-litre engine to make the car more saleable, lighter and cheap. The engine capacity also made the Type 30 eligible for Grand Prix racing, which was a new direction for the marque. Despite the modest engine capacity, the power output was still remarkable thanks to the triple-valve arrangement. Also benefiting the Type 30 was good road handling, braking and steering which was common throughout the marque. The Type 30 was also the first Bugatti to have front brakes.
******Button back upholstered furniture contains buttons embedded in the back of the sofa or chair, which are pulled tightly against the leather creating a shallow dimple effect. This is sometimes known as button tufting.
*******A boutonnière is a flower that someone wears in the buttonhole of, or fastened to, their jacket on a special occasion such as a wedding.
********The Brownie (or Box Brownie) was invented by Frank A. Brownell for the Eastman Kodak Company. Named after the Brownie characters popularised by the Canadian writer Palmer Cox, the camera was initially aimed at children. More than 150,000 Brownie cameras were shipped in the first year of production, and cost a mere five shillings in the United Kingdom. An improved model, called No. 2 Brownie, came in 1901, which produced larger photos, and was also a huge success. Initially marketed to children, with Kodak using them to popularise photography, it achieved broader appeal as people realised that, although very simple in design and operation, the Brownie could produce very good results under the right conditions. One of their most famous users at the time was the then Princess of Wales, later Queen Alexandra, who was an avid amateur photographer and helped to make the Box Brownie even more popular with the British public from all walks of life. As they were ubiquitous, many iconic shots were taken on Brownies. Jesuit priest Father Frank Browne sailed aboard the RMS Titanic between Southampton and Queenstown, taking many photographs of the ship’s interiors, passengers and crew with his Box Brownie. On the 15th of April 1912, Bernice Palmer used a Kodak Brownie 2A, Model A to photograph the iceberg that sank RMS Titanic as well as survivors hauled aboard RMS Carpathia, the ship on which Palmer was travelling. They were also taken to war by soldiers but by World War I the more compact Vest Pocket Kodak Camera as well as Kodak's Autographic Camera were the most frequently used. Another group of people that became posthumously known for their huge photo archive is the Nicholas II of Russia family, especially its four daughters who all used Box Brownie cameras.
*********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.
**********Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.
***********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society
************Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes
*************The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
**************The idiom “richer than Croesus” means very wealthy. This term alludes to Croesus, the legendary King of Lydia and supposedly the richest man on earth. The simile was first recorded in English in 1577.
**************The expression “One swallow does not a summer make, nor one fine day; similarly one day or brief time of happiness does not make a person entirely happy” is attributed to Aristotle (384 – 322 BC).
Cluttered with photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s bonheur de jour is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Chetwynd’s framed family photos seen on the desk and hanging on the walls are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The largest frame on the right-hand side of the desk is actually a sterling silver miniature frame. It was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.
The remaining unframed photographs and photograph album on Lady Sadie’s desk are a 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe is known for his miniature books. Most of the books crated by him that I own 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. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. The photo album, although closed, contains pages of photos in old fashioned Victorian style floral frames on every page, just like a real Victorian photo album. Not only did Ken Blythe create books, he also created other 1:12 miniatures with paper and that includes the photographs. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. He also made the packets of seeds, which once again are copies of real packets of Webbs seeds and the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
The vase of primroses in the middle of the desk is a delicate 1:12 artisan porcelain miniature made and painted by hand by Ann Dalton.
The desk and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design, made by Bespaq. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.
The wallpaper is a copy of an Eighteenth Century blossom pattern.
We were happy to have our vehicle washed at the Heritage Christian School car wash; students raising money to fund a trip to Vancouver Island
We left Puno bright and early on Thursday morning, arriving at the bus
station in a rickety moto-taxi. We'd booked ourselves the front seats on
the second floor of the bus and we actually got them, which was a
pleasant surprise. The bus company seemed very professional, as they
came over the loud speaker and explained the border crossing process.
