Generosity

LTFRB Case No.: 84-9216

Chassis no.: FG8J-14418

Engine no.: JO8E-UG13456

Route: Cainta-Quiapo

Plate no.: AAI-9422

rarity

Half a million views on this stream!!! I am speechless... so it's a good thing I am typing this. Even allowing for Flickr's current, more generous definition of what counts as a "view", this milestone floors me. I set my sights on making new pictures worthy of the next half million views.

 

Thank you for your continued visits to my stream and your comments and favorites. I pay attention to what Flickr-ites like.

 

Here is a snapshot of my 36 "most interesting" Flickr photos at this point in time. Each time I hit a major milestone, I save a current copy of this set to see what has changed since the last milestone.

 

1. Lucky Star is Closed for Business, 2. Yotsuba & Ramen, 3. Yotsuba & the Hallways, 4. Black Rock Shooter Finds Dead Master, 5. Do You Dig Graves?, 6. Hide and Go Seek, 7. Yotsuba & "The Scream", 8. Yotsuba & Obama, 9. Sakura Loves iPod, 10. Power Trio - Bass, Drums, and Guitar, 11. Rin Contemplates the Water, 12. Yotsuba & the Jet Pack, 13. "You've got some dust on the lens. Here, let me get that...", 14. Yotsuba & M&Ms, 15. Yotsuba & the Big Wheel, 16. Yotsuba & the Catch of the Day, 17. Mio Akiyama in the Spotlight, 18. Yotsuba Sketch, 19. "Let's Storm the Castle!", 20. Mana Can't Stop the Music, 21. Lucky Eva Twins, 22. Azusa Modeling Cat Ears, 23. Not a Walking Bass, 24. Yotsuba & the Rogue Bunnies, 25. Miku Hatsune Backed by Members of Ho-kago Tea Time, 26. Yotsuba & Christmas Lights, 27. Pocco & Her Chopper, 28. Welcome, 2014!, 29. Yotsuba's Scream on Exhibit in the Museum, 30. Ice Cream, I Scream, ..., 31. Through Time and Space, 32. Yotsuba Wakes Up, 33. Yotsuba & Cappuccino, 34. My "Yotsuba's Scream" on Exhibit in the Carpathian Castle, 35. Pocco and the Flowers, 36. Yotsuba & the Garden

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 to the west of London, in nearby Buckinghamshire, at Dorrington House, a smart Jacobean manor house of the late 1600s built for a wealthy merchant, situated in High Wycombe, where Lettice’s elder sister, Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), resides with her husband Charles Lanchenbury and their three children, Harrold, Annabelle and baby Piers. Situated within walking distance of the market town’s main square, the elegant red brick house with its high-pitched roof and white painted sash windows still feels private considering its close proximity to the centre of the town thanks to an elegant and restrained garden surrounding it, which is enclosed by a high red brick wall.

 

Lettice is nursing a broken heart. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice to celebrate his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.

 

Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she stayed for a week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father fed her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up. However, rather than assuage her broken heart, her father’s ministrations only served to make matters worse as she grew even more morose. It was from the most unlikely of candidates, her mother Lady Sadie, with whom Lettice has always had a fraught relationship, that Lettice received the best advice, which was to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life: keep designing interiors, keep shopping and most importantly, keep attending social functions where there are plenty of press photographers. “You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn,” Lady Sadie said wisely. ‘But Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him. They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him that you share through the newspaper men. Tell them that you are waiting patiently for Selwyn’s return.”

 

Since then, Lettice has been trying to follow her mother’s advice and has thrown herself into the merry dance of London’s social round of dinners, dances and balls in the lead up to the festive season. However, even she could only keep this up for so long, and was welcomed home with open and loving arms by her family for Christmas and the New Year. On New Year’s Eve, Lally, sitting next to Lettice, suggested that she spend a few extra weeks resting and recuperating with her in Buckinghamshire before returning to London and trying to get on with her life. Lettice happily agreed, and since arriving at Dorrington House with her sister and brother-in-law, she has enjoyed being quiet, spending quality time with her niece and nephews in the nursery, strolling the gardens with her sister or simply curling up in a window seat and reading.

 

We find ourselves in Dorrington House’s bright and airy breakfast room with its Dutch yellow painted walls, Chinese silk carpet, elegant Eighteenth Century furnishings and artwork, where breakfast is being served. Even in the weak morning light of winter, the breakfast room is always light and bright thanks to the large east facing windows overlooking the garden which catch the morning light. Charles, is sitting at the round Georgian table with its thin bands of inlay, dressed in his city clothes, reading the Daily Mail, which has been carefully ironed** for him by Edgars, the Lanchenbury’s butler, and munching a thin slice of toast when Lally strolls in, dressed in the uniform of all upper-class women in the counties during winter, a tweed skirt, thick stockings, a white blouse with a lace collar and a loosely draped cardigan: in Lally’s case a lovely warming chocolate brown one.

 

“Morning, Charles darling.” Lally says brightly as she kisses her husband gently on the top of his pomaded hair before taking her place adjunct to him at the breakfast table.

 

“Morning,” he mutters gruffly in reply as he concentrates on an article about the British submarine, HMS L24, sinking in a collision in the English Channel***. “Edgars says the eggs shouldn’t be long.”

 

“Oh good!” Lally enthuses, just as the door to the breakfast room is opened by the butler and he walks in carrying a small silver salver, upon which stand two eggs in matching silver eggcups. “Speaking of the devil.”

 

“Good morning Mrs. Lanchenbury.” the butler says politely. “Cook says to tell you that the sausages and bacon will be arriving shortly.”

 

“Good morning Edgars.” Lally replies cheerfully. “You and Cook have perfect timing, as usual.”

 

“We try, Mrs. Lanchenbury. We try.” he answers, flushing at his mistress’ compliment as he discreetly deposits one egg next to Charles’ plate and one next to Lally’s. “Will there be anything else madam?”

 

Lally looks across the breakfast table set for two. There are several slices of Mrs. Sawyers’ homemade toast in the silver toast rack, butter in a glass dish, a tureen of porridge and a bowl of fruit. The teapot emits curlicues of steam from its spout as it sits squatly next to Charles’ teacup. “I don’t think so, Edgars, but I’ll ring if I do.”

 

“Very good Mrs. Lanchenbury.” the butler replies before retreating discreetly through the door he came in through and closes it behind him.

 

Lally goes to strike the top of her egg when Charles clears his throat rather loudly as he turns the page of the Daily Mirror. After many years of marriage, Lally knows this particular fruity clearing of his throat is the entrée to a conversation with her husband about something that is irking him, so she pushes her egg aside and picks up a slice of toast instead.

 

“Yes Charles?”

 

“Hhhmmm?” he answers with raised eyebrows without looking up from his newspaper.

 

“Don’t be obtuse, my dear.” Lally continues with great patience. “When you clear your throat like that, it usually indicates that something is irritating you. So come on then, Charles. What is it?”

 

“Oh it’s nothing, nothing at all, Lally darling.”

 

Lally’s brow crumples. “You and I have been married for too long to know that isn’t true.”

 

Charles closes his newspaper and folds it in half, paying undue attention to each fold, before placing it atop his copy of The Times to his right on the tabletop. He then turns to his wife, who has paused mid stroke of butter to her toast, looking at him with a piqued gaze. “What are you and Tice planning to do with your day, whilst I’m off to London?”

 

“Yes, I noticed your town suit as soon as I walked in. Must you go in today?”

 

“Father and I are meeting with a few potential investors this morning in town, so I fear I must.”

 

“Doesn’t your father ever have a holiday, Charles?” Lally shakes her head when her husband gives her a nonchalant shrug and then continues. “Well, whilst you’re in town, Tice and I are going to play tennis down at The Barrows with Nettie Fisher and Alice Newsome. Why? Surely you don’t object?”

 

“Why on earth would I object to you and Tice playing tennis with Nettie Fisher and Alice Newsome?”

 

“Well, something’s obviously irking you, this morning.” Lally says sulkily, finishing buttering her toast before returning it to resting on the edge of the faceted glass butter dish.

 

“So, she isn’t sick then?”

 

“Who? Nettie Fisher or Alice Newsome?” Lally asks in surprise. “No!”

 

“Not them, Tice!” Charles bristles. “Is Tice ailing for something?”

 

“Well yes,” Lally begins. “Well no… well…”

 

“It’s just,” Charles interrupts his wife’s deliberations over her sister’s wellbeing. “I happened to run into Mrs. Sawyer on my way into breakfast and she was carrying a tray for your sister up to her room. I would have thought she would be having breakfast with us.”

 

“Ahh,” Lally sighs, cocking her thinly plucked and shaped eyebrow and nodding. “So that’s what’s irking you. It’s the fact that I’m letting Tice take breakfast in bed. Is that it?”

 

“Well, now you come to mention it.” Charles admits. “It’s just if she isn’t ill, and she isn’t a married lady, Tice should be having breakfast down here with us****.”

 

“Charles, darling,” Lally reaches out her right hand and places it lovingly over her husband’s left hand as it rests on the edge of the table next to the butter dish. “You know full well that Tice is pining for Selwyn. Their forced separation is hurting her so badly. I just don’t want her to have to worry about facing us first thing in the morning, when she evidently isn’t up to it.”

 

“Are her loving sister and brother-in-law so taxing to her, Lally darling?” Charles asks with concern.

 

“You will be,” Lally withdraws her hand and cuts her buttered toast in half with crisp slices with her silver knife. “If you insist on being like the Spanish inquisition!”

 

“Come now Lally!” Charles chides. “I’m hardly that. It would be remiss of me not to ask after Tice’s health in the morning.”

 

“And it would be wrong of you to do so, when you know full well that she is unhappy and only pretending to be bright and gay because Mater told her to be.”

 

“Well, I just don’t think Sadie would approve.” He reaches over for his egg and gently taps the top, breaking the shell.

 

“Oh pooh, Sadie!” Lally utters, hitting her egg sharply with the flat of her spoon in irritation, breaking the shell and causing the top of the eggshell to implode and imbed itself into the white of the egg.

 

“Temper, temper, Lally dear.”

 

“This is my house, not Mater’s, so if she were here, she could jolly well keep her nose out of how I run it, thank you very much, Charles.”

 

Charles raises his hands in defence. “I’m only suggesting that you are doing the same to Tice as Cosmo did, when she went home to Glynes after all that bad business with Lady Zinnia about Selwyn.”

 

“And what does that mean?”

 

“I’m merely implying, my dear, that you might be mollycoddling her a little. I was talking to Sadie at Christmas…”

 

“Oh not my mother again!” Lally’s eyes roll back in her head as she casts her frustrated glance to the ornate plaster ceiling above.

 

Ignoring his wife’s rude interruption, Charles continues, “I was taking to Sadie about Tice at Christmas, and she told me what your father did for Tice when she stayed at Glynes. Feeding her, her favourite shortbread, or allowing her to loll the morning away having breakfast in bed isn’t going to help Tice get on with things as Sadie suggested. I don’t always agree with your mother, but I happen to on this occasion. Tice can’t just spend a year withering away. She needs to get on with things.”

 

“Amazingly, I agree with Mater too, Charles.” Lally sighs. “However, Tice has been doing that with more gusto than I think she realised she had, and, well, Christmas has impacted her stamina. I just want to take care of Tice for a little bit, and allow her to recover. The best way I can do that is to let her come here and just be, Charles. She can be mopey and sullen, and she doesn’t have to pretend, here, within these four walls.”

 

“Well, I can’t say I entirely agree with your course of action, my dear, but then again, she isn’t my sister. I’m sure Mother, god rest her soul,” He casts his eyes upwards at the mention of his late mother. “Wouldn’t have let Penelope lie abed, even if she was suffering a broken heart.”

 

“But I’m not your mother, Charles.” Lally affirms with a steady voice. “And as you have acknowledged, she is my sister, so I will do what I think is best, and be damned for it if needs must. Anyway, I’m not entirely letting her off the hook. She has agreed to my suggestion of luncheon with Nettie and Alice today.”

 

“A tennis luncheon is hardly up to Tice’s usual standards of sociability, Lally.”

 

“That’s true Charles, but it’s a start. She didn’t object, like she did the other day when I suggested that we have luncheon with Lady Buchanan, so it’s a start.”

 

“I think I’d have objected if you suggested to me that we should have luncheon with Lady Buchanan.” Charles remarks disconcertedly. “Nasty old trout that she is.”

 

“Charles!” Lally exclaims as she bursts out laughing. “I never knew you despised her so.”

 

“Not despise, necessarily,” Charles answers, spooning up a mouthful of egg white as he tries to think of the right word. “More dislike intensely.”

 

“Well, I’ll be sure to deflect any dinner invites from the Major and Lady Buchanan, then.”

 

“I should think you would, Lally.”

 

“Anyway, going back to Tice. I’m also being a little selfish for having her here.”

 

“And how is that, Lally darling?”

 

“Well, I shall be happy to have her with me for company, since you are deserting me again so soon after New Year, as you set sail with your father, bound for Bombay on the P&O*****.”

 

“It’s not by choice, my darling, I can assure you.” Charles looks imploringly at his wife. “It’s father’s wish, just as it is his wish that I go up to town to see the investors he’s lined up for us to meet. Ever since Maison Lyonses****** at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue have accepted our Georgian Afternoon Tea blend to serve as their own on the beverages menu, we can’t seem to supply enough of the damn stuff for them. Hopefully with money from these prospective investors, we can expand the tea export business in India.”

 

“I know, Charles. I’ll just miss you, is all.”

 

“And I shall miss you.” Charles replies, reaching across the table with puckered lips, kissing his wife tenderly. “Perhaps when the baby is a bit older, you and the children can come out to India for a visit.”

 

“And join the ranks of insufferable Memsaabs******* on the subcontinent?” Lally balks. “No fear!”

 

“We’ll see.” Charles replies, knowingly.

 

“Anyway, you’ll be hundreds of miles away, chasing after dusky maidens around prospective tea plantations,” Lally adds cheekily in jest. “That you won’t be here to know what Tice and I get up to.”

 

“Well,” Charles swallows a mouthful of egg. “Just don’t mollycoddle her, is all I’m saying. It won’t do her any good.”

 

“I promise you, my darling, that I won’t.” Lally agrees. “Besides, I don’t know how long I’ll have Tice here for, anyway.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Oh, I was chatting with Aunt Egg on New Year’s Eve at Glynes, and she seems to have something up her sleeve for Tice.”

 

“Oh?” Charles queries.

 

“I don’t know exactly what. She mentioned something about a lady romance novelist.”

 

“Heavens!” Charles throws his hands up in despair. “Surely, she doesn’t intend for Tice to read any more of those appalling romance novels than she already does? That will only make her feel worse!”

 

“I don’t know Charles,” Lally replies. “You know how Aunt Egg can be when she has something half planned. None of it made much sense. But, I’m sure everything will make itself known in due course.”

 

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

 

**It was a common occurrence in large and medium-sized houses that employed staff for the butler or chief parlour maid to iron the newspapers. The task of butlers ironing newspapers is not as silly as it sounds. Butlers were not ironing out creases, but were using the hot iron to dry the ink so that the paper could be easily read without the reader's ending up with smudged fingers and black hands, a common problem with newspapers in the Victorian and Edwardian ages.

 

***The HMS L24 was built by Vickers at their Barrow-in-Furness shipyard, launched on the 19th of February 1919, and completed at an unknown date. The boat was sunk with all hands lost in a collision with the battleship Resolution during an exercise off Portland Bill in the English Channel on the 10th of January 1924. A memorial is located in St Ann's Church in HMNB Portsmouth.

 

****Before the Second World War, if you were a married Lady, it was customary for you to have your breakfast in bed, because you supposedly don't have to socialise to find a husband. Unmarried women were expected to dine with the men at the breakfast table, especially on the occasion where an unmarried lady was a guest at a house party, as it gave her exposure to the unmarried men in a more relaxed atmosphere and without the need for a chaperone.

 

*****In 1837, the Peninsular Steam Navigation Company first secured a Government contract for the regular carriage of mail between Falmouth and the Peninsular ports as far as Gibraltar. The company, established in 1835 by the London shipbroking partnership of Brodie McGhie Willcox (1786-1861) and Arthur Anderson (1792-1868) and the Dublin Ship owner, Captain Richard Bourne (1880-1851) had begun a regular steamer service for passengers and cargo between London, Spain and Portugal using the 206 ton paddle steamer William Fawcett. The growing inclination of early Twentieth Century shipping enterprises to merge their interests, and group themselves together, did not go unnoticed at P&O, which made its first major foray in this direction in 1910 with the acquisition of Wilhelm Lund’s Blue Anchor Line. By 1913, with a paid-up capital of some five and half million pounds and over sixty ships in service, several more under construction and numerous harbour craft and tugs to administer to the needs of this great fleet all counted, the P&O Company owned over 500,000 tons of shipping. In addition to the principal mail routes, through Suez to Bombay and Ceylon, where they divided then for Calcutta, Yokohama and Sydney, there was now the ‘P&O Branch Line’ service via the Cape to Australia and various feeder routes. The whole complex organisation was serviced by over 200 agencies stationed at ports throughout the world. At the end of 1918, the Group was further strengthened by its acquisition of a controlling shareholding in the Orient Line and in 1920, the General Steam Navigation Company, the oldest established sea-going steamship undertaking, was taken over. In 1923 the Strick Line was acquired too and P&O became, for a time, the largest shipping company in the world. With the 1920s being the golden age of steamship travel, P&O was the line to cruise with. P&O had grown into a group of separate operating companies whose shipping interests touched almost every part of the globe. By March 2006, P&O had grown to become one of the largest port operators in the world and together with P&O Ferries, P&O Ferrymasters, P&O Maritime Services, P&O Cold Logistics and its British property interests, the company was, itself, acquired by DP World for three point three billion pounds.

 

******J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

*******Memsaab or Memsahib, a variation of Sahib, an Arabic term, which is also a loanword in several languages. Memsaab is a title for a woman in a position of authority and/or the wife of a Sahib.

 

This neat Georgian interior and fine breakfast fare may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The round breakfast table in the centre of the room, which tilts like a real loo table, is an artisan miniature from an unknown maker with a marquetry inlaid top, which came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. On its surface the crockery, silver cutlery and serviettes with their napkin rings came from online stockists of miniatures on E-Bay. The fruit bowl is a hand painted example of miniature artisan, Rachel Munday. The fruit inside it all comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The toast rack and egg cups come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The eggs in the egg cups are amongst some of the smallest miniatures I own, and came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The square of butter in the glass dish has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The 1:12 miniature copy of ‘The Mirror’ and ‘The Times’, is made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The Chippendale style chairs surrounding the round breakfast table, and the carver chair in the background, are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.

 

The sideboard featuring fine marquetry banding and collapsible extensions at either end appears to have been made by the same unknown artisan who made the round table. This piece I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop at the same time as the table. The Georgian style silver lidded tureens on the sideboard’s surface I also acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The vase on the sideboard is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. Made of polymer clay the irises and foxgloves in the vase are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They came from a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

The Regency corner cabinet with its elegant gilt detailing and glass door is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The beautiful collection of china on display inside the cabinet, like the vase on the sideboard, is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany.

 

The Georgian style paintings of silhouettes hanging around the room came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House shop, and the Chinese silk carpet came from an online stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

Berlin Tiergarten Bendlerblock. The generous donor.

"Working group of homosexual members of the Bundeswehr e.V."

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 headed a short distance north-east across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, over Paddington and past Lisson Grove to the comfortably affluent suburb of Little Venice with its cream painted Regency terraces and railing surrounded public parks. Here in Clifton Gardens Lettice’s maiden Aunt Eglantine, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews, lives in a beautiful four storey house that is part of a terrace of twelve. Eglantine Chetwynd is Viscount Wrexham’s younger sister, and as well as being unmarried, is an artist and ceramicist of some acclaim. Originally a member of the Pre-Raphaelites* in England, these days she flits through artistic and bohemian circles and when not at home in her spacious and light filled studio at the rear of her garden, can be found mixing with mostly younger artistic friends in Chelsea. Her unmarried status, outlandish choice of friends and rather reformist and unusual dress sense shocks Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, and attracts her derision. In addition, she draws Sadie’s ire, as Aunt Egg has always received far more affection and preferential treatment from her children. Viscount Wrexham on the other hand adores his artistic little sister, and has always made sure that she can live the lifestyle she chooses and create art.

 

Lettice is taking tea with her favourite aunt in her wonderfully overcluttered drawing room, which unlike most other houses in the terrace where the drawing room is located in the front and overlooks the street, is nestled at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful and slightly rambunctious rear garden and studio. It is just another example of Lettice’s aunt flouting the conventions women like Lady Sadie cling to. The room is overstuffed with an eclectic collection of bric-à-brac. Antique vases and ornamental plates jostle for space with pieces of Eglantyne’s own work and that of her artistic friends on whatnots and occasional tables, across the mantle and throughout several glass fronted china cabinets. Every surface is cluttered to over capacity. As Lettice picks up the fine blue and gilt cup of tea proffered by her aunt, she cannot help but feel sorry for Augusta, Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid and Clotilde, the second parlour maid, who must feel that their endless dusting is futile, for no sooner would they have finished a room than they would have to start again since dust would have settled where they began. In addition to being a fine ceramicist, Eglantyne is also an expert embroiderer, and her works appear on embroidered cushions, footstools and even a pole fire screen to Lettice’s left as she settles back into a rather ornate corner chair that Eglantyne always saves for guests.

 

“Well, I think you did the right thing, my dear.” Aunt Egg says with conviction in her sparkling green eyes. “That Mrs. Hawarden’s taste sounds absolutely vulgar. Mind you, what can one expect from the wife of an industrialist in Manchester! They breed them differently up north.”

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice exclaims. “I never thought I would hear such words fall from your lips. You are the one who always chides any one of us if we utter anything that isn’t egalitarian! You scoff at Mater because she is such a snob.”

 

“Well, she is a snob.” Replies the older woman, picking up a dainty biscuit from the plate perched upon a footstool covered in her own petit point handiwork. “I’m simply making a frank observation.” She pops the biscuit into her mouth and chews on it.

 

When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large amber droplets hang from her ears, glowing in the diffused light filtering through the lace curtains that frame the window overlooking the garden. The earrings match the amber necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan, both in beautiful shades of golden yellow.

 

“Why on earth Mrs. Hawarden doesn’t simply go and reside in one of those awful Metroland*** Tudor Revival villas those developers keep advertising on the outskirts of London, I don’t know?” the older woman says once she finishes her mouthful of biscuit. “They would be better suited to be the blank canvas for her taste for dark brown stained woodwork and ubiquitous distemper. No, I say again, my dear, that it would be a travesty to tear apart all that wonderful history built up in that lovely house over many years.”

 

“That isn’t to say that it won’t happen, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies. “Mrs. Hawarden has plenty of money to splash around. I’m sure there are a plethora of other interior designers who would love the opportunity to receive a commission from her.”

 

“Be that as it may, at least it isn’t you who is pandering to that woman’s whims. Your father and I taught you well - even Sadie to a degree – to respect the history of a home. A home is merely a house with history.”

 

“Well, I do hope that other people will like my Modernist Revival style as Mr. Tipping**** calls it.” Lettice replies a little desultorily.

 

“As one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Great Britain, I have no doubt that there are far more people who will follow Mr. Tipping’s elegant and qualified taste, than will follow the whims of a vulgar and showy industrialist’s wife from Manchester who is of no consequence to anyone other than to herself.” The older woman nods matter-of-factly.

 

“I do hope you are right, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Of course I’m right, my dear.” Eglantine soothes from the comfort of her cream upholstered Chippendale wingback armchair. “Let me tell you a story. Once, some years ago, before you were born, I was very taken by the Ballet Russes who were performing here in London. I found their passion and colour exciting and stimulating. Your father, always happy to indulge my passions cultivated a friendship with a visiting Russian count, the Count Baronovska. However, it was his wife who truly fascinated me.

 

Why Aunt Egg?

 

Because my dear, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was everything I ever dreamed of being. She was elegant and worldly,

 

But you are elegant and worldly.

 

When compared alongside the Countess, I felt anything but either of those things.

 

I can hardly imagine that, Aunt Egg. You were famed as a beauty when you were younger, and you still are extremely elegant.”

 

“Ah, how you flatter me child.”

 

“And I have always thought of you as wise and worldly, Aunt Egg. It’s why I come to you for advice.”

 

“Well, in comparison to a Bright Young Thing like you, I am worldly wise, but I knew nothing compared to the Countess Baronovska.”

 

“Tell me what she was like.”

 

“She was tall and statuesque, with a proud bearing, yet she was in no way haughty. Her skin was flawless and snowy white, like porcelain. The almost translucent quality of her flesh was only highlighted by her dark curls which framed her face. Her swan neck was made for the display of pearl chokers. Like so many White Russians before the Revolution, she had a fortune in jewels and she wore them with style and panache: ropes of pearls and circlets of diamonds and rubies placed in ornate gold settings graced her throat and cascaded down the front of her gowns, all of which were exquisitely made, not in Paris or London like those your mother and I wore, but by her own seamstress in St Petersburg.”

 

“She sounds amazing.”

 

“And so she was to look at. I’m quite sure your father had a mild crush on the Countess.” Aunt Egg chortles

 

“Did Mater know?”

 

“Discretion was never your father’s strong suit my dear. He still wears his heart on his sleeve, so I have no doubt that Sadie knew – not that your father would have done anything to reproach himself with. He has always been a gentleman. However, whilst your father was in love with her beauty, I was in love with her intellect and power.”

 

“Power?”

 

“On yes. The Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was not like so many other members of the Russian court, filled with self importance and self entitlement. No, she cultivated her intellect and charms, and she used them to influence others to her advantage. I’m sure she only married the Count for his money, which sounds like an uncharitable thing to say, but she was a woman who had ambition in a time and a place where so few women, like your mother,” She rolls here eyes. “Did. She wanted the Count’s money to be used to greater benefit than the way he used it, which was to drink and play the gambling tables along with all the other Russian aristocrats.”

 

“So what did she do?”

 

“I’m not sure how, and she was so discreet that she would never confide it in me, but somehow she managed to get her husband to sign away all his wealth to her, so it was she who owned their lands and managed their fortune. It was she who gave her husband a small allowance and paid any of his unpaid gambling debts. The rest of the money she put to work by creating her own business, just like you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. In a time when it was almost unheard of that a woman ran her own business affairs, especially in a patriarchal society like Russia, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska did.”

 

“What business did she have?”

 

“The Countess was a woman who had her own unique style. She also loved beautiful objects and art, so she set up her own porcelain factory.”

 

“A porcelain factory? Truly, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Yes indeed. The Countess’ porcelain factory was in Crimea, and adjoined the Baronovska estate. As I said, the Countess had the most amazing mind, and she had a head for business. She was also smart that during a period when there was great worker discontent with other manufacturers treating those who worked in their factories no better than slaves, whilst living high off their hard work, the Countess made Baronovska Porcelain a place where people were not only happy to work, but made it a haven for young Russian artists who would never have had a chance to develop their talents were it not for her. As a result Baronovska Porcelain made high quality pieces that were beautifully designed and unique. With their connections within the inner circles of the Royal Court of the Tsar, pieces were highly sought after and commanded very high prices. Even today, if a piece of Baranovska Porcelain were to miraculously turn up at Sotheby’s or Bonham’s, it would command a very fine price.”

 

“She sounds like a very shrewd businesswoman.”

 

“You remind me of her a little. She was a woman who marched to the beat of her own heart, and stuck to her specific ideas about what was fashionable. She didn’t follow trends, she set them with her fine porcelain.”

 

“And she reminds you or me, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Why yes Lettice. See, by you refusing to do what that awful Hawarden woman wanted: paint her rooms oatmeal and strip back the many years of history that house her manufacturer husband bought her as a toy, you have stuck to your own ideals, just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.” She smiles at her niece. “I’m proud of you for not following her wishes, simply because she has the money to pay you for your services.”

 

“I’m starting to think that I perhaps should have been a little more direct with her.”

 

“Perhaps my dear, but she still may not have listened to you, and insisted on you doing her bidding against your own better and far superior judgement.” She reaches out and pats Lettice’s hands with her own gnarled bejewelled one. “Just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska, I know that you too will be a trend setter, and in the not too distant future, I’ll wager.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Nonsense my dear! Self-deprecation and hiding one’s talent under a bushel never did anyone any good, my dear. You will be the toast of London one day,” She taps her nose knowingly. “You mark my words.”

 

“Did you ever visit the factory, Aunt Egg?” Lettice says in an effort to change the subject.

 

“Actually, yes we did. That was when I received these two vases.” She indicates to two vases on the mantlepiece. “A gift from the Countess, whose generosity I can never repay.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg! I have always admired those.”

 

“Well, perhaps I will leave them to you in my will when I die, my dear.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg!”

 

“It’s a pity I didn’t buy more pieces whilst we were there. The Countess served us tea from the most delicate and dainty tea set with the same pattern painted upon it. Oh! It was the most beautiful tea set I think I have ever seen.” The older woman sighs. “Still hindsight is fine thing to have.”

 

“You said ‘we went’, Aunt Egg. Who is ‘we’?”

 

“Of course you weren’t born yet, but your father, your mother, Leslie, Lally and Lionel, even though he was only a toddler at the time, all visited the Count and Countess Baronovska in Russia. However, as I recall, the Count slipped off to St Petersburg as soon as it was polite for him to make a hasty retreat to the gambling tables allure. The Countess Baronovska had the most beautiful dacha in Crimea where we all stayed as her guests. She told Leslie and Lally as many Russian faerie tales that they could coax out of her. She had a soft spot for the children, since she and the Count had no children of their own.”

 

“Do you think the Countess planned it that way? It sounds to me like she had very definite plans for her future, and children may have been a hinderance.”

 

“In the case of children, I think not. I suspect that the Count was drawn to St Petersburg not just for the lavish life at court and the gambling, but for the allure of a number of women as well. I think the Countess would have liked to have had a large brood of her own. Although,” Aunt Egg’s voice becomes a little melancholy. “Considering what has come to pass in Russia, perhaps it is just as well that she never had children. The Countess invested some of the profits from her factory in the people who lived and worked on her estate and worked in her factory. She made sure that people had repaired roofs over their heads, nutritious food and access to healthcare, yet it still made no difference in the end. Like so many Russian Aristocrats, she fled when the Revolution came, and had to leave behind so much, including her beloved porcelain factory.” She sighs. “Goodness knows what has happened to it now.”

 

“Did you ever see the Countess Baronovska again?”

 

“Yes, your father and I did in,” She ruminates for a moment. “In 1919 as I recall. The Countess was still beautiful and elegant, in spite of what happened to her, and her somewhat diminished circumstances, although I do think she managed to escape with a king’s ransom in jewellery. She promised that we would stay in touch. We used to correspond for many years. I even sent her photographs of you as you grew up, and I told her about all your artistic attributes, which I know she would have appreciated, had she ever met you.”

 

“Where do you think she is now, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Goodness knows my dear. She has gone to ground, I know not where. However, I do know that it will be for her own good reasons that she has. Russian émigrés have been dispersed everywhere between here and Shanghai. Perhaps one day she will turn up again.”

 

“It’s sad that you have lost a friend who obviously meant a great deal to you, Aunt Egg.”

 

“We all lose people eventually my dear,” the older woman says with a sad smile. “Or they lose us. Death sees to that.”

 

“Please don’t talk like that, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Oh very well, my dear, if it troubles you to hear it, however true my statement is. At least I have some photos, many wonderful letters, and these two beautiful vases, to remind me of the lovely, clever and kind the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.”

 

*The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (later known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederic George Stephens and Thomas Woolner who formed a seven-member "Brotherhood" modelled in part on the Nazarene movement. The Brotherhood was only ever a loose association and their principles were shared by other artists of the time, including Ford Madox Brown, Arthur Hughes and Marie Spartali Stillman. Later followers of the principles of the Brotherhood included Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and John William Waterhouse. The group sought a return to the abundant detail, intense colours and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They rejected what they regarded as the mechanistic approach first adopted by Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo. The Brotherhood believed the classical poses and elegant compositions of Raphael in particular had been a corrupting influence on the academic teaching of art, hence the name "Pre-Raphaelite".

 

**The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

***The trains that killed the English countryside made the suburbs, for they brought semi-rural areas ripe for development within easy reach of city. This huge expansion of London and the regional cities between the two world wars democratised home ownership and the rows of almost identical rows of houses were derided by the wealthy upper classes and were nicknamed “Metroland”, after the commute via Metropolitan Railway people would need to take each day to and from work. It applied to land in Middlesex, west Hertfordshire and south Buckinghamshire. “Metroland” was characterised by the construction of Tudor Revival suburban houses.

 

****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.

 

This overstuffed and cluttered late Victorian room might look a bit busy to your modern eye, but in the day, this would have been the height of conspicuous consumption fashion. What may also surprise you is that the entire scene is made up with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our story today, the two vases standing on the mantle with their blue and gilt banding of roses are “Baroness” pattern, made by Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.

 

The irises and tulips in the two vases and the foxgloves appearing to the far right of the photograph are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

Also on the mantlepiece are a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces! Between them stands a gilt carriage clock made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The pretty lace and floral fan behind it, leaning against the overmantle glass is a 1:12 artisan miniature that I acquired from a specialist doll house supplier when I was a teenager. The two “Japonism” style paper fans stuck into the fretwork around the overmantle mirror I acquired at the same time from the same shop as the lace fan. The one on the left-hand side is hand painted with flowers and has been lacquered before being attached to a little wooden handle.

 

The fireplace and its ornate overmantle is a “Kensignton” model made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The mirrored china cabinet with its fretwork front was also made by Bespaq, as were Aunt Egg’s white floral figured satin upholstered Chippendale chair and the ornate white upholstered corner chair. The peacock feather fire screen, brass fire tools and ornate brass fender come from various online 1:12 miniature suppliers.

 

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

 

The hand embroidered footstool in front of Aunt Egg’s Chippendale wingback armchair and the hand embroidered pedestal fire were acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, as was the 1:12 artisan miniature sewing box on the small black japanned table to the left of Aunt Egg’s chair. The tapestry frame in front of Aunt Egg’s chair comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The tea set on the embroidered footstool in the centre of the image is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, and has been hand painted by artisan miniaturist Victoria Fasken.

 

The two whatnots are cluttered with vases from various online dolls’ house miniature suppliers, several miniature Limoges vases and white and lilac petunia pieces which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.

 

The Royal Doulton style figurines in the china cabinet are from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland and have been hand painted by me. The figurines are identifiable as particular Royal Doulton figurines from the 1920s and 1930s.

 

The white roses in the blue and white vase on the sofa table are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Aunt Egg’s family photos, all of which are all real photos, are produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal. The 1:12 artisan miniature blue and white jasperware Wedgwood teapot on the round table near the bottom of the photo is actually carved from wood, with a removable lid which has been hand painted. I acquired it from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures. The hand blown blue and clear glass basket next to it comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The paintings around Aunt Egg’s drawing room come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The round pictures hanging on ribbons were made by me when I was twelve years old. The ribbons came from my maternal Grandmother’s sewing box, and the frames are actually buttons from her button box. The images inside (two Victorian children paintings on one and three Redoute roses on the other) were cut from a magazine.

 

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

 

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

HBW!!!

 

I have met so many great people on Flickr. I was most recently touched by Shelby's generosity. She is super-talented and mature beyond her years. She is the kind of friend you'd want in real life, and the kind of teenage daughter that any parent would wish for :-)

 

{This was processed by her "basic" cross-processing action}

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 headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, around Trafalgar Square and up Charing Cross Road, where, near the corner of Great Newport Street, Lettice is visiting A. H. Mayhew’s*, a bookshop in the heart of London’s specialist and antiquarian bookseller district, patronised by her father, Viscount Wrexham. It is here that Lettice hopes to find the perfect present for her oldest and dearest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton. Gerald is 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. It will soon be his birthday, and Lettice is treating him to an evening at the Café Royal** in Regent Street. However, she also wants something less ephemeral than a glittering evening out to dinner for Gerald to look back on in the years ahead as he turns twenty-five. Knowing how much he loves books, but also knowing that any profits his fledgling atelier makes must be re-invested in his business rather than indulging in books, Lettice has settled upon acquiring a beautiful and unusual volume for him from amongst the many tomes housed in Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop.

 

As Lettice lingers out the front of Mr. Mayhew’s, enjoying the luxury of peering through his tall plate glass windows that proudly bear his name and advertise that he does purchase libraries of old books, knowing that whether she is lucky enough to spot the perfect gift in the window display or not, somewhere amidst the full shelves inside, there will be a wonderful book for Gerald. She releases a shuddering sigh from deep within her chest as she remembers the last time she peered through these self-same windows in October of 1923 when the book she hoped to find was to give to Selwyn as a birthday gift in an effort to further solidify her commitment to him in his eyes. Her plan was to give him the book she bought – a copy of a volume of John Nash’s*** architectural drawings including his designs for the Royal Pavilion built for the Prince Regent in Brighton, Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace – at private dinner that he had arranged for the two of them at the Savoy****. However, from there everything had gone awry. When Lettice arrived at the Savoy and was shown to the table for two Selwyn had reserved for them, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events that year as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. What the pair hadn’t calculated for in their plans was that Lady Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her. The volumes in Mr. Mayhew’s window begin to shimmer and blur as tears begin to sting Lettice’s eyes and impair her vision.

 

“Still.” Lettice breathes bitterly as she allows her head to lower as she closes her eyes. “Still, I cannot think of Selwyn without wanting to cry.” she thinks. “What is wrong with me? Come on. Pull yourself together, girl. Don’t let Lady Zinnia win.”

 

She sniffs and sighs deeply, taking a few deep breaths as she slowly regains her composure. After a few minutes of standing in front of the shop’s window, appearing to all the passers-by to be just another keen window shopper, Lettice finally feels composed enough to enter the shop.

 

“You won’t get the better of me, Lady Zinnia,” she mutters through barred teeth. “And you won’t destroy my love of books, nor my love for my best friend.”

 

She walks up to the recessed door of the bookshop which she pushes open. A cheerful bell dings loudly above her head, announcing her presence. As the door closes behind her, it shuts out the general cacophony of noisy automobiles, chugging busses and passing shoppers’ conversations. The shop envelops her in a cozy muffled silence produced by the presence of so many shelves fully laden with the volumes of the past. She inhales deeply and savours the smell of dusty old books and pipe smoke, which comfort and assure her that she has come to a safe place that will assuage her damaged heart. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. Summer sunlight pours through the tall shop windows facing out to the street, highlighting the worn Persian and Turkish carpets whose hues, once so bright, vivid and exotic, have softened with exposure to the sunlight and any number of pairs of boots and shoes of customers, who like Lettice, searched Mayhew’s shelves for the perfect book to take away with them. Dust motes, something Lettice always associates with her father’s library in Wiltshire, dance blithely through beams of sunlight before disappearing without a trace into the shadows.

 

Lettice makes her way through the shop, wandering along its narrow aisles, reaching up to touch various Moroccan leather spines embossed with gilt lettering of titles and authors, until she nears the middle of the shop, where sitting at his desk before a small coal fire, smoking his pipe, sits the bespectacled proprietor, Mr. Mayhew, in his usual uniform of jacket, vest and bowtie, carefully cataloguing volumes he has acquired from a recent country house contents auction***** he attended in Buckinghamshire, his pipe hanging from his mouth, occasionally emitting puffs of acrid grey smoke as he works. The portly, balding gentleman is so wrapped up in his work that he does not notice Lettice as she walks up to his desk.

 

“Mr. Mayhew., how do you do” Lettice says, clearing her throat, her clipped tones slicing through the thick silence of the shop.

 

“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew sighs with delight, puffing out another small cloud of pipe smoke as he realises who is standing before him. Removing the pipe from his mouth, he peers over the top of his gold rimmed spectacles. “Why if it isn’t my favourite Wiltshire reader herself.” He takes one final pleasurable puff of his pipe before reaching behind him and putting it aside on the pipe rack sitting precariously on the little coal fire’s narrow mantle shelf.

 

“I’m almost certain that you say that to every reader whom you know well, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice rolls her eyes and smiles indulgently.

 

“Not every reader I know well come from Wiltshire though, Miss Chetwynd” the old man remarks with a chuckle, lifting himself out of the comfort of the well worn chair behind his desk, wiping his hands down the front of his thick black barathea vest.

 

“You’re just like my Aunt Egg, complimentary, but with an air of mystery.”