We drove for a couple of hours with gorgeous views of the Lago Titicaca
and the Altiplano. Just before the border, we stopped at a currency
exchange, where we traded in our Peruvian soles (that would be the
currency, not the souls of Inca) for bolivianos. The bus continued on
and we all clambered off at the border crossing. First, we returned our
Peruvian immigration cards and tried not to step on the huge, black dog
in the middle of the immigration office. The person processing me spent
the whole time talking of their cell phone, so they only had one hand to
do things with. They almost mis-stamped by passport, but luckily it all
worked out in the end. Then, we walked through the stone archway between
the countries and lined up to enter Bolivia officially. This office was
tiny and we all stood in the doorway, forming different lines for
different nationalities. We'd been told on the bus to have 2 bolivianos
ready, but they all seemed confused when I asked if we needed to pay.
After everyone had been processed, we drove for about 20 minutes to the
town of Copacabana on the shores of the lake. The bus stopped just
outside of town and someone came on the collect the 2 bolivianos from
each person. It turned out to be entrance tickets to some site in the
region (that we were, for some reason, required to buy) and nothing to
do with immigration.
We got off the bus in Copacabana and were told that another bus company
would take us to La Paz in about an hour. We remembered to change our
clocks with the new time change and we went to have a quick lunch. Our
fancy set menu consisted of soup, an omelet and mango ice cream! Not bad
for 2 dollars each.
Our next bus was nice and quite empty. We sat near the front and enjoyed
more views of the lake. From the map, it looked like we would cross a
sizable bridge over the lake before getting to La Paz. That, however,
would not have been nearly as exciting as what did happen!
As we drove near the shoreline, I noticed these strange boat or maybe
dock like things that seemed to have track marks for cars. I was quite
confused, until our bus stopped at the side of the lake and we were all
told to get off. It turned out that there was no bridge and for two
bolivianos each we would be taken to the other side.
We bought our tickets and climbed onto a very sturdy boat.
“ /This is an important safety announcement. Ship personnel are
certified by nobody to deal with emergency situations. Please follow the
directions of the person fiddling with the engine to try and make it go.
This vessel is not equipped with life rafts or life jackets for adults
or children. Please take a moment to familiarize yourself with how to
swim quickly to the nearest shore. If you have any safely concerns or
questions, please keep them to yourself. Thank you for sailing with Lake
Titicaca ferries!”/
Our bus meanwhile, drove onto one of the barges I'd noticed earlier and
came over to meet us on the other side. Our fancy bus crossing the lake
on a haphazard chunk of floating wood was quite the sight!
We made it, safely, to La Paz by 5:00 that afternoon and walked towards
the centre of town. We'd found a good sounding hostel from our guide
book and now we had to try and find it. We found the building, but it
seemed to be full of lawyer's offices and there was no sign of a hostel.
Discouraged, we pulled out our guide book to see if there were any other
cheap places listed. That was when we read the little note about it
being at the top of the stairs on the left hand side. Sure enough, it
was there and they had a room for two. Our room is right on the street,
which makes it a little noisy but also less frigid in the morning.
On Friday morning, we headed out in search of api, which we found after
a couple seconds of looking. Api is this wonderful purple corn drink
full of spices and pure deliciousness. After warming up and floating in
pure bliss for a few minutes, we headed out to the market.
The market was described as a 10 block radius full of everything
imaginable and that description was spot on. We wandered through the
narrow streets, buying fruit, veggies, grains, shampoo and cereal. We
even acquired a bag of cheesies!
Around noon it started to pour, so we made a bee-line to the closest
restaurant. I'm still not quite sure what we ate for lunch, but it
wasn't too bad. The sad part though, was that we forgot our huge chunk
of squash at the restaurant!
We'd only been given 30 days in Bolivia at the border, so we knew we had
to go to /migracion /in La Paz and apply for more time. The guide book
said it closed for lunch and opened again at 4:30. We decided to visit a
couple of museums while we waited.
First, we went to a very impressive art gallery that had Aymara (the
local indigenous group) paintings of the region. The colours were
vibrant and the images captivating. After thoroughly enjoying that, we
went next door to the Andean Musical Instruments museum. From
archaeological remains of early instruments to fine examples of modern
day zampoñas, charangos and quenas, it was very educational and super
cool! Learning one of those instruments is another goal for the trip (or
just life in general)!
We learned about the largest ever charango to be built as well as the
largest ever charango orchestra, both from Bolivia and both featured in
the Guinness Book of World Records. On the balcony overlooking the
courtyard, we got to try out a bunch of instruments, including bells,
rattles and a beer bottle musical contraption.
It was raining again as we left the museum, so we swung past the hostel
to grab raincoats and then continued to the immigration office. Of
course, when we got there, it was closed. The sign on the door said that
it had been open until 3:30 and was now closed until Monday morning.
Never trust the guide book!
With our afternoon free again, we decided to go for api again and
wandered through the market building close to our hostel. We bought long
life milk (my favourite!) from a very friendly vendor who told us he'd
come visit us in Canada in 5 years. We didn't manage to acquire butter
or black tea, but we found green plantains, much to my delight. We also
picked up replacement squash, as we didn't feel like walking all the
back to get our forgotten chunk.
We made quinua-squash burgers in the real deal kitchen and they were
delicious, if slightly soggy!
This morning, after a bowl of possibly chocolate cereal and a piece of
banana bread, we went to the market for api. We squeezed into a stall
with a bunch of other people and I finally warmed up for the first time
all day. The day had started with a very cold shower, (gas powered
showers are beyond my abilities), so it was so good to stop shivering.
Then we tried to visit a collection of four municipal museums, including
one on the no-longer existent Bolivian shoreline. Unfortunately, we were
unable to pay the admission, since we had too much money. Change being
the ever illusive thing it is here, we decided to go to a more expensive
museum that might be able to break our 100 Boliviano bill.
We spent an incredible morning at the /Museo de Etnografia y Folklore.
/We learned seemingly everything about traditional and modern weaving,
from the raw materials and dye to exhibits of shawls, belts, tunics and
hats. Some of the items were over a thousand years old, but still mainly
in tact. We got to see hats from the Wari culture, whose ruins we
visited in Peru a few weeks ago.
There was a room full of pottery, spanning the millennia. We saw
Bolivian retablos and learned about their history. After we'd seen
everything on the main floor, we went upstairs to what was labelled as
the Walking Exhibit.
It turned out to be the most thorough history imaginable of the country,
from the ice bridge in the Bering Straight to the election of Evo
Morales in 2005. I read about various indigenous groups and empires,
admired models of their villages and learned about the indigenous
rebellions against the Spanish.
It was lunch time by this point, but we were determined to see
everything! Downstairs, there was an exhibit on birds of the country,
each one with a folktale about it. I learned about the wisdom passed
along by condors and the parrots that saved the lives of two Amazonian
kids. There were two rooms filled with feather art, intricate head
pieces and the biggest feather duster I've ever seen!
We left the museum and headed to the market again for lunch. We found a
place that had something other than peanut soup on offer and tucked in.
Instead of white rice, our meals keep coming with a strange kind of
pasta, but it's certainly an improvement. I picked out the veggies and
noodles from the soup and the main dish, avoiding the chunks of meat.
Since lunch was so cheep, we shared pineapple milk deliciousness and
then headed off on our afternoon's adventure!
We'd seen the red cable cars of Mi Teleferico from a distance and Dxn
really wanted to give them a try. I was less certain, given my fear of
heights, but it was well worth it! Mi Teleferico is a commuter gondola
that currently connects central La Paz with El Alto, about 500 meters
above. There are many more routes being built, with the hope to reduce
traffic congestion and connect the bowl-like city more easily.
We bought our 60 cent tickets and were soon in a cable car with a few
other people on our way up. The scenery were spectacular. I watched us
rise above the city, gaining a perspective on its size. Watching the
bustle of the streets below was fascinating. Soon we were above the
enormous cemetery, teeming with people visiting. We pulled into the
middle station and then headed farther up the hillside to El Alto.