 

“There is no mystery to me, Miss Chetwynd.” He reaches out and takes Lettice’s dainty glove clad hand and squeezes it. “I am like,” He chuckles lightly. “An open book as it were.” He sweeps his free hand expansively around him, indicating to all the tomes lining the shelves that hedge his cluttered workspace. “I will pay a compliment to any customer who takes the time to enter my shop, appreciate my books, and speak to me with politeness: especially when they are as pretty as you, Miss Chetwynd.” He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.

 

“Oh, Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice laughs. “You speak such sweet, honeyed words.”

 

He gasps. “I do hope, Miss Chetwynd, that you don’t consider me to be as duplicitous as Richard III.” the old man says, picking up on Lettice’s literary Shakesperean reference******.

 

“Never, Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice exclaims

 

“Very good, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew replies. “I would hate for you to misjudge my motivations. I didn’t establish my little bookshop simply to make money. What a ludicrous idea that any shopkeeper would set up his establishment just to make money, when he can take equal measure of profit and pleasure from his endeavours. I have a great love of books, Miss Chetwynd, as I know you do too, my dear, both the written word and the engraving,” He waves his hands expansively at the floor to ceiling bookshelves around him, filled with hundreds of volumes on all manner of subjects. “As well you know.”

 

“Indeed Mr. Mayhew. I enjoy nothing more than spending time in my father’s library at Glynes, where more than one of your own volumes sits on his shelves.”

 

“And how is His Lordship, Miss Chetwynd? I sent him a beautiful 1811 calfskin vellum******* edition of Voltaire a few weeks ago with some lovely hand tinted engravings, a marbleised cover and colourful gilt bindings.”

 

“He is well, thank you Mr. Mayhew. I saw him just a few weeks ago, although it was only a fleeting visit, so he didn’t show me your volume of Voltaire.”

 

“A fleeting visit, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew queries. “What a pity you didn’t tarry longer with His Lordship. You must have him show you the Voltaire next time you go home to stay, Miss Chetwynd. Really it is rather lovely. It came to me after being sold at the second Stowe House Great Sale******** in 1921. I wanted to make sure it went to the right home, and I could think of no-one better than your father to be its custodian.”

 

“I have no doubt that it is, Mr. Mayhew. However, this time I went to Wiltshire not for pleasure, but to meet a gentleman who wishes to have a room redecorated as a surprise for his wife.”

 

“So, your interior design business is going well then, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew queries.

 

“It is indeed, Mr. Mayhew,” Lettice affirms. “Perhaps more successful than I had ever dreamed.”

 

“Well, that is splendid news, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew purrs rubbing his hands together. “And will you be accepting this gentleman’s commission.”

 

“Perhaps against my better judgement, I am, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice admits.

 

“Against your better judgement, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Well,” Lettice sighs. “The lady for whom this gentleman wants the room designed is his wife, and she is currently redecorating many other parts of the house. I am concerned that she won’t appreciate an interloper like me coming in and enforcing my designs upon her home. However, Mr. Gifford, the gentleman, assured me that if his wife doesn’t like it, he will accept any and all blame. So, in spite of my misgivings, I have accepted. Like Richard III, Mr. Gifford wooed me with his honeyed words.” Lettice sighs again. “In addition, he is the godson of Henry Tipping********* who has promised me a favourable review in Country Life********** if Mrs. Gifford likes the room.”

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew says comfortingly. “We all have doubts and misgivings sometimes, Miss Chetwynd, however it sounds like a reasonable gamble.”

 

“I do hope you are right, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“Now, what is it that I can entice you to add to your bookshelves today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew steps out from behind his cluttered desk and speaks as he moves. “Something to help inspire you with this fraught new commission, perhaps?”

 

“Oh, that is a lovely idea, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies. “However, it isn’t me that I’ve come looking for a book for.”

 

“Then to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“I want something for my friend, Mr. Bruton, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“The costumier?” Mr. Mayhew queries.

 

“The couturier.” Lettice corrects the bookseller.

 

“Of course, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“He turns twenty-five next week, and I would like to find him a beautiful book on fashion for him to enjoy.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Mayhew utters with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Well, I’m afraid that I don’t have anything contemporary, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Oh, I don’t want something contemporary, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice assures him. “Rather I want something that is beautifully illustrated that he might enjoy.”

 

“Well, in that case, Miss Chetwynd, I may have some things that might suit your friend Mr. Bruton. I just hope that I shan’t disappoint you, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew returns her smile.

 

“You never disappoint me, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice counters. “But you never cease to surprise me, either.” she adds with the heavy implication that she hopes he can find for her the perfect birthday present for Gerald.

 

As if she has uttered magic words to strike the old bookseller into action, Mr. Mayhew’s face animates. “Then let Mayhew’s not let you down today, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Mr. Mayhew picks up his spectacles and puts them on the bridge of his nose again before looking around him, squinting as he considers what buried treasures are hidden amidst the tomes on the shelves in the darkened, cosy interior of his bookshop. As a proprietor who knows his stock well – almost like one would know a family – he says, “I think I might have just the thing. Please, take a seat, Miss Chetwynd.” He indicates to the chair on the opposite side of the desk to his own. “If I may beg your indulgence, I won’t be too long.”

 

“You may, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

The bookseller makes a small bow before he bustles off, disappearing amidst the bookshelves.

 

Lettice initially perches herself on the edge of the rather hard Arts and Crafts wooden seat and peruses Mr. Mayhew’s cluttered desk which is piled with old leather volumes, some of which speak of times long ago with their worn covers and aged pages. Then she spies a book of beautiful rose prints standing open on top of the ornate mahogany bookshelf to the left of the fireplace. Standing up, she walks over to it and gently begins turning the pages, admiring the beautiful engraved*********** illustrations.

 

“That’s a very fine copy of Redouté’s*********** Roses from the 1820s with beautiful stipple engravings************. You have exquisite taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says as he returns with several volumes in his arms.

 

“Then it is my mother who has good taste, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies. “I was just admiring it because I know my mother has a copy of this book in the morning room at Glynes. I think my father is a little jealous of her having it.”

 

“I would be too, Miss Chetwynd.” the old bookseller remarks as he slips the volumes with a soft thud atop the other closed books on his desk. “Now! Here we are!” Mr. Mayhew indicates to the books he has come back with. “Hopefully there is something here that Mr. Bruton will like.”

 

Lettice returns to her seat, whilst Mr. Mayhew also returns to his behind the desk. He hands her a large but slender volume with a rust coloured cover. Lettice reads on its cover in bold black printed typeface that it is a catalogue of ladies’ shoes from historical times to the present.

 

“It’s from the early 1810s, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says proudly. “Around the time our beloved Miss Auten penned Sense and Sensibility, so even though it speaks of history in the title, the volume itself has become a part of history.”

 

Lettice murmurs her own delight as she turns the pages and looks at beautiful engravings of dainty shoes with fine court heels: each illustration clearly showing even the finest of details of each shoe. The illustrations are arranged in colours and dates, with three slippers illustrated on every page. “Delightful!” Lettice opines.

 

“Then there is this.” Mr. Mayhew holds out another volume, this time with an aquamarine coloured cover.

 

“Revue des Chapeaux,” Lettice reads.

 

“Published during the war, this book’s pages review in brilliant pictorial detail, millinery styles between 1913 and 1917.” Mr. Mayhew says with a sigh. “The photographs really are quite stylish, as is the presentation.”

 

Lettice turns the pages, admiring the images showing each hat usually contained, but occasionally stretching out of, a circle. The black and white photographs have been partially tinted before being printed to draw attention to some of the elegant ruffles and soft fabric roses of each hat. Lettice chuckles to herself as she spies a royal blue hat with a brim significantly smaller than some of the voluminous hats her mother wore before the war, the hat’s crown dominated by a bunch of pink hyacinths. “I used to have a hat similar to this.” Lettice muses, patting her own green cloche hat self-consciously as she does, as if distracted enough to believe that she is still wearing the old fashioned pre-war hat with its whimsical bouquet of flowers sticking from it.

 

“Did you indeed, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew purrs.

 

“Yes.” Lettice replies, suddenly snapping out of her reverie. “I think this one, however lovely, is perhaps not quite to Gerald’s taste.”

 

“Very well Miss Chetwynd.” the bookseller says obsequiously, withdrawing the offending volume. “As you wish.” He then fumbles a little as he takes a rather thin catalogue from beneath a much larger volume. He looks carefully at Lettice before asking, “You won’t be offended by a German volume, will you?”

 

Lettice laughs. “Good heavens, no, Mr, Mayhew! You sell my father antiquarian versions of Gothe*************! As his daughter, how could I possibly be offended?”

 

“No, of course not, Miss Chetwynd. Well,” Mr. Mayhew says rather awkwardly. “Will Mr. Bruton take offence?”

 

“I doubt it, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

“That’s good, because in the years of anti-German sentiment of the war, after the Lusitania’s sinking**************, I had to hide this beautiful catalogue, along with quite a number of other books which I have only just recently started returning to my post-war shelves.”

 

Lettice takes the Victorian catalogue from Mr. Mayhew’s hands and opens it.

 

“It is a catalogue of coats, furs and blouses from 1898 from a Berlin manufacturer.”

 

She flips through the fine pages beautifully illustrated with chromolithographs***************. Ladies with synched waists and protruding bosoms thanks to the influence of S-bend corsets**************** wearing feather and flower adorned hats and bonnets, show off fur tippets*****************, automobiling coats and jackets with leg-o’-mutton sleeves******************. “Beautiful!” Lettice murmurs with admiration, running her hand over one mode of a woman in a coat of deep violet with fur lapels.

 

“I thought you might like that one, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says proudly. “Of course, I only show this to a very small selection of privileged clients whom I think may be interested in it.”

 

“Well thank you, Mr, Mayhew.” Lettice replies with satisfaction. “I’m most grateful you did. I think this will do nicely for Gerald.”

 

“But wait, Miss Chetwynd. I do have one more volume to show you.” He holds up a very large buff coloured volume before handing it to Lettice. “It’s not marked, but this is a volume of Art Nouveau jewellery from Paris.”

 

Lettice gasps as she turns the pages of the volume in her lap as the sinuous, feminine lines of art nouveau appear in image after image in the shape of combs and pins, necklaces, cufflinks, brooches, cravat pins, hairpins, bracelets, hatpins and tiaras: fabulous creations made of gold, silver and platinum, studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mr. Mayhew smiles and nods as he looks at Lettice’s transfixed face.

 

“For all his love of modernity, Gerald does have a rather silly soft spot for Art Nouveau.” Lettice utters.

 

“Then might I recommend that volume, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Mr. Mayhew, yet again you never cease to amaze me with what you have within your shop. I think you have just found me, the perfect birthday gift for Gerald.”

 

“Splendid, Miss Chetwynd! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew claps. “I’ll return the others then.”

 

As he begins gather up the books, Lettice adds, “I’ll take the German catalogue too.” She smiles. “It seems a shame for it to remain hidden away. I’ll give it to Gerald for Christmas!”

 

“Very good, Miss Chetwynd.” the old bookseller acknowledges.

 

As he returns from having put the other two volumes back on the shelves from where they came, Mr. Mayhew asks Lettice, “By the way, Miss Chetwynd, I meant to ask you how your young aspiring architect liked the volume of John Nash’s architectural drawings you bought him?”

 

Lettice’s face, so bright and flushed with colour, suddenly drains and falls.

 

“Oh dear!” Mr, Mayhew gasps, putting his pudgy fingers to his mouth. “Did I just drop a social briquette, my dear Miss Chetwynd?”

 

Quickly recovering herself, Lettice blusters with false joviality, “No! No, Mr. Mayhew! Not at all!”

 

“However?” the old man asks, indicating for Lettice to go on with her unspoken statement.

 

“Well,” Lettice continues. “It’s just, I don’t actually know whether he liked it or not.” Remembering the book wrapped up gaily in bright paper and decorated with a satin ribbon left abandoned on her seat at the Savoy, she continues, “Things didn’t quite eventuate the way we’d planned for my friend’s birthday. He had to leave England quite unexpectedly, and I didn’t see him that night.” She pauses. “He… he’s gone to Durban for a year or so.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Mayhew exclaims, shocked by her statement, knowing what he does about Lettice’s attachment to Selwyn. “But he will be back, Miss Chetwynd?” He returns to his seat behind the desk and reaches for his pipe. Striking a match, he lights it and puffs away with concern on it as he looks to Lettice.

 

Lettice doesn’t reply straight away, watching the bookseller looking her earnestly in the face, awaiting a response. “I hope so.” When Mr. Mayhew’s face falls, she quickly adds, “Of course! Of course he will return, Mr. Mayhew! Of course!” She cannot countenance losing her steely resolve and breaking down in tears in Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop.

 

Sensing Lettice’s unhappiness and awkwardness, Mr. Mayhew quickly pipes up, “Well, you can give it to him when he returns, Miss Chetwynd.” He begins fumbling through the pile of books he had been cataloguing before Lettice’s arrival. “That’s the good thing about books,” he says as he rifles through the marbleised volumes with leather spines. “Unlike cakes and chocolate, they will keep.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice breathes, sighing with relief at Mr. Mayhew’s perceptiveness and kindness. “You’re quite right.”

 

“Aha!” Mr. Mayhew withdraws a volume from the pile. “Here it is.” He hands it to Lettice. “Have you ever read this?”

 

“Jane Eyre.” Lettice reads from the gilded letters on the spine. “No, Mr. Mayhew. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by the Brontë sisters.”

 

“Tut-tut, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Mayhew admonishes her teasingly. “You don’t know what literary treasures you have been missing out on all these years of your young life. Start with Miss Eyre. Take it from me as a gift.” He smiles.

 

“Oh, but Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice exclaims.

 

“Take it!” he sweeps her protestations aside. “I have plenty of other volumes of it on my shelves. It was just part of this lot, and I wanted it for the seven 1811 volumes of The History of Charles Grandison*******************.”

 

“But Mr. Mayhew…”

 

“You’ll be doing me a favour, Miss Chetwynd.” he assures her. “Really you will.”

 

Lettice turns the pretty volume over in her hands.

 

“Besides, I think you may just find Miss Eyre to be a little bit of an inspiration for you, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“How so, Mr, Mayhew?”

 

“Well, Jane Eyre came to know a lot about the vicissitudes of life.”

 

*A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.

 

**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.

 

***John Nash (18 January 1752 – 13 May 1835) was one of the foremost British architects of the Georgian and Regency eras, during which he was responsible for the design, in the neoclassical and picturesque styles, of many important areas of London. His designs were financed by the Prince Regent and by the era's most successful property developer, James Burton. Nash also collaborated extensively with Burton's son, Decimus Burton.

 

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

 

*****British and Irish country house contents auctions are usually held on site at the country house, and have been used to raise funds for their owners, usually before selling the house and estate. Such auctions include the sale of high quality antique paintings, furniture, objets d'art, tapestries, books, and other household items. Whilst auctions of estates was nothing new, by 1924 when this story is set, the sun was already setting on the glory days of the country house, and landed gentry who were asset rich but cash poor began selling off properties and their contents to pay for increased rates of income tax and death duties.

 

******In Shakespeare’s Richard III, after killing her first husband, Richard pursues Lady Anne, charming her and wearing her down until the mourning widow finally agrees to may him, only to discover that his charms are all a farce, and that in reality, he despises her, and thinks of her as mothing more than a trophy won, and to them be discarded. She opines to Queen Elizabeth:

“Even in so short a space, my woman's heart

Grossly grew captive to his honey words

And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,

Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;

For never yet one hour in his bed

Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,

But have been waked by his timorous dreams.”

 

*******Vellum is prepared animal skin or membrane, typically used as writing material. It is often distinguished from parchment, either by being made from calfskin, or simply by being of a higher quality. Vellum is prepared for writing and printing on single pages, scrolls, and codices.

 

********Stowe House is a grade I listed country house in Stowe, Buckinghamshire, England. It is the home of the private Stowe School and is owned by the Stowe House Preservation Trust. Over the years, it has been restored and maintained as one of the finest country houses in the UK. Stowe House is regularly open to the public. The house is the result of four main periods of development. Between 1677 and 1683, the architect William Cleare was commissioned by Sir Richard Temple to build the central block of the house. This building was four floors high, including the basement and attics and thirteen bays in length. From the 1720s to 1733, under Viscount Cobham, additions to the house included the Ionic North colonnaded portico by Sir John Vanburgh, as well as the re-building of the north, east and west fronts. The exterior of the house has not been significantly changed since 1779, although in the first decade of the Nineteenth Century, the Egyptian Hall was added beneath the North Portico as a secondary entrance. The house contained not one but three major libraries. Held by the aristocratic Grenville-Temple family since 1677, Reverend Luis C.F.T. Morgan-Grenville inherited Stowe House from his brother Richard G. Morgan-Grenville who died fighting at Ploegsteert Wood during the Great War in 1914. The Reverend sold Stowe House and most of its contents in 1921. The second Great Sale in October 1921, in which 3,700 lots were sold by Jackson-Stop Auctioneers.

 

*********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.

 

************Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759 – 1840), was a painter and botanist from Belgium, known for his watercolours of roses, lilies and other flowers at the Château de Malmaison, many of which were published as large coloured stipple engravings. He was nicknamed "the Raphael of flowers" and has been called the greatest botanical illustrator of all time

 

************Stipple engraving is a technique perfected by Pierre Joseph Redouté which helped him reproduce his botanical illustrations. The medium involved engraving a copper plate with a dense grid of dots that could be modulated to convey delicate gradations of colour. Because the ink rested on the paper in miniscule dots, it did not obscure the “light” of the paper beneath the colour. After the complicated printing process was complete, the prints were hand finished in watercolour to conform to the models Redouté provided.

 

*************Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) was a German polymath and writer, who is widely regarded as the greatest and most influential writer in the German language. His work has had a profound and wide-ranging influence on Western literary, political, and philosophical thought from the late Eighteenth Century to the present day. Goethe was a German poet, playwright, novelist, scientist, statesman, theatre director, and critic. His works include plays, poetry and aesthetic criticism, as well as treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour.

 

*************Following the torpedoing and subsequent sinking of the British Cunard passenger liner RSM Lusitania by a German submarine (U-boat) in 1915, resulting in the loss of 1,195 deaths including many women and children, there was a wave of anti-German sentiment throughout Britain. Mobs of angry people stormed through the streets of British cities, hurling bricks through the windows of shops and restaurants with German sounding names, stealing merchandise in some cases, setting fires in others. Hotels refused rooms to people with Germanic names like Muller or Schultz, even when they could produce documents proving their British citizenship. Homes were ransacked and people driven from them, cars were vandalised, music by Mozart, Strauss and other German composers banned, German books destroyed, bottles of German Mosel smashed and according to more than one report of the day – a few mentally deficient patriots did their bit for the cause by chasing poor dachshunds down the street kicking them, or killing them!

 

***************Chromolithography is a method for making multi-colour prints. This type of colour printing stemmed from the process of lithography, and includes all types of lithography that are printed in colour. When chromolithography is used to reproduce photographs, the term photochrome is frequently used.

 

****************Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.

 

*****************A tippet is a piece of clothing worn over the shoulders in the shape of a scarf or cape. Tippets evolved in the fourteenth century from long sleeves and typically had one end hanging down to the knees. By the 1920s, tippets were usually made of fox, mink or other types of fur.

 

******************A leg-o’-mutton sleeve (also known in French as the gigot sleeve) was initially named due to its unusual shape: formed from a voluminous gathering of fabric at the upper arm that tapers to a tight fit from the elbow to the wrist. First seen in fashionable dress in the 1820s, the sleeve became popular between approximately 1825 and 1833 – but by the time Queen Victoria ascended to the throne in 1837, the overblown sleeves had completely disappeared in favour of a more subdued style. The trend returned in the 1890s, with sleeves growing in size – much to the ridicule of the media – until 1906 when the mode once again changed.

 

*******************The History of Sir Charles Grandison, commonly called Sir Charles Grandison, is an epistolary novel by English writer Samuel Richardson first published in February 1753. The book was a response to Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, which parodied the morals presented in Richardson's previous novels.

 

This dark, cosy and slightly cluttered bookshop may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

All the books that you see lining the shelves of Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are all the books you see both open and closed on Mr. Mayhew’s desk. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside five of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume and the others, the books contain dozens of double sided pages of images and writing. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. For example, published in 1917, “Revue des Chapeaux” (the book at the front on the right) reviews in brilliant pictorial detail, millinery styles between 1913 and 1917. The pages shown in my photo may be seen photographed from the actual book and uploaded to Flickr in these two links: here ( www.flickr.com/photos/taffeta/7062767671/in/album-7215762... ) and here ( www.flickr.com/photos/taffeta/7062758273/in/album-7215762... ). The other books are also real books, including the catalogue of historical ladies’ shoes from 1812, the French book of Art Nouveau jewellery and metalwork design, the jacket catalogue from a Berlin manufacturer and the copy of Les Roses (1824) by Pierre-Joseph Redouté in the background to the upper left-hand corner of the photograph. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. 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. 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 a few of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

Also on the desk beneath the books are some old papers and a desk calendar which I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The photos you can see in the background, all of which are all real photos, are produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal.

 

The aspidistra in the blue jardiniere that can just be seen to the right of the fireplace in the background, the pipe and pipe stand, and the map also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

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

Classic eye chart generously provided by Vista Optical at Lloyd Center mall.

 

I wasn't sure that these still existed, but I asked at Vista Optical if they had one. I explained that I wanted to photograph it and why. Two were found in a plastic bag in a storage closet. I selected the least crumpled one and it was hung on wall for me to shoot. Thanks, Vista!

 

Photo taken for Our Daily Challenge: Letters.

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 visiting her family home after fleeing London in a moment of deep despair. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice in honour of his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so he and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.

 

Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she has been for the last week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father feeds her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up.

 

We find ourselves in the Glynes morning room, a room Lettice does not particularly like being in, summoned there by one of the Glynes’ maids, at the behest of Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie. The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother her mother’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent. Several clocks quietly mark the passing of time, whilst a fire crackles cheerfully in the morning room grate.

 

“Ahh, there you are Lettice.” Lady Sadie says as she glances up over her shoulder from her Eighteenth Century bonheur de jour** in the corner of the morning room. “Finally.” she adds with a slightly exasperated sigh.

 

“I was lying down on the chaise in my boudoir, reading Mamma.” Lettice defends herself against the last word spoken accusatorially by her mother.

 

“Wallowing is more like it.” scoffs the older woman acerbically, dropping her silver fountain pen with a clatter onto the top of some notes she has been making which jut out from underneath a large book of roses that stands open, leaning against the desk’s right corner drawers.

 

“I was reading Pride and Prejudice, I’ll have you know, Mama.”

 

“As I said,” Lady Sadie tuts. “Wallowing.” She turns around in her seat and faces her daughter, fixing her with a gaze that suggests she is no mood for self-indulgence, laying her wrist against the soft white Regency striped fabric on the curled back of the seat. “Well don’t just stand there! I didn’t send Emery on an errand to find you, just so you could stand in the middle of the room like a dolt. Come here, child.”

 

Reluctantly Lettice stalks slowly across the cluttered morning room, wending her way listlessly around occasional tables covered with bric-a-brac and vases of autumn blooms from the Glynes gardens, and overstuffed chairs that cover the beautiful oriental carpet until she reaches the cosy corner next to the crackling fire where her mother is.

 

“I’d value your opinion, Lettice.”

 

“My opinion, Mamma?” Lettice asks in surprise.

 

“Have you lost the ability to think for yourself whilst you have been living in London, Lettice?” Lady Sadie asks peevishly.

 

“No, of course not, Mamma!” Lettice replies, physically shying away from her mother’s stinging statement as though she had been slapped in the face by the countess.

 

“Well of course your opinion, then!” Lady Sadie sighs as she sees the hesitance in her child’s eyes. “We may not have a great deal in common, Lettice, but admittedly you are the only one of my four children who shares my love of gardening and flowers. I’m making plans for the plantings for next spring. I have some seeds that I already have seed packets from Webbs****.” She picks up a packet of Calliopsis***** seeds, the cover featuring brightly coloured red and yellow blooms executed by a skilled artist. “Now, I was thinking of doing something a little different, down near the ha-ha******. I was thinking I might plant an ornamental wildflower bed.” She smiles proudly to herself as she glances down at the packet, imagining the blaze of colour next spring. “Now what do you think of that Lettice?”

 

Lettice just looks at her mother in stunned silence.

 

“Oh, and I was wondering whether you think we might have some rather nice climbers along the western side of the Glynes greenhouses, just for a spot of colour there.” She picks up another packet decorated with drawings of beautifully coloured flowers in red, golden yellow, pale blue and white, and holds it up gaily. “What is your opinion about that?”

 

“My opinion?” Lettice finally manages to stammer.

 

“Well yes, child! I wouldn’t have called you down here if I hadn’t wanted your opinion.”

 

“I come home to Glynes after having had my heart broken by Lady Zinnia,” Lettice begins to spit hotly as bitter tears begin to form in her eyes. “After she forbids me to see Selwyn,” The tears begin to fall from her lids, like large diamond droplets. “And you, you called me down here so you can ask me whether I think we should have climbers along the western wall of the greenhouses?”

 

Lady Sadie sits quietly in her seat, ramrod stiff, as she fiddles with her silver fountain pen and listens in silence to her youngest daughter’s voice as it begins to rise.

 

“What kind of deranged mother are you, Sadie?” Lettice asks, deliberately using her mother’s given name to emphasise the divide between Lettice’s ideal of a mother, and the person her mother really is. “You are deranged!” She shakes her head. “No, no! Deranged suggests you have lost all sense of thought, and you are far from that. No, no! No, you know what you are, Sadie? You are perverse! I come here looking to mend my broken heart, and you want to ask me about perennials for your herbaceous border? This must be a new depth in our already pathetic relationship!”

 

Sadie remains silent for a moment before speaking. “I was only trying to help you, Lettice.”

 

“Help me?” Lettice scoffs angrily. “Help me?”

 

“Yes, child.”

 

“Help me? How does planning a wild garden or planning the Glynes parterre, talking like nothing has happened, help me, Mamma?”

 

“Oh Lettice, do stop being so melodramatic.” Lady Sadie replies reproachfully in her usually dismissive way, turning away from her daughter as she begins to stack up the packets of seeds neatly on the surface of her writing desk in front of her. “You always were prone to histrionics, and it really is most unbecoming.” She emphasises the last word with an inflection of repugnance that is unmistakable.

 

Lettice turns her head away from her mother, partially in shame, but also in shock that she should be talking to Lettice in such a way when she is feeling so vulnerable. It is true that mother and daughter have never gotten along throughout Lettice’s adult life, but Lettice feels that even Lady Sadie has some sense of compassion deep beneath her hard outer crust of steeliness.

 

“Don’t turn away when I’m speaking to you, Lettice!” Lady Sadie snaps. “Look at me! I’m your mother! It’s disrespectful to me, and shows an unattractive wilfulness and defiance in you! Are you listening to me?”

 

“Since I haven’t stormed out of the room in disgust yet,” Lettice replies deflatedly. “Amazingly I am, Mamma.”

 

“Yes, well, you also have a decidedly unattractive propensity to storm out of a room when people say things you don’t like.” bristles Lady Sadie with irritation.

 

“Only when you say something I don’t like, Mamma. It’s always you, never anyone else!”

 

“Well, be that as it may, how do you think histrionics, wilfulness and defiance are going to win over Lady Zinnia?”

 

“What?” Lettice blinks in a lack of comprehension.

 

“Your father can mollycoddle you all you and he like: let you take breakfast in bed like a respectable married lady*******, fawn over you as you languish in your bedroom and feed you your favourite Scottish shortbreads as a treat, but I’m having none of it, do you hear me?” She looks at her daughter with a hard, steely gaze. “None of it, Lettice.” She nods seriously.

 

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting sympathy from you, my own mother. I know better than that.”

 

“You paint me as the villain, Lettice, and it’s not justified.”

 

“Isn’t it, Mamma?”

 

“No,” Lady Sadie replies with genuine hurt in her voice. “At least not this time. It’s hurtful and spiteful. Unfortunately, that is a trait you must get from me, as your father, for all his faults, isn’t a spiteful person. You misinterpret and misjudge my motivations as well, Lettice. I may not necessarily have done everything right by you in the past.” Lettice’s eyes widen in surprise at her mother’s rare admission of wrongdoing. “You are, after all, my most difficult child and the one I understand the least.”

 

“Oh, thank you very much, Mamma.” Lettice says sulkily, rolling her eyes.

 

“Now, now. Just hear me out, Lettice.” Lady Sadie begs in a fashion that at the same time remains crisp, noble and slightly self righteous.

 

“Alright.” Lettice folds her arms akimbo sulkily. “Go on, Mamma. I’m listening.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t care. I do. I just can’t warm to you is all. You shunned me when you were a baby. Nanny would bring you down to the drawing room for you to be presented to your father and I before dinner and you would shower him with smiles and kisses, yet you only ever had a screwed up face the shade of an aubergine for me as you cried when Nanny pushed you towards me. Nanny told me that it was probably just wind or a liver complaint, but I’ve yet to see an attack of biliousness that is directed at one human being in particular.”

 

“So it’s my fault is it, Mamma?” Lettice rolls her eyes towards the ornate white painted plater cornicing on the ceiling above. “Of course! Why am I not surprised? It is always is my fault.”

 

“I haven’t finished yet, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says warningly.

 

Lettice glares back at her mother, waiting for her to continue. “Very well.” she snaps.

 

“Well, as a result, you and I have never seen eye to eye on most things.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “I concede. Some things you have proven me wrong with when it has come to making the decisions you have made in your young life. I will never approve of this interior designing nonsense you insist on persisting with, however, at least you have made a good fist of it******. You even managed to wheedle your way into one of my favourite periodicals, Country Life*******: possibly just to spite me.”

 

Lettice snorts derisively, but cannot help but smile in spite of the anger she currently feels for her mother as she imagines Lady Sadie so put out when the two Miss Evanses, a pair of gossiping spinsters from the village, set upon her mother with the news about Lettice appearing in the magazine before Lady Sadie had even had a chance to look at it.

 

“However, at least it was Henry Tipping******** who wrote about you, and you can’t ask for a better commendation than that of the arbiter of the architecture and furnishings of country houses. However, on this point I am right.”

 

“And what point is that, Mamma?”

 

“Of course you should feel free to come to Glynes to mend your broken heart. It is, after all, your home, and always will be, I hope. However, it serves no purpose to simply shut yourself up in your boudoir and read silly romance novels.”

 

“I’m not shutting myself away.”

 

“Not all the time, perhaps,” Lady Sadie acknowledges with a flare in her nostrils. “But when you aren’t there, you are moping around the house and garden, rather like a sullen ornamental family ghost. Your father’s mollycoddling isn’t helping one bit. In fact, it’s causing the problem to linger, or is possibly even exacerbating it. Do you feel any better for your father’s tender ministrations, Lettice?”

 

Lettice unfolds her arms and puts them behind her back, lowering her head as she looks down and toys with the plush on the rug with the toe of her shoe. “Well, not really.”

 

“And how do you think this self-serving indulgence in being out of sorts is helping maintain your relationship with Selwyn Spencely?”

 

“What do you mean, Mamma?”

 

Lady Sadie chuckles in a brittle way. “Zinnia thinks she has you pinned. She thinks that she knows my youngest daughter. When she looks at the picture of you alongside her son, both of you smiling into the bright phosphorescence of the camera bulb’s flash, because the two of you foolishly concocted the idea to rub her nose in your relationship, rather than be cautious and wheedle your way in,”

 

“Lady Zinnia was set against me from the very beginning, Mamma.” Lettice defends herself as she interrupts her mother.

 

“Nonsense, Lettice! She might not be a habitué of yours, and she may indeed have other candidates she considers far more suitable for her precious eldest son, but if you and Selwyn had played the hand you were dealt differently, you would have won her over eventually.”

 

“My, my, such optimism, Mamma.”

 

“Sarcasm is also unattractive in a girl of your age, especially a jeune fille à marier***********. It implies a jadedness that should not be present in one so young as you.” Lady Sadie sighs. “Anyway, before you decide to interrupt me again, another irritating habit of yours, Zinnia looks at those endless photographs of you in the society pages and she sees a young and flippant flapper, who is easily broken.”

 

“But I am broken, Mamma. My heart is in pieces.”

 

“Now, at the moment I know that is exactly how you feel, but you are hardly broken.” Lady Sadie contemplates her daughter. “Bruised, perhaps, but not broken. I also know that in spite of the fact that I do not approve of your wilfulness, nor perhaps your outspokenness either, I do know that of all my children, you are the most resilient, except perhaps for Lionel, but let us say no more about him.”

 

“Indeed no, Mamma.”

 

“If you just crumple like this, and allow your father to mollycoddle you as you mope about the place and wallow in your misery, don’t you see, Lady Zinnia wins?”

 

“She does?”

 

“Of course she does! Do you want Zinnia to win, Lettice?”

 

“No, of course I don’t, Mamma!” Lettice replies in shock.

 

“Well then! You retreat here to lick your wounds self-indulgently, and then once you finally feel a little bit better, you start to think that Selwyn is too much of a danger to your wounded heart. He’s the future Duke of Walmsford: of course he is going to marry someone with a pedigree approved by his overbearing mother.” Sadie pauses for a moment. “However, that is where, unusually for her, Zinnia has played the wrong hand.” she adds triumphantly.

 

“She has?”

 

“She has!” Lady Sadie says defiantly. “Zinnia told you that she has packed Selwyn off for a year to forget about you, but what she really did in fact, was to pack Selwyn off so you would forget about him. By the time he returns, you will have found someone new. Of course, being the caring parents that we are, Zinnia thinks your father and I will encourage you to forget him and to marry someone else. In fact, knowing Cosmo, I’ll wager your father has already done so. Has he?”

 

Lettice’s cheeks colour.

 

“Aha!” Sadie crows triumphantly. “So, he has suggested it. So typical of Cosmo. Did he suggest Nigel Tyrwhitt?”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply again, her silence speaking loudly of her father’s suggestion.

 

“He always did have a hope that you and Nigel would marry. Your Uncle Sherbourne, God rest his soul,” She lifts her eyes upwards to the heavens as she clasps the pearls about her neck. “And your Aunt Isobel always wished the same. However, I had greater expectations for your you, and you found them.”

 

“But now I’ve lost him, Mamma. Selwyn is gone and I’m forbidden to write to him, and even if I do, Lady Zinnia will make sure that my letters to him are intercepted. What can I do, but move on from him to another young man?”

 

“Don’t be so feeble! You stay the course, Lettice. Show Zinnia that you are far from the flippant and feeble flapper she imagines you to be, and be the strong young lady that I know you are. Get up each day and get on with your life. Keep designing interiors. Keep shopping. Keep attending social functions, especially those where there are lots of photographers and reporters. Just make sure you don’t become involved with any eligible young man.”

 

“Mamma!” Lettice gasps. “I never thought I would hear such words fall from your lips!”

 

“If you really do love Selwyn, Lettice my dear, and I firmly believe that you do, you will need to be patient and wait for him to return. The newspaper men will quickly catch on to the fact that you are alone, especially since they are so used to seeing you with Selwyn after the last few months of your ill-fated campaign of publicity.” She thinks for a moment. “However, maybe it is not so ill-fated as you suppose. When the newspaper reporters ask you why you aren’t with Selwyn, tell them that he has gone away.”

 

“What good will that do, Mamma?”

 

“Because then the next question they will ask you is whether you have met someone new. They will ask why a girl as beautiful, successful and wealthy as you, is not on the arm of another new eligible and wealthy bachelor. They know how to sell newspapers.”

 

“And I tell them what?”

 

“You tell them that you are waiting for Selwyn’s return, when you expect a proposal to be forthcoming. You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn, but Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him.”

 

“Tell Selwyn on my behest?”

 

“They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him.”

 

“But what if he meets someone else there, Mamma?”

 

“He won’t.”

 

“But how can you possibly know that?”

 

“Because there are no young ladies in South African society who can possibly live up to Zinnia’s impossibly exacting standards and high expectations. If you can’t, how do you think the daughter of a local official, however venerable, will? Besides, if he reads that you are riding out the storm of his mother’s revenge and waiting for him, he’ll wait for you. I saw the two of you together at my Hunt Ball and I knew that you two were in love, and not just lightly – deeply – and that love will survive a year of absence. In fact, now that I come to think of it,” Sadie’s eye glitter with delight. “Do they not say that absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

 

“Indeed they do, Mamma!” Lettice cries, clapping her hands in delight.

 

“And that is another poor play by Zinnia from her very well stocked hand.”

 

“Mamma, you are so clever!”

 

“Of course I am, child. When it comes to matters of the heart, there is no-one better equipped that I to make sure that cupid’s bow hits the correct target.” Sadie snuggles back into her seat triumphantly. “Zinnia may enjoy revenge as a dish best served cold. Let’s see how much she enjoys eating her own cooking.” She stands up. “You just keep functioning, Lettice. Don’t give up. And for goodness sake, stop languishing around here like the family ghost! Go for a walk and get some fresh air. That will put some roses in your cheeks.”

 

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

 

**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.

 

****Edward Webb and Sons, known more commonly simply as Webbs, were an English seed merchants or seedsmen, dating back to around 1850 when Edward Webb started a business in Wordsley, near Stourbridge. By the 1890s, Webb and Sons had been appointed seedsmen to Queen Victoria, and had become a household name around Britain. Fertilisers being crucial to the nursery industry, the Webbs in 1894 took over Proctor and Ryland, a well-known bone manure works in Saltney near Chester, and considerably expanded its activities, becoming Saltney's second largest business. Edward Webb and Sons were awarded a Gold Medal at the Royal Horticultural Society's Chelsea Flower Show in 1914. During World War II the firm was the primary supplier of grass seeds and fertiliser for airfields, both under the Air Ministry and local municipalities. The seeds used for this purpose were chosen to withstand heavy aircraft traffic. Webb and Sons also assisted in the camouflage of landing strips.

 

*****Coreopsis is a genus of flowering plants in the family Asteraceae. Common names include calliopsis and tickseed, a name shared with various other plants. These plants range from 46–120 centimetres (18–47 inches) in height. The flowers are usually yellow with a toothed tip, but may also be yellow-and-red bicolor.

 

******A ha-ha is a type of sunken fence that was commonly used in landscaped gardens and parks in the eighteenth century. It involved digging a deep, dry ditch, the inner side of which would be built up to the level of the surrounding turf with either a dry-stone or brick wall. Meanwhile, the outer side was designed to slope steeply upwards, before leveling out again into turf. The point of the ha-ha was to give the viewer of the garden the illusion of an unbroken, continuous rolling lawn, whilst providing boundaries for grazing livestock.

 

*******Before the Second World War, if you were a married Lady, it was customary for you to have your breakfast in bed, because you supposedly don't have to socialise to find a husband. Unmarried women were expected to dine with the men at the breakfast table, especially on the occasion where an unmarried lady was a guest at a house party, as it gave her exposure to the unmarried men in a more relaxed atmosphere and without the need for a chaperone.

 

********It is seldom heard in the land of its origin — the United States. When you make a good fist of something, you succeed in doing it. You do a good job and achieve a certain degree of success. According to some scholars, the word 'fist' in the expression is used in the sense of 'hand' — someone who does physical work.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The catalogue of flower seeds and the Georgian book of roses on Lady Sadie’s desk are a 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside two of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into his volumes, the catalogue contains twelve double sided pages of illustrations and text. It measures thirty millimetres in height and fifteen millimetres in width and is only three millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. 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!

 

On the desk is a 1:12 artisan miniature silver pen with a tiny pearl in its end, made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

Lettice recently visited her family home, Glynes, in Wiltshire after fleeing London in a moment of deep despair. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice to celebrate his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.

 

Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she stayed for a week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father fed her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up. However, rather than assuage her broken heart, her father’s ministrations only served to make matters worse as she grew even more morose. It was from the most unlikely of candidates, her mother Lady Sadie, with whom Lettice has always had a fraught relationship, that Lettice received the best advice, which was to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life: keep designing interiors, keep shopping and most importantly, keep attending social functions where there are plenty of press photographers. “You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn,” Lady Sadie said wisely. ‘But Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him. They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him that you share through the newspaper men. Tell them that you are waiting patiently for Selwyn’s return.”