We got off the shiny, modern gondola and entered into the bustle of the
city again. We passed a well attended girl's soccer game and explored
the street markets. We bought buns, tomatoes and a small box of
Christmas cake. We'd been eyeing it the whole trip and figured that we
should see how it is, before we commit to a large one.
We walked through a fabric market and I wished I could buy all of it and
sew for the next year straight. But we were very retrained and only
bought a raspberry cheesecake ice cream bar covered in white chocolate.
We took the teleferico down and returned to the hostel to cook dinner. I
got to make my favourite meal of tostones/pateones (aka deep fried
plantain). I couldn't quite remember how long it took for a French guy
to smoke a cigarette on an Ecuadorian farm, but they turned quite nicely.
The other exciting event of the evening was finally finding the words to
one of the pop songs we've heard on almost every bus ride. Now I can
annoy everyone by learning all the words!
Tomorrow, we'll visit some more museums, (with the correct change), and
on Monday we'll see about getting visa extensions, (if the office is
actually open!).
Explaining the towel: while it may seem a strange accessory to some of you, any local looking at this picture would immediately realise there was a baby tied to the young woman's back :-)
The work of ESA's 'Mars Yard' for planetary rover testing, part of ESTEC’s Planetary Robotics Laboratory, explained to visitors during the Sunday 4 October 2015 ESTEC Open Day by Gianfranco Visentin, head of ESA’s Automation and Robotics section (far left).
Credit: ESA-G. Porter CC BY-SA 3.0 IGO
Danielle Paterson and Harrison Cole in 'Guy Fawkes It Up!" by Laughing Mirror theatre company, at this year's Edinburgh Fringe.
The play was directed by Chad Porter. I know both Harrison and Chad from last year's Fringe when they were in 'The Baffling Adventures of Question-Mark Man'.
Christof: "We accept the reality of the world with which we are presented, it's as simple as that." The Truman Show, movie by Peter Weir, starring Jim Carrey. 1998.
I add some pictures to explain the special re-root I made for My "Wheatfield" Blythe doll. I was inspired by a picture found on the net, this old picture from the sixties with its faded colors has completely captivated me to the point that I imagined to make a doll's hair. So I enlarged and pixelated a portion of this image to identify the different colors I could mix.
Finally, I choose 15 colors, in equal amounts, to obtain this special mixture that makes think about a wheat field before harvest... : Ash Blonde, Golden Girl, Purple Passion, Tickled Pink, Cotton Candy Pink, Lyme, Honey Blonde, Fifties Blonde, Frosted Brownette, Auburn Chatty, Light Blonde Chatty, Megan, Limited Blonde, Blondicious and Violet Iris.
She's an hybrid blythe doll, so I used different pieces bought especially to make this custom doll. The faceplate and eye mechanism is from Hoshinonamida Hime RBL Blythe doll. The body and the scalp is from Lena's shop and the dome from Coolcat.
Thank you very much for your visiting! ｡◕‿◕ღ
AF-S Nikkor 300mm f/4E PF VR on Nikon 1 J5 using FT1 adaptor. 60 frame focus stack shot as JPEG Basic Small with Nikon Z6 and AF-S Nikkor 20mm f/1.8G.
www.ravishlondon.com/londonstreetart
Together Shoreditch and Spitalfields in the East of London constitute the most exciting place to be in London. The population is young, dynamic and imaginative; Friday and Saturday nights are a riot with a plethora of bars and clubs many with their own unique flavour. But what makes this area really special is that Shoreditch and Spitalfields comprise what one might call, ‘the square mile of art’; a de factor open air art gallery; with graffiti, posters and paste-ups being displayed on the main streets, down the side roads and in all the nooks and crannies of this post-industrial environ.
From Eine’s huge single letters being painted on shop shutters, to the haunting propaganda posters of Obey, to Cartrain’s political black and white pop-art; and to the one very small bronze coloured plastic circle, with the imprint of a dog shit and a man's foot about to step into it, which I once saw pasted to a wall, there is an incredible diversity.
Being on the streets, the work can be destroyed, taken or painted over at any minute. It is fragile and transient. Furthermore the juxtaposition of different pieces of art is random and unpredictable both in content and its location, which means that each day throws up a new and unique configuration of work within the streets, which you can only experience by travelling through the city.
Street Art Beginnings
The reasons for why East London has seen the flowering of street art are manifold. The post-industrial legacy of Shoreditch’s crumbling low-rise warehouses, not only provides an environment in which the artists and designers can do their work, but East London’s proximity to the City of London provides an economic source of support for the artists and designers; and finally Shoreditch with its building sites, old dilapidated warehouses provides a canvas upon which those artists can display their work and increase their commercial value.
Set against the characterless nature of the steely post-modernity of the city, the autumnal colours of the terraced warehouses in Shoreditch, no bigger than four to five stories high; offer a reminder of the legacy of a thriving fabrics and furniture industry which blossomed in the seventeenth Century. Both Shoreditch and Spitalfields have industrial pasts linked to the textiles industry, which fell into terminal decline by the twentieth century and was almost non-existent by the end of Wolrd War II. The decline was mirrored in the many three to four storey warehouses that were left to decay.
The general decline was arrested in the 1980s with the emergence of Shoreditch and Hoxton (Hoxton and Shoreditch are used interchandeably to refer to the same area) as a centre for new artists. It is difficult to say what attracted the artists to this area. But it was likely to be a combination of the spaces offered by the old warehouses, the cheap rents, and the location of Shoreditch and Spitalfields close to the City of London; where the money was to buy and fund artistic endeavour.
Not just that but post-war Shoreditch dominated by tens of post-war tower blocks, built amidst the ruins of the terraced housing that lay there before, which was bombed during World War II; had the rough edge which might inspire an artist. Shoreditch hums with the industry of newly arrived immigrants but also of the dangers of the poorer communities which inhabit these areas. Homeless people can be found sat underneath bridges on the main thoroughfares on Friday and Saturday nights; and Shoreditch is apparently home to one of the largest concentrations of striptease joints and a number of prostitutes. So, Shoreditch is a crumbling dirty, dodgy, polluted mess but it also has money; and these two factors provide an intoxicating mix for artists, who can take inspiration from their environment, but also rub shoulders with people who have the kind of money to buy their work.
By the early nineties Hoxton’s reputation as a centre for artists had become well established. As Jess Cartner-Morley puts it ‘Hoxton was invented in 1993. Before that, there was only 'Oxton, a scruffy no man's land of pie and mash and cheap market-stall clothing…’ At that time artists like Damien Hirst and Tracy Emin were taking part in ‘A Fete Worth than Death’ an arts based event in Hoxton. Gradually these artists began to create their own gravity, attracting more and more of their own like. Clubs and bars began to emerge, as did a Hoxton style, ‘the Hoxton fin’ being a trademark haircut. Many designers and artists located around Shoreditch and Spitalfields. Shoreditch has also become a hive of studios for artists, vintage fashion shops, art students and musicians.
At the same time as an artistic community was forming fuelled by money from the City, London was subject to a revolution in street art. According to Ward, writing for Time Out, the street art scene began in the mid-1980s as part of London’s hip-hop scene. Graffiti artists, emulating what was going on Stateside, began to tag their names all over London. According to Ward many of those pioneers ‘went on to paint legal commissions and are at the heart of today’s scene’. That is to say, from the community of artists congregating in East London, a number were inspired by graffiti, and because the East London, with its countless dilapidated warehouses, and building sites, offered such a good canvas; they went on to use the East London as a canvas for their work.
Little seems to have been written about the individual journey’s particular street artists have taken to get to where they are, which help illuminate some of the issues talked about in this section. Cartrain said that Banksy was a huge influence for him commenting that, "I've sent him a few emails showing him my work and he sent me a signed piece of his work in the post."
What created the East London street art scene may also kill it
The East London urban art scene is unlikely to last forever, being the symptom of a delicate juxtaposition of industrial decline and economic forces.
The irony is that the same factors which are responsible for the creation of the East London art scene are likely to destroy it.