 

Since then, Lettice has been trying to follow her mother’s advice and has thrown herself into the merry dance of London’s social round of dinners, dances and balls in the lead up to the festive season. Carefully heeding another piece of her mother’s advice, she has avoided being seen on the arm of any eligible young men, and just as Lady Sadie predicted, the press has been lapping up the story of Lettice’s broken heart as she shuns the advances of other young men whilst she awaits Selwyn’s eventual return from Durban, publishing the details in all their tabloids with fervour.

 

Today we are not at Cavendish Mews. Instead, we are just a short distance away in Knightsbridge on London’s busy shopping thoroughfare of the Brompton Road, where amidst the throng of London’s middle-class housewives and upper-class ladies shopping for amusement, Lettice is trying to throw herself enthusiastically into Christmas shopping with her best friend, Margot Channon, visiting Harrods**. The usually busy footpath outside the enormous department store with its famous terracotta façade seems even busier today as the crowds are swelled by visitors who have come in from the outer suburbs of London and elsewhere around England to join Lettice and Margot and do a spot of their own Christmas shopping. Around them, the vociferous collective chatter of shoppers mixes with the sound of noisy automobiles, chugging double decker busses and the occasional clop of horses hooves as they all trundle along the Brompton Road.

 

The two smartly dressed ladies enter London’s most expensive and grand department store, and following Lettice’s lead, they make their way upstairs to the toy department on Harrod’s top floor. The pair meander between tables laden with mountains of boxed dolls, teddy bears, toy tea sets and dolls’ house furnishings, jostling for space with excited children in toy heaven escorted by their frazzled nannies, or in a few cases, their distracted parents. Fleets of child sized tricycles, rocking horses, railway engines and pedal automobiles stand in line before the counters, their doll and teddy bear passengers awaiting their child drivers. Dolls houses with peaked roofs and beautiful gingerbreading stand open, displaying their tastefully decorated interiors for every passing girl to look at, admire and envy, whilst stacks of the latest sporting toys and equipment are ogled and pawed at by little boys. The air is punctuated with laughter, squeals of delight and the occasional sharp slap and harsh words of admonishment when a child does more than just look at what is on display.

 

“Even the most well-bred children become little monsters at Christmas time.” mutters Margot irritably as two giggling children in smart coats and hats tear past her, their hurried footsteps absorbed into the thick plush of patterned Art Nouveau carpet beneath their feet. “Not that I was of course. My nanny would have been dismissed immediately if I behaved in public the way some of these children are.”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply, but walks alongside her friend, looking absently at a selection of brightly decorated smiling golliwogs sitting on a three-tier display stand.

 

“You know what, Lettice darling?” Margot asks, picking up on a thread of conversation the two friends had begun as they looked through the windows of Harrods along the Brompton Road a few minutes before.

 

“What Margot?” Lettice asks rather distractedly as her gaze moves from the golliwogs to several plush toy poodles standing in front of a wonderful, fully rigged wooden sailboat.

 

“I may not be a great fan of Sadie,” Margot admits. “She’s difficult, exacting and far too critical of you as her daughter.”

 

Margot looks thoughtfully at Lettice, who appears somewhat diminished as she walks alongside her best friend, almost swimming in her familiar powder blue three-quarter length coat, her pale and wan face lacking its usual colour as she peers out from above her thick arctic fox fur stole wrapped around her. Even her smart hat, another millinery creation from her wonderful Putney discovery Harriet Milford, appears bigger on her today, and Margot notices that Lettice’s blonde hair, freshly set in soft Marcelle waves*** around her face, appears lacklustre in spite of her visit to the coiffeur.

 

“But,” Lettice asks, tentatively, pausing and looking at her friend dressed in a smart russet outfit of a three quarter length coat and matching hat, accessorised by a beautiful red squirrel stole.

 

“But what, Lettice darling?”

 

“Your sentence Margot. Don’t be coy, or worse obtuse,” Lettice tuts, looking her friend squarely in the face. “You may not be a fan of Sadie, but?”

 

“Well,” Margot says with a guilty lilt. “For once I jolly well agree with your mother.”

 

“You do?”

 

“I do!” admits Margot. “I think she was right to pack you off back here to London. It’s the only place you will get your shine back.” Margot pauses before adding. “You are looking a little peaky, my dear, if you will forgive me for saying.”

 

“I will, Margot darling. It’s a rare occurrence for Mater to ever insist I return to London.” Lettice snorts as they continue to slowly traverse the aisle lined with every conceivable toy and populated with a mass of wriggling and writhing excitable children. “Usually, it’s the other way around! Why must I come back to this big, horrible city when everything I could possibly need is right on my doorstep in dull old Wiltshire.”

 

“Moping about Glynes for too long would just have exacerbated your feelings of sadness.” Margot goes on. “Especially with your dear Pappa pandering to you.”

 

“Have you been talking to Mater about me?” Lettice asks in surprise, stopping in her tracks.

 

“No!” laughs Margot, looking back at her friend’s surprised face. “What a preposterous idea! We don’t even like one another! Why on earth would you ask that?”

 

“You’ll laugh when I tell you this,” explains Lettice. “But she intimated the exact same thing to me whilst I was staying down at Glynes.”

 

True to Lettice’s prediction, Margot does laugh. “Well, Sadie may lack empathy, but when it comes to matchmaking, it seems that she does have some common sense and knowledge.”

 

“So, you don’t think I’m foolish for doing what Mater suggested?”

 

“For getting on with things, or trying to at any rate?” Margot asks. “Good heavens, no! Why? Who has been saying you’re foolish for coming back to London?”

 

“When I arrived home, Cilla telephoned me and invited me to dine at the Langbourne Club****.”

 

“Humph!” opines Margot. “You’d think with her newly minted American millionaire husband, Cilla could find a new club to be a member of: somewhere more fitting than Fishmonger Hall Street to entertain you over luncheon.”

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Lettice brightens for a moment. “I rather enjoyed having tea and cucumber sandwiches surrounded by the working women of London.”

 

“Cilla would be wise to bury the fact that at one stage she and her mother were in such an impecunious position that she took up a secretarial course and worked in the city office of banker, just to keep the wolves away from the door.” mutters Margot bitterly. “Which she lied to all of us, her friends, about by saying it was a social experiment to aid her understanding of the conditions of working women in the city so she could help improve them.”

 

“Now, don’t be cruel, Margot.” Lettice chides her best friend mildly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

 

“But it’s true! Cilla lied to us all. I thought we were all friends.”

 

“We are, Margot darling.”

 

“But she lied to us, Lettice.”

 

“Only to save face, Margot darling. You know what that’s like. We all do.” Lettice soothes. “Anyway, you’re hardly a one to talk of impecunious circumstances when you think of some of the financial scraps you and Dickie have been in since you were married.” She cocks a knowing eyebrow. “We all know that he might be the future Marquess of Taunton, but he hasn’t a bean.”

 

“That’s besides the point, Lettice darling!” deflects Margot. “Anyway, what did Cilla have to say whilst you were luncheoning on soggy cucumber sandwiches and lukewarm milky tea with views of the Pool of London*****?”

 

“She thinks I’m silly to keep designing interiors and shopping and worse still for attending social functions, especially those where there are lots of photographers and reporters, whom she has noticed me talking to at length.”

 

“That’s because Cilla is a foolish girl who only ever reads silly romance novels and the social pages of the newspapers.” snaps Margot. “Now that she has her wealthy husband, and her future is secure, she thinks of little else.”

 

“I must confess,” Lettice admits guiltily. “I mean, I wasn’t really in the mood for her chatter anyway, but it was most awfully trying, listening to her prattle on about how wonderful life is, now that she’s Mrs. Georgie Carter.”

 

“It just goes to show you how thoughtless she is to talk like that around you when she knows of your heartbreak every bit as much as I do. It’s heartless and unthinking!”

 

“Never mind Margot darling. It’s done now. There’s no need to get cross over it.”

 

Seeming not to hear her friend, Margot continues, “She is just as self-obsessed as the heroines in those ridiculous romances she reads.” She casts her eyes up to the ornate white painted plaster cornicing above. “I’m glad I managed to introduce some alternatives to your reading repertoire.”

 

“Oh yes,” Lettice sparks up momentarily again. “I did enjoy ‘Whose Body?’******. Miss Sayers’ character of Lord Peter Wimsey is simply wonderful!”

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Lettice darling!” purrs Margot with delight, seeing a welcome spark in her friend’s blue eyes and a tentative smile on her pale lips. “And to see you enthusiastic about something for a change. In spite of your most valiant efforts to be gay and put on a brave face, I cannot help but notice how farouche******* you have been since you came back from Wiltshire. Now, thinking of Glynes, I think Sadie’s suggestion that we get you in front of as many flashing camera bulbs and reporters desperate to report on your perceived ill-fated wait for Selwyn was pure genius!”

 

“Margot!”

 

“I know! I don’t imagine you ever thought you’d hear me say that about Sadie, but she genuinely is right. If you can’t communicate with Selwyn because Lady Zinnia forbids it, then let the newspapers do it for you. If they report on your pining for him, he’ll find out about it soon enough. Even if he doesn’t read the society pages, other people of his acquaintance in Durban will, and they will pop any mention of him in front of his very nose. You and I both know that when our names or pictures appear, everyone clamours to ask us whether we’ve seen ourselves in the society pages.”

 

“As if we hadn’t.” scoffs Lettice, rolling her eyes.

 

“As if we hadn’t.” agrees Margot with an affirmative nod. “No! Ignore silly Cilla, her judgement and her feeble ideas. Let’s do what your mother suggests and keep you out and about.” Margot looks rather nervously at a display of rather ghoulish looking French bisque dolls stacked to her left. “Thinking of which, why did you want to come to Harrod’s toy department anyway? Being surrounded by all these children,” A piercing scream from a little boy or girl pierces the air, making Margot cringe. “Really is most disturbing.”

 

“Well, it is getting towards Christmas, and I don’t have anything for my nice and nephew.” Lettice admits. “I’ve been too preoccupied with, well with other things, as you know.” she adds guiltily.

 

“You don’t have to justify your distractedness to me, Lettice, darling!” Margot links arms comfortingly with her best friend. “You know perfectly well that I understand and support you.”

 

“Thank you Margot, you really are a brick.” Sighs Lettice.

 

“That’s more like my Lettice of old.” Margot smiles. “Now, do you have any idea what your niece and nephew want from Father Christmas this year? The sooner we are out of here, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“Do you think you’ll feel any differently about children, once you have your own, Margot darling?”

 

“Now don’t you start!” Margot snaps as she points a glove clad finger warningly at her friend.

 

“What did I say, Margot darling?”

 

“Oh, nothing.” Margot replies, deflating as quickly as she arced up. “I’m sorry, Lettice darling. Forgive me?”

 

“Of course, dear Margot, but whatever has happened to make you snap like that?”

 

“It’s just my awful mother-in-law the Marchioness is all.”

 

“Is she pressing you about starting a family again?”

 

“Again?” Margot laughs scornfully. “She never stops, even to draw breath. She tells me at every opportunity,”

 

“Which thankfully isn’t too many.” Lettice grasps her friend’s hands with her own glove encased ones.

 

“Thankfully no.” Margot agrees. “She tells me constantly that it’s my duty as a wife, and a Channon, to ensure the succession of the title by producing an heir. It isn’t as if,” She lowers her voice to a barely perceptible whisper as she moves her head close to Lettice’s. “Dickie and I haven’t been trying. We have. It just doesn’t seem to be happening. Unlike the Marchioness perceives, I’m not a clock that runs smoothly day in and day out.”

 

“Of course you aren’t, Margot darling.” Lettice assures her friend as tears start to well up in Margot’s eyes. “It will all happen, when time intends.”

 

A young girl nearby reaches up towards a teddy bear, and when she cannot reach it, her face turns from pale pink to red and then purple as she bellows loudly in protest with tears cascading down her fat cheeks.

 

“And when I do, I intend to give it to our nanny to take care of until it is at least of age.” Margot replies with disgust as she stares with open hostility at the crying child as a nanny in a grey cape and pillbox hat sweeps her up in her arms. “Filthy little beasts that children are.”

 

Lettice laughs at the combination of her best friend’s remark and look of repugnance.

 

“Come along Margot darling. Let’s keep going.”

 

Lettice comes to a halt before a glass fronted counter laden with such an array of wonderful toys and garlanded with festive tinsel******** that you can barely see it beneath all the festive cheer. Teddy bears of differing sizes jostle for space with a marvellous faerie tale castle upon which stand several painted lead and wooden soldiers. Two beautifully painted lead knights prepare to joust before its drawbridge entrance. Stacks of colourful bricks showing letters of the alphabet stand next to rocking wooden toys, whilst various games perch between them all.

 

“What are you thinking of?” Margot asks, looking at all the toys, before reaching out and giving a little model railway engine with red and grey livery and shiny brass workings a gentle nudge that projects it slightly further along the edge of the counter.

 

“Well,” Lettice begins. “I bought Harrold some jousting knights for Christmas last year. Lally said that between she and Charles posing as Father Christmas, Pappa and me, he ended up with a very fine collection.”

 

“So you think you might like to add to it?” Margot ventures as she gingerly picks up a knight in silver armour on horseback wearing cobalt blue livery.

 

“No,” Lettice says in a rather distracted fashion as she glances across the counter. “I don’t think I will this year. He has enough lead soldiers and knights.”

 

“Does any boy have enough lead soldiers and knights?” Margot laughs in rhetorical reply as she replaces the knight back onto the glassy surface of the counter.

 

“No, you’re right, dear Margot. But I was thinking I might buy him this.”

 

Lettice picks up a brightly decorated game box before her and holds it out to her best friend.

 

“The Wonderful Game of Oz*********,” Margot reads aloud, scruitinising the cover which features Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion and the Tin Man on it, with the Emerald City sparkling in the background.

 

“I bought Harrold ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’********** and ‘The Land of Oz’ for his birthday, and Lally said that he just devoured them. He adored all the characters. I thought that now Annabelle is a bit older, brother and sister could probably play this companionably together, at least for a little while, and give Lally and Nanny a small amount of respite.”

 

“That sounds promising, Lettice darling.”

 

“I thought so.”

 

“May I help you, ladies?” asks a young male assistant who has slipped up silently to the counter as Lettice and Margot have been chatting.

 

“Aside from clearing the department of every single child under the age of eighteen,” Margot remarks, handing the clean shaven young man in Harrods livery the game box. “You might wrap this up for us.”

 

“Very good, madam.” he replies obsequiously.

 

“And don’t stray too far,” Margot adds. “We aren’t quite done yet.”

 

“Of course, madam,” the shop assistant agrees with a differential nod before retreating to wrap the box.

 

“Thank you,” Lettice says to her friend.

 

“And for your niece?” Margot asks.

 

“Well, after I gave her a big teddy bear like this one, last year,” Lettice tugs on the paw of a beautiful big buff coloured mohair bear. “I have heard nothing from Annabelle but how very much she wants me to give her a bear this year.” She picks up a pretty toffee coloured bear with black glass eyes and a sweet face with a vermilion bow about his neck. “So I think that’s an easy choice.”

 

Margot considers the bear in her friend’s hands. “He is sweet.” she remarks.

 

“Yes, he does have a rather lovely face.” Lettice agrees. “Oh, and ever since she discovered Rupert Bear*********** in her father’s ‘Daily Express’ she has been obsessed by him.” She picks up a pretty and colourful box decorated with Rupert bear rambling across the idyllic English countryside towards his home in Nutwood. “So perhaps this as well.”

 

“My goodness Lettice!” remarks Margot. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so decisive when it comes to shopping before.”

 

“Well,” admits Lettice, glancing awkwardly around her. “I must confess that being surrounded by all these noisy and rambunctious children is rather unnerving.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.” replies Margot with a shudder.

 

“I don’t mind my own niece and nephew, in small doses, but all these excitable children really are too, too tiresome.”

 

“We’ll get these packaged up then, and we’ll go and take tea in the Georgian Restaurant************. Then we can talk more privately, and without a single child in sight, about your plans to keep Selwyn close to your heart, even if he is far away. What do you say, Lettice darling?”

 

“I think that sounds perfect, Margot darling!” Lettice sighs, smiling genuinely at her dear friend.

 

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

 

**Harrods is a department store located on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge, London. It is owned by Harrods Ltd. In 1824, at the age of twenty-five, Charles Henry Harrod established a business at 228 Borough High Street in Southwark. He ran this business, variously listed as a draper, mercer, and a haberdasher, until at least 1831. His first grocery business appears to be as 'Harrod & Co. Grocers' at 163 Upper Whitecross Street, Clerkenwell, in 1832. In 1834, in London's East End, he established a wholesale grocery in Stepney at 4 Cable Street with a special interest in tea. Attempting to capitalise on trade during the Great Exhibition of 1851 in nearby Hyde Park, in 1849 Harrod took over a small shop in the district of Brompton, on the site of the current store. Beginning in a single room employing two assistants and a messenger boy, Harrod's son Charles Digby Harrod built the business into a thriving retail operation selling medicines, perfumes, stationery, fruits and vegetables. Harrods rapidly expanded, acquired the adjoining buildings, and employed one hundred people by 1881. However, the store's booming fortunes were reversed in early December 1883, when it burnt to the ground. Remarkably, Charles Harrod fulfilled all of his commitments to his customers to make Christmas deliveries that year—and made a record profit in the process. Begun in 1894, the present building with its famous terracotta façade was completed to the design of architect Charles William Stephens. The same year Harrods extended credit for the first time to its best customers, among them Oscar Wilde, Lillie Langtry, Ellen Terry, Charlie Chaplin, Noël Coward, Gertrude Lawrence, Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, Sigmund Freud, A. A. Milne, and many members of the British Royal Family. Beatrix Potter frequented the store from the age of seventeen. First published in 1902, her children’s book, ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’, was soon on sale in Harrods, accompanied by the world's first licensed character, a Peter Rabbit soft toy (Peter and toys of other Potter characters appeared in Harrods catalogues from 1910). In 1921, Milne bought the 18-inch Alpha Farnell teddy bear from the store for his son Christopher Robin Milne who would name it Edward, then Winnie, becoming the basis for Winnie-the-Pooh. On 16 November 1898, Harrods debuted England's first "moving staircase" (escalator) in their Brompton Road stores; the device was actually a woven leather conveyor belt-like unit with a mahogany and "silver plate-glass" balustrade. Nervous customers were offered brandy at the top to revive them after their 'ordeal'.

 

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

 

****Langbourne Club on Fishmonger Hall Street, provided a place where women who worked in the city could lunch and meet. Less luxurious than some of the West End clubs for women, it still offered companionship and comfort, particularly for single women working in offices who lived in bedsits and boarding houses. The club was entered from Fishmonger Hall Street, a narrow lane leading out of Upper Thames Street just west of London Bridge. Next door was the great facade of Fishmongers' Hall. Progressively, members of the Langbourne Club were allowed to invite their male friends to luncheon. There were organisations within the club which dealt with dances, musical and dramatic societies.

 

*****The Pool of London is a stretch of the River Thames from London Bridge to below Limehouse.

 

******Whose Body? is a 1923 mystery novel by English crime writer and poet Dorothy L. Sayers. It was her debut novel, and the book in which she introduced the character of Lord Peter Wimsey.

 

*******Farouche is an old fashioned term for someone who is sullen or shy when in company.

 

********One of the most famous Christmas decorations that people love to use at Christmas is tinsel. You might think that using it is an old tradition and that people in Britain have been adorning their houses with tinsel for a very long time. However that is not actually true. Tinsel is in fact believed to be quite a modern tradition. Whilst the idea of tinsel dates back to Germany in 1610 when wealthy people used real strands of silver to adorn their Christmas trees (also a German invention). Silver was very expensive though, so being able to do this was a sign that you were wealthy. Even though silver looked beautiful and sparkly to begin with, it tarnished quite quickly, meaning it would lose its lovely, bright appearance. Therefore it was swapped for other materials like copper and tin. These metals were also cheaper, so it meant that more people could use them. However, when the Great War started in 1914, metals like copper were needed for the war. Because of this, they couldn't be used for Christmas decorations as much, so a substitute was needed. It was swapped for aluminium, but this was a fire hazard, so it was switched for lead, but that turned out to be poisonous.

 

*********’The Wonderful Game of Oz’ was just one of the many pieces of promotional merchandise that was produced after the great success of the Oz series of books written by L. Frank Baum. Based on the books and characters, the game board and pieces are based on the John. R. Neil book illustrations. John. R. Neil illustrated all the Oz books except ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ which was illustrated by W. W. Denslow. In the game, you make your way through Oz, from Munchkinland to the Emarald City. It was published by Parker Brothers in Salem Massachusetts in 1921.

 

**********‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ is based on whimsical stories he told his children, Lyman Frank Baum’s book is known as the first American faerie tale. Following the adventures of Kansas girl Dorothy Gale and her friends the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion across the Land of Oz, ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ was just the first of fourteen Oz books written by L. Frank Baum. Originally published somewhat reluctantly, the book is now one of the best-known stories in American literature and has been widely translated into any number of languages. It led not only to further books but to successful Broadway shows, silent films and of course the MGM movie musical, ‘The Wizard of Oz’ in 1939 starring Judy Garland as Dorothy.

 

***********Rupert Bear is a British children's comic strip character and franchise created by artist Mary Tourtel and first appearing in the ‘Daily Express’ newspaper on the 8th of November 1920. Rupert's initial purpose was to win sales from the rival ‘Daily Mail’ and ‘Daily Mirror’. In 1935, the stories were taken over by Alfred Bestall, who was previously an illustrator for Punch and other glossy magazines. Alfred proved to be successful in the field of children's literature and worked on Rupert stories and artwork into his nineties. More recently, various other artists and writers have continued the series. About fifty million copies have been sold worldwide. Rupert is a bear who lives with his parents in a house in Nutwood, a fictional idyllic English village. He is drawn wearing a red jumper and bright yellow checked trousers, with matching yellow scarf. Originally depicted as a brown bear, his colour soon changed to white to save on printing costs,[2] though he remained brown on the covers of the annuals.

 

************The Georgian Restaurant is a stalwart of Harrods Department Store, originally located on the top floor. Harry Gordon Selfridge was the founder of cafes and restaurants in department stores. His idea was that a restaurant or café dedicated strictly to the female clientele of a department store made the establishment a safe place where ladies could shop and socialise “unmolested”. Moreover, restaurants such as Harrods Georgian Restaurant served as a haven for ladies, tired of shopping, to stop and take light refreshments, before then continuing on with their shopping expedition, thus spending more money within the store. It worked wonderfully for Selfridges on Oxford Street and the idea was quickly taken up and replicated in all the major department stores of London.

 

This festive toyshop full of a wonderful array of toys may seem real to you, but it is in fact made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The toys on the countertop come from various different suppliers. The teddy bears, the coloured blocks with letters on them, the dualling medieval knights on horseback, the rocking toy, the rocking horse, the little steam railway engine, the castle and the soldiers on them all came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. ‘The Wonderful Game of Oz’, ‘Father Tuck’s Plays in Fairyland’ and the ‘Teddy Bear Game’ are all 1:12 artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. ‘Father Tuck’s Plays in Fairyland’ even has authentic cut outs found in the original box inside! The box with Rupert the bear on it comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

On the shelves in the background, the teddy bears, toy soldiers Noah’s Ark and animals, dolls, wooden pull toys and drum all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The little wooden trains and carriages I have acquired from various miniatures stockists over many years. The ‘Blow Football’ game is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The garlands on both the counter and the shelves behind come from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The wood and glass display cabinet buried beneath the toys and Christmas garlanding I obtained from a seller of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

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 northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid’s, parents live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. Whilst far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, the Harlesden terrace has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her brother, Bert.

 

Whilst Edith made a wonderful impression when she met Mrs. McTavish, her young beau Frank Leadbetter’s grandmother, less can be said for Frank who whilst pleasing George, rubbed Ada the wrong way at the Sunday roast lunch Edith organised with her parents to meet Frank. Ever since then, Frank has been filled with remorse for speaking his mind a little more freely than he ought to have in front of Edith’s mother. Finally, Edith hit upon a possible solution to their problem, which is to introduce Mrs. McTavish to George and Ada. Being a kind old lady who makes lace, Edith and Frank both hope that Mrs. McTavish will be able to impress upon Ada what a nice young man Frank is, in spite of his more forward-thinking ideas, which jar with Ada’s ways of thinking, and assure her how happy he makes Edith. After careful planning, today is the day that George and Ada will meet Mrs. McTavish, over a Sunday lunch served in the Watsford’s kitchen.

 

The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has an especially comfortable and welcoming feeling about it, just as Edith had hoped for. Ada has once again pulled out one of her best tablecloths which now adorns the round kitchen table, hiding its worn surface and the best blue and white china and gilded dinner service is being used today. At Edith’s request, because Mrs. McTavish’s teeth are too brittle to manage a roast chicken for lunch, Ada has cooked a rich and flavoursome beef stew to which she has added some of her large suet dumplings: a suitably delicious meal that is soft enough for the old Scottish lady to consume even with her weak teeth. Now the main course is over, and everyone has had their fill.

 

“Well, I hope you have all had sufficient to eat.” Ada announces, pushing her Windsor chair back across the flagstones and standing up from at her white linen draped kitchen table.

 

“Och!” exclaims Mrs. McTavish. “I’ve had plenty, thank you Mrs. Watsford.” She rubs her belly contentedly. “Thank you for cooking something I could manage with my old teeth.”

 

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. McTavish,” Ada says with a warm smile. “My family enjoy my hearty beef stews, so it was no hardship to serve it.”

 

“Well your suet dumplings are lovely and soft, Mrs. Watsford.” the Scotswoman croons in her rolling brogue. “If you’d be willing to share the recipe, I’d like to try and make them for myself at home.”

 

“Yes, of course, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada enthuses, pleased to be able to share one of her many wonderful recipes, as she has done over the years with her daughter as she has grown up.

 

“That was a fine Sunday tea, Ada.” acknowledges her husband as he tops up his and Frank’s glasses with stout from the glazed brown pottery jug on the table.

 

“Why thank you, love.” Ada replies, blushing at the compliment as she runs her clammy hands down the front of her dress, a small outward display of nervousness known only to her family.

 

“Possibly one of your best yet, love.” George adds in an assuring fashion, noticing his wife’s action and recognising its symbolism.

 

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Watsford,” agrees Frank politely. “It was a delicious lunch, and more than enough for me. Thanks ever so!”

 

“Oh I hope you’ll have room for some of my cherry pie, Frank,” Ada says. “Edith told me you liked it so much the first time you had it here, that I made it for you again.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I can squeeze in a slice, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her.

 

“Thank you Mum.” smiles Edith up at her mother.

 

Edith is so grateful to her mother for all her efforts for the day. Not only was Ada easily convinced of the idea of meeting Frank’s grandmother, Mrs. McTavish, but that she readily agreed to hosting a Sunday lunch for her and produced a fine repast. Edith had helped her mother polish the silver cutlery on her Wednesday off, so it was sparkling as it sat alongside Ada’s best plates and glasses. To top it all off, Frank has bought a bunch of beautifully bright flowers on route from collecting his grandmother from her home in Upton Park to the Watsford’s home in Harlesden. Now they stood in the middle of the table in a glass bottle that serves as a good vase, a perfect centrepiece for Ada’s Sunday best table setting.

 

“Well!” Ada remarks in reply to her company’s satisfied commentary, picking up the now warm enough to touch deep pottery dish containing what little remains of her stew. “I think we might let tea settle down first and then we’ll have some pudding. What do you all say?”

 

Everyone readily agrees.

 

“Alright gentleman,” Ada addresses her husband and Frank, seated next to one another. “You have enough time for a smoke then, before I serve cherry pie. I’ll just pop it in the oven to warm.”

 

“Thanks awfully, Mrs. Watsford, but I don’t smoke.” Frank quickly explains.

 

“Ahh, but I do, Frank my lad.” pipes up George. He stands up and walks behind his wife and reaches up to the high shelf running along the top of the kitchen range and fetches down a small tin of tobacco and a pipe. “Come on, let’s you and I step out into the courtyard for a chat, man-to-man.”

 

“Dad!” Edith exclaims, looking aghast at her father. “Don’t!”

 

“Don’t worry Edith love, I don’t need to ask young Frank here’s intentions.” George chortles, his eyes glittering mischievously beneath his bushy eyebrows. “It’s quite clear he’s mad about you.”

 

“Dad!” Edith gasps again as both she and Frank blush deeply.

 

“That he is,” Mrs. McTavish agrees, reaching across to her grandson and pinching his left cheek as he sinks his head down in embarrassment. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, my bonny bairn: no mistake.” She smiles indulgently. “Get along with you now Francis!”

 

“Oh Gran!” murmurs Frank self-consciously. “How many timed must I say, I’m Frank now, not Francis.”

 

“Och! Nonsense!” the old Scottish woman says sharply, slapping her grandson’s forearm lightly. “You’ll always be Francis to me, my little bairn!”

 

“Come on Frank my lad,” George encourages the younger man, patting him gently on the back in a friendly way. He picks up his glass of stout. “Let’s leave our womenfolk to chat, and they call you what they like and we’ll be none the wiser for it.”

 

As George, followed by a somewhat reluctant Frank casting doleful looks at Edith, walk out the back door into the rear garden, Ada says, “Edith love, would you mind clearing the table, whilst I set the table for pudding.”

 

“Yes of course, Mum!” Edith replies, leaping into action by pushing back her ladderback chair.

 

“I’m pleased to see you make your husband go outside to smoke, Mrs. Watsford.” the old Scottish woman remarks with a satisfied smile. “I don’t approve of men smoking indoors.” she adds crisply.

 

“No, something told me that I didn’t think you would, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada replies with a bemused smile, not admitting that George usually smokes his pipe in the kitchen after every meal. She and her husband had agreed the night before as they both sat by the kitchen range warming their feet, Ada darning one of George’s socks and George puffing on his pipe pleasantly, that perhaps to give the very best first impression, George should smoke outside in the back garden whilst Mrs. McTavish was visiting.

 

“ ’Nyree’, my husband used to say to me. ‘Nyree, why don’t you let me smoke indoors like other wives let their husbands do?’ I’d always say that Mither* never let Faither** smoke his pipe in the house, so why should I let him?” She nods emphatically.

 

“Nyree,” Ada remarks, turning around from the oven where she has just put her cherry pie, stacked with ripe, juicy berries to warm. “That’s a pretty Scottish name.”

 

“Och,” chuckles Mrs. McTavish. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Watsford, but it’s quite literally as far removed from Scottish as you can get.”

 

“Where does it come from then, Mrs. McTavish?” Ada puts her hands on her hips. “It sounds so lovely.”

 

“Well, my family were fishing people going back many generations, and Faither was a seaman, and he sailed to places far further than the Hebrides*** that took him from home for months at a time when I was a wee bairn. Just before I was born, he came back from what was then the newly formed Colony of New Zealand****. He met some of the local islanders who were struck by his blonde hair. Apparently, they were all dark skinned and had dark hair, so they found him rather fascinating to look at.” She chuckles. “The story he told me years later was that they called him ‘Ngaire’, which he was told by some of his shipmates, who knew more about the natives of the colony, on the return voyage that it meant ‘flaxen’. Some of them told him that they named their own blonde daughters Nyree after the name ‘Ngaire’. So, when I was born, I had blonde hair, if you can believe that now.” She gently pats her carefully set white hair that sweeps out from underneath her old fashioned lace embroidered cap in the style of her youth. “So Faither told Mither that I should be called Nyree. So, Nyree I was.”

 

“What a lovely story, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith remarks, gathering the lunch plates together.

 

“Thank you, Edith dearie. Now, what can I do to help, besides telling old stories?” asks Mrs. McTavish with a groan as she leans her wrists on the edge of the table and starts to push herself somewhat awkwardly out of her chair.

 

“You don’t have to do anything, Mrs. McTavish,” Ada assures her, encouraging the older Scottish woman to resume her seat with a settling gesture. “You are our guest. Edith and I are very used to working together around this old kitchen of ours, aren’t we love?”

 

“Yes Mum.” Edith agrees, gathering up the dinner plates into a stack, scraping any remnants of stew and dumplings onto the top plate using the cutlery as she gathers it.

 

“You’re a good lass, dearie, helping your mam like that.” Mrs. McTavish opines as she settles back comfortably into the well-worn chair usually sat in by George and Ada’s son, Bert.

 

“Oh not really, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith replies dismissively. “Any daughter would help her mum.”

 

“Och, not just any lass, bairn. There are plenty I know of, up round my way, especially those who are domestics like you, who won’t lift a finger unless they have to on their days off. Slovenly creatures!”

 

“Well, I agree with you, Mrs. McTavish. I think that’s very lazy of them, not to mention thoughtless. We all ought to do our bit. Mum made a lovely lunch for us, so it’s only right that I should help tidy up. I’ll help wash the dishes properly later, Mum,” Edith addresses her mother. “I’ll just rinse them and stack them by sink for now.”

 

“Thanks Edith love.” Ada replies gratefully. As she puts out some of her best blue and white floral china cups she addresses Mrs. McTavish. “Yes, Edith’s a good girl, even if she does use fancy words now.” She glances at her daughter. “Lunch rather than tea.” She shakes her head but smiles lovingly. “What next I ask you?” she snorts derisively.

 

“Mum!” Edith utters with an exasperated sigh but is then silenced by her mother’s raised careworn hand.

 

“And her dad and I are very proud of her, Mrs. McTavish.”

 

“Now, thinking of Edith and being proud of your bairns,” Mrs. McTavish starts. “When Edith and Francis came to visit me at Upton Park the other week to suggest this lovely gathering of our two clans, such as they are,” She clears her throat with a growl and speaks a little louder and more strongly. “They told me, Mrs. Watsford, that you and your husband were a bit concerned about some of Francis’ more,” She pauses whilst she tries to think of the right word to use. “Radical, ideas.”

 

“Mrs. McTavish!” Edith exclaims, spinning around from the trough where she is rinsing the dishes, her eyes wide with fear as to what the old Scottish woman is about to say.

 

“Now, now, my lass!” The old Scottish woman holds up her gnarled hands with their elongated fingers in defence before reaching about herself and adjusting the beautiful lace shawl draped over her shoulders that she made herself when she was younger. “I won’t have any secrets between your mam and me if we’re to be friends, which I do hope we will be.” She turns in her seat and addresses Ada as the younger woman puts out the glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid that Edith bought for her from the Caledonian Markets*****. “When your Edith and my Francis came to visit me at home, and broached the subject of me coming here for tea, they suggested that I might be a calming voice that would soothe your disquiet about my Francis and his more unusual ideas.”

 

“Did they indeed?” Ada asks with pursed lips and a cocked eyebrow, looking at her daughter’s back as she stands at the trough, dutifully rinsing dishes with such diligence that she doesn’t have to turn around and face her mother.

 

“Now, don’t be cross with them, Mrs. Watsford.” Mrs. McTavish reaches out her left hand and grasps Ada’s right in it, starting the younger woman as much by the intimate gesture she wasn’t expecting as by how cold the older woman’s hand is. “You mustn’t blame them.” She turns and looks with affection at Edith’s back. “They are young, and in love after all. When your bràmair***** is perceived less than favourably by the other’s mam or da, you can hardly blame them for wanting to smooth the waves of concern, can you?”

 

“Well, I don’t know if I approve of them telling you what my feelings are about your grandson behind my back.” Ada folds her arms akimbo.

 

“Ahh, now Mrs. Watsford,” Mrs. McTavish says soothingly. “You were young and in love once too. Don’t deny it!” She wags her finger at Ada. “I believe you met Mr. Watsford at a parish picnic.”

 

“Yes, we both worship at All Souls****** and met at a picnic in Roundwood Park*******.” Ada smiles fondly at the memory of her in her flouncy Sunday best dress and George in a smart suit and derby sitting on the lush green lawns of the park.

 

“And no doubt if your mam or da was set against Mr. Watsford, you would have done anything to convince them otherwise.” Mrs. McTavish continues.

 

“Well, I didn’t have to. George was, and still is, a model of a husband.” Ada counters quickly.

 

“That may well be true, Mrs. Watsford, and I’m happy for you.” The old Scotswoman pauses. “But you would have, if he had been less that the perfect specimen of husband that he is.” She cocks a white eyebrow as she looks earnestly at Edith’s mother.

 

“Yes, I suppose I would have, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada concedes with a sigh.

 

“So, I have come today to plead my grandson’s case with you.” Mrs. McTavish announces plainly.

 

“I’d hardly call your son’s attitudes a case that requires pleading before me, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada scoffs in surprise at the old woman’s words.

 

“Well, you’ll forgive me for seeing things from a different perspective, Mrs. Watsford.” the Scotswoman elucidates. “For you see, from where I am sitting, it seems to me that Mr. Watsford quite likes Francis. They both have a common enjoyment of reading books, even if my Francis likes reading more serious books than the murder mysteries your husband prefers. You on the other hand are judge and jury, sitting in judgement of my Francis’ ideas because they are at odds to your own.”

 

“I think I see where he gets some of his outspokenness, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada remarks before turning away from her guest at picking up a blue and white floral milk jug from the great Welsh dresser behind her.

 

“Aye. I’ll not deny it, Mrs. Watsford. His parents, my husband and I all taught Francis to speak his mind and not be afraid to do so. I suppose we all come across a little bit abrasively as a clan to some, but we all have,” She pauses and smiles sadly. “Or rather, had, quite strong personalities and opinions about things. We all believed in free speech, so long as it is respectful. Now, Francis’ faither was the one who really encouraged him to look beyond his place in life though. He was a costermonger******** down in Covent Garden, but he always wanted to provide a better life for his wife and son. If ever he was sick, just like if his wife, my daughter, Mairi,” she clarifies. “Or I were sick, we couldn’t earn a shilling. I taught Mairi to sew lace like me, but all we ever got was piecemeal work, and it’s still the same for me today. Anyway, Francis’ faither taught his son to look for more stable work with someone else and then to save his pennies and perhaps one day own his own shop, rather than be a costermonger with a cart on the streets like him. And that is why Francis is always looking to improve himself. He’s looking for an opportunity to provide a good and steady income and a good life for your Edith.”

 

Edith turns back from rinsing the dishes and holding her breath watches the two other women in the kitchen: Mrs. McTavish, pale and wrinkled wrapped up in a froth of handmade lace and her mother standing over her, a thoughtful look on her face as she listens.

 

“Well,” Ada remarks after a few moments of deliberation. “I do find your grandson’s desire to improve himself admirable, even if my own aspirations don’t stretch to such lofty heights as his own. George and I are quite comfortable and happy with our lot.”

 

“But…” Mrs. McTavish prompts.

 

“But I find some of his ideas… disconcerting.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Such as his talking of our class being on their way up, and the upper classes coming down. Forgive me for saying it, Mrs. McTavish, but he does sound a little bit like one of those revolutionaries that we read about in the newspapers who overthrew the king of Russia back in 1918.”

 

“Och!” chortles the old Scotswoman. “My Francis is no revolutionary, I assure you. He may have his opinion, but he’s not a radical and angry young man who feels badly done by, by his social betters. He may lack some refinement when explaining what he believes, especially when he is excited and passionate about something, which he usually is.” She sighs. “But he just wants things to be bit better for him and your Edith, and for their bairns if God chooses to bless them with wee little ones.” She looks earnestly at Ada again. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want the same thing for your bairns, Mrs. Watsford, when you were younger and full of dreams?”

 

“Well of course George and I want the very best for Edith and Bert.” Ada admits. “I just have a different way of explaining it, and going about it, Mrs. McTavish.”

 

“These are different times, Mrs. Watsford.” Mrs. McTavish says matter-of-factly. “The world has just gone through the most terrible war we have ever known. Those who are left and didn’t pay the ultimate sacrifice expect, no deserve, better for fighting for King and country. We cannot deny them that wish, nor condemn them for having it. They deserve a better world in which to live, surely? If not, why did they fight?”

 

“Well, I cannot deny that.” Ada admits with a sniff. “All those poor young men we sent off, bright faced and excited, never to return.”

 

“Well then.” smiles Mrs. McTavish. “Although my grandson was too young to enlist, he, like you, Edith and I, is a survivor of the war on the home front, and it shaped our lives. Who can blame Francis for not wanting better in the aftermath of war?” She looks into Ada’s thought filled face. “Tell me, Mrs. Watsford. Do you think Edith has good sense?”

 

“Of course I do, Mrs. McTavish.” Ada retorts. “My Edith has a good head on her shoulders.”

 

“I’m glad you think so, Mrs. Watsford.” Mrs. McTavish replies. She turns her attentions to Edith, who still stands silently, leaning against the trough sink observing the interaction between her mother and Frank’s grandmother. “What do you think, Edith dearie?”

 

“Me?” Edith asks.

 

“Yes, you.” Mrs. McTavish says strongly. “Don’t you want and strive for more? Don’t you want a better life for you and my grandson?”

 

“Oh yes, Mrs. McTavish. I worked hard to get the position with Miss Lettice. She’s a much nicer mistress than wither old Widow Hounslow or Mrs. Plaistow were. I get better pay, and better working conditions. I think Frank is right. There are more possibilities in the world now, although we do have to work hard for them.”

 

“Well said, Edith dearie.” Mrs. McTavish agrees, turning back to Ada. “So you see Mrs. Watsford. I think that your Edith and my Francis are well matched. They both want a better life for themselves. They’ll do better working together than making valiant efforts separately. Francis may be a little headstrong sometimes, but Edith will keep him grounded.”

 

Ada remains silent, deep in thought at her companion’s argument.

 

“Well, have a pleaded my grandson’s case, Mrs. Watsford?” the old Scottish woman asks.

 

Just then, the kitchen door opens and George and Frank walk noisily back into the kitchen, chuckling amiably over a shared joke, comfortable in one another’s company.

 

“I say Ada!” George exclaims. “That cherry pie of yours smells delicious, love. Is it about ready for eating, do you suppose?”

 

“Yes, I think it’s just about ready.” Ada agrees. “Edith love, will you fetch the jug of cream from the pantry for me, please?”

 

“Yes Mum!” Edith replies as she goes to the narrow pantry door and peers inside for her mother’s garland trimmed jug.

 

“So, who is going to have the biggest slice of my cherry pie?” Ada asks as she places the pie on the table amidst her best china.

 

“I think that right goes to me, as head of the Watsford household.” pipes up George with confidence.

 

“I say, Mr. Watsford,” retorts Frank. “That isn’t very fair. Just because you’re head of the house, doesn’t mean you are automatically entitled to the biggest share of the pie.”

 

“That’s a rather radical thought, young Frank.” laughs George good-naturedly. “I’m not sure if I approve of it, though.”

 

“Who should get the biggest slice then, my bairn?” his grandmother asks.

 

“Oh you know my answer, Gran.” Frank replies. “I shouldn’t need to tell you.”

 

“Yes, but tell the others, dearie. They don’t know you quite as well as I. State your case as to who should get the biggest portion.”

 

“Yes,” encourages Ada. “Tell us, Frank. Who do you think should get the biggest slice of the pie?”

 

Frank looks at Ada as she stands, poised with the kitchen knife in her hand, ready to cut through the magnificent cherry pie full of ripe and colourful berries, edged with a golden crust of pastry. “Why you of course, Mrs. Watsford.” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re the one who made it for all of us. You deserve the biggest share for all your hard work.”

 

Ada considers the bright eyed young man sitting at her table. “I like your thinking, Frank.” she says at length with a smile as she cuts into the steaming pie before her.

 

*Mither is an old fashioned Scottish word for mother.

 

**Faither is an old fashioned Scottish word for father.

 

***The Hebrides is an archipelago comprising hundreds of islands off the northwest coast of Scotland. Divided into the Inner and Outer Hebrides groups, they are home to rugged landscapes, fishing villages and remote Gaelic-speaking communities.

 

****What we know today as New Zealand was once the Colony of New Zealand. It was a Crown colony of the British Empire that encompassed the islands of New Zealand from 1841 to 1907. The power of the British Government was vested in the governor of New Zealand. The colony had three successive capitals: Okiato (or Old Russell) in 1841; Auckland from 1841 to 1865; and Wellington, which became the capital during the colony's reorganisation into a Dominion, and continues as the capital of New Zealand today. During the early years of British settlement, the governor had wide-ranging powers. The colony was granted self-government with the passage of the New Zealand Constitution Act 1852. The first parliament was elected in 1853, and responsible government was established in 1856. The governor was required to act on the advice of his ministers, who were responsible to the parliament. In 1907, the colony became the Dominion of New Zealand, which heralded a more explicit recognition of self-government within the British Empire.

 

*****The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.

 

*****Bràmair in Gaelic is commonly used as a term for girlfriend, boyfriend or sweetheart.

 

******The parish of All Souls, Harlesden, was formed in 1875 from Willesden, Acton, St John's, Kensal Green, and Hammersmith. Mission services had been held by the curate of St Mary's, Willesden, at Harlesden institute from 1858. The parish church at Station Road, Harlesden, was built and consecrated in 1879. The town centre church is a remarkable brick octagon designed by E.J. Tarver. Originally there was a nave which was extended in 1890 but demolished in 1970.

 

*******Roundwood Park takes its name from Roundwood House, an Elizabethan-style mansion built in Harlesden for Lord Decies in around 1836. In 1892 Willesden Local Board, conscious of a need for a recreation ground in expanding Harlesden, started the process of buying the land for what is now Roundwood Park. Roundwood Park was built in 1893, designed by Oliver Claude Robson. He was allocated nine thousand pounds to lay out the park. He put in five miles of drains, and planted an additional fourteen and a half thousand trees and shrubs. This took quite a long time as he used local unemployed labour for this work in preference to contractors. Mr. Robson had been the Surveyor of the Willesden Local Board since 1875. As an engineer, he was responsible for many major works in Willesden including sewerage and roads. The fine main gates and railings were made in 1895 by Messrs. Tickner & Partington at theVulcan Works, Harrow Road, Kensal Rise. An elegant lodge house was built to house the gardener; greenhouses erected to supply new flowers, and paths constructed, running upward to the focal point-an elegant bandstand on the top of the hill. The redbrick lodge was in the Victorian Elizabethan style, with ornamented chimney-breasts. It is currently occupied by council employees although the green houses have been demolished. For many years Roundwood Park was home to the Willesden Show. Owners of pets of many types, flowers and vegetables, and even 'bonny babies' would compete for prizes in large canvas tents. Art and crafts were shown, and demonstrations of dog-handling, sheep-shearing, parachuting and trick motorcycling given.

 

********A costermonger is a person who traditionally sells fruit and vegetables outside from a cart rather than in a shop.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the table the is a cherry tart made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The blue and white crockery on the table I have bought as individual from several online sellers on E-Bay. I imagine that whole sets were once sold, but now I can only find them piecemeal. The cutlery I bought as a teenager from a high street dollhouse suppliers. The pottery ale jug comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in England. The glass of ale comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The cottage ware teapot in the foreground was made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics. The vase of flowers came from a 1:12 miniatures stockist on E-Bay. The tablecloth is actually a piece of an old worn sheet that was destined for the dustbin.

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are a tin of Macfie’s Finest Black Treacle, two jars of P.C. Flett and Company jam, a tin of Heinz marinated apricots, a jar of Marmite, some Bisto gravy powder, some Ty-Phoo tea and a jar of S.P.C. peaches. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, except the jar of S.P.C. peaches which comes from Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom. All of them have great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans.

 

Robert Andrew Macfie sugar refiner was the first person to use the term term Golden Syrup in 1840, a product made by his factory, the Macfie sugar refinery, in Liverpool. He also produced black treacle.

 

P.C. Flett and Company was established in Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands by Peter Copeland Flett. He had inherited a small family owned ironmongers in Albert Street Kirkwall, which he inherited from his maternal family. He had a shed in the back of the shop where he made ginger ale, lemonade, jams and preserves from local produce. By the 1920s they had an office in Liverpool, and travelling representatives selling jams and preserves around Great Britain. I am not sure when the business ceased trading.

 

The American based Heinz food processing company, famous for its Baked Beans, 57 varieties of soups and tinend spaghetti opened a factory in Harlesden in 1919, providing a great deal of employment for the locals who were not already employed at McVitie and Price.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.

 

S.P.C. is an Australian brand that still exists to this day. In 1917 a group of fruit growers in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley decided to form a cooperative which they named the Shepperton Fruit Preserving Company. The company began operations in February 1918, canning pears, peaches and nectarines under the brand name of S.P.C. On the 31st of January 1918 the manager of the Shepparton Fruit Preserving Company announced that canning would begin on the following Tuesday and that the operation would require one hundred and fifty girls or women and thirty men. In the wake of the Great War, it was hoped that “the launch of this new industry must revive drooping energies” and improve the economic circumstances of the region. The company began to pay annual bonuses to grower-shareholders by 1929, and the plant was updated and expanded. The success of S.P.C. was inextricably linked with the progress of the town and the wider Goulburn Valley region. In 1936 the company packed twelve million cans and was the largest fruit cannery in the British empire. Through the Second World War the company boomed. The product range was expanded to include additional fruits, jam, baked beans and tinned spaghetti and production reached more than forty-three million cans a year in the 1970s. From financial difficulties caused by the 1980s recession, SPC returned once more to profitability, merging with Ardmona and buying rival company Henry Jones IXL. S.P.C. was acquired by Coca Cola Amatil in 2005 and in 2019 sold to a private equity group known as Shepparton Partners Collective.

 

The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

In the centre of the medieval stone London Bridge stood the chapel dedicated to St. Thomas of Canterbury, facing downstream. The bridge was built between A.D. 1176 and 1209 under the supervision of Peter of Colechurch, Cheapside. Houses on the bridge are first shown in the records of 1201, and in 1205 they record the death, and burial, in the chapel of its builder. The building was two-storeys high and access to it was from both the bridge level and the river. The crypt (cellar) was vaulted and the upper chapel had a groined roof springing from 'clustered columns of great beauty'. Technically it was under the control of the Parish of St. Magnus, London Bridge but the chaplain and other members of the 'Brothers of the Bridge' enjoyed a certain amount of freedom from the parish priest. In 1483 the chaplain, after a disagreement with the parish priest, was granted the right to keep the alms collected during services for himself and his community with the proviso that he make a generous contribution to the finances of the parish. Fishermen from the South coast on their way to sell their fish at Billingsgate passing over the bridge were controlled by the times of the services in the chapel. To prevent forestalling, salt fish could not be sold until the Office of Prime, and freshwater fish had to wait for the end of the mass.

 

After the Reformation, the chapel was desecrated and turned into a house, and later a warehouse. In the second half of the 18th century both the chapel and the houses on the bridge were demolished, at which time the bones of Peter of Colechurch were unceremoniously dumped into the river.

 

www.stmagnusmartyr.org.uk/history/chapel-st-thomas-%C3%A0...

  

St Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge is a Church of England church and parish within the City of London. The church, which is located in Lower Thames Street near The Monument to the Great Fire of London,[1] is part of the Diocese of London and under the pastoral care of the Bishop of London and the Bishop of Fulham.[2] It is a Grade I listed building.[3] The rector uses the title "Cardinal Rector". [4]

St Magnus lies on the original alignment of London Bridge between the City and Southwark. The ancient parish was united with that of St Margaret, New Fish Street, in 1670 and with that of St Michael, Crooked Lane, in 1831.[5] The three united parishes retained separate vestries and churchwardens.[6] Parish clerks continue to be appointed for each of the three parishes.[7]

St Magnus is the guild church of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers and the Worshipful Company of Plumbers, and the ward church of the Ward of Bridge and Bridge Without. It is also twinned with the Church of the Resurrection in New York City.[8]

Its prominent location and beauty has prompted many mentions in literature.[9] In Oliver Twist Charles Dickens notes how, as Nancy heads for her secret meeting with Mr. Brownlow and Rose Maylie on London Bridge, "the tower of old Saint Saviour's Church, and the spire of Saint Magnus, so long the giant-warders of the ancient bridge, were visible in the gloom". The church's spiritual and architectural importance is celebrated in the poem The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot, who adds in a footnote that "the interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of the finest among Wren's interiors".[10] One biographer of Eliot notes that at first he enjoyed St Magnus aesthetically for its "splendour"; later he appreciated its "utility" when he came there as a sinner.

 

The church is dedicated to St Magnus the Martyr, earl of Orkney, who died on 16 April in or around 1116 (the precise year is unknown).[12] He was executed on the island of Egilsay having been captured during a power struggle with his cousin, a political rival.[13] Magnus had a reputation for piety and gentleness and was canonised in 1135. St. Ronald, the son of Magnus's sister Gunhild Erlendsdotter, became Earl of Orkney in 1136 and in 1137 initiated the construction of St. Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall.[14] The story of St. Magnus has been retold in the 20th century in the chamber opera The Martyrdom of St Magnus (1976)[15] by Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, based on George Mackay Brown's novel Magnus (1973).

 

he identity of the St Magnus referred to in the church's dedication was only confirmed by the Bishop of London in 1926.[16] Following this decision a patronal festival service was held on 16 April 1926.[17] In the 13th century the patronage was attributed to one of the several saints by the name of Magnus who share a feast day on 19 August, probably St Magnus of Anagni (bishop and martyr, who was slain in the persecution of the Emperor Decius in the middle of the 3rd century).[18] However, by the early 18th century it was suggested that the church was either "dedicated to the memory of St Magnus or Magnes, who suffer'd under the Emperor Aurelian in 276 [see St Mammes of Caesarea, feast day 17 August], or else to a person of that name, who was the famous Apostle or Bishop of the Orcades."[19] For the next century historians followed the suggestion that the church was dedicated to the Roman saint of Cæsarea.[20] The famous Danish archaeologist Professor Jens Jacob Asmussen Worsaae (1821–85) promoted the attribution to St Magnus of Orkney during his visit to the British Isles in 1846-7, when he was formulating the concept of the 'Viking Age',[21] and a history of London written in 1901 concluded that "the Danes, on their second invasion ... added at least two churches with Danish names, Olaf and Magnus".[22] A guide to the City Churches published in 1917 reverted to the view that St Magnus was dedicated to a martyr of the third century,[23] but the discovery of St Magnus of Orkney's relics in 1919 renewed interest in a Scandinavian patron and this connection was encouraged by the Rector who arrived in 1921

 

A metropolitan bishop of London attended the Council of Arles in 314, which indicates that there must have been a Christian community in Londinium by this date, and it has been suggested that a large aisled building excavated in 1993 near Tower Hill can be compared with the 4th-century Cathedral of St Tecla in Milan.[25] However, there is no archaeological evidence to suggest that any of the mediaeval churches in the City of London had a Roman foundation.[26] A grant from William I in 1067 to Westminster Abbey, which refers to the stone church of St Magnus near the bridge ("lapidee eccle sci magni prope pontem"), is generally accepted to be 12th century forgery,[27] and it is possible that a charter of confirmation in 1108-16 might also be a later fabrication.[28] Nonetheless, these manuscripts may preserve valid evidence of a date of foundation in the 11th century.

 

Archaeological evidence suggests that the area of the bridgehead was not occupied from the early 5th century until the early 10th century. Environmental evidence indicates that the area was waste ground during this period, colonised by elder and nettles. Following Alfred's decision to reoccupy the walled area of London in 886, new harbours were established at Queenhithe and Billingsgate. A bridge was in place by the early 11th century, a factor which would have encouraged the occupation of the bridgehead by craftsmen and traders.[30] A lane connecting Botolph's Wharf and Billingsgate to the rebuilt bridge may have developed by the mid-11th century. The waterfront at this time was a hive of activity, with the construction of embankments sloping down from the riverside wall to the river. Thames Street appeared in the second half of the 11th century immediately behind (north of) the old Roman riverside wall and in 1931 a piling from this was discovered during the excavation of the foundations of a nearby building. It now stands at the base of the church tower.[31] St Magnus was built to the south of Thames Street to serve the growing population of the bridgehead area[32] and was certainly in existence by 1128-33.[33]

The small ancient parish[34] extended about 110 yards along the waterfront either side of the old bridge, from 'Stepheneslane' (later Churchehawlane or Church Yard Alley) and 'Oystergate' (later called Water Lane or Gully Hole) on the West side to 'Retheresgate' (a southern extension of Pudding Lane) on the East side, and was centred on the crossroads formed by Fish Street Hill (originally Bridge Street, then New Fish Street) and Thames Street.[35] The mediaeval parish also included Drinkwater's Wharf (named after the owner, Thomas Drinkwater), which was located immediately West of the bridge, and Fish Wharf, which was to the South of the church. The latter was of considerable importance as the fishmongers had their shops on the wharf. The tenement was devised by Andrew Hunte to the Rector and Churchwardens in 1446.[36] The ancient parish was situated in the South East part of Bridge Ward, which had evolved in the 11th century between the embankments to either side of the bridge.[37]

In 1182 the Abbot of Westminster and the Prior of Bermondsey agreed that the advowson of St Magnus should be divided equally between them. Later in the 1180s, on their presentation, the Archdeacon of London inducted his nephew as parson.

 

Between the late Saxon period and 1209 there was a series of wooden bridges across the Thames, but in that year a stone bridge was completed.[39] The work was overseen by Peter de Colechurch, a priest and head of the Fraternity of the Brethren of London Bridge. The Church had from early times encouraged the building of bridges and this activity was so important it was perceived to be an act of piety - a commitment to God which should be supported by the giving of alms. London’s citizens made gifts of land and money "to God and the Bridge".[40] The Bridge House Estates became part of the City's jurisdiction in 1282.

 

Until 1831 the bridge was aligned with Fish Street Hill, so the main entrance into the City from the south passed the West door of St Magnus on the north bank of the river.[41] The bridge included a chapel dedicated to St Thomas Becket[42] for the use of pilgrims journeying to Canterbury Cathedral to visit his tomb.[43] The chapel and about two thirds of the bridge were in the parish of St Magnus. After some years of rivalry a dispute arose between the church and the chapel over the offerings given to the chapel by the pilgrims. The matter was resolved by the brethren of the chapel making an annual contribution to St Magnus.[44] At the Reformation the chapel was turned into a house and later a warehouse, the latter being demolished in 1757-58.

The church grew in importance. On 21 November 1234 a grant of land was made to the parson of St Magnus for the enlargement of the church.[45] The London eyre of 1244 recorded that in 1238 "A thief named William of Ewelme of the county of Buckingham fled to the church of St. Magnus the Martyr, London, and there acknowledged the theft and abjured the realm. He had no chattels."[46] Another entry recorded that "The City answers saying that the church of ... St. Magnus the Martyr ... which [is] situated on the king's highway ... ought to belong to the king and be in his gift".[47] The church presumably jutted into the road running to the bridge, as it did in later times.[48] In 1276 it was recorded that "the church of St. Magnus the Martyr is worth £15 yearly and Master Geoffrey de la Wade now holds it by the grant of the prior of Bermundeseie and the abbot of Westminster to whom King Henry conferred the advowson by his charter.

 

In 1274 "came King Edward and his wife [Eleanor] from the Holy Land and were crowned at Westminster on the Sunday next after the Feast of the Assumption of Our Lady [15 August], being the Feast of Saint Magnus [19 August]; and the Conduit in Chepe ran all the day with red wine and white wine to drink, for all such as wished."[50] Stow records that "in the year 1293, for victory obtained by Edward I against the Scots, every citizen, according to their several trade, made their several show, but especially the fishmongers" whose solemn procession including a knight "representing St Magnus, because it was upon St Magnus' day".

An important religious guild, the Confraternity de Salve Regina, was in existence by 1343, having been founded by the "better sort of the Parish of St Magnus" to sing the anthem 'Salve Regina' every evening.[51] The Guild certificates of 1389 record that the Confraternity of Salve Regina and the guild of St Thomas the Martyr in the chapel on the bridge, whose members belonged to St Magnus parish, had determined to become one, to have the anthem of St Thomas after the Salve Regina and to devote their united resources to restoring and enlarging the church of St Magnus.[52] An Act of Parliament of 1437[53] provided that all incorporated fraternities and companies should register their charters and have their ordinances approved by the civic authorities.[54] Fear of enquiry into their privileges may have led established fraternities to seek a firm foundation for their rights. The letters patent of the fraternity of St Mary and St Thomas the Martyr of Salve Regina in St Magnus dated 26 May 1448 mention that the fraternity had petitioned for a charter on the grounds that the society was not duly founded.

 

In the mid-14th century the Pope was the Patron of the living and appointed five rectors to the benefice.[56]

Henry Yevele, the master mason whose work included the rebuilding of Westminster Hall and the naves of Westminster Abbey and Canterbury Cathedral, was a parishioner and rebuilt the chapel on London Bridge between 1384 and 1397. He served as a warden of London Bridge and was buried at St Magnus on his death in 1400. His monument was extant in John Stow's time, but was probably destroyed by the fire of 1666.[57]

Yevele, as the King’s Mason, was overseen by Geoffrey Chaucer in his capacity as the Clerk of the King's Works. In The General Prologue of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales the five guildsmen "were clothed alle in o lyveree Of a solempne and a greet fraternitee"[58] and may be thought of as belonging to the guild in the parish of St Magnus, or one like it.[59] Chaucer's family home was near to the bridge in Thames Street.

 

n 1417 a dispute arose concerning who should take the place of honour amongst the rectors in the City churches at the Whit Monday procession, a place that had been claimed from time to time by the rectors of St Peter Cornhill, St Magnus the Martyr and St Nicholas Cole Abbey. The Mayor and Aldermen decided that the Rector of St Peter Cornhill should take precedence.[61]

St Magnus Corner at the north end of London Bridge was an important meeting place in mediaeval London, where notices were exhibited, proclamations read out and wrongdoers punished.[62] As it was conveniently close to the River Thames, the church was chosen by the Bishop between the 15th and 17th centuries as a convenient venue for general meetings of the clergy in his diocese.[63] Dr John Young, Bishop of Callipolis (rector of St Magnus 1514-15) pronounced judgement on 16 December 1514 (with the Bishop of London and in the presence of Thomas More, then under-sheriff of London) in the heresy case concerning Richard Hunne.[64]

In pictures from the mid-16th century the old church looks very similar to the present-day St Giles without Cripplegate in the Barbican.[65] According to the martyrologist John Foxe, a woman was imprisoned in the 'cage' on London Bridge in April 1555 and told to "cool herself there" for refusing to pray at St Magnus for the recently deceased Pope Julius III.[66]

Simon Lowe, a Member of Parliament and Master of the Merchant Taylors' Company during the reign of Queen Mary and one of the jurors who acquitted Sir Nicholas Throckmorton in 1554, was a parishioner.[67] He was a mourner at the funeral of Maurice Griffith, Bishop of Rochester from 1554 to 1558 and Rector of St Magnus from 1537 to 1558, who was interred in the church on 30 November 1558 with much solemnity. In accordance with the Catholic church's desire to restore ecclesiastical pageantry in England, the funeral was a splendid affair, ending in a magnificent dinner.

 

Lowe was included in a return of recusants in the Diocese of Rochester in 1577,[69] but was buried at St Magnus on 6 February 1578.[70] Stow refers to his monument in the church. His eldest son, Timothy (died 1617), was knighted in 1603. His second son, Alderman Sir Thomas Lowe (1550–1623), was Master of the Haberdashers' Company on several occasions, Sheriff of London in 1595/96, Lord Mayor in 1604/05 and a Member of Parliament for London.[71] His youngest son, Blessed John Lowe (1553–1586), having originally been a Protestant minister, converted to Roman Catholicism, studied for the priesthood at Douay and Rome and returned to London as a missionary priest.[72] His absence had already been noted; a list of 1581 of "such persons of the Diocese of London as have any children ... beyond the seas" records "John Low son to Margaret Low of the Bridge, absent without licence four years". Having gained 500 converts to Catholicism between 1583 and 1586, he was arrested whilst walking with his mother near London Bridge, committed to The Clink and executed at Tyburn on 8 October 1586.[73] He was beatified in 1987 as one of the eighty-five martyrs of England and Wales.

 

Sir William Garrard, Master of the Haberdashers' Company, Alderman, Sheriff of London in 1553/53, Lord Mayor in 1555/56 and a Member of Parliament was born in the parish and buried at St Magnus in 1571.[74] Sir William Romney, merchant, philanthropist, Master of the Haberdashers' Company, Alderman for Bridge Within and Sheriff of London in 1603/04[75] was married at St Magnus in 1582. Ben Jonson is believed to have been married at St Magnus in 1594.[76]

The patronage of St Magnus, having previously been in the Abbots and Convents of Westminster and Bermondsey (who presented alternatively), fell to the Crown on the suppression of the monasteries. In 1553, Queen Mary, by letters patent, granted it to the Bishop of London and his successors.[77]

The church had a series of distinguished rectors in the second half of the 16th and first half of the 17th century, including Myles Coverdale (Rector 1564-66), John Young (Rector 1566-92), Theophilus Aylmer (Rector 1592-1625), (Archdeacon of London and son of John Aylmer), and Cornelius Burges (Rector 1626-41). Coverdale was buried in the chancel of St Bartholomew-by-the-Exchange, but when that church was pulled down in 1840 his remains were removed to St Magnus.[78]

On 5 November 1562 the churchwardens were ordered to break, or cause to be broken, in two parts all the altar stones in the church.[79] Coverdale, an anti-vestiarian, was Rector at the peak of the vestments controversy. In March 1566 Archbishop Parker caused great consternation among many clergy by his edicts prescribing what was to be worn and by his summoning the London clergy to Lambeth to require their compliance. Coverdale excused himself from attending.[80] Stow records that a non-conforming Scot who normally preached at St Magnus twice a day precipitated a fight on Palm Sunday 1566 at Little All Hallows in Thames Street with his preaching against vestments.[81] Coverdale's resignation from St Magnus in summer 1566 may have been associated with these events. Separatist congregations started to emerge after 1566 and the first such, who called themselves 'Puritans' or 'Unspottyd Lambs of the Lord', was discovered close to St Magnus at Plumbers' Hall in Thames Street on 19 June 1567.

 

St Magnus narrowly escaped destruction in 1633. A later edition of Stow's Survey records that "On the 13th day of February, between eleven and twelve at night, there happened in the house of one Briggs, a Needle-maker near St Magnus Church, at the North end of the Bridge, by the carelessness of a Maid-Servant setting a tub of hot sea-coal ashes under a pair of stairs, a sad and lamentable fire, which consumed all the buildings before eight of the clock the next morning, from the North end of the Bridge to the first vacancy on both sides, containing forty-two houses; water then being very scarce, the Thames being almost frozen over."[83] Susannah Chambers "by her last will & testament bearing date 28th December 1640 gave the sum of Twenty-two shillings and Sixpence Yearly for a Sermon to be preached on the 12th day of February in every Year within the Church of Saint Magnus in commemoration of God's merciful preservation of the said Church of Saint Magnus from Ruin, by the late and terrible Fire on London Bridge. Likewise Annually to the Poor the sum of 17/6."[84] The tradition of a "Fire Sermon" was revived on 12 February 2004, when the first preacher was the Rt Revd and Rt Hon Richard Chartres, Bishop of London.

 

Parliamentarian rule and the more Protestant ethos of the 1640s led to the removal or destruction of "superstitious" and "idolatrous" images and fittings. Glass painters such as Baptista Sutton, who had previously installed "Laudian innovations", found new employment by repairing and replacing these to meet increasingly strict Protestant standards. In January 1642 Sutton replaced 93 feet of glass at St Magnus and in June 1644 he was called back to take down the "painted imagery glass" and replace it.[86] In June 1641 "rail riots" broke out at a number of churches. This was a time of high tension following the trial and execution of the Earl of Strafford and rumours of army and popish plots were rife. The Protestation Oath, with its pledge to defend the true religion "against all Popery and popish innovation", triggered demands from parishioners for the removal of the rails as popish innovations which the Protestation had bound them to reform. The minister arranged a meeting between those for and against the pulling down of the rails, but was unsuccessful in reaching a compromise and it was feared that they would be demolished by force.[87] However, in 1663 the parish resumed Laudian practice and re-erected rails around its communion table.[88]

Joseph Caryl was incumbent from 1645 until his ejection in 1662. In 1663 he was reportedly living near London Bridge and preaching to an Independent congregation that met at various places in the City.[89]

During the Great Plague of 1665, the City authorities ordered fires to be kept burning night and day, in the hope that the air would be cleansed. Daniel Defoe's semi-fictictional, but highly realistic, work A Journal of the Plague Year records that one of these was "just by St Magnus Church"

 

Despite its escape in 1633, the church was one of the first buildings to be destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666.[91] St Magnus stood less than 300 yards from the bakehouse of Thomas Farriner in Pudding Lane where the fire started. Farriner, a former churchwarden of St Magnus, was buried in the middle aisle of the church on 11 December 1670, perhaps within a temporary structure erected for holding services.[92]

The parish engaged the master mason George Dowdeswell to start the work of rebuilding in 1668. The work was carried forward between 1671 and 1687 under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren, the body of the church being substantially complete by 1676.[93] At a cost of £9,579 19s 10d St Magnus was one of Wren's most expensive churches.[94] The church of St Margaret New Fish Street was not rebuilt after the fire and its parish was united to that of St Magnus.

 

The chancels of many of Wren’s city churches had chequered marble floors and the chancel of St Magnus is an example,[95] the parish agreeing after some debate to place the communion table on a marble ascent with steps[96] and to commission altar rails of Sussex wrought iron. The nave and aisles are paved with freestone flags. A steeple, closely modelled on one built between 1614 and 1624 by François d'Aguilon and Pieter Huyssens for the church of St Carolus Borromeus in Antwerp, was added between 1703 and 1706.[97] London's skyline was transformed by Wren's tall steeples and that of St Magnus is considered to be one his finest.[98]

The large clock projecting from the tower was a well-known landmark in the city as it hung over the roadway of Old London Bridge.[99] It was presented to the church in 1709 by Sir Charles Duncombe[100] (Alderman for the Ward of Bridge Within and, in 1708/09, Lord Mayor of London). Tradition says "that it was erected in consequence of a vow made by the donor, who, in the earlier part of his life, had once to wait a considerable time in a cart upon London Bridge, without being able to learn the hour, when he made a promise, that if he ever became successful in the world, he would give to that Church a public clock ... that all passengers might see the time of day."[101] The maker was Langley Bradley, a clockmaker in Fenchurch Street, who had worked for Wren on many other projects, including the clock for the new St Paul's Cathedral. The sword rest in the church, designed to hold the Lord Mayor's sword and mace when he attended divine service "in state", dates from 1708.

Duncombe and his benefactions to St Magnus feature prominently in Daniel Defoe's The True-Born Englishman, a biting satire on critics of William III that went through several editions from 1700 (the year in which Duncombe was elected Sheriff).

 

Shortly before his death in 1711, Duncombe commissioned an organ for the church, the first to have a swell-box, by Abraham Jordan (father and son).[103] The Spectator announced that "Whereas Mr Abraham Jordan, senior and junior, have, with their own hands, joinery excepted, made and erected a very large organ in St Magnus' Church, at the foot of London Bridge, consisting of four sets of keys, one of which is adapted to the art of emitting sounds by swelling notes, which never was in any organ before; this instrument will be publicly opened on Sunday next [14 February 1712], the performance by Mr John Robinson. The above-said Abraham Jordan gives notice to all masters and performers, that he will attend every day next week at the said Church, to accommodate all those gentlemen who shall have a curiosity to hear it".[104]

The organ case, which remains in its original state, is looked upon as one of the finest existing examples of the Grinling Gibbons's school of wood carving.[105] The first organist of St Magnus was John Robinson (1682–1762), who served in that role for fifty years and in addition as organist of Westminster Abbey from 1727. Other organists have included the blind organist George Warne (1792–1868, organist 1820-26 until his appointment to the Temple Church), James Coward (1824–80, organist 1868-80 who was also organist to the Crystal Palace and renowned for his powers of improvisation) and George Frederick Smith FRCO (1856–1918, organist 1880-1918 and Professor of Music at the Guildhall School of Music).[106] The organ has been restored several times - in 1760, 1782, 1804, 1855, 1861, 1879, 1891, 1924, 1949 after wartime damage and 1997 - since it was first built.[107] Sir Peter Maxwell Davies was one of several patrons of the organ appeal in the mid-1990s[108] and John Scott gave an inaugural recital on 20 May 1998 following the completion of that restoration.[109] The instrument has an Historic Organ Certificate and full details are recorded in the National Pipe Organ Register.[110]

The hymn tune "St Magnus", usually sung at Ascensiontide to the text "The head that once was crowned with thorns", was written by Jeremiah Clarke in 1701 and named for the church.

 

Canaletto drew St Magnus and old London Bridge as they appeared in the late 1740s.[112] Between 1756 and 1762, under the London Bridge Improvement Act of 1756 (c. 40), the Corporation of London demolished the buildings on London Bridge to widen the roadway, ease traffic congestion and improve safety for pedestrians.[113] The churchwardens’ accounts of St Magnus list many payments to those injured on the Bridge and record that in 1752 a man was crushed to death between two carts.[114] After the House of Commons had resolved upon the alteration of London Bridge, the Rev Robert Gibson, Rector of St Magnus, applied to the House for relief; stating that 48l. 6s. 2d. per annum, part of his salary of 170l. per annum, was assessed upon houses on London Bridge; which he should utterly lose by their removal unless a clause in the bill about to be passed should provide a remedy.[115] Accordingly, Sections 18 and 19 of 1756 Act provided that the relevant amounts of tithe and poor rate should be a charge on the Bridge House Estates.[116]

A serious fire broke out on 18 April 1760 in an oil shop at the south east corner of the church, which consumed most of the church roof and did considerable damage to the fabric. The fire burnt warehouses to the south of the church and a number of houses on the northern end of London Bridge.

 

As part of the bridge improvements, overseen by the architect Sir Robert Taylor, a new pedestrian walkway was built along the eastern side of the bridge. With the other buildings gone St Magnus blocked the new walkway.[117] As a consequence it was necessary in 1762 to 1763 to remove the vestry rooms at the West end of the church and open up the side arches of the tower so that people could pass underneath the tower.[118] The tower’s lower storey thus became an external porch. Internally a lobby was created at the West end under the organ gallery and a screen with fine octagonal glazing inserted. A new Vestry was built to the South of the church.[119] The Act also provided that the land taken from the church for the widening was "to be considered ... as part of the cemetery of the said church ... but if the pavement thereof be broken up on account of the burying of any persons, the same shall be ... made good ... by the churchwardens"

 

Soldiers were stationed in the Vestry House of St Magnus during the Gordon Riots in June 1780.[121]

By 1782 the noise level from the activities of Billingsgate Fish Market had become unbearable and the large windows on the north side of the church were blocked up leaving only circular windows high up in the wall.[122] At some point between the 1760s and 1814 the present clerestory was constructed with its oval windows and fluted and coffered plasterwork.[123] J. M. W. Turner painted the church in the mid-1790s.[124]

The rector of St Magnus between 1792 and 1808, following the death of Robert Gibson on 28 July 1791,[125] was Thomas Rennell FRS. Rennell was President of Sion College in 1806/07. There is a monument to Thomas Leigh (Rector 1808-48 and President of Sion College 1829/30,[126] at St Peter's Church, Goldhanger in Essex.[127] Richard Hazard (1761–1837) was connected with the church as sexton, parish clerk and ward beadle for nearly 50 years[128] and served as Master of the Parish Clerks' Company in 1831/32.[129]

In 1825 the church was "repaired and beautified at a very considerable expense. During the reparation the east window, which had been closed, was restored, and the interior of the fabric conformed to the state in which it was left by its great architect, Sir Christopher Wren. The magnificent organ ... was taken down and rebuilt by Mr Parsons, and re-opened, with the church, on the 12th February, 1826".[130] Unfortunately, as a contemporary writer records, "On the night of the 31st of July, 1827, [the church's] safety was threatened by the great fire which consumed the adjacent warehouses, and it is perhaps owing to the strenuous and praiseworthy exertions of the firemen, that the structure exists at present. ... divine service was suspended and not resumed until the 20th January 1828. In the interval the church received such tasteful and elegant decorations, that it may now compete with any church in the metropolis.

 

In 1823 royal assent was given to ‘An Act for the Rebuilding of London Bridge’ and in 1825 John Garratt, Lord Mayor and Alderman of the Ward of Bridge Within, laid the first stone of the new London Bridge.[132] In 1831 Sir John Rennie’s new bridge was opened further upstream and the old bridge demolished. St Magnus ceased to be the gateway to London as it had been for over 600 years. Peter de Colechurch[133] had been buried in the crypt of the chapel on the bridge and his bones were unceremoniously dumped in the River Thames.[134] In 1921 two stones from Old London Bridge were discovered across the road from the church. They now stand in the churchyard.

Wren's church of St Michael Crooked Lane was demolished, the final service on Sunday 20 March 1831 having to be abandoned due to the effects of the building work. The Rector of St Michael preached a sermon the following Sunday at St Magnus lamenting the demolition of his church with its monuments and "the disturbance of the worship of his parishioners on the preceeding Sabbath".[135] The parish of St Michael Crooked Lane was united to that of St Magnus, which itself lost a burial ground in Church Yard Alley to the approach road for the new bridge.[136] However, in substitution it had restored to it the land taken for the widening of the old bridge in 1762 and was also given part of the approach lands to the east of the old bridge.[137] In 1838 the Committee for the London Bridge Approaches reported to Common Council that new burial grounds had been provided for the parishes of St Michael, Crooked Lane and St Magnus, London Bridge.

 

Depictions of St Magnus after the building of the new bridge, seen behind Fresh Wharf and the new London Bridge Wharf, include paintings by W. Fenoulhet in 1841 and by Charles Ginner in 1913.[139] This prospect was affected in 1924 by the building of Adelaide House to a design by John James Burnet,[140] The Times commenting that "the new ‘architectural Matterhorn’ ... conceals all but the tip of the church spire".[141] There was, however, an excellent view of the church for a few years between the demolition of Adelaide Buildings and the erection of its replacement.[142] Adelaide House is now listed.[143] Regis House, on the site of the abandoned King William Street terminus of the City & South London Railway (subsequently the Northern Line),[144] and the Steam Packet Inn, on the corner of Lower Thames Street and Fish Street Hill,[145] were developed in 1931.

 

By the early 1960s traffic congestion had become a problem[147] and Lower Thames Street was widened over the next decade[148] to form part of a significant new east-west transport artery (the A3211).[149] The setting of the church was further affected by the construction of a new London Bridge between 1967 and 1973.[150] The New Fresh Wharf warehouse to the east of the church, built in 1939, was demolished in 1973-4 following the collapse of commercial traffic in the Pool of London[151] and, after an archaeological excavation,[152] St Magnus House was constructed on the site in 1978 to a design by R. Seifert & Partners.[153] This development now allows a clear view of the church from the east side.[154] The site to the south east of The Monument (between Fish Street Hill and Pudding Lane), formerly predominantly occupied by fish merchants,[155] was redeveloped as Centurion House and Gartmore (now Providian) House at the time of the closure of old Billingsgate Market in January 1982.[156] A comprehensive redevelopment of Centurion House began in October 2011 with completion planned in 2013.[157] Regis House, to the south west of The Monument, was redeveloped by Land Securities PLC in 1998.[158]

The vista from The Monument south to the River Thames, over the roof of St Magnus, is protected under the City of London Unitary Development Plan,[159] although the South bank of the river is now dominated by The Shard. Since 2004 the City of London Corporation has been exploring ways of enhancing the Riverside Walk to the south of St Magnus.[160] Work on a new staircase to connect London Bridge to the Riverside Walk is due to commence in March 2013.[161] The story of St Magnus's relationship with London Bridge and an interview with the rector featured in the television programme The Bridges That Built London with Dan Cruickshank, first broadcast on BBC Four on 14 June 2012.[162] The City Corporation's 'Fenchurch and Monument Area Enhancement Strategy' of August 2012 recommended ways of reconnecting St Magnus and the riverside to the area north of Lower Thames Street.

 

A lectureship at St Michael Crooked Lane, which was transferred to St Magnus in 1831, was endowed by the wills of Thomas and Susannah Townsend in 1789 and 1812 respectively.[164] The Revd Henry Robert Huckin, Headmaster of Repton School from 1874 to 1882, was appointed Townsend Lecturer at St Magnus in 1871.[165]

St Magnus narrowly escaped damage from a major fire in Lower Thames Street in October 1849.