Politicians from all parties, spiritual leaders for global capital, tell us of the unstoppable forces of globalisation. They say if Britain is to continue to dip its paw into the cream of the world’s wealth it needs to become a post-industrial service economy; suggesting a rosy future of millions of Asians slaving away co-ordinated by keyboard tapping British suits, feet on desk, leant back on high backed leather chairs, secretary blowing them off.
Art, which is feeble and dependent upon the financial growth of an economy for its survival, will have to shape itself around the needs and demands of capital.
The financial district of the City of London, lying to the south of Shoreditch, has been successfully promoted as a global financial centre, and its mighty power is slowly expanding its way northwards. Plans are afoot for the glass foot soldiers of mammon, fuelled by speculative property investment, to gradually advance northwards, replacing old warehouses with a caravan of Starbucks and Japanese sushi places and a concomitant reduction in dead spaces to portray the art, increased security to capture and ward off street artists, increased property prices and the eventual eviction of the artistic community. Spitalfields has already had big corporate sized chunks taken out of it, with one half of the old Spitalfields Market being sacrificed for corporate interests in the last five years.
So then the very same financial forces, and post-industrial legacy, which have worked to create this micro-environment for street art to thrive, are the same forces which will in time eventually destroy it. Maybe the community will move northwards, maybe it will dissipate, but until that moment lets just enjoy what the community puts out there, for its own financial interests, for their own ego and also, just maybe, for the benefit of the people.
Banksy
Banksy is the street artist par excellence. London’s street art scene is vibrant and diverse. There is some good, cure, kitschy stuff out there, but in terms of creativity and imagination Banksy leads by a city mile. His stuff is invariably shocking, funny, thought provoking and challenging.
Banksy considers himself to be a graffiti artist, which is what he grew up doing in the Bristol area in the late eighties. According to Hattenstone (2003) Banksy, who was expelled from his school, and who spent some time in prison for petty crimes, started graffiti at the age of 14, quickly switching over to stencils, which he uses today, because he didn’t find he had a particular talent for the former. His work today involves a mixture of graffiti and stencils although he has shown a capacity for using a multitude of materials.
Key works in London have included:
•In London Zoo he climbed into the penguin enclosure and painted "We're bored of fish" in six-foot-high letters.
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•In 2004 he placed a dead rat in a glass-fronted box, and stuck the box on a wall of the Natural History Museum.
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•‘A designated riot area’ at the bottom of Nelson’s Column.
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•He placed a painting called Early Man Goes to Market, with a human figure hunting wildlife while pushing a shopping trolley, in the British Museum.
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His work seems to be driven by an insatiable desire to go on producing. In an interview with Shepherd Fairey he said, ‘Anything that stands in the way of achieving that piece is the enemy, whether it’s your mum, the cops, someone telling you that you sold out, or someone saying, "Let’s just stay in tonight and get pizza." Banksy gives the impression of being a person in the mould of Tiger Woods, Michael Schumacher or Lance Armstrong. Someone with undoubted talent and yet a true workaholic dedicated to his chosen profession.
Its also driven by the buzz of ‘getting away with it’. He said to Hattenstone, ‘The art to it is not getting picked up for it, and that's the biggest buzz at the end of the day because you could stick all my shit in Tate Modern and have an opening with Tony Blair and Kate Moss on roller blades handing out vol-au-vents and it wouldn't be as exciting as it is when you go out and you paint something big where you shouldn't do. The feeling you get when you sit home on the sofa at the end of that, having a fag and thinking there's no way they're going to rumble me, it's amazing... better than sex, better than drugs, the buzz.’
Whilst Banksy has preferred to remain anonymous he does provide a website and does the occasional interview putting his work in context (see the Fairey interview).
Banksy’s anonymity is very important to him. Simon Hattenstone, who interviewed Banksy in 2003, said it was because graffiti was illegal, which makes Banksy a criminal. Banksy has not spoken directly on why he wishes to maintain his anonymity. It is clear that Banksy despises the notion of fame. The irony of course is that ‘Banksy’ the brand is far from being anonymous, given that the artist uses it on most if not all of his work. In using this brand name Banksy helps fulfil the need, which fuels a lot of graffiti artists, of wanting to be recognised, the need of ego.