 

During the second half of the 19th century the rectors were Alexander McCaul, DD (1799–1863, Rector 1850-63), who coined the term 'Judaeo Christian' in a letter dated 17 October 1821,[167] and his son Alexander Israel McCaul (1835–1899, curate 1859-63, rector 1863-99). The Revd Alexander McCaul Sr[168] was a Christian missionary to the Polish Jews, who (having declined an offer to become the first Anglican Bishop in Jerusalem)[169] was appointed professor of Hebrew and rabbinical literature at King's College, London in 1841. His daughter, Elizabeth Finn (1825–1921), a noted linguist, founded the Distressed Gentlefolk Aid Association (now known as Elizabeth Finn Care).[170]

In 1890 it was reported that the Bishop of London was to hold an inquiry as to the desirability of uniting the benefices of St George Botolph Lane and St Magnus. The expectation was a fusion of the two livings, the demolition of St George’s and the pensioning of "William Gladstone’s favourite Canon", Malcolm MacColl. Although services ceased there, St George’s was not demolished until 1904. The parish was then merged with St Mary at Hill rather than St Magnus.[171]

The patronage of the living was acquired in the late 19th century by Sir Henry Peek Bt. DL MP, Senior Partner of Peek Brothers & Co of 20 Eastcheap, the country's largest firm of wholesale tea brokers and dealers, and Chairman of the Commercial Union Assurance Co. Peek was a generous philanthropist who was instrumental in saving both Wimbledon Common and Burnham Beeches from development. His grandson, Sir Wilfred Peek Bt. DSO JP, presented a cousin, Richard Peek, as rector in 1904. Peek, an ardent Freemason, held the office of Grand Chaplain of England. The Times recorded that his memorial service in July 1920 "was of a semi-Masonic character, Mr Peek having been a prominent Freemason".[172] In June 1895 Peek had saved the life of a young French girl who jumped overboard from a ferry midway between Dinard and St Malo in Brittany and was awarded the bronze medal of the Royal Humane Society and the Gold Medal 1st Class of the Sociâetâe Nationale de Sauvetage de France.[173]

In November 1898 a memorial service was held at St Magnus for Sir Stuart Knill Bt. (1824–1898), head of the firm of John Knill and Co, wharfingers, and formerly Lord Mayor and Master of the Plumbers' Company.[174] This was the first such service for a Roman Catholic taken in an Anglican church.[175] Sir Stuart's son, Sir John Knill Bt. (1856-1934), also served as Alderman for the Ward of Bridge Within, Lord Mayor and Master of the Plumbers' Company.

 

Until 1922 the annual Fish Harvest Festival was celebrated at St Magnus.[176] The service moved in 1923 to St Dunstan in the East[177] and then to St Mary at Hill, but St Magnus retained close links with the local fish merchants until the closure of old Billingsgate Market. St Magnus, in the 1950s, was "buried in the stink of Billingsgate fish-market, against which incense was a welcome antidote".

 

A report in 1920 proposed the demolition of nineteen City churches, including St Magnus.[179] A general outcry from members of the public and parishioners alike prevented the execution of this plan.[180] The members of the City Livery Club passed a resolution that they regarded "with horror and indignation the proposed demolition of 19 City churches" and pledged the Club to do everything in its power to prevent such a catastrophe.[181] T. S. Eliot wrote that the threatened churches gave "to the business quarter of London a beauty which its hideous banks and commercial houses have not quite defaced. ... the least precious redeems some vulgar street ... The loss of these towers, to meet the eye down a grimy lane, and of these empty naves, to receive the solitary visitor at noon from the dust and tumult of Lombard Street, will be irreparable and unforgotten."[182] The London County Council published a report concluding that St Magnus was "one of the most beautiful of all Wren's works" and "certainly one of the churches which should not be demolished without specially good reasons and after very full consideration."[183] Due to the uncertainty about the church's future, the patron decided to defer action to fill the vacancy in the benefice and a curate-in-charge temporarily took responsibility for the parish.[184] However, on 23 April 1921 it was announced that the Revd Henry Joy Fynes-Clinton would be the new Rector. The Times concluded that the appointment, with the Bishop’s approval, meant that the proposed demolition would not be carried out.[185] Fr Fynes-Clinton was inducted on 31 May 1921.[186]

The rectory, built by Robert Smirke in 1833-5, was at 39 King William Street.[187] A decision was taken in 1909 to sell the property, the intention being to purchase a new rectory in the suburbs, but the sale fell through and at the time of the 1910 Land Tax Valuations the building was being let out to a number of tenants. The rectory was sold by the diocese on 30 May 1921 for £8,000 to Ridgways Limited, which owned the adjoining premises.[188] The Vestry House adjoining the south west of the church, replacing the one built in the 1760s, may also have been by Smirke. Part of the burial ground of St Michael Crooked Lane, located between Fish Street Hill and King William Street, survived as an open space until 1987 when it was compulsorily purchased to facilitate the extension of the Docklands Light Railway into the City.[189] The bodies were reburied at Brookwood Cemetery.

 

The interior of the church was restored by Martin Travers in 1924, in a neo-baroque style,[191] reflecting the Anglo-Catholic character of the congregation[192] following the appointment of Henry Joy Fynes-Clinton as Rector.[193] Fr Fynes, as he was often known, served as Rector of St Magnus from 31 May 1921 until his death on 4 December 1959 and substantially beautified the interior of the church.[194]

Fynes-Clinton held very strong Anglo-Catholic views, and proceeded to make St Magnus as much like a baroque Roman Catholic church as possible. However, "he was such a loveable character with an old-world courtesy which was irresistible, that it was difficult for anyone to be unpleasant to him, however much they might disapprove of his views".[195] He generally said the Roman Mass in Latin; and in personality was "grave, grand, well-connected and holy, with a laconic sense of humour".[196] To a Protestant who had come to see Coverdale's monument he is reported to have said "We have just had a service in the language out of which he translated the Bible".[197] The use of Latin in services was not, however, without grammatical danger. A response from his parishioners of "Ora pro nobis" after "Omnes sancti Angeli et Archangeli" in the Litany of the Saints would elicit a pause and the correction "No, Orate pro nobis."

 

In 1922 Fynes-Clinton refounded the Fraternity of Our Lady de Salve Regina.[198] The Fraternity's badge[199] is shown in the stained glass window at the east end of the north wall of the church above the reredos of the Lady Chapel altar. He also erected a statue of Our Lady of Walsingham and arranged pilgrimages to the Norfolk shrine, where he was one of the founding Guardians.[200] In 1928 the journal of the Catholic League reported that St Magnus had presented a votive candle to the Shrine at Walsingham "in token of our common Devotion and the mutual sympathy and prayers that are we hope a growing bond between the peaceful country shrine and the church in the heart of the hurrying City, from the Altar of which the Pilgrimages regularly start".[201]

Fynes-Clinton was General Secretary of the Anglican and Eastern Orthodox Churches Union and its successor, the Anglican and Eastern Churches Association, from 1906 to 1920 and served as Secretary to the Archbishop of Canterbury's Eastern Churches Committee from 1920 to around 1924. A Solemn Requiem was celebrated at St Magnus in September 1921 for the late King Peter of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes.

At the midday service on 1 March 1922, J.A. Kensit, leader of the Protestant Truth Society, got up and protested against the form of worship.[202] The proposed changes to the church in 1924 led to a hearing in the Consistory Court of the Chancellor of the Diocese of London and an appeal to the Court of Arches.[203] Judgement was given by the latter Court in October 1924. The advowson was purchased in 1931, without the knowledge of the Rector and Parochial Church Council, by the evangelical Sir Charles King-Harman.[204] A number of such cases, including the purchase of the advowsons of Clapham and Hampstead Parish Churches by Sir Charles, led to the passage of the Benefices (Purchase of Rights of Patronage) Measure 1933.[205] This allowed the parishioners of St Magnus to purchase the advowson from Sir Charles King-Harman for £1,300 in 1934 and transfer it to the Patronage Board.

 

St Magnus was one of the churches that held special services before the opening of the second Anglo-Catholic Congress in 1923.[207] Fynes-Clinton[208] was the first incumbent to hold lunchtime services for City workers.[209] Pathé News filmed the Palm Sunday procession at St Magnus in 1935.[210] In The Towers of Trebizond, the novel by Rose Macauley published in 1956, Fr Chantry-Pigg's church is described as being several feet higher than St Mary’s Bourne Street and some inches above even St Magnus the Martyr.[211]

In July 1937 Fr Fynes-Clinton, with two members of his congregation, travelled to Kirkwall to be present at the 800th anniversary celebrations of St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall. During their stay they visited Egilsay and were shown the spot where St Magnus had been slain. Later Fr Fynes-Clinton was present at a service held at the roofless church of St Magnus on Egilsay, where he suggested to his host Mr Fryer, the minister of the Cathedral, that the congregations of Kirkwall and London should unite to erect a permanent stone memorial on the traditional site where Earl Magnus had been murdered. In 1938 a cairn was built of local stone on Egilsay. It stands 12 feet high and is 6 feet broad at its base. The memorial was dedicated on 7 September 1938 and a bronze inscription on the monument reads "erected by the Rector and Congregation of St Magnus the Martyr by London Bridge and the Minister and Congregation of St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall to commemorate the traditional spot where Earl Magnus was slain, AD circa 1116 and to commemorate the Octocentenary of St Magnus Cathedral 1937"

 

A bomb which fell on London Bridge in 1940 during the Blitz of World War II blew out all the windows and damaged the plasterwork and the roof of the north aisle.[213] However, the church was designated a Grade I listed building on 4 January 1950[214] and repaired in 1951, being re-opened for worship in June of that year by the Bishop of London, William Wand.[215] The architect was Laurence King.[216] Restoration and redecoration work has subsequently been carried out several times, including after a fire in the early hours of 4 November 1995.[217] Cleaning of the exterior stonework was completed in 2010.

 

Some minor changes were made to the parish boundary in 1954, including the transfer to St Magnus of an area between Fish Street Hill and Pudding Lane. The site of St Leonard Eastcheap, a church that was not rebuilt after the Great Fire, is therefore now in the parish of St Magnus despite being united to St Edmund the King.

Fr Fynes-Clinton marked the 50th anniversary of his priesthood in May 1952 with High Mass at St Magnus and lunch at Fishmongers' Hall.[218] On 20 September 1956 a solemn Mass was sung in St Magnus to commence the celebration of the 25th anniversary of the restoration of the Holy House at Walsingham in 1931. In the evening of that day a reception was held in the large chamber of Caxton Hall, when between three and four hundred guests assembled.[219]

Fr Fynes-Clinton was succeeded as rector in 1960 by Fr Colin Gill,[220] who remained as incumbent until his death in 1983.[221] Fr Gill was also closely connected with Walsingham and served as a Guardian between 1953 and 1983, including nine years as Master of the College of Guardians.[222] He celebrated the Mass at the first National Pilgrimage in 1959[223] and presided over the Jubilee celebrations to mark the 50th anniversary of the Shrine in 1981, having been present at the Holy House's opening.[224] A number of the congregation of St Stephen's Lewisham moved to St Magnus around 1960, following temporary changes in the form of worship there.

 

In 1994 the Templeman Commission proposed a radical restructuring of the churches in the City Deanery. St Magnus was identified as one of the 12 churches that would remain as either a parish or an 'active' church.[226] However, the proposals were dropped following a public outcry and the consecration of a new Bishop of London.

The parish priest since 2003 has been Fr Philip Warner, who was previously priest-in-charge of St Mary's Church, Belgrade (Diocese in Europe) and Apokrisiarios for the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Serbian Orthodox Church. Since January 2004 there has been an annual Blessing of the Thames, with the congregations of St Magnus and Southwark Cathedral meeting in the middle of London Bridge.[227] On Sunday 3 July 2011, in anticipation of the feast of the translation of St Thomas Becket (7 July), a procession from St Magnus brought a relic of the saint to the middle of the bridge.[228]

David Pearson specially composed two new pieces, a communion anthem A Mhànais mo rùin (O Magnus of my love) and a hymn to St Magnus Nobilis, humilis, for performance at the church on the feast of St Magnus the Martyr, 16 April 2012.[229] St Magnus's organist, John Eady, has won composition competitions for new choral works at St Paul's Cathedral (a setting of Veni Sancte Spiritus first performed on 27 May 2012) and at Lincoln Cathedral (a setting of the Matin responsory for Advent first performed on 30 November 2013).[230]

In addition to liturgical music of a high standard, St Magnus is the venue for a wide range of musical events. The Clemens non Papa Consort, founded in 2005, performs in collaboration with the production team Concert Bites as the church's resident ensemble.[231] The church is used by The Esterhazy Singers for rehearsals and some concerts.[232] The band Mishaped Pearls performed at the church on 17 December 2011.[233] St Magnus featured in the television programme Jools Holland: London Calling, first broadcast on BBC2 on 9 June 2012.[234] The Platinum Consort made a promotional film at St Magnus for the release of their debut album In the Dark on 2 July 2012.[235]

The Friends of the City Churches had their office in the Vestry House of St Magnus until 2013.

 

Martin Travers modified the high altar reredos, adding paintings of Moses and Aaron and the Ten Commandments between the existing Corinthian columns and reconstructing the upper storey. Above the reredos Travers added a painted and gilded rood.[237] In the centre of the reredos there is a carved gilded pelican (an early Christian symbol of self-sacrifice) and a roundel with Baroque-style angels. The glazed east window, which can be seen in an early photograph of the church, appears to have been filled in at this time. A new altar with console tables was installed and the communion rails moved outwards to extend the size of the sanctuary. Two old door frames were used to construct side chapels and placed at an angle across the north-east and south-east corners of the church. One, the Lady Chapel, was dedicated to the Rector's parents in 1925 and the other was dedicated to Christ the King. Originally, a baroque aumbry was used for Reservation of the Blessed Sacrament, but later a tabernacle was installed on the Lady Chapel altar and the aumbry was used to house a relic of the True Cross.

The interior was made to look more European by the removal of the old box pews and the installation of new pews with cut-down ends. Two new columns were inserted in the nave to make the lines regular. The Wren-period pulpit by the joiner William Grey[238] was opened up and provided with a soundboard and crucifix. Travers also designed the statue of St Magnus of Orkney, which stands in the south aisle, and the statue of Our Lady of Walsingham.[239]

On the north wall there is a Russian Orthodox icon, painted in 1908. The modern stations of the cross in honey-coloured Japanese oak are the work of Robert Randall and Ashley Sands.[240] One of the windows in the north wall dates from 1671 and came from Plumbers' Hall in Chequer Yard, Bush Lane, which was demolished in 1863 to make way for Cannon Street Railway Station.[241] A fireplace from the Hall was re-erected in the Vestry House. The other windows on the north side are by Alfred Wilkinson and date from 1952 to 1960. These show the arms of the Plumbers’, Fishmongers’ and Coopers’ Companies together with those of William Wand when Bishop of London and Geoffrey Fisher when Archbishop of Canterbury and (as noted above) the badge of the Fraternity of Our Lady de Salve Regina.

The stained glass windows in the south wall, which are by Lawrence Lee and date from 1949 to 1955, represent lost churches associated with the parish: St Magnus and his ruined church of Egilsay, St Margaret of Antioch with her lost church in New Fish Street (where the Monument to the Great Fire now stands), St Michael with his lost church of Crooked Lane (demolished to make way for the present King William Street) and St Thomas Becket with his chapel on Old London Bridge.[242]

The church possesses a fine model of Old London Bridge. One of the tiny figures on the bridge appears out of place in the mediaeval setting, wearing a policeman's uniform. This is a representation of the model-maker, David T. Aggett, who is a Liveryman of the Worshipful Company of Plumbers and was formerly in the police service.[243]

The Mischiefs by Fire Act 1708 and the Fires Prevention (Metropolis) Act 1774 placed a requirement on every parish to keep equipment to fight fires. The church owns two historic fire engines that belonged to the parish of St Michael, Crooked Lane.[244] One of these is in storage at the Museum of London. The whereabouts of the other, which was misappropriated and sold at auction in 2003, is currently unknown.

In 1896 many bodies were disinterred from the crypt and reburied at the St Magnus's plot at Brookwood Cemetery, which remains the church's burial ground.

 

Prior to the Great Fire of 1666 the old tower had a ring of five bells, a small saints bell and a clock bell.[246] 47 cwt of bell metal was recovered[247] which suggests that the tenor was 13 or 14 cwt. The metal was used to cast three new bells, by William Eldridge of Chertsey in 1672,[248] with a further saints bell cast that year by Hodson.[249] In the absence of a tower, the tenor and saints bell were hung in a free standing timber structure, whilst the others remained unhung.[250]

A new tower was completed in 1704 and it is likely that these bells were transferred to it. However, the tenor became cracked in 1713 and it was decided to replace the bells with a new ring of eight.[251] The new bells, with a tenor of 21 cwt, were cast by Richard Phelps of the Whitechapel Bell Foundry. Between 1714 and 1718 (the exact date of which is unknown), the ring was increased to ten with the addition of two trebles given by two former ringing Societies, the Eastern Youths and the British Scholars.[252] The first peal was rung on 15 February 1724 of Grandsire Caters by the Society of College Youths. The second bell had to be recast in 1748 by Robert Catlin, and the tenor was recast in 1831 by Thomas Mears of Whitechapel,[253] just in time to ring for the opening of the new London Bridge. In 1843, the treble was said to be "worn out" and so was scrapped, together with the saints bell, while a new treble was cast by Thomas Mears.[254] A new clock bell was erected in the spire in 1846, provided by B R & J Moore, who had earlier purchased it from Thomas Mears.[255] This bell can still be seen in the tower from the street.

The 10 bells were removed for safe keeping in 1940 and stored in the churchyard. They were taken to Whitechapel Bell Foundry in 1951 whereupon it was discovered that four of them were cracked. After a long period of indecision, fuelled by lack of funds and interest, the bells were finally sold for scrap in 1976. The metal was used to cast many of the Bells of Congress that were then hung in the Old Post Office Tower in Washington, D.C.

A fund was set up on 19 September 2005, led by Dickon Love, a member of the Ancient Society of College Youths, with a view to installing a new ring of 12 bells in the tower in a new frame. This was the first of three new rings of bells he has installed in the City of London (the others being at St Dunstan-in-the-West and St James Garlickhythe). The money was raised and the bells were cast during 2008/9 by the Whitechapel Bell Foundry. The tenor weighed 26cwt 3qtr 9 lbs (1360 kg) and the new bells were designed to be in the same key as the former ring of ten. They were consecrated by the Bishop of London on 3 March 2009 in the presence of the Lord Mayor[256] and the ringing dedicated on 26 October 2009 by the Archdeacon of London.[257] The bells are named (in order smallest to largest) Michael, Margaret, Thomas of Canterbury, Mary, Cedd, Edward the Confessor, Dunstan, John the Baptist, Erkenwald, Paul, Mellitus and Magnus.[258] The bells project is recorded by an inscription in the vestibule of the church.

 

The first peal on the twelve was rung on 29 November 2009 of Cambridge Surprise Maximus.[260] Notable other recent peals include a peal of Stedman Cinques on 16 April 2011 to mark the 400th anniversary of the granting of a Royal Charter to the Plumbers' Company,[261] a peal of Cambridge Surprise Royal on 28 June 2011 when the Fishmongers' Company gave a dinner for Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh at their hall on the occasion of his 90th birthday[262] and a peal of Avon Delight Maximus on 24 July 2011 in solidarity with the people of Norway following the tragic massacre on Utoeya Island and in Oslo.[263] On the latter occasion the flag of the Orkney Islands was flown at half mast. In 2012 peals were rung during the Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant on 3 June and during each of the three Olympic/Paralympic marathons, on 5 and 12 August and 9 September.

The BBC television programme, Still Ringing After All These Years: A Short History of Bells, broadcast on 14 December 2011, included an interview at St Magnus with the Tower Keeper, Dickon Love,[264] who was captain of the band that rang the "Royal Jubilee Bells" during the Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant on 3 June 2012 to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II.[265] Prior to this, he taught John Barrowman to handle a bell at St Magnus for the BBC coverage.

The bells are currently rung every Sunday around 12:15 (following the service) by the Guild of St Magnus.

 

Every other June, newly elected wardens of the Fishmongers' Company, accompanied by the Court, proceed on foot from Fishmongers' Hall[267] to St Magnus for an election service.[268] St Magnus is also the Guild Church of The Plumbers' Company. Two former rectors have served as master of the company,[269] which holds all its services at the church.[270] On 12 April 2011 a service was held to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the granting of the company's Royal Charter at which the Bishop of London, the Rt Revd and Rt Hon Richard Chartres KCVO, gave the sermon and blessed the original Royal Charter. For many years the Cloker Service was held at St Magnus, attended by the Coopers' Company and Grocers' Company, at which the clerk of the Coopers' Company read the will of Henry Cloker dated 10 March 1573.[271]

St Magnus is also the ward church for the Ward of Bridge and Bridge Without, which elects one of the city's aldermen. Between 1550 and 1978 there were separate aldermen for Bridge Within and Bridge Without, the former ward being north of the river and the latter representing the City's area of control in Southwark. The Bridge Ward Club was founded in 1930 to "promote social activities and discussion of topics of local and general interest and also to exchange Ward and parochial information" and holds its annual carol service at St Magnus.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Magnus-the-Martyr

Goal:

To create a Series Graphic piece conveying generosity, fullness, and giving.

 

Audience:

The churched and unchurched

 

Direction:

I hand drew the letters and ferns out and I wanted something that would get across to the onlooker that generosity wasn't just about giving but that it is a heart issue. I also wanted to draw a parallel between seeds and our resources (time, money, and talents) to show that sowing those things takes time and it is an investment into someone we can trust: God.

 

Any feedback and comments are welcome!

 

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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 just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, in front of Mr. Willison’s grocers’ shop. Willison’s Grocers in Mayfair is where Lettice has an account, and it is from here that Edith, Lettice's maid, orders her groceries for the Cavendish Mews flat, except on special occasions, when professional London caterers are used. Mr. Willison prides himself in having a genteel, upper-class clientele including the households of many titled aristocrats who have houses and flats in the neighbourhood, and he makes sure that his shop is always tidy, his shelves well stocked with anything the cook of a duke or duchess may want, and staff who are polite and mannerly to all his important customers. The latter is not too difficult, for aside from himself, Mrs. Willison does his books, his daughter Henrietta helps on Saturdays and sometimes after she has finished school, which means Mr. Willison technically only employs one member of staff: Frank Leadbetter his delivery boy who carries orders about Mayfair on the bicycle provided for him by Mr. Willison. He also collects payments for accounts which are not settled in his Binney Street shop whilst on his rounds.

 

Edith, is stepping out with Frank, so as she nears the shop, she hopes that the errand she has to run for today will allow her to have a few stolen minutes with Frank under the guise of ordering a few provisions required immediately. As she crosses Binney Street, Edith is delighted to see Frank busily decorating the front window. Mr. Willison always has a splendid window display of tinned and canned goods, but as she approaches the window she can see that it is especially festive, draped with patriotic bunting of Union Jacks and blue and red flags. As Frank, crouched in the window, carefully places a jar of Golden Shred marmalade next to a box of Ty-Phoo tea and in front of a jar of Marmite where it glows in the light pouring through the plate glass, Edith taps gently, so as not to startle her beau.

 

Frank smiles broadly and waves enthusiastically as he looks up and sees his sweetheart on the other side of the glass and he beckons her in as he slips back into the shadowy confines of the grocer’s.

 

“Please come in, milady!” he says cheekily as he opens the plate glass shop door for her, bows and doffs an invisible cap as the bell tinkles prettily overhead. “Pray what may we get to you? Let Willison’s the Grocer’s satisfy your every whim.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith giggles as she steps across the threshold. “Get along with you!”

 

Stepping into the shop she immediately smells the mixture of comforting aromas of fresh fruits, vegetables and flour, permeated by the delicious scent of the brightly coloured boiled sweets coming from the large cork stoppered jars on the shop counter. The sounds of the busy street outside die away, muffled by shelves lined with any number of tinned goods and signs advertising everything from Lyon’s Tea* to Bovril**.

 

“Where is Mrs. Willison?” Edith continues warily, her eyes darting to the spot behind the end of the return counter near the door where the proprietor’s wife usually sits doing her husband’s accounts, looking imperiously down her nose at Edith through her gold framed pince-nez***.

 

“Luckily the old trout is out with Mr. Willison attending Miss Henrietta’s school.” Frank explains.

 

“Don’t tell me that impudent little minx is in trouble?” Edith asks with a cheeky spark of hope in her voice. She knows that it’s uncharitable, and unchristian of her to wish the young girl ill, but she is still riled over the last time Edith met Frank near the rear door of Mr. Willison’s grocers, where, as he stole a kiss from her, Henrietta spied upon them. Henrietta, who had seen the young couple from a lace framed upstairs window where she was often seen spying on the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, called out loudly to her disapproving mother downstairs in the shop that Edith and Frank were loitering in the back lane, which caused the woman with her old fashioned upswept hairstyle and her high necked starched shirtwaister**** blouse to come hurrying to the back door as fast as her equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corset***** and button up boots would allow her, where she promptly berated both Edith and Frank with her acerbic tongue, accusing them of lowering the tone of Mr. Willison’s establishment by loitering with intent and fraternising shamelessly. Edith’s cheeks flush at the mere memory of that embarrassing moment with Mrs. Willison.

 

“No,” Frank goes on. “Miss Henrietta is receiving an award at school today for an essay she penned.”

 

“With poison, no doubt.” mutters Edith. She sighs heavily before continuing, “I hate how you call her ‘Miss Henrietta’. She’s no better than you, Frank. In fact she’s a darn sight lesser if you ask me.”

 

“Now, now, Edith. Calm down.” Frank places his slender hands on her forearms and wraps his long and elegant fingers around them comfortingly. “You may well be right, but she is my employer’s daughter.”

 

“And full of her own self-importance.” Edith interrupts.

 

Frank politely ignores her outburst as he continues, “So I must address her as such.”

 

“Well, it’s not right, Frank.” Edith sulks.

 

“That much is true too,” Frank agrees with a sad nod. “And you know I am a man who wants to right the wrongs dealt to hardworking fold like you and I, but this is one fight I can’t have yet, Edith. This bit of deference I need to keep up if I want to keep my job.”

 

“All the same, Frank. I don’t think it’s right.” Edith opines again.

 

“Anyway, let’s not let Henrietta Willison spoil this wonderfully rare moment where we find each other alone together, Edith.” Frank says, pulling her into an embrace. Quickly looking around the quiet shop interior filled with groceries to make sure no-one will see them, Frank gently kisses Edith lovingly on the lips.

 

After a few stolen moments, Frank reluctantly breaks their kiss.

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith exclaims, her head giddy with pleasure and voice heady with love.

 

“Now, Miss Watsford,” Frank asks in a mock businesslike tone. “What can I do for the maid of the Honourable Miss Chetwynd today?”

 

“Well, it’s a funny coincidence, but you happened to be putting what I need in your window display, just as I arrived, Frank.” Edith elucidates. “I need a jar of Golden Shred orange marmalade urgently.”

 

“Urgently?” Frank queries. “Gosh, that does sound extreme.”

 

“But I do, Frank. Miss Lettice has a potential new client coming up from Wiltshire today, and being a somewhat impromptu visit, I haven’t any cake to serve them. I was just about to make my Mum’s pantry chocolate cake when I realised that I’m out of orange marmalade.”

 

“Well that does sound like a serious situation.” Frank agrees.

 

“Don’t tease me Frank! I’m serious.” Edith’s pretty pale blue eyes grow wide. “If I don’t provide something nice to eat for Miss Lettice’s potential new client, everything could go awry, and then I’d get into such trouble.”

 

“Well, I can’t have my best girl getting into trouble because she is missing the essential ingredient to her mum’s delicious chocolate cake, can I?” Frank says. “However I don’t understand why you have marmalade in a cake. It sounds a bit odd to me.”

 

“That’s because you aren’t a baker, Frank. Mum taught me this recipe for chocolate cake which is based on cheap everyday staples you have in the pantry, and that’s why she calls it a pantry chocolate cake.”

 

“Go on,” Frank says, placing his elbows on the counter and resting his smiling face in his hands. “You have my full attention.”

 

“Well, I use the marmalade to give the cake a nice citrus flavour in addition to the chocolate, and it keeps it moist, so it doesn’t dry out when baking. This way, I don’t have to worry about peeling or squeezing oranges either.”

 

“Fascinating!” Frank breathes, smiling broadly as he listens to Edith.

 

“And that’s why I need the marmalade, Frank.” Edith says nervously. “I’ll be lost without it.”

 

“Well, that is a problem, but it’s one I think I can remedy easily.” He smiles as he fossicks behind the counter and withdraws a jar of orange marmalade from somewhere unseen beneath it. Smiling proudly, as though he is a magician who has just conjured his best magic trick, he places it on the surface of counter.

 

“Oh you’re a brick, Frank!” Edith exclaims with eyes sparkling at the sight of the jar as she reaches out and takes it, placing it carefully into her basket.

 

“I’ll add that to Miss Lettice’s account, shall I?”

 

“If you would, Frank.”

 

As Frank writes the purchase on a scrap of lined paper to give to Mrs. Willison to enter into Mr. Willison’s ledger in her fine looping copperplate when she returns, he asks, “So do you like my window display then, Edith?”

 

“Oh yes!” gushes Edith. “Very much so, Frank. It’s wonderfully gay and patriotic.”

 

“I should hope it would be!” Frank replies, as he finishes scrawling Edith’s purchase on the paper with a slightly blunt pencil.

 

“Why, what’s it in aid of, Frank?”

 

“Edith!” Frank gasps. “I must have failed abysmally if you can’t tell.” He frowns, lines of concern furrowing his young brow. “Mr. Willison will never let me arrange the window again if you’re anything to go by.”

 

“Oh, get on with you, Frank!” Edith laughs.

 

However, Frank doesn’t join in her light hearted laughter and continues to look dourly at the back of the window display he has set up. “I’m serious, Edith. Mr. Willison finally let me arrange a window on my own because I implored him that I wanted to do it, and you can’t even identify what it’s promoting.”

 

“Well,” Edith defends, blushing as she does so. “To be fair, I was more concentrating on you, Frank.” When the worried look still doesn’t vanish from his face she adds. “Now that you aren’t standing in it, distracting me, I’ll go and take another look.”

 

She turns around and walks over to the window and peers through the side over the tops of a pyramid of Sunlight soap and a stack of Twinings tea varieties. An equally high pyramid of biscuit varieties, all in bright and colourful tins stands on the other side, whilst several more tins of biscuits appear at the back of the wide window ledge used for advertising. In front of them stand tins of golden syrup and black treacle, jars of marmalade, packets of tea and jelly crystals, containers of baking powder and cocoa, and at the very front of the window, almost flush against the glass, a cardboard cut out of a gollywog advertising Robertson’s marmalade and a little boy smiling as he promotes Rowntree’s clear gums, which Edith knows Mr. Willison keeps safely out of reach behind the shop counter and away from sticky little fingers. Edith gasps as she realises why Frank had hung bunting in the window, for at the back of the display, where usually there would be an advertisement for Lyon’s Tea or Bisto Gravy******, there is a poster promoting the British Empire Exhibition******* at Wembly********. A crowd of figures from British history and the nations of the British Empire crowd for space along several rows, many proudly waving the flags of Empire, whilst the exhibition name and dates are flanked by two very proud stylised Art Deco lions.

 

“The British Empire Exhibition!” Edith gasps, as Frank’s head appears next to a Huntley and Palmer********* biscuit tin on the opposite side of the display to her. “Now that you aren’t crouched in the window, I can see it clearly, Frank.”

 

“Mr. Willison gave me strict instructions to fill the window with only British made products.”

 

“And you’ve done a splendid job, Frank.” Edith replies, causing her beau to smile with pride and blush with embarrassment at her effusive compliment. As she looks at all the products again, she adds, “And I’m glad to see McVite and Price********** at the top of the pyramid of biscuits.

 

“Well, I couldn’t very well step out with the daughter of a McVitie and Price Line Manager and not have it on the top, could I, Edith?”

 

“Indeed no, Frank.” Edith smiles. “Dad will be pleased as punch when I tell him.”

 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Edith.” Franks says with a sigh.

 

“I think it will be quite a spectacle,” Edith muses, as she stares at the poster. “I’ve read in the newspapers that there will be fifty-six displays and pavilions from around the Empire! Imagine that! There will be palaces for industry, and art.”

 

“And housing and transport too***********, don’t forget.” adds Frank. “Each colony will be assigned its own distinctive pavilion to reflect local culture and architecture.”

 

“I would like to see the Queen’s Dolls’ House************.” Edith sighs. “I hear it is a whole world in miniature, and it even has electric lights.”

 

“Well, isn’t that fortunate?”

 

Edith pauses mid thought and looks quizzically at Frank. “I suppose it would be,” she considers. “If you were a doll living in the Queen’s Doll House.”

 

Frank starts laughing, quietly at first before growing into louder and louder guffaws.

 

“What, Frank?” Edith asks, blushing. “What have I said? What’s so funny?”

 

After a few moments, Frank manages to recover himself. “You do make me laugh, dear Edith.” He wipes the tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. “Thank you.” He sighs. “I was really saying it’s fortunate because, I was going to ask you whether you would like to go and see the British Empire Exhibition. I’m just as keen to see all the marvellous wonders of Empire as you are.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith gasps, any discomfort and displeasure at her beau laughing at her forgotten as she runs around to his side of the window and throws her arms around his neck. “Frank, you’re such a brick! I’d love to!” And without another word, she places her lips against his and kisses him deeply.

 

*Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J. Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in Britain, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J. Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England.

 

**Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.

 

***Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

****A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

 

*****Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.

 

******The first Bisto product, in 1908, was a meat-flavoured gravy powder, which rapidly became a bestseller in Britain. It was added to gravies to give a richer taste and aroma. Invented by Messrs Roberts and Patterson, it was named "Bisto" because it "Browns, Seasons and Thickens in One". Bisto Gravy is still a household name in Britain and Ireland today, and the brand is currently owned by Premier Foods.

 

*******The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.

 

********A purpose-built "great national sports ground", called the Empire Stadium, was built for the Exhibition at Wembley. This became Wembley Stadium. Wembley Urban District Council was opposed to the idea, as was The Times, which considered Wembley too far from Central London. The first turf for this stadium was cut, on the site of the old tower, on the 10th of January 1922. 250,000 tons of earth were then removed, and the new structure constructed within ten months, opening well before the rest of the Exhibition was ready. Designed by John William Simpson and Maxwell Ayrton, and built by Sir Robert McAlpine, it could hold 125,000 people, 30,000 of them seated. The building was an unusual mix of Roman imperial and Mughal architecture. Although it incorporated a football pitch, it was not solely intended as a football stadium. Its quarter mile running track, incorporating a 220 yard straight track (the longest in the country) were seen as being at least equally important. The only standard gauge locomotive involved in the construction of the Stadium has survived, and still runs on Sir William McAlpine's private Fawley Hill railway near Henley.

 

*********Huntley and Palmers is a British firm of biscuit makers originally based in Reading, Berkshire. The company created one of the world’s first global brands and ran what was once the world’s largest biscuit factory. Over the years, the company was also known as J. Huntley and Son and Huntley and Palmer. Huntley and Palmer were renown for their ‘superior reading biscuits’ which they promoted in different varieties for different occasions, including at breakfast time, morning and afternoon tea and reading time.

 

**********McVitie's (Originally McVitie and Price) is a British snack food brand owned by United Biscuits. The name derives from the original Scottish biscuit maker, McVitie and Price, Ltd., established in 1830 on Rose Street in Edinburgh, Scotland. The company moved to various sites in the city before completing the St. Andrews Biscuit Works factory on Robertson Avenue in the Gorgie district in 1888. The company also established one in Glasgow and two large manufacturing plants south of the border, in Heaton Chapel, Stockport, and Harlesden, London (where Edith’s father works). McVitie and Price's first major biscuit was the McVitie's Digestive, created in 1892 by a new young employee at the company named Alexander Grant, who later became the managing director of the company. The biscuit was given its name because it was thought that its high baking soda content served as an aid to food digestion. The McVitie's Chocolate Homewheat Digestive was created in 1925. Although not their core operation, McVitie's were commissioned in 1893 to create a wedding cake for the royal wedding between the Duke of York and Princess Mary, who subsequently became King George V and Queen Mary. This cake was over two metres high and cost one hundred and forty guineas. It was viewed by 14,000 and was a wonderful publicity for the company. They received many commissions for royal wedding cakes and christening cakes, including the wedding cake for Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip and Prince William and Catherine Middleton. Under United Biscuits McVitie's holds a Royal Warrant from Queen Elizabeth II.

 

***********The Palace of Engineering was originally called the Palace of Housing and Transport when the British Empire Exhibition opened. It contained a crane capable of moving 25 tons (a practical necessity, not an exhibit) and contained displays on engineering, shipbuilding, electric power, motor vehicles, railways, including locomotives, metallurgy and telegraphs and wireless. In 1925 there seems to have been less emphasis on things that could also be classified as Industry, with instead more on housing and aircraft. The Palace of Industry was slightly smaller. It contained displays on the chemical industry, coal, metals, medicinal drugs, sewage disposal, food, drinks, tobacco, clothing, gramophones, gas and Nobel explosives.

 

************Queen Mary's Dolls' House is a dollhouse built in 1:12 scale in the early 1920s, completed in 1924, for Queen Mary, the wife of King George V. It was designed by architect Sir Edwin Lutyens, with contributions from many notable artists and craftsmen of the period, including a library of miniature books containing original stories written by authors including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and A. A. Milne illustrated by famous illustrators of the time like Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac. The idea for building the dollhouse originally came from the Queen's cousin, Princess Marie Louise, who discussed her idea with one of the top architects of the time, Sir Edwin Lutyens, at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition of 1921. Sir Edwin agreed to construct the dollhouse and began preparations. Princess Marie Louise had many connections in the arts and arranged for the top artists and craftsmen of the time to contribute their special abilities to the house. It was created as a gift to Queen Mary from the people, and to serve as a historical document on how a royal family might have lived during that period in England. It showcased the very finest and most modern goods of the period. Later the dollhouse was put on display to raise funds for the Queen's charities. It was originally exhibited at the British Empire Exhibition in 1924 and again in 1925, where more than 1.6 million people came to view it, and is now on display in Windsor Castle, at Windsor, as a tourist attraction.

 

This bright window display may look like it is full of real products from today and yesteryear, but just like Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House, these items are all 1:12 scale miniature pieces from my own collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The window is full of wonderful British household brands, some of which like Robertson’s Golden Shred Marmalade, Marmite, Oxo stock cubes and Twinings tea we still know today. All these pieces have been made by various artisans including Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire and Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, or supplied from various stockists of 1:12 miniatures including Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop and Shephard’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, or through various online stockists. I created the Union Jack bunting that is draped to either side of the display. I also recreated the British Empire Exhibition poster.

 

The two carboard displays at the very front for Rountree’s Gums and Golden Shred Marmalade are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. The Golliwog advertising Robertson’s Golden Shred Marmalade in particular has some nostalgia for me, and takes me back to my own childhood. The famous Robertson's Golliwog symbol (not seen as racially charged at the time) appeared in 1910 after a trip to the United States to set up a plant in Boston. His son John bought a golliwog doll there. For some reason this started to appear first on their price lists and was then adopted as their trade mark. I have pins with the Robertson’s Golliwog on it that I collected as a child. Ken Blythe was famous in miniature collectors’ circles mostly for the miniature books that he made: all being authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. However, he did not make books exclusively. He also made other small pieces like these advertising pieces for miniature shops. What might amaze you, looking at these cardboard stand-ups is that they are just like their real life equivalents, both front and back! To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a real miniature artisan piece. 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 and through his estate courtesy of the generosity of his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

Golden Shred orange marmalade and Silver Shred lime marmalade still exist today and are common household brands both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson’s Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson’s Silver Shred is a clear, tangy, lemon flavoured shredded marmalade. Robertson’s marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.

 

In 1859 Henry Tate went into partnership with John Wright, a sugar refiner based at Manesty Lane, Liverpool. Their partnership ended in 1869 and John’s two sons, Alfred and Edwin joined the business forming Henry Tate and Sons. A new refinery in Love Lane, Liverpool was opened in 1872. In 1921 Henry Tate and Sons and Abram Lyle and Sons merged, between them refining around fifty percent of the UK’s sugar. A tactical merger, this new company would then become a coherent force on the sugar market in anticipation of competition from foreign sugar returning to its pre-war strength. Tate and Lyle are perhaps best known for producing Lyle’s Golden Syrup and Lyle’s Golden Treacle.

 

Peter Leech and Sons was a grocers that operated out of Lowther Street in Whitehaven from the 1880s. They had a large range of tinned goods that they sold including coffee, tea, tinned salmon and golden syrup. They were admired for their particularly attractive labelling. I do not know exactly when they ceased production, but I believe it may have happened just before the Second World War.

 

Founded by Henry Isaac Rowntree in Castlegate in York in 1862, Rowntree's developed strong associations with Quaker philanthropy. Throughout much of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, it was one of the big three confectionery manufacturers in the United Kingdom, alongside Cadbury and Fry, both also founded by Quakers. In 1981, Rowntree's received the Queen's Award for Enterprise for outstanding contribution to international trade. In 1988, when the company was acquired by Nestlé, it was the fourth-largest confectionery manufacturer in the world. The Rowntree brand continues to be used to market Nestlé's jelly sweet brands, such as Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums, and is still based in York.

 

Twinings is a British marketer of tea and other beverages, including coffee, hot chocolate and malt drinks, based in Andover, Hampshire. The brand is owned by Associated British Foods. It holds the world's oldest continually used company logo, and is London's longest-standing ratepayer, having occupied the same premises on the Strand since 1706. Twinings tea varieties include black tea, green tea and herbal teas, along with fruit-based cold infusions. Twinings was founded by Thomas Twining, who opened Britain's first known tea room, at No. 216 Strand, London, in 1706; it still operates today. Holder of a royal warrant, Twinings was acquired by Associated British Foods in 1964. The company is associated with Earl Grey tea, a tea infused with bergamot, though it is unclear when this association began, and how important the company's involvement with the tea has been. Competitor Jacksons of Piccadilly – acquired by Twinings during the 1990s – also had associations with the bergamot blend. In April 2008, Twinings announced their decision to close its Belfast Nambarrie plant, a tea company in trade for over 140 years. Citing an "efficiency drive", Twinings moved most of its production to China and Poland in late 2011, while retaining its Andover, Hampshire factory with a reduced workforce. In 2023, Twinings ceased production of lapsang souchong, replacing it with a product called "Distinctively Smoky", widely considered to be inferior quality.

 

In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.

 

Bird’s were best known for making custard and Bird’s Custard is still a common household name, although they produced other desserts beyond custard, including the blancmange. They also made Bird’s Golden Raising Powder – their brand of baking powder. Bird’s Custard was first formulated and first cooked by Alfred Bird in 1837 at his chemist shop in Birmingham. He developed the recipe because his wife was allergic to eggs, the key ingredient used to thicken traditional custard. The Birds continued to serve real custard to dinner guests, until one evening when the egg-free custard was served instead, either by accident or design. The dessert was so well received by the other diners that Alfred Bird put the recipe into wider production. John Monkhouse (1862–1938) was a prosperous Methodist businessman who co-founded Monk and Glass, which made custard powder and jelly. Monk and Glass custard was made in Clerkenwell and sold in the home market, and exported to the Empire and to America. They acquired by its rival Bird’s Custard in the early Twentieth Century.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

Oxo is a brand of food products, including stock cubes, herbs and spices, dried gravy, and yeast extract. The original product was the beef stock cube, and the company now also markets chicken and other flavour cubes, including versions with Chinese and Indian spices. The cubes are broken up and used as flavouring in meals or gravy or dissolved into boiling water to produce a bouillon. Oxo produced their first cubes in 1910 and further increased Oxo's popularity.

 

Bournville is a brand of dark chocolate produced by Cadbury. It is named after the model village of the same name in Birmingham, England and was first sold in 1908. Bournville Cocoa was one of the products sold by Cadbury. The label on the canister is a transitional one used after the First World War and shared both the old fashioned Edwardian letter B and more modern 1920s lettering for the remainder of the name. The red of the lettering is pre-war whilst the orange and white a post-war change.

 

Peek Freans is the name of a former biscuit making company based in Bermondsey, which is now a global brand of biscuits and related confectionery owned by various food businesses. De Beauvoir Biscuit Company owns but does not market in the United Kingdom, Europe and United States; Mondelēz International owns the brand in Canada; and English Biscuit Manufacturers owns the brand in Pakistan. Peek, Frean & Co. Ltd was registered in 1857 by James Peek (1800–1879) and his nephew-in-law George Hender Frean. The business was based in a disused sugar refinery on Mill Street in Dockhead, South East London, in the west of Bermondsey. With a quickly expanding business, in 1860, Peek engaged his friend John Carr, the apprenticed son of the Carlisle-based Scottish milling and biscuit-making family, Carr's. From 1861, Peek, Frean & Co. Ltd started exporting biscuits to Australia, but outgrew their premises from 1870 after agreeing to fulfil an order from the French Army for 460 long tons of biscuits for the ration packs supplied to soldiers fighting the Franco-Prussian War. After hostilities ended, the French Government ordered a further 16,000 long tons (11 million) sweet "Pearl" biscuits in celebration of the end of the Siege of Paris, and further flour supplies for Paris in 1871 and 1872, with financing undertaken by their bankers the Rothschilds. The consequential consumer demands of emigrating French expatriate soldiers, allowed the company to start exporting directly to Ontario, Canada from the mid-1870s. On 23 April 1873, the old Dockhead factory burnt down in a spectacular fire,[1] which brought the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII) out on a London Fire Brigade horse-drawn water pump to view the resulting explosions. In 1906, the Peek, Frean and Co. factory in Bermondsey was the subject of one of the earliest documentary films shot by Cricks and Sharp. This was in part to celebrate an expansion of the company's cake business, which later made the wedding cakes for both Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten (later Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh) and Charles, Prince of Wales (later King Charles III), and Lady Diana Spencer. In 1924, the company established their first factory outside the UK, in Dum Dum in India. In 1931, five personnel from the Bermondsey factory went to Australia to train the staff in the new factory in Camperdown, in Sydney. In 1949, they established their first bakery in Canada, located on Bermondsey Road in East York, Ontario, which still today produces Peek Freans branded products. After 126 years, the London factory was closed by then owner BSN on Wednesday 26 May 1989.

 

Carr's is a British biscuit and cracker manufacturer, currently owned by Pladis Global through its subsidiary United Biscuits. The company was founded in 1831 by Jonathan Dodgson Carr and is marketed in the United States by Kellogg's. In 1831, Carr formed a small bakery and biscuit factory in the English city of Carlisle in Cumberland; he received a royal warrant in 1841. Within fifteen years of being founded, it had become Britain's largest baking business. Carr's business was both a mill and a bakery, an early example of vertical integration, and produced bread by night and biscuits by day. The biscuits were loosely based on dry biscuits used on long voyages by sailors. They could be kept crisp and fresh in tins, and despite their fragility could easily be transported to other parts of the country by canal and railway. Carr died in 1884, but by 1885, the company was making 128 varieties of biscuit and employing 1000 workers. In 1894 the company was registered as Carr and Co. Ltd. but reverted to being a private company in 1908. Carrs Flour Mills Limited was incorporated after acquiring the flour-milling assets. It became part of Cavenham Foods in 1964 until 1972, when it was sold to United Biscuits group, along with Cavenham's other biscuit brands Wright's Biscuits and Kemps for $10 million. United Biscuits was sold by its private equity owners to the Turkish-based multinational Yıldız Holding in 2014; in 2016 all UB brands including Carr's were combined with Yildiz's other snack brands to form Pladis Global.

 

Macfarlane Lang and Company began as Lang’s bakery in 1817, before becoming MacFarlane Lang in 1841. The first biscuit factory opened in 1886 and changed its name to MacFarlane Lang & Co. in the same year. The business then opened a factory in Fulham, London in 1903, and in 1904 became MacFarlane Lang & Co. Ltd. In 1948 it formed United Biscuits Ltd. along with McVitie and Price.

 

A co-operative wholesale society, or CWS, is a form of co-operative federation (that is, a co-operative in which all the members are co-operatives), in this case, the members are usually consumer cooperatives. The best historical examples of this are the English CWS and the Scottish CWS, which are the predecessors of the 21st Century Co-operative Group. Indeed, in Britain, the terms Co-operative Wholesale Society and CWS are used to refer to this specific organisation rather than the organisational form. They sold things like tea, cocoa and biscuits.

 

Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884 by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.

 

Before the invention of aerosol spray starch, the product of choice in many homes of all classes was Robin starch. Robin Starch was a stiff white powder like cornflour to which water had to be added. When you made up the solution, it was gloopy, sticky with powdery lumps, just like wallpaper paste or grout. The garment was immersed evenly in that mixture and then it had to be smoothed out. All the stubborn starchy lumps had to be dissolved until they were eliminated – a metal spoon was good for bashing at the lumps to break them down. Robins Starch was produced by Reckitt and Sons who were a leading British manufacturer of household products, notably starch, black lead, laundry blue, and household polish. They also produced Jumbo Blue, which was a whitener added to a wash to help delay the yellowing effect of older cotton. Rekitt and Sons were based in Kingston upon Hull. Isaac Reckitt began business in Hull in 1840, and his business became a private company Isaac Reckitt and Sons in 1879, and a public company in 1888. The company expanded through the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. It merged with a major competitor in the starch market J. and J. Colman in 1938 to form Reckitt and Colman.

Letter generously translated by hardpapier, penned in the field on the 22nd of December 1917, the author sends his regards to his cousin.

 

These fellows are all wearing newly issued kit, right down to the grenade bags they have slung under each arm. I am presuming this photograph is taken at some kind of assault troop training course given the number of practice grenades present.

 

Practice grenades were painted red and had emission holes in the "can". They had the normal pull-fuse arrangement, but instead of explosive, they carried a small charge that emitted a small amount smoke when detonated, enough for the thrower to see whether or not he had hit the mark.

 

Reading up on these guys it would appear they were attached to the 15th Landwehr Division, which remained in the east after the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk was signed, performing occupational duties, which sort of belies their gnarly Stoßtruppen appearance.

Divided reverse. Letter generously translated by xiphophilos, authored sometime around 4.10.1914 and sent to a Herr Hugo Kitzing in Lauenhain. Einheitsstempel: Mobiles Landw.-Inf.-Regt. Nr. 101 Ersatz-Bataillon. Datumsstempel: Wossarken, 4.10.14.

 

The author communicates to relatives his brother Arno has been shot through the heart and killed and the fate of his other brothers is unknown.

 

___________________________________________________________________

Notes:

 

s. Landwehr-Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 101 (Vier Bataillone)

 

Aufgestellt in Bautzen (R.Stb., III., IV.) und Zittau (I., II.)

Unterstellung:Festungsbesatzung Graudenz

Kommandeur:Oberst a. D. Graf Pfeil

 

I.:Oberstleutnant z. D. Notrott (Bez.-Kdr. Zittau)

II.:Major a. D.

v. Rosenberg-Lipinsky

III.:Oberstleutnant z. D. Schurig (Bez.-Kdr. Löbau)

IV.:Oberstleutnant a. D.

v. Erdmannsdorf

 

Das V. Bataillon ist im Juni 1915 in Dresden aus Abgaben der Ersatz-Bataillone (Stellv. Gen. Kdo. des XII. A.K.) entstanden. Kommandeur war Major a. D. Reum. Das VI. Bataillon, das diese Nummer nach Eintreffen des V. Bataillons erhielt, war das 1. mob. Ers.-Btl./s. L.I.R.Nr. 101. (s. S. 88) Es befand sich seit November 1914 beim Regiment. Es focht als erstes Bataillon des Regiments schon bei Tannenberg. Kommandeur war Oberstleutnant z. D. v. Göckel. (Bez.-Kdr. Flöha) Zugeteilt war die preußische Reserve-Festungs-MG.-Abteilung Nr. 2, die sächsisch wurde. Gem. sächsischem K.M. v. 7.9.15 setzte sich das s. L.I.R.Nr. 101 (Kommandeur war Oberstleutnant Schurig) aus dem I.-III. Bataillon und das s. L.I.R.Nr. 103 (s. S. 163) (Kommandeur war Oberst z. D. Kloss) aus dem IV.-VI. Bataillon des s. L.I.R.Nr. 101 zusammen.

 

Verluste: s. L.I.R.Nr. 101 und s. L.I.R.Nr. 103 zusammen: 32 Offz., ca. 2050 Uffz. und

Mannschaften.

Earlier this year, Ashlee Will handed me a box of New55, an instant film in the tradition of Polaroid 55 P/N. The generous gift came with only one catch. "Make art", said Ashlee.

The Polaroid gave the photographer a print, and a high quality B&W negative to make silver prints. Polaroid, of course, went belly up.

The new55 folks are attempting to revive the Polaroid concept. It's hellishly expensive, nearly 16 dollars per shot. I had 5 sheets of new55. The first 3 were disaster. Despite new55 claims, the material just did not work in my Polaroid 545 film holder. 3 shots wasted. T. Paul Wrobel loaned me his newer holder, which did work.

The first photo was very dark and the negative thin, despite careful metering at the rated 50 ISO. The chemical pod had not completely burst when it hit the rollers of the film holder, leaving half of the image undeveloped.

The second photo had nearly 2 stops more exposure. The print was slightly lighter. The odd thing is that the negative had a positive image on it, with tones reversed. I scanned the image and inverted it in Photoshop.

Thanks to my student, Parish Moore, who graciously allowed me to photograph him.

   

Letter generously translated by xiphophilos; penned 23.12.1914 and sent to Fräulein Lieschen Wermelskirchen in Cöln. Photogr. Gebr. Notton, Metz.

 

An early war studio portrait of a stoic looking Musketier from an unidentified (Landwehr?) formation.

 

Thanks to the Treaty of Frankfurt of 1871, the French city of Metz was annexed into the German Empire, being part of the Reichsland Elsaß-Lothringen and serving as capital of deutsches Lothringen.

For my kind and generous friend Georges Renouf, thank you Georges.

Please View Large On Black

I now have a book of my work available...

The Feeding of the Birds... The photography of Allan Ellerby Book Preview

 

Or in a soft cover version..

Click Here

 

Walking along the Promenade at Portobello the other day, some very nice soul had laid out this box full of windfall apples with a note telling everyone to help themselves, and that they were great for making Apple Crumble. What a lovely gesture.

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 not in Lettice’s flat, and whilst we have not travelled that far physically across London, the tough streets and blind alleys of Poplar in London’s East End is a world away from Lettice’s rarefied and privileged world. We have come to the home of Lettice’s charwoman*, Mrs. Boothby, where we find ourselves in the cheerful kitchen cum living room of her tenement in Merrybrook Place: by her own admission, a haven of cleanliness amidst the squalor of the surrounding neighbourhood. Edith, Lettice’s maid, is visiting her Cockney friend and co-worker on a rather impromptu visit, much to the surprise of the old char when she answered the timid knock on her door on a Saturday morning and found Edith standing on her stoop, out of breath, visibly distressed and awash with tears. The old woman quickly ushered her young friend inside with a protective arm wrapped around her, peering over her shoulder with a steely gaze as she observed the number of neighbours taking an unwelcome interest in the rather well dressed stranger at her door. “Youse right gawking there, Golda Friedmann?” she called out angrily to one of her neighbours, a Jewish busybody who lives at the end of her rookery**, causing the woman wrapped in the bright paisley shawl to turn away in shame at having been caught out staring at business that wasn’t her own.

 

Settled at the kitchen table, Mrs. Boothby has divested Edith of her smart black straw cloche decorated with feathers and satin roses and her three-quarter length black coat, and seated her comfortably in a chair by the warm old fashioned blacklead stove whilst she busies herself about her simple, yet clean, kitchen. She puts out a gilt edged blue and white cake plate on the surface of her scrubbed deal pine kitchen table, on which she carefully arranges a selection of biscuits from her pretty biscuit tin decorated with Art Nouveau ladies. The plate sits between two dainty blue floral tea cups, a sugar bowl and milk jug, whilst a Brown Betty*** sits to the side, steam snaking from her spout.

 

“Nah Edith dearie,” Mrs. Boothby says with concern, sinking with a groan down into her ladderback chair adjunct to Edith. “What’s all the commotion then?” She looks the young maid squarely in the face, a kindly look on her worn and wrinkled face. “Tell me why youse come to see me outta the blue like this on a Staurday? Are you alright? Is it something to do wiv your young Frank Leadbetter then? ‘As ‘e wound up in some trouble or other wiv them Bolshevik types ‘e ‘angs around wiv?”

 

“Oh it isn’t me, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith replies in an upset fashion as she tries to catch her breath. “Nor Frank. He’s fine. We’re fine.” Her breath rasps as her breathing slowly starts to settle down. “It’s Miss Lettice!”

 

“Miss Lettice?”

 

“Yes, Mrs. Boothby. It’s really quite distressing.” Edith pulls out a little embroidered handkerchief from the sleeve of her lace trimmed blouse and sniffs as she dabs her eyes with it with a shaky hand.

 

“Nah, nah!” the old Cockney char says. “Youse not makin’ no sense, Edith dearie. What’s ‘appened to Miss Lettice? She been in an accident or somefink?”

 

“No, Mrs. Boothby. Well yes… Well no, not that kind of accident.”

 

“Youse confusin’ me, dearie. Let’s get you a nice cup of Rosie-Lee**** and then youse can start from the beginnin’.” Mrs. Boothby lifts up the well worn Brown Betty pot and pours a slug of brackish, well steeped tea into Edith’s dainty floral cup, before adding some to her own. “I’ll let ya add your own milk ‘n sugar, dearie.” She pauses for a moment and looks across at Edith with worry in her eyes. “Although considerin’ the state yer in, I fink a couple of sugars might be in order.”

 

“You may well be right, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies with a sigh, picking up the elegant Regency blue and white sugar bowl, adding two heaped spoonsful of sugar to her tea and stirring it vigorously.

 

“That’s it, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says kindly. “Nah, ‘ere’s the milk.” She passes her a jug decorated with blue grapes and accepts the sugar bowl in return.

 

Whilst Edith adds milk to her tea, Mrs, Boothby adds two heaped spoons of sugar to her own from the sugar bowl, not to offset any shock, but simply because she has a sweet tooth.

 

“’Elp yerself to some biscuits, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby indicates with a nod to the selection she put out on the cake plate. “I’ve plenty more in ‘ere.” She taps the biscuit tin at her left with her gnarled and careworn hand with its bulbous knuckles. “Bad news is always betta on a full stomach, I find.”

 

“Oh I couldn’t right now, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith assures her hostess. “But perhaps in a little bit, once I’ve caught my breath and had some tea.” She lifts the cup to her mouth and gingerly takes a sip of the sweet strong tea, sighing contentedly as the hot liquid reaches her tongue and the flavour hits her tastebuds

 

“As you like, Edith dearie. Nah, I ‘ope ya don’t mind, but I’m dying for a fag! I was just about ta ‘ave one when you arrived.” Without waiting for a reply, Mrs Boothby starts fossicking through her capacious beaded bag sitting on the table before withdrawing her cigarette papers, Swan Vestas and tin of Player’s Navy Cut. Rolling herself a cigarette she lights it with a satisfied sigh and one of her fruity coughs, dropping the match into a black ashtray full of used cigarette butts that also sits on the table. Mrs. Boothby settles back comfortably in her ladderback chair with her cigarette in one hand and reaches out, snatching up a chocolate biscuit with the other. Blowing out a plume of blue smoke that tumbles through the air around them, the old woman continues. “Nah, what’s ‘appened to our Miss Lettice then, that’s got you in such a state, Edith dearie. Start at the beginnin’, nice and slow like, so I can keep up.”

 

“Well, it all started last night when Miss Lettice went out to the Savoy***** to have a celebratory birthday dinner with Mr. Spencely.”

 

“That’s Miss Lettice’s fancy man, ain’t it?” Mrs. Boothby asks, blowing out a plume of curling acrid grey smoke.

 

“Yes, he’s a duke, or rather going to be a duke someday.” Edith takes another, slightly deeper sip of tea. “I helped Miss Lettice pick a beautiful frock for the evening. She was so nervous about everything being just perfect for Mr. Spencely’s birthday that she couldn’t decide for herself and wanted my opinion. With my help she settled upon a nice green georgette frock with gold beaded panels over the skirt. Wrapped up in one of her furs, with Mr. Spencely’s present nicely wrapped under her arm, I bundled her into the taxi I had hailed from the stand down on the square and then with Miss Lettice gone, I settled down to a pleasurably quiet evening on my own in with my latest copy of Photoplay******.”

 

“And then what ‘appened?” Mrs. Boothby asks, chewing loudly through a large mouthful of biscuit.

 

“Well, not an hour later as I sat in the kitchen reading about Gloria Swanson’s new film ‘Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife’******, I heard the front door fly open and then slam closed. It gave me such a shock!” She puts her hand to her heart. “I hurried into the hallway, just in time to see Miss Lettice disappearing into her room, still in her gown but without her fur, crying as if her heart were breaking.”

 

“She ‘asn’t broken up wiv ‘er fancy man the duke, ‘as she, dearie?”

 

“Well, here’s the thing, Mrs. Boothby. I followed Miss Lettice into her boudoir, and there she was, pulling out her valise from her dressing room. She was in a terrible state! All her beautiful makeup was running down her face from the tears she was crying. She was muttering and talking to herself in a most distressed state, and she was shaking like a fir tree. I think she must have walked, or more likely run from the Savoy judging by how heavily she was breathing, and looking at the state of her shoes. The toes were all scuffed and marked and the heels are ruined.”

 

“So what ‘appened then, Edith?”

 

“Well, I walked up to her and I grasped her by the shoulders. It was almost as though until that moment, she hadn’t even noticed I was there. She started babbling on to me about how she had to pack to go to home to Wiltshire right away, and how she was going to catch a train from Victoria railway station that very night, although it was hard to make any real sense of what she was saying. She started sentences but didn’t finish them, or started part way through, and she was so breathless that half her words were lost anyway. I tried to calm her and had her sit down on her bed. I offered to pack her valise for her, and whilst I did, I asked her what had happened.”

 

“And?” Mrs. Boothby asks, her cigarette burning down almost to the butt as she holds it half way between her lips and the ashtray as she hangs on every word Edith says.

 

“Well, it turns out that when she got to dinner, Mr. Spencely’s mother, Lady Zinnia was there instead of Mr. Spencely himself!”

 

“No!” Mrs. Boothby takes a long drag on her cigarette, the paper crackling as she does.

 

“Yes,” Edith replies, taking another sip of the restorative tea. “Aand she told Miss Lettice that she had packed Mr. Spencely off to South Africa!”

 

“South Africa?” Mrs. Boothby queries, her question becoming a cloud of grey cigarette smoke, tumbling through the air. “Whyever ‘as she done that then?”

 

“Well, Miss Lettice confided in me that she and Mr. Spencely suspected that Lady Zinnia and Mr. Spencely’s uncle wanted to marry him off to the uncle’s daughter, his cousin who is one of this year’s debutantes, and that neither of them wanted Miss Lettice to be stepping out with Mr. Spencely. In fact, from what I can gather, I don’t think that horrible Lady Zinnia likes Miss Lettice at all, even though she hasn’t seen Miss Lettice since she was a little girl!”

 

“What cheek!” mutters Mrs. Boothby, stamping out her cigarette indignantly into the ashtray as though she were squashing the titled lady herself. “Miss Lettice is a very fine lady: much nicer than some of them uvver muckety-mucks I’s got ta deal wiv up the West End! What business is it of that woman who ‘er son wants to step out wiv?”

 

“Exactly, Mrs. Boothby, but you know how obsessed those old aristocratic families can be about their sons and heirs marrying the right daughters of the right families.”

 

Mrs. Boothby releases another fruity cough in a disgusted response.

 

“Anyway, she told Miss Lettice that she has sent Mr. Spencely away to South Africa for a year, just so she could break them up! Isn’t that frightful?”

 

“Awful!” spits Mrs. Boothby hotly before popping the rest of her biscuit into her mouth.

 

“Miss Lettice isn’t even allowed to write to Mr. Spencely.”

 

“Not at all?” the old Cockney char manages to utter through her mouthful of biscuit, spraying a smattering of biscuit crumbs onto her lap and the floor.

 

“Not even a postcard, Mrs. Boothby, and he isn’t allowed to write to her either, nor talk on that infernal contraption the telephone.”

 

“Does they even ‘ave telephones in them out-of-the-way places like South Africa?” asks Mrs. Boothby.

 

“Oh I’m sure they probably do these days, Mrs. Boothby, after all it is the Twentieth Century, but even so, Miss Lettice isn’t allowed to talk to Mr. Spencely even if they do have them: not for the whole year. Lady Zinnia said that she doesn’t want her son marrying for love.”

 

“’Ow cold ‘earted she must be, not lettin’ ‘er son marry the Miss Lettice if ‘e loves her!”

 

“Lady Zinnia said that if Mr. Spencely comes back from South Africa in a year and he tells her that he still loves Miss Lettice, she will let her and Mr. Spencely get married, but that if he doesn’t, that he’ll agree to marry his cousin the debutante.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes that’s right!” Edith puts down her cup. “Mr. Spencely will marry the woman that Lady Zinnia and his uncle want him to marry if he doesn’t feel the same about Miss Lettice.” She picks up her cup again and takes another sip. “And a year is such a long time to wait!”

 

“Oh it certainly is, ‘specially if youse can’t even write a letter to one annuva. Oh what an ‘orrible fing for that Lady Zinnia to do! She sounds like a right piece of work, she does!” Mrs. Boothby crosses her bony arms as she sists back in her seat. “I’d like to get my ‘ands on ‘er, so I could wring ‘er neck! Pity she ‘as such a pretty name. My old Dad used ta grow zinnias in a pot by the back door. Lovely fings they was too: all bright and colourful.”

 

“Well Lady Zinnia certainly doesn’t take after her namesake, Mrs. Boothby. She’s horrible! It was awful to see Miss Lettice so upset like that.”

 

“What did you do then, Edith dearie?”

 

“Well, I packed Miss Lettice’s valise for her, made her a nice calming cup of cocoa, and then she took a taxi to Victoria Station. As far as I know, she’s gone home to Wiltshire to nurse her poor broken heart.”

 

“No wonder you was so upset when youse turned up ‘ere unannounced.” Mrs. Boothby says, shaking her head in pity at the young girl.

 

“Oh I’m sorry Mrs. Boothby, but I didn’t know who else to turn to who knows Miss Lettice! I just feel so… so very helpless.”

 

“Nah, nah, dearie,” Mrs. Boothby reaches across the table and gives Edith’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Youse done the best for ‘er, by doin’ what she wants and takin’ good care of ‘er when she can’t do it ‘erself.” She smiles kindly at the young girl across the table from her. “You’re a good girl, Edith, and that’s no mistake.” The old woman settles back in her seat again. “Did she say when she’s comin’ ‘ome?”

 

“Well, she’s gone home, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“Nah! I mean, comin’ ‘ome ta London?”

 

“No, she didn’t say. I suppose she’ll send word when she’s ready. A few days, maybe? A week? I don’t know what else to do, except wait.”

 

“Well, that’s all you can do, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby raises her hands expansively. “It’s all any of us can do. Just wait, and be there when Miss Lettice needs us, just like youse done for ‘er last night.”

 

“Oh I just feel so helpless, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith’s eyes start to well with unshed tears again. “To see her beautiful blue eyes so dull and sad, and surrounded by smeared kohl******* like that was horrible. She was so unhappy, and that made me so sad.”

 

“I know, dearie, but youse just got ta get on wiv fings. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if ‘er old mum dahn the country was tellin’ ‘er the same fing right this very minute.”

 

“I don’t think you know Lady Sadie, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith says doubtfully.

 

“I may not, Edith, but I do know mums. I certainly should do, bein’ one meself. And I can tell youse that any mum will tell their broken’earted daughter ta pick ‘erself up and get on wiv life. The sky ain’t fallen in, ‘though it’s cloudy out there today ‘n all. So Miss Lettice will shed a few tears, and then she’ll realise that there is life worth livin’ out there, even wiv a sore and sorry ‘eart.” Mrs. Boothby pauses, withdraws another cigarette paper and rolls herself another cigarette. As she lights it she asks, “Did she say what she were gonna do?”

 

“Who, Mrs. Boothby?”

 

“Lawd child!” the old char rolls her eyes to the smoke and coal yellowed ceiling above. “Miss Lettice of course! Did she say whevva she was gonna wait for ‘im?”

 

“She did say to me last night that she loves Mr. Spencely, and even though it’s hard, she’d be willing to wait for him.” Edith sips gingerly at her tea as she contemplates the idea of waiting for Frank for a year without any contact between either of them. She quickly banishes the idea as she blinks away tears. “Mind you, a year is such a long time to wait.”

 

“Ahh,” Mrs. Boothby utters as she releases another heavy cough. “You only fink that cos yer a young’n. When youse get a bit older, you’ll come to realise that a year can fly by in the blink of an eye.”

 

Edith eyes the older woman dubiously.

 

“I don’t ‘pect you ta believe me right nah, but one day you’ll wake up and ask yerself where that time’s gone.”

 

“But a whole year and not being allowed to write to one another, Mrs. Boothby?”

 

“Well, there is that I s’pose, but my Bill were never a writer, an’ when ‘e went off ta sea and I wouldn’t ‘ear from ‘im for months and months, it were always wonderful when ‘e come home again. In fact, it made the time we did ‘ave all the more intense. We ‘ad ta cram the love we ‘ad for one annuver into a smaller space.” The old woman scratches her wiry grey hair. “What’s that old sayin’ about absence and yer ‘eart?”

 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Edith replies wistfully as she stares into her half empty teacup.

 

“There ya go then!” Mrs. Boothby slams the table, making all the crockery and the tin rattle. “If Miss Lettice really loves ‘er fancy man, an’ ‘e loves ‘er equally, then it’s meant to be, and no amount of time or distance can change that.”

 

“Do you really think so, Mrs. Boothby?”

 

“Course I do. That fancy Lady Zinnia might think she’s bein’ smart ‘n all by splittin’ her son from Miss Lettice, but she may find it might just backfire on ‘er, and serve her bloody right, if you’ll pardon me! I also know that they says that true love conquers all.” She smiles wisely, her dark eyes glinting from amongst her wrinkles in her weathered skin. “So let’s just ‘hope to God that Miss Lettice and ‘er duke really are truly in love.”

 

“Well, I think they are madly in love, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“Good! That’s a start then.” the old cockney woman replies positively. “Nah, best youse dry your eyes again, cos my Ken’ll be ‘ome soon for ‘is tea, an’ ‘ell be beside ‘imself if ‘e sees you blubbin’. ‘E won’t know whevva to punch the lights out of ‘er what made yer upset, or give you a big ‘ug to make you feel better.” She releases another few fruity coughs before taking another deep drag on her cigarette. “’E’s taken a shine to you ever since you gave ‘im those new Beatrix Potter books for Christmas, you know.”

 

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

 

**A rookery is a dense collection of housing, especially in a slum area. The rookeries created in Victorian times in London’s East End were notorious for their cheapness, filth and for being overcrowded.

 

***A Brown Betty is a type of teapot, round and with a manganese brown glaze known as Rockingham glaze. In the Victorian era, when tea was at its peak of popularity, tea brewed in the Brown Betty was considered excellent. This was attributed to the design of the pot which allowed the tea leaves more freedom to swirl around as the water was poured into the pot, releasing more flavour with less bitterness.

 

****Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.

 

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

 

******Photoplay was one of the first American film fan magazines. It was founded in 1911 in Chicago, the same year that J. Stuart Blackton founded Motion Picture Story, a magazine also directed at fans. For most of its run, Photoplay was published by Macfadden Publications. In 1921 Photoplay established what is considered the first significant annual movie award. The magazine ceased publication in 1980.

 

*******’Bluebeard's Eighth Wife’ is a 1923 American silent romantic comedy film produced by Famous Players–Lasky and distributed by Paramount Pictures. It was directed by Sam Wood and stars Gloria Swanson. The film is based on the French play ‘La huitième femme de Barbe-Bleue’ by Alfred Savoir which is based on the Bluebeard tales of the Fifteenth Century. The play ran on Broadway in 1921 starring Ina Claire in the Swanson role. Mona (Swanson) marries John Brandon and immediately after discovers that she is his eighth wife. Determined that she will not be the eighth to be divorced from him, she sets out on a teaser campaign which proves very effective until Brandon tells her that she is bought and paid for. Furious, she determines to give him grounds for a divorce and is subsequently found in her room with another man. In the end, however, Brandon discovers that she really loves him and they leave for a happy honeymoon.

 

*******Cosmetics in the 1920s were characterized by their use to create a specific look: lips painted in the shape of a Cupid's bow, kohl-rimmed eyes, and bright cheeks brushed with bright red blush. The heavily made-up look of the 1920s was a reaction to the demure, feminine Gibson Girl of the pre-war period. In the 1920s, an international beauty culture was forged, and society increasingly focused on novelty and change. Fashion trends influenced theatre, films, literature, and art. With the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb in Egypt, the fashion of kohl-rimmed eyes like Egyptian pharaohs was very popular in the early 1920s.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection.

 

Mrs. Boothby’s beloved collection of decorative “best” blue and white china on the kitchen table come from various online miniature stockists through E-Bay. The biscuits on the cake plate have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. They actually come in their own 1:12 miniature artisan tin, complete with appropriate labelling. The pretty Alphonse Mucha, Art Nouveau style, biscuit tin came as part of a job lot of miniature bits and pieces at an auction house more than twenty years ago. All the other pieces were too big for my requirements, but I bought the lot just for this tin. The Brown Betty teapot came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. Mrs. Boothby’s beaded handbag is also a 1:12 artisan miniature. Hand crocheted, it is interwoven with antique blue glass beads that are two millimetres in diameter. The beads of the handle are three millimetres in length.

 

Also on the table are Mrs. Boothby’s Player’s Navy Cut cigarette tin and Swan Vesta matches, which are 1:12 miniatures hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The black ashtray is also an artisan piece, the bae of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). Made by Nottingham based tobacconist manufacturer John Player and Sons, Player’s Medium Navy Cut was the most popular by far of the three Navy Cut brands (there was also Mild and Gold Leaf, mild being today’s rich flavour). Two thirds of all the cigarettes sold in Britain were Player’s and two thirds of these were branded as Player’s Medium Navy Cut. In January 1937, Player’s sold nearly 3.5 million cigarettes (which included 1.34 million in London). Production continued to grow until at its peak in the late 1950s, Player’s was employing 11,000 workers (compared to 5,000 in 1926) and producing 15 brands of pipe tobacco and 11 brands of cigarettes. Nowadays the brands “Player” and “John Player Special” are owned and commercialised by Imperial Brands (formerly the Imperial Tobacco Company). Swan Vestas is a brand name for a popular brand of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. Shorter than normal pocket matches they are particularly popular with smokers and have long used the tagline ‘the smoker’s match’ although this has been replaced by the prefix ‘the original’ on the current packaging. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard & Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced ‘Swan wax matches’. These were superseded by later versions including ‘Swan White Pine Vestas’ from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened ‘Swan Vestas’ in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s ‘Swan Vestas’ had become ‘Britain’s best-selling match’.

 

The various bowls, cannisters and dishes and the kettle in the background I have acquired from various online miniatures stockists throughout the United Kingdom, America and Australia.

 

The black Victorian era stove and the ladderback chair on the left of the table and the small table directly behind it are all miniature pieces I have had since I was a child. The ladderback chair on the right came from a deceased estate of a miniatures collector in Sydney.

My fellow citizens:

 

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

 

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often, the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebearers, and true to our founding documents.

 

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

 

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

 

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.

 

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America: They will be met.

 

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

 

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

 

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

 

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the fainthearted -- for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long, rugged path toward prosperity and freedom.

 

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

 

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

 

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

 

Time and again, these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

 

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

 

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act -- not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.

 

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

 

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account -- to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day -- because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

 

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

 

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

 

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

 

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort -- even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

 

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

 

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West: Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

 

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

 

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment -- a moment that will define a generation -- it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

 

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

 

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

 

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

 

This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

 

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -- why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

 

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

 

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive... that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."

 

America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back, nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

 

Shah lolak Waterfall is located in Charmehin, about 66 Km drive from Isfahan. it has 70 meter height .

  

آبشار زیبای شاه لولاک ( شاهلورا، شاهلران، شالور) چرمهین دارای 70 متر ارتفاع و از دل کوه شاهلولاک جاری است. این کوه دارای 2700 متر ارتفاع جز ارتفاعات گردنه رخ و از رشته کوههای زاگرس می باشد و در 66 کیلومتری شهر اصفهان واقع شده است.

آبشار داراي سه قسمت آبشارهاي فصلي (هلكي )ابشار دائمي وآب چكانهاست .

منحصربفردبودن آبشار ازاين جهت است كه آبشار بصورت چشمه از قلب كوه سرچشمه مي گيرد در حالي كه اغلب آبشارها ي موجود كشوربصورت جوي روان از روي سطح كوه به سمت پائين سرازير مي گردند.

 

قسمت زيرين آبشار دائمي با قنديل هاي عظيم نمكين به طرز باشكوهي آراسته گرديده است ،با توجه به ارتفاع زياد آبشار واستقرار قنديل هاي فوق آب هنگام ريزش با اكسيژن هوا تركيب شده ودر برخورد با قنديل ها به صورت پودر به زمين

پاشيده مي شود. سطح روئين اين قنديل ها با خزه وجلبك پوشيده شده كه به زيبايي آن مي افزاید

...

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 just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, at Mr. Willison’s grocers’ shop. Willison’s Grocers in Mayfair is where Lettice has an account, and it is from here that Edith, Lettice's maid, orders her groceries for the Cavendish Mews flat, except on special occasions, when professional London caterers are used. Mr. Willison prides himself in having a genteel, upper-class clientele including the households of many titled aristocrats who have houses and flats in the neighbourhood, and he makes sure that his shop is always tidy, his shelves well stocked with anything the cook of a duke or duchess may want, and staff who are polite and mannerly to all his important customers. The latter is not too difficult, for aside from himself, Mrs. Willison does his books, his daughter Henrietta helps on Saturdays and sometimes after she has finished school, which means Mr. Willison technically only employs one member of staff: Frank Leadbetter his delivery boy who carries orders about Mayfair on the bicycle provided for him by Mr. Willison. He also collects payments for accounts which are not settled in his Binney Street shop whilst on his rounds.

 

Lettice’s maid, Edith, is stepping out with Frank. Whilst Edith made a wonderful impression when she met Mrs. McTavish, her young beau Frank Leadbetter’s grandmother, less can be said for Frank who whilst pleasing Edith’s father, rubbed her mother the wrong way at the Sunday roast lunch Edith organised with her parents to meet Frank. Ever since then, Frank has been filled with remorse for speaking his mind a little more freely than he ought to have in front of Edith’s mother. Finally, Edith hit upon a possible solution to their problem, which is to introduce Mrs. McTavish to her parents. Being a kindly old lady who makes lace, with impeccable manners, Edith and Frank both hope that Mrs. McTavish will be able to impress upon Edith’s mother what a nice young man Frank is, in spite of his more forward-thinking ideas, which jar with her ways of thinking, and assure her how happy he makes Edith. After careful planning, today was the day that Edith raised the idea with her parents in their kitchen in Harlesden, and the response from Edith’s mother was most encouraging. Now Edith cannot wait to tell Frank the good news, so she takes a circuitous route from Down Street Railway Station* to Cavendish Mews so that she can walk past Willison’s Grocers in the hope of seeing Frank.

 

As she nears the grocer’s shop, she notices the side delivery door opening and hears the cheerful sound of Frank’s whistle accompanied by the click of chainrings and whir of the spokes of his Willison’s Grocers delivery bicycle. He wheels the smart black bicycle with a wicker basket on the front out and leans it against the brick wall of the grocers. Edith notices the basket is full of groceries, so she is lucky to have caught him as he prepares to make a delivery within the neighbourhood. Frank closes the door behind him and walks his bicycle up the alleyway towards the front of the shop, and unknowingly towards Edith, who stands on the street opposite the shopfront.

 

“Frank!” Edith calls. “Frank!” She waves her handkerchief at her beau to catch his attention as he looks around to see where her voice is coming from. Looking up the street to make sure there is no traffic coming, she scuttles across the road and joins Frank out the front of the grocers which is plastered with advertisements for different household products and pantry staples.

 

“Edith! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Frank says with a beaming smile as he gazes across at her. “I’m afraid I’m just about to dash out on a delivery for the Duchess of Maybury’s cook.”

 

“Yes,” Edith nods towards the basket on the front of the bicycle in which sits a Willison’s shopping bag full of groceries. A bottle top with a gleaming lid and a leafy head of romaine lettuce poke out of it, “I can see that Frank.”