Banksy is not against using his work to ‘pay the bills’ as he puts it. He has for example designed the cover of a Blur album, although he has pledged never to do a commercial job again, as a means of protecting his anonymity. Nevertheless he continues to produce limited edition pieces, which sell in galleries usually for prices, which give him a bit of spending money after he has paid the bills. Banksy has said, ‘If it’s something you actually believe in, doing something commercial doesn’t turn it to shit just because it’s commercial’ (Fairey, 2008). Banksy has over time passed from urban street artist into international artistic superstar, albeit an anonymous one.
Banksy has a definite concern for the oppressed in society. He often does small stencils of despised rats and ridiculous monkeys with signs saying things to the effect of ‘laugh now but one day we’ll be in charge’. Whilst some seem to read into this that Banksy is trying to ferment a revolutionary zeal in the dispossessed, such that one day they will rise up and slit the throats of the powers that be, so far his concern seems no more and no less than just a genuine human concern for the oppressed. Some of what seems to fuel his work is not so much his hatred of the system but at being at the bottom of it. He said to Hattenstone (2003) ‘Yeah, it's all about retribution really… Just doing a tag is about retribution. If you don't own a train company then you go and paint on one instead. It all comes from that thing at school when you had to have name tags in the back of something - that makes it belong to you. You can own half the city by scribbling your name over it’
Charlie Brooker of the Guardian has criticised Banksy for his depictions of a monkey wearing a sandwich board with 'lying to the police is never wrong' written on it. Certainly such a black and white statement seems out of kilter with more balanced assessments that Banksy has made. Brooker challenges Banksy asking whether Ian Huntley would have been right to have lied to the police?
Brooker has also criticized Banksy for the seemingly meaninglessness of some of this images. Brooker says, ‘Take his political stuff. One featured that Vietnamese girl who had her clothes napalmed off. Ho-hum, a familiar image, you think. I'll just be on my way to my 9 to 5 desk job, mindless drone that I am. Then, with an astonished lurch, you notice sly, subversive genius Banksy has stencilled Mickey Mouse and Ronald McDonald either side of her. Wham! The message hits you like a lead bus: America ... um ... war ... er ... Disney ... and stuff.’ Brooker has seemingly oversimplified Banksy’s message, if indeed Banksy has one, to fuel his own criticisms. It is easy to see that for many the Vietnam painting tells us that the United States likes to represent itself with happy smiling characters, that hide the effects of its nefarious activities responsible for the real life faces of distress seen on the young girl. Something that we should be constantly reminded of. But then that’s a matter of politics not of meaninglessness.
Banksy’s ingenuity comes through in his philosophy on progression, ‘I’m always trying to move on’ he says. In the interview he gave with Shepherd Fairey he explained that he has started reinvesting his money in to new more ambitious projects which have involved putting scaffolding put up against buildings, covering the scaffolding with plastic sheeting and then using the cover of the sheets to do his paintings unnoticed.
Banksy has balls. Outside of London he has painted images in Disney Land; and on the Israeli wall surrounding Palestine. How far is he willing to push it? What about trying something at the headquarters of the BNP, or on army barracks, or at a brothel or strip club employing sex slaves, or playing around with corporate advertising a la Adbusters?
A Japanese Flickr friend, Samuel Seta, explains:
"Sasuke Inari jinja" We read the name of this shrine like this.
"Sasuke" is a name of a certain male.
"Inari" derives its name from abundant harvest of "ine" (rice plant).
Also, it is the other name of fox.
This kind of shrine is almost made for abundant harvest of grain.
name of "Sasuke" derives from the name of the builder himself. Suke was his name when he was in youth.
He is well known as the name of " Minamoto Yoritomo", general leader of Samurai.
He united Japan into one in 12th century.
After his success of uniting Japan, he built this shrine as a thanksgiving for help to his god.
The first "Sa" means helping.
Fox had been believed as a kind of angel which brings prayer of havest to the god of grain.
As for the connection between a man named "Sasuke" & god of grain,