 

“Oh it’s alright,” Frank replies. “I can tarry for a few minutes,” He looks anxiously over his left shoulder to the shop window behind him which is stacked full of produce and colourful advertising posters: his latest window display. “So long as old Mrs. Willison doesn’t catch us. You know what she’ll think.” He raises his eyebrows.

 

“Yes,” Edith sighs knowingly. “That we’re lowering the tone of the establishment by fraternising out the front.”

 

“Exactly.” Frank agrees with a quick nod of ascent. “So, quickly, before I push off to Grosvenor Square**, what can I do for my best girl on a Wednesday afternoon? A jar of black Astrakhan caviar***? Or,” He delves into the paper shopping bag like a magician reaching into his magical top hat, making it crumple noisily in the process. “A packet of Rowntree’s Jelly Crystals****?” he asks, withdrawing a prettily decorated box with the name emblazoned in cursive writing over a drawing of cornucopia of fruits spilling across a table. He sniffs the box theatrically, as if he can smell every fruit illustrated on the front of the box.

 

“Oh get away with you, Frank!” giggles Edith prettily as she swats at him kittenishly. “No, I’ve just come to tell you that everything went well this afternoon, Frank.” She beams proudly.

 

Frank’s face crumples as he looks into his sweetheart’s happy and expectant face as he tries to recollect what she is talking about. After a few minutes deliberation he gives up. “What went well, Edith?”

 

“Oh Frank!” she sighs in exasperation, her smile falling away as disappointment clouds her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember!”

 

He shrugs his shoulders, the v in his knitted vest rising and falling about his neck as he does.

 

“You don’t remember, then.” Edith mutters, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are impossible sometimes, Frank Leadbetter!” she tuts. “I went to talk to Mum today,” She pauses. “About having your granny over for lunch one Sunday. Remember?”

 

“Oh!” Frank’s eyes grow wide and clear as he recollects the conversation that Edith had with him on Sunday as they waited in the queue for a table at the Lyons Corner House***** on Tottenham Court Road. “Oh yes! How did it go then?”

 

“Splendidly, Frank!” Edith enthuses, restoring her good humour, rising up on her toes in pleasure. “In fact, it went better than I’d hoped for.”

 

“So your mum said yes then?”

 

“She did!” Edith acknowledges. “And best of all, Dad was home then too, and he’s just as pleased about meeting her as Mum is. He said it was ‘a capital idea’! Now what do you think of that then?”

 

“That sounds spiffing, Edith!” Frank replies excitedly with a slightly quavering laugh.

 

“And Mum agreed because she knows as well as Dad that we’re serious about one another, so she agreed. I said that your granny wasn’t up to hosting lunch herself, being older and all… oh, and I told Mum about her bad teeth not being up to lots of chewing. So, Mum said she’s make one of her beef stews with suet dumplings.”

 

“Oh Gran will like that.”

 

“Yes, I thought she would.”

 

“I will too.” adds Frank with a smirk.

 

“And Mum said that she’d make her cherry pie for you, since you like it so much.”

 

“Oh ripping!” exclaims Frank. “Well, that is a turn up for the books!” He pauses and thinks. “Perhaps I actually made a better impression on her than I thought I had, if she’s willing to bake me her cherry pie.”

 

“Well, thinking of making a good impression, I think that we had better have a word with your granny about what happened when you came over for lunch.”

 

“About me rubbing your mum up the wrong way, do you mean?”

 

“Well, yes Frank.” Edith mutters guiltily. She quickly looks up into his youthful face. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that. I want us to all put our best foot forward this time. We don’t want any mistakes. If we’re honest with your granny, she’ll understand that to help us aid your cause, she can say all those nice things that she does. We won’t be asking her to lie to Mum, just… just…”

 

“Gild the lily?” Frank proffers hopefully.

 

“Gild the what?”

 

Frank chuckles. “It means to praise something highly. To talk it up.”

 

“You do have some funny turns of phrase sometimes, Frank.” Edith laughs.

 

“I guess it comes from reading all those books I do.”

 

“I expect so. I love it though, Frank. I never know what you’re going to say, and I always learn something new.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you find me educational, if nothing else.” Frank says teasingly, fishing for a compliment.

 

“Oh, you know I find much more in you than someone to educate me, Frank!” Edith replies with a shy smile. “Anyway, going back to what we were saying just before, if we get your granny to talk you up a bit in front of Mum, gild the… the…”

 

“Lily, Edith.”

 

“Yes, that,” Edith gesticulates as if pushing it aside. “Then it can’t do any harm. Can it?”

 

“I suppose not.” Frank shrugs.

 

“Of course it can’t, Frank, and it will help Mum look on you more favourably as my beau, and her future son-in-law… one day.” Edith adds quickly, seeing the surprise in Frank’s eyes. The pair have agreed that they want to save some money first between them before they officially become engaged.

 

“So how to do we arrange it then, Edith?”

 

“Well, Mum told me to have a chat with you and your granny. Then I can let her know by sending her a postcard****** between now and next Wednesday with details as to what she says. So, maybe you and I should give up going to the pictures this Sunday and go and have a chat with her instead. What do you think, Frank?”

 

“I think it sounds like a fine plan, Edith.”

 

Suddenly there is a loud rapping on the glass. Edith and Frank both turn with wide and startled eyes and see a steely faced Mrs. Willison peering at them through a small amount of exposed glass in the grocer’s window. She suspiciously eyes the pair through her pince-nez*******. Her face disappears into the dark inner gloom of the shop. Then the alert bell rings cheerily as she opens the plate glass door with Mr. Willison’s name painted in neat gilt lettering upon it. Stepping across the threshold she stands astride the stoop, half in, half out of the shop, and folds her arms akimbo. Edith looks up, unnerved, at the proprietor’s wife and bookkeeper, her upswept hairstyle as old fashioned as her high necked starched shirtwaister******** blouse down the front of which runs a long string of faceted jet black beads.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Watsford. May I help you?” Mrs. Willison asks haughtily, her eyes drifting meaningfully to the table in front of the window covered in boxes containing onions, carrots, potatoes, apples and oranges. “Is there something we have missed from your order for the Honourable Miss Chetwynd earlier in the week?”

 

“Err… no, Mrs. Willison,” Edith manages to stammer under the sharp gaze of the old Edwardian shopkeeper. “I was… was, just…”

 

“Then I strongly suggest you go about your business, Miss Watsford, and stop tarrying in front of my husband’s establishment, fraternising with Mr. Leadbetter in the public thoroughfare.” Mrs. Willison scrutinises Edith’s fashionable and brightly coloured frock with the pretty lace collar. The hem of the skirt is following the current style and sits higher than any of Mrs. Willison’s own dresses and it reveals Edith’s shapely stockinged calves. She wears her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers over her neatly pinned chignon. “What you both choose to do on your days off is your own affair, but I do not want Willison’s to gain a reputation of ill repute as a meeting place for young people with idle time on their hands.” She turns her attentions to Frank. “I thought I saw you leaving for Grosvenor Square a little while ago, Mr. Leadbetter. You should have been back by now since it’s only around the corner, but I can see by the basket that you haven’t been there yet.”

 

Err… yes, I mean, no, Mrs. Willison.” Frank stammers.

 

“Mrs. Dulwich will be expecting you.” Mrs. Willison says matter-of-factly, her voice moderate and her tone even. “We don’t want Her Grace waiting for her dinner now, do we?”

 

“Err… no, Mrs, Willison.” Frank replies in sheepish apology.

 

“Then off you!” replies Mrs. Willison crisply, clapping her hands. “Quick sticks!”

 

“We’ll meet on Sunday, “ Frank says as he hurriedly adjusts his cap on his head. “I’ll let Gran know to be expecting us both.”

 

Then without tarrying any longer, Frank gets astride his bicycle and starts off down the road away from the grocers, heading south down Binney Street towards Grosvenor Square. With one final peevish look at Edith, Mrs. Willison steps back into the darkness of her shop’s interior, and allows the door to close behind her, the bell tinkling prettily as she does.

 

Left on her own, Edith begins to walk the short distance back to Cavendish Mews. Usually after such a rebuke as that she received from Mrs. Willison, Edith would be upset, but today, with the good news that her mother will host luncheon for Mrs. McTavish, she has a spring in her step. There is a lightness in her heart that everything is going to begin to fall nicely into place for she and Frank as their relationship strengthens and their bond grows deeper.

 

*Once part of the Great Northern Piccadilly and Brompton Railway – which gave rise to the modern Piccadilly line, Down Street station was closed in 1932, a mere twenty-five years after opening. Squashed quite closely between Hyde Park Corner and Dover Street (now known as Green Park), it suffered from low passenger numbers due to both the proximity of its neighbours, and the wealth of its local residents, who could afford more comfortable means of transport. Down Street wasn’t out of action for too long, however; in 1939, it was earmarked for use during the war effort. Once the platforms were bricked up, it was home to the Railway Executive Committee, before playing host to Winston Churchill and his War Cabinet before the Cabinet War Rooms were built – Churchill was known to affectionately refer to it as “The Barn”. There was no further use for it after the war, which means Down Street has stood empty ever since.

 

**Grosvenor Square is a large garden square in the Mayfair district of Westminster, Greater London. It is the centrepiece of the Mayfair property of the Duke of Westminster, and takes its name from the duke's surname "Grosvenor". It was developed for fashionable residences in the Eighteenth Century.

 

***Astrakhan caviar combines high quality Ossetra and Siberian caviar. According to testimonies it has “a wonderful nutty flavour, and a pleasant iodine finish”.

 

****Founded by Henry Isaac Rowntree in Castlegate in York in 1862, Rowntree's developed strong associations with Quaker philanthropy. Throughout much of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, it was one of the big three confectionery manufacturers in the United Kingdom, alongside Cadbury and Fry, both also founded by Quakers. In 1981, Rowntree's received the Queen's Award for Enterprise for outstanding contribution to international trade. In 1988, when the company was acquired by Nestlé, it was the fourth-largest confectionery manufacturer in the world. The Rowntree brand continues to be used to market Nestlé's jelly sweet brands, such as Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums, and is still based in York.

 

*****J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

******One hundred years ago, postcards were the most common and easiest way to communicate with loved ones not only across countries whilst on holidays, but across neighbourhoods on a daily basis ‘de leurs jours’ with the minutiae of life on them. This is because unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily basis or , there were several deliveries done a day. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman. This means that people in the early Twentieth Century amassed vast collections of picture postcards which today are highly collectible depending upon their theme.

 

*******Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

********A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful Edwardian shopfront is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Frank’s black metal delivery bicycle with its basket on the front came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The sign on the body of the bicycle I made myself with the aid of the brown paper bag in the front of the basket which bears the name “Walter Willison’s Tea and Grocery”. The paper bag is actually filled with grocery items, which along with the bag were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Edith’s green leather handbag leaning against the bicycle I acquired as part of a larger collection of 1:12 artistan miniature hats, bags and accessories I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. Her small wicker basket I acquired from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The onions, carrots, potatoes and oranges on the display table all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, and are just some of the dizzying and ever growing array of realistic looking fruit and vegetables in 1:12 scale that they supply to collectors. Also on the display table is a box of apples which are all very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The white cloth bags at the base of the table I have had since I was a teenager. The romaine lettuce in the bicycle basket and in the wicker basket on the ground I acquired from an auction house some years ago as part of a lot of hand made artisan miniatures. The bag of carrots came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The wooden boxes the fruit and vegetables are in, the basket with the greenery in it and the pottery jug all came from the same 1:12 miniatures supplier online that Edith’s basket came from.

 

The tree that is blurred in the foreground and the red metal wall mounted letterbox both came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The advertisements along the wall of the shop are all 1:12 size posters made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken is known mostly for the 1;12 miniature books he created. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but he also produced other items, including posters. All of these are genuine copies of real Edwardian posters. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these items 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.

 

A co-operative wholesale society, or CWS, is a form of co-operative federation (that is, a co-operative in which all the members are co-operatives), in this case, the members are usually consumer cooperatives. The best historical examples of this are the English CWS and the Scottish CWS, which are the predecessors of the 21st century Co-operative Group. Indeed, in Britain, the terms Co-operative Wholesale Society and CWS are used to refer to this specific organisation rather than the organisational form. They sold things like tea and cocoa. The English and Scottish Co-operative Wholesale Society opened its own new Luton cocoa factory in 1902. The factory was demolished in 1970.

 

W.D. & H.O. Wills was a British tobacco manufacturing company formed in Bristol.. It was the first British company to mass-produce cigarettes, and one of the founding companies of Imperial Tobacco along with John Player & Sons. Brands they manufactured included Cinderella Cigarettes and Firefly Cigarettes.

Explainer: While I wish I could fully dress, wig-up and make-up regularly, those days are rare. So I post these AI renderings. FYI: the photos are AI generated, from actual photos of me, enhanced slightly with FaceApp and then dressed from outfits I see and love on the interweb. Enjoy them or not! I do, that's all that matters! Love, Crystal

Those kopeks were left by the generous people, for the sake of creating beauty. They used the warmth of their fingers to melt the coins into ice. The evening hours and inner light made ice look dark blue.

 

The original image suffered a lot from the bad exposure. Coins did not look clean and sharp at all.

 

Happy flickering, my dear friends and visitors.

 

Boris

 

www.wordnik.com/words/generous

 

quizlet.com/2453756/social-studies-final-exam-6th-grade-c...

Macro Monday, theme: Generosity

21-March-2011

  

"Give thanks for your blessings and share them generously."

~ Anonymous

 

memories, memories, memories...

 

Thanks for stopping by

and God Bless,

hugs, Chris

 

Leaving Deal and driving out into the countryside, I see the octagonal shingled tower of Worth, and winder if it was open.

 

I drive down the one of the two roads into the village, they meet at the pond, the same corner which the church sits.

 

Jools went to check if it is open, and I am rewarded with a thumbs up from over the wall of the churchyard.

 

A lady is on duty all day, armed with a book, newspaper and CD player, I tank her generously as her dedication and of people like her, make ride and stride and heritage weekend possible.

 

Despite wanting to get back insode for nearly a decoade, truth is, once inside there isn't too much I missed, just the detail, really.

 

Some fine Victorian tiles, some with a round camel motif, can't say I've see that before, if I'm honest.

 

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

 

WORD.

WRITTEN formerly Worthe, is the next parish eastward from Woodnesborough, which latter is the original Saxon name, the letter d in that language being stricken through, making it the same sound as th. (fn. 1)

 

There are three boroughs in this parish, viz. Felderland, Word-street, and Hackling; the borsholders for the two former of which are appointed at Eastrycourt, being within the jurisdiction of that manor; for the latter at Adisham, which manor claims over a part of this borough.

 

THE PARISH OF WORD lies very flat and low, and is very unhealthy; it is in shape very long and narrow, being near three miles from east to west, and not more than one mile across the other way. The village called Word-street, containing twenty-nine houses, having the church close to it, is situated nearly in the middle of the parish; at the southern boundary of which, is the hamlet of Hackling, containing five houses, the principal estate in which, called Hackling farm, belongs to Mrs. Eleanor Dare, of Felderland. At the western extremity of the parish is the borough and hamlet of Felderland, or Fenderland, partly in Word, and partly in Eastry, formerly esteemed a manor, the property of the Manwoods, afterwards of the Harveys, of Combe, and now belonging to the right hon. PeterLewis-Francis, earl Cowper; adjoining to which, in the same borough, is the farm of Upton, situated about a quarter of a mile westward of the church, the estate of which likewise belongs to earl Cowper.

 

At a small distance further the marshes begin, where there is a parcel of land called Worth, or Worde Minnis, and belongs to the archbishop, the present lessee being Mr. Thomas Rammel, of Eastry. Here are two streams, called the south and north streams, which direct their course through these marshes northwestward towards Sandwich; the latter of these was formerly the famous water of Gestling, through which the sea once flowed, and was noted much for being the water in which felons were punished by drowning, their bodies being carried by the current of it into the sea. The marshes here are called Lydden valley, (from the manor of Lydde-court, in this parish, below described, called formerly Hlyden) which is under the direction of the commissioners of sewers for the eastern parts of Kent; and to which the north stream is the common sewer. The marshes continue beyond this stream about half a mile northward, where the sand downs begin.

 

These sand downs are a long bank of sand, covered with green swerd of very unequal surface, and edge the sea shore for five miles and upwards from Peppernesse, which is the south east point of Sandwich bay, as far as Deal. They are about a quarter of a mile broad, except about the castle, which is, from its situation, called Sandowne castle, where they end with the beach, but a little way within the shore, about the middle of them is a cut, called the Old Haven, which runs slanting from the sea along these downs, near but not quite into the river Stour, about three quarters of a mile eastward below Sandwich. The castle of Sandowne is situated about half a mile from the north end of the town of Deal; it was built with Deal castle, and several others, by king Henry VIII. in the year 1539, for the desence of this coast, each being built with four round lunets of very thick stone arched work, with many large portholes; in the middle is a great round tower, with a large cistern for water on the top of it; underneath is an arched cavern, bomb proof; the whole is encompassed with a fossee, over which is a draw-bridge. It is under the government of the lord warden, who appoints the captain and other officers of it, by the act of 32d of king Henry VIII. This castle has lately had some little repair made to it, which, however, has made it but barely habitable.

 

This parish contains about fifty houses. The lands in it are of about the annual value of 3000l. The soil is very rich and fertile, and may properly be called the garden of this part of Kent, and is the most productive for wheat, of any perhaps within the county. There are no woodlands in it. There is no fair.

 

THE PRINCIPAL MANOR in this parish is that of LYDDE-COURT, written in Saxon,Hlyden, which was given by Offa, king of Mercia, in the year 774, to the church of Christ, in Canterbury, L. S. A. as the charter expresses it, meaning, with the same franchises and liberties that the manor of Adisham had before been given to it. After which, this manor continued with the priory of Christ-church, and king Edward I. in his 7th year, granted to it the liberty and franchise of wreck of the sea, apud le Lyde, which I suppose to be this manor; and king Edward II. in his 10th year, granted to the priory, free-warren within their demesne lands within it; (fn. 2) and in this state this manor continued till the dissolution of the priory in the 31st year of king Henry VIII. when it came into the king's hands, who settled it, among other premises, in his 33d year, on his new erected dean and chapter of Canterbury, by whom it was afterwards, in the 36th year of that reign, regranted to the king, who sold it that year to Stephen Motte, and John Wylde, gent. and they alienated it to Richard Southwell, who in the 1st year of king Edward VI. passed it away by sale to Thomas Rolfe, and he afterwards conveyed it to William Lovelace, serjeant-at-law, who died possessed of it in 1576, and his son Sir William Lovelace, of Bethersden, alienated it to Thomas Smith, esq. of Westenhanger, from whom it descended down to Philip, viscount Strangford, who sold it to Herbert Randolph, esq. and he passed away a part of it, called afterwards Lydde Court Ingrounds, with the manor or royalty of Lydde-court, in Word and Eastry, and lands belonging to it, in 1706, to Sir Henry Furnese, bart. of Waldershare, and his grandson of the same name, dying in 1735, under age and unmarried, his estates became vested in his three sisters, as the three daughters and coheirs of his father Sir Robert Furnese, in equal shares, in coparcenary. After which a partition of them having been agreed to, which was confirmed by an act next year, this manor, with the lands and appurtenances belonging to it, was allotted to Selina, the third daughter, (fn. 3) who afterwards married E. Dering, esq. and entitled him to this estate. He survived her and afterwards succeeded his father in the title of baronet, and continued in the possession of this estate till 1779, when he passed it away by sale to Mr. William Walker and Mr. James Cannon, of Deal, Who are the present owners of it.

 

The house, called the Downes house, is the courtlodge, but no court has been held for many years.

 

THE REMAINING, and by far the greatest partof this estate, called, for distinction,

 

LYDDE-COURT OUTGROUNDS, was likewise in the possession of the Smiths, of Westenhanger, and was demised by Thomas Smith, esq. of that place, to Roger Manwood, jurat of Sandwich, for a long term of years, at which time the outer downs were enwarrened for hares and rabbits.

 

From Thomas Smythe, esq. this estate descended down to Philip, viscount Strangford, who sold the whole of it, with the manor, royalties, &c. as has been mentioned before, to Herbert Randolph, esq. who passed a way the manor and part of the lands belonging to it, to Sir Henry Furnese, bart. and the other, being by far the greatest part of it, since called Lydde Court Outgrounds, to Richard Harvey, esq. of Eythorne, who in 1720 alienated it to Sir Robert Furnese, bart. before mentioned, in whose descendants it continued down to Catherine, his daughter and coheir, who carried it in marriage, first to Lewis, earl of Rockingham, and secondly to Francis, earl of Guildford, to whom on her death in 1766, she devised this estate. He died possessed of it in 1790, and his grandson, the right hon. George Augustus, earl of Guildford, is the present possessor of it. This estate comprehends all that tract of land, partly sandy, partly marshy, and the whole nearly pasturage, lying on the south side of Sandwich haven, bounded on the east by the sea shore, and on the west by the ditch, along which the footway to Deal leads, and which is the eastern boundary of Lydde court Inngrounds.

 

In the year 1565, there was a suit in the star chamber, respecting a road from Sandowne gate and Sandwich, to the castle in the Downes, which was referred to the archbishop and Sir Richard Sackville; who awarded, that there should be a highway sixteen feet broad over Lyd-court grounds.

 

SANDOWNE, so called from the sand downs over which it principally extends, is a manor, which lies partly in this parish, and partly in that of St. Clement's, in Sandwich, within the jurisdiction of which corporation the latter part of it is. This manor was antiently the estate of the Perots, who held the same, as the private deeds of this name and family shew, as high as the reign of king Henry III. Thomas de Perot died possessed of it in the 4th year of that reign, at which time he had those privileges and franchises, the same as other manors of that time; Henry Perot, the last of this name, at the beginning of king Edward III.'s reign, was succeeded by John de Sandhurst, who left an only daughter and heir Christian, who married William de Langley. (fn. 4) After which it continued in his descendants till it passed to the Peytons, and thence in like manner as Knolton above described, by sale to the Narboroughs, and afterwards by marriage to Sir Thomas D'Aeth, bart whose grandson Sir Narborough D's Aeth, bart. now of Knolton, is the present owner of it. A court baron is held for this manor.

 

There are no parochial charities.The poor constantly relieved are about twenty-five, casually as many.

 

THIS PARISH is within the ECCLESIASTICAL JURISDICTION of the diocese of Canterbury, and deanryof Sandwich.

 

¶The church, which is dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, is a small mean building, having a low pointed wooden turret at the west end, in which are two bells. The church consists of a nave, two isles, and a chancel, the north isle extending only about halfway towards the west end. In the south wall of the chancel is an arched tomb, on which probably was once the figure of some person, who was the founder, or at least a good benefactor towards the building. In the south isle are several gravestones for the Philpotts, of this parish; and an altar monument for Mr. Ralph Philpott, obt. 1704.

 

In the church-yard are altar tombs to the memories of the same family of Philpott.

 

The church of Word, or Worth, has ever been esteemed as a chapel to the mother church of Eastry, and continues so at this time, being accounted as a part of the same appropriation, a further account of which may be seen in the description of that church before. The vicar of Eastry is inducted to the vicarage of the church of Eastry, with the chapels of Shrinkling and Word annexed to it.

 

It is included with the church of Eastry in the valuation of it in the king's books. In 1578 here were communicants one hundred and forty-four, in 1644 only one hundred and fourteen.

 

The rectorial or great tithes of this parish, as part of the rectory of Eastry, were demised on a beneficial lease, to the late countess dowager of Guildford, whose younger children are now entitled to the present interest in this lease.

 

The lessee of the parsonage is bound to repair the chancel of this church.

 

www.british-history.ac.uk/survey-kent/vol10/pp145-151

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Annapurna trekking region of Nepal enjoy with magnificent view close to highest and impressive mountain range in the world. Day exploration in Pokhara and morning morning flight to Jomsom or drive to Besishisahar from Kathmandu begin of trek. High destination, Muktinath 3800m and in generally highest point of whole Annapurna is 5416m. Thorangla la is situated in Buddhist Monastery, an eternal flame, and Hindus Vishnu Tempe of Juwala Mai making it a pilgrimage site for both Hindus and Buddhists and Muktinath is on the way down from popular trekking it call Thorang la pass which is incredible view in Annapurna region. Whenever possible we will arrive at lodging mid-afternoon, which should leave plenty time for explore the local villages, enjoy the hot springs at Tatopani, continue to Ghorepani where there is forever the possibility of sunrise hike to Poon Hill for spectacular views of Dhaulagiri, Fishtail, Nilgiri and the Annapurna Himalaya range. Continue on to Birethanti finally between with the Baglung road where we will catch cab to Pokhara, next day drive or fly to Kathmandu.

 

Everest trekking region, although fairly effortless compare to some of other trek, takes you high along trails to Tengboche monastery Everest Solu Khumbu is the district south and west of Mount Everest. It is inhabited by sherpa, cultural group that has achieve fame because of the develop of its men on climbing expeditions. Khumbu is the name of the northern half of this region above Namche, includes highest mountain (Mt. Everest 8848m.) in the world. Khumbu is in part of Sagarmatha National Park. This is a short trek but very scenic trek offers really superb view of the world's highest peaks, including Mt. Everest, Mt. Lhotse, Mt. Thamserku, Mt. Amadablam and other many snowy peaks. Fly from Kathmandu to Lukla it is in the Khumbu region and trek up to Namche Bazzar, Tyangboche and into the Khumjung village, a very nice settlement of Sherpas people. This trek introduction to Everest and Sherpa culture with great mountain views, a very popular destination for first time trekkers in Nepal. Justifiably well-known world uppermost mountain (8848m.) and also for its Sherpa villages and monasteries. Few days trek from Lukla on the highland, takes you to the entry to Sagarmatha National Park and town of Namche Bazaar is entrance of Everest Trek. Environment of the towering Himalayas is a very delicate eco-system that is effortlessly put out of balance.

 

Langtang trekking region mixture of three beautiful trek taking us straight into some of the wildest and most pretty areas of Nepal. Starting from the lovely hill town of Syabrubensi our trek winds during gorgeous rhododendron and conifer forests throughout the Langtang National Park on the way to the higher slopes. Leads up to the high alpine yak pastures, glaciers and moraines around Kyanging. Along this route you will have an chance to cross the Ganja La Pass if possible from Langtang Valley. Trail enters the rhododendron (National flower of Nepal) forest and climbs up to alpine yak pastures at Ngegang (4404m). From Ngegang we make a climb of Ganja La Pass (5122m). We start southwest, sliding past Gekye Gompa to reach Tarkeghyang otherwise we take a detour and another unique features of trekking past, the holy lakes of Gosainkund (4300 m.) cross into Helambu via Laurebina to Ghopte (3430 m) and further to Trakegyang. Northern parts of the area mostly fall within the boundaries of Langtang National park.

 

Peak Climbing in Nepal is great view of Himalayas and most various geological regions in asia. Climbing of peaks in Nepal is restricted under the rules of Nepal Mountaineering Association. Details information and application for climbing permits are available through Acute Trekking. First peak climbing in Nepal by Tenzing Norgey Sherpa and Sir Edmund Hilary on May 29, 1953 to Mt. Everest. Trekking Agency in Nepal necessary member from Nepal Mountaineering Association. Our agency will arrange equipment, guides, high altitude porters, food and all necessary gears for climbing in Nepal. Although for some peaks, you need to contribute additional time, exertion owing to improved elevation and complexity. Climbing peaks is next step beyond simply trekking and basic mountaineering course over snow line with ice axe, crampons, ropes etc under administration and coaching from climbing guide, who have substantial mountaineering knowledge and for your climbing in mountain.

 

Everest Base Camp Trek well noon its spectacular mountain peaks and the devotion and openness of its inhabitants, the Everest region is one of the most popular destination for tourists in Nepal. While numerous of the routes through the mountains are difficult, there are plenty places to rest and enjoy a meal along the way. Additionally, don't worry about receiving lost. Just ask a local the way to the next village on your route, and they will direct you. Most Sherpas under the age of fifty can at least understand basic English, and many speak it fluently.

 

Annapurna Base Camp Trek is the major peaks of the western portion of the great Annapurna Himalaya, Annapurna South, Fang, Annapurna, Ganagapurna, Annapurna 3 and Machhapuchhare and including Annapurna first 8091 meters are arranged almost exactly in a circle about 10 miles in diameter with a deep glacier enclosed field at the center. From this glacier basin, known as the Annapurna base camp trek (Annapurna sanctuary trek), the Modi Khola way south in a narrow ravine fully 12 thousand ft. deep. Further south, the ravine opens up into a wide and fruitful valley, the domain of the Gurungs. The center and upper portions of Modi Khola offer some of the best short routes for trekking in Nepal and the valley is situated so that these treks can be easily joint with treks into the Kali Gandaki (Kali Gandaki is name of the river in Nepal) region to the west.

 

Upper Mustang Trekking name Make an escapade beginning from world deepest gorge Kaligandaki valley into world's highest area of Lo-Mangthang valley that passes through an almost tree-less barren landscape, a steep stony trail up and down hill and panorama views of high Annapurna Himalaya including Nilgiri, Annapurna, Dhaulagiri and numerous other peaks. The trek passes through high peaks, passes, glaciers, and alpine valleys. The thousands years of seclusion has kept the society, lifestyle and heritage remain unaffected for centuries and to this date.

 

Helicopter Tour in Nepal having high mountains and wonderful landscape of countryside but is effortlessly reachable by land transport, is known as helicopter tours country. Helicopter services industry in Nepal is now well well-known with many types and categories of helicopters for the fly to different of Nepal. The pilots are very knowledgeable expert with 1000 of flying hours knowledge in Nepal. We have service for helicopter is outstanding reputations and established records for reliable emergency and rescue flight too. Here we would like to offer some of amazing helicopter tour in Himalaya country of Nepal. Further more details information about Nepal tour itinerary for helicopter tour in different part of Nepal contact us without hesitation.

 

Kathmandu Pokhra Tour is an exclusive tour package specially designed for all level travelers. Kathmandu Pokhara tour package is effortless tour alternative for Nepal visitors. This tour package vacation the historically significant and ethnically rich capital (Kathmandu ) of Nepal and the most stunning city of world by the nature, Pokhara. Mountain museum and world peace stupa are another charming of Pokhara tour. Pokhara is the center of escapade tourism in Nepal. Package tour to Kathmandu Pokhara is design to discover highlighted areas of Kathmandu and Pokhara valley. Nepal is the country which is socially and geographically different that’s why we powerfully recommend you discover Nepal to visit once in life time. It is hard to explore all Nepal in one Nepal tours trip in this way we design this trip to show you the highlights of Nepal especially in Kathmandu and Pokhara.

 

Adventure trekking in the southern part of the asia continent there lays a tiny rectangular kingdom squeezed between two hugely populated countries, China to the north and India to the south, this country is Nepal a world of its own. Adventure trekking is a type of tourism, involving exploration or travel to remote, exotic and possibly hostile areas. Adventure trekking in Nepal is rapidly growing in popularity, as tourists seek different kinds of vacations. The land of contrast is presumably the exact way to define the scenery of Nepal for you will find maximum world highest peaks high high up above the clouds determined for the gods above. Straight, active and attractive learning experience adventure trekking in Nepal that engross the whole person and have real adventure. Mt. Everest, Kanchenjunga, Daulagiri, and Annapurna and many more are there for the offering for mountain-lovers, adventurers and travelers.

 

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Trekking in Nepal - Nepal Trekking - Tea House Trekking - Lodge Trekking - Kathmandu Pokhara Tour - High Pass Trekking - Luxury Trekking in Nepal - Luxury Tour in Nepal - Helicopter Tour in Nepal - Nepal Helicopter Tour - Annapurna Trekking - Annapurna Base Camp Trek - Annapurna Sanctuary Trek - Annapurna Panirama Trekking - Ghorepani Trekking - Jomsom Muktinath Trekking - Annapurna Circuit Trekking - Annapurna Round Trekking - Tilicho Mesokanto Trekking - Tilicho Lake Mesokanto Pass Trekking - Upper Mustang Trekking - Everest Trekking - Everest Base Camp Trek - Everest Panorama Trekking - Gokyo Trekking - Gokyo Everest Trekking - Renjola Pass Trekking - Kongmala Pass Trekking - Three Pass Trekking - Jiri Everest Trekking - Langtang Trekking - Langtang Valley Trekking - Gosaikunda Trekking - Helambu Trekking - Tamang Heritage Trekking - Chisapani Nagarkot Trekking - Kathmandu Valley Cultural Trekking - Langtang Gosaikunda Helambu Trekking - Ganjala Pass Trekking - Peak Climbing in Nepal - Nepal Peak Climbing - High Pass Trekking - Nepal For All Season - Package Tour in Nepal - Island Peak Climbing - Mera Peak Climbing - Pisang Peak Climbing - Adventure Trekking - Adventures Trekking - Mustang Trekking - Upper Mustang Trek - Lower Mustang Trekking - Seasonal Package Trekking Tours in Nepal - Annapurna Trekking Region - Annapurna Base Camp Trek - Everest Trekking Region - Gokyo Trekking - Langtang Trekking Region - Tea House Trek or Lodge Trek - Three Pass Trekking or Everest High Pass Trekking

Lepanthes felis 'Kevin's Generosity' AM/AOS, CCM/AOS - Ron Parsons

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 following Lettice’s maid, Edith, who together with her beau, local grocery delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, have wended their way north-east from Cavendish Mews, through neighbouring Soho to the Lyons Corner House* on the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road. As always, the flagship restaurant on the first floor is a hive of activity with all the white linen covered tables occupied by Londoners indulging in the treat of a Lyon’s luncheon or early afternoon tea. Between the tightly packed tables, the Lyons waitresses, known as Nippies**, live up to their name and nip in and out, showing diners to empty tables, taking orders, placing food on tables and clearing and resetting them after diners have left. The cavernous space with its fashionable Art Deco wallpapers and light fixtures and dark Queen Anne English style furnishing is alive with colour, movement and the burbling noises of hundreds of chattering voices, the sound of cutlery against crockery and the clink of crockery and glassware fills the air brightly.

 

Amidst all the comings and goings, Edith and Frank wait patiently in a small queue of people waiting to be seated at the next available table, lining up in front of a glass top and fronted case full of delicious cakes. Frank reaches around a woman standing in front of them in a navy blue dress with red piping and a red cloche and snatches a golden yellow menu upon which the name of the restaurant is written in elegant cursive script. He proffers one to Edith, but she shakes her head shallowly at him.

 

“You’ve brought me here so many times, Frank, I practically know the Lyons menu by heart, Frank.”

 

Frank’s face falls. “You don’t mind coming here again, do you Edith?” he asks gingerly, almost apologetically.

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith laughs good naturedly. She tightens her grip comfortingly around his arm as she stands beside him with it looped through his. “Of course I don’t mind? Why should I mind? I love coming here. This is far grander than any other tea shop around here, and the food is delicious.”

 

“Well so long as you don’t think it’s dull and predicable, Edith.”

 

“How could anything be dull and predictable with you involved in it, Frank?”

 

Frank blushes at his sweetheart’s compliment. “Well it’s just that we seem to have fallen into rather a routine, going to the Premier in East Ham*** every few weeks, before coming here for tea.”

 

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, Frank. You know I love going to the pictures, and a slap-up tea from here is nothing to sneeze at.”

 

“Well, so long as you don’t mind, Edith.”

 

“Frank Leadbetter, I don’t mind anything that I do with you.” Edith squeezes his arm again. “Anyway, it isn’t like we haven’t done other things on our days off as well between our visits here. We go walking in Hyde and Regent’s Parks and Kensington Gardens, and we do go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais****, so it’s not always the same.”

 

“And you’ve been a good sport, coming with me to the National Portrait Gallery.” Frank adds with a happy smile.

 

“Oh, I loved gong there, Frank!” enthuses Edith. “Like I told you, I never knew that there were galleries of art that were open to then public. If I had, I might have gone sooner.” She smiles with satisfaction. “But then again, if I had known about it, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of you introducing me to it. I’m looking forward to us going back again one day.”

 

“But I suspect you enjoy the pictures more than the National Gallery.” Frank chuckles knowingly.

 

“Well,” Edith feels a flush fill her cheeks with red. “It is true that I perhaps feel a bit more comfortable at the pictures than the gallery, Frank, but,” She clarifies. “That’s only because my parents never took me to the gallery when I was growing up, like your grandparents did with you.”

 

“Whereas your parents took you to the pictures.”

 

“Oh yes Frank!” Edith sighs. “It was a cheap bit of escapism from the everyday for the whole family: Mum, Dad, Bert and me.” Her voice grows wistful as she remembers. “I used to look forward to going to the pictures on a Saturday afternoon with Mum and Dad and Bert. We’d walk into the entrance of the Picture Coliseum***** out of the boring light of day and into the magic darkness that existed all day there. I grew to love the sound of the flick and whir of the protector, knowing as I sat in my red leather seat in the balcony that I was about to be transported to anywhere in the world or to any point in time. Dad and Mum still love going there on the odd occasion to see a comedy. The pictures became even more important to me as a teenager after I left home and went into service for nasty old Widow Hounslow. She never gave me anything to be happy about in that cold house of hers as I skivvied for her in my first job, day in and day out, from sunrise to sunset, so the escape to a world of romance filled with glamorous people where there was no hard work and no dirty dishes or floors to scrub became a precious light in my life.”

 

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Frank chuckles.

 

“You know Frank, because I thought everyone went to the pictures, I’ve never actually asked you whether you enjoy going to them. Perhaps with your grandparents taking you to the gallery, you might not like it. Do you Frank?”

 

“Oh yes I do, Edith,” Frank assures his sweetheart. “I’m happy if you are happy, but even before I met you, I used to go to the pictures. Whilst I might not be as enamoured with the glamour and romance of moving picture stars like Wanetta Ward like you are, I do like historical dramas and adaptations of some of the books I’ve read.”

 

“Does that mean you didn’t enjoy ‘A Woman of Paris’******?” Edith asks with concern.

 

Frank turns away from his sweetheart and rests his arms on the glass topped counter, and gazes through it at the cakes on display below. “Oh, yes I did, Edith.” he mutters in a low voice in reply.

 

Edith hooks her black umbrella over the raised edge of the cabinet and deposits her green handbag on its surface and sidles up alongside Frank. “It doesn’t sound like you did, Frank.” she refutes him quietly.

 

“No, I really did, Edith.” he replies a little sadly. “Edna Purviance******* is so beautiful. I can well understand your attraction to the glamour of the moving pictures and their stars.”

 

“But something tells me that you didn’t like the film.” Edith presses, nudging Frank gently. “What was it?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Edith.” Frank brushes her question off breezily as he turns his head slight away from her so she cannot see it.

 

“Well, it must be something. I chose the film, so I shall feel awful if you didn’t want to see it.” Edith tries to catch his eye by ducking her head, but fails. “You should have said something, Frank.”

 

A silence envelops them momentarily, at odds to all the gay noise and chatter of the Corner House around them. At length Frank turns back to Edith, and she can see by the glaze and glint of unshed tears in his kind, but saddened eyes, that this is why he turned away. “I didn’t mind seeing ‘A Woman in Paris’, Edith. Honestly, I didn’t.” He holds up his hands. “Like you are with me, I’m happy to go anywhere or do anything with you.”

 

“Then what is it, Frank?” Edith says with a concerned look on her face. “Please, you must trust me enough to tell me.”

 

Frank reaches out his left hand and wraps it loving around her smaller right hand as it sits on the surface of the counter, next to her handbag. “Of course I trust you Edith. I’ve never trusted a girl before, the way I trust you.” He releases her hand and runs his left index finger down her cheek and along her jaw lovingly. “You’re so good and kind. Goodness knows what you see in me, but whatever it is, Edith, I’m so glad you do.”

 

“What’s gotten into you, Frank?” she replies in consternation. “What was it about the film that has upset you so much and given you such doubts?”

 

The awkward silence falls between the two of them again as Edith waits for Frank to formulate a reply. His eyes flit between the shiny brass cash register, the potted aspidistra standing in a white jardinière on a tall plant stand, the Art Deco wallpaper and Lyons posters on the walls and the cakes atop the counter. He looks anywhere except into his sweetheart’s anxious face.

 

“It was the relationship between Jean’s mother and Marie in the film, Edith.” he says at length.

 

“What of it, Frank?”

 

“It reminded me of the relationship between your mum and me, Edith.”

 

“What?” Edith queries, not understanding.

 

“Well,” Frank elucidates. “Jean’s mum didn’t like Marie and refused to accept her.”

 

“I keep telling you, Frank,” Edith reassures her beau, looking him earnestly in the face. “Mum doesn’t dislike you. She just struggles with some of your more,” She nudges him again, giving him a consoling, and cheeky smile. “Progressive ideas. Anyway, Jean’s mum and Marie made up at the end of the film and went off to set up an orphanage in the countryside.”

 

“Are you suggesting that your mum and I might do the same?” Frank laughs a little sadly, trying to make light of the moment.

 

“That’s better, Frank.” Edith encourages, seeing him smile.

 

Frank looks back down again at all the cakes on display in the glass fronted cabinet. Cakes covered in thick white layers of royal icing like tablecloths jostle for space with gaily decorated special occasion cakes covered in gooey glazed fruit and biscuit crumbs. Ornate garlands of icing sugar flowers and beautifully arranged slices of strawberries indicate neatly where the cakes should be sliced, so that everyone gets the same portion when served to the table. Frank even notices a pink blancmange rabbit sitting on a plate with a blue and white edge.

 

“I love coming here because there are so many decadent cakes here.” Frank admits, changing the subject delicately, but definitely. “It reminds me of when my Gran was younger. She used to bake the most wonderful cakes and pies.”

 

“Oh, Mum loves baking cakes, pies and puddings too.” Edith pipes up happily. “She’s especially proud of her cherry cobbler which she serves hot in winter with hot custard, and cold in summer with clotted cream.”

 

“Being Scottish, Gran always loved making Dundee Cake********. She used to spend ages arranging scorched almonds in pretty patterns across the top.”

 

“That sounds very decadent, Frank.” Edith observes.

 

“Oh it was, Edith!” Frank agrees. “Mind you, I don’t think it would have taken half as long if she hadn’t been continually keeping my fingers out of the bowl of the decorating almonds and telling me that the cake ‘would be baked when it is done, and no sooner’.”

 

Edith chuckles as Frank impersonates his grandmother’s thick Scottish accent as he quotes her.

 

“Mum always made the prettiest cupcakes for Bert’s and my birthdays.” Edith points to the small glass display plate of cupcakes daintily sprinkled with colourful sugar balls and topped with marzipan flowers and rabbits sitting on the counter.

 

“I bet you they were just as lovely as those are, Edith.”

 

“Oh, better Frank,” she assures him. “Because they were made with love, and Mum is a very proud cook.”

 

“I did notice that when I came for Sunday roast lunch.”

 

Edith continues to look at the cakes on display on stands on the counter’s surface, some beneath glass cloches and others left in the open air, an idea forming in her mind, formulating as she gazes at the dollops of cream and glacé cherries atop a chocolate cake, oozing cream decadently from between its slices.

 

“That’s it Frank!” she gasps.

 

“What is, Edith?”

 

“That’s the solution to your woes about Mum, Frank.” She snatches up her bag and umbrella from the counter.

 

Frank doesn’t understand so he asks yet again, “What is, Edith?”

 

Edith rests her elbow on the glass topped counter as she looks Frank squarely in the face. “Who is your greatest advocate, Frank? Who always speaks well of you in front of others.”

 

“Well, you do, Edith.” He gesticulates towards her.

 

“Yes, I know that,” she admits. “But besides me, who else always says the nicest things about you?”

 

“Well Gran does.” Frank says without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“Exactly Frank!” Edith smiles. “You need someone other than me in your corner, telling Mum what a wonderful catch you are. And that someone is your Gran, Frank!” Her blue eyes glitter with hope and excitement. “See, now that you’ve met Mum and Dad, and I’ve met your Gran, it’s time that they met. I bet Mum and your Gran would bond over cake baking and cooking, and of course Mum would believe anything a wise Scottish woman who can bake a Dundee Cake would say.”

 

“And everything she would say would be about me!” Frank exclaims. “Edith! You’re a genius!”

 

Frank cannot help himself as he reaches out and grasps Edith around the waist, lifting her up and spinning her around in unbridled joy, causing her to squeal, and for the people waiting in line around them to chuckle and smile indulgently at the pair of young lovers before them.

 

“Oh, put me down Frank!” squeaks Edith. “Let’s not make a scene.”

 

Reluctantly he lowers his sweetheart to the ground and releases her from his clutches.

 

“Now, all we need to do is talk with Mum and Dad, and your Gran, and settle on a date.” Edith says with ethusiasm.

 

“We’ll talk about it over tea and cake, shall we, Edith?” Frank asks with an excited lilt in his voice.

 

“Ahem.” A female voice clearing her throat politely interrupts Edith and Frank’s conversation. Turning, they find that whilst they have been talking, they have reached the front of the queue of people waiting for a table, and before them stands a bright faced Nippie with a starched cap with a red ‘L’ embroidered in the centre atop a mop of carefully coiffed and pinned curls, dressed in a black alpaca dress with a double row of pearl buttons and lace apron. “A table for two, is it?”

 

*J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

**The name 'Nippies' was adopted for the Lyons waitresses after a competition to rename them from the old fashioned 'Gladys' moniker - rejected suggestions included ‘Sybil-at-your-service’, ‘Miss Nimble’, Miss Natty’ and 'Speedwell'. The waitresses each wore a starched cap with a red ‘L’ embroidered in the centre and a black alpaca dress with a double row of pearl buttons.

 

***The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

 

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

 

*****Located in the west London inner city district of Harlesden. The Coliseum opened in 1912 as the Picture Theatre. In 1915 it was renamed the Picture Coliseum. It was operated throughout its cinema life as an independent picture theatre. Seating was provided in stalls and balcony levels. The Coliseum closed in December 1975 for regular films and went over to screening adult porn films. It then screened kung-fu movies and even hosted a concert by punk rock group The Clash in March 1977. It finally closed for good as a picture theatre in the mid-1980’s and was boarded up and neglected for the next decade. It was renovated and converted into a pub operated by the J.D. Weatherspoon chain, opening in March 1993. Known as ‘The Coliseum’ it retains many features of its cinematic past. There is even cinema memorabilia on display. There is a huge painted mural of Gary Cooper and Merle Oberon in “The Cowboy and the Lady” where the screen used to be. Recently J.D. Weatherspoon relinquished the building and it is now operated as an independent bar renamed ‘The Misty Moon’. By 2017 it had been taken over by the Antic pub chain and renamed the ‘Harlesden Picture Palace’.

 

******’A Woman of Paris’ is a feature-length American silent film that debuted in 1923. The film, an atypical drama film for its creator, was written, directed, produced and later scored by Charlie Chaplin. The plot revolves around Marie St. Clair (Edna Purviance) and her beau, aspiring artist Jean Millet (Carl Miller) who plan to flee life in provincial France to get married. However when plans go awry, Marie goes to Paris alone where she becomes the mistress of a wealthy businessman, Pierre Revel (Adolphe Menjou). Reacquainting herself with Jean after a chance encounter in Paris a year later, Marie and Jean recommence their love affair. When Jean proposes to Marie, his mother tries to intervene and Marie returns to Pierre. Jean takes a gun to the restaurant where Marie and Pierre are dining, but ends up fatally shooting himself in the foyer after being evicted from the restaurant. Marie and Jean’s mother reconcile and return to the French countryside, where they open a home for orphans in a country cottage. At the end of the film, Marie rides down a road in a horse drawn cart and is passed by a chauffer driven automobile in which Pierre rides with friends. Pierre's companion asks him what had happened to Marie after the night at the restaurant. Pierre replies that he does not know. The automobile and the horse-drawn wagon pass each other, heading in opposite directions.

 

*******Edna Purviance (1895 – 1958) was an American actress of the silent film era. She was the leading lady in many of Charlie Chaplin's early films and in a span of eight years, she appeared in over thirty films with him and remained on his payroll even after she retired from acting, receiving a small monthly salary from Chaplin's film company until she got married, and the payments resumed after her husband's death. Her last credited appearance in a Chaplin film, ‘A Woman of Paris’, was also her first leading role. The film was not a success and effectively ended Purviance's career. She died of throat cancer in 1958.

 

********Dundee Cake is a traditional Scottish fruit cake that has gained worldwide fame since its first appearance over three hundred and fifty years ago. The Dundee Cake is one of Scotland's most famous cakes and, it is said, was liked by the Queen at tea-time. The story goes that Mary Queen of Scots didn’t like cherries, so a fruit cake was made and decorated with the distinctive almond decoration that has now become very familiar to those of us in the know. A more likely story is that the Dundee Cake recipe was created in the 1700s, later to be mass-produced by the Marmalade company Keiller’s Marmalade.

 

An afternoon tea made up with sweet cakes like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate everything you can see here in and on this display case, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau:

 

The sweet cupcakes on the glass cake stand have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The pink blancmange rabbit on the bottom shelf of the display cabinet in the front of the right-hand side of the case was made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America. All the other cakes came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The glass and metal cake stands and the glass cloche came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The glass cake stands are hand blown artisan pieces. The shiny brass cash register also comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.

 

The J. Lyons & Co. Ltd. tariff is a copy of a 1920s example that I made myself by reducing it in size and printing it.

 

Edith’s handbag handmade from soft leather is part of a larger collection of hats and bags that I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.

 

The black umbrella came from an online stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The wood and glass display cabinet I obtained from a seller of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The storage shelves in the background behind the counter come from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late Eighteenth Century. The plates, milk jug, silver teapots, coffee pots and trays on it all come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Miniatures.

 

The aspidistra in the white planter and the wooden plant stand itself also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House shop, as does the 1920s Lyons’ Tea sign you can see on the wall.

 

The Art Deco pattern on the wall behind the counter I created myself after looking at many photos of different Lyons Corner House interiors photos. Whilst not an exact match for what was there in real life, it is within the spirit of the detailing found in the different restaurants.

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 northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is staying with her parents for Christmas whilst Lettice visits her own family in Wiltshire. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. What is especially exciting is that Edith's younger brother, Bert, is home for Christmas too. He is a dining saloon steward aboard a passenger ship, so he is lucky to be on shore leave just in time of Christmas!

 

The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has a particularly festive feel about it, as it is Christmas Morning and not only are there strings of brightly coloured paper chains strung around the room, draped over the old Welsh dresser, across the mantle of the kitchen range and across the room from corner to corner, hanging in jolly festoons, but the kitchen table is covered in Christmas cards and presents. Edith, her parents and brother all sit around the table, arrayed in pyjamas and robes, exchanging Christmas gifts in the warmth of the old kitchen range, before they get ready and begin preparations for a very special Christmas Day lunch.

 

“Oh thank you, Edith love!” George gasps as he tears away the paper around a stack of books. “Conan Doyle.” he purrs in delight as he appraises the covers. “How delightful.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Dad.” Edith says joyfully. “I hope you haven’t read them.”

 

“Even if I have, Edith love,” her father replies with unbridled pleasure. “They aren’t as fine as these copies,” He runs his fingers lovingly along the spines. ‘Especially if I only borrowed them from the local lending library. Now I shall have my very own copies to go back to time and time again, whenever I please.”

 

“Three volumes!” gasps Ada as she places a freshly refilled pot of tea into the centre of the table, where there is just space to put it amidst the piles of presents, collection of cards and discarded wrapping. “You spoil your dad, Edith love!”

 

“And why shouldn’t I be spoiled, Ada?” George asks rhetorically. “After all, it is Christmas.” Then without waiting for a response from his wife he faces his daughter and says, “Merry Christmas, Edith love. I think you’ll like your gift from your Mum and me.”

 

“I’m sure I will, Dad.” Edith assures him with a smile. “And you will get your own share of spoiling, Mum.” she adds, glancing at her mother, who pulls a face and flaps her hand dismissively at her daughter.

 

“I’m looking forward to seeing that, chortles George as he takes up an old Edwardian edition of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’* with a beautiful blue leather binding with gilding on its cover and spine.

 

“How did you manage to afford three volumes of Conan Doyle for Dad, Edith?” Bert whispers to his sister.

 

“Well,” she hisses quietly back. “Miss Lettice uses a bookseller down Charring Cross who happens to do a brisque trade in well priced second-hand volumes from old country house libraries.”

 

“Clever big sister.” Bert nods his approval as he and his sister see how happy their father looks as he thumbs his new edition lovingly.

 

“Now it’s your turn, Edith love.” Ada says, pushing a present across the table over the tablecloth to her daughter. “From your dad and me. Merry Christmas, love.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Edith love.” adds George, putting his book aside as he pays attention to his daughter sitting across from him at the table.

 

“Bookends!” gasps Edith as she opens the bulky and heavy Christmas gift from her parents. “Oh, how did you know Mum and Dad?”

 

“Call it intuition, Edith love.” Ada remarks with a happy smile from her comfortable seat in her Windsor chair next to her daughter.

 

“Or careful eavesdropping from your Mum.” George adds with a chuckle.

 

“You’ve got some crust, George Watsford!” Ada turns to her portly husband wrapped up in his deep red and green chequered robe in his seat at the table and gives him an admonishing wag with her finger. “Whose idea was it to get these for Edith? Eh?” She cock an eyebrow knowingly at her husband.

 

“Mine.” he admits quietly.

 

“And why did we settle on these bookends as a gift, may I ask?” Ada continues before he can add anything else.

 

George’s cheeks flush bright red. “Because I overheard Edith talking about getting some from the Caledonian Markets** to Frank one Sunday when they were both here for tea.” George admits guiltily.

 

“Now who’s been eavesdropping, eh?” Ada crows triumphantly with a cheeky smile as she watches her husband squirm in his seat, before bursting out laughing and gently giving his hand a loving squeeze.

 

“Oh Dad!” laughs Edith. “You are a one!”

 

“Do you really like them, Edith?” Bert asks from his seat next to his sister.

 

“Oh yes, Bert! Don’t you think they are beautiful?” Edith replies enthusiastically. “I’ve been wedging my books between my sewing box and my sewing machine on the chest of drawers at Miss Lettice’s. Every time I go to do some sewing, all my romance novels fall down.” She admits. “Now I won’t need to worry.” She pauses. “Why, do you want them, Bert?” She suddenly looks down protectively upon the gaily glazed bookends of cottages painted a bright yellow with red roofs.

 

“Oh no, Edith!” Bert assures her, holding his hands up in defence. “I’ve got nowhere to put them when I’m aboard ship, and anyway they could get broken in some of the stormy seas we go through en route to Australia and back.” Then he adds, “No, I just hope you won’t find my gift a disappointment after them, is all.”

 

“Oh Bert!” gasps Edith. “How can you even think such a thing?” She reaches across to him and tousles his unruly bed hair lovingly. “You always put such thought into my nice gifts. Just look at that wonderful picnic basket you brought me back from Australia. Whatever you give me, I know I shall love!”

 

“Alright then,” Bert says, suitably reassured. “Open my gift up next then.”

 

“Not until you’ve opened up yours from me first, Bert.” she replies.

 

“Oh, alright then.” Bert agrees. “Card first though.”

 

“Good boy! Cards are always first,” agrees his mother from across the table as she tops up her favourite gilt edged teacup featuring a bright yellow sunflower with more tea from the Brown Betty*** sitting amidst the cards and Christmas wrapping detritus quickly covering the kitchen tabletop.

 

Bert admires the bright old fashioned Victorian lettering spelling Happy New Year intertwined with Christmas garlands on Edith’s card to him. He reads her season’s greetings written inside in his sister’s neat copperplate writing. “Thanks awfully, Edith.” he says at length.

 

“Merry Christmas Bert!” Edith replies cheerfully. “It’s so wonderful to have you home this Christmas.”

 

“Here! Here!” agrees their father as he takes a sip of morning tea from his own blue and white teacup. “Edith missed you so much last Christmas, didn’t you love?”

 

“I did, Dad.”

 

“We all missed him.” Ada remarks, joining her daughter in an agreeing nod.

 

“Yes we did. And it’s especially grand you’re here,” adds George. “Considering that this will be an extra special Christmas this year, what with Edith’s young man, Frank, and his gran joining us for Christmas tea later on.”

 

“Best you crack on with opening your gift then, Bert!” urges Edith, indicating with widened eyes at the rectangular parcel wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine before him. “Or else we won’t have exchanged gifts before they arrive.”

 

“Well,” remarks Ada, patting the sides of her head where her mousey brown hair streaked with silver greys has been wound up in curling papers. “I certainly don’t want Mrs. McTavish to find me sitting here in my robe and curling papers. So yes, hurry up and unwrap your gift, Bert!”

 

Bert gasps as he tears the brown shop paper away to reveal a smart copy of ‘The Eye of Osiris’***. “Oh hoorah Edith! What a spiffing big sister you are to be sure!” He jumps up from his seat and enfolds his sister in a warm embrace.

 

“Merry Christmas, Bert.” she says again as he holds her closely to him and she inhales his sleep accented scent intermixed with Lux Flakes***** and Sunlight Soap******.

 

Sitting back in his chair again, Bert remarks, “I’ll get into trouble for falling asleep waiting table in the dining saloon if this is as good as ‘The Red Thumb Mark’, Edith. I didn’t want to put that down and turn out the light at night. I kept getting growled at by the other stewards I was sharing a cabin with when I was reading it, because all they wanted to do was kip, and all I wanted to do was read ‘The Red Thumb Mark’.”

 

Edith and Bert laugh happily together at Bert’s anecdote.

 

“I told you we should have bought him a torch******* for Christmas, Ada,” George chuckles from his chair. “Rather than a diary.”

 

“Oh no, Dad!” exclaims Bert. “I needed a new diary for 1924.” He picks up the brown leatherette********* diary from beneath the cream and brown Richard Austin Freeman mystery novel and holds it proudly aloft. “I need something to record my adventures on the high seas in.”

 

“Not too high, I hope,” mutters Ada in mild concern. “Or too adventurous, or too many, Bert love.”

 

“Never, Mum.” Bert assures her. “Haven’t I always come home to you?”

 

“Yes,” agrees his mother. “And I want you to keep doing so.” She wags her finger warningly at him. “So make sure you do, Bert love.”

 

“Well, keep giving me ripping presents, Mum,” he replies cheekily. “And I will! You can save the torch for me for my birthday.” He laughs good-naturedly.

 

“Oh you are an awful tease, Bert.” chuckles Edith.

 

“Right!” he says in return. “I’ve opened my gift. Now it’s time to open yours Edith, and then we can all see what you and Frank are giving Mum, since you made such a fuss about it and all.”

 

“Alright Bert.” Edith acquiesces as she picks up the creamy white envelope with her name written on it in her brother’s messy hand. “I love the card.” she remarks after opening it, smiling down at the portly Father Christmas standing with a sack full of toys with the jolly face.

 

“Oh, fie the card, Edith.” Bert says, gently nudging the white tissue paper wrapped gift. He then looks apologetically at Ada’s aghast face. “Sorry Mum, I know that flies in the face about what you taught us about cards, but I had to nurse this home on the voyage and it nearly got broken along the way.”

 

“What on earth is it then?” laughs Edith.

 

“Open it up and you’ll see, Edith.” Bert replies softly as he holds his breath in anticipation.

 

Edith’s dainty, careworn fingers tremble as she carefully unwraps the white tissue from around the misshapen bundle, revealing first a pink and then a yellow gilt edged flower. She gasps.

 

“What is it, Edith love?” Ada asks, intrigued as she cranes her neck to see what sits within the frothy froufrou of tissue paper.

 

“It’s a trinket box in the shape of a flower basket!” Edith exclaims, lifting it carefully out of its protective nest and holding it aloft so that her parents can see the dainty piece of creamy white pottery with hand painted flowers. “Oh it’s so pretty! Thank you Bert!”

 

“You’re welcome Edith!” Bert replies. “Merry Christmas!”

 

“I say, Bert old chap,” George declares in admiration of his son’s thoughtful gift to his sister. “That’s a fancy little box and that’s a fact!”

 

“Where on earth did you get it, Bert?” Ada asks in an adulated whisper.

 

“Well, as you know, we stop in Cobh on the voyage to Australia.” Bert begins.

 

“Where Bert?” George asks, perplexed, his forehead furrowing as he asks.

 

“Cobh, Dad… err Queenstown.”

 

“Oh, Queenstown in Ireland? Well, why didn’t you just say so**********.”

 

“Oh hush, George!” Ada hisses, waving her left hand distractedly at her husband. “Bert doesn’t need you interjecting into his story.”

 

“Well,” George exclaims open mouthed in mock horror. He folds his arms akimbo as he snuggles into the sagging cushions wedged behind him. “Pardon me for breathing on Christmas Day in my own house.”

 

Ada gives him a momentary wry look before returning her attention to her son, leaning forward towards him as she speaks. “Ignore your father, Bert love, and go on with your story.”

 

“Oh yes, do, Bert! I’d love to know where this pretty trinket box came from.” Edith says, running her fingers admiringly over the dainty painted flowers.

 

“Well, when we docked in Cobh… err I mean Queenstown, to take on passengers for the voyage to Australia, a few bumboats*********** came up alongside the Demosthenes************ and Irish tinkers came aboard to sell their wares to the waiting first and second-class passengers. Anyway, I was off duty and was wandering down to the stewards’ lounge for a cup of tea, when I saw a few of the stewardesses clustering around a tinker who had come below decks to sell her wares. We don’t often get the pleasure of someone selling stuff to the crew, so I joined them to see what she had. They were oohing and aahing over all the lace she had, but I spotted the trinket box for Edith.”

 

“I hope she didn’t fleece you, and you got a good price for it.” Ada says. “It’s awfully pretty, but those Irish can be rogues.”

 

“I can’t tell you, Mum.” Bert replies, blushing as he does. “It’s a Christmas gift, so there is to be no talk as to its cost.”

 

“She fleeced you, then,” Ada declares with an indulgent smile. “Well and truly! You always were a soft touch.”

 

“Oh enough about me, and my gift for Edith.” Bert flaps his hand at his mother. “I want to see what Edith and Frank have bought you in that big box.”

 

“So do I,” agrees George, his interest piqued by the box wrapped up in butcher’s paper and tied with red and yellow twine. “It’s been intriguing me ever since Edith brought it out this morning.”

 

Ada glances up at the old ticking kitchen clock hanging on the wall. “Well, I really don’t know if we’ll have time. I mean, Edith and I have so much to do before Frank and Mrs. McTavish get here for their Christmas tea.”

 

“What nonsense, Ada!” George balks. “You’ve plenty of time.”

 

“And two spare sets of hands,” pipes up Bert. “What with Dad and me here.”

 

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Mum,” Edith pleads. “I know you don’t like to be the centre of attention…”

 

“You’re not wrong there, Edith love.” Ada agrees, tugging her worn but comfortably cosy russet coloured robe more tightly across her chest.

 

“But Frank and I did find these for you, especially.” Edith adds pointedly.

 

“Then I should wait until Frank gets here then, before opening my gift shouldn’t I?”

 

“No you shouldn’t, Mum. Frank was quite insistent that you were to open our gift on Christmas morning! You can thank him when he gets here for Christmas lunch. Now, open it up!”

 

“Christmas lunch.” Ada scoffs lightly a she shakes her head. “It’s Christmas tea in this house, my girl.”

 

“Christmas lunch, Christmas tea - who cares? Just open the box up, Mum!”

 

With trembling fingers Ada tugs at the knot in the string and shudders in surprise as the box lid springs up slightly after being freed of the restraint of the twine. Delving into the protective layers of paper noisily, Ada withdraws a beautiful, white gilt glazed teapot featuring a portrait of Queen Victoria.

 

“Oh Edith, love!” gasps Ada. “It’s beautiful!”

 

“I knew you’d love it, Mum, as soon as I saw it!” Edith sighs happily. “Merry Christmas!”

 

“Oh thank you, and merry Christmas to you, love.”

 

“I know exactly where that is going!” chortles George knowingly.

 

“In the front room with all the rest of my royalty ware.” Ada admires the well proportioned teapot. “Where else would it go?”

 

“Nowhere else, Ada love. You chose well, Edith love.” her father says approvingly. “I only wish I could get such enthusiasm from your mum when I give her my Christmas gifts.”

 

“A box of lace hankies and a pair of new leather gloves for church services on Sunday can hardly compare to this, George.” Ada purrs in delight as he holds the creamy porcelain up to the light.

 

“You don’t know what a personal risk I took buying them for you from Bishop’s up in the High Street.” George mutters. “If any of my workmates at McVities caught me buying lace hankies and gloves, I’d be a laughingstock, and that’s a fact!”

 

“Haven’t I thanked you enough, George Watsford?” Ada asks, leaning over to her husband as he proffers her his puckered lips and kisses him lovingly.

 

“Never enough, Ada love.” George replies as their kiss breaks.

 

“Greedy.” she giggles girlishly in reply.

 

“Since you won’t let me give you some of my wages, Mum, just like Dad I may as well buy you some nice things and spoil you.” Edith says.

 

“Oh this must have cost a fortune!” Ada appraises the transfer image of Queen Victoria flanked by all the flags of the Empire on the pot. “For shame, Edith! You shouldn’t have spent your money on me.”

 

“Nonsense Mum! Frank and I bought it together at the Caledonian Markets one Sunday. It was so reasonably priced that we were able to buy you something else too.” Edith indicates to the inside of the box with anxious eyes.

 

“What? More! You really do spoil me, Edith love.”

 

“You deserve to be spoiled Mum!” Edith insists. “Now keep going!”

 

With more rustling of paper, Ada takes out a matching jug featuring the same image of Queen Victoria.

 

“Do you like it, Mum?” Edith asks, holding her breath.

 

“Like it, Edith? Oh, I love it!” Ada throws the empty box to the flagstone floor, gets up from her chair and hugs her daughter, batting her eyelids as she attempts to keep back the tears of appreciation and joy. “How lucky am I to have such a wonderful daughter to spoil me like this.”

 

“Ahem!” Bert clears his throat.

 

“Oh, and son, of course, Bert.” Ada quickly amends her statement as she glances at her beloved younger child.

 

“It’s alright, Mum. My floral teacup for your collection is nothing compared to those two pieces.” He looks admiringly at the teapot and jug, before turning to his sister and giving her an approving nod.

 

“Nonsense!” retorts Ada. “I love my beautiful cup and saucer. I’ll find a spot for it here on the dresser after we’ve had Christmas tea.”

 

“I agree, with Bert.” adds George. “They are beautiful pieces you bought your mum, Edith love.”

 

“And well worth the wait to see.” Bert agrees.

 

“You’re very generous to both your mother, and me.” George pats his stack of Arthur Conan Doyle novels contentedly. “And it’s very good of Frank to pitch in and help you buy us such nice Christmas gifts.”

 

“Yes it is,” adds Ada in agreement. “Your young Frank is growing on me, Edith love. He’s a generous spirit, and not just because of the gifts you and he can give me or your dad. He has a generosity that comes from the heart. Generosity counts for a lot in my books.” Ada nods sagely. “Now, thinking of young Frank, we should all get cracking on with our day. Christmas tea won’t cook itself, will it, Edith love? There’s much to do, and here we still all are, in our robes and pyjamas. Let’s get these gifts out of the way so they don’t get damaged or in the way. We’ll have plenty of time to indulge this afternoon and tonight, after we’ve had tea.”

 

“Yes Mum!” agrees Edith with a happy smile. “Merry Christmas everyone!”

 

“Merry Christmas!” George, Ada and Bert reply cheerfully in unison.

 

*’The Hound of the Baskervilles’ is the third of the four crime novels by British writer Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. It was first published in March 1902. Originally serialised in ‘The Strand Magazine’ from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set in 1889 largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Holmes and Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his apparent death in ‘The Final Problem’, and the success of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ led to the character's eventual revival.

 

**The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.

 

***A Brown Betty is a type of teapot, round and with a manganese brown glaze known as Rockingham glaze. In the Victorian era, when tea was at its peak of popularity, tea brewed in the Brown Betty was considered excellent. This was attributed to the design of the pot which allowed the tea leaves more freedom to swirl around as the water was poured into the pot, releasing more flavour with less bitterness.

 

****’The Eye of Osiris’ is a detective mystery novel originally published in 1911 by Richard Austin Freeman. A pioneer of the inverted detective story, in which the reader knows from the start who committed the crime, Richard Austin Freeman is best known as the creator of the "medical jurispractitioner" Dr. John Thorndyke who was first introduced in ‘The Red Thumb Mark’ in 1907. The brilliant forensic investigator went on to star in dozens of novels and short stories over the next decades, including ‘The Eye of Osiris’ in which he made his second appearance.

 

*****Up to the end of the Nineteenth Century, washing clothes at home usually entailed the tedious task of cutting chips off of large hunks of laundry soap to use in creating sudsy water. A Monsieur Charpy employed at Lever Brothers in England developed a technology that allowed production of a very thin sheet of soap that then could be flaked. The company began selling what they first named "Sunlight Flakes" in England in 1899, though the name was changed to "Lux" in 1900. As a trade name, Lux had multiple advantages. The name is short and easy to remember; in Latin it means "light" (and so is related to Sunlight); and by association it suggests luxury.

 

******Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884 by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.

 

*******The inventor of the modern torch as we know it was the British naturalised American, David Misell. He did so on March the twelfth, 1898 (US Patent No. 617,592). In the year 1899 he ceded the patent to the American Electrical Novelty and Manufacturing Company.

 

*********Synthetic leather came onto the international fabric scene with the invention of Naugahyde in 1920. This substance was formulated by U.S. Rubber Company, which had been founded in 1892.

 

**********First called “Cove” in 1750, the Irish port of Cobh was renamed by the British as “Queenstown” in 1849 to commemorate a visit by Queen Victoria to Ireland. In 1921 when the Irish Free State was established the name was changed to Cobh, in its Irish form. Being a relatively recent change, this explains why George wasn’t sure where Bert was speaking of. Cobh would have known as Queenstown all of George’s life up until 1921.

 

***********A bumboat is a small vessel carrying provisions for sale to moored or anchored ships in port. The term originally denoted a scavenger's boat in the Seventeenth Century, removing ships' refuse, often also bringing produce for sale.

 

************The SS Demosthenes was a British steam ocean liner and refrigerated cargo ship which ran scheduled services between London and Australia via Cape Town. It stopped at ports including those in Sydney and Melbourne. She was launched in 1911 in Ireland for the Aberdeen Line and scrapped in 1931 in England. In the First World War she was an Allied troop ship.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful Christmas scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the table the Christmas presents are scattered. The cards are from husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio. Edith's stylised Art Deco bookends are hand painted by an unknown miniature artisan. I acquired them from a seller on E-Bay. Edith's pretty basket jewellery box has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. Ada's jug and teapot featuring Queen Victoria were made by miniature artisan Rachael Munday. I acquired them through Kathleen Knight's Dolls House Miniatures. The parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The books on the table are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. These books are amongst the rarer exceptions that have been designed not to be opened. Nevertheless, the covers are beautifully illustrated. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. 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 one of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

The paper chains festooning Ada’s kitchen I made myself using very thinly cut paper. It was a fiddly job to do, but I think it adds festive cheer and realism to this scene, as fancy Christmas decorations would have been beyond the budget of Edith’s parents, and homemade paper chains were common in households before the advent of cheap mass manufactured Christmas decorations.

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are jars of Marmite and Bovril. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. Also on the dresser on the pull out drawer is a Christmas cake from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Also from them is the cranberry glass cake stand, made of real glass, on which the cake sits. Next to it stands a cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

Bovril is the trademarked name of a thick and salty meat extract paste similar to a yeast extract, developed in the 1870s by John Lawson Johnston. It is sold in a distinctive bulbous jar, and as cubes and granules. Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.

 

The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

A Big Issue seller's dog receives his Christmas present from a kind woman.

Picture for the MacroMondays theme on Mar. 21st 2011: Generosity.

 

No matter how we treat her, the mother earth always treats us with generosity. Like the wild Taiwan raspberry grow along the roads no matter how much air pollution we cause. Recently I was so disturbed by the tragedy happened in Japan. When I saw this little fruit stands along an asphalt road, my heart is filled with admiration for earth's generosity.

 

~萬芳社區, 文山區, 台北

Wanfang Community, Taipei, Taiwan

- ISO 100, F5.6, 1/10 secs

- Canon 550D with EF 100mm f/2.8 macro lens + 20mm extension tube

   

My mother was fortune, my father generosity and bounty; I

am joy, son of joy, son of joy, son of joy.

Behold, the Marquis of Glee has attainted felicity; this city and

plain are filled with soldiers and drums and flags.

If I encounter a wolf, he becomes moonfaced Joseph; if I go

down into a well, it converts into a Garden of Eram.

He whose heart is as iron and stone out of miserliness is now

changed before me into a Hatem of the age in generosity and

bounty.

Dust becomes gold and pure silver in my hand; how then

should the temptation of gold and silver waylay me?

I have an idol such that, were his sweet scent scattered

abroad, even an idol of stone would receive life through joy.

Sorrow has died for joy in him of “may God bind your consolation”;

how should not such a sword strike the neck of sorrow?

By tyranny he seizes the soul of whom he desires; justices are

all slaves of such injustice and tyranny.

What is that mole on that face? Should it manifest itself, out

of desire for it forthwith maternal aunt would be estranged from

paternal [uncle].

I said, “If I am done and send my story, will you finish it and

expound it?” He answered, “Yes.”

 

My mother was fortune, my father generosity and bounty

Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)

Afghanistan (13th Century)

Generous donation by etradersplace.com to PUDDLE 2016!

It's been a funny day.

 

Today my old friend John met Cathy for the first time.

 

I vanished into the bedroom for over an hour. He waited apprehensively for me to reappear - apart from the bit where he went to sleep.

 

I'm sure women find this easier. After all, we're asking to come over to their side. A man must wonder what the hell is going on. And John is definitely an alpha male. He denies this, but it's only a ploy to make you drop your defences. Then he pinches your banana.

 

He was bloody marvellous.

The past has been generous with Teruel and leaves a Mudejar legacy that today is recognized as a world heritage site. Four towers, that of El Salvador and San Martín, that of San Pedro and that of the Cathedral of Santa María de Mediavilla, apart from its roof and dome, form this unique Mudejar ensemble.

 

The Torre de San Martín (English: St. Martin's Tower) is a medieval structure in Teruel, Aragon, northern Spain. Built in Aragonese Mudéjar style in 1316 and renovated in the 16th century, it was added to the UNESCO Heritage List in 1986 together with other Mudéjar structures in Teruel.

 

The tower was built between in 1315 and 1316. In 1550 its lower section was restored due to the erosion caused by humidity. Like other structures in Teruel, it is a gate-tower decorated with ceramic glaze. The road passes through an ogival arch. The tower takes its names from the annexed church of St. Martin, dating to the Baroque period.

 

The tower follows the scheme of the Almohad minarets, with two concentric square towers between which are the stairs. The inner tower has three floors covered with cross vaults.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teruel

  

I'm surrounded by amazing, talented and generous people, and my shirt is the same color as that little old bridge!

 

The first of many shots from our trip to SF, but I had to lead with this one. See, I am so frickin' lucky. After a whole lot of time on flickr, I have found this circle of people who are wildly talented, enormously funny, and the nicest damned people you've ever met in your entire life. You (and you know who you are) give me so much love and support and make me smile (and laugh out loud). You inspire me. You touch my heart and my soul. And I am so glad to call the crazy lot of you friends.

 

So, to the STFU gang, here is my shot. I received this tshirt in person from the east coast gang, (who had received it in person from the crazy Canadian), and I delivered it to the west coast gang. I love you all, and thanks for including me in the crazy journey of the shirt. And more so, for being such amazing people who I look forward to seeing every day. I'm so glad to have gotten to hug so many of you. xoxoxo!

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge’s clerk’s; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit’s dwelling with the sprinkling of his torch.

“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And your brother, Tiny Tim! They warn’t as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour?”

“Here’s father, mother!” cried Martha, the eldest daughter.

Then in came little Bob, the father, his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

The youngest daughter, Belinda, hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart’s content.

“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.”

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his sister. Master Peter went to fetch the goose, with which he soon returned in high procession. Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course—and in truth it was something very like it in that house.

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family.

But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up and bring it in. In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit re-entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

Then Bob raised his glass and proposed:

“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

Which all the family re-echoed.

“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

“And Mr. Scrooge!” said Bob; “I’ll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!”

“The Founder of the Feast indeed!” cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. “I wish I had him here. I’d give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he’d have a good appetite for it.”

“My dear,” said Bob, “the children! Christmas Day.”

“It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,” said she, “on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!”

“My dear,” was Bob’s mild answer, “Christmas Day.”

“I’ll drink his health for your sake and the Day’s,” said Mrs. Cratchit, “not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy new year! He’ll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!”

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he didn’t care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before.

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

for Macro Mondays theme: Generosity

 

In Canada we can help by donating generously to these and other reputable organizations:

Care Canada: www.care.ca

Doctors Without Borders: www.msf.ca

OXFAM-Canada: www.oxfam.ca

UNICEF Canada: www.unicef.ca

World Vision Canada: www.worldvision.ca

Theme "Tunisia, Naturally Generous"

 

bio mediterraneo

 

The Concept

 

Tunisia is located in the heart of the Mediterranean. Here, in this land rich in history spanning more than 3,000 years, warm, generous people live in naturally abundant landscapes of olive groves, beaches, sand dunes, wheat fields, forests and palm trees. Located in the Bio-mediterraneum Cluster Tunisia’s Pavilion at Expo Milano 2015 is the "Enchanted Oasis", a space that pays tribute to the Oasis of Gabes, on the littoral of the Mediterranean, and one of the last of its kind in the world.

 

This natural ecosystem fits perfectly within the theme Feeding the Planet, Energy For Life. Being close to the sea and with its multiple layers of cultivation - palm trees, date palms, fruit trees and vegetables – it offers a favourable microclimate for the development of highly diverse flora. There is a symbiosis between humans and the natural environment: an exchange of energy which ensures the balance and harmony of this unique ecosystem.

The life force of this enchanted oasis will be a key concept of the project, bringing to the exhibition a source of Nature’s inspiration. As an interactive and contemplative space it invites visitors in, physically - through the senses - and psychologically, to create their own itineraries alone or in groups. The soil turns into golden sand. Pomegranate, fig and almond trees grow in the shade of date palms. On exploring the space, visitors hear the sound of running water or traditional folk music. Visitors participate in scenes of traditional bread-making, date-picking, or the irrigation of vegetable crops, as if in a dream, between the real and the virtual. At the end of their tour, they can then enjoy typical dishes, exemplars of Tunisia’s ancestral cuisine and its diverse cultural heritage.

====================================================

 

Tema della partecipazione "Tunisia, naturalmente generosa"

 

bio mediterraneo

 

Il concept

La Tunisia si trova nel cuore del Mediterraneo. Qui, in questa terra ricca di una storia lunga più di 3.000 anni, un popolo caldo e generoso vive circondato da paesaggi rigogliosi, ricchi di uliveti, spiagge, dune di sabbia, campi di grano, foreste e palmeti. Situato nel Cluster Bio-mediterraneo, il Padiglione della Tunisia a Expo Milano 2015 è “L’Oasi Incantata”, uno spazio che rende omaggio all’Oasi di Gabes, una delle ultime rimaste al mondo, che si trova sul litorale Mediterraneo.

 

Questo ecosistema naturale si sposa perfettamente al Tema Nutrire il Pianeta, Energia per la Vita. Situato vicino al mare, con una molteplicità di coltivazioni - palmeti, palme da dattero, alberi da frutto e ortaggi - offre un microclima favorevole allo sviluppo di una vegetazione estremamente varia. Si crea così una simbiosi tra l'uomo e l'ambiente naturale: uno scambio di energia che garantisce l'equilibrio e l'armonia di questo ecosistema unico.

 

La forza vitale di quest’oasi incantata sarà il concetto chiave del progetto. Il Padiglione è stato pensato come uno spazio interattivo e contemplativo che invita i visitatori, fisicamente (attraverso i sensi) e mentalmente, a creare il proprio personale itinerario, da soli o in gruppo. Il suolo si trasforma in sabbia dorata. Piante di melograno, fichi e mandorli crescono all'ombra delle palme da dattero. Nell’esplorare lo spazio i visitatori possono sentire il suono dell’acqua che scorre oppure una musica tradizionale. Come in un sogno tra reale e virtuale, i visitatori partecipano e a scene di panificazione tradizionale, raccolta o irrigazione dei campi. Alla fine del viaggio possono gustare i piatti tipici locali, esempio dell’antica cucina tunisina e testimonianza del suo variegato patrimonio culturale.